[Vanguard Campaign] Alliance Dominion of Karfeddion

[Joy]

A hoarse cry came from Abel as Loske slapped her hands onto his back, her fingers touching a long patch of torn and burnt flesh that had been obscured by the tattered remains of his cloak. Blue eyes welling with tears of pain turned to look up at her. She was saying something. He couldn't hear it, but it was clear she needed his help.

The young padawan struggled to rise, pushing with all his might, willing himself to stand not for himself but for those in need. Abel made it to his feet and swayed, unlit lightsaber in hand, eyes sweeping the dark horizon. They needed to get out of here and get those people to safety.

"We should-"

Contrails in the sky.

Fireballs blossoming in the slave pens in brilliant bursts of red-orange flame. All at once, dozens upon dozens of presences vanished from the Force. Abel felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. He couldn't breath and he couldn't tear his eyes away from those crackling flames.

The whole of it happened in silence, nothing but the terrible ringing in his ears.

I failed. They're all dead now, because we failed.

Abel stumbled forward, heedless of his own safety, determined to search the pens for someone, anyone who he could help.

[member="Loske Matson"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Smoke and fire were all she could see, and the stained face of [member="Abel"]. Her chest heaved out a heavy cough as grey clouds filtered through her mouth and nose and into her lungs.

Then there was another whistle of orange streaking hotly through the air, the impact a striking magnitude of eruption. Fire erupted again. Mixed with the flames was blood and flesh, bodies, minds and souls. Relationships. Parents. Children.

Loske’s stomach protested to the slaughter once again, and she twisted violently away from Abel, slamming her palms against the ground as her bellybutton pushed toward her spine in a heave of more internal fluids toward the ground. Her mouth tasted so gross right now, and there was nothing nice to smell around either. She was only contributing to the nastiness of the situation. Unknown to her, The Force and her body were not friends right now. All these lives being extinguished was taking a violent toll on her insides

Abel was standing, and she had already backed up to vomit. He slowly stumbled forward, and she flicked her gaze skyward. There were two other Alliance personnel in the pen - if nobody else, they had to try and get those persons out at least.

“Let’s see who we can get out of here,” Loske called, tripping forward after the portly, bloody Padawan. “Alliance personnel will be here to evacuate us. I still have a ship a few clicks away, we can — “ she paused to cough, giving way to the smoke that had filled her lungs. The air was almost visible with how much pollutant circled around in it “-maybe still do this right.”

[member="Cameron Centurion"] | [member="Vexen"] | [member="Micah Talith"]

 

[Joy]

The tinny ringing in his ears began to fade, finally. At first, Abel felt relieved. Not permanently deaf. Then he heard them. The screams of the dying from the pens. Those who hadn't died in the initial blasts now found themselves trapped and burning. The smell of cooked meat drifted through the air.

Abel glanced back at Loske, saw her rising from the ground, wipe the vomit from her mouth. She stumbled his way, said something about helping those left. Abel could only nod numbly. Together, they made their way into the wreckage of the pens. Abel was scared to enter, afraid of what they would find. He stepped over a fallen section of wall, parts of which still smoldered with flame. Wide, blue eyes scanned the enclosure, looking for life. What he saw sucked his breath away.

His fears were well warranted.

Bodies lay scattered like autumn leaves, crushed, broken and burnt black beyond recognition. Folded in half, or crumpled. Huddled on the ground. Scorched free of flesh. Missing bits and pieces, whole limbs, like unfinished puzzles. Ash for skin and grinning, empty eyed skulls, red with...

A choked sob escaped a tight-clenched throat. He didn't stop the warm tears that rolled down his face. Couldn't if he tried.

"Why?"

But he knew the answer. The Imperials didn't get what they wanted, so if they couldn't have the slaves, no one could. Angry children breaking toys. Except these weren't toys. These had been living, breathing people.

He caught sight of a corpse that shifted, reaching out a hand toward him. Still alive.

Abel took in a shuddering breath, steeling himself, then rushed over to the victim's aid as best as he could. In the comms he said,

"This is Padawan Abel requesting evac. There are multiple wounded at the pens. Imperials are retreating. Send help. Please."

