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  1. Terra and Rose: The anti-aircraft guns that locked onto the Mandalore and her coterie opened fire, but the guns had never been designed to stop something as small, maneuverable, and quick as a the honed and terrible Basilisk droids. Gunners uselessly cried out reports of the incoming threat into the downed comms, the Central Command Tower deaf to their warnings. As Apothos' Iron Howlrunner docked at the upper, gleaming balconies of the Royal Palace, he sat still and quiet in the dark of the hold. His head jerked around as the emotions of something rippled through the air like the shockwave of a seismic charge. To his Dark Sight, the Force twisted and knotted at the touch of such anger. Could it even be called that? Not anger...frenzy. Madness. Beneath the black cloth that hid his face, he smiled. "I remember you..." he whispered into the darkness, to no one in particular. "You stole from me. Kessel..." The ship docked with an audible chung and the outer hatch opened. Apothos descended, his Emperiax throne carrying him down in a rhythmic beat of tink tink tink. "This world is mine..." he said to himself. "Take it from me if you can." Krath Inmortos: As the first whispers of Krath Inmortos' dark sorceries began to permeate the air of Coral City, Apothos's chair stopped, halted by its master's will. Apothos...had felt this before. His smile widened. His chair returned to its brisk pace, entering the palace and moving through it towards the throne room. Power. They would see the power of the Dark Side soon. Let them see what a world in the hands of the Krath could hold. What it could turn loose. The thought made him pause. Turned loose, this power would hamper his own forces as well. Deepguard were designed to handle underwater combat, and they could take a wider array of temperatures than most battle droid models, but the storm Inmortos had conjured last time he'd been here had well exceeded those limits. Apothos droids would continue to function for a time, but if this took long they would be locked down as surely as the living soldiers. And communications were down, so his commanders had little recourse but to hold out where they were. The path of the walking throne shifted as it now took the neimoidian Krath upwards, towards the peak of the palace's central spire. As he ascended, he thought a command to a squad of Deepguard, scouring the palace for intruders if appearances were to be believed. Bring the king to me. Immediately. Carried on the power of his mechu-deru, the command was absolute. Code changed and protocols shifted to accommodate the all-consuming directive. "Yes master." Apothos barely heard the acknowledgement, his throne having moved past them and up towards his goal. The final door whooshed open at a thought from Apothos, and he stood at the peak of the palace. A massive spire, the top was spread out into a magnificent balcony, large enough that it must have held press events and socialite gatherings at one point. The space however was not what Apothos was after. At the center of the balcony, rising still hire, were a series of antennas and dishes, shivering in the rising, chill wind. It was the palace's communications array. Designed to broadcast to the entire city, as well as receive deep-space transmissions in bulk, it was the eyes and ears of the royal family. Unfortunately, it was crippled as every other communication device in the city, with network still down thanks to the rebel hacking and losing power to half the city in quick succession. Apothos had no intention to use it as it was however. He extended his hands, and began to chant. The array shuddered...and began to shift. Emma, Johan, and Alliera: Manhole covers burst up, fiery plumes illuminating the darkened streets as they spread from the point of impact. Pavement cracked, and in several places the street caved in completely, dropping into now open tunnels with a cascade of debris. As the explosions sent violent pressure waves through the tunnel system, old overflow systems tripped, and floodgates dropped down to stop what it perceived as a deluge of water from submerging the rest of the sewers. The explosions rocked up to the barriers and battered at them, leaving them scorched and sizzling hot...but intact. Apothos' home, once the main office of Mon Calamari Shipyards, still stood, though a careful eye might have detected the barest hint of a lean in the once perfectly perpendicular structure. Inside however, was another story. Toilets, sinks, and drainage lines had burst throughout the facility drenching expensive carpets, pantries stocked with exotic foodstuffs, and galleries of foreign art in fishy, smelly sewage water. HC-42: DG-O37A felt what may have been pride, or maybe relief, if his model-series was capable of such things. The doors were closing, and if the shouts from outside were of any indication, reinforcements had arrived. The rebels had no way in here. If they rushed, they'd be cut down in the kill zone. If they hesitated, they'd be trapped against the door with whatever reinforcements had arrived. Potential opposing combat solution determined. Standard tactic == [Explosives deployment] DG-037A only briefly analyzed that possibility. Even if they had explosives, the standard estimated yield of one such device would never- Something rolled under the door. Analyzing... Detonator? Multiple detonators. Estimating explosive yie- The thought never came to completion. The explosion rocked the base, blowing back the fortifications and sending the Deepguard droids who'd only just before had been arranged in a semi-circle around the door flying back in pieces. The door screeched and squealed, but it stopped its slow descent. The explosion had bent it outward, and now it simply shuddered in place as motors struggled to force it down. Mythos: DG-OG13 was furious. It had not realized it could feel such a thing, but this Shistavanian had kindle something in its mind. This was his fault, DG-OG13 was sure of it. Armed insurgents had popped up in the Pleasure District, gunning down droids even as the squads there tried to regroup. DG-OG13 could now only feel the datalinks of the other Overseers, and even then only the ones nearby. The Central Command Tower wasn't transmitting, and the logical, precise droid could see the pockets of chaos forming all across its sector. It enraged it. Even now, it committed more and more droids in pursuit of the Shistavanian. It would catch him. It would make him- Incoming transmission. Priority override code. Impossible. The network was still down... General: King Halargo struggled. The king's girth had subsided in recent days, and his skin had taken an unhealthy, pallid tone that now hung loose off of him in places. The king's "voluntary" seclusion had taken its toll. But even so, he struggled. It didn't amount to much. The pair of Deepguard Exemplars hoisted him effortlessly up the stairs, his wild kicks and shaking barely fazing the strong droids. The door opened, and the unnatural chill hit Halargo like a rolling wave. It drove his breath away, and his lungs stung as he sucked in more air, the cold already spreading through his body. Before him was Apothos' throne, facing away from him and towards... Halargo stared. The communications array...or what had once been the communications array, stood stark against the floodlights ringing the building. It still resembled its orginal self to a degree, but now the antenna jutted out at strange angles, fusing and twisting around each other in an aesthetic usually reserved for abattoirs and abstract artists. Cables had ripped themselves out of the floor and reconnected in new, tangled weaves. And where before dozens of status lights had blinked erratically as data poured in and out, now they all pulsed slowly. Softly. Like a heartbeat. The throne rotated, metal legs skittering to keep it level, and Halargo was brought face to face with Apothos. The king recoiled. He'd not seen the neimoidian in weeks, but this thing was entirely unlike the neimoidian who'd threatened him before. This creature was withered and twisted, something that should have died long before it reached this state. "Your majesty," Apothos' raspy voice came from somewhere under the black cloth hiding his face. "Your city...betrays you." Halargo shivered in the chill, wondering how Apothos could stand it. "My people would never betray me." "They have sided with the invaders. You have sided with me. And so, they have betrayed you." Halargo struggled to move, but the droids still held him firmly by the shoulders. In the end, he only spit in Apothos' direction. The phlegm crackled as it froze on the floor. "My mistake. Then, you have betrayed me." "I was never yours. Neither was this world, and never was its people!" "...You are brave. But wrong. Take him below to the dungeons. Have them break him. He will serve." Apothos' chair turned, and the droids dragged the king from the terrace, kicking and shouting. "You won't win!" He screamed. "My people have hope! We have pride! You can never own us!" If Apothos heard, he gave no indication. Now to work. _________________________________ All across the city, the communication networks were down, hacked and disabled by expert rebel tech. The only communications still running in the city were the datalinks of the Deepguard themselves. Boosted by the Overseers, they allowed a squad to function as a unit even at range, but served poorly as a city-wide communication system. Unless someone used mechu-deru to transform a large communications array into a single, giant Deepguard transmitter. Across the city, Deepguard paused as new links formed in their minds, connections across the city networking into a single, cohesive weave of data. Overseers were suddenly sharing enemy troop counts, squad positions, combat solution analyses, and more. Squads that had been fighting separately suddenly shifted position, joining up in singular waves that drove back at the enemy attackers, caring nothing for the units they sacrificed to push their beachhead, strategic arithmetic dictating which droids would die to take the next block. Apothos watched the flow of data through the perception of his mechu-deru on the array. He gleaned where his troops were, what sections of the city they had lost, and where they were pushing back. It is time. His thoughts extended once more, and new set of commands spread to his mechanical troops. ______________________________ The Deepguard did not stop fighting. They gave no indication they were even aware of what was happening to them. Yet, in perfect unison, every Deepguard in the city began to shout in one voice. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY FAVOR. At the remaining powerplants across the city, the Deepguard units that had rushed to protect them from any further attacks received new orders. Levers were thrown, and the city was plunged into absolute darkness. Every house went black and silent. Every street was engulfed in shadows, only the echoing sounds of battle and the howling of the icy wind breaking the stillness. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY PROTECTION. A new command issued to every Deepguard, both those in combat and not. [Priority Command]Withdraw to nearest structure capable of defense. Fortify and hold position[/Priority Command] Deepguard locked in combat suddenly began retreating, firing to cover their escape as they broke and ran. In the residential districts, the various squads invaded the most secure homes they could find, indifferent to the confusion and fear of the residents, unless one decided to fight back. Others found banks, factories, and other sturdy businesses. And hundreds withdrew into the Royal Palace and Apothos' now flooded home. Yet even as they ran away, one last message rang out from their vocabulators. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY MERCY. __________________________ On the edge of the city, something wet, cold, and pale grasped the edge of the dock. Ungainly and stiff, it pulled itself from the water that was already forming a layer of slush. The cold meant nothing to it. It was already dead. Warmth. Life. Blood. It could feel them. It wanted them. It needed them. Its jaw, once the fishlike mouth of a mon calamari, now hung only by strips of half rotted flesh. Tears and black rot painted stripes across its otherwise pale corpse. Clouded eyes stared hungrily into the city. Its master was there. His power saturated the air. Blood had been spilled. Anger, hate, and fear...so much fear...it could taste them on the wind. It lurched forward, stumbling at first, then breaking out into an ungainly, loping run down the street, lurching and scuttling like some crustacean that had lost half its legs. Behind it, another corpse rose from the sea. Then another. And another. _______________________________ All around Coral City, now dark and quiet save for the fighting and the howling storm, the sea boiled with the dead. They crawled onto the docks in pairs, then in scores, then by the hundred. A tide of death rose, and it sought to consume the city.
