Invasion Traitors Gate | NIO invasion of TSE held Vjun, Yavin and Vaal

[Azula Ordo]

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O B J E C T I V E II​

Tags: Seydou of Thyrsus​

Equipment: In Bio​

Amon had a way for making an entrance, that much was a given. Least they knew there were setting off a trap, made it alot easier to deal with when it was expected. Armed with her blaster, vibro weapons, and a hell of alot of fury, she moved in as the smoke cleared behind her companion, and soon found that they were indeed surrounded by droid attackers. She slammed her knife into one, shot several others, and before she knew it, she was deploying nearly every weapon she had in her arsenal. She hadn't fought like this in a good year and a half.

Her vital signs were off the chart, the medical alarm in her suit was constantly warning her about her heart rate, though the Mandalorian kept fighting on. Several of the droids scored hits on her, one in the shoulder, the leg, and the head; but she managed to stay up; though man, was she in pain. She caught a metallic elbow to the back, knocking her prone, for a moment, as the pair were being overtaken. There were simply too many of the damn things to fight back. She turned onto her back, winded, mildly dazed, and nearly death from her own medical devices erupting every ten seconds. A metallic foot came slamming down onto her chest, one she just managed to catch, and push back, though it took far more strength than she'd care to admit.

She was an old woman in a young man's game, and she was feeling it now. The droids leg snapped off, giving out from the pressures of the crush gaunt, as she struggled back to her feet, her rifle lost somewhere in this carnage now.

Then she heard the order come in over her comms, and her heart sunk. Time seemed to move slowly now, as she realized the plight that they were now in.

There simply wasn't time. Not for both of them to get out. Least, not alive, and with the data.

Though, maybe if Amon ran now, she could send him the info via-

A droid arm wrapped around her neck, another taking her right arm, as the pair sought to pull her to the ground; she didn't give. With the tightening of her hand, her laser cutter deployed, and with it, she drove the weapon right through the droids chassis; ending it then and there. She reached back with her left arm, and deployed her disk launcher, right into the back of her grappler's neck servos, and was rewarded by the splatter of oil and hydraulics across her back. She grasped for air, struggling to stay on her feet now, as she felt weak. She looked to Amon, her mind still trying to come up with a plan, some way she could get them out of this.

But there was none. She knew it, and so did he.

His words struck at her, stirring an anger within her that hadn't been stroked in many a year.

How many of her kin would she get killed for this quest of hers?

It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it wasn't anything more than a pair of seconds.

Azula couldn't bring herself to respond to Amon, merely lock eyes with him through their visors, before she made her move. Deploying her jetpack, she surged over their foes, and upon landing, rushed for the terminal, blaster fire pinging at her heels as she ran. In spite of her injuries, her fatigue, and the surge of panic that now consumed her, one thought had made itself to the front of her mind.

'Die with honor, Amon. You make your clan proud this day.'

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Yavin IV //:
//: W I T C H _ H U N T //:
//: Taeli Raaf //:

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Every word the Sith spoke felt like daggers, Allyson knew Taeli enjoyed her research, and while she said she wanted Loske to overcome it - Allyson figured there was more to that. The Taeli that Allyson understood was a researcher, always wanting to learn, always wanting to make things better and stronger. If Loske had overcome whatever the HX7 was, Taeli could change it to make it strong enough to not be overcome. Allyson’s eyes remained on Taeli as the woman paced, the cybernetic eye’s red ring pulsating, showing its focus on the woman.

Everything that was said, Allyson stored away in her memory. “That isn’t good enough, Taeli.” A hand tightened on the hilt of the saber; what if it was someone else? Someone that Allyson found herself at times caring for more than Loske, more than Zaavik, despite never wanting to really admit to it. It was dangerous to know Allyson, and she knew it - they both did.

“I don’t care anymore. Even if you tried to help, Loske was still some experiment for you.” Allyson paused, making a quick mental scan of the area to ensure that there wasn’t something hiding in the area. Even if there was, the Shadow wouldn’t have cared. In the blink of an eye, the woman disappeared, folding into the shadows of the Force. She moved quickly, darting towards Taeli, where she stood.

As comforting as the shadows were, Allyson knew that Taeli had several tricks up her sleeve. First, there was a heavy chance that the Sith knew where she was at all times. Second, Taeli had ways to find her movements, so the surprise of her appearing and striking was anything but that. It didn’t matter; Allyson continued with her plan.

With the aid of the Force, the Jedi moved suddenly, appearing at Taeli’s flank, saber raised high to strike down on the woman. “After I kill you, I’ll find Eldaah.” With each word, Allyson could feel that dangerous pull; despite its temptation, she fought it. If she was going to succeed in her mission, she would do so as a Jedi. ​

 

[Sabine Delacroix]

Sabine stood nearby and simply waited while her eyes studied everyone and everything in the room, especially a part of her was debating if she should even be here at all. Her plans had simply been to exist quietly on the sidelines and watch the galaxy burn, to not become involved in the petty wars of ambitious Darths and politicians yet here she was.

Internally she sighed to herself perhaps that would have still been the case had she not accompanied the Nightmother Vytal Noctura into beyond shadows it was there that things had changed, both her and her plans as soon as she stepped into the pool of knowledge. Sabine turned her eyes to a pair of black-robed women to her left, one of them holding a small box gently in her hands although ornate in its design it was also not something that would draw attention

As her mind recounted the past she was jarred back to the present by the dark side washing over her in waves, this prompted her to turn and look at Arctus Silmar before understanding touched her features once again and she simply stood idle for a bit longer as there was a momentary lurch was she felt the tower move no, that wasn’t quite it the force was warping around the tower itself a small smile touched her lips as she pondered the possibilities

"Miss Delacroix. If it pleases you, I am ready."

She straightened herself as she was addressed and waved over one of the robed women holding the ornate box and from it extracted a bundle of gossamer fabric, black as night but with a gentle sheen to it. Her attention was pulled away by a man approaching as she extracted the item from the box, he too set down an item at her feet. This one was not unexpected either, he would receive what passed as a polite nod and a simple “Good hunting.” with that she turned and approached Arctus Silmar speaking as she walked.

“Arctus Silmar, I am Darth Phral. Dark Councilor of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, formerly in service to Darth Vitiate. In this authority as Dark Councilor, I name you Darth Vormer, Lord and Emperor of the Sith Empire.” she unfurled the black garment and wrapped it around his shoulders, securing it firmly before stepping back a half step. “A gift, made of the finest dathomiri spidersilk. A symbol of the burden and power that now rests upon you. Long live the Empire.”

Spoiler: Tags

Allies: Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir Ingrid L'lerim Darth Banshee Shuklaar Kyrdol Darth Mori Laertia Io Cameron Crownwraithe Arctus Silmar

Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran Nukth Kelga'an Irveric Tavlar Zaavik Perl Kar Bakar

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[Arctus Silmar]

Darth Vormer

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

The newly christened Darth Vormer stood, eyes near unseeing as his spirit twisted and coiled around the blazing form of the Nocna Mora. It's scorched and unholy flesh ablaze in eldritch fire that lapped at the air and spirit of those unfortunate souls caught in it's wake. It was no invincible beast, however, and it's ear-splitting howls and roars of wrath would be tinged with the echoes of a creature unwilling to admit to pain, but feeling it nonetheless. A blade consisting of a scorching inferno cracking in it's clenched fist as it was swept through the bodies, minds and souls of those it fell upon. The Force twisting about the creature to The Shaper's unseen will, deflecting and dismantling threatening offensives that drew too close to the great exertion of the newly crowned Emperor.

But this exertion could not last, the pulsating and deadening corruption seeping through the New Emperor's veins and the bloody tears falling from his now deathly pale features to splatter softly upon the writhing, living tower demanded a due that he simply must pay. Withdrawing his spirit from about the Nocna Mora, his first sensations upon reclaiming a firm hold on his mortal shell would be the feeling of the new mantle of responsibility resting upon his shoulders. Of being proclaimed Darth Vormer, a title the likes of which he had avoided for millennia. But as he now knew, felt and embraced the weight of his duty the New Emperor would gently lift the enclosed case the Captain had presented to him. Pained, exhausted eyes staying glued to the container for a long moment before they returned to the battlefield. Silently studying it for a long, contemplative moment before coughing up blood.

His words that would extend to Sabine Delacroix would be quiet, resonant and disciplined as he murmured "It is time to remind this Order that they no longer face the Empire they spurned." Slowly seating himself upon the makeshift throne the New Emperor would release the locks to the container, and gingerly raise his personal communicator to his lips. His voice, firm and unyielding despite the pain that dared not alter his tone, would reach every Imperial frequency surrounding Castle Bast. "All Imperial Forces, by the word of your Emperor, all forces defending Castle Bast are to fall back to the Tower of Saud'Akute. Immediately." Knowing that his order would be controversial, the New Emperor would brush the bloody tears from his visage and draw in a fortifying breathe. His mortal shell, from his forearms to his fingers, was numb to his senses. Unable to be felt, and barely controlled, his fingers would rest on the artifact in his possession as he prepared to free the waiting terror within Castle Bast on those unwilling to listen.

Idly turning his head, The Shaper would call forth a commander of the tower's defense forces and close his eyes. "Begin preparations of the shield generators our Mandalorian allies were so kind as to provide us. As well as inform Shuklaar Kyrdol that the order to fall back is serious enough to necessitate all of them being brought to bear." The trooper would silently obey, activating his own communicator to contact the Alor as The Shaper would extend his mind to the Lady Marrow and in a quiet voice she would have never heard from her Master before, beckon "Return to me. There is something you must learn before this battle is over......"