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Micah Talith"] | [member="Vexen"]

 

[Cameron Centurion]

The mysteries of the Aing Tii were very often sought after by many advanced force users. However, it seemed to be rare that any dedicated the requisite amount of their life to the teachings of the Aing Tii to be truly proficient in some of their more...arcane applications of the Force. Still...with the Crusade all but gone, the restrictions on travel to Aing Tii had effectively been lifted. Sure, there were sects of the Aing Tii still very much beholden to the ways of the Crusade, but it was hardly the entirety of the world.

By the time [member="Abel"] and [member="Loske Matson"] had collected themselves, the Force around them would seem to shift and struggle against itself. The sensation to those with a will and an ability to feel it would be akin to deep, debilitating cramp in one's abdomen. Visually, the air around them would look almost as if they'd been thrown into a scene from a holovid, visible spectrum of light creating the sensation that the atmosphere around them was folding in on itself.

In much the same manner as had occurred when Cameron disappeared from view, the appearance of the sky would snap back to normal with an audible crack and a brilliant flash of dark light. As the effects receded, Cameron's tall, robed figure would be standing less than a foot from the slave clinging to life in front of Abel. Instantly, the Sith Lord lifted his right foot before driving it straight down onto the slave's skull with crushing strength amplified by the Force. Brain matter and blood would spurt in all directions as silver-green eyes gazed down at the young Jedi and his companion from within the veil of darkness provided by the hood of the dark blue and gray cloak.

"Foolish child," the Sith Lord practically hissed before his gazed narrowed in on Loske specifically. Lifting his left hand, the Master of Ren pointed directly at the child, almost immediately sensing the familiarity in her presence...unrefined that it was. Rotating his hand such that his palm faced the sky, Cameron beckoned Losked forward with his left index finger. The action was...actually a somewhat unnecessary visual indication of his manipulation of the Force, commanding it to wrap around her body and rocket it into his grasp.

Loske might recognize the look of familiarity as similar to the one she received from [member="Marcello Matteo"], but it was all too clear that Cameron was much less...respectful about it. He did not jump to conclusions, but he was also rarely wrong in his interpretation of presences. Especially when they even remotely related to someone he'd had...intimate interactions with in the past.

Metaphysically, of course.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

fear
ˈfir/

Verb

1. 1.
   be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

In Loske's short life, she couldn't recall the actual feeling of fear.
This would be her first time.

A yelp of surprised horror emitted when [member="Cameron Centurion"] quite literally popped into view. Her first instinct was to reach out to [member="Abel"]'s bicep and pull him backward to create some sort of human shield. She was roughly the same height as him though, and it would have been mostly useless. It was a hundred precent more reactive when the life that had been clung to was snuffed out by a single, powerful action before them. All without The Force.

Her stomach threatened to force out more content as her abdomen crunched in protest and agitation to the manipulation of the metaphysical around herself and the Padawan. The Force was an unknown realm to Loske, and she'd never been scared of it until this moment. It was not an emotion she'd inherited from either of her biological donors.

"Oh my galaxies," she whispered, hands moving to cover her mouth in shock. Training took over now, and her hands fell to her thighs, reaching for her blasters to no avail when something unseen groped around her and looped her lithe frame up in its hold. She became like her starfighter when receiving green now, lurching from her idle position to the belly of the beast. Except this time, she wasn't launched into streamers of hot plasma and activity; and she also didn't have the protection of the star fighter. It was just her, and she'd never felt such trepidation. Everything inside of her quivered and shook with attempted repulsion. Mind frantic and wild, her thoughts were uncharted and uncategorized - focused only on escape and preservation.

Her neck craned backward as far as possible, teeth clenched while she kicked uselessly in protest. "[member="Abel"]! Gettt out get out get out." She wasn't trying to be a hero, she just.. didn't want Abel to die. And it seemed way too late for that option to apply to her.

Upon contact - The Sith didn't kill her.

And she wasn't sure if that was more terrifying or not.

"Whatdoyouwant" She whimpered out hurriedly, shimmying still - just to emphasize her discomfort. Was her skull next? What was happening.

 

[Isar Kislo]

"Echo 3, say load status."