    2 points
  2. After looking through everyone’s actions for the last few days, there are a few matters that need to be addressed with regards to MandaJetii’s and Johan Fae’s actions: in a combative scenario such as an invasion on an actively-defended world, it is required to give an opponent at least three days to respond before continuing to post. Violating what we call the “Three-Day Rule” has the potential to result in your actions being nullified, but as Johan Fae’s and MandaJetii’s actions have been primarily conversing with each other, we are going to stop at just warning both of you to be mindful of this rule in the future. More significant is the detonation of explosive charges in the sewers by MandaJetii, leading to the destruction of a sizable portion of a Mon Calamari city through a chain reaction of exploding gases. This is an atrocity that would cause the loss of many thousands of innocent lives if the results of these actions are accepted as posted. As a result, we are going to significantly curtail the damage caused by this detonation. It is very reasonable to assume that this detonation has caused severe localized damage, including injuries to those who have set it off, demolition and loss of local power, gas lines, industry, and other infrastructure. It is not reasonable to say that this has sparked a chain reaction throughout the entire city. Again, this is a combative scenario with an active defender, and it is a breach of RP rules to post “closed attacks”: that is, posting the damage suffered by your opponent. The precise damage that has been inflicted to the city is to be determined by your opponent, Krath Apothos. And lastly, the moderator team wishes to express their dismay at the recent disruption on the Discord server. We call JediRP a “Collaborative Storytelling Community” for important reasons. Player vs. player combat is a unique feature of our community and every player should be prepared for their best-laid plans to be foiled in combat--but we thrive on friendly communication and coordination between players. This is true even and especially when our characters (who may hate each other’s guts in-character) are doing their best to kill each other. Heated exchanges and starting fights over a matter of a scuppered battle plan will not fly. Battle plans will fail again in the future, and while that’s always frustrating, we hope that a future conflict on our Discord will not ensue. We will do our best to ensure that all storylines are able to continue satisfactorily. From here on out, all players should abide by the Three-Day Rule to give all other combatants the opportunity to react in this ever-changing situation. As we have issued a warning, any future violations will result in actions up to and including removal from this scenario or temporary bans, to be determined by the mod team. ------ObliviousKnight and the JediRP Mod Team
    2 points
  3. HC-42, Gwal, Sasha and Leep poured out of the U-wing, landing on the ground of the floating shipyard's top entrance with an audible thud. In HC-42 and Gwal's case, it was a louder thud than usual due to their immense weight. Both left a small crater where they landed, as a matter of fact. They immediately looked around the area for any Sith forces, the battlenet aiding them. Sure enough, a squad of unfamiliar battle droids were guarding the entrance, already alerted to their presence. The four of them dove for cover as they were fired at, Sasha's incredible sharpshooting already allowed her to get an accurate shot off while running. Leep's incredible agility, owed to his cybernetic legs, allowed him to jump towards cover while firing repeatedly at the droids mid-air, though these shots were obviously more haphazard and mainly intended to buy time anyway. Gwal was the slowest of the group, so he fired the most amount of cover fire with his E-22 before finally making it. HC-42 hadn't gotten off a single shot yet- he was more patient than the others. He was behind cover by now, and fired his Heavy Repeating Blaster to send a barrage of laser fire into the midst of the "Deepguard droids," as the battlenet had by now identified. He stopped shortly- the droids were too fortified for that to do any good. "What's the plan here, 42? More of these droids will come." Sasha said, indicating the reality of the situation. "You three keep laying down fire. I need to find an opening in their defense." "What the hell are you going to do!? There's gotta be a dozen droids firing from that entrance! I don't think there IS an opening!" Sasha said. HC-42 thought otherwise. These droids were tough at their current numbers, but squads were always weaker when they had to fight two targets in different locations. "We have to split them up. Gwal, Leep, head for the cover point to the west. We'll cover you. Sasha, stay with me, when Gwal and Leep are behind cover, we're going to try and out-flank them." HC-42 then started firing his heavy repeating blaster again, the intent being to put enough pressure on the droid squad's fortifications at the entrance. If the droids were smart, they'd duck behind their fortifications and not risk firing. If they were stupid, they'd risk damage by continuing to fire, and Sasha could easily hit a target once it popped up, even if HC-42's blasts didn't necessarily destroy the droid. In any case, it would buy enough time for Gwal and Leep to make it to their new position. "Gwal, Leep, now's your chance!" Sasha shouted as she too kept firing. This wasn't exactly like the simulations, but HC-42 had still applied some of what he learned to this. He especially remembered Emma's advice when they fought the Imperial Squire Berea in a surprise test: "Distract and flank!" So that was what he was going to do.
    2 points
  4. Mantis: The explosion that rocked the mountain sent up huge plumes of dust, smoke, toxic fumes, and electronic alerts. The facilities had deliberately kept security light, to keep from drawing the attention of insurgents, but now with the mountain's tunnels and caverns lit up with the fires of burning industrial equipment and narcotic fungi, the security of the remaining facilities began immediately calling for help. Yet...for some reason, Coral City did not respond. The Central Command Tower made no reply. Still, the facilities were not defenseless. A trio of Vulture droid starfighters lifted off from the beaches where they'd lurked beneath sheets of camo-netting, and lifting up more slowly behind them were a pair of Hyena droid bombers, armed with depth charges. An attack by underwater forces had always been considered the most likely method of attack on the facility. Their priority now was protecting the remainder of the facilities. Bomb on sight. The Vulture droid starfighters began scanning for unauthorized vessels... Mythos: Communications were down. Power for almost 50% of the city was down. Central Command Tower went silent. Not powered down, as it ran off its own generator, but cut off by the sudden loss of communication resulting from the rebel tampering. Then the droids responded. Deepguard Overseer models stopped in their tracks, range-boosting antennae extending from their backs, linking up with others until a loose network was formed. Painfully, agonizingly slowly, deluges of data were passed along, and each Overseer gained a rough idea of the severity of the attack they were under. Insurgency response protocols went into effect, and each Deepguard squad was given the same directive. PRIORITY COMMAND: Restore/maintain order. Patrol routes were changed, messages were sent, auxiliary units were activated. In a few places, the lights flickered back on as back-up power systems switched on. Others gained a dim glow as priority sectors were bled a portion of the city's remaining power, other sectors losing their now useless Holonet and a dozen other frivolities in exchange. But even as the mechanical element performed damage control, the living element began its own reaction. In the poorer neighborhoods, natives huddled together, wondering if perhaps the regime that had taken their planet was now coming to take their homes...or lives. It wasn't an unwarranted fear. Cutting power had been the first step for every other neighborhood evicted for "urban renewal." The business districts and the more well off reacted as one might expect, with confusion and outrage. Already, units of Deepguard were being dispatched to clear the streets, by force if necessary. The visitor districts, including the Pleasure Sector, were the sites of the most chaos. People who lived by few rules and fewer morals reacted with either paranoia or opportunism. Here and there, the bodies of criminal scum were found stuffed in washrooms and under tables as enterprising rivals took advantage of the confusion and loss of security surveillance to take out their competition. The patrols that had been protecting the Pleasure Sector were suddenly called to move in and restore order. More than one drug lord, smuggler, and arms dealer found their way to the ground courtesy of a bronzium fist or electroshock prod. Worse, the hidden workings of Apothos' mechu-deru began to reveal themselves. In one sector, a grocery dispensary manager worked to rile up the locals into a frenzy and fight the oncoming Deepguard. Illegal blasters and homemade explosives began taking out Deepguard units in ones and twos. Their sudden rebellion came to a halt when a single, damaged Deepguard managed to stagger up to the ringleader's own grocery dispensary, and as it broadcast its detection of enemy combatants a gas line in the building inexplicably overloaded itself. The result explosion took out the ringleader and 8 other insurgents, along with the heart of the mob's fighting spirit. In another, a thief carrying Mon Calamari art set to be auctioned to offworlders cursed and shrieked as his speeder bike inexplicably turned right uncontrollably, spinning the man into a building and destroying him along with the precious works of art. The Deepguard patrol he'd crossed had only just registered him as hostile before the incident happened. The city was infected, and now the hidden malevolence of Apothos was playing out in scene after scene of bloody chaos. ________________________________ DG-OG13 was experiencing something new. Considering its operating life had only been 57 standard days so far, it shouldn't have been surprising that it would still be finding novelty not in its databanks, but it was sure this was a sensation few other Deepguard had experienced. Rage. Upgrading designation of [Shistavanian] to [Priority Target]. Commencing [Retrieval]. [Violence - Minor] permitted. [Violence - Major] permitted. [Violence - Lethal] permitted. Dispatching retrieval team. ________________________________ At the site of the now exploded mining shaft, the two remaining Monitors stood, orders bleeding in from the more intelligent DG-OG13. "Commencing-" began the first. "..." The second paused, as if waiting for their now disabled third member of the trio to finish the sentence. After a moment, it spoke. "...pursuit." The two began loping off into the darkness, as OG13 attempted to estimate the fleeing wolfman's path of retreat. Other patrols were called off from restoring order in order to form the net the closed around the area OG13 thought the Shistavanian might have fled. This insurgent had challenged OG13's control. Control was all the droid knew. It would not let him get away if it could help it. _______________________________ Space: (General) Up above, fighting the creeping edge of a headache, Captain Jorus opened his tired eyes at the sight of the Black Bracer and other Strands ships jumping to hyperspace. Contract was up...apparently. Jorus didn't have the clout or disposition to argue with the fanatics aboard the Black Bracer, so he simply let them go and rearranged what ships he had into a tighter security formation. If he was lucky, nothing else would go wrong today. Alarms blared. ....Kriff kriff kriff kriff kriff... His foul-mouthed mantra played monotone in his head as forced his tired eyes to focus on the readout. What he saw woke him up immediately. A few quick jabs at his screen, and he shouted into his comm, "What the spice-loving karking heck is going on down there!?" Central Command Tower only returned static. Jorus narrowed his eyes. Comms were down. Power was out. The Hakawa Islands had been attacked. Any one of those would have been impressive for the local insurgents. But all three? Simultaneously? "...Broadcasting to all units. Red Alert. Red Alert. All units enter military readiness. Now!" He switched channels. "Shipyards patrol, get on the line and get those Strands battleships back here immediately! I don't care what you have to promise them!" Maybe this was nothing. Maybe the local protestors had finally gotten their act together. But it didn't feel like that. And Jorus had survived on paranoia. He wasn't about to change now. His screen beeped out an incoming transmission. "Oh for the love of...I don't have time for-" The computer suddenly skipped past the notification and connected. "Captain Jorus." The criminal turned commander froze, breath catching as the raspy voice crackled over the speakers. Boss... "What is happening in my city?"
    2 points
  5. Mantis: As the submersible pulled out of the harbor, a single floating probe droid noted its departure, logging it for analysis by the Central Command Tower. Alert: Unauthorized vehicle departing city. Searching for owner... Owner found: Jemala Morloon. Former founder, CEO, and primary employee of Grab-n-Grill. Error: Owner's assets due to be foreclosed on by 2nd Coral City Bank. Owner owes >=200,000 credits. Owner possibly deceased: 84% probability. Compound Error: 2nd Coral City Bank operations suspended until further notice, due to investigation of seditious activities Analysis... Analysis... Analysis complete. Designated submersible == unowned. Therefore, theft is not possible. Submersible departure == minor offense. Driver will be detained and questioned upon return to Coral City marina or upon arrival to any other city marina. Vehicle registration marked for impound upon return. Close case file. Even as the Central Command Tower dismissed the departing submersible, something else looked up and noted the small vessel moving through the water. Life was in there. Warm... Breathing... Life. It hungered. It only knew hunger. And cold. But not now. Not now. It closed its eyes, and rested its head back on the floor of the reef. Around it, thousands like it waited. Cold. And hungry. Mythos: DG-OG13 had already purged all but the most basic data of the encounter with the old, staff-bearing human from its memory banks when a new alert chimed. Analysis alert: New arrival has exceeded preset parameters for [unusual] behavior. Warning - Individual has exceeded limits of Pleasure Sector. Query: Upgrade designation from [unusual] to [suspicious]? Analyzing... Analysis complete. Subject == Shistavanian : [Inebriated] : [Smoking] : Present in [Industrial Work Zone] : Physical Status - [Dangerous] Rejecting upgrade to [suspicious]. Altering designation to [Danger to Self/Others]. Increasing perceived threat level. Dispatching multiple corrective units. OG13 deliberately chose Monitor models to intercept the Shistavanian, who was getting dangerously close to one of the mining lifts. Their non-lethal weapons and lack of blasters would be more suited to a scuffle with a drunken tourist in a sector filled with industrial equipment. Three Deepguard, called off patrol, emerged from different points along the swaying Shistavanian's path, from alleys and streets. They formed up in a wedge in front of him, and just behind lay the open loading area of the mining sector, large bipedal loaders lurching back and forth as their forklift arms shifted crates from pallet to pallet. "Sir," the first began. "-you are not permitted-" continued the second. "-to be here. Please allow us to escort you back to the Recreational Sector," finished the third. Each droid held their right arms loose, ready to deploy their electroshock prods if this turned into a scuffle.