Those being ordered to fall back: Cameron Crownwraithe Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir Ingrid L'lerim Darth Mori Darth Strosius DarrVack @Any other TSE writers or allies not on Objective 3

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

XIII
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
BLUE-HEART BRIGADE

Operation: CENTURION
VJUN, 865 ABY

Objective 1: PRIMO VICTORIA

Commonwealth Forces: Willan Tal Enedina Tal Tyrell Lockhart

Allies (NIO): Irveric Tavlar Silas Sunfyre
Hâwmâr Lurais Henry Lucan

Allies (NJO/GA/FO/SJC/): Viers Connory
Allies (RGO/OTHER): Augustus Tassar

Enemies (TSE/CIS): Darth Strosius Ingrid L'lerim Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir
Laertia Io Ulrich Cameron Crownwraithe The Monster

BARRAN'S LOADOUT
Primary: Brass-knuckle Dagger (right-hand)
Secondary: Knuckleduster (left-hand)

Blue-Heart Brigade (Mechanized-Infantry)
133 Cataphract Tanks (-39)
29 AFVs
6 ACVs
1 Battalion of Riflemen
1 Company of Combat-Engineers
1 Company of Elite Combat-Medics

THE BATTLE FOR CASTLE BAST: PART 13 - SCARS AND SHADOWS

Dinnae listen ti yer pansy of a firstborn, Milord. He never had t'face Laertia's Nuetralizers in their final moments, did he?
Shut it, Moran!

Muttering Laertia's last rites in Tuath as they both slipped into the shadows to ready their first plays, Erskine's mind was delving deeper into it's darkest recesses, searching for power in his own rapidly intensifying manic-episode; if God himself was sending Leftenant Brand to fight against Hell, Brigadier-General Barran couldn't help but wonder what theatre of war the almighty had thrown him towards in contrast. The naked Sith-woman pacing the floor was, as far as the Stormchaser saw it, something that could only be perceived as an entirely new brand of devilry, one that appeared to (if given the right circumstances) be on the cusp of properly-rivalling the power of his reality-shifting nemesis, making the spectral influence in Erskine's mind appear to have spoken truths for a chance. A new development within the hallucinations, as despite all that the Amalgam had put him through, the ghosts of the Lord-Commander's past expressed no apprehension towards him attacking Laertia's commander outright, not even the slightest hint of draw-back to opposing any of them until the Xiphos knife-fight encounter.

HE NEVER HAD TO FEEL EFFIGY'S MERCURY - LIKE AH DID, MILORD!!! DID HE?!?!?!?!
Myles, I saw your corpse! I fought your killer face-to-face, remember? Visions that still scar my mind!

Despite this, the voices of Captains Myles and Moran were still goading him on, despite the visual recoiling of the others; causing a discord in his own mind that was swarming every corner of it, buzzing inside his head incessantly until the sound of an approaching sonic rumble (roaring into the foyer like a flash of lightning throwing a little ball of hurtling mass into view) broke the oddly-serene silence of the duel's opening moments. It was Cameron, being a good daughter, but one who had not thought to check for power-limiting elements that enabled her high-speed combative talents, causing her to lose control of her entry as Crownwraithe herself went careening into a wall nearby. It would've been funny if it had been someone older, but Erskine saw no sense in chiding the young for their elders' lack of foresight or proper forewarning; so the Stormchaser's guard would temporarily drop with that of his opponent to pull a relatively unharmed Crownwraithe from the mess of glass, window-frame and brickwork, putting the fight on hold whilst Laertia's daughter dismissed their further offers to help, limping off to watch attentively from a stairwell nearby.

Inventor of oor demise, bringin' 'er children ti war.... You just gonnae let that stand, Milord?
Shut it, glaikit! Ah'm tryin' ti get ye some retribution here. Dae ye mind?

As soon as it was confirmed between the duellists that Cameron was safely out of their way, both Erskine and Laertia would return to the shadows for the fight they had both wanted since the moment Io first fired at Erskine on Bastion, and it didn't take long for the contest to begin after that; heralded in by a slash across the left side of his ribcage, the burning-sting sensation that followed was answered by a wide countering slash to where Erskine assumed Laertia's head was moving, but no avail. The only thing his dagger cut through was locks of hair, frustrating the Lord-Commander even further as two cuts followed soon after; one, a gash to the inside of his right-knee that stung incessantly after the fact, the other, a harsh puncture above the hip that barely missed his kidney. Not that it mattered to the Brigadier-General, as both cuts put him at a clear starting disadvantage, and both his resulting growls and groans worked against him in the sense that Cameron would hoot and holler with joy every time, knowing each outcry of his was a cut in favour of her mother's efforts.

Thought us auld-yins were tougher! Show 'er whit cracked the Shadow-Dome!
'SHUT THE KARK UP, SHUGG!!!! IT'S BAD ENOUGH WAE THE CUTS AN' THE CATTERWALLING GREENHORN AS IT IS!!!'

Irritated by his own mind into giving away his position, Barran knew he had no choice but to make use of the sudden outburst, and with very little time to formulate his plan-of-attack, deciding on the spot that his only option was to be quicker about his responses to Io's attacks, and the only way he could do so was by allowing himself to drop to a low guard in both arms. Letting his arms hang loosely off his shoulders, the Stormchaser knew that his only real effectiveness from here would be from countering anyways, so the option to lean hard into this habit-of-technique felt as every part as risky as the initial,"Take One to Give One.", plan. As the short, slimline mass approached from the shadows, she punctured for the kidney again, but as her blow glanced off the hip, Barran's plan would be brought into action with tangible effectiveness.

'Your low-aiming preference is noted, Xiphos.', Lord Erskine started, muttering in Laertia's ear and stopping to grab her by the neck, driving his blade towards her left kidney in turn. Glancing off her hip as her knife glanced off his, the quick puncture from Erskine's blade still hurt enough that Xiphos let out a growl of feminine pain, momentarily silencing the encouragements of her daughter in the process. Stumbling back into the shadows as she did, the Stormchaser would offer a warning for his opponent, concluding,'But you'll need to do much more than that if you want any of this to kill me! Cut me like you want me dead, witch!', with the tone of defiance ringing out proudly as the walls of the foyer echoed his voice back at him.

THE BATTLE FOR CASTLE BAST: PART 12 - THE LAST PUSH

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All the infantry had hopped onto the tanks at the back and filed forward from there, loading up their handheld PLX rockets if they were Quartermasters, changing mags on their SA-65s if they were riflemen or Guardsmen as the remaining mass of tanks began to move forward in unison. Slowly at first, but then the front ranks that remained began to increase the acceleration and climb the gears to push ahead of the larger mass at the back, making a widening gap between themselves and the soldiers they were quietly screening the approach for; just five solid ranks of Cataphracts, pushing off into the fiery remnants of what had been the VEERS wall of the fortress before the Monster destroyed everything behind the breach in one fell swoop, knowing they were charging into almost-certain death for the sake of the others behind them.

At the back, standing on a moving Scout-AFV as the brigade's foot-soldiering caste turned around to hear him, was Leftenant Proost, appealing to the men with all other requirements as soldiers set aside. With the leading-pack contingent already firing off with their armour-piercing shells in the distance, the Archaisian knew his time to speak would be short, keeping it concise for the sake of the others as he exclaimed,'The fact you climbed on the tanks, and without so much as a second-guesser in sight, that tells me all I need to know about the sort of men who fight for Erskine Barran... And that's more than enough for me to fight like a Lion - standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a pride of men!'. Raising their weapons high, the rifle-toting mob roared with savagely-loud approval, with some even firing their blaster-trails into the air in the commotion as the others laughed it off and kept roaring their challenge to the destructive giant in the distance.

Though there is no crown atop our Lion's head, we still belong with the others.​

The forward operating tanks' fire would be joined by that of the tank-mass behind them, with every one of the 133 remaining smoothbores narrowing their arcs-of-fire to just one directional-corridor, aiming all their heaviest-hitting shells at the Monster, knowing that just one more of his ground-shaking impacts would tear the front-wide attack completely asunder. Time was working against the men of Blue-Heart Brigade, and it all hinged on the maintained shelling-pressure of the two-layered Cataphract assault, leaving everything on a knife's edge as always; just as his Lord-Commander would, Proost knew that trusting in one's own methodology was tantamount to clawing victory from the jaws of defeat, biting down on his own wariness for the sake of the other servicemen willingly going into the crucible with him.

As the projectiles, rockets and blaster trails ripped through the smoke-filled, dusty remnants of the struggle that transpired before, the forward-operating tanks would disappear as if by an instant, though still audibly firing everything they had into the unidentifiable mass of view-obscuring murkiness as the second mass of tanks, AFVs and the like followed in behind almost twenty seconds later. The thudding impact of shells against the Monster's shin-guards could be heard, and the closer they got to gaining a visual, the lower their shots would land on the front of the giant's legs; with the playing-field levelled completely, the only players left on that part of the proverbial board were the summoned horde in the Monster's tow, and the mechanized horde in the Rooster's, hurling their all at each other as flames, rockets, lances and shells flew across the scattered remnants of the battle before the giant's ground-shaking attack. And yet, the Monster had finally been hit hard enough, and low enough on his shins, that the brigade had finally brought it close to eye-level, just long enough for the religious Leftenant to scream expletives in the beast's direction as he jumped alone from his AFV.

'And may God's light shine upon you as well, Phil! Absolute titan in human form.... FOR BRAAAAAND!!!!!'

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: Hold the Line
Location: The beach near Castle Bast
Equipment: Lightsaber
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO
Tags: Irveric Tavlar / Hâwmâr Lurais / DECEASED Erskine Barran / Cameron Crownwraithe / Laertia Io / Willan Tal / Shuklaar Kyrdol / The Monster
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In truth, Alisteri had no plan when he went over the top of the trenches.

