Faction The Tempest | A Operation Cinder Story

[The Contingency]

THE TEMPEST - A OPERATION CINDER STORY

​

Following the brutal assault on Cademimu V, the Emperor's wrath turns to Ord Cantrell, a planet of political intrigue and long standing Imperial ties. With the rise of the Emperor's Loyalists the world has been selected as the next target of Operation: CINDER

From low orbit a series of Climate Disruption Arrays, relics of the Old Empire, descend into position over key cities and military structures. Within 24 hours of their activation, a chain of environmental disasters trigger planet-wide: hurricanes spiral across continents, flash floods consume cities, and ion-charged lightning storms choke the skies. The chaos is a message to the entrenched Imperial Remnant forces: there would be no negotiations, there would be no surrender.

At the center of the operation stands The Messenger, sentinel and herald of the Emperor's will. His orders are clear: destabilize the planet, retrieve the smartest minds of the Empire, and leave a message the galaxy will not forget.







​

​

---

"Without cover from the sky, the Emperor's hand cannot reach the soil."
- TK-818​

Orbital anti-air batteries are locking down the region surrounding the arrays. Loyalist starships are unable to deploy reinforcements or strike targets freely. Rival Remnant stormtroopers and planetary defense forces are digging in around the emplacements. Deploy ground forces and armored units, destroy their emplacements.

• Deploy ground forces into urban warzones, mobilize armored units.
• Eliminate entrenched air defense artillery.
• Navigate magnetic storm interference and swarms of panicked civilians.

---

"These machines are our thunder. If they fall, the storm ends."
- Aldo Garrick​

With orbital supremacy contested, defending the deployed Climate Disruption Arrays becomes essential. TIE interceptors and gunships have been launched to protect the platforms from advancing enemy fleets. Intelligence reports a Remnant Imperial III-class Star Destroyer making a push to engage our forces, protect the arrays! Disable their Star Destroyer!

• Engage in high-atmosphere dogfights and fleeting.
• Protect the satellites from enemy fighters.
• Disable or board the enemy Star Destroyer before it can disable the array network.

---

"Panic is a weapon. So is hope."
- Shannic Wulf
​

The Office of Imperial Truth (OIT) (COMPNOR) has seized control of Ord Cantrell's Council Tower broadcast center. Their agents now broadcast false evacuation orders, posing as Imperial relief forces loyal to the Emperor.

The goal: create confusion, lower opposition morale, and extract critical personnel hidden within the chaos. In the midst of this chaos, infiltrate and engage the Council Tower.

• Infiltrate the Council Tower.
• Extract Loyalist commanders and Dark Empire scientists.
• Sabotage the retreat of Remnant leadership.

​

 

[Sasmay Cull]

¤Black Kite Squad¤​

D-7C-11- Sasmay Cull	Squad Lead
ST-1193 Rook	Tech & Systems Spec.
ST-1186 Halver	Support Gunner Vehicle Spec.
ST-2761 Breeze	CQB Spec. Ordinance Spec.
ST-4916 Vex	Forward Recon Designated Marksman

Defensive land gate west had been a fight to the bitter end.

At least for the entirety of the defensive forces entrenched behind the desks and corridors. Only one hit to report on allied forces storming the gatehouse. But that was the benefit of quick and quiet. Shock-troopers were meant for such an operation though. And ST–1186 hadn't succumbed to the wound. Their combat efficiency had dropped but was well within parameters for continuing the mission.

They would just have some difficulty lobbing grenades.

The wall's were still buzzing with outgoing fire, and the windows despite the protective shudders leaked a cascade of different munitions being lobbed back and forth.

But the west gatehouse was theirs.

<Final sweep while ninety-three begins slicing.> D-7C-11 spoke through the comms as the team dispersed for a final sweep. Carbon scoring on the walls where the defenders had attempted to hold the line now, used as landmarks in the different hallways as the squad dispersed.

Bodies littered the floor with scoring along their armor as her own boots carefully tread across the hallways.

Pulling the service pistol from its holster and dispensing carefully placed shots into helmets to make sure no one was hiding among the dead. Her visor fixating on the sights as another two shots rang out. The body jerked befors relaxing as her prediction gained merit.

Hiding among the dead wasn't a terrible idea. Just a costly one against a competent enemy.

The floors crunched against her boots as the squad finished their sweep, regrouping to return to the security center where ST–1193 was finalizing their own task. ST–1186 and ST–2761 moved to the side with a nod from D-7C-11 as bacta spray was produced and a faucet was found.

The knubs of fingers cleaned before the spray was applied as a chirp resounded from console.

The west land gate jolted, reeling upwards with a slow shudder before a locking thud could be heard as Sasmay produced a commlink.

<Command, this is D-7C-11, first objective complete. Moving to second objective. Over and out.> D-7C-11 spoke with purpose before storing the commlink and motioning with her hands as her squad rallied around her.

The air sizzling and smoke filled as her hands moved in practiced signals.

Silence followed as they formed up. The only thing left in their wake was the dead as the squad moved through the gate zone towards the anti-air emplacement. Weapons at the ready as the distant signs of fighting lit up the area around them.

 

[Aggadeen Mysta]

SOMEONE'S OCCULT UNCLE
AGGADEEN IN OPERATION CINDER vol. I
Issue #1 w/ Open to Interaction​

Utterly inconsequential.

Aggadeen had landed close to the Council Tower broadcast center of Ord Cantrell, yet he appeared far from amused by the situation.

The Imperial Remnant had firmly established control over the airspace, complicating matters not just for him as he walked, but also highlighting a futile attempt to resist the unavoidable demise of their civilization.

Operation Cinder would pose a great danger to the galaxy, and he was determined to fulfill his role in the Emperor's grand scheme, even if he fundamentally disagreed with the more destructive aspects.

His gaze swept across the base of the Tower, searching for any signs of a straightforward approach, but he discovered that all paths were completely blocked save for the main entrance where the fighting would be most heavy and there was no need to become embroiled in a stalemate.

However, a thought quickly crossed his mind: the leadership must have an evacuation shuttle close by for a swift escape. Therefore, all that needed to be done was to trace the nearby resident heat signature and have the Operation Cinder personnel sift through the interference caused by civilian shuttles in the vicinity.

"Right.....I do so enjoy being forced to work. There should be a terminal inside the Tower for me to contact the Imperial Fleet without being intercepted by local jamming transponders on the planet." He remarked with a subtle eye roll, clearly annoyed at the need to take action rather than just loitering around while someone else did the assignment for him.

As he descended from the cliff edge to the ground below, not a single sound accompanied his movement.​

 

[DT-1966]

​

Council Tower Grounds, Ord Cantrell
Death Trooper Squad "Vanta Six"
Operatives: DT-1966 , DT-7747 , @others



The sky over Ord Cantrell screamed.

