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Samatharis had been sold on a story. It went something like this: The CIS are good people in a bad galaxy. However, they are good people controlled by a secret cult. The Mandragora. Dark witches with an even dark agenda. And the Agents of Chaos are here to help. The AoC will liberate Ryloth from the Mandragora and the CIS will thank them handsomely for it later. Something something. End of story. Thusly, Samatharis had signed up with The Wild Hunt the very next day.
Flash forward to now...
Samatharis stepped out from her crashed AoC drop pod into the blank twilight sands of CIS occupied Ryloth. A world in the middle of revolution. Or so she'd been told. Sam looked back the smoking debris of her pod and nodded. She looked every bit the midnight Stormtrooper in her black armor. Shouldering her large 3-Day pack and making ready for the hike ahead. A lightsaber and a particle carbine holstered on her hip. Completely aware and awake that she had landed in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by other drop pods loaded with assault birds. Very weird, very angry, assault birds.
Huh...
Anyway. She checked her wrist for the holo-map. Good. She'd landed just 4km west from a nearby Mandragora target. The Alter of Spirits. Weird name for a weird place. Figures. Fair enough or whatever. Recon was recon. No need to dwaddle. Besides, she sensed she was late to this party anyway. Best to make up for lost time.
So she loaded up her pack and began the short hike up the dry mountains of a mostly deserted dark desert. Ready for the long haul and beyond. The Force would be with her.
Damsy led her squad back down the wide road they had just marched up. The retreat was urgent, no doubt, but also rather mindless, as they double-timed after every squad ahead of them towards the Confederate basecamp erected at the dome’s outskirts. The monotonous cadence lulled Damsy back into paranoia.
Her internalized monologue had made her miss footfalls catch up to her. Now, she glanced up and over into the latter man’s visor. As he kept pace, he clasped a hand on her shoulder. “Look, whatever happened to Callat’s body saved us. The whole planet.” Atrisia, he meant. “Damn, I mean, maybe the whole Confed.”
What happened? Damsy blinked under her shroud. While impossible Berrezz knew the extent of what had, he had the fixings of an astounding intelligence officer. Before she knew she was immune, distancing, being ready to put herself down, assumedly saved Alpha and Omega squads from her. Then, parts of her DNA had actually saved many more from Blackwing. She now had the Force. That much was obvious even to a non-sensitive, seeing as she was Knights Obsidian Adjunct. Even more stand-out, she had a new body.
His featureless face was smiling to the extent a man threatened with imminent invasion could; she knew that. “I got your back. Alpha to omega. We cool?”
As a seacucumber, she might have said, had she time, graced with the privilege of loose lips, for all other commandoes were well out of earshot, ahead or behind. But she didn’t as an explosion scratched at the porcelain sky. Damsy jolted forward, instinctively going for her slung rifle. At her side, Berrezz did that same. They expected blasterfire to follow, but instead all that pulsed were their ringing eardrums and, for the major, Luna Terrik
‘s voice over her headset comm.
New orders were normally a gift, but this was one Damsy wanted to return. She had half a mind to push forward towards the hot site regardless, not that she was afforded time to act with it. A bloodcurdling ruckus rose like yonder smoke from all corners of the city at once. Damsy jerked her head to one side to see the crowd already advancing. Her chest tightened. They was civilians, they had no weapons, but she felt like this was war. Enemies charging her head-on. “Break forma—!” she hollered before being forced back by the crowd, addressing all CDF on the road rather than Omega alone. In fact, she finished the order, but her voice was easy for the masses to swallow.
The screams settled over the street like smoke too, smokescreens, obscuring the commandos’ mental mission. Some had ground to a halt, others still propelled forward. She looked to the side where Berrezz had been moments before. He was still in that direction, just further now, fighting for ground back, but slipping further and further away.
It was pure confusion: obey the Grand Marshal, stay to help evacuate; or evacuate themselves. For all of them, risk of death or serious injury was a reality akin to a friend, met with apathy and strangely comforting, but, for most of them, their minimal crowd control training at Camp Phoenix had all but left them due to time and agoraphobia both.
But it would come swimming back despite it all. Damsy would see to that.
“Sound off!” she yelled over local frequency. As she was jostled back and forth, left and right, she debated activating her plasma buckler. Weighing the personal safety to potential civilian injury was not hard, even over the sounds it took the call-ins to start coming: no, she’d bear the beating. Some names she knew, others she didn’t. Numarkus, Kaal, Fengris, Hennis, Da Res, Tanik, Eisahn. More.
Good. They were still up and kicking.
“All nearby Daunt—” In her peripherals, she still tracked Berrezz. A twi’lek pushed into him as he swung his rifle from his back into his arms, and likewise the butt hard into his flank. “—NO!” She added to the crowd’s panicked uproar. She watched him begin to lull forward, doubling over slowly. The matrix of beings kept him afloat in the beginning, but he could only crowd surf for so long.
She rose her left vambrace and aimed in his vicinity. A purple grappling line hurdled in his direction and she yanked, wrapping the cord around his midsection. Jerking again, she both pulled his towards her and pushed her own way closer to him. Squatting momentarily, she slung one of his limp arms over her shoulder. Clinging to her fellow officer, she reactivated her comm to try again: “All Dauntless." Third time's the charm, but she hoped the second would do it this once. "Go 'long. Don't fight."
Even if they could weather this crushing storm, it wouldn't be worth it. But what would was if they could control bunker access.
- - -
Damsy turned to a twi'lek woman, tying her jacket into the closest approximation of a turban she could manage. Artificial twilight didn't come close to explaining this heat, unless one of the supposed terrorists had modified the temperature controls. It was proving challenging, but she was trying to leave exact explanations to Luna. Whatever the reason, this was happening. Sabotage. An unfortunately-timed natural disaster. Maybe a happy marriage of both. So, in any case and with any luck, the cloth would wick the moisture to her skin and slow the evaporation.
As the woman walked away, Berrezz ducked out of the bunker and took her place, pressing lightly above his liver. It made it tolerable to walk on his own, which was surely important. "We're cookin' sardines in there, Dams." Damsy chuckled dryly at his unwitting joke despite the circumstances, but he just screwed up his face. "Uh, sorry."
"I know. Hey!" She attempted to step back as Berrezz drew back her hood to peek at her gills, but he held her in place by the forearm.
"That's lookin' real bad." The sqaualoid exposure wasn't simply neck slits now. It was more scale patches. And her extra set of vertical eyelids, clearly pronounced over clouding irises.
"Gee, thanks," she quipped, pulling her cover back into place. The air stung, heat, smoke, and all. It was only getting worse as more heat leaked into the biodome.
He leveled their gazes. "Y'know what I mean. We need to cool you off. Don't want CDF to loose you all over'."
There wasn't enough time to be touched. She shook her head. "B, it don't matter how hot or cold I am. Dehydrated is dehydrated."
RETREAT!
The sound of Jelly’s metallic voice chirped in his ears. It seemed the hole went down had been some kind of diversion, or had it been. The scratching of something was coming down the tunnel, and this time it was louder than anything a rodent could make. Jelly had seen them, but what had they been. The light on his E-5 carbine lit up to give his photoreceptors the light he needed in order to see clear enough the problem before him.
THAT WAS STUPID
Why Honey never seemed to be able to listen to his friends like Jelly or Cupcake was beyond him. Perhaps “does not listen well to others” should have been a weakness listed in his biography, either way, Honey was now looking at the Lyleks which were coming their way. All of them needed to run, and retreat, and that is exactly what Honeycomb did.
“EVERY MAN AND DROID FOR THEMSELVES!!!!”
Of course that meant he was also taking OOM-003-CUPCAKE
. What was Casanova without his wingman? Cupcake was his best friend, and Jelly, her too, or him, or it, or whatever she decided she was. Grabbing them by their pronged hands on the way out the tunnel, he shook his head as another droid started running their way.
Never fear PIE is here? Who was this new B1, in fact, where were all these other new B1’s coming from? Why hadn’t the three of them been good enough, along with the demolitions expert which Honeycomb was convinced did not count as a full B1. Then again this 314 was making Honeycomb think 004 was not that bad. At least if they were supposed to close out the tunnels, which the hot redheaded leader of the CDF (Honey had her pinup recruitment poster somewhere) wanted them to do, he was the one to do it.
They were running… they had to leave. Lyleks were coming.
That when Honeycomb made one fatal mistake. He turned and saw one of the writers, a Lethan Twi’lek, female.
SHE WAS
GORGEOUS
Honey turned and started running right for her. His photoreceptors were locked on the current object of his affection. Without realizing it the Twi’lek lifted up her blaster and shot the B1 in the chest.
Looking up at the newest love his life, Honeycomb sparked and sputtered out his final words…
“To arms! To arms! To arms, you pathetic sons of groxses!” Major Vidar Fennstrum, nicknamed unlovingly by the men as “the wolf,” barked as he strode down the hallway, stopping at every door to the rooms at the side to bellow into them. At the same time, his orders were relayed through the Base’s Public Announcement System. Blankets were thrown over, chairs tipped over, food left unfinished, jokes left untold, and doors smashed open.
In less than twenty minutes, hundreds of Rangers had already linked up with their units and were beginning to crack open the armory for their gear. Armorers ripped rifles from their stands and ammo was distributed at counters. In a single rapid-moving nearly mechanical line, the Rangers picked up everything they needed.
Fennstrum called for the other commanders to meet him in the courtyard. He strode past the flametroopers straddling their large bulky fuel tanks onto their backs and tested their nozzles, napalm dripping from the nozzles as they let off a few practice bursts in the air. Blossoms of flame curled into the air like ferns. Several men running nearby gave out cheers and hollers at the magnificent sight.
At the far end of the square at the motor pool were about two dozen armoured carriers, anchored to the dirty tanks by fuel lines, lining up like suckling pups, or docked under maintenance booms. Vehicle crew and maintenance staff were swarming about the machines, getting them ready as fast as they could. In less than an hour, Fennstrum had been told, at least a battalion or two of the Rangers could be ready to move out at rapid speed. He had sneered to them to make it half an hour and he had made it clear that he wasn’t in the mood to be spoken back to.
“Here is the situation as I know it, so far.” Fennstrum spoke to the gathered commanders. All Majors of the four Battalions were present alongside their adjutant and trusted sub-commanders. “A terrorist organization known by the same “The Agents of Chaos” have just made an announcement that they are about to launch an assault upon this world. They hacked our broadcasts as well and sent out a rather graphic holovid of some author that I could honestly care less about but it does mean that they mean business. Their composition as of now is unknown. We do know that a large hostile fleet has just emerged out of hyperspace into the system though our own void forces are moving in to intercept and reinforcements are being sent from Geonosis.
We also have several reports flooding in from the city. Hidden terror cells have sprung out. Sucide bombs are being detonated and terrorists are targeting Twi'lek civilians, massacring them in their hundreds.”
“Bastards,” Lindemann murmured.
“Indeed.”
“What of the Colonel?”
“The Colonel is currently unable to assume command due to the current situation on ground. He is at the moment responding to a situation of utmost importance. For now until his mission is completed, I am in command.”
“And what are your orders then, Fennstrum?” Major Erach asked.
“Call me sir,”
“Sir,”
“Oh how I do love that title come from your lips, Erach.” Fennstrum chortled and soon so did the others. A brief moment of reprieve, they knew, before they had to delve right into the brutality of war.
“Anyway,” Fennstrum spoke again. "We have the job of rapid response to any planetary assaults from orbit. We are to counter-attack their landing sites using the APCs as soon as possible before they get themselves organised and land in heavy force. Second Battalion, however, with Major Erach will be deployed to the dome to support elements and link up command with the Colonel.”
“We aren't a heavy assault force,” Pathfinder-master Hark - commander of the most elite scout group within the Rangers: the Pathfinders - spoke up. “We can’t confront them in open battle.”