He was tired of sitting around watching his comrades die while he waited to stop an inevitable breach. The whole battle he had fought only a handful of times, but he had been watching the battle from the front lines. Now that they had reinforcement, what was the point of waiting around? He could see the enemy down the beach, had seen them disembarking since the start of the battle, so why not put a stop to it?

He certainly hadn't been expecting anyone to actually follow him, and the added symphony of explosions as well as the apparent landing of some...thing on another part of the beach had been a surprise as well. The scream that had been let out hurt far more than the stray shot that made it past his lightsaber and his 'shield.'

Behind the monster, the Acolyte led a charge of Legionnaires both fresh and very bloodied towards the oncoming enemy. Intent on revenge for each and every one of their comrades that had fallen today, for each body that even now sat where it had fallen in the trenches, in the craters, in the multiple places that some of them had been launched to. The 'counterattack' was about as coordinated as one could expect. That being that it was mostly a bunch of squads rushing into battle for revenge and glory.

No real communication, no real plan, just one goal in mind. Death.

They steered clear of the rampage of the monster though, content to make their way forward to their own individual goals of bloodshed. The charge had not ended the struggle in the trenches of course, as gunships and fighters roared overhead the battle for the beach was still in full swing. Reinforcements were merely new faces in the battle, but their impact was notable for the defenders already there. Their arrival at all meant something, it meant that they had done their job well enough. They had gained a small victory in just that fact, but whether it was worth all the blood that it cost was another matter entirely.

The charge, for instance, had most certainly not been.

Alisteri himself nearly got his legs blown off by fire from the armored column and three separate grenades, most of the squads that went forward with him finding themselves not nearly as lucky. By the time the retreat order came, not even the Acolyte was eager to keep moving forward. However, he did intend to be the last one out.

As the defenders began pulling back from the trenches and the beach, making their way to the tower by the order of the new Sith Emperor, Alisteri ensured that he was always in the back to draw attention away from the retreating soldiers. Force knew they had suffered enough, the least that he could do was help get them to safety. Well, 'safety' was a bit relative given all the explosions and blaster fire. Thankfully the retreat was far more organized than the counterattack, and with a good bit more survivors thus far as a result.

Alisteri, as well as most of the retreating defenders, had no idea what the tower really was nor why they were retreating, but to disobey a direct order was to be a traitor. And there were already plenty of traitors dead on the beach.

 

[Taeli Raaf]

Yavin IV
Allyson Locke
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"No...," she said, sadness seeping into her voice, "I suppose it isn't good enough." The air hummed with what was about to occur, the Force pulsing in anticipation. The darkness of Yavin knew a conflict was inevitable now, that Taeli and Allyson would be locked into combat. But even that could be an opportunity in some ways. Purple eyes saw the grip tighten on the hilt, the tensing of the shoulders, the eyes scanning their environment.

A beat... and then Allyson vanished, folding the shadows around herself. Taeli smiled. The girl had been learning some new tricks it seemed, and Taeli couldn't be happier to see that... eyes closed as she followed the currents of the Force as she had learned from the Fallanassi. Coren liked to use the same technique as well, although she wasn't entirely sure it was a true application of Fold Space or something else...

Crimson light ignited, coming up to deflect the high strike at her flank away to her left as she spun out in a typical Makashi maneuver, cloak swirling.

"You won't kill me, Allyson," she said, the ever slight smug smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she continued to hold her saber in a defensive stance. "As much as you might want to right now."

But then Allyson could also probably be confident that Taeli wouldn't want to kill her. She had spent considerable time establishing a rapport with the younger Corellian, taking an interest in her growth. Certainly she wanted the girl to fall to the dark side, and she had seemed close before, but she had pulled herself back from the precipice when she was taken back to Alliance space after the Jorryn fiasco.

But there was something that could be played on perhaps...

"Why do you want to find Eldaah?" she asked, genuinely curious if her hypothesis might be correct but also as a distraction as she used the Force to throw some branches torn from their trees at the girl.

 

[Ulrich]

Objective 1 Spearhead Veers.

Equipment : Plattenpanzer , Kriegertod

Opponent: Viers Connory

I know pain. Growing up a captive in the beast pits I experienced all manner of indignities. For all their bluster of being honorable warriors the Mandalorians are just as keen to employ Pavlovian reinforcement as any common slaver. Electrical currents, beatings and other more inventive methods were used in an attempt to condition me into being a loyal mount to some great warrior despot. But these had nothing on the pain that force light wreaked on my being. The energy of the malevolent demiurge flows up through the girls staff and it sears my soul. By Ragnos , Typhojem , Sel-Makor and all the gods of old it burns.

My armor ,heavy as it is, was not fashioned to deal with this form of attack. Beneath its plates my obsidian scales begin to turn grey and become ashen dust , my flesh burning as if exposed to a hot iron. The Mandalorians are not on average prestigious force wielders, and they are who I designed this suit to fight. Fine, she wishes to instigate that sort of game then I shall reply in kind. My ID screams at me to blast her with darkness channel the raw energy of Boga in an overpowering torrent. But I refuse. I am not a beast , I am master of my own emotions. I bid the poltergeists leave replaced by specters better versed in the cognitive arts. I myself am no grand mentalist or illusionist as my telepathy with the living is fair at best. But post mortem communication is well within my scope and the dead are expert at all things to do with the psyche.

"Ashla's hate burns me girl. A pain unlike any I have ever felt before and thus I shall not tear your living carcass asunder but curse you. Two things will I curse you with. Burdens unlike any other. Empathy and truth. know now that what I show you is no fabrication, no lie. A lie stings but once, and then fades but the truth will sear itself into your very essence. To lie to you would be kind but you have already rejected my magnanimity"

And so I let the spirits of the dead upon her. An attack unlike that of a Sith or Jedi mind trick for it comes from a hundred angles spirits lashing out at all sides performing a shadow stage show with the departed dancing in morbid mummery. Played for her in an instant but one that might be longer than her entire terrestrial existence. What is time to the deceased?

You feel a presence from beyond the grave. Your life and memories begin to fade , darkness and warmth. You float in an embryonic state , suspended in fluid and flesh. Then comes the pain of birth , independent existence the cold halogen lights and bare concrete floor of your new home. One of a litter your siblings write beside you covered in the caul and blood of birth. Your mother is above you simian in aspect a troglodyte naked save for her coating of fur pendulous breasts already leaking milk as she prepares to suckle your kin.

You grow. And what you will later know to be the tuang come. Figures bedecked in armor colder than the spartan cages you are confined to. One of your siblings is born deformed. He has trouble breathing, his airways twisted and one of his arms malformed. They the tuang take him there is the sound of blaster fire. You never see him again. Soon you are a toddler. Your thoughts are quicker than your siblings , quicker than your mother. You begin to understand the Tuangs speech. You are a human. They are Tuang. The Tuang captured the humans now there are no more left. Only in captivity.

You try to ask your mother about this making the words of the Tuang. But she knows none of it. She is just an animal whatever intelligence she had would have possessed beaten out of her by centuries of abuse. Now you are in the training pits. You are still naked still bare of dignity , the Tuang around you goading you with shock sticks. Your brother is in front of you. He isn't intelligent, not smart like you, but the tuang hurt him whenever he tries to back away. So to stop the pain he strikes you. Breaks your lip. The Tuang shout encouragement bloodthirsty smiles behind the T visors of their helmets. He's going to kill you. He's bigger than you. Your brother is going to murder you. And so you fumble around the arena near you and your hands clench around a rock.

Snarling in rage and desperation you swing it at the boys head. It catches him in the side of the temple and there is a crack. But he might get up. Might hurt you more and the Tuang are already fingering their shock sticks. You bring the rock down on the boys head again and again. Till fragments of bone and gobbets of gray matter leak across the floor.

This is just the beginning. It gets worse. More dead family, more beatings. One day you meet your father. He's more ape than man, a true Neanderthal. He breaks three of your ribs knocks half the teeth from your mouth. The Tuang have to shock him into submission before he kills you outright, or worse. After this you begin to hear voices. The dead. Once humans were a power in the galaxy. Once they lived as sentient beings enjoyed the freedom to come and go as they pleased free of the ever-present fear of violence.

Then the Tuang take you to battle. Its like fighting pit but a hundred times worse. Your kind are thrown into the meat grinder forced to kill for cruel masters who care nothing for you. You survive barely. Ashla isn't there. The dead are though. They want to help you. They want you to help them. And so you let them. Let the dead rise up and escape. Escape from the horror. The horror that is the Mandalorian regime.

Now you are yourself again. There was no human in the cage. The one in the cage was a dragon. The last of his kind, a freak aberration , one flickering candle of sentience among fallen race of beasts. But now the dead spread out in front of you. Across the fields of chaos they wait. Legion upon legion of wraiths.

The first steps forward towards you. She is a human woman her dress ripped and covered with blood. In her arms she holds an infant.

"My husband was away when the Mandalorians struck our township. A rocket hit my house and the celling collapsed. It crushed my boy here but only ended up breaking my legs. I crawled out of the wreckage and as I did a warrior spotted me. He put a bullet in my skull. Splattered my brains across the dirt for my husband to see when he arrived home."

The woman and her child step back. Another figure steps forward. He might be a twilek but it is difficult to tell as the ectoplasm of his being looks to have been horribly ravaged by flame.

"I couldn't pay my debts to the hutt I borrowed money from. The slug hired a Mandalorian bounty hunter to collect and when I tried to run he burned me alive. My skin sizzled and the fats sloughed off my bones. My eyes became burst and even my bones were blackened and charred."

Another comes forward. He's bloated and writes with spectral parasites. He's a solder of the old republic who suffered a wound from a Mandalorian gun. It festered and he couldn't receive treatment. These stories and more repeated ad infinitum. A thousand thousand ghosts all of whom hate the sons of Mandalore with a passion. And as soon as it began it ends the vision dispelling as mist in the morning sun.