    2 points
  6. Ruling: Beth vs Kahla First of all, great duel! It was a blast reading a dogfight, and you both sold the idea of these two pilots fighting and surviving by the acrobatics of their craft and the insane speed of the fight. So, to my specific points: -First of all, I was very happy to see damage getting taken by both sides in this fight. With something as fast and high-powered as a starfighter duel, I imagine it's tempting to dodge each shot by the skin of your teeth, but instead I saw some very nice give and take. Kahla, having your friend take that final barrage as you pulled up was a nice touch, and a good emotional moment that stood out to me. Plus the amount of damage you took in Beth's final attack run was nice to see and very sporting given your ship's faster speed. Beth, the battle damage you suffered over the fight (loss of engine, shields weakening and then failing) felt very realistic to me, and I particularly appreciated how despite using chaff to dodge the first missile you still took hits from the laser barrage. -I feel like this should always be mentioned, I felt the respect both sides had for each other, both as players and characters. At no point did I feel like the mood of the duel had turned sour or that someone was having a bad time. Maybe that's obvious, but I feel its worth bringing up. -I also liked how you both made it clear that this dogfight was in the midst of a larger battle. Might be a minor thing, but I like that the rest of the war didn't simply disappear as you two went at it. -Kahla, there was one thing in your initial post that had me a bit confused. You noted the torpedos coming towards you, but never described their miss or impact. It's not a big concern, because I think the intention was that they got drawn off by the flares of your squadmates. Specifically calling out the result of the attack would have been helpful to avoid that little bit of confusion though. -Positioning is always tricky in a duel, and that's magnified x10 in a space duel like this. Even so, you both did an excellent job of keeping me aware of everyone's relative positioning. Another difficult part is maneuvering in relation to your opponent. Not dictating your opponents movements, but instead letting them react to yours, is a tricky balance to hit. Beth, I think you handled this well by keeping your attack runs short and sweet. Kahla, I think you also did very well on this front, with the exception of one attack run you made in your second post, where you charged past Beth and released a missile right as you passed by. I feel like she might have had a chance to outmaneuver or change directions in that time. However, you were flying the faster fighter as acknowledged by both sides, so I'm less inclined to knock that too much. While I could keep going on about this duel and the things I found cool in it, my final decision for the winner of the duel is: Beth Andromina Both sides did an excellent job, and I hope I see more fighter duels like this in the future. With both sides maneuvering and fighting each other so well, both being willing to take damage, and both clearly putting effort into making these posts enjoyable, Beth barely takes the win with her concise and clear attacks and responses. This was an excellent duel! Thank you for letting me moderate it!
    2 points
  7. HC-42 nodded as Emma Three Nine gave the instructions. Seemed like a simple enough plan, but he calculated the defenses of Mon Calamari would be tight given how recently it was seized. He hoped he and his squad would have enough support for the capturing to succeed. After all, the Sith weren't going to give up their precious new shipyards without a fight. But now wasn't the time to worry, as his squadmates needed to keep their confidence. The group of droids and cyborgs had been trained to fight in the simulation, and now they were going to use that training in the field, whether they liked it or not. HC-42 also couldn't help but be excited to pay the Sith back for what they had done to his own world. He could see the same determination in the eyes of Gwal, Sasha, and Leep, as they too had their world subjugated by the Sith. HC-42 turned to Emma Three Nine and said, "Understood. Any further instructions, ma'am?" He then waited for a reply. The Battle Droid was about to do what he was programmed to do- fight. This Rebellion was the means to liberate Charros IV, no matter how many gruesome battles it took. And once he was with his creators, he could bring them what they desired from their technology- salvation.
    2 points
  8. Jackson pushed on till the end, the mantle hanging from his shoulders fluttering and waving as its owner stopped somewhat perilously close to the edge. He barely felt when the girl was subdued and even less when Leena took her and fled, so focused was he on winding a tight latticework around the pit. Once it was in place he began to fill in the gaps; weaving the force through his framework in alternating directions. The Jedi took a deep, visible breath, and the barrier plunged downwards. The Padawan had been around long enough to know that just plugging a hole was a one-trick pony, and buried horrors always had a way of resurfacing. The Pit being case in point. The only real way they would ever be rid of it was to destroy it. They had to rip it out by the roots, purge the infection that it carried. Well. That was one philosophy, at least. Bloome was somewhat of a data-hoarder, having dedicated an entire stateroom on his ship to storage for such things, separate from the rest of his scrap. If it were up to him they would uncover the source of the miasma and contain it, in the hopes of it being a holocron or something similar, though the decision wasn't his to make. Instead he would be doing what he said he'd do by plugging up the hole, all the while searching for the exact source. With some support they might be able to completely contain and extract the thing, and decide what to do with it once it was no longer posing such a significant threat to the planet.
    2 points
  9. Jackson narrowed his eyes at the child as he took in the sights, and promptly decided to keep a close eye on The Pit. "This can't be good..." He mumbled to the mist. He was getting a pretty bad premonition about this whole venture, and it was forcing him to concentrate on not regressing into old bad habits. His exosuit was protecting him from the outside world but he had little in the way of force defenses aside from his camouflage and one other potential stopgap. The Padawan's illusion swirled and flung itself away as Leena's touch began to disintegrate the darkness it was holding on to, forming a brief bout of turbulence in the ethereal winds around them. The tendrils quickly reformed themselves anew however, wasting no time as they began collecting and forming a complex barrier before him. Bloome's boots slogged slowly through the black mud as he moved to interpose himself between Leena and the pit, acting as a more physical barrier than a simple aura of light. "I can cover you if you grab the girl, we just have to make it quick! I'll try to hold a barrier down over that hole but no promises that it'll end up helping anything!" The barrier began to advance, its wielder pressing on and forging his path through the darkness. He didn't waver in his push, funneling the last few wispy remnants of darkness into his barrier as fuel. Jackson had been in the void of deep space for a long time in his absence, more than he probably should have, and that time had come with a qualitative change to his willpower. It had to, lest he fall prey to the Wraiths and other such horrors lurking in the dark, or to the malaise laying heavy about ancient battlefields and silent graveyards. The new exposure of his undisguised aura betrayed one of the wounds of such a dramatic change, as it clashed against Leena's light. There was little spark to be found in him anymore, burned and fizzled into the cold grey of determined durasteel.
    2 points
  10. “Get the kriff in!” Screamed the pilot as the old model U-wing was tossed around in the growing winds. She looked back at the instrument panel and threw the radar signature display onto her HUD. This would be time to fly by instruments only and she had not done that since flight school. She said a quick prayer and looked back to the medicos who were hauling some creature in mandalorian armour aboard before they slammed the side doors shut. It was time to Evac, and as the main engines were still warm she kicked them into high gear. Pushing her throttle to its red levels as she made a dash into the whiteout, relying on the radar to keep her away from any tall skyscrapers. In the back, Medical Chief Lian d’Alençon, wearing the light blue fatigues of one of the Tapani strike teams ran a line of saline. The golden flower and double headed eagle that were stitched onto his chest rig marked him as one of the lesser nobles of the princedom of Alençon. Likely a cadet branch. But he was skilled in his trade. He cut away the jumpsuit at Alliera’s forearm, grabbed the needle and expertly placed a PICC line into the Mandalorian. He attached the Saline to the line then hung the bag from one of the hooks on the ceiling of the U-Wing. He brushed away some of the carbon scoring from her helmet then sat back to look over his work. “You doing ok little one?” _______________________ Emma winced as the growing blizzard began to white out the communications array of the Rebel Star Destroyers above. Somewhere above them, the supercomputer was now receiving only 2 out of every 5 datapackets that were being sent. That would be ok for now, she was able to autonomous for short periods of time anyway. She brought the blaster up and began to direct a hideous fire at the door guards. They needed to get inside now.
    1 point
  11. A small blip on Mand’alor’s HUD registered a distant explosion within the burrows of Mon Cal city, and Hades began an analysis of its cause. The Combat AI had not registered any missiles inbound to the area, and it had not been within the Rebel Alliance’s invasion corridor. A series of new registration points displaying incoming fire from Anti-Aircraft fortifications manned by the Sith. Terra leaned forward in her saddle, pushing her knees into the metallic plating of her Bes'uliik wardoid, flattening herself across the pommel as crimson flame whipped overhead. The Sith gunners were good, she could hear shriek of metallic explosion as one of Clan Agre’mor’s Bes'uliik’s exploded into guttering flame and warped metal. Not a word, not a cry from its rider as he died, blossomed into flame. The Bes'uliiks of Clan Agre’mor fell back into a spread formation behind the spearpoint of Clan Blackmorne’s Honor Guard. Mand’alor winced. She had known its rider, Bev’ark Des’orin, a warpriest initiate who had braided his long auburn hair with the bones he had cast. His last cast had been of loss, and his prediction had come painfully true. She would grieve with Clan Agre’mor in blood of battle. She raised an armored hand in the snow-whipped air and pointed to the oncoming fire that lit up the eastern sky. Her gravelly voice echoed across the comms. “Oya… Bathe the aru’e chakaar in fire. Concussion Missiles.” With a blink of a crimson eye, Terra selected two of the enemy emplacements, backtraced from their firing-points and angles. Two low-altitude, high-explosive concussion missiles entered the firing tubes within the Bes'uliik’s shoulders, their primitive computers programmed for distance-based detonation, instead of target-homing. There was little need to track a weapons-emplacement. Mand’alor knew such missiles would be overkill and might risk civilian populace, but she did not rightly care. They had spilled blessed blood and would pay in kind. If she had possessed Diamond-Boron missiles she would have used those. With another blink, she sent the missiles on their pathway to destruction All six of the Bes'uliik’s of Clan Blackmorne's Guard fired at the same time, matching their Mand’alor with two missiles a piece, filling the air with the snap-crack of missiles breaking the atmospheric sound-barrier on their path towards the enemy weapon emplacements, obscured as they were in the snow. The Sith would taste of Mandalorian steel and fire.
    1 point
  12. It was absolute darkness that began to plague Coral City, the local Alliance Forces and SaberCats forced to use Night Vision to separate friend from foe. The Deepguard droids stood a reinforced wall against the Rebellion, uniform in the plight of their Masters, unequivocal in their concept of death as they fell only to be replaced by others, unbothered by the meaning. They may have well been the living dead for all they felt. And yet, for the Rebellion, there was purpose and reason behind their own, intentions they lived and died for with pride and fear. The emotions were grandiose, flowing chaos across the unbeaten drums of their shared plight. They accepted their fate, for it was one soul for the many rather the many for one. Mythos could hear the onslaught that chased after him, the clammering and whizzing of the mechanical oppressors on his heels as he panted in the darkness of the frozen tundra, the crunch and instability of ice beneath his hands and feet. Turning through alleys and side streets, Mythos made sure to correct himself and stay ahead of the Deepguard droids that pursued him, holding off just long enough to gather his company and face the threat head on en masse. It was the only way he would survive this day, and he held no intentions on losing any more than what was necessary. He knew this was war, but the idea of losing a single man sickened him to the core. Any sentient who could stand loss of life under their command were no better than what they fought against. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY FAVOR. He heard the buckets echo in unison all around him, an uneasiness settling in the air as Coral City plummeted into complete chaos and fear in the encroaching darkness that followed, only the light of the night sky and the assault lending any light against the chill. Up ahead laid the edge of the Pleasure Sector and his men, the skidding of boots and lightning of his metallic claws scraping duracrete heard in the darkness before the towering Shistavanen let loose the first round of his refounded Scatter Rifle, sending the lead Deepguard unit down as Grenn and the others followed in suite amongst the others. Yet, what followed next sent chills down even the Colonel's furred spine. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY PROTECTION. All across Coral City, the city grew quiet and cold, like the silence of a necropolis, as the Deepguard forces retreated. Some sounds of early celebration echoed across the battlefields, but for the Veterans of War, it was eeriely suspicious and frightening. Even for Mythos himself as he stood and gazed at the retreating Deepguard automations, his fist held up in the halt position. His eyes shifted in the dark, the presence of the air was colder than the chilling wind, and the voice that echoed in the darkness from the automations only made the moment colder. YOU WHO DEFY ME SHALL SUFFER WITHOUT MY MERCY. It was so quiet. Only the beating of their hearts filled the vacancy of the noise that once pierced the veils of Coral City, and the breath they exhaled, like steam from the culverts that lines the streets. Even the Recruits and Militias could feel the unnatural presence in the silence, even as memories of Nyrys contemplated in Mythos' mind, the silent melody of ghosts that nearly drove the Shistavanen insane. He did not like it one bit, and it plagued his thoughts until screams began to echo in almost uniformed unison. Mythos grimaced. He had hoped what he felt in the wind was natural, but his gut knew better. The Sith were at Mon Cal and he knew the power they possessed at their disposal. Nyrys had taught him well in their last engagement. "SaberCats,..." He spoke into the open comm within his helm, an ominous tone groaning from his coarse voice. "...Illuminate." Across the city, the brave souls of the SaberCats Company grasped at their hips and activated the very tool that separated them from the rest of MoonCall and their glow ignited against the shadows of the encompassing darkness as the Lightfoils came to life. They may not have been as powerful as Lightsabers, especially in the hands of trained Jedi and Imperial Knights. But they had been trained in combat by the very Jedi and Imperial Knights they fought along side in the use of them, which made them deadly enough. Now only stood the question of whether fear of the unknowingly encroaching dead would set in or would they truly hold up to the faith Mythos placed in them. Darkness had fallen on Coral City and Mon Cal, more metaphorically than figuratively, and now came their true testament. Whatever forces the Sith would present, they held the numbers to combat it.