“I know, but we have little option now. There are barely enough forces in the area to contain the current insurgency in the capital, much less counter massive landings. We’re the only ones that can and with decent speed. We have to rely on our grit, speed, small unit tactics, stealth, and get as close to them as possible with bayonets to nullify any advantage they might have. If anything, all we have to do is to slow down and kill as many of those kriffers as possible.”
“That’ll likely result in our complete annihilation, sir,” Major Thorin said.
“Then so be it, do you understand?” Fennstrum asked with a sneer.
“Yes, sir,” Everyone present said.
“As much as I hate our son-of-a-queen commander,” Fennstrum didn’t even bother the uncomfortable shifting of some of the men gathered as his insult. “I’m going to pull a so-called Farlorn because that’s what we need now."
“Our job is to die. That’s the truth of the matter! We will fight and die standing. We die standing! That’s our job! We kill every kriffing one of them we can, and we hold this damn world until we’re all dead!”
He paused.
“DO YOU ALL UNDERSTAND?!” He bellowed.
“Yes, sir!”
“Then get your asses moving! We’re moving out in fifteen damn minutes! I’ll personally shoot anyone too slow if it looks like they got lead feet”
Fourteen minutes and fifty seven seconds later, a long convoy of carriers sped through the gates of the base, heading down at full-speed towards the dome-city.
-0-0-0-
Colonel Farlorn looked around at the carnage, at the bodies all around them. He wasn’t shocked or even disturbed by the sight. He had seen far, far worse in his eighteen years of war and… and… at the Forever Gate...
The Forever Gate, or so it had been nicknamed by the troopers due to the fact it seemed to be forever out of reach, out of victory. On the third and final day, on the eastern flank, as the sun was at its zenith, as the ground below them baked under the unrelenting heat, the Zolan forces advanced once more, making their sacrifice. Ahead, that cursed gate, defended by the dreaded castmates and the hated Imperial death machines that guarded it. Dark green chemical gas, unleashed by the Imperials in the morning, in their desperation, swept the terrible corpse covered ground before the gate. The air was steam-hot and the wind was screaming at them, telling them to turn back.
No, no, no. Not now. Not now.
Missiles shrieked through the air and fires burned everywhere. As Major Farlorn led his forces up the hill, towards the gate, he heard the thunk of impacts, so many impacts. Clouds of pink mist to his left and right as men were hit. The crunching under his feet from the hundreds of fallen from the last waves, literally slowly building a rampart up towards the gates with their lives. Tanks all around them exploded in great fireballs, leaving behind a field of strewn, broken and blackened. The bombardment was so severe they were all afraid it would ground the mountain away. Ahead, below the gates, the death machines of the Emperor came of life once more and crashed into their lines. Farlorn screamed at his men to advance forwards no matter what, and so the men of Zolan did, throwing themselves and their lives away on the Imperial lines.
Not now! Farlorn forced the memories back down yet he couldn’t quite get rid of the screams of his men as their faces blistered under the constant chemical assaults.
“I can only afford my condolences, Lieutenant,” He said simply.
Ryk Gaelir began speaking. From the stunted and slow way he was speaking, Farlorn was afraid that he might have suffered severe brain damage from the blast, certainly not the first time he had seen it.
The Lieutenant suddenly got up with his hand to his comms, clearly agitated with something. Without much of any goodbye, he suddenly ran off. Farlorn didn’t stop him, the reports had come onto his comms as well. As he watched the good Lieutenant leave, he managed to utter a soft prayer under his breath, wishing him the best of luck. He then turned back to face his men.
“Check the bodies,” Farlorn said. “I want to make sure if they're really dead. First squad you have that job. The rest of you with me.” He began to walk through the rapidly dissipating smoke towards where he believed the epicenter of the blast had been.
First squad began to spread out and dig through the rubble, making sure to check every single body for any sign of life.
Corpsman Farr Jantine wandered through the smoke and found himself behind a truck that had now been reduced to nothing more than blackened twisted steel. He found a broken shattered body of a Twi’lek killed by the blast, his arms spread eagled outwards. His entire lower body had been crushed by a chunk of ferrocrete, splattering blood everywhere. His eyes were closed, like he had simply just gone to sleep.
He kneeled over it and allowed himself to hold his hand. The flesh was still warm. He placed his free hand over the wrist and exhaled softly. He looked around, no-one was watching him. No-one at all.
Gently, he put down the arm. Jantine let his two hands play across his throat. He made one swift movement that sounded like a thick stick breaking.
The dead body's hand began to spasm only for a second, before it never moved again.
“Find cover and set up around the mouth,” Farlorn ordered. They found whatever patch of cover there was in the ruins, behind uprooted or fallen chunks of ferrocrete or behind the remains of a loading truck that had its front end fall into the mouth.
They waited, eyes peering into the darkness. Farlorn sorely wished that he had gone out today with his marco-binocs around his neck. Though at the time it wouldn’t have made sense, who brings that to a fancy dress parade?
A wall of tension fell over the platoon as they guarded the breach. Despite the sounds of battle raging all around them, nothing was happening. How long had it been? Five? Ten? Thirty minutes? Why were they here while their comrades died in droves all around them? Nobody talked at all apart from the occasional cough or whisper.
One would have needed a lightsaber in order to cut the tension.
“Sir, Fennstrum has the regiment moving out towards the city in order to reinforce the elements.” Bellary suddenly spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “He’s moving in on MTAT-1 carriers.”
“Good.”
“Should we not move out to relink?”
“Bellary, we’re committed here. I won’t leave this tunnel in good faith, not with what I’ve heard is happening with the other. Who knows what could happen if we turn our backs just for a moment. We could have an entire battalion up our arses. We’re already struggling with what forces have breached the dome.”
“I suppose that does make sense.”
“It’s supposed to make sense, Bellary. He’s the commander, the great supreme, clearly infallible leader of the rangers! All hail him!” Syna jested, clearly trying to break the tense mood. He sniggered slightly and so did Farlorn.
A sound came from the tunnel, something echoed from a long way away. Farlorn leaned forward slightly and turned his ear, closing his eyes to concentrate. It was the sound of footsteps, many of them, in fact.
“Are those the droids?” Syna asked.
Fifty metres beyond the opening of the tunnel, dark figures were shambling and lurching out of the half-light moving as fast as they could down the uneven and potholed floor. Dozens of figures, charging, yelling. They were carrying a wide assortment of smuggled blasters, makeshift slugger weapons, single-shot black powders, melee weapons, and whatever else they could get their hands on. Farlorn heard the raw war cries of feral voices, and the harsh blare of battle horns. Beneath all of that, something far more animal that he didn’t understand yet.
“Those certainly aren't droids.” Farlorn said. “Men of Caria, open fire!”
His BAW-55 heavy blaster pistol was drawn. He fired several shots into their ranks, each hitting with devastating effect. Men were whooped straight off their feet, chests exploded out, heads disappeared in clouds of crimson. As he fired, so did the forty Rangers to his sides, sowing out rounds in tight, chattering bursts. A torrent of blaster-fire cut smashed into the first ranks of the charging foe. Clouds of dust were disturbed by the force of the firing blasters.
Ruined bodies by the dozen dropped like bundles of sticks onto the ground.
From the Twi’lek perspective, it looked like a red sun had come up at the mouth of the tunnel.
“Kriff, is it me or is it getting hot?” Jantine remarked. He aimed and fired, aimed and fired, with mechanical efficiency.
“That’s what you’re worried about now, Jantine?” Syna snapped, pumping out shots.
“He’s right you know,” Trooper Kardus said, crimping off a double-snap that felled a charging Twi’lek with a spear. She stumbled several steps forward before she collapsed, trampled over by her own comrades behind them. “It’s getting real warm now and I don’t think it’s this.”
“I just got the word from the High Marshall. It’s a heat storm. Apparently common on Ryloth.” Farlorn said, quite matter of factly, as he aimed a bolt that ripped off one of the warrior’s complete left leg off, leaving them wailing in pain. “This tunnel’s a vent into the dome city. A chink in it’s armour. We have to beat off this wave then seal it with whatever we have.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then, Lieutenant, we and, by extension, the entire city is going to cook like a plump roast in an oven on life day,”
Despite the monumental firepower pouring into the tunnel, the Twi'leks kept moving forward. If Farlorn had to give them anything, it was that they certainly had mettle. Despite their misguided ideology and cause, they kept advancing despite the fact that nearly a hundred of their number were dead. Even the dead were kept standing as their comrades kept pushing forward.
The Colonel of the Forlorn could only ever wish that his men would be like this.
In the middle of the line, stood Mehil, holding the standard banner of Ryloth as it flapped proudly in the warm wind. His free hand was around his hold-out pistol, firing into their ranks. Farlorn noticed how slow the flag was waving, like waves lapping on a distant sandy shore. He swore that he could see the very individual silken thread that made up that proud flag.
It wasn’t just the banner, everything in the world seemed to slow down. He knew what it was, having heard it from dozens of veterans before. Fight time. He was on fight time now, that unreal measure of passing moments that seemed an eternity while it lasted but in reality was just a handful of seconds as adrenaline coursed through one's veins.
Blaster-bolts trembled like leaves of fire, suspended in the air. Twi’lek warriors, struck by their fire, fell backwards ever so slowly, arms flung wide, fingers clawing at the air as if trying to hold onto it. Blood bloomed like flowers opening lazily outwards
The foe was now less than ten meters away from them. At last, a few Twi’leks managed to reach the line itself, wildly swinging halberds and axes while yelling at the top of their lungs.
This was - seen far too many times by the veteran Colonel - the Crunch. This was the point at which an assaulting enemy could no longer be fended off by fire alone. This was the point of impact, of body on body and mass on mass, where brute mindless force could only ever win the day.
Farlorn managed to let out one single sentence before they collided, “Do you want to live forever?” then it was lost as the Twi’lek wave struck the ranger lines.
There was a palpable, shivering clash. Cold steel met chainmail, and trench axes and spears met moulded body plating. Blades struck and dug and stabbed. Bodies were impaled, hacked down or thrown back by the impact of momentous collisions. Not every falling body was a so-called “freedom fighter.”
Corpsman Jantine let out a horrifying wail as, just before the Twi’leks reached them, leapt to his feet and charged forward. Those at his side that day later whispered that they had seen an insane smile on his face, so wide it seemed to reach his ears. His eyes were wide, not in fear but excitement.
He speared a fighter on the end of his bayonet, wedging it in his spinal column. He wasn’t dead yet so Jantine kicked the life out of him.
Twisting his blade free, he swung it hard, and slashed through a windpipe. Hot blood squirted into his face. His tongue leapt out of his mouth and took a taste of it, metallic yet sweet. Was this how Twi’lek blood tasted like? So enticing? If so, he wanted more.
He turned again and narrowly avoided a lunging spear. Ducking, he rolled and destroyed knees and shin bones as he emptied his magazine.
He opened two more throats with his bayonet before throwing his empty rifle forward like a javelin. It impaled a Twi’lek through the thigh, leaving her gasping and trying to rip it out. She looked up just in time to see insane eyes staring into her soul and the glint of a surgical knife before Jantine rammed the latter through her nasal bone, slamming it back into her brain.
Syna swore that as he fought, he heard someone laughing over the chaos. A high laugh of someone who was clearly enjoying everything.
Then he heard a stranger sound. A chattering noise, like a dozen feet moving at extreme rhythm. It wasn’t the foe or them. It was strange, like someone tapping their fingers, except their fingers were metal. Something was moving forward in the darkness. Something massive.
Then it came into the light.
Several men paused in sheer astonishment, few even stopped firing. Syna let out a cry of genuine horror and fear, all good humor in him gone.