I barely notice Vier's vomit as she empties her stomach on my armor so focused am I on this shadow play. As the girl swings from the end of my tail I look down on her not lashing out but waiting for the effects of my conjuration to manifest in her actions.

"Now you know something of me girl. I do what Ashla will not. I bring succor to those whom it has forsaken. I offer retribution for those who have been wronged. Are you so sure of your moral superiority that you will deny this? What right do you have to halt my crusade?"

 

[DarrVack]

​

Location: Surface, Castle Bast
Objective II: Defense of Castle Bast
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO

Spoiler: Equipment, Units and Ships

Equipment
2x Red Lightsaber
Battle Armour (Holding 75 Gallons of Dioxis)
Mindstone
EWR-52 'Purge' Flamethrower
12x Dioxis Grenades

Units
5x XF-72a
10x Sith-Imperial Probot
Akguza Guard
3x TG-11 Artillery Droid - Hellpyre

Ships
1 Squadron Ajunta-class StarFortress

Jin Kyrel

oh he was frightened.

Of course, he is frightened he is a child.

Still swollen by the surge of darkness pouring out from the arrival of his new Emperor Darr had to split his mind. Inside the oozing red mass one part now focused on the boy while the other reached out into the rainy battlefield. He had to simultaneously control the situation here in the sacred halls and give himself a better picture of what exactly was going on outside.

Steam had been rising out of his left gauntlet up until now but he couldn't wait on it to fade entirely. A thick slime poured out from the hole in his armors forearm onto the floor began to take a tentacle-like shape before crawling into the grounded metal glove. Whit a sudden flew the red matter pulled back retracting and completing his exo suite accompanied by a mechanical clicking and the release of air.

The wincing sight of the adolescent in front of him reminded him of the days of his own youth. Freshly hatched and not even fully organically matured when he was taken in by the Sith. Back then his whole world spun around the teaching of his master, and the understanding that bit by bit he was able to practice control.

The giant kneeled close to the human.

An Emperor had been crowned today and he still believed a king could be born.

"I undersdand your gonfusion. Dis bower is ingombrehensible by mosd mordals, yed id flows ad your fingerdips"
"I understand your confusion. This power is incomprehensible by most mortals, yet it flows at your fingertips"

His sluggish words meant to strengthen Jins resolve echoed off the walls.

"You have much do learn youngling, and much much more do understand aboutdyour gifd, bud here is nod de righd blace"
"You have much to learn youngling, and much much more to understand about your gift, but here is not the right place"

"Child, an Emberor emerged on dis baddlefield, you can nod redurn do id nor should you have been fighding on id in de firsd blace. Come join me deeper inside de gasdle, walg de halls once walged by Lord Vader, de halls walged by so many Sith afder him "
"Child, an Emperor emerged on this battlefield, you can not return to it nor should you have been fighting on it in the first place. Come join me deeper inside the castle, walk the halls once walked by Lord Vader, the halles walked by so many Sith after him"

The hulking Sith Overseer rose to his full height again.

The fighting was still ragging both inside and outside the fortress's walls. He could sense the black vacuum that was gulping souls, and the nether connection so carefully spun and masterfully maintained.

Then the order of retreat was given.

He let the visual information of the Probots feed into his HUD, before sending orders to his Akugza guard, this order was not meant for them, they were to continue firing on enemy positions. The same held true for the droids previously commanded by his Goliaths, they were to continue their onslaught on any and all enemy forces within Bast. These invaders were not to be given the slightest moment of rest, chipped apart bit by bit until there was nothing left but bones to feed the soil upon which the mighty castle stood.

 

[Legate]

ADMIRAL RAVENOT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
MAELSTROM

GALIDRAANI STRIKEFLEET CERES

FLAGSHIP:
EPITAPH II

• Treicolt Squadron​

• TIE/VX Vanguard x7 Squadrons​

• TIE/DF Drone x10 Squandrons​

STAR DESTROYERS:
Praefect-class x2

• TIE/HF Slasher x5 Squadrons​

• TIE/INx Interceptor x7 Squadrons​

• TXS Excursor x4 Squadrons​

CRUISERS:
Inceptus-class x1

• TIE/HF Slasher x4 Squadrons​

• TIE/INx Interceptor x3 Squadrons​

• TIE/HB Bruiser x2 Squadrons​

Shieldship II x1

• TXS Excursor x2 Squadrons​

FRIGATES:
Tirailleur-class x1
Vanto-class x1

• TIE/VX Vanguard x3 Squadrons​

• TIE/HB Bruiser x2 Squadrons​

• TXS Excursor x1 Squadrons​

CORVETTES:
Vandal-class x3

SPACE, PREVENTOR II
COMMAND BRIDGE EXTERIOR
​

Harper felt frozen. Pain overtook every other sensation he was capable of. Eyes locked on approaching figure unhindered by the vacuum of space. A Sith up close. His heart quaked in his chest as it approached.

No.

A hand came forward toward his visor. The one thing separating him from the cold vacuum of space.

No.

At the first cracking sound, Harper accepted his fate. Took a stand for once in his life, at the very last moment he ever could. He pulled the last resort pin from his chest at the same moment his lungs exploded when exposed to the vacuum. The detonators in his suit went off, releasing the explosive payload. A martyrdom designed to be powerful enough to damage a ship from the inside.

Detonation directly next to the exterior of a command bridge was his final act. Denial and defiance of the hand that sought to kill him.

He wouldn't ever know the outcome of his final act. Would it bear fruit, or fizzle with insignificance?

NIV EPITAPH II, FLAGSHIP
COMMAND BRIDGE, PRESENT TIME​

DESCENDING
​

The Epitaph II careened toward Vjun with dogged abandon. The massive war-wedge stabbed forward to smite the egress of the mesosphere. Strike craft flooded out of the surviving Vanto-class carrier, clung around the Epitaph II like remora around a large predator fish. Oppositional fire rocked the officers in the bridge around, worsening the turbulence of an encroaching gravity well.

"Admiral!"

Eskel whipped around toward the accosting officer. Wide-legged stance wavered as he forced himself to remain upright in their descent.

"They've sprung a trap!"

Could have seen that one coming. If ever there was a time to reveal your sleeved ace, this was it. Projections flickered to life with the revealed vessels. The image of their commander was loud to the eyes, imposing to the psyche.

Why was it always Chiss?

A barrage of fire hammered against Epitaph II's shields. On the bridge, it felt like the worst earthquake imaginable. Neither their course nor speed changed, adding that much more impact to every incoming shot. Fighters pulled backward into Epitaph II's slipstream to avoid being shredded to pieces. The point of no return was too far now to look back and see.

"Eskel," the Ensign addressed informally. Fear and longing had a way of mixing together to create a lack of protocol. "What do we do?"

Admiral Ravenot grinned. It was the sort of expression that made everyone think the grinner was confident, when they were really just as afraid as everyone else. "Turn Castle Bast into Castle Dust." The answer was far from the reassurance sought after. If they were going to die, they might as well get the job done. No one really wanted to die a martyr, but dead don't rest with unfinished business.

"We're hitting, and if we survive, running!" he declared. "Hit that damned Castle with everything we've got. Fighters too!"

Every weapon drilled downward onto Vjuns surface, all aimed toward the target Knight Val had indicated. Every strike craft began to descend past the Flagship to make their own runs. Lights in the bridge went red, alarms began to sound. They were entering the atmosphere too quickly for a ship of their size. All weapons on full-fire took power away from the atmospheric shields. Epitaph II broke through the stratosphere like the flaming tip of a spear.

If he died here, at least there was a spectacle.

ALLIES: Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt
ENEMIES: N Nyxeris | Darth Banshee | Alina Tremiru | Lilanna Kelamvor | Valen Arenais | Seela Leini

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
1st BRIGADE 'READY-FIRST' COMBAT TEAM
PRIMO VICTORIA | BEACHHEAD MADINE
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Void | Melee | Grenades

REQUIEM
LAWS OF COMBAT IV | DECENTRALIZED COMMAND​

If there was any contrast to Vjun that set it apart from Dubrillion, Muunilinst or the rest of the Braxant worlds which the New Imperial Order spilled blood in scores for years ago was that on Vjun, they were nearest to the heart of the Sith now. The darkness was palpable, even to men like Irveric who were cut a void from the Force. It was in the air, like radioactive ash. Foreboding hints to sway these men in white duraplast from trampling their sacred ground.

But if Tavlar, or the New Imperial Order ever took warnings, ever took the odds and stakes at face value, he still very well might be a Lord General among Kaine Zambrano's command staff, or found dead, self inflicted scorch mark painting his skull and brains. Such was the difference of mentality. Nothing else mattered. For all the blood and gore, the dark presences, the thunderous ordinance and acid rain. All that mattered was state of mind. And in Irveric's, there would be no content with failure or defeat here.

They had to win. They had to kill the enemy. All of the 501st fought with this spirit down to the individual. They had to, for they fought in the darkest night. Crowns laid unto skulls, devestation strewn across the bloodied field. But if Irveric, in his position, at the front were to absorb himself in this scale of operation, now...he'd be face down in the acid rain soaked sand like the others. He had to manage only what he could tangibly around him and thus, the rest was strung through the tendrils of command. From the Captain Anton Cassel down to the non-commissioned officers and eventually, the accountability of each individual trooper. Even those 'green', of which there were few within the 501st.

But now the cobalt skulls were facing down the T-visors. A sight they'd never been adapted to see in hatred. The New Imperials had been fairly cooperative with Mandalorians, working closely with the Sons of Mandalore with several special operations groups exchanging training between them, the 501st among them. The established and understood narrative had been that the Mandalorians had been put to the slaughter by the Sith and that their vengeance would ring out across the stars in defiance of the Sith, a fitting ally for the defiant Imperials. But no- these Mando'ade were content to fight alongside them.