An unnatural thunder roared across the sunlit sky as fire crackled and electric surged. A sharp roar of the engine, a scream of a TIE. Above a TIE Reaper and it's escorting TIE fighters descended low, hull rattling from flak as a barrage of high-velocity autocannon rounds stitched the air. Boom. Defensive emplacements on the Council Tower were hastily manned by Remnant holdouts, their muzzle flashes visible like sparks against the storm choked skyline. Inside the gunmetal-gray troop bay, DT-1966 crouched in silence. His matte black armor was coated in ash and magnetic residue, his helmet optics flickering through infrared and motion profiles as the ship swerved evasively. Around him, Vanta Six readied weapons, suppressed E-11Ds, DLT-19Xs, and charge packs clipped silently onto belts. They were ghosts in steel, their presence heavy but voiceless.

No words.

Only hand signs.

– "Brace for drop."
️ – "Hot LZ confirmed."

As the Reaper swept across the tower's northern yard, the two TIE escorts dove past the viewport in tandem. Their cannons strafing the defensive lines ahead, incinerating a mounted E-Web emplacement. Fire erupted in the aftermath, smoke clogging the early grave of some hapless fool. In the wake of their pass, the Reaper's rear ramp slammed down with hydraulic hiss, Vanta Six had arrived.

"Ɽ̌͘͜͠ε̻̻͘͡A̷̗͈͡Ȑ̘̯̅͘Í̻̭̚͞N̘̮̿̕͠Ḡ͈́ Z̛̰̞̋͝EⱤ͇̽͢O̵̲̹̾̚. D̷̛͎R̵͈͉̄̍O̪̦͌͜P̴̪̓͆!" DT-1966's comms flared with garbled static and vocoded growls, issuing the go signal in a language only his squad could parse.

They dropped.

Boots hit ferrocrete slick with ion-charged rain. DT-1966 was first through the haze, his rifle already raised and sweeping. Target acquisition data painted hostiles in a crimson hue across his HUD. A Remnant trooper behind a barricade barely reacted before a blaster round pierced his chest plate leaving a cindering hole square in his chest. DT-1966 gestured to the others, pointing at a nearby hatch.

– "Breach entry point two."
– "Frag clear."

Tunnels. Entry points and personnel routes into the Council Tower that fed into the mechanical rooms and ultimately into the main building itself. The blew open in a flash of light.

"S̷I͈͜Ń̤̿G̶̛̘̮ Ŧ̛̺̮͘͝H̹̱͒͝͞E̫͚̾͘͠ E̢͖̔M̷̅͜Ṕ̞̟͌E̢̦͋R̡̩̐O̦͔͌́̕R̷̔͜'͙̬͘͠S̴̤̪̊̈́ H̸̺͛Y̪͓͌͟͞M̘̼̄͘N̡̥̞̅̍…"

 

[Tyro Lok]

Meliant | Ibaris Varanin | Talon Draven | Sahar | Creuat | Abraxas Colt | Amena Kader | Wymar​

The shuttle screamed a sonic roar as it ripped through the emptiness of the void, it bucked against turbulence from the storm-torn orbit of Ord Cantrell. Inertial dampeners humming in protest as the shuttle plummeted toward the belly of the beast. Tyro Lok sat motionless in the troop bay, shadows clung to him like a cloak, his form statuesque. He coiled like a vornskr before the strike, the crimson lighting of the bay flashing in pulses, illuminating the dark mask that concealed his face. His breathing was even, measured… but behind the metal, the Dark Side churned.

He felt anger.

He shaped it.

He felt doubt.

He drowned it.

He felt clarity.

And in clarity, there was only violence.

Around him, other members of the Dark Side Elite shifted in silence. No one spoke. There was no need, no strategies, no comradery. They were weapons now. Forged. Ready. Their lightsabers clenched tight in the palm of their hands, Death would be dealt not from the turbolasers above, but from the instruments of the Emperor within. The instruments of the Dark Side.

Turbulence again, the shuttle rocked hard as it took a direct hit, shattering their shields. Alarms screamedhe deck shifted violently underfoot as red klaxons blinked into being along the interior hull. Tyro remained still, his body centered in the Force. Outside, Shadow Squadron broke formation in perfect unison, TIE Fighters banking hard and unleashing a punishing barrage onto the flank turrets of the enemy Star Destroyer. Explosions dotted its armor, carving narrow lanes as the shuttle surged forward. A barrage of green bolts rained past the shuttle in terrifying proximity, some peeling chunks of the hull away, others spinning off into the void. Enemy TIEs gave chase, trailing like vultures, before Shadow Leader veered across their path and took them head on, buying precious seconds. The hangar bay of the ISD Resolute Vow loomed ahead, bristling with troops and gun emplacements.

The shuttle shrieked through the magnetic containment field, its repulsors shot, its momentum unopposed. The underbelly scraped against the durasteel floor, sparks pouring from its frame as it carved a burning trail across the deck.

Impact.

The shuttle slammed into a wall and slid to a halt. Smoke, sparks, silence. Remnant stormtroopers rushed to the edges of the wrecked shuttle, weapons drawn and ready. One barked a command. Another stepped closer, uncertain. Then, with a snarl of broken hydraulics, the ramp rapidly descended. collapsing like a broken jaw. The loading ramp slammed into the ground with a metallic thud, kicking up dust and debris as it came down.

Nothing moved, until..

SNAP HISS!

A crimson blade ignited within the wreckage, then another. And another. In the stormtrooper's visor, the red glow spread like blood across his mask. Panic set in.

He fed on their fear.

 

[DT-7747]

​

​

| Location | Ord Cantrell, Council Tower​

| Objective | Search and Destroy​

​

DT-7477 - a newer addition to the ranks of Vanta Six, clad in the same armor save for the fact that their helmet appeared to have been shattered and reassembled meticulously like a broken vase. Not much was known about them or their prior service, but given their background and desire to serve, they were brought to bolster the ranks. While DT-7747 sat in silence of the troop bay, they meticulously pored over their weapon and equipment, inspecting it thoroughly before looking up and offering a simple nod in silence; all green here.​

​

The roar of laser cannons as their escort had softened up their landing site filled the air as the ramp opened, DT-7747 closely following after DT-1966 on his left flank, barrel sweeping for targets. Another remnant trooper attempted to peak from their cover, 7747 turning in an instant as a single suppressed shot flew out and precisely nailed its target in the chest followed by a second one to the head after the body hit the ground to confirm the kill before the barrel was parallel to the ground and watching the flank.​

​

Once the path was secure, 1966 motioned for a breach as 7747 nodded, moving to stack up on the hatch and positioning themselves to cover, ready to flow in after the breach.​

​

 

[Kroeger]

ORD CANTRELL, IMPERIAL REMNANT
CONTRACT | ORD CANTRELL IMPERIAL REMNANT
902 ABY

D E M O N
IRON LEGION
'THOSE ONCE LOYAL'
OPP | DARK EMPIRE | DT-1966 | DT-7747

DISSIDENT AGGRESSOR
​

The streets were alive with the rush and thunder of war. The Cantrell Imperial remnant was stalwart but a dim shadow of what was the Imperial military. Iron Legion had arrived in quick order, deploying much of the 1st Battalion, 16th Stormtrooper Regiment into the city proper as armored recon and assault units targeted Dark Imperial tactical assembly areas and operations centers, forcing them to scramble and jump between positions in an effort to shred the coherency of their assault. But Kroeger was without a good deal of his combat power in these circumstances.