It towered nearly four men tall with a green carapace hide and six segmented spike-like legs. Curling bone horns jutted from it’s head just above the great chittering mandadables that hungered for flesh. Two long tentacle-like appendages, nearly two meters long, grasped and writhed. Some thick liquid was glistening over it, presumably some sticky substance used to entrap it’s prey.
It reminded Syna of the flat-crabs back on Caria, small docile edible crustaceans farmed on the Great Ocean. He had heard that his uncle had made quite a fortune over the little buggers. Well, this one certainly wasn’t small nor docile.
On top of it, on a leather saddle, it’s rider was dressed in ornate white bone-armour made from his slain foes. In his hand he grasped an extremely blood whip he used to control his mount. Unwinding it from his fist, he lashed his animal once, just once, on the back of the neck, adding one wet wound next to nearly a hundred.
The Lylek came forward down the tunnel for them, moving with a speed and fluidity that seemed impossible for something so vast. It howled as it came, a piercing, sibilant shriek of rage. It’s master seemed to care very little for his fellow soldiers as he whipped forward his beast, crushing unconted under the great bulk.
It crashed through their lines and broke their dead man’s grip on the mouth. Rangers backed away frantically away from the beast, the foe fast on their heels, cutting down six of Farlorn’s men before he began yelling, “Stand and fight! This is our stand! No doubt! No fear!”
He drew his vibrosword. It hummed loudly as he thumbed it into full-drive, feeling it purr like a content pet in his fist. With the battle oath barely leaving his lips, he dived forward, into battle and death.
Behind him, so did his men.
-0-0-0-
Thirteen MTAT-1 infantry carriers rammed themselves down the burning highway leading towards the dome, rapidly accelerating at an extraordinary rate. They hurled forward as fast as their old yet power and reliable engines could allow it, letting out dull coughs between the deafening roars as they went into overdrive. Any obstacles in their way they didn’t even bother to slow down for or waste time and precious speed. Any that dared stand in their way were demolished. Ruined burnt-out cars were punted out of their way, fallen trees crushed into splinters, and any corpses turned into bloody smears on the asphalt surface.
Ahead at the gate that the terrorists had first blown open, there was a roadblock made of twisted metal, and sandbags. Wooden stakes strutted out of the front like erupting fingers and barbed wire curled around the lip. On the highest point of the barricade, thrust through the heart of a Twi’lek who had dared resist, was the disgusting banner of their so-called “Free Flag of Ryloth.” Dark shapes ran along the barricade as they spotted the convoy and prepared their position. Fire began to whip towards the carriers, pathetically plinking off the heavy armour. It’s engine let out another roar, as if chortling at the attempt.
Anti-tank rockets, trailing fire and dirty black propellant, banged off. However, due to their haphazard and makeshift construction, one of the rockets didn’t quite make it out of it’s tube. It gave a small burst of flame before simply just falling out of it’s launcher and detonating the moment it hit the ground, killing a dozen of the defenders.
The pintle-mounted dual-laser cannon of the vanguard carrier fired, blitzing out rapid syncthing lines of tracers onto the defensive line. It made a clinking whirr as it blasted away, like a monstrous sewing machine. Anyone foolish enough to stay in the open as the gunner expertly washed the heavy cannon from side to side were segmented wherever they were hit. Bodies fell apart in thick mists of blood. It didn’t even matter if they did take cover. The powerful bolts simply punched fist-sized holes clean through the bulwark, killing anyone behind it.
A rocket managed to strike the carrier at the side but due to the extreme angle of the hit, the majority of blast was shunted away, the rest the armour simply absorbed, leaving behind an ugly blackened and dented wound. All it managed to do was slow it down by a few klicks an hour and have the gunner cease the ruthless barrage for only a second before he began firing again, punishing them for their defiance.
By the time it struck the barricade, it had regained any speed it had lost. It rammed the barricade with the force of a god. The center of it practically exploded in a shower of dust and rubble. Defenders were thrown back by the sheer shockwave of the impact. They stumbled, stunned and numb, away from the breach, trying to regain their sense from the titanic strike.
There was a deep throaty rumble as the engines revved up again, recovering from the sudden loss of momentum. A Twi’lek “freedom fighter” screamed out in horror and pain as steel tracks slowly began to crush his legs into paste. She only stopped when her lungs had been flattened and even then her body spasmed in shock.
The dust parted slightly to reveal some of the carrier, it’s front nearly caved in from its use as a battering ram and a significant chunk of armour had been left behind. The blaster-canon began to fire again, covering the mounted Carian platoon as they clambered out of the back hatch the moment it dropped down. The dazed, confused survivors were massacred in less than a minute. They didn’t even get a chance to surrender.
They quickly had the wounded carrier chug out of the path of the rest of the convoy as they passed through at maximum speed.
The dismounted soldiers quickly secured the barricade. They ripped down the disgusting flag, the platoon leader tossing it into a barrel-fire, and replaced it with the proper flag of Ryloth. He didn’t allow himself the satisfaction of watching it burn as he turned around to direct his men to repair and man the defense line they had just taken.
-0-0-0-
Heavy fire began to leap from the far eastern end of the parade grounds. A force of three hundred Rangers were swarming forward, under the cover of a dozen carriers and their heavy canons. They moved along in a single ragged thick line of troops, running forward as their blasters blazed away with their signature waterproof weather camo-capes flying behind them. At the front of the advance was every single platoon and company leader, bellowing at the top of their lungs the promises they had all made to the Confederacy the day their planet died and how they would make all those that opposed them pay in blood.
“For Caria! For Caria, bless her memory!” Major Erach shouted as he strode forward, raking down all foes before him with his rifle on full-auto. “Strike them down in the name of the vicelord!”
The back-ranks of the Twi’lek terrorists were caught off guard by the sudden storm assault and in the first few seconds, dozens fell without even managing to turn around. Lylek mounts were targeted by the carriers’ armaments, their heavy-duty guns punching fist size holes through their hide as if it was just paper.
The flametroopers came to the front ranks of the ranger advance, chugging around their heavy tanks of fuel and projector brooms that gurgled out tiny bursts of flame to clear out the tubes. Every single flametrooper stunk to high-haven of evaporated napalm so the troopers to their sides gave them a wide berth.
“Burn them!’ Erach commanded. “Burn the terrorists! The bastards!”
Cones of flame, white hot and hungry, spraying like water from pressure hoses, gushed across their ranks of the terrorists turning many into jerking, stumbling torches.
Trooper Yancy, known well for his obsession with fire, was smoking a rather pungent cigar as he let his flamer torch sputter for a second before it spoke, before it howled. Brute fire surged out down the square in a fierce, licking cone. He swept it side to side, burning nearly thirty poor, poor fighters, who shrieked as they perished.
Ranger boots crunched on blackened bone while carrier tracks crushed entire bodies into soot. Any who survived were bayoneted as they lay, moaning on the ground, begging for mercy. A wall of flames had been kicked up and like demons, the Forlorn of Caria walked through them.
TL;DR
The main body of the First and Only Carian Regiment mobilizes and moves out in a large convoy of APCs, their job is to counter-attack any planetary landings before they organized themselves into a formidable force. While the Rangers are technically a light infantry unit, they have little choice and must rely on getting as close as possible to their foes and relying on their superior small unit tactics. Meanwhile, Farlorn and his platoon of fourty are engaged by a massive Twi'lek wave assault at the garage tunnel. They were holding well at first however the arrival of a Lylek beast has broken his iron grip of the kill-zone at the tunnel mouth. A brutal hand-to-hand battle is now raging as Farlorn attempts to lead a personal counter-attack against the Lylek.
First Battalion of the Rangers has entered the city after ramming through an outer gate and seizing it from the terrorists. Major Erach currently is leading a force of nearly three hundred Rangers and Thirteen APCs to counter-attack the rear of the Twi'lek forces on the parade grounds. Flamethrowers are being deployed to devastating effect, surely breaking the morale of their foes.
It came to her like the wind, a dance of air around her causing her to stop for just a split second. All the spirits had felt it but only one had perched his beak forward, waving his winds about causing the shift in the air around Katrine. The released child beckons us, Jart had whispered to her. She returns.She fights with us. The other spirits announced. It was Katrine had chosen to release Scherezade completely from the Mandragora, and the Spirits had honored this decision. Today, she fought at their will, she served them once more.
"We welcome the child back." Jart spoke, through Katrine's mouth next, echoing the voice through the fields, to the one who had asked. Scherezade deWinter"We welcome the child back." She was his, she would fight alongside them.
Behind the mask, the blonde smiled. It felt good to have her sister at her side, fighting this fight with her. They were a family again, as it should have been.
Her thoughts traced back to the present to the sound of Anesia's voice, speaking of her past with Dathomir. Her sapphire gaze focused back on her. Anesia Jy'Vun
had called the planet home. "As it was mine." It seemed like a lifetime ago now, when that had been the case. She had still been cursed with Avarisa's spirit haunting her, she'd been taken and possessed, not knowing right from wrong. It was before she had come into the now. Dathomir now wouldn't know she existed and she had found a home. She had desecrated bones of the old Witch, she had fought against her ancestor's spirit. She had overcome, she had risen, she had been claimed by three spirits. She had become Mandragora, denouncing her old ties. She was fully, undeniably Mandragora. "So long ago...," Katrine whispered, a flash of her Mother's face appearing to her. Her beautiful happy Lupine mother, her fiercest protector, her teacher. Oh, how she missed her. She had missed her so much; which was why in so long, she had sought the younger version of the woman, still Dathomiri, still not a Mother. It wasn't her, and yet, in her younger years, Katrine had longed.
The other woman turned her words. Her future was her past, her past was her future. It was true. Their link had been their blood. "My blood is wolf," she offered as they walked. "Filled with ichor, and close to the spirits. But it is wolf, not Dathomiri." Her human form reminded of her Mother in ways, though her eyes belonged to her Father. Her hair was never golden as it had been among the Witches of her bloodline. It had been purple once when she had been possessed, controlled by Avarisa. Katrine was undoubtedly Lupine.
A wheel can be broken, the wiser woman offered, addressing her with words of her identity. Lupine Queen she would be, yet she was already Mandragora. WE evolve. It was true, she realized as they marched ahead. "I am evolved," the Lupine spoke through her mask, aware of a simple truth. She had begun her journey as Dathomiri Witch, a pup, cursed. And here she was, Nightmother. Higher than even the wicked witch had aspired. She had become more than her ancestors; and she would become even more than any female had on Figaro Favoura VII the day of her crowning. She was far beyond the archaic ways, far beyond the beginning of the path. She was evolved.
Serve or burn?"Burn."Doashim. He was hungry, he was angry. He spoke first without hesitation."Betrayed."Lylek. The deceiver had been deceived, abandoned. He would not be quick to forgive."Wise Witch. Yet, a message will be sent. We have been betrayed for sure. The eternal flame must fade from this world." The wisest of spirits, the one whose purpose had always been to seek knowledge had spoken, taking in Anesia's words into consideration. The spirits had never been capable of talking betrayal calmly. They had banished and punished in the past, those histories rarely noted on the pages of their history yet very present.
The top of the hill became visible, the sharp mountain ranges hiding the Altar beyond it. Here, it was where Jart had claimed her long ago, where her journey with the Mandragora had begun so long ago. Now, it would elevate, change, grow. The spirits would send a message of a lifetime to the betrayers.
Amelia stood silently on the bridge, watching as the Battlecruiser had been rendered a burning, twisting hulk of junk as it spun out of control into the Atmosphere of Ryloth. Without any kind of control, it was easy enough to simply allow the vessel to break apart in the atmosphere as it continued its trajectory into the Bright Lands. Though a problem did arise with its now uncontrolled tumbling spin, which brought the various vessel's weaponry to cease firing to prevent an errant shot from striking an unintended target on the ground. Albeit, with the Bright Lands being so sparsely populated outside of the larger Bio-Domes - none of which the vessel appeared to be heading towards - it still wasn't a chance that she was willing to take; nor was allowing the vessel to detonate.