As rigid a creed as it seemed, many were willing to take the heaviest pocketbook over principle or morality. Such was the way of a scattered people. Opportunities were what they were, as disgusting as a union like this was in present context. But now certainly wasn't the time to question moral dilemmas or questionable ethics of their enemy. Now was time to execute, with violence of action.

Chaos of war bred many circumstances and this was little different. Regardless of the T-visor, the Mandalorian armor, they saw and fired. It didn't matter. They were the enemy and they'd die for this sand before the Imperials would.

And soon, their leader had come to sever the head from the snake, Kyrdol neared Tavlar in an ambush of close combat. His own visor would be met with Irveric's cold gaze of his armor.

His name and then Mando'a seemed to signal the beginning of the bout. He was conversationally adept in the language.

It was an insult, a simple one, to garner disrespect and more importantly - notice from the Imperator. Which he offered in kind. His officers and leaders beneath his rank carried the banner forward as the Imperator opened himself to single combat and the accusations began.

Deathwatch?

Were this a far less intense venue, he might've called for a pause in his tone but he had to fight back- immediately. He let his rifle drop by the sling over his chest as he quickly drew his pistol, firing three shots center mass before lifting his other hand and sending a burst of the vambrace mounted repulsor toward the man's abdomen.

<"The Sith are deceitful parasites, they told me I was defending them- the Mandalorians. They lived in my nation, they were my people. I defended them...and the Sith betrayed them...and thus...I betrayed the Sith. This is known. Deathwatch are marauders on the Order as much as they are anywhere else, utreekov. They truly have blinded you- you're fighting for the same people who sought about eradicating your own- your creed. Delusional. Like the rest."> He said, takign in the reprieve that the repulsor burst might have sought him before firing a wrist rocket center mass toward the Mandalorian.

Then the arrival of the 'New' Sith Emperor, the next in line of many who had crumbled beneath the will of defiance marked his pointed arrival. It wrought dire circumstances for the 501st, an already dogged approach marred with more Imperial blood shed on the shores.

He couldn't entertain Shuklaar or these Mandalorians any longer. They had to advance and destroy. Now or never.

All the while , his 501st had managed to overtake and destroy the first line of fortifications, a poultry task compared to what they found themselves tangling with now. Even with Mandalorian and Sith ordinance raining fire on the beaches, they still had tricks up their sleeves.

Huddled behind cover, Cassel managed his way to a comms trooper, using the more clear and longer range of his unit to reach out to starfighter corps command. Priorities changed- luckily, he had the full reign to adapt to them as Tavlar managed close combat with Shuklaar's mercenaries. Waiting for a response from superiors would have meant more dead Imperials faster than they could have gained any meaningful ground.

<"This is Vidage Actual, requesting re-route of our last hit, painting it in IR."> The tower, it had to go.

<"Negative, Vidage."> The Squadron lead of a TIE Mauler formation cut through the chatter to the 501st Captain.

<"Bloodstone! Repeat that!"> This was a surreal turn of circumstances, another deep, deep and dire bog of chaos for Cassel to be placed in, ever since defending his namesake on Borosk. His stomach turned at the reply.

<"Airspace is closed."> It came through like ice, frigid, cold, little to no warmth backing up. He glanced up again, it certainly was contested but this was total war, risks had to be taken.

<"What do you mean, closed? Report!"> Cassel iterated through the comms, glancing up again before he saw his answer piercing through the thick cloud cover above him, like a spear from the gods, the snake and skull along Epitaph II pierced the atmosphere in fiery glory and with it. Hellfire.

Projectiles without count rained down unto Castle Bast, their fortifications on the beachhead and spearhead approaches in an apocalyptic glory. He had nothing to muster in response of words, only bare witness as the New Imperial Order breathed fire unto the Sith.

To Tavlar and the rest of these Stormtroopers, they'd only seen battles so hard fought by the infantry, the boots on the ground. To see effort vindicated in the judgement of gods...it all felt a bit more even, the Sith who sought to will their domination of the battlefield seemed a lot smaller and more importantly - the castle and defensive positions they were fighting for were going to be a hell of a lot weaker.

Fire and explosive fury reflected off the slick infrared visor of Cassel's pale, storm gaze. His mouth ajar in awe, uninterrupted as a blaster bolt made purchase in his abdomen.

AFTER ACTION REPORT
Legate 's gambit makes its impact on the battlefield.​

ALLIES | NIO | Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Silas Sunfyre | Jerec Yularen | Henry Lucan |
ENEMIES | TSE | Shuklaar Kyrdol [INTENT TO ENGAGE] | Darth Strosius | Laertia Io | Cameron Crownwraithe

 

[Laertia Io]

A soldier. Proud. Fearless. Man of Action. Never met a fight he didn't like. The exact sort my Nuetralizers normally mop the floor with, for they were born with a thirst for struggle, challenge, proving their prowess. Why have my sons been unable to kill this man? Xiphos thought.

Her internal query was answered when DECEASED Erskine Barran removed his clothes.

Oh.

She retreated into the shadows, fighting the nausea of being disconnected from the Force. She had grown too used to having it. She remembered her former Mentor's lessons well.

If you cannot defeat an opponent without The Force, then you do not deserve the Force.

The evil of Bast Castle weighed on her heavily.

She knew Darth Vader's Castle would still have massive amounts of Juice left, but even she was caught off guard by how it's dark power tried to tempt her mind even now, promising her the strength to crush The Bryn'adul at last, if only she would accept the gift of the Dark Side.

She was repulsed. The thought of being like The Amalgam frightened her. Disgusted her. She didn't want to rule a planet. She didn't want to crush a society. All she wanted was to extinguish an omnicidal threat. Two now, given the Maw.

Cameron Crownwraithe entered the foyer, surprising Xiphos, who internally facepalmed at being seen nude.

"He's not food. No way. Not this one." Xiphos said, before realizing Cameron's Sithspawn nature had gotten the better of her. Though it warmed Xiphos's frosty heart that Cameron rushed to defend her, Xiphos still remembered there was a fething Ysalamiri in the room.

"CAM! WAIT! NO!" Xiphos called out to no avail.

Cameron lost control, slamming into a wall with a shriek.

"Let's pause this for a moment." Xiphos said calmly to Barran, without breaking stride as she and Erskine got her free of the debris, though Xiphos knealt down to scoop Cameron up with her one arm, heading for a nearby staircase and laying her down gently, a nearby Model 1 with a bag of healing stims offering Xiphos one which she took immediately, injecting Cameron with it to help her rapidly recover damage, waiting until she woke.

"I am touched by your devotion, daughter, but this is between me and Barran." She spoke calmly but. "Also, it is not just the enemy, but the terrain you must consider. The environmental hazards. Watch from a safe point, so that you may understand combat without the Force. But I thank you for trying to rescue me."

Xiphos would then allow Cameron to stand on her own two feet, and pick a spot. Xiphos would then head back to Barran, wielding her double edged trench knife with a built in knuckle duster and spike.

She waited in the shadows, the old feeling of waiting to strike in Nar Shaddaa alleyways coming back.

A dirty, pale girl in a spiked black jacket fought for her life against the Haxian Brood Bounty Hunter they had sent after her for stealing that gem from the local exchange boss. He'd had plenty of gems, so she figured he wouldn't mind. How wrong she had been.

The twelve year old girl stared down the bounty hunter who was a mixture of flesh and stolen parts. He had wanted to bring her in alive but as she had evaded him over the course of many days, destroying his best weapons, humiliating his tracking skills repeatedly, his thoughts had turned from collecting a bounty, to revenge.

Laertia refused to be bullied by vermin.

"Bounty's Five Hundred Thousand credits for you dead. A million alive, so the one who hired me can teach you some manners. But you know what? You've been pissing me off all week. I can take the pay cut."

"Diddintz payz yooz neerlee enuff tuh go aftuh meez." Laertia growled.

"I'm gonna enjoy not having to listen to that stupid accent anymore."

He drew a vibroknife. She had a trench knife of dead metal.

He rushed forward, using his enhanced strength and speed to try and plunge it into her eye, but she moved at the same time, his knife barely missing her as she slashed at a weakpoint near his armpit, drawing blood, and making the Bounty Hunter yell in surprise and pain. She had only been toying with him before, hoping he would take the hint and go away. Now she was done playing.

He rebounded, painkiller implants making him ignore the wound as he slashed at her viciously, but she had been in so many knife fights this point, his slashes were predictable, a product of practice, not thinking.

Laertia twisted through his strikes to his chest, her knife moving with a flash reflecting off its blade.

Deep rips were carved into his chest twice, but he managed to scratch her arm with a deep cut opening. She hissed in pain but stayed focus, her knife not ceasing movement. More gashes and rips on his chest and arms, making him stumble but she kept cutting and stabbing him in a frenzy. Not stopping until he stopped moving. She was covered in his blood. But she wasn't done with him.

Laertia walked from that alleyway with a bunch of his cybernetics cut from his body, her arm sitched up and treated with her last spare medical supplies. Had to be a black market fence that would take these parts she had cut from him.

She made the first move against Erskine. A slash to his ribs, drawing blood. He looked mad. Maybe this place was affecting him too.

A wide counterslash. Anger motivated. She ducked it, and he only sliced hair.

She was on him immediately, ducking slash and slice attempts, having gone to a primordial place in her head where even the ice couldn't reach. She was back in the alleys again, every gang member she had ever fought in front of her, with Erskine as their newest avatar.

Disadvantage. He'd be starting to really feel it and bleed soon.

She withdrew into the shadows a pale, nude ghost reliving the horrors of her early life. No rabbits. No hope. Just the Knife, and the will to use the Knife.

"Nar Shaddaa...you wouldn't think that place could be training grounds, but it is." Xiphos remarked. "The whole family of warfare is there. I just took to the lessons better than the other street killers."