The delusion of air support would've been snuffed out with ease just as any indirect fire or artillery unit would be, Dark Imperial fleet sensors or fire finders able to pin down the point of origin and counterbattery immediately. Not that it stopped him. Within a few secure points and paths of advance within the city, ATS-777 'Imperator' artillery guns thumped the earth with mass driver rounds according to the high priority target list sighted by Kroeger's scout trooper observers just as 'Mantellska' anti-air guns ripped at the atmospheric landers, prioritizing anything carrying men or bombs to smite from the sky first. But just as their air capabilities would be priority targets, so too would be his ability to cut them down.

It was a chaotic mess of a street fight. The rebels, terrorists, bandits and thugs that the Iron Legion had come accustom to cutting down now bore the same image as themselves only cut in a different shade. The Iron Legion had adopted a camouflage scheme of field grey, black and rust red strokes across their armor along with a white arm band to signal their allegiance in the chaotic urban sprawl. Gun positions let loose a thunderous hail of bolts from high up buildings as sniper nests picked at higher priority soft targets.

Barran IFVs stormed the streets with haste, utilizing their mass driver autocannons to put down encroaching dismounts as Cataphract battle tanks set choke points along higher trafficked streets. The defense was competent...but not enough. Every minute the holodeck would shift back in blazen red regions of control of the city slowly chunking away at them.

"How do you expect to see us extracted from this place, Commander?!" The stringy, older leader of the remnant, wearing his argent white imperial uniform lined with gold piping said, marching over toward Kroeger as he stood before a data access terminal set in the central command center of the Council Tower. His sole organic hand was trembling as he peered toward the man with a gaze that was as foreboding in its half-mechanical nature as it might've been before he was struck on Ziost. He adjusted some of the medical wrapping that clung to his disfigured features to draw a cigarette from inside of the tanker's jacket he wore over his duraplast chestplate. He sparked it alight for much needed relief to his nerves before he glanced toward the central terminal. A black clad astromech droid and a technician were laboring over it, siphoning every last piece of data that'd prove of use.

"Thire. Confirm data upload." He said into the commlink on his wrist mounted tac-pad, transmitting to the Captain of the Long Night of Solace who was well entrenched in orbit.

"Copy. Confirmed." He said with a curt and rather pragmatic brevity to which Kroeger nodded, ripping once more from the cigarette as he peered toward the fearful remnant leaders. Only one of them, a heavier set veteran with a prosthetic leg seemed to be willing to fight himself. Kroeger kept them all together like a herd of Nerfs, sat around the central conference table.

<"Commander, we've several breaches in the tower."> A remnant stormtrooper more clad in scout-trooper patterned armor than otherwise piped up with an abrupt and urgent entrance into the room, his rank plaque sporting that of a First Sergeant. The non-commissioned officer tasked with the defense of the tower and extraction of the remnant council.

"Subterranean?" Kroeger asked to which the man nodded.

"Let those Cantrell dogs do their barking. Cut the power to the ground level and get strobes down every corridor. Board up by the lifts and cut their power." Kroeger commanded.

As the Death Troopers made their clandestine entrance, the first few Remnant Troopers would be cut down with ease before the lights cut off, leaving the lower levels in subterreanean blackness. A negligible hurdle to the capabilities of their equipment. As soon as they'd advance, explosives would slowly roll at their feet. Hardly with the aim to kill. They ignited with a blinding light, popping at erratic and random intervals to flush out their night vision before the crack of scatter guns behind tall durasteel shields at the end of the corridor stood to block their advance, each of the stormtroopers barking commands at each other well in line with New Imperial and later Dark Imperial doctrine and brevity.

"Ahh- enough of this! I'll not be held captive by some mercenary." The heavier set man, wearing his old durasteel chestplate for old times sake stood up from the table, limping toward the landing pad's entrance where an Iron legion stormtrooper grasped him by the shoulder and threw him back. Kroeger slowly made his way toward the man with a heavy, slow, foreboding gait. A harsh stomp of his Adekon reinforced muscle and bones against the back of the man's prosthetic knee resulted in a crack and wailing of servos before he collapsed with a harsh cry. The commander pulled open his coat, drawing his pistol with a smooth, practiced motion before he pressed it to the back of the man's head and pulled the trigger, coring a searing hole through his skull and brain matter before he collapsed unto the ground. The moff council stood up in shock to which Kroeger slid the pistol back into place.

"Monster! Let us go!"

"You'll squeal as soon as these Sith prostrates get their hands on you. You'll surrender all your resources, your information." Kroeger shook his head, his voice thrumming with cybernetic inflection. He slowly approached the head man. A cybernetic hand snatching at the crown of his skull to reel him closer to which he threw up his arms in surrender, a feared gasp leaving him.

"You'll leave once I have what I want." He said before he jolted the man's head back, his spine creaking against the back of the chair with a pained grunt.

"Long live the Empire..." He affirmed, pulling another drag of his cigarette.

 

[Sahar]

Tyro Lok Kyric

In unison, they rose from the dust cloud, sabers illuminating them in a dark red visage of crimson as they moved forward. The remote stormtroopers stood back, almost hesitating before a scream of open fire rang out, and they were met with blaster fire that was panicked and unfocused. And like lambs to the slaughter, the wolves closed in on them and began slaughtering them.

She was almost clinical in her approach, bereft of emotion and any feelings; the mask she wore hid any indication of pleasure or sadism from taking their lives. War was her home, and death was her domain; there was a particular honour in taking the life of another living being, especially when they put up a good fight. She carried death with her, and hate and malice had long destroyed any warmth they might've had long ago. Ever since, she had been confined to that prison for decades, tortured and broken. A great evil had freed her, and, in return, she embraced him and his ways wholeheartedly.

She was a vessel for his designs and plans, nothing more nothing less.

She cut all in her path down; the last of the stormtroopers who tried to fight her stumbled and fell on his back while trying to reload his blaster. Desperately, he grabbed the cartridge and tried to slot it into his blaster as she slowly approached him, toying with him like a cat would with its food. She kicked the blaster away and placed her boot on his chest, watching through the augmented visor of her mask as the trooper squirmed like a fish; she tilted her head and increased the pressure of her boot on his chest as the armour began to crack from the weight of her boot gradually caving in his chest.

She touched the side of her visor, and the mask opened up; the stormtrooper's eyes widened in fear when he saw her face, dark yellow eyes burning with malice, looking down upon him. She offered him a sly smirk and twisted her head up to look at the array and the raging battle in orbit above.