"Ma'am, we've multiple readings, the vessel's reactor appears to be going critical. An explosion in the Atmosphere would render a large swath of territory on the planet uninhabitable. We also have reports of a Heat Storm building and making its way towards the damaged Capital Bio-Dome. Fleet Marshal Tyrias Aran
has already dispatched shuttles to the Capital to assist in the evacuation. We also have multiple sensor readings picking up disabled vessels and vessels in distress; your orders ma'am?"
The woman took a few seconds for herself, as it seemed like the problems continued to compile and stack, one atop the other. Nodding quietly, she turned towards a larger planning board on the bridge, looking over the locations of the fleet, both those of the Confederacy, as well as those of the Agents of Chaos. Motioning towards the communications officer, the first message was rapidly sent out to the Confederacy aligned forces.
"Commander Conall Rhorik, bring in the Reserve Fleet, prepare the Medical Frigates for potential burn and heat exhaustion victims. Deploy to the rear of the fleet, bringing the Medical Frigates towards our center for additional protection. When you arrive, you'll have full command of the Reserve Fleet as required. Grand Marshal Luna Terrik
, The E'care Shukur is sending additional Transports to the Capital Dome, we'll take as many people as possible before that storm hits; though I highly suggest we ensure that the population knows that their best option is to shelter in any facility within the Bio-Dome built for this situation. Anyone near the docks or that can feasibly get there should make their way there, we'll have medical and general transports on waiting."
Even with the threat of a fleet whose allegiance was still unknown, the focus had to be on saving lives; not taking or threatening more. Her focus was on bringing in as many individuals as possible and getting them back to their families.
"Fleet Marshal Tyrias Aran
, I am ordering the Farstar Station to target the Golden Lance with its tractor beams; I'm deploying one of my Providence Assault Carriers to assist in your attempt at redirecting the Golden Lance. I suggest we attempt to bring it back into a Low Orbit to avoid any kind of catastrophic environmental impact from its reactor. If we cannot we should focus on redirecting it deeper into the Bright Lands away from any populated zones or areas in our best effort to attempt to mitigate any kind of environmental fallout."
Now it came time to deal with the most chaotic element of saving lives; an enemy. Looking to the sensors, there was a multitude of AoC Vessels and Starfighters that had been closer to the blast and adversely affected by it - the Confederacy had been lucky - though both sides already had dealt with a staggering amount of losses. With a heavy sigh, she began to broadcast to the Agents' Fleet.
"This is the Grand Marshal of the Confederacy; in accordance to the temporary Cease Fire I have offered, I am deploying Medical and General Transport vessels to the locations of your disabled Starfighters and Vessels. Our goal is to ensure your pilot's and crew's safety and longevity. We are willing to render assistance and provide aid to your crews in evacuating your vessels and starfighters. This message will repeat."
She knew it was likely a long shot, given some of the vessel's were likely incapable of receiving the message, though she still had to try. Even with vessels of their own burning from the after-effects of the Daedalus Cannon's explosion, she was focused on saving lives, not taking them. With the last order given, it was time to get to work. A multitude of support vessels began to pour from the Confederacy Fleet, their pilots moving towards their objectives, with some heading towards the planet below, their destination being the Capital Bio-Dome's Docks to assist in evacuating as many as possible.
For those pilots that headed towards the AoC Vessels and Starfighters that had been disabled, they began to send out static clicks, as well as making small maneuvers with their vessels to show they were not there to finish off a disabled enemy. Some were even resending the message from the Grand Marshal offering assistance, with a wing of Medical and General Transports heading towards those vessels that were commanded by Dimitri Lindzinsky, to render aid in evacuating crew. Still there were those that rushed towards the burning Corvettes, doing their best in an attempt to render aid to their own comrades, attempting to pull as many survivors from the vessels as they could.
"Horizon Leader (Kathryn Foster
), Medical and General Transports are being deployed to render assistance to the pilots of disabled Starfighters. Our primary focus is on ensuring their safety and longevity. Requesting that you assist in these efforts, though remain vigilante. If it appears they do not desire assistance from us, push them in the direction of their own vessels - however, this directive can be overruled if you feel that the pilot's life is in immediate danger."
All they could do was hope that their gesture of peace and offer of assistance was taken advantage of or lead to their own people being put into the path of harm's way.
Location: Ryloth [Capital Dome] Headed for Main Gate -> Evacuation Standing Near To:Eira Talon | Darth Empyrean
| Asaraa Vaashe
| Kat Decoria Ally: CIS Enemy: AoC + Insane Extremists [ Oceiros Sunstrider
- J'onns - Thalia Senn
] Other: Daiya Quote:“What must be done must be done, whatever the price, the cost, the pain. One day we all must walk through fire.”
The small group moved through the chaotic streets of the once bright and bustling Capital Bio-Dome. What had served as a peaceful city had become war-torn. Clogged with dust, grit, and an overwhelming sense of horror. The air was full of the sharp, nauseating smell of burning flesh that cut through everything, especially while the temperature rose. Srina had already come to the conclusion that Luna Terrik
and many others had discovered throughout the sudden carnage. The dome was failing—And it didn’t take a genius or an engineer to figure out why.
The terrorists. That, and Mother Nature.
The explosions must have damaged something entirely unrepairable and the unstable wildness of Ryloth was creeping inward. For all of their bluster and fanatical propaganda, in the end, the terrorists would cost more Twi’lek lives than the Confederacy ever had. Both from their own ranks and the people that had taken to calling the Capital their home. Some Twi’lek? Some not. There were Devaronians, Humans, Jawa, and even Rodians that had taken root long before the Southern Systems ever stepped forward to firmly put an end to enslavement.
The people of this world had experienced subjugation, slavery, in its most blatant and brutal form.
For millennia.
Now—This group would seek to undo all the progress that had been made? The progression of tolerance? Of free-thinking? The Diversity Alliance of old had failed for a myriad of reasons, mostly, because it was a terrorist organization based on hatred. This group took it a step further. They were immediately dangerous, unreasonable, and had obviously passed the point of lucid thinking. Murdering their own? Calling it justice? Necessary? The fact that this group, Agents of Chaos or otherwise, had managed to put together numbers, arms, and a veritable militia under their noses was a travesty.
That, was a failing. The subversive nature of it was insidious. The threat of orbital bombardment had halted, for now, but the sky was full of explosions and distant fire. Something bright, piercing, kept shining. She didn't know that it was the Golden Lance (KKaine Australis
) being pulled and wrenched apart with the application of tractor beams. It was too far for her to see with the naked eye. Raising her comm she called to Amelia von Sorenn
. "Situation report? Confirming, additional evacuation transports. John Locke
, Visanj T'shkali
, and Corius Harckon have more on the way."
Looking around the Capital Dome found little more than wanton destruction and cruelty. Srina could feel the dying, the dead. Life could not be remade. Not as it was. These radicals would see homes destroyed, livelihoods lost, and family units separated. The thought of how many, many graves, would need to be prepared caused the shadows to lengthen on her face. Eyes of liquid mercury seemed to have deadened entirely. Light, extinguished. The entire ecology of this City had been destabilized to the point where the only viable option of survival was to evacuate the Dome. As far as she knew, the others were still intact.
The Capital Dome was the target. Or—The first target. Likely, one of many.
<<Our people can’t take much more of this.>>
Her telepathic words were meant for Darth Metus
alone. She refused to show weakness before Darth Empyrean
or Eira Talon. Even Kat Decoria
and Asaraa Vaashe
could never know. Standing strong was what she was known for. She was unbreakable, unmovable. But Ryloth? It was very much so capable of injury. Srina led the group toward one of the evacuation points. They seemed to be picking up others along the way. The Main Gate would be the easiest way to ferry people out of the Dome but the white-haired woman felt wary. It also made for an easy mark. A rather large group came tumbling up from one of the emergency bunkers. The blast doors snapped open and Srina could see the heat radiating. They were breathless—And she could only imagine that the same thing was happening all over the Dome. “Lord Vaashe (Asaraa Vaashe
) and Ms. Decoria (Kat Decoria
) please aid them. See to it that they are ready and able to move. We won’t be able to stay here long.”
The ground was rumbling. Groaning, like something had placed too much stress in the wrong places and the earth beneath couldn’t settle. Her jaw tightened and she glanced at Eira. Once, the bunkers would have been a viable option. Not anymore.
The Dome wasfailing. Utterly, and completely. Piece by piece. Unless something or someone found a way to stem the cascade of system failures it stood to reason that all of the bunkers would eventually overheat. Some of the stragglers that they’d picked up along the way moved forward to help them as well and Srina was momentarily caught in a flurry of movement. She lost sight of Eira, Maliphant, and the others—But what placed itself in her path was very strange.
A diminutive human-female (Daiya
) with dirty blonde hair and large blue eyes the size of dinner plates. Her words were almost jovial and it took Srina a moment to realize that what flowed from the youngling was almost a compliment. There was something about her that felt familiar. The wintry Echani was certain she had never met this child. Yet, there was something in her that rang kindred. Something in her eyes. Srina paused. Did they do more than see?
The Exarch glanced toward Eira when her words washed over her mind like a cooling rain. Obviously, she was correct. The strange request that the pale-child made caused Srina to tilt her head. Her expression was empty. As if she didn’t comprehend the request. More than anything she was looking for some sign of injury. Reports stated that anyone without lekku seemed to be target for the terrorists. Keen Echani eyes could see that her “biggest fan” had recently been crying. Red eyes, puffy. Had she been injured? Had she gotten lost in the initial shuffle?
Silvery eyes slid around her form. Bulky. What did she carry?
“I do not…do that. I am no one of which you should aspire to.”
Her words were plain. She would not sign her name. Her lips parted to inquire as to if she had been harmed when something quite small rushed up to them. A Jawa? The hooded scavenger reached up and fed the duckling (Duckie Talon
) a few small items that it seemed very pleased to have. The whole absurdity of what had transpired in the last few seconds made her feel as if she’d stepped into some sort of vortex that had spat her out into an alternate reality.
It would explain why Ryloth was suddenly on fire.
Srina watched the Jawa (Moe Uilor
) scamper away, fleetingly, before chilled eyes turned back to the girl. “I do not do that. But, I can use your assistance.”, she reiterated, softly, reaching out to place a hand on the younglings cheek. Dried salt on her skin betrayed her cheer. Something, made her cry. It was easy to understand what that might have been. The Exarch leaned in and brushed a feathery soft kiss to her forehead. Silent, reassurance. “We will see you to the evacuation point, however, I would ask that you keep something safe. Take him with you. He always…Finds a way.”
Annoying. But, true.
The chilly woman reached up and removed the duckling that was nesting in her hair before placing it on the shoulder of the adolescent human. It would give her something to focus on while they made the trek through the Capital. Something, what wasn’t the scent of a burning corpse.
Srina turned her sights back to Eira and nodded to the sibling, one of many, who looked just like her. Only another Echani would know how different they really and truly were. Responsibility was something Srina had taken to like a fish took to water. This would be new for Eira. But, she had silently vowed to teach her. To show her the galaxy. She could no longer shield her from it. The extra evacuation ships she had called for would arrive soon. The Confederacy had prepared multiple contingences. "Grand Marshal (Luna Terrik
) - I hope everything is ready at the gate. I'll be coming with a large group. The bunkers are overheating and it's leaving people out in the open. We'll be inbound, momentarily. The extra ships are en route."
It was going to be a difficult journey. This meant, she would need help.