    1 point
  13. Mythos panted as his speed began to increase, the bipedal Shistavanen now crossing the threshold on all fours as he shifted gears. His ears shifted atop his head as he heard the sounds of persuit, but paid little heed. His part was done and as darkness fell over most of the city, Mon Cal's liberation had begun. He only hoped his escapades caused little inconvenience for the planet's natives. Above Mon Cal, drop ships began dropping like fire and brimstone across the canvas, the Rebel Alliance intent on freeing the oppressed with hostile intent. Like the hammers of heaven, they screamed across the upper atmospheres and laid a crimson trail of fire in their wake until they slammed across the city's surfaces like judgement, SaberCats at the helm. Operatives of MoonCall, their Colonel the infamous Mythos Von Howlster, they were trained to be the ultimate culmination of both the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Alliance Forces under the Rebellion's banner. And Mon Cal would soon see their might. In the Pleasure Sector, Green, Altos, and the others were making their way to Mythos. With communication down and now the darkness falling over the city, chaos would erupt and they knew that they had to act fast against the ensuing mechanical oppressors. As riots erupted and drunkereds stumbled across retaliation, bursts of automatic weaponry and surges of ionic blasts favored salvation for the unfortunately sentients that found themselves at the blunt ends of the Deepguard Droid's malware. Their jobs may have been to regroup with the Colonel, but none could stand by as Innocents were terrorized. Throughout the city, Squadrons of SaberCats and other Alliance Forces engaged Deepguard Battle Droids with vengeance. The SaberCats, engulfed in modified Katarn Class Battle armor with the infamous hilts of Lightfoils dangling from their hips, were a force to be reckoned with, even for Sith Lords. This was Mythos' intent, not only as a Colonel in the Rebellion, but from his years of experience as a Alliance Marshall as well. And here, on Mon Cal, they were designation was to hinder and cripple to opposition and clear a path to the Royal Palace. There, Mon Cal's Liberation would be paramount. ------------------------------------------------------ Meanwhile, hidden in a vault of the old shipyards, a Dark Soul began to stir and drift upon the currents of the Force. It's intent, a body to possess and let it's will be remembered.
    1 point
  14. As the blizzard came upon the squad, HC-42 noticed that Gwal, Leep, and Sasha began to panic. Hordes of undead reptilians began charging toward the area. HC-42 had no idea these kinds of forces were at play, but was determined to complete his objective nonetheless. Sasha didn't sound as enthusiastic, however. "First those damn droids, and now this! We can't possibly hold out!" She said as she fired on the lizards, her sharpshooting abilities allowing her to incapacitate several. "Squad, this is a mere setback. These reptilians may be undead, but they're primitive. I calculate they will melt away soon as long as we keep the pressure on them." "I don't think 'melt' is the right word in this weather. Also, what about the droids? They're shutting the entrance, we need to act soon if we're to compete our objective." Leep said. HC-42 pondered this, but soon calculated a way to get the squad to their objective. It wasn't textbook at all, and was risky, but had a chance of eliminating a lot of resistance if successful. The droid took all of his available thermal detonators, and tied them together. "Sasha, you and I will concentrate fire on all droids and reptilians guarding the entrance to cover Gwal and Leep! Gwal, I need you to charge to the closest droids and reptilians and engage in hand to hand combat! The intent is to distract them. Leep, charge toward the door firing all the blasters, use your cybernetic legs to gain speed and to jump over obstacles, then when close enough, arm the thermal detonators and toss them through the entrance! Then run back here, taking out as many enemies as you can on the way! If we succeed, the thermal detonators should neutralize all the enemies inside!" The squad didn't have time to argue the strategy, so they instead took a moment to do a group hug that made HC-42 uncomfortable. He played along, however- it may be the last time he sees his squadmates, should his strategy fail. When the tenderness was over, the squad started doing their respective duties. HC-42 began firing his heavy repeating blaster at all enemies guarding the entrance, with Sasha sharpshooting any that were missed. Gwal then charged to the nearest enemy and pummeled it to the ground with his thick cybernetic arms, before shooting it while it was down. He then engaged another, picking it up and tossing it in the path of enemy fire, killing it. He then grabbed two, using them as shields against enemy fire. Leep was already making good progress. He used his signature "blaster kata," as he called it, to mow down any enemies that were quick enough to notice him charging amongst the chaos. When he was close enough to the entrance, which was almost closed, he armed the detonators, and rolled them underneath the door. He bolted back the other direction, ambushing confused enemies with blaster kata along the way. Gwal was starting to get overwhelmed when Leep came back and took out a few enemies for him. The rest got mowed down by the heavy repeating blaster that HC-42 was firing. And then the detonators... well, detonated.
    1 point
  15. The squad of soldiers dropped down beside Emma as she landed on the decking behind HC. He was performing optimally with his squad and she let herself feel a moment of pride that she had been at least a part of his military training. Or as much as one droid could be to another. Perhaps it had been as helpful as his initial flash programming, but those were extra thoughts. Data that she could not spare as the blaster bolts began to fly. And the…. the world around her began to grow very cold. Sith magics no doubt. “Turn the ship and give us backwash from the engines. Fire up deicing protocols.” The U-Wing pilot reacted immediately, her cybernetic unit feeding her the data before Emma even spoke it through the net. THe U-wing rotated and the light repulsor engines bore down on the two squads of rebel soldiers. Enough to buffer them, but more importantly, to keep them warm enough to function. Thermal flaring from grid Echo two. The data came in from one of the linked star destroyers, an emergency flare had just popped up from the source of the sewer explosion. “Pilot pick them up, we are pushing in.” The U-Wing spun again and sped to the two downed Jedi Apprentices and Emma brought her blaster up. “Push into the tunnel. That will take us out of this storm.” She looked at HC, and motioned him to engage the coming mass of undead. They could afford to push in out of the direct cold, and if not, they would deploy their heavier weapons.
    1 point
  16. As he dragged her out of the sewers he spotted and lit a flare on her belt and pushed her behind a near by speeder- the front half of one that is -and tossed the flare on top, switching the blaster to his right hand and flicking on his buckler. he heard clanking and watched as a few droids (battered but still active) and began turning the corner and he roled behind some rubble sending a trio of bolt towards the droids, 1 missing, another glancing off the armor of one and the last hitting a damaged portion of the same ones left arm, its arm falling limp in a stray of sparks. "Karabast" he bit out, he had picked it up from a Lasat on Dantooine. not important right now. he counted 7 droids, all DG-series including the one now one armed soldier. 6 soldiers total and a Exemplar in the back. "not good, even my thermal dets wont get through that things armor easily" he flew into a flurry of shots rolling between cover and blocking shots with the buckler. 2 shots hit the lead soldier in the head and it fell, slowly. he saw the damaged one look over towards Alliera, her foot was sticking out "Kriff" he shot out of cover, half trained force pre-cog flaring as he tried to dodge the shots of the last soldier and the short burst from the exemplar and slammed to back and tossed a shot at its chest before it flung him back towards the rubble near the speeder. he got up, tossing a glace at Alliera.
    1 point
  17. "KRIFF, YOU DAMN FOOL!!!" Johan practically roared and slid Alliera's left arm over his shoulder and after a moment of fumbling had his blaster in his off hand "Yes i can believe you planned to die in that, armor or no your going to need to be soaked in Bacta, if not put in a damn tank when this is over" He stared at the massive hole and could feel a sense of loss, he didn't know if they were mostly Sith or civilian but more then a few had just died "well that should be distraction enough, and we don't have the detonite for the heist even if you were in any shape for it. were leaving" Johan said and winced at the burns on his own body, dragging his companion towards the nearest hole that looked like they could climb out off, wearily eyeing the smoke for signs of the battle restarting after the blast.
    1 point
  18. “Mand’alor, we’ve got incoming fighters…” A swarm of crimson signature alerts played across the assassin’s HUD, a myriad of flightpaths all converging on her fleet. With a wave of her hand, the Blackmorne honor-guard had spread out their Bes'uliiks, arming concussion missiles and their countermeasure systems. Terra smiled as her mind passed to blessings and omens assured by her warpriests. Thes’tuvar had cast the bones, scried the stars, and seen victory in the entrails. Her body shivered, remembering the symbols the priest had painted upon her naked flesh. It had been from a mix of ashes of a burnt Galek, mud from the Kelita, nectar of henbane, and her own blood, slit from her tongue. The revolting mixture had symbolized the homeworld of her culture, the strength of bersærkergang, and the words of Kad Ha’Rangir of which flowed from the mouth of Mand'alor. A whispering chorus of discordant voices came from the Hades AVATAR connection, scattering her thoughts and warning her of the oncoming enemy. A pair of enemy missiles began to glow a deep scarlet on her HUD, indicating interception vectors, and the Mandalorian selected a simple chaff countermeasure as she calculated her upcoming maneuvers. The words of the warpriest spilled across her blood-flecked lips, mimicry of his trancelike incantations “Gods crying… Wolves Howling… Jai'galaar shrieking… Giants sleeping…” As red signals of the missiles grew so large as to take up most of her view, she pressed her knees into the saddle, and blinked a command that released a chaff charge. The Bes'uliik bucked as it activated its full reversal engine-block, coming to a full stop, and the war-droid and its rider watched as the missiles intercepted the Chaff which had taken on her vector, stunting the primitive missile targeting computers. The blossoming explosion dazzled the Mandalorian as she kicked the Bes'uliik into a spiraling descent towards the planet. Mand’alor let out an earpiecing shriek of war, for in the echoed explosion she had seen the shadow of the jai'galaar, her symbol of war. Her guard picked up the cry, and soon all the Mandalorian fleet was filled with the shrieks of maddened frenzy. They had tasted battle on Fondor, and it had only whet their appetite. The honor-guard of Clan Blackmorne doggedly followed their Mand’alor as she began a steep descent through the atmosphere, pushing their Bes'uliik to the limits of thermal control through the turbulent approach. Terra’s crimson eyes scanned over the insertion mapping for the Rebel Alliance assault. There was little time for positioning now, any Sith Lords planetside would need to be swiftly engaged or she would watch their head-bounties escape. Hades dove towards the reef-marked sea, his rider entranced by the promises of war. She let her emotions play into the wind, letting every Force User know of her presence. It was a most terrible wound in the force, a ravenous, raw thing that was barely concealed with the frenzy of the bersærkergang.