"The Array."

She emitted a dissatisfied snort, looking down at the man again and shrugging almost nonchalantly.

"Do you think that's going to stop this?"

She leaned even more, just slightly more onto his chest with her boot, causing the man to shriek in pain.

"I don't... think so."

She smiled, touching the side of visor to close the mask again, slowly raising her bloodied boot above the mans head and bringing it crashing down on his skull abruptly and violently.​

 

[Sasmay Cull]

¤Black Kite Squad¤​

D-7C-11- Sasmay Cull	Squad Lead
ST-1193 Rook	Tech & Systems Spec.
ST-1186 Halver	Support Gunner Vehicle Spec.
ST-2761 Breeze	CQB Spec. Ordinance Spec.
ST-4916 Vex	Forward Recon Designated Marksman

Behind the squad of five carbon colored troopers, the west gate lay open as a goal for encroaching ground forces.

It promised nothing more than a different killzone. A different place to litter the ground with their bodies. But it was open to armor that could survive the barrages from the wall. Black Kite moved with efficiency and all the stealth they could muster despite the open terrain before them.

A staggered formation with Vex flanking wide away from the four of them. Sasmay at the head while Rook kept an eye on comms and satellites to update their huds.

News of the west gate falling seemed to reach the emplacement the same time Vex could draw a bead on the first shiny.

A subtle ping in their helmets giving them every bit of information they needed as Breeze slipped ahead of Sasmay. Letting the sling hold his carbine while his hand drew the vibroblade free from his boot holster. Halver keeping the muzzle of his heavy rifle pointed south.

Breeze struck before Vex's silenced bolt could land. Two guards down before the third could turn their head. In time for a garrote wire to constrict their airway. Sasmay's legs wrapping around their waist as they fell forward grasping at the wire.

Breeze had already moved on while Rook emerged from cover. Sliding a scomp-link into the socket as Breeze and Vex finished clearing the ground forces around the emplacement.

Another silent ping on their huds as Vex packed up to regroup while Sasmay tapped her helmet.

The stack made while Halver didn't move from overwatch as the door slid open.

Breeze entered first sweeping left, knife in hand while stabilizing his carbine. Sasmay behind him with her blaster rifle sweeping right. Rook followed following center while Vex brought up the rear looking for the stairs.

The handful of white clad bodies inside stunned at their appearance as a short lived firefight broke out once Breeze and Sasmay lined up shots.

Efficient and precise.

Only two hits connected for the enemy that now lay on the floor in the hazy mist of spent blaster gas. Glancing blows that marred already blackened matte armor.

The gun overhead still booming as the squad checked bodies.

Heavy rushing steps down the stairs was met with a grenade from Sasmay. Screams echoed as Rook plugged into another scomp-socket. Breeze moved upward and disappeared with Vex behind him. Their steps silent as Sasmay remained with Rook and swept the area.

Pulling cartridges from pouches before Rook stepped back and fell in behind Sasmay on the stairs.

The dead pushed towards the walls where they fell greeted the two as they moved upwards. A growing silence hanging over the command deck as they arrived. Breeze wiping his blade on an officers uniform before his hand extended out palm down and swept laterally.

Rook plugged in to the control consoles and began working again as the gun fell silent.

Sasmay turned to Vex as her fist tapped her chest, palm held towards the command controls before tapping her thumb against her palm twice. Turning to Breeze as her gloved fingers traced down her chest plate before rising to give a thumbs up.

There was no nod from either, simply action as Vex let the sling carry his rifle and Breeze began checking their gear.

Vex produced charges and placed them at intervals with timers while Rook quietly spoke to the scomp-link between glances. A ping on their HUDS to Halver bringing news of no contacts headed to their location. A live feed from his helmet of a vehicle moving toward the west gate as Sasmay looked out through the windows to see it rumbling along with troop escort beside it.

A trouble for those at the west gate.

A silent thumbs up from Rook. Unplugged as Vex and Breeze finalized their tasks. Sasmay holding two fingers down before tapping on her chest as the slow blip of red lights began to synchronize.

Their descent as quick and quiet as they had first arrived. Halver waiting for them in the same position he'd taken as he rejoined them with a gesture.

The software virus was no doubt beginning to worm into the defenders network as the team reformed their staggered formation to move towards the south gate.

Spoiler

Black Kite has uploaded virus software to the defenders network while taking down the South-West Anti-air.

Attempting to overload processors, slow commands across their network, and force the Anti-air emplacements into manual mode.

 

[Meliant]

Objective: Workplace Banter

Someone - Meliant - was standing just offsides from Sahar, watching while she introduced her boot to the soft and accommodating face of a wounded stormtrooper.​

​

He winced inwardly to hear the squelch: flesh, bone, and viscera being transmuted into pulp. Unsophisticated is what it was. Inelegant. But the truth was that Meliant found the noise unsettling no matter how far removed from such concerns he became. "You really showed him."​

​

Meliant must have done something during the preceding fight. There were enough dead stormtroopers laying around without critical limbs and with deep gouges across their plastoid chest-plates to suggest his active participation.​

​

The hangar was a great deal quieter now that the Dark Side Elite had disposed of the welcome party. A few dozen down, a few thousand more to go. Star destroyer complements were really something to behold.​

​

Meliant looked around for Tyro and, on finding him, pressed him for instruction.​

​

"Do we capture the ship, or destroy it?"​

Tyro Lok Sahar @DSE​

 

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Sasmay Cull

THE TEMPEST

THE ZEALOT - PART 1​

Sage's Hill, Sage Park Peninsula,
Southern Seaboard, Ord Cantrell (902 ABY)

'KARKING AIR-DEFENCE!!!!'
'It just - flak, rocket, flak, rocket, flak! All way to surface, man.'
'Yup, not that these landings were ever easy before!'
'True! But work now, yes?'
​

The storms had proven potent enough to break apart the formation, affecting the projected proximity-groupings for the 1st Brigade's landing patterns, and this was all before the Mawsworn landers fell into the air-defence batteries' effective range. Effectively making a bumpy ride into an assault on the senses, and with the dropships thrown off-course by hull-peppering flak bursts, the resulting landings had been made with such force that the nearest defenders briefly assumed the Mawites inside had perished, presumably letting them die slowly in the effort to brace for a second wave.

'Where Rook?'
CLUNK CLUNK-CLUNK
'He's in here!'​

It was little surprise to the Battle-Chiefs that they found multiple raiders incapacitated by the impact, choosing instead to reserve their surprise for the fact they found anyone alive by the off-ramp, but the sitution did not yet seem serious enough to fret about their circumstances; though this would surely come to an end as soon as they found their Darkhan, and in seeing the predicament Rook had been forced to endure, both Battle-Chiefs would realise how difficult the operation had become. It was stubborn pride alone that kept them from calling for assistance, and much like Gorm and the Mastiff, they knew their Order's Archon-Elect was no exception, knowing, deep down, how the Zealot would answer to suggestions of retreat for his sake.