Just when the rag-tag assembly of Confederate citizens, Twi’lek, Human, and even a few Rodian were ready to begin moving shouting began anew. Shouting, then another explosion. One after another. There had been so many now that Srina had lost count. Her hand raised reflexively and a hasty telekinetic shield forced pieces of debris and shrapnel back the way it had come. More death filtered into her senses. Dust filled the air. The people with her were scared, terrified, but unharmed. “Stay together! We’ll make it to the Main Gate with plenty of time. There’s no need to—"
P A N I C
From around corner she could feel dozens of heartbeats. Minds. Initially, she thought they’d crossed paths with a small battle group that belonged to the enemy. It was partially true. It did belong to the enemy. It was a river of loathsome Lylek creatures. Upon their backs? Twi’lek riders. Srina could barely breathe as their group was spotted. All at once, they turned like water that had been diverted, and redirected their course for the quickest collision. She reached behind her back and removed the light saber that was hidden along her spine. “If you don’t have a weapon—Fall back to the shops behind us! The rest of us need to form a line. We can’t let them pass!”
“Take out the riders!”
Flesh and blood would be easier to rend than the carapace of a Lylek. Would they still fight once the beast masters were removed? They didn’t have to wait long. A flash of movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye and Srina whirled away, just in time, to keep from being impaled by a spiked pincer. The Lylek landed hard on the ground from its perch, vicious, and ferocious while a tentacle came around to slap her away. It struck her in the midsection, causing her to wheeze, before it darted forward to make another stab with a bright green pincer. It came down like a spear and Srina spun away again—Light Saber activating as she did so.
She expected the beast to hit nothing but the ground. Only, it didn’t hit permacrete. It drove deep into a wide-eyed Rodian that had been standing, stunned, just behind her. Terrified, he hadn’t moved. Srina swung her saber in a smooth arc and cut clear through its left tentacle. The appendage fell, flopped, and the Lylek released a fearsome roar before spearing the Rodian again. Even as she moved, twisting her wrist, so that she could attack at the underbelly of the beast—Part of her knew it was too late.
By the time her weapon found purchase the Rodian had already been torn apart. Each individual that she had tried to save in this sweltering heat, in this battlefield, that didn’t fit the criteria of the terrorist agenda was being systematically hunted. She could see the insectoid beasts leap around Twi’lek born
Rylothans. They moved, like a plague, dismembering all they could. Devouring.
Person after person exchanged words, some of it sounding like squabble at times. Then the Wolf noticed attention on her stronger than normal, making her blue gaze cover through the faces until her eyes landed Raven Thystle
, piercing her gaze upon Alwine Daye
and herself for a while before she began to speak, addressing the Sikeen Viceroy instead, speaking of the Confederacy First decree and its temporality. It seemed easy enough to consider when someone knew Darth Metus prior to this time. The Confederacy should have returned to its dominions of liberation under its new Masters. Parties and peace talks, they had sounded like such funny tales to her when she was a child.
Except, what if it never ended?
Alwine addressed multiple delegates, speaking of multiple issues. There'd been much of which that seemed irrelevant to the issue at hand and yet they had been drawn out as a way to paint the Agents into what they chose. Yet, none of had caught her attention as the Brynadul had. It had been years since she had heard that word yet she remembered the stories that had caused the nightmares. Even as the warrior she had grown up to be, when the monster of her vision was her own kin, Larentia had once feared the true monsters. They devoured, they destroyed; nothing and no one was safe in their path. Now Alwine has reminded the people that surrounded them as to how real the threat was; how present it was. The boogeyman was never present in her life. However, before the monster ceased to exist, it had devoured plenty in its path. She remembered the fear of the storytellers, they still haunted them. They would come, the thought repeated in her mind and a shiver ran down the Lupine's spine. They are coming. The thought came more real today than it had ever been.
Annasari
followed, reminding the opposition they were hereby invite. They had been invited by the Viceroy to sit in this meeting; the people of Siskeen were asking, no, demanding their freedom from those who always claimed they had given it. Instead of addressing each individually, Derek Dib
spoke of the three blind men and Hutt story. Perspective was everything, in the end, his words rang true. He'd focus on the offer of the Exarch though, taking his offer of parting as friends. United Sikeen Coalition would stand alone, allied with the Confederacy but on their own two feet.
Even as the conversation seemed to be proceeding well, Faye Malvern
begun to propose something quite opposite - removal of the cameras and silence of the Agents present as this was a discussion between Siskeen and the Confederacy. Then, a reminder of the Confederate Assets within the system that the Confederacy had no intention of keeping behind. Enlil
seemed to desire to end the endless arrival of words so unnecessary, calling the consensus of secession reached. The Exarch had offered, the Viceroy had accepted. It seemed so simple in the sea of words, so easy. Yet, what the rest kept on reminded her of the very thought that occurred to her when this was offered.
Was it possible?
Little words chipped in, quiet, growing louder. Larentia found the voice to belong again to the woman who had embraced Viceroy prior. She seemed to be struggling with the situation, with words exchanged, with the deaths. Innocent deaths were hard but what was not in front of you, you could not prevent. There was no point in crying over spilled milk. Fight for a better tomorrow to justify the loss of them, yes. But crying seemed so childlike, so silly, her eyes closed slowly as her head turned, focusing back on others. She would not hear anymore of it.
The request to cancel the feed was canceled. Though they made her uneasy, she welcomed the notion of transparency none the less. Something else, Larentia noticed, in the way the Viceroy was paying close attention to his chronometer, impatiently almost. Her head titled ever so slightly as she observed, sending a thought to Alwine Daye
then, an image of Derek glancing down. She wondered whether Alwine was aware or not. 'Observe,' was all she would send to the other Lupine before she resumed her focus on the rest of them.
Daegon Corvinus
was consoling the angelic woman in her crying, addressing the room as he did. When he spoke, he spoke of innocence, demanding they offer aid, to negotiate when they had an opportunity. Actions were concrete, the Lupine had heard. And actions we will perform, the demon whispered into her mind, a message will be sent. It was ever so simple, so light when Larentia knew it he spoke of the Altar on Ryloth, knew he spoke of the message the spirits sought to send to the religious order of the Confederacy for their betrayal. Their mission there was very different than the one the Siskeen delegation held. Theirs was one of the peaceful negotiations, an end to a dominion of the Confederacy over the planet.
It was strange how the lessons in life had taught her a calm, taught her how to remain quiet when she would gladly interrupt, impatiently so. This was no her arena, she served to both protect and observe. Alwine made her good points, she spoke her truth, as did other delegates. One side from the other, they rejected wise words of warnings. They failed to see the bigger picture, of the days to come; of the monsters that would spread out through the galaxy. Someday, they might have needed to raise their arms together, fight against a common enemy. Would they be able to with such hate between them, such judgment?
When the blonde woman spoke both of her own independence and of Siskeen remaining a Confederate space, Larentia's head titled, somewhat confused of the misconception in those words. She would keep her freedom but urge another to not ask for it? How logical was that? Tsk Tsk, how odd it had sounded. And the mention on slavery. Larentia grew on a planet filled with them. They were citizens to her, but they had once had far less freedom they did now. Slavery was the way of history for some planets. In her education, Mother had made the distinction of the Confederacy - it banned it, yet kept its eyes open to others. As if only, on the planets that would insist on it mattered. Yet, make friends with slavers with ease. It was remembered, never forgotten. No, to look upon a culture that accepted incoming slaves but insisted on a good life for them within its territory was hardly far.
Yet here, now.. she would have to wonder. "You would cling to your own independence for dear life yet deny another asking for theirs? Your words would hold far more weight if you were willing to denounce your own," the Lupine spoke with ease at Visanj T'shkali
.
To say that their ride was bumpy was an understatement and a lie. Turbulent was the word that could actively describe the group’s plummet to Ryloth’s surface. The pilot flew extremely well, given that there was a ship falling towards Ryloth and the chaos that ensued around this fact was all very distracting. The woman kept them mostly on course and out of harm’s way which he was grateful for. With any luck, they’d make fall within the next few minutes and be-
He froze.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the fleeting glimmer of what appeared to be a large, swirling, raging fire. His breath hitched and he started to tremble in his seat, his hands shaking slowly at first and then impossibly fast as it beat an uneven pattern onto his armored thigh, loudly proclaiming the upcoming battle. His throat tightened as panic set in at a dizzying pace. His mind swirled, he had to stop now. He was too loud, far too loud, they’d think something was wrong with him. They’d know. He had to breathe quieter, disappear, pretend nothing was wrong as his mind warped in on itself.
Still, his breath came in heavier and his hands seemed to tap faster and faster. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to stop, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
Shut up!
SHUT UP!
SHUT UP!
He fought back tears as fire raged around him, burning through stone and against the night sky. A beam fell, nearly pinning the boy to the ground. The embers floated through the air like orange fireflies, threatening to stroke the flames further and destroy everything he knew. His heart banged against his ribcage, demanding to leap out of his chest and he couldn’t think of anything other than to scream at his mind to quiet. His head jerked to the side several times as the memory continued. The stars were exposed to him and the flames sought to devour the very heavens as it brought about loss on Ambria.
He couldn’t breathe through the smoke and his legs grew tired and heavy as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t even remember the way out in all of the panic and confusion of being jostled from his slumber. A sound curdled his blood and knocked the remaining air from his lungs.
AAAAAA-
The noise was cut off with a hiss! and he skittered back towards the living room and found bodies crumpled on the ground like broken rag dolls. He froze even as flames licked at him from behind. He didn’t know when he started running again, only that he ended up in the cold embrace of the sand before collapsing, tears staining his cheeks and soot smeared into his pajamas.
Kyrinov wasn’t sure when he'd gotten out of the drop pod or how. But, when the nightmare ended, he found himself in the Nightlands with his team and Anat at his side, or rather on top of him, laying on his body and waiting for him to calm down and come back to reality. He pet her gently, with shaky hands. He felt dirty, like the soot still clung to his skin like an ill fitted suit. He scrubbed at his face with his hand even as Anat pawed at it to get him to stop, he felt dirty, he needed to get clean. But, he couldn’t, it felt like it was everywhere and it made his skin crawl.
Minutes passed and passed and eventually Anat let up and he gingerly stood to his feet, murmuring apology after apology to his teammates. He delayed them, unintentionally, but he still delayed their mission. And there were birds? running past them. He made a call to hop on them, knowing somewhere in his mind that they were faster than walking to their destination. wherever it was on the mountain. Anat made it clear that she wanted to run and so she ran beside Kyrinov’s bird in their search for Raven’s Point.
Scherezade smiled and shook her head at the offer of booze. She didn't need it. The days of liquor as a crutch were far behind her now and besides, she wanted to stay sober for the path ahead of them as well. The spirits had granted her the way to the castle, but things could be changed at any given moment. With a former Nightmother who would bless her arrival and a current Nightmother that likely remembered she was the girl who would some day destroy Dathomir itself and would not want her around. And the spirits themselves…
It wasn't a simple thing. There were things that even Scherezade held no fantasies about being able to tackle. The spirits, like many other things that existed in the un-tangible world, were eternal. Perhaps not in their current shape, perhaps not the same one all the time, but eternal their presence still was. Every Nightmother, every leader, gave different interpretations to their will. And you could not kill the spirits themselves. Get rid of them, sure. Make your territory cleansed of them, absolutely. But not get rid of them all, not as long the Force existed and they all were part of it.
But… Someone's… A place's connection to them… Was a whole different thing all together.
Looking to the woman who had still not given her her name, Scherezade shrugged and detached her water flask from her hip to give it to her. That tongue licking combined with the booze… The Sithling remembered what it used to feel like. It had never been a particularly fun part of the whole drunkenness.
And then the woman almost passed out. Scherezade moved swiftly, ready to catch her in case that was needed. "Whoa there!" she attempted calming her down, "How are you going to bleed some witches if you pass out like that?" Smiling, she tried to give her comfort. She had no idea if it was actually working or not.