The fingers on Isar's right hand flew rapidly over the navicomputer console as he attempted to do two jobs at once. His co-pilot had been killed during an emergent repair they'd had to make on the ground attempting extract and embattled platoon of troops near the spaceport. Isar most certainly didn't prefer flying assault transports, but he particularly didn't prefer managing it alone in the heat of a combat situation. He probably could have asked the crew chief to assist, but he was needed in the main troop compartment, helping to tend to wounded and make sure everyone was settled in.

With a single digit of his left hand, which was firmly gripping the control column as the assault shuttle rocketed low over the ground towards the IP, Isar depressed the communicator toggle. "Echo 3 is forty-two souls onboard." That number included the body of his co-pilot in the troop compartment...which was almost impossibly crowded.

"Copy Echo 3, standby for retasking to priority extraction. Troops in contact."

Poodoo.

"Standby!? Send me the coordinates and upload the locator frequencies." It was...reckless for him to try and pick up and unknown number of additional bodies when his vessel was damn near at capacity. Especially if those individuals were presently taking contact, but Isar didn't care. He could make it work. He had to. Optimism was strong in his blood, clearly.

Once the coordinates came through, Isar slammed the throttles to full military power and banked the assault shuttle sharply towards the left, following the navigational cues in his heads-up display. Over the intercom, he dispatched instructions to the crew chief and his men. "Button it down back there Flight Sergeant. We're expediting to a TIC for extraction."

"On it sir." Flight Sergeant McKenna did not know Isar Kislo, and he was pretty sure the kid was too young to be an actual officer in the military. Still...he could clearly fly, so it was enough for him today. Turning, the Flight Sergeant began issuing instructions to the rest of this crew as they did what they could to make some room for more guests.

As Isar's vessel raced across the horizon, he saw a number of starfighters streaking ahead to soften the target area. After switching to the tactical channel, he reached out to...anyone on the ground that was listening. "This is Echo 3, inbound from 270, five clicks. Dust-off in thirty seconds. Say pax, mark the LZ, and standby to identify." Simple statement, he needed to know how many people would be requiring a lift and, more importantly, he needed them to mark their relative position. Procedure was to pop smoke downwind of their actual position and state a distance so as not to unnecessarily obscure the flight crew's vision during extraction. Speaking over the intercom, he advised the Flight Sergeant. "Sarge! Thirty seconds, man the crew-served weapons. Strap in. This is going to be abrupt."

[member="Abel"] | [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Micah Talith"] | [member="Vexen"]

 

[Cameron Centurion]

The Sith Lord's silver-green orbs gazed intently at [member="Loske Matson"] as he held the lithe young woman within his grasp. Though his apparent attention was on the curious young woman, his senses were no less attuned to what [member="Abel"] was doing on the ground. It would have been natural, though laughably pointless, for the young man to attempt something in his current state. However, Cameron did not put it past a Jedi to harbor such a foolish notion as sneak-attacking the Sith Lord. The man would find that the Master of Ren's attentions could shift in less time than it took to form a thought of action.

"There is a familiarity about you, child," Cameron spoke plainly in a deep voice to Loske. "I want to know you." No sooner had the words left the Sith Lord's lips than the full weight of his dark presence pressed against Loske's mind. Whatever barriers she'd put in place either subconsciously or purposefully would come under a brutal assault of the power of the Force. Keeping his gaze steadied on the girl, Cameron ripped apart the areas of her mind that were of little consequence to him, assaulting every neuron and memory of her brain. In very little time, he would be walking through the deep recesses of her mind.

The Sith Lord just didn't know that he would find it to be like a melting polar ice cap, various memories drifting in random directions, not really connected in the fluid motion that was typical of sentient species. If it all worked, it would become all too obvious to Cameron that the young girl was constructed almost entirely of implanted memories. Eventually, he would make his way to the subconscious memories of infancy...memories even Loske likely could no longer recall.

The question was...would the Sith Lord force her to relive such memories? Forcing the general reality of her scientific creation to the forefront of her cerebral cortex?

Yeah. He probably would.

 

[Joy]

Loske's scream drew Abel's attention away from the dying man. His eyes flicked from her to the man who'd appeared outta nowhere. Like some sort of ghost. The presence radiating from him was the same Abel had felt when they'd neared the compound. This was the dark sider who had driven the slaves to kill each other.