'My- back.... What the kark - was that?'

'Ulusar, all due respect, shut mouth for now. Can explain later, not matter here - on ground now, seen?', the hulking Mantellian interjected, sensing the call to step above and beyond the usual duress, and enough that he cast his Mirialan colleague a knowing glance in the process of lifting the Arkanian to his feet. Fortunately for the Mastiff, Gorm was well-equipped to brave the blood and the rain with him, and when Savrip Soul eventually broke the silence to order,'Slicer, ready Marauders. A-Company go find dropships, no need for rush.', the former-mercenary's quickness to obey commands was enough to bring audible, sighing relief surging from the Mastiff's lungs

'A-COMPANYYYYYY!!!! GET ON YOUR FEET, YOU LAZY KARKERS!!!! WE ARE AT WAR, IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW!!!! STAND, ALREADY!!!'

 

[Aggadeen Mysta]

SOMEONE'S OCCULT UNCLE
AGGADEEN IN OPERATION CINDER vol. I
Issue #1 w/ Open to Interaction​

The Iron Legion....a potential complication.

Aggadeen peered from behind a nearby bush as the skirmish at the base of the broadcasting center escalated. Blaster fire erupted in all directions as Imperial personnel exchanged shots, both sides aware that their aim would likely not succeed in forcing a retreat from the entrance.

He let out a sigh, questioning his choice of assignment, as he took a moment to simply watch. The act of observation had its merits, revealing details that could be interpreted as either positive or negative, depending on the desired outcome.

In this instance, the restructuring of the Imperial defenses and the reported power shutdown could only signify one thing to the weary man. Whomever was commanding now was more experienced than the typical Imperial officer and that presented its own challenges.

He noticed a narrow gap near some shipping crates that allowed him to slip by mostly unnoticed as a Stormtrooper walked by, giving him the opportunity to catch the man in a Garrote hold.

A short struggle ensued before silence fell, as Aggadeen glanced down with a raised brow. He flipped the body onto its side to reveal a specific symbol...one that would be instantly recognizable to any Imperial not aligned with the Imperial Confederation.

"The Iron Legion, Kroeger 's men. This has just become a protracted siege instead of a clean sweep." He muttered to himself.​

 

[Remus Adair]

INV VEXATION
Sasmay Cull | Thomas Barran


The bridge of the Vexation was in a state of controlled havoc as its crew moved to enforce orbital supremacy. Officers lorded over banks of terminals while junior technicians ran calculations, made reports and input data. However the commander in chief of the vessel stood stalwart at the large holographic display table in the Portside crew pit. Remus Adair’s cold gaze ran once more over the field of battle. Warships and entire brigades lit up as the forces of the Dark Empire sought to engage the hostiles below. Despite martialling a considerable force, Remu’s Task Force Reaper was decidedly going to oblige fire support rather than contest the battle too much. Steadily, the flotilla made it's way toward the northern boundary of the city, with the urban centre before it.

But there was a peculiarity which caught the veteran imperials eye. One which bothered Remus dearly. “Lieutenant.” Adair barked. The word was crisp, clean and abrupt. Lieutenant Arnulf Hampson stopped in his tracks. The young up and comer was new to the bridge crew and acted as the so called Holotable Chief. It was a role which saw one act as the warden of the display table interpreting data through the holotable and calibrating it to keep up to date and present variables. A lucrative position, which when done correctly was indispensable to Adair’s decision making, “Have I gone colourblind?”

Arnulf’s brow furrowed in confusion. Face quizzically contorted at the inquiry. “I- uh…. Excuse me Admiral?” the holotable chief approached the vessels commanding officer, “I-I don’t quite understand what you are referring to.” He paused, “Are you…. Okay?”

“The colours, Lieutenant.” Remus gestured to the table. Wagging a finger over the display as if it were a wand conjuring a spell, “I am confused as to why we are now red.” It was true. The IFF transponders and unit identifiers for the assaulting imperials were now all a deep crimson. Each holographic avatar engaging the heavily armed defenders highlighted by blue. “As holotable chief on duty I simply ask; why?”

Hampson let out a snort in bemusement, but shaped up and straightened his posture. “I see sir.” Hampson approached the table and gestured sweepingly to it, “The Grand Vizier believes that if we are to follow the Emperors vision to its fullest,“ Arnulf’s tone was lathered in condescension and pride, “We must manifest the dark side in as much of our machinations as feasible.” He pointed to the Vexation, at the edge of the battle. The warship surrounded by her escorts orbit, “The red, symbolises the kyber of a sabre. The blades of the Sith. Not only that but the blood which makes emp-“

Remus raised a hand, silencing Hampson. “I understand the metaphor. It’s really…” he slightly cocked his head, “Visceral. Creative even from the propaganda doctors. But this is my command ship.” There was a geniality to his voice, undercut with deadly seriousness. “And I want it changed back.” Remus’ head returned to upright position and he glared at the young officer whose smugness faded to a muted dour.

An uncertain silence passed. “You do understand, that this is a command from the Grand Vizier sir?” Hampson retorted. His voice was unsure, but a certain conviction backed it, “This is a diktat from the Emperors inner circle. We are in no position to refuse.” Realising he had perhaps overstepped his authority, the junior officer bowed his head, “With all due respect of course, Admiral. I only seek to ensure we obey the Vizier’s orders.”

Remus’ stern gaze withered the man before him, “Lieutenant, I have been commanding vessels big and small for the better part of thirty years.” Adair coldly snapped, “In all my time, from Captain to Commodore and Commodore to Vice Admiral.” Remus’ words began to gain pace and tremor. ”I have served Luther Holle, Sieger Ren, Natasi Fortan, Irveric Tavlar, Rurik Fel and Carlyle Rausgeber.” Each name, each syllable being decisively delivered with great fury, “I have gone from the Dosuun Planetary Defence Force, the First Order, the New Imperial Order, Prefsbelt Command and now here. It did not fucking matter who was in charge. The holograms on my ships were blue!” He let that lay in the air for a second. The maelstrom of activity on the bridge was stilled for that moment. “Change it. Now.”

Hampson, for whom all blood had drained from his face nodded, “Yes of course sir, calibration will take just a second.” The junior lieutenant blistered before waving a technician toward him. Remus turned away, it was time to check in on the comms station. He took half a dozen steps, before turning around.

“Oh, and Lieutenant.” Hampson looked up from the table, the display was gone and replaced by a settings menu, “Once you have finished recalibrating, rouse Petty Officer Barwick.” Barwick was the junior holotable chief, and an NCO. Hampsons’ youthful features again became confused. “You are relieved of your duties for the remainder of this operation.” Adair let that sting and settle, “So hurry up and shit off.”

Adair climbed to the central command deck and looked over his crew, “Now, who has my caf?” He commanded with a sudden clap of his hands. The reverb carried around the deck, “Right, navigation. How are we?” A young ensign jogged from across the bridge, flask in hand.