Sighing, Scherezade did what she never thought she would have to do before. Try to calm someone down, using the Force. Josh had once tried it on her, almost making her fall asleep. The results… Had been disastrous. Scherezade at the time had been terrified of sleep for fear that the Darkness would grip her and never let go, and she had almost murdered him for doing that.
But now she had a drunk woman who was about to pass out, panicking over krak knew what. "I'm sorry," she whispered, more to herself than to the woman, "You never did tell me what your name was. But you're riding one of my birds, so you must be at least one of the good guys. My good guys." It was the logic of a child, not much different than you have a moustache so you must be the killer. But her voice was soothing, at least as much as he could get it to be, and was meant to serve more as a distraction while she worked the Force. "Everyone knows that if you're riding such a magnificent beast you absolutely must be on the way to doing something grand and wonderful. Something that makes you a hero, or makes you rich, or makes you get that kiss you've been wanting."
Invisible tendrils escaped from her pores, moving gently towards the woman on the bird. The same, was extended to the Churi herself. A calm rider with an angry bird would do no good today. Scherezade's words slowly turned into a hum, a soft humm that had never been heard on Ryloth before, she was certain. A soft lullaby, from her home, the very one that she had never stepped foot on since she was a baby. But oh, she remembered.
The melody helped her shape her will, and before long Luna Vega
was engulfed by calming motions of the Force, designed to soothe and relax her senses. At least until they got to the castle. Hopefully, once they were there, the woman would be doing better, and be capable of fighting. Though Scherezade had no qualms about slitting Mandragora throats on her own if it came to that.
Post #234 | Moments later, the Path between the trees appeared to Scherezade and Luna Vega. It would lead them through the forest to the main bridge that spanned the gap to the Castle isle; on the other side would be the enclosed courtyard with the Front Tower presiding over it. They would pass between the trees on either side along the way, and go unaccosted by the creatures within the forest, or the traps and wards laid there to deal with intruders.
Nodding once, the Blood Hound jumped back on her own bird, and clicked her tongue. The path between the trees opened and Scherezade smiled. The spirits, whether because they remembered the old promise, or because they wished to lure her to a violent death, had accepted her plea, and were letting her through. The path forward lay open and clear - and so did the sounds of the planet's native predators from the distance.
"I used to live on this planet a long time ago," she explained to her new friend as the two walked forward. The fauna of Ryloth had never scared her. Even days out of her pebble, she had faced some of these monsters with nothing but a Czerka knife. Food was important, and a girl had to eat. Especially when she didn't know she had a salary she could just use to buy it. She hadn't even realized at any point that she was supposed to be afraid; and by the time bigger dangers had shown themselves, she was already so used to combat that she more often than not greeted it with open arms.
"There were less spells active in the air at the time," she sighed, "But everything felt so much more magical."
There. That was the bridge, and beyond it, was the castle. Scherezade had no expectation of stealth. They had traveled in the open before hitting the mountains, which meant they'd been likely to get picked up by surveillance, even if no one actually did anything about it. And then when the spirits opened the path… No. The odds that they would not tell the Nightmother, and by extension, other Mandragora, did not exist.
An eternity later that somehow felt only seconds worth, the two and their birds had arrived at the front gate.
Confederate Battle Armor (Overlay/Underlay), M-47C, 600 AP and AS rounds, 3 frag grenades, 3 Ion grenades, 3 Concussion grenades, 3 Flashbangs, L-7 service pistol, 60 rounds for L-7, and 3 breaching charges
The enemy had decided. There was to be no truce, no cease fire, no mercy to try and spare the civilians. Draconis kept his body flexing as hard as he possibly could despite all that was surrounding them, digging deep as the sweat ran down his face, into his eyes, across his chest, and his arms literally dripping in it as continued to flex and unknowingly use the force to inspire those around him. His engineers had suffered losses thanks to the suicide bomber that had managed to break through their lines, but even they would not be deterred. He remembered on a day such as this on Surric where he'd begged the rogue viceroy for a similar peace, a similar ceasefire. To talk out their issues instead of all of the needless bloodshed and violence. To spare the people of his system. And just like now as it was then, they'd said no. They'd given into their savagery, their bloodlust, their hate that they were losing. And each member of the Expeditionary Regiment remembered what had happened last time. When Draconis uttered those very words to the Viceroy and all of his charges.
I came in peace, I didn't bring artillery. But I'm pleading with all of you with tears in my eyes, if you force my hand, I'll kill you all.
And he had done so last time. The Commander in Chief of the Surric Local Defense Forces had been utterly merciless in his execution, teaching them all the lesson of combined arms tactics. How tanks, artillery, aerospace fighters and bombers could mesh together to make something truly unstoppable, truly obscene. Truly an act of a vengeful god. And only one thing was different now from then.
Which is why he wasn't worried about the two companies of SLDF Infantry outside of the dome pulling security. Why he wasn't worried about their reinforcements of another two hundred militia at all. Because his combined arms training during the exercise had taken well to the defenders of Ryloth. They understood the tenets of war that Draconis had to utilize since his days in the CDF, and then in the SLDF during the civil war. What those poor fools on Blurrgs and Rycrits didn't know what was waiting for them, was a well trained, well armed, and highly dedicated unit. These men had survived the Surric Civil War, all of the nuclear weapons, chemical and gas attacks, even stations being dropped from orbit onto their positions that entailed. These men had survived and knew what total war was like. Which is why two men from those positions were looking out with Macro-binoculars at the charging enemy force. These joint tactical air controllers were one of the very best examples of combined arms warfare in action. And all across the surface of Ryloth, kilometers or even tens of kilometers away, massive trucks pulled out from hangars and deployed themselves, their massive guns pointed skyward. Their crews would scramble about as they received the information from the targets.
"All available batteries, Hell Hound 1 requesting fire support, prepare to copy fire mission,"
"Send fire mission,"
"Targets are moving from grid point Alpha Lima two tree fife seven et (23578), fife niner seven one two (59712), requesting creeping barrage, HE airburst and direct impact fuses, direction northeast to my grid location, authorized danger close, fire for effect!"
The gunnery crews would make the necessary calculations in seconds, and load in HE shells for a creeping barrage. The terrifying thing about a creeping barrage is that the artillery shells would land at the starting point, and each successive shell was aimed so that one after the other, they would creep forward, spreading the pain and damage across whatever target they had designated. And with a ten digit grid starting point, the artillery crews knew exactly where to lay the rounds. But the woes of the enemy didn't end there. As three squadrons of AT-2 Gunships were still in the area, Behemoth and Anvil Squadrons were airlifting civilians, but Heavy Squadron was being held in reserve. Their fire missions would come next.
"Behemoth, Anvil, and Heavy leads this is Hell Hound 1 requesting CAS mission over,"
"Send mission,"
"Requesting gun run and combat air support against enemy cavalry based targets, sending telemetry data now. Make approach from the North West to South East, weapons free and engage all hostiles. Be advised one enemy target is airborne,"
"Anvil copies all, starting attack run,"
The AT-2 Dropships would form up in a echelon right formation of 6 heavy dropships, their repulsor-thruster engines giving them the ability to weather this heat storm of the planet with much more relative ease than any of their lighter brothers, which was why before they'd been trying to help airlift civilians. But now they had been called upon for their ship's designed intentions, as combat air support. The two lead ships of the run would spot the flying drexyl, and target him with all of their weapons, including their heavy laser cannons and missiles. The pilot would flip up the master arm on the two air-to-air missiles, the second bird getting laser guidance on his own Anti-Tank guided missiles on the target. What would happen next was truly terrifying for all to witness, even from the defender's entrenched positions. Artillery rounds would begin slamming right in line with the ill thought cavalry charge against the dome, creeping along at a much faster pace than their mounts could ever hope to outrun. And not even seconds later the ground itself would be drenched in anti-personnel based rotary heavy repeater fire, heavy laser cannons, and eight missiles with ground attack warheads ranging from High Explosive Anti-Tank warheads, to Fragmentation and standard High Explosive, to cluster munitions designed to hit the ground after the initial explosion and utterly maim anything caught in their blast radii. The airborne rider would now have two of those gunships also on his six o'clock, two air-to-air missiles and two laser guided Anti-Tank Missiles already launched and tracking him, along with two very, very angry gunships with their heavy and point defense laser cannons blazing as they threw everything at him to bring him down. And should the cavalry survive all of the absolute hell that they'd brought on themselves, what waited for them was two companies of the SLDF's finest infantry, armed to the teeth with M-47Cs, M-2 Heavy Machine Guns, M-19 Grenade Machine Guns, and M-3 MAAWS recoiless rifles loaded with 84mm High Explosive Rounds. Because Draconis had given them the chance for peace. He'd given them every opportunity to lay down their arms and instead of using the civilians, even their own kind, as a punchline to their sick agenda. He'd given them every opportunity to end it all right there peacefully. They'd made their choice. And so the Surric Local Defense Force standing arm in arm with their Ryloth Defense Force counterparts would do the same. If it was war the enemy wanted, it would be hell they would receive. Because there was a saying in Surric that came about during the time of the Civil War, that many had said for generations.
Never mistake my kindness, my hospitality, my willingness to forgive, and my ability to look past all the wrongs your people have done to do what is right, for weakness. Because if you awaken the sleeping giant you will know what fear is. You will know what it is to look upon the face of god. And it will be the last mistake you ever make.
"Horizon Leader, continue to monitor. If unidentified vessels do not lay claim you will be authorized to render assistance to the disabled vessels. They are to be treated as a non-combatants until proven otherwise, but caution is advised. Continue to broadcast intent to render aid upon approach. Do you copy?"
''Loud and clear, Sapphiric Scorn. We'll keep you updated. Horizon Leader, out.'' she replied confirmingly to the orders given her. The twelve ship squadron went inverted and made a large loop midship around the Providence-class destroyer hull, once again turning up under its tail and up again in a steep ascent to keep an eye on her six and the exposed bridge tower.
"Horizon Leader, Medical and General Transports are being deployed to render assistance to the pilots of disabled Starfighters. Our primary focus is on ensuring their safety and longevity. Requesting that you assist in these efforts, though remain vigilante. If it appears they do not desire assistance from us, push them in the direction of their own vessels - however, this directive can be overruled if you feel that the pilot's life is in immediate danger."
The Grand Marshal added on the order, and informed about the measures that were being taken to aid those starfighters that had not showed any kind of hostility. Yet. It indeed seemed that they were fighting without much of resistance, the far and unidentified fleet having not yet exposed their intentions. Although they were on the move, it was hard to tell if the Golden Lance had just been a renegade unit of the fleet presence and that they were willing to continue a ceasefire and maybe even negotiate a truce.
When the medical and general transports arrived in the middle of the formation, colonel Foster led her squadron of Starbirds over to the aid party. They split up in fours with three fighters in each and assumed a defensive formation around the main medical transport. Kathryn glanced at the button for a moment. Being the leader, she knew she her role in this. They had to do their utmost in their part, and with that thought she switched off the targeting computer in an attempt to prove their friendly intentions to the unauthorised fleet.
''Unidentified starfighter elements (Bella
), this is colonel Foster of the CIS Navy. As you already heard, as long as no Act of War is commited, our intent is to offer you security and assistance back to your fleet. We won't fire upon disabled vessels, and it is our hope that you will respect the rules of war and do not fire upon rescue elements. Are you in need of assistance, we will render you that. How copy?''
The Force Pike of the Sun Guard and Ice-Blue Blade of Beric's clashed, sending sparks flying high and low as they dueled. Beric had begun to work up a slight sweat, and droplets were beading on his forehead -- he attributed those to the warm climate, though, instead of exhaustion. That was not to say that the Sun Guard was a difficult opponent; the warriors of Thyrsus were famed for their strength and prowess in combat, and Theodoro Pirran was no exception.