    1 point
  19. Mandalore and Raven: Jorus could only watch out the window in shock as the ships appeared. One. Two. Another pair 2 km starboard. Three more just below them, in tight formation even as they dropped out of hyperspace. Again, and again, the stars were blotted out by ships appearing. Not blocky freighters or smooth luxury liners either. Warships. Many of them Mandalorian. Their guns opened fire almost immediately, and fighters and Basilisks spread from them like the wake of a ship, moving to carry out their own attack plans. And then the dreadnought appeared, and Jorus' shock turned to horror. And that horror turned to panic as the massive, infamous star destroyer opened fire with its turbolasers. "No step back, Jorus." The raspy voice of Apothos sounded...calm. If the hitched, rough breathing hadn't filled the silence after the words, Jorus might have mistaken his boss for a droid. Then the call cut out, and the planet's defenders began shouting across comms. Jorus gritted his teeth. And he took command. Fighters launched from their bays, droid and organic pilots alike lining up in dagger formations to dive at the oncoming forces, the green of blaster fire lighting up the starry sky as a dozen different dramas and duels played out in span of seconds. Rising from their berths, two MC140 Scythe-class battle cruisers, fresh armor gleaming from the assembly line and flanked by Tartan patrol cruisers, rotated to face the oncoming trespassers. On their bridges, Mon Calamari pilots and engineers hung suspended in tanks of preservatives and bacta, cybernetics slaving them directly to the ship they now crewed. The Divine Wrath spewed forth carrier pods, the projectiles bursting into clusters of antique buzz droids that tore at any ship they happened to land on. The Divine Edict, far more direct, emitted an emerald glow from a dozen different focusing dishes...before a thin, green-white beam lanced out, seeking to cut the life from any enemy that fell within its gaze. Even as Apothos' pet project ships joined the gray, a set of Captor-class cruisers dropped from hyperspace, their bay doors opening to release dozens of missiles that spiraled out towards a spread of targets. Unwilling to commit all their forces, The House of Strands had only elected to send back two cruisers to fight on Mon Calamari's behalf, but the pair of ships made themselves known. In the skies above Mon Cal, battle was joined. Emma and HC-42: The Deepguard squad took a second to formulate a strategy, their reflexes slowed by the sudden loss of communication with the Central Command Tower. That second cost them two droids. The chassis of the unfortunate pair dropped to the slick, wet metal of the landing zone, smoking holes in their torsos, red photoreceptors blinking out. The remainder of the squad, 11 Soldier units along with 2 Monitors, fell back DG-O37A took command, the Overseer analyzing the situation from a small maintenance closet, reading the visual data from every Deepguard unit in the fight as his mind sorted through standard battle protocols for the optimal combat solution. Evaluating... Classifying capacity of enemy combatants... Weaponry [Light] + [Heavy] detected. [Marksman] detected. Time to reinforcements == [Indefinite] Evaluating... Defensive position untenable! [Command]All units, fall back[/Command] Another two Soldier models dropped as the remainder loped and leaped back through the open loading doors, rather than divide their attention between the rebel forces' twin fronts. Even as his squad retreated, DG-O37A continued his analysis. Tactical Assessment: Enemy Force == [Trained] : [Disciplined] Direct Confrontation == [Suboptimal] Combat Solution determined. [Marksman] and [Heavy Weaponry] less effective in close quarters. [Command]Activate (2) Pacifier Units reserved for Riot Control. Regroup in Primary Loading Bay. Form Defensive Position. Close Loading Door[/Command] As quickly as the droid's mind could parse the data and send out the commands, the large doors that separated the loading bay from the outer platform began to close, slowly as safety protocols required it to. The remainder of the Squad opened fire blindly out the closing door as they moved to new defensive positions inside the loading bay behind piles of durasteel plating, hoping to keep the rebel forces hesitant long enough for them to fortify on their own terms and turn the doorway into a killzone. The shooting withdrawal was textbook and efficient, but standard and uninspired, a maneuver any truly experienced commander could see through. Deeper within the facility, two more Deepguard powered on. Silently, they began running towards the Loading Bay. Alliera and Johan: Navezz sniffed the air. The thin Kubaz had once gagged on the foul sewer air when he'd first arrived, but over the last few weeks his nose had grown accustomed to the stench. No one came down here. No one searched for the lost and the missing down here. Navezz and his crew were left alone down here. Now he smelled something distinctly different. Something besides half-rotted, half-digested fish. People. Navezz chittered, rising from the small, dry alcove looking over the river of sewage below him. From other alcoves, other Kubaz chittered and moved as they picked up the scent. Their words were rapid, but their excitement was clear. People down here meant one thing. Profit. After all...they were slavers. _____________________________________ Navezz and his band moved through the sludge and muck. They held simple, cast-plast clubs, chosen so they wouldn't spark even if they struck metal. They closed on the pair that had caught their attention... Apothos: The Iron Howlrunner dropped through the sky, rocketing over the city darkened in patches, and lit up elsewhere by the flashes of blaster fire. "How dare they?" he hissed. "Master, please state landing zone," the droid pilot chirped. Apothos opened his mouth to say his home, but hesitated. No. This was his world. He would remind them of it. "The Royal Palace. Take me to the Palace. The King and I will have words."
    1 point
  20. "Right" Johan flicked his head lamp on and followed behind, his energy buckler on and half raised, his DC-17 blaster pistol held up resting his right wrist just in front of the buckler on his left. he wrinkled his nose at the stench but remembered to activate his HUD Goggles and took a quick peak at the map "not far, hopefully the resident Sith has buggered off, to his command room if not the battle proper. As far as loot goes you focus on artifacts and such, I'll grab currency and any rare materials, like lightsaber resistant metal ingots, not that I can carry much of that. split what ever we don't have to hand over to command/the Order once this is over" He said and checked behind them, scanning for movement or cameras/sensors.
    1 point
  21. The U-Wing rumbled and rocked as Alliera and Johan waited for landfall, the U-Wing was flying as fast as it could towards the ground. They had taken a different landing ship than their Master, that way they could more easily sneak off to do nefarious things, and Kirlocca could focus on doing Jedi Shenanigans. The door opened before they landed, as the Squad Leader started counting down, all the men getting ready. Alliera took this moment to ready her E-22, and patted Johan on the shoulder. "Follow my lead, and try to stay in cover when you can." Alliera said, gesturing to open door "Don't worry about these guys, they know what they're doing, and our Master isn't far behind us." Alliera took a moment to pull open the map she downloaded to her onboard Computer, checking it quickly before dismissing it, quickly giving her a path through the sewer to their target...it also had a few sewer entrances near-ish to their landing spot marked. When the Sargent called for the troops to disembark, Alliera led Johan in charging with them, using her E-22 to help cover to scramble to cover. Consulting her map, Alleira found a sewer entrance, leapfrogging from cover to cover closer to it, guiding Johan there as well as covering him. As the two disentangled from the main fight, Alliera stopped firing, sneaking around cover to cover. When the Manhole in question was found, Alliera opened it quickly and gestured for Johan to enter, once he did, alliera followed and closed the manhole behind them. The sewer was big enough for the two of them to walk, but just barely, and it was poorly lit. Alliera activated her Nightvision. "Activate your lamp, but keep your head on a swivel, we have no idea what's down here." Alliera started guiding them down the sewer, having slung the E-22 over her sholder with one of her bags, and having one of her Westars in her hand.
    1 point
  22. In a storm of dark painted durasteel the Rebel fleet emerged from hyperspace over the once free bastion of Mon Calamari. Perhaps it was a desperate move, perhaps it was unnecessary, but the Rebel High command knew that they could not let tyranny exist unpunished within their own de jure territory. Mon Calamari cried out for justice. Mandalorian star cruisers, their designs as ancient as their gods, emerged in halos of their drive exhaust. Mass drivers thundered like cannons of the old age and the feared Basilisk riders dove out from hangers, their ‘T’ visors reflecting little but the blue world below them and the burning ships of the Sith Empire. The elegant Hapan warbirds slipped from hyperspace beside the iron dreadnaughts, their rotary turbolasers already spinning. Their my’til interceptors flying in flank beside the Mandalorians. Next came the grey painted Tapanis, carrying the red and gold of the Principality of Outremer on their wings. The bulk cruisers showed their age, but their crews were strong. And beside them came the Corellians and Bothans. Then, at long last came the Misericordia. The Flagship of the Rebel Alliance. The Flagship of the old Imperial Remnant. A pocket dreadnought, larger than any Imperial II Star Destroyer of the last eon, the Destroyer thundered away with its great turbolasers, while wings of rebel alliance starfighters fanned out like wings on either side. The rebels had heard the call of the downtrodden. And they would answer.
    1 point
  23. Fire and Blood. The Force echoed with a chaotic cry, that of a pack of hunters close to their kill. The Sith would hear the warcry before any of their sensors picked up the hyperspace signals of the Crusader’s fleet. Above the world of Mon Calamari, the forces of Mandalore the Bloody were released from their bonds of hyperspace. The first signatures that would be detected would be that of the massive Neo-Kandosii Battleships, the twin Xaakzaamheid and Nat’ah, followed swiftly by their escorting Fane-of-Swords Frigates and Jehavey'ir-class Assault Corvettes. These were veterens of the recent Battle of Fondor and of the Crusade that had pierced to the heart of the Core worlds, leaving devastation and grief in their wake. Their crews carried the warcries and standards of their god with them, Kad Ha'rangir. A swarm of Bes'uliik Wardroids were the tip of the spear, and at their very head was their leader, Terra; Mandalore the Bloody. She sat astride her Bes'uliik, Hades, dressed in the beskar’gam befitting her rank, pure black, darkmetal plating with crimson symbols, painted by her warpriests in the blood of a sacrifice. Upon her helm was the shining bronzium circlet that showed her rank. Behind the blazing, crimson T-visor, were eyes of blood-stained silver, pupils dilated and reflecting the darkness of space like a wine-dark sea. A darkmetal smile twisted her youthful face behind its mask. Behind Terra, rode the handpicked honor-guard of Clan Blackmorne astride their Bes'uliiks, following in tight formation as their Mandalore dove into a spiral towards the ocean-world, eager to begin another battle on in their war of honor. The Mandalorians had come to Mon Calamari, and there would be no dawn for the Sith.
    1 point
  24. Steam and gas rolled and bellowed around the area as the three Deepguard Monitors strolled up on Mythos in his 'drunken stupor', the towering beast leaned over and regurgitating the alcohol he had consumed as their voices echoed across the landscape. Mythos had chose this place for a reason, his intent hidden behind false presentation. Civilians were minimal, if not non-existent in the area. Patrols were automations, non sentient and expendable. And the only thing local besides the mines were a nearby powergrid that powered most of the surrounding sectors. If this hit was successful, it would cascade. Now was the time to sober up. "My, the mannerism programmed into you lot." Mythos spoke with heavy breathing as saliva drooled from his maw, metallic clawed gauntlets digging into the duracrete beneath his hands. Lunging his bipedal feet forward in a primal motion, Mythos connects with the first of the three droid's and sends the trio toppling over one another. "I think I've got it from here." In the same fluid motion, as his feet return beneath him, Mythos kicks off the ground and toward the enemy, sparks of electricity igniting before him as the droid's programming kicks in an attempt to subdue the Shistavanen flicker in the darkness and off his unmasked visage. Quickly his grasp hinders one of the prods aimed from atop the pile of mechanical humanoids, struggle of beast and machine ensuing until Mythos manages to drive the prod into the circuitry board of the machine and it seizures, the two below glowing with personal shields. Mythos recoiled, his fangs snarling in response to the heat and radiation. They were more resilient than he had thought as chatter echoed about. He knew he didn't have long before backup would arrive. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ After Mythos departed, Grenn and Altos waited awhile before excusing themselves from the casino as well, their mission greenlit and ago. Whether or not the Colonel succeeded or not mattered little at this point and they headed straight for the starport for the rendezvous with the others. A small trek and a few back alleys and they arrived, Creole and his men geared and ready for Grenn and Altos. "The Colonel?" Creole questioned as he threw a gun to each. Grenn gazed at Altos before chuckling. "He overdid it a bit, but you know the Wolfman. I'm sure he can drink us all under the table." A stifled round of chuckling between the seven erupted as Grenn and Altos suited up in the enclosed storage facility. Once geared and ready, the seven departed, George carrying the Colonel's gear across his back. Just as they cleared the fence line and drew to the shadows, an eruption forced a brief halt in their movements. It seemed the invasion had begun. With that, Altos lingered out alone and accessed the local holonet through a local line and began slicing through the comms. A few moments and communications would be down. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mythos knew he had to avoid the shields directly and limit their prods connecting through his armor and fur as much as possible, limiting his actions to mostly defensive measures. He had knowledge of most droid's due to his past experiences, but these models were unknown, not even modified submodels. And this made his severely nervous. Combined with his being unarmed, and it seemed fruitless. At least, until an explosion a few kilometers away brought a moment of distraction, a distraction he could use. Explosions were a common place on the battlefield, a reality of war. So much so that veterans like Mythos were rarely effected by them in the heat of combat. They had grew to expect and accept them, use them to their advantage, and react like they didn't exist. Especially if they were distant. Even in his past life as an Alliance Marshall, although not as common, did tend to occur. Add that part of his life to the part as a member of the Rebellion, and it accounted for two thirds of his life living through them. So when the droids inquisitive nature responded to the distant explosion, Mythos reacted. Lunging forward on all fours, Mythos used his wide shoulders to plow through the shielded droids as the radioactive shields heated up his armor just briefly, melting the leathered hide and turning the durasteel a glowing orange. With the torch in one hand and the force of his momentum, Mythos collided with one of the loader droids. Placing the lit torch into the crate it carried as it began to topple, Mythos recoiled backwards just as the droid fell into the open mine, it's repulars unable to correct it's course. Seconds later, the ground shook and flames erupted below as the gas ignited, Mythos hugging the ground as if it would fall away, the gas vents around them lighting up the darkened Industrial Sector as much as they did the remaining two Deepguard Monitors. Mythos did not wait a second longer than he had to and quickly got out of there as another explosion rocked the nearby powerplant and sent half the city into darkness. His part here was done and there was bigger fish to fry. Hopefully this was enough a distraction for the Rebellion forces to take the opportunity.