She lunged but he was ready, snatching her by the throat, trying to drive it into her kidney, but her own knife barely intercepted, making a stab deflect to her own ribcage. But it was enough to draw a growl of pain. The nausea of total severance of her powers in the bubble not helping. But the Adrenaline gave her focus. As did his taunt.

She said nothing to him as she moved forward, having inverted her knuckle duster trench knife.

His first slice came down but she dodged it, instead delivering a hard punch with the knuckle duster, he doubled over in pain and her foot slammed into his chin, flinging him backward. But he was as a man Possesed, and came at her with frenzied, low aiming and high aiming power slashes, her blade intercepting it and creating sparks as they did.

Clearly skilled. A lesser Warrior would have been shredded by that tactic he used just now.

She parried a series of punches and slashes from him, her movements fluid and graceful, his hard set and strength oriented, pragmatic strategy. She punched him square in the jaw after he missed the next slash, reorienting the knife in her hand as he came at her again, slashes and stabs more fluid and focused from him. She dodged like a gnat, cutting him slightly on the wrist of his knife arm for each failed slash and stab. She even backhanded him on the last attempt.

"Killer instinct, certainly. I can understand how you have caught my sons off guard. A cut above those you command. But no artistry." Xiphos remarked. "Strong. Well trained. But all your fighting and thinking...you are barely starting to truly understand fighting outside convention. It's why you were caught off guard by The Amalgam at Serenno. Your armored units carried you through that conflict, true, but if those bombers had succeeded in doing slightly more damage to your forces, I doubt you'd be patting yourself on the back."

Another lunge. The Nausea, coupled with the poor lighting, made her misjudge the speed and he scored a second cut, albeit minor, more on sheer luck.

She backed away, scowling at him.

This must not register on an emotional level. Xiphos thought to herself. She could see their fight play out in her head.

First, reflect light from your knife into Erskine's eyes. Lunge. Parry blind stab attempt. Duck instinctive knife swing. Deliver counter-punch to sternum, back away from wild swing. Punch in diaphragm twice. Parry desperation stab to chest. Exploit previously inflicted ribcage and hip injuries by faking a slash attempt. Block down ward stab. Slice knuckle duster hand after rolling. Drop own knife. Catch Knuckle duster arm. Shatter wrist. Dodge final, desperate horizontal slash, catch follow up punch. Headbutt violently. His blood should have served as enough of a lubricant to loosen the knife in his grip by this point. Pull knife free from hand as he goes flying backward. Toss knife into shoulder at high speed. In summary, Slashed ribcage, inner right knee lasceration. Hip punctured. Diaphragm injuries. Multiple micro cuts on weapon arm. Wrist broken. Impaled shoulder. Concussion. Full physically recovery estimate of two weeks. Full psychological recovery: 007 weeks. Capacity of the Lord Commander to remain confident: Compromised.

Xiphos then committed to the strategy. And as in her head, so too did her scenario come to pass, the man eventually a wounded, impaled heap. But he would survive.

Xiphos picked up his disarmed knife, walked to the helpless, defeated man.

"I could kill you, I suppose...but if I did...you wouldn't Learn anything. (Riddle me this: 90 XP)" Xiphos remarked.

"Besides, there is a certain merit in letting defeated leaders be paraded about, in their territory."

Just then a Model 1 burst in.

"Mother! The Emperor has ordered a general retreat from Bast Castle to his freaky living palace thingamajig!"

Xiphos sighed.

"It seems we must cut our encounter short. Good fight though. At least you didn't flee me like Rurik Fel."

She stared into his eyes.

"Why did I fight you like this? So there could be no doubt as to the threat I pose. My Master always said if you cannot defeat an opponent without the Force, then you do not deserve it. So not only do you know I can defeat you without schemes and tricks, you know I earned the power I have. Good day, Lord Commander."

Xiphos would then dress and re-armor, gesturing for Cameron to follow.

General retreat orders soon made their way to all witches and Nuetralizers, and with great difficulty, they evacuated even as they were being killed, all regrouping on Arctus Silmar .

Xiphos had been among the last to leave the Castle along with the Battalion, severely cutting into security breaches of the fortress with abandon alongside Cameron, but even they were forced to retreat eventually.

As they all rode a shuttle to the Palace, being fired at, Xiphos began to wonder what Silmar had in mind...

"Well, Cam, what did you learn today?" She asked as she forced out the madness and death generated by Silmar's abominations by twisting the Light.

 

[Djonas Val]

// FORSWORN ACTUAL // Knight of the Empire
// ALLIES | NIO // -- Kolson Vrask , Seydou of Thyrsus , Azula Ordo , Djorn Bline , Izoshi
// ENEMIES | TSE // -- DarrVack
Lightsaber | Tenebrae-Pattern | Pistol | Grenades

​

For the following moments after his call, he heard nothing. The rapid pounding of his heart was all he heard. The guilt of failure as he stared blankly ahead at a dark wall. Dejected after he sentenced the men and women that he led into the tunnels with him to a fiery death. Blinking slowly, the only thing to bring him back was a bolt taking out a chunk of the pillar he was resting against. He couldn't say for how long he had been inert, just sitting there like an empty husk.

The familiar thrum of a lightsaber refocused his mind. The dreariness was blinked away as his head snapped back and forth.

Where is it?

Nothing at his belt, nothing beside him save for the case with the deactivated charge. He dragged the edge of the case and shoved it out of the way in the hopes of seeing his saber behind it. Nothing.

There wasn't a chance of him falling without a weapon in hand.

With a single hand on the pillar and the ground to pull himself up into a crouch, the first things to catch his eye were the silver armour of his Knights and their sabers. Jace, leaned up against a wall, not in a dissimilar way that he had been moments ago, his lifes essence leaking from the corner of his dirt caked mouth. He was already gone. Nearby, Samara, strewn over the stairs that'd lead further into the Castle, wrapped up in her own cloak. Her eyes were wide open, staring right at him it felt. There was nothing there, but he felt a pang of guilt race through him anyway.

Rix? A quick flicker of his gaze around the proximity led to nothing. He was gone, deeper into the Castle he imagined. To meet an end in battle was preferable to counting down the seconds till it happened.

Slumping back down behind the pillar, he leaned his head back, staring up along the wall where he had spotted the window.

Outside, it looked as if the heavens themselves opened up. A weapon of destructive capabilities, wreathed in flames plunged from the skies, belching fire out at the Castle. At me. He thought. He froze, and as the first of the turbolasers closed in, he couldn't pull away his gaze.

The structure itself felt like it rumbled, resisting the power of empyrean wrath as if the Dark Side itself protected from the blasts. Yet it was not enough, for just as the thought had sprung to his mind, he saw a bright light flash further up the corridor, painting the wall. He peered out, beyond it all with the last of his strength, the Force enhancing it all as he saw missiles rip through courtyard and battlement to bathe the base of the Castle in fire.

The window exploded, and he refocused, watching as rubble and debris descended unto Grunge.

Shoving a hand forwards instinctively, a blue barrier weakly formed around Kolson, barely visible just as the ceiling above them erupted in molten slag burying the pair as the eastern side of Castle Bast caved in on itself.

 

[Hyperion]

OBJECTIVE III //: SCREAMING FOR VENGEANCE | SURFACE
// TARGET >> SURFACE-TO-SPACE BATTERY //
the unforgiven

"My name is Evalina." ​

Emmett trembled. The same way he had trembled the last time, exactly nineteen years ago, when he had held his newborn daughter in his arms.

The same daughter that now stood before him in the ranks of the Sith. Just like his late son. Her ashen blonde locks, matted with sweat, lightly swaying against the wind. She had become a copy of her mother but her eyes...her eyes bore his. He could see the luster of innocence still in the gleam of her worried gaze, a luster that had long faded away from his.

A tide of sorrow crashed into him, seeking to drown him in grief and regret. Feelings that the suit of Abaddon forbade. His darkness had become Emmett's. Darkness the assassin sought to weave around the Sith for all the injustices they had committed against him and his family. Darkness...it was a small price to pay for vengeance.

They had taken everything from him. Razed his home, slaughtered his comrades, and turned his son a pawn into their hands, a pawn Emmett had inadvertently killed during the battle of Dantooine.

And now they had wrapped their wicked hands around his daughter.

Rage.

He could feel the rage stirring from within, boiling like an inevitable volcano. Its melting heat evaporating the tide of sorrow, turning grief and regret into steam, into energy. Emmett's eye opened once more, its murderous gaze scanning the situation before him. The guards had flanked him while he had been busy dealing with the internal turmoil within. A thousand scenarios of non-lethal outcome flashed through his mind but they melted into slag by the rising volcano of fury visible in his scowl. Death was written on his eye.

"You don't have to do this," Eva said. No longer garbled by her helmet, her voice was high, clear, and almost calm.​

And just like that, his daughter's words extinguished the raging wrath. Shoulders slumped, stance loosened.

Tempered.

He shifted his attention from the sentries to Evalina. There was no greater desire in him now than to simply embrace her, to embrace happiness in his arms, just like he had when she had first learned to walk. Emmett reached for his helmet warily, while the Sith sentries' muzzles followed every inch of his movement. He was about to release the catch of his helmet, revealing his face and identity to his daughter when he suddenly stopped. He clenched his fists to the breaking point of his fingers and swallowed the cold and hard truth that had dawned upon him. If the Sith came to learn that her father was an agent of the New Imperials, then her life would be threatened. All the terror and torture they would deliver unto her for his hide.

She could not know.

With an unnatural leap into the skies, his repulsor pack igniting to life, Abaddon left behind his daughter.

Tears rolled down his cheek.