The Legionnaire fought with surprising grace and valor for one so encumbered by armor and weapons. Beric dashed aside to the left once more as the Sun Guard lept into the air and brought his Pike down, before reading his blade and cutting down to the left to parrying an upwards thrust. Beric made this own counter, lifting up from the parry to strike at the Sun Guard's left arm, but his blade was met by the warrior's shield. As soon as his lightsaber contacted, Beric quickly moved to a defensive position, moving his saber to the side to block another swing of the Pike.
The saber managed to block the pike's swing, but the Sun Guard pulled the pike back to strike, Beric's eyes narrowing as the warrior's body subtly telegraphed the move. He turned to the left, watching as the pike narrowly stabbed past him, and then used the force to fluidly turn to the right as the Sun Guard jabbed again.
While the Sun Guard favored power in his every strike, Beric stayed light on his feet, using his blade to block the Sun Guard's blows only when necessary. The warrior probably hoped to tire Beric out, keeping him on the defense, but Beric was similarly playing the game of attrition -- putting so much energy into every blow was bound to tire the warrior, no matter how much battle oil had been coated on the Sun Guard's skin.
The Sun Guard pulled back only to telegraph another swing, and from Beric's angle he could see that the warrior was filling it with additional power -- a knockout blow. Instinctively, the Lord of Frosthall stepped back, but that was his folly. The Sun Guard had feinted, stopping the pike just inches short to raise his shield for a fluffing blow. Beric raised his saber to meet Pirran's blade, only to feel the kinetic blow as the force pike hungrily jumped out and hit him squarely in the chest.
Beric had not had any previous experience with a Force Pike, but he was aware of their lethality and the concussive blasts of their blows. The shock didn't kill him, protected by his armor, but it cracked the plating and sent the Lord of Frosthall flying back several meters, landing roughly on the dry earth of Ryloth. Shakily getting up Beric turned his saber into a defensive stance, wincing as he did so. The blow had probably cracked one of his ribs, making it painful for him to take a deep breath. This warrior was good, and if Beric didn't take him seriously, he could end up seriously injured.
The sergeant’s voice pulled Luna from looking over the biodome’s power output and structural integrity to make her way back over to where he was sitting. As far as she knew, the droids were doing their job at the moment, closing the tunnel and hopefully buying them time to close the other. If that was still the case, the dome had the chance to still be saved, along with the people inside of it. And as far as she knew, Anakwor Farlorn
, @Sergei “Jack” Jachovich, and Ryk Gaelir ‘s men were all engaged with the enemy at the second tunnel. Despite whatever forces they could bring, that combined strength would eventually break the terrorists attack, and they would be able to cave in the tunnel. At that point, it would be time to reassess the situation.
That was, of course, if the situation was still the same. By the tone of the sergeant’s voice, Luna knew that would not be the case.
Once standing beside him, holopad in hand, the grand marshal gave the man a nod to continue, eager to hear what else had gone wrong today. “ma’am, as first reported by one of the operatives in the field, Ciri Jade
, the terrorists have created a large fissure..” He paused, as if he was attempting to gather all the information possible in his own mind to relay to the commander. But with so much coming in from so many sources, it was hard at times to keep up. “The fissure itself..or with the help of the previous two tunnel bombings..they’ve compromised the dome, ma’am.”
Emerald eyes shifted slowly from the readings to study the sergeant’s face. If what he was telling her was true, then there was no hope left for the dome. They would have to leave. This place..this place wouldn’t survive the oncoming heatstorm. With a raised eyebrow, not betraying the growing sense of anxiety that rose through the woman, her voice plainly stated, “You’re absolutely sure?” With his next words, the fate of what the CIS had tried to save here from those that wished to take it away would be dashes or rejuvenated with hope.
With a shaky voice, and a slow nod, the sergeant spoke the words Luna hadn’t wished to hear. “Yes ma’am..the foundations have been compromised from the explosions. And the fissure is too big for us to reasonably close..” A nervous sigh left his lips, eyes peeling away from the grand marshal’s and turned back to his instruments instead. “I’m..not sure how much longer this place can reasonably last, and I’m not sure how long it will take for the heat to bake us all.”
For the second time in a short period, silence ruled over the tent as all those within took in the information. It was useless to think about saving this place at this point. Getting to the bunkers was an option, but according to the report, even some of those had been compromised. There was really only one option left at this point.
Luna moved to the holotable, quickly opening up a comm to her second master sergeant, Q’vares. “This base command to alpha squad. Q’vares, come in please.” There was a barely a moment’s pause before the Zabrak’s gruff, unwavering voice screamed it’s way through the table’s speakers. “Base command, what in Kark is going on? We’ve got the main gate secured, but there’s fighting near the garages that we can hear from here. Do we need to break off to engage?” Well, that was at least some good news. As long as the main gate wasn’t being attacked, then they still had the chance to evac all those within the dome. “That’s a negative alpha squad. Keep that gate secure and make sure the tunnel tubes are ready to dock with the evac ships. We’re leaving.”
She knew the Zabrak could handle it, and prepared to shut off the comm once the order was given. That was, of course, until the sound of Srina Talon
‘s voice came through, immediately snapping her to attention. “I hope everything is ready at the gate. I'll be coming with a large group. The bunkers are overheating and it's leaving people out in the open. We'll be inbound, momentarily. The extra ships are en route.” Luna nodded, beginning to gather up her things on the holotable while giving the exarch as quick and detailed response as possible.
“We are, exarch talon. I have a squad securing the area now, and the tubes will be ready when the ships arrive. Currently, bunkers 3, 5, and 6 are compromised beyond their ability to handle the oncoming storm. I’ll be sounding the evac alarm in those bunkers alongside making a general evac alarm soon. Once this is done..I’ll make my way to the gate. See you there.”
While she was talking, the others in the tent were already making their way out. Computers were being completely wiped, hard drives destroyed, and papers burned. Not that there was that much, they had only been here a week, but it was worth it anyway. The only one still at his station was the sergeant, waiting for the Grand Marshal to give her final order from this area. After gathering the last of her things, throwing her jacket over her shoulder, she turned to him, giving a small nod as she did. “Send it.”
Luna turned to the holotable, just as the alarms began going off, sending out a call over the intercom system of the entire dome and the three compromised bunkers, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the blaring alarms. “This is Grand Marshal Terrik of the Confederate Defense Force. Because of the repeated bombings, the structural integrity of the dome is now compromised. Make your way to a bunker not numbered 3, 5, or 6, or to the main gate and prepare to evacuate. There will be ships waiting for you to get you to safety. Your personal things, outside of your Kalicori and other spiritual items, can be replaced. Get yourself and your family to safety first.”
“ma’am, we need to leave.” The sergeant’s voice called as he stood near the edge of the tent, holding it open. With a heavy sigh, she nodded, sending out one last message to the brave twilek now forced from their homes from those that had offered their horrifying version of peace, yet never gave that opportunity. “The people of Ryloth are strong. This will not break you. You are stronger than those that wish to put you into chains once again. Stronger than those who claim that they want peace yet do nothing to stop the pain that is inflicted upon you. This will not be the end of your people’s story. The Confederacy will make sure of that.”
Her eyes looked up the sergeant, who gave her a nod, just as she shut off the comm. There was nothing more she could do here. It was indeed time to leave.
All my blood I shed for thee. All my freedom, I surrender for you. Rest, child. Rest now, and dream of a better place. And pray that I will have the strength to make it so.
Voph listened in stoic silence as words and acusations were thrown between the parties. The Agents stood by this idea that the Confederacy was an evil Empire, to which Voph could not help but laugh. He'd seen worse. He'd served worse. But this was his family now. These were his people. Voph stared silently at Alwine as she spoke, hurling insult and acusation at the Confederates. Voph snorted quietly when she began to cry out against the CIS First mandate when the Bryn'adul were on their doorstep. Almost as if the CIS was making sure every asset available would be ready to repell invaders. But Voph did not expect the agents to understand this. So far, their tactical genius rivaled that of a toddler attempting to shove a square peg into a round hole.
He was not able to keep his silence, however, when the newsfeeds informed him of another heinous act. Suicide bombing. Voph felt his breath catch in his throat. His hands curled into fists. Vis's speech droned out to a buzz as his own blood pounded in his ears. Voph pushed his chair back from the table and stood, turning to look at Dib. "Agents. Viceroyalty. Master Dib. I apologise for my sudden departure, but it has become clear to me that I am needed elsewhere. My people are dying in the streets of Ryloth, and I must go to them." Voph offered a formal bow to Dib and continued, "If, by the end of this, you have decided independence is your wish, then I shall be in contact to arrange the complete withdrawal of Obsidian elements. I am trusting you with the safety and security of my fellow ambassadors. May the Force be with you."
Voph turned to look at Alwine once more, simply stating, "When the day comes that fate washes over all of us as a great tide, I pray we will face it together as brother and sister once again. It saddens me that you have lost your purpose. But know that the Knights Obsidian will never forget one of their own."
And with that, Voph was away, leaving the grand hall and hurrying towards his ship. Lightsabers were collected and returned to his belt. And a call was sent ahead. Preparations were finished. It was time for war. As Voph strode into the ship, he called out, "Corius, get us to Ryloth. When we arrive, dock with my ship. You'll know which one."
"YES!" Ripley practically shouted across the room as she found the backdoor that let her into the comm satellite. A couple of the fellow patrons at the bar jumped at the noise, and the young girl tried to reign her excitement in a bit, but it was almost too much to be contained.
After queuing the video to play, a slight sense of anxiety washed over Ripley. She had a feeling whoever was in charge of security for the CIS wasn't going to take kindly to these slights. She decided then what she would do and went to work, shoulders hunched over the small screen. She would set up a honey pot- a file of information with low security that would give a false identity and location. She pulled some poor schmucks' ID at random from the holonet, keying in all the information she could gather. She then decided to code a bot into it that would analyze whoever gathered this information. Ripley grimaced, not sure if the bot had any bugs, but she wouldn't know until it wither worked or failed. Ripley felt bad whoever this was may get a knock on the door from the Confederacy, but surely they'd realize he was truly innocent, and by then she'd be far away from their borders.
After she finished setting it up, she quickly sent the information over to Toph Graystone
so she could be safe as well. Slicers got to have each other's backs.
She bit her lip as her hands came to a halt while she contemplated her next move. It only took a moment for a stroke of genius to strike, and she flew back into her frenzy.
If Madalena Antares
wanted this to go wide, she'd make sure everyone who wanted to see it- and some who didn't- would be able to access it. She went to work writing a script to post to the holonet every thirty seconds. The postings would be titled with various clickbait, and when opened would playback her earlier words, along with the clipping of the Viceroy. She sat for a minute, making sure it was working, and the titles appeared before her eyes:
"You won't believe what happened on Olanet!!!"
"Derek Dibb said THIS behind closed doors!!!"
"HERE'S PROOF THE CONFEDERACY DOESN'T CARE ABOUT PEOPLE!!!"
Ripley let out a laugh that probably sounded half maniacal, half-crazy to those around her. This was some of her best work yet- but she wasn't finished.
With her first attempt at cracking open a comm satellite being a success, she decided to try again on a different one. She would need as many as possible broadcasting if this was to be the talk of the galaxy.
He hated the dust of the tunnels that clogged his photoreceptors and gathered in his circuitry and joints. He hated the loud noises that overwhelmed his audio-receptors. And he hated the chattering vocabulators of his unit, especially OOM-011-MARSHMALLOW.
KITKAT had been forced to stand at a guard post in place of their commander alongside the daydreaming droid, who's central processing unit was so scrambled that the B1 was daydreaming. Actually daydreaming. KITKAT hadn't even known that it was possible for a droid, let alone for the B1 to have a crush on Exarch Srina Talon. The only thing that KITKAT wished for was release from his metal confines and the torture of existence.