To Abel's growing horror, Loske's body lifted off the ground and surged toward the villain. She struggled in his grip, suspended in the air before him, but it was to no avail. Caught like a fly in a web. He could feel the tendrils of thought reaching out from the man and digging into his friend's mind.

"Noooo!"

The hoarse shout blurted from the padawan's cracked lips. Before he knew what he was doing he was charging across the ground between them, lightsaber activating with a sharp snap-hiss and filling the already befouled air with the scent of ozone.

From the way he held the saber as he ran it was clear he was far from an expert. What's more, his back was a burnt and torn mess from the explosion. He couldn't feel the pain right now, or rather, he overwrote that pain with the will to save a friend in need and no small amount of Force energy to keep him standing.

But a protracted fight against a Lord of the Sith? Ludicrous.

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Cameron Centurion"] | [member="Isar Kislo"] | [member="Micah Talith"]

 

[Micah Talith]

[member="Abel"] [member="Cameron Centurion"] [member="Isar Kislo"] [member="Loske Matson"]

Stars.

Micah saw alot of stars. Not to mention the amount of pain searing through his head at the present time. How long he'd been knocked out, the Talith wasn't sure. That is what happened when one hits a solid object from the strength of the shove provided by his uncle. Old he may be, but the man could still deck Draith; lovingly of course.

Groans and cries surrounded him, and the ringing in his ears prompted a grimace of pain. He had debris over him, a cloud of dust and fine matter thickening the air with smoke. What the... he began, musing as he tried to gather his bearings.

Slowly, he drew himself up, shoving and pushing the debris off the way. A few slaves around him were still a bit mad, and there were more bodies on the floor than when they'd begun this operation.

Ahh, hell.

His HUD went flickering over his eyes, trying to register what was going on around him.

That was when a loud "NOOOOOOOOOOO" hit is sensors.

 

[Vexen]

[member="Micah Talith"]

One of the slaves scrambled through the wreckage on hands and knees, heedless of the blood being drawn by moving through the debris. His bloodied hands found a chuck of masonry that had broken from the pen walls in the bombardment. A crooked smile graced his lips. His sight was blurred, but he could make something out ahead of him moving. Coming up onto his knees he raised the heavy rock high.

Blue light crackled and encapsulated his face. He writhed and twisted and then fell backwards into the dirt, kicking up a cloud of detritus around him. Vexen stood where he had been, one arm out straight, the other held tight to her side. Her fur was matted under that arm, slick with her own blood.

"Co..." she seemed to try to speak, but paused for air. Breathing seemed to hurt. "Come on Micah."

 

[Loske Treicolt]

“You what?!” Loske wheezed, as if able to have a conversation with this psychotic Sith Lord. She squirmed some more, as if for good measure or something, before a gasp of surprise filled her lungs and out her mouth. She didn’t even have time to cling to the statement of her being somehow familiar to him. Is that why she was getting his front row seat of delight?

Hnnngh Loske protested, though now fully subjected to the intrusion of her mind. Small whimpers here and there would be evidenced, but she was no longer present.

Loske had no mental protection. Her biological donors did-- but those talents were long buried from her pathetic metaphysical grope. She tried though-- she tried to think of anything but the dark reality of what was currently happening. Thoughts of stars, her star fighter - anything. And at the same time -- nothing at all.

[member="Cameron Centurion"] touched a nerve. There is an evil that that punctures good persons and fill them with ecstasy. In whatever the Master of Ren was attempting to do - something beyond her whimpering and physical struggle protested. Something far more innate and untouched.

Her chest tightened, grunting slightly at the unwarranted shift from within. Her fists clenched, nails pressing crescents into the heel of her hands. Images, not her own, became visual. The communication between Sith Lord and pilot was not one directional - and had become a two way street. Or rather, a full blown highway.

And all Loske wanted as an exit.

She could see an image of a cloaked individual, eyes burning more brilliantly than most suns. A sense of calm, yet, still permeated. Instructions to eliminate barriers — then came in a strip of her own memories, intwined — her training, Teras Kasi with a man twice her size in an all beige room — then an image of strange, mammal-like sentients speaking slow wisdoms. Then came hoarse chants of spells. Not her own, it must have been Cameron’s. The image of several hooded individuals on one knee, to the first person point of view definitely was. And through it all - she never felt a feeling of fear.