Commander Dev Haquim nodded from his station by the helm, overseeing the dozen or so engine techs who helped monitor the great, red engines which propelled the Vexation. “We have reached optimal support position. Escort cruisers are standing by.” Unlike the Cademimu V debacle, the Vexation was now sitting amongst a pod of cruiser, all of whom were under Vice Admiral Adair’s direct command. “Enemy flak and long range anti-air still threatens any bomber sorties we dispatch.”

“Capital work.” Remus complimented, as the ensign reached him. The Vice Admiral gave the junior enlisted man a nod, “Good lad.” His attention turned to the chief bombardier. A quick sip punctuated by the grunt of clearing his throat, “Are our rhypalm munitions prepared?”

Warrant Officer Jair Hockeen stood from his post, to attention. “Rhypalm warheads are primed and ready Vice Admiral.” Chief Engineer growled, “But at this range?” They were in high orbit, “We won’t be able to cause any sort of sustained saturation. Just start a few fires.” Remus’ jaw tightened. He understood his subordinates position, but wanted no repeats of that debacle.

“Your concerns are heeded. But I feel this operation does not call for us to reap a firestorm.” Adair curtly responded, “Comms, begin intermittent signals jams of enemies at our beachhead. Leave them dazed. Leave them confused.” He added, “But also, send a message.”

“Task Force Reaper is in position.”

<All forces. This is Reaper Actual. Task Force Reaper is in optimal bombard position. Repeat in position. Base Delta Gamma and Rhypalm Fire Support available. Report on frequency Epsilon 6 through 10 to receive firing solutions. Happy hunting. Over.>​

 

[Kyric]

Another day, another horrific tragedy to endure in the quest to slow the inevitable return of Darth Solipsis' machinations for the galaxy.

This time, Kyric was lucky enough to shoulder another bounty of an unreasonable value; the capture or kill order a glaring enough reason not to continue poking his nose in the affairs of Operation Cinder. But he found such temptation impossible to employ. Most of the galaxy wasn't even aware of this turn for the worst and the Jedi Orders of the modern era were already spread too thin. And in true Karis fashion, the young Jedi Knight couldn't deny the call of the Light.

Garbed in a set of Imperial Knight raiments gifted to the late Sword of the Jedi by Rurik Fel, Kyric perfectly fit the role he selected for his infiltration. A simple saber hung from his hip in place of the katana he employed in recent history. Emperor Fel's cloak hung around the Jedi's frame; a snow white color, bereft of the scars imparted upon it in his final battle against Darth Solipsis on Tython.

Kyric exuded the presence of the Fel Dynasty; a Pillar of Iron amid the chaos which threatened Ord Cantrell. He captured the hearts of the Imperial men and women who worked the command deck of the Star Destroyer in a desperate attempt to beat back the encroaching darkness.

"Lord Fel," an ensign—Korjilla, as her uniform read—approached the kiffar and saluted. "Our ship has been boarded by three agents of the False Emperor. Their equipment leads us to believe they are practitioners of the Dark Side." Kyric opened his mouth to speak, but the ensign continued. "Worst of all, the traitorous Sahar Al-Abadi leads them."

The kiffar narrowed his eye at the proclamation.

"Victory over the False Emperor is impossible this day," Kyric declared; his face a mask of stoic resolve. "Repurpose all power from our long-range communications and navigations array. Focus everything we have on destroying the arrays. I will ensure they do not reach the Command Deck, but I cannot be in two places at once. Send as many troopers as we can spare to halt their path to the engines. If they cannot breach the deck, these madmen will blow it to smithereens and drag us into the nether with them."

Ensign Korjilla saluted. "Yes, my Lord!" She hurried away to relay Kyric's orders to the others.

In the meantime, Kyric stepped out through the blast door and waited. He sensed Bogan's approach and felt no need to rush the inevitable encounter. His temporary forces needed all the time they could get...

---

Tags: Sahar | Meliant | Tyro Lok
Honorary Mentions: Rurik Fel

 

[Thomas Barran]

TAGS
Sasmay Cull R Remus Adair

THE TEMPEST

THE ZEALOT - PART 2​

Sage's Hill, Sage Park Peninsula,
Southern Seaboard, Ord Cantrell (902 ABY)

'What's the matter, Mastiff?'
'Rain, don't like rain.... From the bad fight, Khan's brother.'
'Ah, I'll say so more.'
'Like said, Ulusar. "Shut mouth for now.", I need think, you need think.'
​

The hurricanes continued to send rain from the sea, battering the limestone cliffs of Sage Park Peninsula, with an abandon that exceeded the frightening power of Nature; with the same ringing every part as true for the lander that sheltered the Mawsworn commanders at the time, and as much as they both preferred to use something sturdier for a makeshift command-center, Zealot and Mastiff alike would accept their predicament in grumbling, disappointed stride. After all, there was no harm in pitching the tech-yurt with ground secured beyond the Sage's Neck, as then the frontlines would be established around their desired target, Council Tower.

'Now thats what I call an HQ, right there. I know we can take it.'
'Maybe.... Need rush, make flinch somehow. Slope steep, but need take quick.'

Built atop the summit of a dome-elevated hill to the west, and in clear sight of the half-submerged, half-broken dropship, seen jutting up beyond the Neck in a visible taunt to it's assailants in the east, and it awakened a certain rueful appreciation in the hearts of the Marauders who survived long enough to see it. Yet fortunately for the Zealot's effort to establish a foothold on the mainland, quite a few of the Rogues' first iteration had survived the landings, and with a relieving majority of the survivors still in fighting condition, their offensive would commence much sooner than expected.

Fate, however, would bless Rook twice that night, letting the CDA (Climate Disruption Array) persist without fault or disturbance, though the 1st Mawsworn lazily assumed the weather-manipulation process had run it's course already; a device of which everyone knew was too powerful, and far too dangerous to allow it's maintained operability, an ancient technology that was too unstable to wield over extensive periods of time. But despite the planet's effort to take it down eventually, the CDA itself would yield another wave of apocalyptic weather, spitting in the face of the risks that went with relying on frayed, volatile circuitry, struggling as if to roar one final song from the annals of ancient history.

<"Slicer to Mastiff! Ready up, you've got friendlies en route.">
<"Affir- ah, copied.">
<"You're gonna have to master the tougher words eventually, jus' sayin'.">
<"Slicer, you too shut mouth for now. Mastiff - out!">
​

'Loosen up, my old friend. He only prepares you to take my place when I die.... I won't be around forever, Mastiff.'

Before the Mantellian could respond, the Marauders under their command began to gather within the dropship's loading-bay, seen filtering in from outside whilst A-Company continued the search across the small peninsula, gathering like the next wave of incoming storms. But again, before the Mantellian could even think of responding, another sudden development threatened to make the Mastiff forget what he was about to say; if it had been anything other than a welcome development, the Keshig-Chief likely would have raged about it, but the following transmission from the Imperial fleet had been enough to calm his irritations.