    1 point
  25. Karys sighed under his mask as Sheog appeared to have yet again forgotten his Sith title. Whether on purpose or not, Akheron could not tell, only that he seemed displeased to see him for some reason...not that he cared one way or the other. He was here to complete a task and he would see it done, regardless of what anyone thought of him. He would prove his worth. Just as he would deliver a sacrifice to the Fanged God, to the Darkness as was demanded of him. It was then that Wrath surged in the Force, wrath directed towards him as several mass driver rounds sailed through the air towards the two Sith. Reacting almost instantaneously to the surging feeling he felt, Darth Akheron dived with the power of the force behind him to his left, narrowly avoiding being blasted to oblivion. Another round downed a AT-PT, shredding the pilot and co-pilot to ribbons. Lifting himself, Akheron narrowed his eyes through his mask towards the skyscrapers. He quickly surmised snipers were likely the cause of the chaos. He moved for cover, motioning the troops to do the same. Hearing Sheog speak out, Akheron had no objections. Moving with a zig zag, Akheron set to work, allowing Sheog to deal with the snipers whilst he brought vengeance upon the anti-aircraft crews. He began issuing orders. "Captain Delta, I need your assistance. Bring half the heavy weapons forward and concentrate firepower upon those tanks. Rain hell upon them. Keep them occupied until I give the signal. You shall know it when you see it. I intend to bring the causeway down...And them with it, metal and mortar shall become their tomb." With that he advanced, entrusting that the veteran clone knew roughly what he intended to do. Finding cover behind a large pile of newly formed rubble, Akheron stretched out in the Force. Unleashing his caged beast, the Wrath within. His true self. Pulling at the threads in the force, he focused upon the causeway, at least the section underneath the anti-aircraft emplacements. And with his Wrath he pulled...strongly, attempting to weaken the structural integrity and collapse it upon itself, bringing both the tanks and the causeway down in a pile of rubble, body parts, metal and ash. Hopefully the first of many to die by his hand, for daring defy the Sith.
    1 point
  26. “Do you mean a strong guiding hand like the one that crushes the hopes and wills to live like the people of Mon Cal?” Leena retorted, rolling her eyes at the Sith’s blatant ignorance. ‘Why is it bad guys like to monologue so much?’ “What of the poisoned seas and death that reigns on every doorstep there all under the peaceful hand of the Sith? Is that even a life worth living?” “What about Coruscant? Were you there when your brother threw a moon into the world killing trillions in the name of order. I walked that world. Wherever the Sith go their fear holds hearts for a moment, but the legacy that trails in your shadow is naught but the chaos you claim to seek to rid us of. Their souls long to be free.” Leena paused. She took a deep breath focusing herself again, allowing the frustration she felt at the Sith Lord’s words to dissipate with the falling rain. She grasped the warm cloak that was the force all about her and allowed it to fill her from the inside out until she radiated with it’s warmth. Leena did not move from her perch. She sat, her legs tense and pushed against the ground as the stone she sat atop balanced precariously; ready to move if needed. She hoped it would not come to that. She felt the rain on her skin and a warm peaceful surge filled her soul. It seemed clear this man before her was misguided. She did not claim to be the smartest, experienced, or even most powerful Jedi. It did not matter. She served as she was called. The force blew like a gentle breeze through the rain about the temple, the smell of fresh rain and earth in it’s grasp. She turned her eyes back to Mordecai, the force and offered a smile. “You are right in the long run though. The galaxy would probably be less chaotic if everyone and everything were dead.” The girl’s voice rang with a laugh as warm as the rain as she spoke the words, they sounded so insane. Warmly she continued, “How about we make a deal? Since you, Master Sith, are the one seeking the chaos of battle, you turn and walk away. Return home. Lay down your arms and work towards the peace you desire, peacefully. We can work towards a peaceful galaxy together. No sense plunging it further into chaos with senseless violence right?”
    1 point
  27. Over the coming days, the foundries that Apothos had discovered beneath the city churned evermore to life. There was all the taw materials a fledgling foundry could ask for. Soon enough the dull roar of their fires could be heard grumbling faintly beneath the city. Weapons, armor, and even the beginnings of an ancient lizard-designed corvette began to take shape beneath the surface. The entry to the foundry that Apothos had found was but one of a chain of such structure, some larger and smaller. Most of them were still secured; although a couple had to be rid of lizardly inhabitants and their primitive abodes. On the surface, Inmortos’ will began to reverberate from his display of power. The lizardfolk warriors who had witnessed the dark lord’s display of power had been quick to spread the news of what they had seen to the others until hisses and chirps were resounding about the island. Within a day’s time, the people were bringing offerings to appease this new being that had descended from the heavens and called forth powers to overthrow their own gods with a wave of his hand. Nothing they brought was good enough. Nothing could appease Inmortos’ appetite. A chosen few, given the mark of the beast, for that is what they called the blackened palm print Inmortos bestowed upon those who quivered bjt dared to stand up to him, had become a sort of vanguard for Inmortos. While they could not stand against his undead Mon Cal and Quarren servants, they served a purpose. They were allowed into the presence of their dark deity. They alone were not struck down in his presence without a gift. They became his hands in their tribes. Over the weeks they began to assemble vast populations of their kin. Some began to slave away in Apothos subterranean realm of fire and shadow. Others worked to clear the rust and overgrowth from the downed city. When one died, his soul was drawn forth by Inmortos himself. It was the only time labor ceased, when the dark deity strode forth to reclaim the life lost. In grief, hope was found; for those who died in the service of their new god-king were reborn, stronger, fearless, and strange. Those blessed enough to die in service worked without ceasing, elevated in status over their mushy mortal brethren. The secrets of necromancy were Inmortos’ alone; but to the primitives, he was their god. He was a defier of death, conqueror of all that was seen and unseen. Those who did not work were sent into the abyss of fire and darkness to slave before the master of the hellscape, never to be seen again. Long dead warriors, ancestors, and friends were unearthed and brought before Inmortos. They too received his touch and rose again to ‘live’ and serve alongside those that had counted them lost for all eternity. And so, the peoples worked diligently. They harvested their foods and purged their city at the will of their overlord. Each lizard that was worked to death had his soul frost harvested, the beginnings of Inmortos’ temple and tomb. Atop the toppled spire of the city’s highest point, a ziggurat of ice began to take shape, it’s cold tendrils branching outwards over the city blanketing the area in an eternal autumn of cool winds and cold nights. Fallen sheets of metal and stones were hoisted by the primitives sheer strength of numbers and desire to please their new god-king. The tower took shape looming over the landscape. The city was coming to life. The world was bowing before the Sith and in that submission, the ancient prosperity was coming to the present and growing exponentially. Within a grand circular central chamber atop the ziggurat, Inmortos stood, his hands raised high and blackened by the frigid air that whirled and swirled about him. He chanted, dark ancient words of prophecy, older than the Sith Empire, older than the Jedi or the Sith, almost as old as the universe itself. From his maw spilled the frost of countless souls, primitives, Mon Cal, any and everyone Inmortos had harvested from. He poured their deaths, their darkest emotions into his creation until it was complete. An ornate throne of swirling whirls and jagged maws of mythical creatures sat there. It was the center of the room and from it radiated an ink cold darkness. It was the lack of fire, lack of heat and light. It was an analogy of death itself, sustained by the darkness and frost and blood that were poured into it. For days, Inmortos carved bloody deathly runes into every sacrifice his enforcers brought to him until the blood flowed freely down the throne and poured forth from the ziggurat unto the masses below. As the days turned to weeks and the weeks to almost a month a vast horde of living and dead assembled beneath the command of Krath Inmortos, deity of life and death. They were armed with fanged blades and clothed in feral armors of night. The dread corvettes that slowly chugged out of the atmosphere were unable to contain the mass army of undead that were being pulled from the soil. The city continued to serve. The ziggurat grew and it’s icy halls expanded outwards, bolstering the foundation and oozing darkness, cold, and ice. It was only then that Inmortos and Apothos opted to depart their newfound conquered world, to return to the lair of water and machine, to Apothos’ den of iniquity. A fleet needed to be commanded to augment the smaller ships of Aaris III and carry forth the armies of Inmortos and the navy of Apothos unto the galaxy.
    1 point
  28. The heavy-laden cleric paused as he was confronted by the droid. Beneath his faceless features, the Jensaarai frowned. Apparently finding a closer transport to ferry him towards his goal was out of the question. Undoubtedly if this droid went missing it would raise the alarm; a little too prematurely for what the rebels hoped to accomplish. In keeping with his character, The Mantis rattled the censer at the end of his staff angrily in droid’s face spewing clouds of incense into the air. He then turned and shuffled off back the way he had come. Ducking into a doorway, The Mantis leaned heavily against the wall. He closed his eyes and reached out on the tendrils of the force. He was a Jensaarai. His actions here were for the betterment of his people galaxies away. To stop the Sith here would be to drive a wedge into the onslaught of the Sith war machine and to direct them away. The rebels were a blight to the Sith. The Jedi a threat. The Jensaarai were there to lurk in the shadows, unseen and safe, protecting their own, and by it, the worlds about them. The Mantis’ head inclined towards the smog filled aky above. It was as if he could almost feel his people across the cosmos. He was bound to them by more than a mere oath. He felt the worlds between them, the stars, the dust, the very cosmos. He was a Jensaarai, all of this was a part of him, just as he was a part of it. The Mantis allowed his focus to expand, he felt the world around him intimately. It was sick, twisted and corrupt. It longed for healing. He felt every molecule and particle, the steel, the water, wood and even air. He allowed his spirit to entangle itself with them all. Their fate would be as his, for in the force, they were one and the same. Across the city, across the waters, he allowed his consciousness to spread until his persona was nothing more than a background noise drowned out by the buzz of machinations and nature. Invisible against the galaxy. The Mantis waited a minute more as his mind settled and he focused his sight on where he was. He felt the world all around him, yet saw and moved in his own body. For the inexperienced, it was a equilibrium-defying experience. Returning to his shuffle, The Defender returned to his path. He did not wander any more, his actions were pointed and direct. He needed to reach the city’s edge. Walking along, the cleric-disguised Jensaarai flitted effortlessly from shadow to shadow. He turned to avoid any gatherings of workers shambling to or from their laborious tasks. In spite of being spread so thin so as to avoid more than a passing detection in the force or a fuzz on a camera or photoceptor, he did not want to take any undue risks. As he neared a relatively desolate marina, the cleric paused, slipping between a pair of overflowing trash bins. With a slight clamor, he pulled himself up and over the fencing that barred the city from the once pristine docks of pleasure crafts. These boats now sat derelict in their moorings, the first signs of lack of care and decay manifesting all over. Through the slitted visor of his disguise, The Mantis surveyed the docks before him looking for a craft to ferry him forward. Given the lack of resistance on the subjugated world and the desertion of this usually bustling trade and pleasure post, he suspected an unauthorized departure would draw attention sooner than later. Eying a Luxsub setting low in her moorings, The Mantis hurried towards it. It was unlocked. As if the force had willed it. Clamoring aboard, the Defender was pleased to find that even in her abandoned state the craft still appeared watertight. Even better, it started with a touch. Within minutes the craft was motoring out past the protective reef that enclosed the marina bay. There was no way to avoid it and surely the craft would be detected. Still, he maintained the slow no wake speed of the marina, ignoring whatever chirping the comm might be making. When he passed the last buoy and cleared the reef, The Mantis immediately began a sharp descent beneath the waves. Pushing the craft to it’s limits, The Mantis left a whirlwind of churned water in the crafts wake, even below the waves, as they motored out to sea and more importantly towards the Hakawa Islands and the dark crops being cultivated there. The Mantis only hoped that Mythos and his men could create a scene soon enough that he could make landfall and together they could divide the security forces of the planet and open up a weak point.