"Well. . . Lady Talon. . . I just want. . ." came from MARSHMALLOW as the droid stared off into nowhere. If KITKAT could manually turn off his audio-receptors, he would, but his creators hadn't thought that KITKAT was deserving of such a feature. They were right, of course; KITKAT was just a B1 droid, destined to become a car. He marveled that they had even given him a vocabulator or personality matrix. Speaking of vocabularies, he was about to use his own to tell MARSHMALLOW to shut it when --
Boom.
Explosions echoed in the distance, and by the Maker's glorious hands MARSHMALLOW was wrenched out of his cursed fantasy, letting out a warbled scream. KITKAT turned away briefly, wondering if his audioreceptors had been coated with so much dust that they were malfunctioning -- between MARSHMALLOW's screaming and the loud echoes, it was hard to tell. KITKAT wouldn't be surprised if that was the case; the parts that had made him were probably so cheap that they'd been scavenged from the original B1 iterations.
KITKAT turned back to his counterpart, to see MARSHMALLOW high-tailing away from the objective, running clunkily on the spindly legs that the droids had been outfitted with. Milliseconds later, an objective and location flashed inside KITKAT's responder -- the rest of the unit had found some sort of tunnel.
KITKAT marched behind MARSHMALLOW as the droid awkwardly tried to run; B1's weren't made for traveling at high speeds, and MARSHMALLOW's exaggerated gestures only made the droid look comical. KITKAT was content to march behind, blaster held at regulation height, and to not overextend his servomotor.
The two arrived as another droid -- OOM-314-PIE, KITKAT's HUD indicated -- ran off into the distance, unarmed and shouting in confidence. KITKAT visibly hung his head as MARSHMALLOW apologized profusely to JELLYBEAN, waiting for the droid's annoying words to be over. Once the droid had finished, KITKAT began: "OOM-009-KITKAT reporting unidentified loud noises. Or maybe my audioreceptors are jammed. Probably are, wouldn't matter if they get fixed anyways. . ." he trailed off, losing his train of thought as he thought about how futile existence was. How futile his existence was.
His thoughts were interrupted by a shriek from OOM-002-HONEYCOMB, shouting, "Every man and droid for themselves!"as a lizard appeared out of the tunnel. KITKAT turned to see that several lizards were emerging, and on them were Twi'lek riders -- local defense force personnel? Jockeys? Thrill-seekers?
Then HONEYCOMB was shout out in front of him, and his identifying tracker listed them as HOSTILE. Rather than try to fight back, KITKAT lowered his head as the roaring fille his clogged audioreceptors. "What does it even matter," the dejected droid sighed, not even lifting his blaster.
At least these lizards would give him his sweet release from his metal prison. . .
Corius had his orders. Within seconds, the Obsidian Star was aloft, having recalled and reloaded the last three of its probes, and a course was laid in for Ryloth, maximum burn.
He was finishing a transmission to Srina Talon
, "The Corps' fleet of relief ships should be coming to you straight away, your Highness. Vis said to use ‘em in good health, and not to worry about the thing in the engine room, it eats the other stuff. As for us, expect us when you see us. May the Force be with You.”
“Alright, the fleet will rendezvous with us, then make the jump into Ryloth space. Things have been one giant ball of bantha poodoo down there and there’s a ticking clock. The dome over the city is damaged and a heatstorm is coming. To boot, the terrorists and their pretty pink playmates are moving on the Altar. I will handle the ruckus in the stars, you get your feet dirty.” Corius winked.
“I set the shield dilation settings to buy you a little time to get your meditation on. I on the other hand, this is my first fight in almost a millennium, I feel the need for music. Don’t worry, I ah, cranked the sound dampeners for you. Relax, go do your thinkin’ and I will do mine. I am looking forward to fighting beside you.” Corius said, patting the man’s shoulder as he went to his quarters.
On his way, he shouted, “Clank….play my fethin’ music! We’re gonna go do bad things to worse folks!”
“Oh good,” Shouted back the droid’s high-pitched voice, “I’ll put on my hat.” With that, music began to blare throughout the ship as it entered hyperspace, and the Jedi General began to bob his head as he walked.
It had seemed Chaos had engulfed this world, and it amused Lirka to no end. The Rebels, disgusting as they were, could live up to their names at least. For however long they would be allowed to persist as the Galactic Scale nuisance they were. The flight was simple enough, most of them present had enough prior experience in flight to make the jump smooth: and the Sephi among them who did not, Lirka included, were at least somewhat graceful enough to make themselves not crash into the ground immediately. The looming prospect of Castle Vureshakkairn appearing over the horizon, bringing a savage grin to the monsters face.
The team finally set down in the distance of the fortress, looking on. A pause as they waited for the commands of the Moff on how to proceed.
"I will proceed...alone. Do not think to follow me. These witches will find no quarter in my form, and I do not believe we shall be welcomed with open arms."
While surprised, no one would dare question Lirka's will. And with that, the gathered party was reduced to one Sephi on a mission: to slaughter, to destroy, to enact bloody Imperial justice on these dissidents. Her blood began to pump with the molten fury that she could barely contain, her heart beating faster and faster as combat stims slowly seeped into her system like an all encompassing poison. They would suffer. All of them, her jump pack burst back into life and through Lirka forward like a giant, spiky, horned, missile. And like she had said, the defenses of the Castle found no quarter within the unnatural being.
The Force had abandoned Lirka ever since she was forced to continue in this world, and the Magicks could not reach through the empty void that her form had become. Piercing through the foul magicks of this place gave Lirka sick pleasure: for these dark tricks of the Force were the very things that had brought her from the all-consuming depths of Chaos. Like a black blur in the sky, she progressed to the ever growing figure of the Castle. Finally letting the jump pack die, she landed not far off from the entrance with the force of a meteor. A loud thud echoing throughout the horizon as Lirka rose, a figure of dark resplendence: though partially caked in a mixture of dust and soot now. She knew the traitors were near, she could taste. Letting loose with wild abandon, she threw back her helmet head: bellowing out her decree with a voice grossly amplified by the systems built into the helm.
"REPROBATES! FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE EMPIRE AND HER PEOPLE, YOUR LIVES ARE FORFEIT! COWER! FOR YOUR EXECUTIONER WALKS AMONG YOU!"
With another thud, she leapt down from her vantage point. Plume billowing in the wind, and her blade ignited with emerald fire. An ever familar though coursing through her head: Kill, Maim, Burn.
Perhaps it was too soon to have put Shamira in this position. Not that the Nightmother doubted her abilities, only that mastering an Art like the one she had chosen -- perhaps even pioneered -- took time. Time to become familiar and comfortable with it, like old leather. Nightsisters knew this well enough. The grasp of a spear you had held countless times before. You understood exactly where the center of balance was, and how much strength it took to throw across a specific distance to stick a target. Magick was not so different. The more it was used, the more it became simply an extension of your will.
To have command of three necrobotanical creatures, these 'Risen Boars,' was quite a feat. Even if it was a strain for Shamira to manage. Still, if it had been Vytal's choice she would have had more time, but that option had been stolen from them. Those here, at the Castle, back at the dome, and spread across the face of this planet had been thrust into a conflict not of their choosing.
Nor could Vytal say she even understood the intended aim of these terrorists. To follow a proclamation of freedom with suicide bombings? Perhaps 'terrorist' was being too kind. Terrorists used terror to force change. Those in the dome sought to use mass murder and did not care for change; and the dead did not suffer from terror. Bombings could happen in underground cities just as easily as a dome, and being left alone in a galaxy with a history of enslaving the people of Ryloth not merely self-defeating, but damning. So what point was proven? If anything it seemed the people of Ryloth needed someone to help protect them all the more from these 'terrorists.' Something the Confederacy sought to do by empowering the people of Ryloth to defend themselves.
In spite of all the needless bloodshed and the propaganda, however, Vytal Noctura was not unreasonable. A peaceful solution could still be found. A way to put an end to a cycle of violence and to restore the Balance -- not merely for Ryloth, but the galaxy. Was that not the proclaimed aim of this group that assaulted them? Their actions said otherwise, and yet the Nightmother would still hear them.
Until a sensation of pain and death washed over her.
In that moment much transpired out of sight of the Living. What was most apparent, however, was the change in the pale Witch's countenance. Shadows crept from the corners of her eyes, across her cheekbones, and from her lips black as the night. The radiant green of her eyes grew all the brighter as her shoulders were drawn back, her back stiffen, and her eyes rose to the summit where the enemy stood.
Some might disparage this change. Decry it. Complain that the lives of all were equal in the eyes of a 'True Witch.' How equal were they with these intruders slaughtering the innocent? How glorious their cause to excuse it? They were equal to her philosophically, but there was no denying the special place one held in their heart for family despite one's ideals. There were facets of the woman that had come from Dathomir that despite the passage of time had not changed one bit. Tolerating the killing of her Sisters -- and now her Brothers -- was perhaps the most severe of which (Judd Hunter
). A matter that Vytal in her younger days among the Confederacy should have impressed upon Scherezade deWinter
. No one touched Dathomir. Well, it had evolved with her standing among the women and men she saw every day. Counseled every day. Loved as her family despite not only their lack of blood relation, but being of countless other worlds. And they -- these murderers -- had not only killed one in some accidental, misbegotten attempt at "fighting for freedom," but twelve in a deliberate effort to remove impediments to their sacrilege.
If there had been a chance to talk this out, it was now a faint light in the darkest chasm at the heart of Ryloth. They should pray to the Spirits they sought to silence that Vytal Noctura, Daughter of Dathomir, Obsidian Lord of the Knights Obsidian, and Nightmother of the Mandragora could be convinced toward an amicable resolution; else they should pray for a mercifully quick death.
"Either way," black clouds began to gather and churn in the heavens above, "I'm coming for you." Thunder pounded the mountain tops of the Nightlands as lightning crashed upon Ryloth in the surrounding area.
"Katrine Van-Derveld, Madalena Antares," magick currents swirled about Vytal as her voice echoed up and down the slopes of the mount whereupon the Altar and all its former glory stood in wait. The essences of the strong women in the area were known to Vytal. Though she had only met Katrine once, shortly before Vytal became Nightmother, there were auras you did not forget; they were like faces, names, or personalities that lingered long after the person had parted company. "The Nightmother of the Mandragora, Speaker of the Unheard, Bearer of the Undying Will, and Tempest of Creation, command those that seek to do nothing but harm to this planet, its people, or the spirits that call this home by any means... begone. Whatever lies you hold in your hearts about what you have done today, know that now is your only chance to turn away from this wanton destruction, find new life in the galaxy, and seek the forgiveness of the innocent you or those around you murdered. Those that refuse... those that slaughter the innocent and taint this planet with slander, suffering, and murder... will know only death." There was one whose decision would not matter in this. One that had committed a mortal sin. A male (Judd Hunter
) Vytal would not so easily forgive.
She reached out in spirit toward the spirits of the world, including the Great Spirits of Jart, Lylek, and Doashim to grant her audience, and their power. Perhaps the dueling women laying claim over the soul of this world spoke to the same spirits, but different aspects of them. Perhaps they were different spirits, which only identified by the same name. Whatever the case may be, Vytal would not stand by and let them destroy the Altar. Not because it was a source of power, but because it was an iconic piece of history. History of the Mandragora, certainly. A place of worship, undeniably. Yet, iconoclasm did nothing but steal the riches of Ryloth's very history from those that it belonged too -- the Twi'lek and the Mandragora, in partnership. As murder stole nothing but the life and happiness of those very same people while promising nothing but bitter ashes of memory with the next dawn.
Madalena Antares
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Judd Hunter
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Jai'galaar Gred
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Hanna