<"All forces. This is Reaper Actual. Task Force Reaper is in optimal bombard position. Repeat in position. Base Delta Gamma and Rhypalm Fire Support available. Report on frequency Epsilon 6 through 10 to receive firing solutions. Happy hunting. Over.">
​

'Shame Great Khan not here. He like it,"Fire Fear No Rain".... That rhypalm, no?'
'Correct, but we'll need a better vantage-point to call it in properly.'

 

[Sahar]

"You really showed him."- Meliant

She spared the man a look of disdain that was only hidden by the emotionless mask she wore, tilting her head at the other dark sider before dismissively carrying on with her tasks at hand as she stepped over the lifeless corpse of the man whose head she had crushed like a Meiloorun fruit. She stopped just short of the bisected remains of one former officer, who, in the throes of death and rigor mortis, still clutched his data pad; she knelt beside him, closing his eyes and wresting the pad from his hands. She turned the pad on and swiped through its contents, confirming her notion of where the engines might be.

Sahar attached the pad to her belt and stood to, swiftly running in the direction of a side corridor, which, in the panic of the stormtrooper's retreat from the main hangar, had been left wide open. She spared no thought to the others she'd arrived with; only the task at hand mattered.

She stopped abruptly near the corner of another corridor, sensing the presence of troopers running in her general direction. She could feel their fear and apprehension of what they'd been sent to face; she fed off of their fear and hate. It made her whole.

Sahar stepped out in front of them, igniting her lightsaber and stepping forward as the men shouted to open fire; she deflected each bolt thrown her way, striking them aside and redirecting them back at the troopers, hitting two square in the head and chest as they crumbled to the floor. She rushed forward with inhuman speed, dropping low and swinging her saber up right into the chest of one trooper, cleaving him in half as she backhanded another trooper sending him crashing into the others. Sahar used that chance to redirect her saber and bring it crashing down on top of the head of one dazed trooper, splitting his helmet clean open and cutting his head open.

It was all a blur, and by the end of it, she stood alone with a dozen bodies adorning the corridor behind her. The door they had been guarding led further into the engineering deck, but there was just one slight problem.

She did not have clearance. It required a handprint to open from one of the engineering officers.

And the datapad wouldn't work.

Sahar glanced around, looking down on the body of one of the men she had slain. An engineering officer, she'd brutally cut him down, his uniform burned and bearing signs of force lighting. She looked back up and around, shrugging apathetically as she grabbed his corpse by the hand and dragged him over to the door console. She put his hand to the console, waiting impatiently as it flashed green, dropping the corpse without a second thought as his head unceremoniously bounced off the console and his body hit the floor.

Sahar could feel someone else. Another signature, but this one wasn't one filled with hate. She felt a twitch of excitement.

The hunt was on.

Kyric​

​

​

​

 

[Kyric]

There were few warriors sworn to Darth Solipsis that inspired a genuine fear within Kyric. He knew not the breadth of the Shadow Emperor's might, nor an inkling of the man's grand plan. But the kiffar knew the Champions of the False Emperor—his Elite—harnessed power that set them apart from lesser practitioners of the Dark Side. Among this specialized cabal, Creuat and Sahar stood apart within the Jedi's mind. He witnessed their cruelty firsthand; felt their fervent hate as it bathed the Grand Convocation Chamber on Coruscant alongside their cruel master.

The fact one of them stalked these very halls spelled doom for Kyric's forces. There was little chance he could hold off Sahar, let alone the others beside her. He needed to find another way to delay Operation Cinder's march into the Core Worlds.

Again, Master Ashina's words cut through the storm brewing within his apprentice's mind.

Hesitation is defeat.

Kyric activated his commlink as he pressed deeper into the corridors. "Change of plans, Korjilla. It was foolish to think even a moment could be the difference in this battle. Route a course directly over the Hydrogen-Fission Plant, then move to abandon ship."

"We will not abandon you, Sir!"

"This is not up for debate. They've struck this planet for a reason and I am confident in saying the Plant is a resource Solipsis would rather see undamaged through this attack." Kyric stood at a four-way intersection; his focus diverted entirely to the presence inching closer to his position with each second. "If we can destroy the Plant, we may trigger a chain reaction that wipes out a sizeable portion of the enemy forces."

"What about the city?" Korjilla demanded.

"What imperial man, woman, or child would prefer to live in chains under this sycophant's rule? Their lives were forfeit the moment the enemy appeared over this planet."

It pained Kyric to speak these words, but he knew them to be true. This wasn't a battle he could win alone. Even the combined might of the Jedi Order wouldn't turn the tide this day. The Agents of Light were unprepared, and for that, those caught between the Dark Lord and his objective were nothing more than fuel for the Emperor's war machine.

"What about you, my Lord?"

"I'll buy you and the others time to execute the maneuver. I cannot guarantee anything else. Your lives will be your own to save this day, Ensign."

Kyric cut the connection there and released a deep breath. He felt his fear rising; the foreboding sense of dread that plagued him since his escape from Prowler II back on Cademimu V rising to a crescendo. The kiffar's battle with Creuat back on Obredaan was merely the tip of the iceberg; the first of many insurmountable obstacles the Jedi would face if he truly intended to right the wrongs of his father's past and finally close the book on the Tale of Ryv Karis: the Little Kiffar Who Could.

When the blastdoor opened to reveal Sahar, Kyric slipped his saber hilt from his hip and activated the weapon. An ardent blade burned to life with a snap-hiss; it blazed with the promise of retribution, but for who Kyric was entirely uncertain...

---

Tags: Sahar
Honorable Mentions: Creuat | Prowler II

 

[Tyro Lok]

Meliant | Sahar | Kyric​

Tyro Lok stood amidst the wreckage, black sleeveless robes draped in the haze of smoke curling up from the crumpled landing craft. The hiss of cooling metal and the distant whine of klaxons painted a grim overture for was to come. The boarding action had gone as expected, chaotic, brutal, and unrelenting. His breath, drawn slow through the modulator of his helm, resonated with unnatural calm. The Force writhed in the bowels of the vessel, a living thing hungry for blood.

The Dark Side Elite had arrived.

Tyro's faceless helm turned slightly toward Meliant who had posed his question while peering past the field of corpses strewn in the hangar. Tyro offered no immediate reply, he was still listening, feeling his surroundings through the empyrean. The ship was alive with fear, it slithered down every corridor like a river of gasoline waiting for the match.

"Do we capture the ship, or destroy it?"

A beat.

"We cast the traitors into the fire," Tyro said, voice cold and measured. "The ship follows."

His eyes averted briefly as Sahar departed into the guts of the destroyer, her path marked in the hissing wake of her saber, and that of the panicked and the unworthy she struck down. She was efficient, effective, and yet wild with rage.

But the other presence, Kyric Karis, that was something else.