Loske’s feeble mind couldn’t continue to take this. In absolute desperation, another sense tapped, and a large telekinetic bubble swelled in her belly; stretching through her abdomen until it completely exploded from her core - with enough of a blast to hopefully drop her to her butt in exhaustion and force Cameron at least a meter away. The blonde was spent, and unconsciously sprawled and useless to herself, team, and hopefully too - Cameron.

[member="Abel"] | [member="Micah Talith"] | [member="Vexen"]

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Cameron's facial expression didn't tend to change much with respect to his inner thoughts. However, in this particular instance he probably would have been hard-pressed to hide his surprise in intrigue. That is, of course, if [member="Loske Matson"] had not interrupted his mental invasion in such an...abrupt fashion.

While the Sith Lord's attention had not been primarily focused on [member="Abel"], he'd been aware of the young man's presence enough to have a little surprise planned for the Jedi. Just as he was about to sever the mental connection with Loske and react to Abel, his warning senses gave him a moderate preview of what the young woman's subconscious was about to do. After all, he was inside of her brain.

Rather than take action that could have stopped Loske's attack and permanently reduced her brain to little more than slush in the process, the Master of Ren allowed the all too familiar repulsive strength of Force energy to carry his body away from Loske and Abel. The moment the Sith Lord's feet took to the air, his mental connection to Loske was completely severed.

Managing his trajectory and velocity with the Force, Cameron eventually managed to levitate to a subtle landing some ten meters away from the pair. Smiling broadly, the Sith Lord prepared to draw his weapon and remove the blight of his curiosity and recent discovery from the face of the galaxy. Perhaps he would fill in the gaps of the girls memory?

It was the last thought Cameron had before a proton torpedo streaked menacingly through the night sky and incinerated one of the support shuttles departing from the Imperial camp. By the time the Sith Lord's silver-green gaze had been cast skyward, several more projectile weapons were streaking overhead to connect with targets of opportunity. For all of Cameron's strength and capability, he was not actually a God and thus...unable to see everything before it happened.

Narrowing his eyes in curiosity, the ancient entity had only but a moment to register that a very familiar presence was approaching from the horizon. Without the time to fully evaluate, he couldn't quite be sure. However, he'd been close enough to the very soul of Loske Matson to recognize when one of a...similar composition was nearby. Though the new presence was...less raw, as if the potential had been molded to a moderate degree.

Without the time to contemplate his situation further, the Sith Lord grumbled slightly. There was still a Jedi charging towards his position as Loske recovered. No fancy Aing Tii techniques this time, Cameron turned and with the aid of the Force, darted off towards the nearest vessel.

[member="Micah Talith"] | [member="Vexen"]

 

[Isar Kislo]

"Perfect..." Isar's tone was less than enthusiastic. Not only was he piloting the somewhat large, slightly nimble vessel on his own, but he also had no apparent contact with their forces left on the ground. In fact, the reality that their locator beacons were still active meant very little. The young Jedi supposed that he could take some comfort in the fact the enemy had not yet ransacked the bodies of his brothers and sisters, smashing the locator beacons to pieces.

As the assault shuttle was not a bomber, it really didn't have an effective ground-mapping sensor array. However, given the incredibly short distance from the LZ and associated targets, the air-to-air sensor was beginning to pick up a number of returns based on heat activity and elevation change. The shuttles in the initial stages of take-off were prime targets.

Adjusting the thrust of the large vessel, Isar kept a close eye on his horizontal velocity as he activated the repulsors at a low thrust setting to compensate for the loss in lift. Immediately thereafter, his right hand moved to select a number of targets to engage with the limited number of projectile stores they had remaining onboard. Just as the vessel was approaching less than one thousand meters to the target area, a series of proton torpedoes erupted from the launch tubes of the assault shuttle.

Isar didn't have a lot of time to track the progress of the weapons as he was much more focused on the extraction procedure. Having deactivated all of the aircraft lighting, the shuttle only became supremely visible when the young Jedi dropped thrust to the sublight bank completely and began adding considerable thrust to the repuslors to keep them airborne. Managing the delicate trade between horizontal velocity for vertical velocity and stability, Isar pulled back gently on the control column.