ALLIES | NIO |
ENEMIES | TSE | Eva Betrik

​

 

[Alina Tremiru]

Objective: Establish Space Superiority
Location: Space
Allies: TSE
Support: 1x Preventor II Class Battlecruiser | 4x Marr Class Star Destroyer | 3x Dramath Class Strike Frigate | 20x squadrons Caedus Class Superiority Fighter | 10x squadrons Caldoth Bomber
Enemies: NIO / GA
Tags: N Nyxeris | Legate | Loske Treicolt | Maynard Treicolt | Eva Betrik | Valen Arenais | Seela Leini | Darth Banshee

It was always suicide.

Alina watched the boy before her try to reach something to blow themselves up. That's what they'd all been doing. Throwing themselves against the Sith like gnats against the windshield, trying desperately to do something, anything, to succeed. Suicide. Such a waste. If he had a hand he very well could have pulled the pin from his vest. But the Sith Lord wasn't new to this war. A quick swipe of her hand severed his at his wrist, leaving the hand against the pin.

Uselessly floating in the gravity lacking void they were in. Her cold, golden gaze watched as she shattered the glass of his visor. Watched as his body so quickly lost all air. Turned blue. Froze. Died.

She walked back into the bridge with the lifeless body, casually holding it in one hand. Once on board, she nodded to Siege.

A mist of red swirled around her hand as she reanimated the body in her gasp. The figure jerked about, breaking the ice that had formed around it before standing, barely, on it's own. "Put this in an escape pod and send it back."

"Chchchch. Why?"

"To give the New Imperials back their bomb."

"Ma'am! They're trying to fire on Castle Baste!"

"Truly?" The Chiss woman actually laughed. "Pick them off. Focus on the larger ships. Let them waste their ammunition and send word to Arctus Silmar of their intentions."

She calmly folded her hands behind her back as the rest of the Star Destroyers fully emerged from the dust. All their cannons fired, focused on bringing down the largest ship in this New Imperial fleet.

They always tried to kill themselves. Let them see how useless it is.

 

[Arctus Silmar]

Darth Vormer

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity || Whilstone of Power||
Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian || Empyrean Gland
Voice Sample

As the New Emperor sat, container in his lap, overlooking the carnage and destruction of the battle of Vjun he could not help rising to his feet once more. Legs now shaking, stolen lungs hitching, he strode with all he confidence and might he could now carry himself with. The complex device cradled in his hands opened, exploited, and discarded with a dull THUD to the floor beneath him. As the Imperial forces began to follow his command, pulling back to the safety of the Tower, The half-dozen Caritr Shield Generators below primed for activation upon his word. To shield the tower and it's inhabitants from the rebirth that would transpire.

As the New Emperor delicately lifted a small device from the now discarded container he turned his head ever so slightly as a message from one Alina Tremiru reached his ears. Informing him of their enemies intent to martyr themselves upon Castle Bast and a small smile graced his features. An amused, quiet thing that heralded a few wry, knowing chuckles from the Emperor. His response to Alina was one of mirth, focus and above all else.... satisfaction. "Indeed? It would seem our adversaries have played their part perfectly then, Miss Tremiru." As The Shaper's gaze swept over the front, currently flailing and fighting over the now almost empty Castle Bast, and their opponent's insane fervor for the destruction of an abandoned position, his expression sobered as he responded with a pained smile, informing Alina of one thing. "The truth is, Miss Tremiru, this 'game' of theirs was rigged from the beginning." Gazing to where he now knew the Star Destroyer to be descending from, the Emperor quietly addressed Legate to himself. "Do not worry yourself Admiral."

In the moments preceding the Star Destroyer's descent the Emperor's eyes swept over the entirety of the battlefield in satisfaction and contentment. Everything, every detail, was proceeding exactly as he only could have hoped it had. This war, this battle for Vjun, whether his enemies could see it or not was not only a military effort, not only a trap for their resources and assets that was drawn ever deep into the Empire's embrace, but the entire campaign for Vjun had been crafted by the Emperor into naught but an allegory for the war itself. Castle Bast, the now abandoned carcass that it was, their enemies raged at. Bludgeoning and martyring themselves against a corpse. The Sith, evolving and changing, taking up new positions and a rebirth fit to reignite the flames of their Empire. The common folk of the galaxy, represented by Eva Betrik and her brave men and women, separate from the main conflict dealing with the true threat that would crash down upon them both. The great weaponry they guarded impeding the encroachment of even further bloodthirsty dogs to hound the Empire.

With a silent, unseen command through the Force, as the Star Destroyer began to descend on Castle Bast, the close air support of the Mandalorians displaying their own skill and valor in tearing down what fighters and support craft they could, only made the Emperor's decision to activate the powerful shields all the more certain. A great, glimmering bubble of pure energy would arc over the Tower of Saud'Akute in the moment Darth Vormer raised the small device, a detonation key, and grinned with satisfaction as he watched Castle Bast. A single murmur slipping past his lips of "No cost too great..... for the rebirth of our Empire." As his finger fell upon the trigger mere moments before the Star Destroyer would make it's mark.

All throughout Castle Bast the 'beast' would awaken. A complex and extensive series of explosives implanted there by the Emperor's own command. Embedded into the very structure itself, and shielded from detection, as the explosives came to life in a brief moment, to any sensors Castle Bast would be lit up like an extravagant Life Day ornament. Only for the explosion that would tear from Castle Bast in the following moments to eradicate what little remained of the ruined structure, the withering fire of the encroaching forces being lost in the great inferno of the symbol of their rebirth. The advance of their enemy, their reckless obsession with destroying an abandoned ideal made manifest in physical form, would bloom out from what was once Castle Bast in a hellscape of fire, rubble and death. The explosion quickly expanding beyond projected safe distances for the Star Destroyer's own weaponry, the explosives carried by the Order's own saboteur teams, and would flow out over the domed shield of Saud'Akute in a great cornucopia of seething flame. Bathing the Tower in a half-circle of fire as the energy of the shields crackled and fizzed against the great inferno.

Lowering his hands, the New Emperor could not fight a satisfied smirk playing across his lips. His strength being gathered for one last thunderous address to his people through the Force. "Let this lesson serve well for our enemies. That their obsession, their savage railing, against the Empire that was will be their undoing. No longer is this an Empire of the dynasty they so revile, no longer are we anything but what we were always meant to be. Sith." The Shaper turned, gazing down upon his people as the flowing flames of the explosion simmered against the shield above him. Creating the hellish appearance of a corona of fire backlighting him as he stated firmly. "And we shall pay ANY PRICE to see our ways be reborn and endure."

 

[Eva Betrik]

​

Location: Bitter End, Surface-to-Space Battery
Allies: TSE
Foes: NIO | Hyperion

There was a long, long pause after Eva spoke, a space when the world itself seemed to be holding its breath. Eva turned slowly, looking into that blank mask, wondering what thoughts ran through its wearer's mind. Why had he asked her name? Why did he care? Her words seemed to have had some impact on him, something more than just a recognition of their shared humanity could produce... but why would that be? Around the pair of them, fingers tightened on triggers as the SICA troopers looked for a clean shot, but the young corporal was past noticing. Curiosity was had consumed all other thoughts, leaving behind only who? and why?

It occurred to her in that moment that she'd been doing the same thing she'd accused her captor of: viewing him as the faceless enemy rather than an individual, a man behind the mask who had lived and loved and rejoiced and suffered. He was a person too, his life just as vivid and valid and deep as her own. But surely this strange pause, this moment of connection between them, had to be more. Did he know her somehow? Was that even possible, when their lives were so different, so far apart? She wanted desperately to see some sign of what he was thinking, perhaps to hear a gasp of realization or see recognition in his eyes...

But there was only the mask, cold and unfeeling.

Slowly, but with growing certainty, Eva noticed her captor growing tense. He was angry. She knew it from the way his grip tightened on his sword, the way his shoulders curled inward, the way his stance shifted, poised and even eager to spring. Yet somehow she knew that his rage wasn't directed at her. Though that bicolor mask never shifted, she could tell that his gaze had fallen on the SICA troopers trying to outflank him... that he was imagining what it would be like to tear them apart. It would be easy for him, she knew. She had seen Jedi in action back on Muunilist, and she was still convinced that he was the greatest warrior she'd ever seen.

But then, as her words broke the quiet of the soft rain, that tension bled out of him, drawn like poison from a wound. Eva gasped as she saw him reaching back toward his own helmet, touching the clasp of that featureless mask. She felt... something, some sense of longing and regret and connection that she had no words to explain. And then, in an instant of fateful decision, the masked man's hands dropped again. In a movement almost too quick to follow he leapt into the skies, carried by impossibly-powerful muscles and the lift of his repulsor pack. The SICA guards let off a few bursts of blaster fire after him, but he was already long gone.

As Eva stood there in mute shock, she felt a sudden and inexplicable sense of loss.

The guards rushed forward, running to her. "Are you all right, Corporal?" The voice seemed to come from far away... and Eva wasn't sure what to say to that anyway. One of the men grabbed her by the shoulder in what was probably meant to be a reassuring gesture. Another passed her back her helmet. She accepted it with numb fingers, staring blankly past the edge of the tarp, where the masked man had vanished. "Come on," the lead trooper said, gently leading her forward, "let's get you inside." She let them lead her through the gates. Her mind was whirling far too fast to even consider anything else.

As she turned to look back, she saw a pillar of fire erupt on the horizon. The trap was sprung. It was all over.

Eva remembered little of the rest of that day; it passed in a blur, a whirl of colors and sounds that she could hardly make sense of. Sitting in front of her sergeant, then the detachment CO, then the General of SICA Soullex himself, hearing them all ask the same questions - what had happened, who the man had been, why he'd suddenly departed the battlefield when he'd seen her face and heard her name. I don't know, she said, over and over, until the repetition made her numb. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Her exhausted mind whirled with confusion... and frustration. How was she supposed to understand any of what had happened?