His head tilted ever so slightly as he felt the echo ripple down the command corridors of the vessel. A singular, resolute light in defiance of the void. A name once cursed in the throne room of the Dark Lord... and now walking in the skin of legend. The son of Ryv Karis. The one who struck down the Emperor over Tython so long ago.

His fist clenched at the thought, not with hatred, but with focus. Through the Force, Tyro could feel it. Sahar would meet him first, and though her fire burned hot, Kyric's light was sharpened by grief and purpose. It would not be an easy kill. He stepped away from the wreckage, signaling to Meliant with a simple gesture: Split, flank west corridor.

The crescendo was rising.

Kyric. Sahar. Meliant. Himself.

Each was a piece on the board now set. There would be no retreat. No diplomacy.

Tyro raised a gloved hand and pressed it against the durasteel wall, eyes closing behind the visor. He spoke quietly into the commline, his voice hissing like frost on iron with an unnatural voice reaching forth from within.

A perverse, blackened tongue, distant and unholy. His eyes rolled back from beneath his mask,

S̷̛̝̲̱̑̍n̴̢̻̬̐̊͂u̶͉̜̩͊̓͘f̶̤͔̦͐f̷̙̫̼̍̕͠ ̶̡̰́͋̐͜o̶̼̖͍͗͘͠u̴̢̯̠̕t̶̡̖̎̓͛ ̷̻̫̈́́̚͜t̷̨̰͙͝͠h̶̲͎̯̉͛͠e̷̳͕͂͘ͅ ̸̼͑̓͝l̴̡̩̘̓͊̾ḭ̷̘͛g̷̺̟̟͌́̈́h̷͖̦̖͊̕ṯ̶̻̲̋̐̀.̶̠̦̈́͝.̴̡̟̋.̵͈̎͒

B̶̡̗͐̏͠r̷̞̪̤̕i̵̛̟̟̋͘ǹ̸͍̲̬̄g̶̞̼̈́͝ ̵̨͉̞̏h̵͚͕́̅̎i̷̡̩͛͐m̶̛̠̳̘̐̍ ̵̢̫̦̐̚t̷̨̞̯̎͗o̶̩̙͌̄͝ ̸̳̘̞̔͌̕m̵̰͍̄̿ę̷̥͐̓́.

​

He opened his eyes, momentarily stunned gasping for air as his eyes readjusted. He took a beat to compose himself, shaken momentarily.

And then he moved forward into the dark, pressing onward as his Emperor commanded.

 

[UNDEAD Aron Gowrie]

TAGS
Gideon Voss Kroeger Sasmay Cull Aggadeen Mysta

THE TEMPEST

ROTTING CLAWS - 1​

Isle of Storms, Sea-Gate South,
Southern Seaboard, Ord Cantrell (902 ABY)

'Hey, who the kark are you? Hey, I'm talkin' to you! HEEEYYY!!!'
'Hey, are you deaf?! STOP RIGHT THERE!!!!'
​

The only thing linking this island to the mainland was the protective circular wall that ran through it's center, and with one half of the island well-manned and defended against amphibious assault, anything on the seaboard side of the wall would usually be considered a marine-landing threat. However, with just one human walking westward from the beach, their protocols would be put to one side for the sake of investigation, sending out both sentries from the main gate to get to the bottom of the matter; alas, even with their Sergeant for night-rotation in attendance, overseeing the disturbance with torch firmly fixed on it's culprit, nothing would prepare the Isle of Storms' garrison for the next turn of events.

'IF YOU PERSIST IN SILENCE, WE WILL OPEN FIRE!!!! TONIGHT ISN'T THE NIGHT, SIR!!!!'
​

Not only was the sudden arrival unwelcome during the midst of a siege-assault, as their lethality-clearance had been greenlight hours before this moment, but to make matters much more of an irritation for the island garrison's night-rotation, the incoming storms were also proving to be an unwelcome presence in it's own right. The first wave of tempestuous hurricanes and monsoons were bad enough before they fizzled out into heavy rainfall, but when the next wave enveloped the entire Southern Seaboard in a blanket of environmental chaos, the first wave would seem like child's play in contrast, and with it - an otherworldly shroud soon followed.

The storms were covering their little island in complete darkness, a telling sign of it's great and terrifying power, dominating from coast to coast, growling in thunderous tones of impunity as every spotlight, every lamp and beam were rendered nearly useless, leaving little to wonder whether the city was experiencing this same environmental blackout to the west. If the wind-rattled evergreens and lightning-flashes were at any lesser intensity, the garrison's Captain likely would have erred against a high-alert order, but the storms, and the comm-link traffic were enough to scare him away from his own hubris.

'I'm not in the mood for murder, damnit! Just tell us what you want already!'
'ANSWER US NOW!!!!'
[Click]
[Click]
[Hiss]
[Hiss]
' THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING, SIR!!!! IS IT LIFE, OR IS IT DEATH?!?!'​

As the solitary figure stopped within punching reach of the island's central gate, having walked between (and past-) the sentries who challenged him, he turned his head with a tilt toward the vocal outburst of the Sergeant on the wall, utterly heedless of the barrels pressing into his back at the time. It was then that one of these Shore Troopers finally got a good look at the man's face, having to lean in just to be sure his eyes weren't playing tricks in the dark, already a shuddering mess by the time the new arrival finally replied,'Life?', dropping the barrel of his slugthrower rifle in abject disbelief.

None could have known the mistakes they were making, and to the last man - none could have known they were playing into the very hands of this sudden, unwelcome arrival.

'Karkin' Hell, Sarge! It- its-'

​

Sounding off from the Island's garrisoned western outpost, their coastal raid-alarm would cut through the wind and the thunder, carrying across endless raindrops between one coastline and the other; and in collective understanding that such an alarm was only ever rung to rally for combat, the overall demeanour of the Sergeant changed, and in clear view of the man at the gate. Caught in a face-paling, eye-widening mask of fear, looking hither and yon in a westward for a sign of hope, but when strange man suddenly drawled,'Its too late for that.... You dance with Death now.', the Sergeant's stomach would quickly begin to churn.

 

[Sahar]

Kyric
​

"There you are."

She hissed as the door swung open, launching a heavy kick at the man's chest as she stepped forward into the room with a lightsaber drawn. Red against blue, Sahar smiled slyly and spun the saber in her hand before bringing it to.

"Is this all they can send?"

Sahar spat out with venom; her mask bore no reaction, but she scowled at the sight of the man and all he stood for. Playing dress up and being a hero was laughable to her at best; this little boy was no knight of the Empire. He'd of been swallowed whole by the system if he had tried to be. No, he was one of those Jedi...

And he stood between her and the task at hand.

No.

This was better than destroying any engines; she'd leave it to the lessers amongst her ranks. A job befitting that corpse in armour that she shared a flight with.

"Tell me, when you lost that eye of yours, did you scream for your mother like the rest of your kind do?"