    1 point
  29. “Of course!” Exclaimed the young Tapani Jedi Knight, she let her eyelids flutter closed. “Now watch and observe if you can what I do through the force.” She let her presence stretch out to her apprentice, feeling over his mind, memorizing the biological feelings, the predator spirit, then expanded her presence outwards. Focusing on the distant spaceport, searching, until she found a group of presences that nearly matched Vox’s. And slowly she let that guide her through the densely packed streets of Nar Shaddaa. She frowned as they made their way deeper into the stacked tenement prefabs and she found herself wishing for the long open fields of Outremer. The rolling dunes and little oasis’s. Anything better than this dense cityscape. She pointed to one of the doors that looked just like all the others. “I uh…” She concentrated again. “I think this is the right door.” Her dad would likely complain about the expenses on her credit chit, but what good was money unless it was helping people?
    1 point
  30. Leena knelt, cradling the shaking child against her chest. She looked at the others with a solemn nod of understanding and assurance. It was over, for now. The cancer still lingered and would need carved away. Not today though. Today had enough. Today they had beaten the darkness back. ———————————— Back at the Temple, Leena moved from bed to bed aiding the assortment of healers and medics who were giving their time to helping nurse the residents of the world back to health. The darkness had taken a toll and many children were left orphaned by the darkness. Had the Republic still existed, they would have stepped in to help ensure that those who had lost everything were given a fighting chance, every t to get back on their feet and their lives moving in a positive direction. As it was, such tasks fell to the goodness of volunteers the galaxy over, some by their time and skills, others through their credit accounts funneled through countless donors and fronts to pay for the aid that could not be acquired freely. As she worked, Leena heard snippets about the ongoing chaos amongst the cosmos. More so, she felt it in her heart. It was like a subtle constant ache that pulsed with the flow of pain and life throughout the galaxy. The Living Force was strong here and it flowed freely in the healer’s heart. She knew she had to help. After seeing that her apprentice had safe transit back to the Jedi Temple, Leena joined a group of rebel sympathizers and departed into the stars to lend aid where it was needed most.
    1 point
  31. The archeologist let his eyes focus off the Jedi’s emerald eyes and onto some of the well worn brickwork behind her. There had once been heavy rain here, but the eons had not been kind on the old stones. Most of the archeology could not be discerned from the rough and broken mountains that jutted from the underbrush. But this was an old world, and time was not a kind mistress to archeological sites. “We were investigating some claims from the Galactic Alliance Archives that the world had been largely unexplored, human history untouched for ten millenia. It seems after we arrived and began our dig that the star began its final dance through the heavens. It was unexpected for sure Mistress, but not an impossibility. Many of the stars in the deep core are quite old.” He grimaced and gestured to the long containers filled with priceless artifacts. “Will the journey be turbulent? I would hate that we loose anything!”
    1 point
  32. The civilian craft broke hyperspace, it followed standard procedure so as to begin landing on the once pleasurable world of Mon Cal. Even amongst the industrial sludge, lawless pleasures still coated the world in dark and exotic financial gains. Pleasures that any well-paying vacationer could find without risk of coming to such a world; pleasures that a low-budget cruise line would exploit for a quick credit in a moment. Back room deals just made the deal sweeter. Docking, the ship began the usual hours-long process of offloading her pleasure seeking passengers. On a lawless world like Mon Cal there was little need for security checkpoints, not when Sith-powered bots patrolled the streets and sorceries permeated the very air of the world. The passengers were allowed to disembark and move about the pleasure areas of the city, all within careful observation of the countless cameras of the planet’s automated security forces. Moving quickly with the aura of a shuffling cleric, The Mantis moved seemingly aimlessly away from the ship, his censer bearing staff clacking against the cobble-appearing durasteel streets. He wandered moving further from and back closer to the casinos, bordellos, and pleasure centers; each foray taking him on a new path a bit further. They were on the clock. The few rebels amongst the majority of ‘innocent’ sinners had to act and soon.
    1 point
  33. Emma stood beside the rest of the commanders and HC in the briefing room buried within the bowels of the Misericordia. When there was at last quiet, she looked around, catching each eye and photoreceptor in the crowded chamber before she walked up to the holomap that spread out across the room. Her eyelids flickered for a moment as she downloaded the tactical battle plan then spread her hands across the star map. The galaxy focused down to the outer rim, focusing even further into a small star system with large and developed shipyards. The Planet itself, which sat comfortably beside the shipyards, was a waterworld. Largely ocean, with a few scattered floating cities. It was a familiar system, one that had seen very recent conflict. Mon Calamari “Unsurprisingly and as many of you have guessed, we are beginning an assault of liberation on the world of Mon Calamari. Outside of the strategic resources of the shipyards, High Command has decided that they can no longer tolerate the enslavement of so many innocents. As such we have two main objectives: seizing the Shipyards and Planetary Infrastructure.” Her pale red eyes focused on HC. “The Shipyards are in two sections. The Assembly Yards, which are under water and along the planetary equator. And the Testing and fitting yards which are in geostationary orbit above the yards themselves. Not quite the great yards of Kuat but still plenty of danger to planetary populations if you accidentally destroy either of these installations. Command sees that as an unacceptable outcome. HC you and our team will head planetside to assist in the capture of the yards. We are to be relieving ground assets that are prepositioned for this invasion. The rest of the teams will be engaging the yards and Golans.”
    1 point
  34. The combined fleet arrived over the rocky asteroid like planet of Kessel. Misericordia, in its dark paint scheme, barely registered against the dark background of the stars. The rest of the fleet stayed their distance. They were nearly ready to depart for Mon Calamari and the freedom of the galactic rim.
    1 point
  35. Beth wrinkled her nose at the Large wolf like man when he spoke of unifying the galactic alliance. Like the Imperial Remnant needed the cancer that had been the GA military. But those decisions came from far up the chain of command, and now the Imperial Remnant had been renamed and reformed and she was now forced to deal with the ‘cream of the crop’ of the galactic alliance on the daily. Well at least they had slime good commanders such as Slaughter and d’Outremer. But she would have much preferred to keep wearing the black instead of this spasted orange. But her thoughts did not matter. There was a galaxy to save, then after they restored the Imperial Throne, they could deal with the consequences. Hopefully they had all seen the failings of Democracy as well as she had. “Glad we could have you Howlster. Hopefully you weren’t too put out by the horrifying defeat of the New Republic and Galactic Alliance. We need every grizzled veteran we can get for this fight.” She winked, then motioned for the both of them to follow her. She addressed the Jensaarai’s concerns next. “We have the manpower for the event, though you will be the forward vanguard of the attack. The rest of the fleet is coming from Nar Shaddaa as we speak. Troop ships will be coming into the gravity well two hours after infiltrators. You Will be inserted by civilian means to scout the area and assess weaknesses. Starliner Ghesesset will be your in transport. We have a scouting vessel on the outlier of the system. If you run into trouble or wish to call it off…” She pointed to a series of Comm packs. “Those are your communication packages. It is certainly dangerous. Are you willing?”
    1 point
  36. The ship groaned and creaked as it rose over the trees. What should have been a smooth ascent was instead a vibrating. jerking rise. Apothos could feel his throne adjusting for what at first seemed like an uneven floor, but he soon realized it was the ship's gyroscopic balance malfunctioning. He doubted this thing could have even broken atmosphere before falling apart or exploding. Around him, the rattling of scrap and broken machinery littering the floor drowned out the roar of the thrusters engaging. Behind him, the fear of the Galactic Alliance soldiers...or rather former soldiers...emanated out and filled the ship like a soft hum. But there was something else. Their fear didn't feel right. They were certainly afraid of him specifically, that was for certain, but it wasn't the bone-deep fear of helplessness or death. It was something else. Something more...anticipatory? "INTRUDER" Apothos' throne whipped him around, so attuned to him that it responded on its master's reflex. Lurching to its feet, buried in all the discarded tech, was an old, rusted droid. A large one. It only took Apothos a second to recognize a Red Terror droid. "INTRUDER" it repeated, its old vocabulator laced with static. Its hands raised, and Apothos's throne turned again, putting its high back between Apothos and the droid's extending fingers. That may have saved Apothos' life, as the cap of each finger detached and the concealed blasters beneath erupted in laser fire. Erupted might have been too strong of a word. Now that he was paying attention, he could sense that only 3 of the 10 blasters were functioning, and the larger blasters concealed in the chest were being stymied by the rusted chest plates refusing to retract. Still, three blaster bolts to the chest wasn't much less lethal than 10 for someone like Apothos. Rage welled up inside the Sith sorcerer. How had he missed it? No, that was obvious. He'd been so intent on connecting to the ship he hadn't even bothered to check for additional security. There had been no other living thing onboard, and the possibility of a droid had never occurred to him. A hissing screech of pure vitriol burst out of his frail form as his will slammed into the ancient droid, tearing through its mind and demanding that it submit. The droid faltered for a moment, its blasters quieting. The lights of its photoreceptors flickered and dimmed...then brightened. It stood straighter with a new purpose. Deep within its memory banks, it recalled being abused by these same soldiers, frustrated at the isolation and monotony of their lives. If it was still intelligent enough to understand the concept of revenge (which was not for certain), those memories certainly did little to stop Apothos from taking control. It lowered its arms with a rusted shriek, and stood at attention. The back of Apothos' throne smoked, scarred black by the sudden attack. Then, slowly, legs clanking against the metal floor, it rose and turned. The hidden, blind face of Apothos was brought fully in line with the "soldiers" who had surrendered to him. Who had agreed to serve him. Who were his. "How dare you defy me?" Apothos rasping, weak voice betrayed none of the anger he felt. It sounded...curious. "I...we didn't know-" Apothos raised his hand to forestall the lie. His hatred swelled, ballooning inside his chest into something like the heart of a sun. "How dare you?" His curled hand extended straight, skin stretching painfully as he forced his fingers out. Apothos recalled the line of a tome he'd read a half-dozen times. To wield the Dark Side is to wield raw power itself, drawn up by your emotions. If a practitioner can channel this power through their body, the natural bio-electrical currents running through your flesh can provide a suitable and ready template for that power to take. The consequences can be debilitating and painful to the wielder, but if one is determined to wield the true power of the Force, then sacrifice is a given. Apothos took a breath. Then he let his hate call to the Force...and he let the responding power flow through him. Brilliant, hot white-blue light crackled on his extended fingertips, and then burst out in a wild explosion of lightning. It ran along the walls and ceiling in wild arcs. It snapped, broke, and reformed over and over as it danced everywhere it could touch. Apothos' body shook with pain and laughter as he cackled while his fingers smoked. After a few moments, the power exhausted itself, and Apothos slumped back into his chair, cradling his now blackened and injured hand. The traitors were dead. So was the droid. Apothos frowned. He had not meant to kill either. The soldiers he'd meant to punish, and the droid shouldn't have been hit at all. His control was- His thoughts were interrupted by the ship giving out a loud, descending whine, and Apothos cursed. His little uncontrolled display of power must have touched on the ship's primary energy coils, and while the standard safety features and redundancies should have handled the power surge, this old piece of junk had likely had neither for quite some time. The ship began to dip, and Apothos felt light as the ascent was reversed. No. You will not fall while you bear me. He extended his will once more, and called upon the ship to repair itself. His mind raced through systems and conduits, and where it touched the ship began to reassemble. Secondary and tertiary systems suddenly came back online. Rust shook itself off of pistons. Lights flickered on as diagnostic programs activated and began assessing the damages. The ship began to level out, and as it did, alarms that had corroded into silence years ago suddenly garbled to life, blaring out proximity warnings. Then, faint and distorted, a voice warbled out into the cockpit. It was unintelligible, but as connected as Apothos was to the ship, he didn't need his hearing to know what it said. "Impact imminent." Apothos ceased his efforts on the ship, knowing he didn't have the time to fully fix it before it crashed. Instead, he turned his attention to his throne and the smoking droid. "Protect me," he ordered, his will and the Force carrying the command along the channels of his mechu-deru. The droid's chassis obeyed first, shrieking as the metal tore and flew towards Apothos. It wound itself around the arms and back of his chair, forming a protective shell that molded itself around the contours of the Krath's body. Pistons positioned themselves as make-shift shock absorbers, and even the blasters found use as single-use retro-explosives to correct and counter sudden shifts in momentum. It was an impromptu, one-use device composed of sheet metal and held together with the Force, but it might protect Apothos from the oncoming crash. The last rivet screwed itself into place as the ship collided with the ground. The tearing sound of metal that had filled the room became utterly deafening as the ship's bow ground into and through the metal streets of the ancient city that had the misfortune of being in the vessel's path. Apothos' throne was tossed across the cockpit, legs scrabbling and clutching to maintain some kind of equilibrium. Bursts of tibanna gas struggled to counter the sudden movement as the remains of the blasters burst on cue. The metal shroud surrounding Apothos collided with the front viewport, sending spiderline cracks through the weekend epoxy material, and the pistons fired in perfect timing to mitigate the blow on its occupant. Even so, the collision left Apothos reeling. The ship slid along the surface of the ancient city, toppling buildings with its bulk and shedding tons of rusted sheet metal behind it, before eventually grinding to a halt propped against one of the larger surviving skyscrapers. The building teetered and groaned, but miraculously stayed standing. Inside, Apothos' damaged throne began to twist and repair itself under its master's mechu-deru. The droid chassis shell fell apart, its purpose served, and a bruised, battered, but living Apothos coughed and grimaced as his chair slowly lifted him from the mess of scrap that had buried him.