In her heart, Eva felt a chasm opening up, a sense of wrongness. I don't know. Would she ever?

The weeks that followed would bring more questions. She was isolated from the rest of her platoon, ostensibly to "recover from the ordeal of her capture", but she knew the truth - they were observing her, looking for signs of treachery or weaknesses the enemy might exploit. Eventually, agents of the Saaraishash arrived to "debrief" her... though the session was more like an interrogation. They questioned her harshly, over and over again, to see if her story remained consistent. When it did, they drugged her, making her suggestible and weak-willed, and then had her repeat it. She did again, the same way as before. They sent for a Sith.

Eva felt invisible fingers comb through her mind, searching for falsehood. They found none.

In the end, the Secret Police accepted that she was just as baffled by the events on Vjun as they were. Corporal Evalina Betrik was cleared to return to active duty. Nightmares came along for the ride: dark recollections of the narrow, airless cell, of the Saaraishash interrogator looming over her with his harsh whisper and his too-sweet breath, "tell me again, Evalina". Memories weren't the only things that followed her, either. Other SICA troopers, men and women she'd been friends with, began to avoid her. Everyone knew she'd been interrogated by the infamous Sith intelligence service, though the stories as to why certainly ran the gamut.

Within a week, Eva heard rumors that she was an NIO sleeper agent, a Sith experiment, and a nervous wreck.

Every evening, as she ate alone in a corner of the mess hall, she thought back on what had happened outside the battery... and on what she could have done differently. What would have happened if the man had heard her name or seen her face earlier? Had it even been her who had changed his mind, or driven him off, or whatever had happened? How had his NIO masters - or so she assumed - reacted when he'd just up and left, instead of taking down the battery? Eventually her old squad, finally released from medical, dragged her back to their table, ignoring the suspicious glances shot her way. They were good men. They looked out for her.

Still, she knew she would always wonder: who was the masked man? More than that, who was he to her?

 

[Cameron Crownwraithe]

Location: Shaper’s Palace - Vjun
Allies: TSE ( Darth Strosius Arctus Silmar ) │ CIS ( Laertia Io )
Enemies: NIO ( Irveric Tavlar Hâwmâr Lurais Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran ) │ RGO (Augustus Tassar)
Direct Engagement: Laertia Io

Cameron didn’t wake up until the bombardment began.

Her body hurt all over, broken ribs, a broken arm which had been placed in a biocast, and yet more. She was lucky to be able to sit up and even more lucky to still feel her limbs. The white material of her bodysuit was still stained with crimson, both her own and from others. Otherwise, she felt extremely drained, to the point where the thing that was stopping her from walking wasn’t her injuries, but her own exhaustion. Fortunately, one of the Nuetralizers had carried her away from the scene of the duel, but the cacophonous sounds of explosions still reached her ears, complemented by the visceral sight of turbolaser fire streaking down from the heavens, rendering Bast Castle unto dust.

Then, there was one last explosion, deafening to the ears and blinding to the eyes.

Moments later, the voice of her mother settled on her senses. Cameron turned, giving a pained grunt as she gave Xiphos a soft smile in spite of her injuries. However, the speedster remained silent for a few short moments, contemplating her answer as the voice of the reborn Sith Emperor manifested in her awareness.

“All things die.” A short pause, marked by a raspy breath. “But, death is not the end.”

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective: Watch the fireworks
Location: Inside the Tower's shield
Equipment: Lightsaber
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO
Tags: Irveric Tavlar / Hâwmâr Lurais / DECEASED Erskine Barran / Cameron Crownwraithe / Laertia Io / Willan Tal / Shuklaar Kyrdol / The Monster
--------------------------------------

Retreating to the great tower amidst the battle, the bombardment, and an enemy Star Destroyer looming overhead had not been an easy feat. By the time Alisteri had hauled himself to safety, carrying one and following right behind a couple of injured Legionnaires, the castle was just about to blow. He watched the explosion in shock, wincing even though he could only see the destruction rather than feel it. A sigh escaped him and he set down the injured soldier, grunting slightly as he sat down to watch the inferno outside of the shield.

He hadn't made it out unscathed though. He could already feel several broken bones, one of them for sure being a rib and another being something in his right leg, slowly trying to knit back together. It's moment's like these where being a Sangnir is well worth the thirst. Alisteri idly clicked his tongue at that thought, the ever-present thirst for blood coming to the forefront as his body demanded fuel for healing.

Ultimately he beat down that desire for the moment, if only barely.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Legionnaires that he had been escorting were limping their way to join the rest of the injured defenders that were starting to get treatment. He was no healer of course, so he would be no help to them. The sight of bodies being put together to be prepared for a proper burial and treatment did catch his eye however.

Although his body was reluctant to comply, he stood and began to make his way over to the dead. His stride paused to listen to the new emperor's speech, bowing his head in silent acknowledgment. Now that was an idea that he could get behind. Now, to be a Sith. With a bit more resolve in his steps he finally arrived before the dead and caused the ones moving the bodies to pause.

Wordlessly he bowed his head again and gestured for the workers to pause for just another moment. "If you would please, I wish to honor these brave souls with a prayer." Given that there were...well plenty of dead, there was no real hurry to move any nearby bodies as the Acolyte began his praying. It was there that he would be until he left the planet, praying that his comrades would find peace in the arms of the Dark Side.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

G H O S T
i will bleed for better reasons this year
X-WING | FLIGHTSUIT | LIGHTSABER | FRANK
11/12 RAIDER SQUADRON
SCREAM DRIVE FASTER

​

In her peripherals, blooms of fire erupted. More shrapnel to add to the debris zone. Raiders tightened the chokehold formation on Dancer squadron, forcing the confined cluster into a deadly firing range.

Simultaneously, the larger ships in the distance –– of Sith designation –– started to puff with flames.

Those were human detonations. Frank informed, his pitch mirroring a sentiment of marvel. And Epitaph II has adjusted course for planetside.

<Do we have orders?> Raider’s XO pressed.

None.

<Okay, we keep engagement.>

Frank flashed a readout on her display and tootled at her in low tones.

She checked in on her fuel levels, and gave a grimace. Deploying from the stardestoryer’s hangar had saved them extra on their reserves, but they’d made the gambit they’d be going home in a NIO vessel. If this one went down, it’s likely reinforcements would arrive in a third wave –– but would they spend their time fluttering through debris and picking off squints until an evac arrived? That was busy work on their systems. Doable, but strenuous to balance offense, defense and a final run.

Landing on Vjun’s hostile planet wasn’t an atmosphere, and with the Epitaph II adjusting its course, their opportunities for a safe landing were getting thinner. The jump from here to Concord Dawn was calculable –– if they all coordinated properly. Much of Raider Squadron was still clustered in enough of a formation to make the call except for...

<Raider-One. We’re losing our rendezvous point to their unscheduled dive to planetside. And I don’t have an update on reinforcements.> Despite the escalating peril, the thinness in her voice was masked by the comm’s modulations. Making her sound deceptively calmer. <These TIEs are getting cleaned up, then we're on y––>

That calmness was shattered when another ion dropped, blowing out through the night in ultraviolet.

<Feth! How many more of these things does this guy have?!>

Desperately, Loske thumbed back down, narrowly avoiding the devastating ripple effect of the charge. It wasn’t quick enough. The upper extension of her laser cannon was seared in the blast, her ship reeling from the turbulence of the connection.

Using the rudder pedals, she rocked the fighter back and forth to counterbalance the effect and stabilize again. Her teeth were grit, and everything seemed to be flaring. The iconic X of her craft was looking more like an awkwardly upside down-Y.

But she still had the range-to-target indicator on her console scrolling meters off by the hundreds to her designated target, and she still had three operational lasers and additional armaments. Until the countdown just...disappeared.

<I’ve lost target.> Loske murmured in frustration, smacking her heel against the dashboard as if the concussive force might just flicker the display back to life and recover the missing dot she’d honed in on.

They’ve gone dark. Frank answered, while the pilot was helpless to watch the torpedo be swallowed by the abyss.

But her salvo of lasers made purchase, and she wiggled in her seat to get more intent on using her naked eyes. Against the brilliance of space, the TIE was like a shadowy, super speedy spectre –– hard to put her faith in trusting her human sight.

Drawing in a breath, the renegade Jedi reached out with her once-upon-a-time-greatest-ally and even greater betrayer. The Force extended from her hunting mind. One hundred and fourteen times a second it reached out; fully aware of the echoes of the commands, desperation and high intensity of all those in space. It felt the living, the death, knew people were dying, and going to die, but it's consciousness only manifested in the comprehension of the young woman that was wielding it. Death beckoned directly in front of her, and she followed its pull with a conniving sort of focus.

They were approaching from behind, and she hissed a string of upsets about the exclusively forward-facing armaments of the Saber-Class X-Wing. More modifications to do once they got out of this. She shook her head. That was a rusty way to think. And she was not rusty.

<Power to rear shields.>

Frank obeyed.

Left rudder, then a snap-roll onto the port stabilizers pulled her wide out of her previous flight path. She pressed the pedals, left and right, to add staccato to her trajectory and force her pursuer to have to constantly adjust their targeting while she arced back around to intercept their trajectory. Fast response Ion systems connected and online, reporting damage –– three out of the four were operational.
Three out of the four launched a set of torpedoes at the vessel that had so hungrily set its sights on Loske’s fighter.

No matter the outcome, after this, her station was forced to be abandoned. Maynard couldn’t keep running at that freighter alone when she still had the resources to aid; and their time to burn those resources was becoming like a superheated wildfire countdown.

---

---

ALLIES | NIO | Maynard Treicolt | Legate
ENEMIES | TSE | N Nyxeris | Valen Arenais | Lilanna Kelamvor | Alina Tremiru | Darth Banshee | TARGET LOCKED: Seela Leini