Once the vessel was within four hundred meters of the targeted LZ, he added slight power to the sublight engines, dropped the nose, and rolled the vessel onto its right side. The combination of inputs, with subtle corrections, threw the shuttle into an abrupt, tight left-hand turn. In order to kill the remainder of his horizontal velocity, Isar applied maximum thrust to the repsulsor engines. The effect also aided in clearing out any remaining fires in the vicinity of the landing area.

Keeping his ice-blue gaze glued to the terrain features outside and the information displayed in his Heads-Up Display, the Kiffar guided the shuttle around its tight arc and eventually began to roll the vessel level as he idled the sublight engines completely once more. Adjusting thrust to the repulsors, the young Jedi nestled the lumbering shuttle into the mud with an expertise that was...mostly inherited by both genetic donors.

"Chief lets get them onboard NOW!"

The Flight Sergeant did not waste any time lowering the loading ramp and motioning off the security element. Whatever soldiers were still in fighting shape disembarked to establish a perimeter and retrieve the remaining survivors. As the Alliance Troops tended to their duties, the Flight Sergeant stood near the edge of the loading ramp, forcing himself to keep from vomiting at the sight of so many dead bodies. Obviously...the shuttle had been forced to land on some...

Couldn't be helped.

The Sergeant commanding the search party came upon Loske and Abel first. At gunpoint, they quickly moved to verify identities. "You alri---" The Sergeant stopped mid-interrogatory upon seeing the damage done to Abel. "Alright, let's get them onboard now." As a squad tended to Loske and Abel, the other two moved to locate Micah and Vexen.

Time was of the essence.

[member="Micah Talith"] | [member="Vexen"] | [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Abel"]

 

[Micah Talith]

[member="Isar Kislo"] [member="Vexen"] [member="Loske Matson"] [member="Abel"]

Pain.

Pain went rippling through that connection. Not just his, but hers. Vexen.

The bright embers of Micah’s eyes managed to peer through the cloud of debris. He saw her, barely, a diminutive form barely brought to the fore by the cloud of detritus floating around her.

Vex.

She was hurt.

While Micah could very well not really by bothered by his own injuries, when it dealt with those he loved, it was another story. Within it, he could get reckless yes. One might even say fall into tunnel vision. But in that it made him focused.

A gruff grunt fell from his lips, but he drew himself up. He was coated in debris from head to toe. Likely would suffer a few broken and bruised ribs. A trickle of liquid warmth mingled with the sweat behind his helm, a place where his head had knocked a bit too hard and it broke skin.

The Defel could very well likely move on her own. However, Micah wasn’t the sort to think twice when he caught sight of her wounded arm, or her weak tone.

He drew in the Force, feeling it swell within him to strengthen his connection but also to grant him an extra wave of energy. Pulling up, he took one half staggered step before he caught him bearing.

“Come on, I got you.” He told her, the hum overhead of the evacuation ship crying out for them to hurry. His arms would wrap round, bringing her up against him.

They’d have to leave fast -- lest the other mind driven slaves began to attack anew.

 

[Vexen]

[member="Isar Kislo"] [member="Micah Talith"]

Vexen started to growl, "I'll be fine," but the protest stopped when he took hold of her. Instead she slumped against him and did nothing to hold back the soft whimper.

When she growled again it was to try and push back that ever expanding sphere of pain. White hot tendrils of pain that had started to reach out from the wound were forced back as she drew on the Force to remain conscious.

"There's a ship, I can hear 'em, but my transmitter is busted."

As a completely dark shape in the shadow of night it would have been nigh on impossible for them to spot her. Yet as she was no longer preoccupied with finding Micah the solution became apparent.

She held up her stun baton and squeezed the grip. Bright blue flickered along the weapon and she waved it back and forth in the air.

 

[Micah Talith]

@Vexen

"Then do me a favor and make sure I'm okay then? I need you close to do that." he told her, his voice cracking through the modulator. It was said as a way for the Defel to focus on him instead of her own pain. It was also done so that she wouldn't argue him holding her. He felt her pain. She wasn't fine.

Micah drew his head up, the baton swinging back and forth to gather [member="Isar Kislo"] 's attention registering at the edge of his HUD. A thought crossed his mind.

Where is he?

His uncle was near, but had moved further beyond his reach. Lips drew thin and a grunt cut through them. Well, the next family dinner would prove to be interesting. Now he knew a little bit more. His uncle was either working with slaves.

Or someone else...

That boded some investigation. For now, however, his hand would join that of Vexan's baton to gather the shuttles attention.

 

[Isar Kislo]

[member="Micah Talith"] | [member="Vexen"]

The two squads of troopers that had fanned out to locate any remaining survivors moved methodically through the carnage. There were a number of slaves here and there that appeared to be alive in some manner or another. Combat Medics assigned to the small force did what they could to stabilize those that could not immediately be moved, hoping they could be prepared for transport by the time the call for dust-off was given.

From inside the cockpit of the idling shuttle, Isar's eyes remained locked out the viewport. For the time being, there seemed to be a moderate break in the enemy activity. Well...at least towards the Alliance forces.

Four men from one of the squads eventually caught sight of the signals being put up by Vexen and Micah. The Corporal in charge of the fireteam grunted as he motioned for his men to move towards securing the two individuals. The Corporal didn't recognize either of them, so the confirmation was brief. "Are you ambulatory? We need to move."

A streak of burning light erupted from the Imperial camp, followed closely by another. Isar's blue gaze focused in on the threat as he keyed the communicator. "Hold on in the cargo bay!" As the projectiles rocketed closer, Isar could almost feel the heat from the massive plume of fire propelling them through the night sky. Immediately, his mind calculated the probability that the weapons were being guided, but he couldn't be sure.

At nearly the last minute, Isar applied fifty percent thrust to the repulsors and full thrust to the sublight drive. The shuttle jumped up into the air slightly as it began to surge forward. The ridge before him loomed in the forward viewport as the center of gravity shift on the vessel caused the nose to dip just low enough for the front skid to almost impact the ground. Slapping the button to retract the loading ramp, Isar gritted his teeth as the shuttle built up enough speed to maintain flight without complete assistance of the repulsors.

As he began to snap roll the shuttle onto its side, Isar applied full thrust to the repulsors and pulled the control column towards his chest. Practically standing on the rudder to keep the vessel from sliding into the ground on its side, Isar's glacier-blue gaze darted from the heads-up display to the system status readout. Once clear of the ridge, Isar rolled the shuttle level once more and dropped the repulsors back to twenty-five percent.

On the ground, the squads that had disembarked were preparing everyone for extraction. "Get these people to the freaking LZ now!"

Circling back around, Isar used the last trick he really had up his sleeves. "Smoke screen now - whoever isn't at the LZ in literally fifteen seconds gets left behind!"

Troops immediately took action to follow the instructions not because the unknown pilot had command authority over them...but because he was operating their only real method of getting out alive. Fresh fires from the two rockets were already making it difficult to see, so it didn't take much to completely obscure the enemies view...at least heavy weapons emplacements. If they sent Stormtroopers equipped with advanced sensors to investigate, things would get ugly again real fast.

Ten seconds later, the large shuttle flared aggressively into view and nearly crashed into the ground. Nearly. The loading ramp extended once more as both the sublight drive and repulsors idled at a percentage of power that actually caused the shuttle to creep forward as it hovered just over the ground.

"Five seconds, let's GO!"

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Abel"]

 

[Joy]

Abel definitely did not feel ambulatory. What did that mean again? Walking. No, no he didn't think he could walk anymore. He knew he should feel relieved. All the Galactic Alliance fighters, here to save them. The real heroes come at last, just like a story book.

But as the padawan's knees sagged and his spent muscles gave out, he dropped to the ground.

A ground littered with ash and bones.

He reached out to steady himself, hands curling into the earth. Someone picked him up, back to his feet. Abel stumbled forward. Staring only at his hands. They were stained black with soot. A soot made from the charred remains of humanoids.

The youth didn't cry anymore. He was not sure if he had run out of tears. All he could think about was how hundreds of people were now just dust under their feet. It did not make any sense. And yet, at the same time, it made all the sense in the world.

We all go back to the dust, in the end. Everybody dies.

Abel wished he had died instead. Maybe if he had they wouldn't have been vaporized.

Maybe- he fainted.

***​

When Abel awoke it was a day later and in a room with four white walls. He wore a clean, white gown. And draped over him lay clean, white sheets. No trace of soot here.

Somehow, that made it worse.

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Isar Kislo"]