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  37. Leena felt the surge of darkness as it swarmed against her force-powered barrier of light. She frowned as she felt the steely gray of the nearby apprentice buck at the touch of light. It was something she would want to address, but not here; not now. She kept her focus on keeping the planetary surge of evil at bay. Here she held a pocket of light, one that was was more than just light. It was an energized barrier of the force, of purity, of goodness, light, and power drawn from the living force that bound them all together. Driving her hands forward, Leena nodded in response to Jackson’s suggestion; pushing the vibrating energized aura further beyond until it enveloped the screaming child at the edge of the pit. The blast of dark energy raging against the light as they ravaged one another in a tearing clash of light and dark, good and bad, right and wrong. Leena pushed against the darkness with each step. She drove the storm of darkness back until she was close enough to the terrified girl. She felt the child’s fear. It was something she had felt many times before in the safety of the medical ward. It was fear of the unknown, the fear of an uncertain future. With a touch of her hand, Leena channeled some of the fiery light side energy from the aura about them into the girl, compassionately overwhelming her delicate systems and with a touch, render her unconscious. It was a Jedi healer trick used to numb the body and mind without the need for medications and their side effects, to place the patient in a state of peace while deeper healing practices could be brought to bear. In this case, it was done so as to pull the girl literally from the brink of danger and death. As the child’s form went limp, Leena wrapped her in her arms, pulling her away from the pit. As Leena’s use of the light was diverted, the darkness surged pushing against her shield and throwing itself fully against that of Jackson’s. Leena moved back away from the hot blast of dark air from the pit, pulling the slack girl with her through the muck. Seeing Sandy and Orpheon materialize from the undergrowth she nodded at the darkness belching pit. “I have her! Lets end this thing!”
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  38. The Iron Howlrunner's ramp lowered, and Krath Apothos descended in his walking throne, flanked by his Deepguard. His breath was already labored, and his dull grey skin gleamed with a greasy sheen in the humid heat. Like his fellow Krath, Apothos cared little for the natural beauty of this place. The buzzing insects, the muggy air, and clinging muck only served as a distraction from the true potential of this place. Extending his mind outward, Apothos sought the faint signs of a civilization long gone. Faintly he felt the presence of the Death Strikers camp, their weathered tools and picked over devices still relatively fresh. But it wasn't what he was looking for. Deeper... There. Below them. A cable passed directly beneath them, corroded and frayed but still mostly intact. The echo of thoughts and voices hung around it, clinging to the metal and insulation. A communications cable, a mile off and buried deep, but it must have been a large one for him to sense it from here. He sunk deeper into his trance, letting the senses that the art of mechu-deru granted in conjunction with his own Dark Sight to feel the emotions that had been carried by the cable. Almost without conscious thought, he commanded his throne to begin walking closer to the cable. Minutes passed, or maybe hours, Apothos could not be sure. The whole of his attention was focused on those faint whispers of an ancient people, their emotions preserved in the technology they had poured themselves in. As he grew closer, he began to sense those emotions that had been buried in those messages the cable had last carried. Anger. Fear. But hate most of all. A frenzied, clawing hate that even now, centuries later, Apothos could feel struggling to worm its way into his mind. This had been no ordinary war. It had been something else. Something driven. It did not matter. They were dead. But perhaps their war had left something for him. He was nearing the cable, the underside of his walking throne and the chassis of his droids splattered with mud, when something else caught his attention. Technology. But large...and active. His throne adjusted its course, and at his urging it began to lope across the ground, legs moving faster than they'd been designed to, but compelled to do so by their master's will. As he closed in, he sensed what he was approaching. It was a ship, a bulk cruiser by the feel of it. Old and barely functional, but active. It had landed nearby, likely flying in low, either in the hopes of catching the two Sith off guard or because the junk ship couldn't be trusted to ascend above the treeline. Either seemed equally likely. The throne picked up speed again, Apothos now taking direct control as if the device was an extension of his own body, though in far better shape. His droid escort was forced to sprint to keep up with their charge, and before long Apothos crashed out of the underbrush, startling a squad of what could only charitably be described as soldiers. Their blasters were spotted with corrosion, and their GA uniforms were so faded and mud-stained that it would have been difficult to tell them apart from work overalls. A few raised their blasters, while the others only stared in stunned fascination at the bizarre sight before them. Charging them was a dirty mechanical throne, bearing a robed, half-dead neimoidian shrouded in a black cloth. "H...halt!" One called out hesitantly. Apothos could feel his fear radiating out, and like a fire catching in dry brush, the other soldiers around him began giving off the stench of fear as well. They may not have known what Apothos was, but something deep in their gut told them he was nothing good. Apothos gestured with his hand, and the blasters were yanked out of their hands. Such weak-willed pawns, abandoned here. Their pride had long since dried up, and their resolve had been quick to follow. And their ship... Apothos grimaced, even as the soldiers fell back and scrambled away, a few whispering "Sith" under their breath. One made it to the cruiser's ramp, only for it to retract and close before he could step foot on it. Pathetic...but mine. His will extended out to the rest of the ship, his mind parsing code and protocols, digging up maintenance records for problems that had long gone ignored. His throne passed the stunned, frightened soldiers, and with a rusted shriek, the cargo elevator lowered from the underside of the cruiser. The soldier's surprise told Apothos that that particularly part of the ship hadn't been functional for years, but it responded to its new master's command. "Your ship...is mine," Apothos said as he and his guard grouped onto the loading elevator. "You can stay here...or serve me." The soldier who'd called for him to halt stepped forward, then stopped. His jaw jutted out, and his eyes narrowed. "Long reign the Galactic Alliance," and Apothos felt a flicker of that pride kindle to life inside him. Apothos cocked his head. "Very well. Enjoy the walk." As the elevator began to ascend, Apothos was pleased to see over half of the rest of the squad run forward and jump onboard the ship. Apparently their fear of what lived out here was enough to overcome their sense of loyalty.
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  39. Like spiders crawling over naked flesh, Darth Nyrys felt the will of her sable king spread across her. Never my lord, I simply had chains that needed breaking. I am at your disposal as always. The Dark Lord's message contained an implicit command, a summons for his bloodsoaked warrior. She was no longer the overwhelmed young girl or the sensual monster that she had been in the past when she had met him. There was still a fire in her eyes, but it was guided by cold wisdom and experience, by a need to exist beyond the moment. Despite having cut more of herself away, she somehow felt closer to being complete, more of who she was meant to be. Delta's troops had been deployed again, such was the nature of love in times of war, a cycle of not long enough and too long. She would attend to the Dark Lord alone. Darth Nyrys finally understood that she alone was enough. She took a shuttle back to Iziz, but did not have it land at the tower, instead she chose to walk among the city's populace. In the middle and upper class areas, the people were consumed by their own internal struggles and ambitions. Surely any normal person would be revealed to be rather lunatic if there thoughts were laid bare and the things they dwelt upon made known. Their minds were full of inane distractions and strange meanderings. In the abandoned and neglected places she found something more pure. There were still people that in a city of every convenience and necessity made available still struggled and fought for survival. Against the system, against each other, against their own flaws. Success could be its own poison, a bitter numbing agent, and failure a catalyst for growth. If not for her own loss at Corellia she would have continued to struggle against old misconceptions. Many had internalized the strife and suffering of their lot in life, but there were some that believed something more was within their grasp. She sought out those individuals and with the darkness that she held in her breast, she lit a flame in their hearts. In the bones of an abandoned factory she gathered them and consecrated her first church in pledge and song. They would be her Forlorn Saints, broken people that somehow still held potential like she had when the Sith had found her. Purpose would make them whole in time. With the ebon sacrament completed, she headed towards the dark tower of her master to learn of his bidding. ((Art by Adrian Półtorak))
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  40. As the insectile legs of Apothos' chair guided him out of the command center, his face held on Darth Akheron again, before finally turning away. Let us see, my former master, if you are still the burning beacon of power I first saw on Onderon, he thought to himself. And let us see if that power is enough to grasp a world. His attention lingered briefly on the clone commander. ...Wait...yes, I know that one...from Mon Cal. The tunnels. Yes... Dangerous... Then his throne passed out of the room, and he drew his attention back to the task at hand. Aaris III... With a thought, he commanded the communicator embedded into his throne to access his ship's records and draw up information on the remote little planet. Reading code directly was still incredibly difficult for him, but simple information like this was possible, if not easy. Given his lack of normal sight though, he predicted he'd come to rely more and more on this skill in the future. A ruined planet of pirates and primitives. Destroyed itself through war... He smiled underneath the cloth that covered his face. ______________________________________________________________ The Ironhowlrunner and The Eternus detached from the fleet. Within minutes, they'd jumped back into hyperspace.
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  41. Delta looked sideways at the Sith Lord known simply as Akheron, then snapped his attention to the Sith in overall command of the campaign. “Will all due respect to Lord Akheron, Imperial troops and commandos are issued helmets with built in filtration of up to a hundredth of a micron. Add to that a Decree that anyone caught attempting to use biological weapons to influence soldiers results in the death of not only them but their entire communities and those that shelter them, and we won’t have much of a problem. In my opinion sir.” He let his gaze return to the holomap. “Other than that it should not be too hard to maintain control of a species with a strict hierarchy. Take their leadership, and they fall.”
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  42. Darth Akheron, considered the words spoken by Mordecai. Falleen. He had heard of it, it was a planet well known for it's xenophobic attitude towards the galaxy and yet they had potential, if they would only move beyond this. Their martial prowess, resistance to mind trick's and strong pheromones would be a major boon if the Sith could convince them to join. Indeed, Akheron saw the potential in this and more. Falleen was a location ripe for the picking, one he might be able to mold and influence. For he knew well.how such a people's minds worked to a degree. He could see his own people very much mirrored in the Falleen species. Both in terms of culture and thinking themselves superior to others. Only to be brought low. But first he would need to aid the endeavour to capture the planet and then begin the process of convincing it's people of the benefits of joining the Sith Empire. Answering, he replied, his voice slow and steady. Deadly serious, as always he was when it came to doing a job. "Sorry, it's a force of habit, I appreciate that you view me as such. Falleen, you say. Most excellent, this falls in line with some of my plans. In many ways the Falleen remind me of back home, xenophobic, thinking themselves better than everyone...superior kind of attitude. Silly really when one thinks about it. And yet there also lies incredible potential in the species. And old habits can be broken. I am most interested in their martial ability, resistance to mind trick's of the force and highly potent pheremones. All of which I believe we can potentially use to the Sith Empire's advancement, should we be successful. And yet these will also prove most troublesome when we get there. Do we have something that can potentially protect our troops from falling to these pheremones? Besides standard equipment. Last thing we need is for troops to start getting all hot and bothered when they should be fighting or keeping order."
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  43. The Mantis had stood, his limbs hanging loosely at his side, staring down the weapons leveled in his direction. Concern had not been high on his list of responses. The rebel soldiers were doing their job. On a world like this one could hardly blame a fella who was wanted for his mere existence for being a bit jumpy. From behind his enclosed helm, The Mantis raised an eyebrow in interest at the arrival of the hulking canine. If he had to guess, the Jensaarai would have figured him for a bounty hunter of sorts. But still, the being had the same name as The Mantis did and he himself could be considered an odd specimen by some. Who was he to judge. Given the fact that the guardsmen obeyed the wolfman, The Mantis figured he was a rebel of sorts. So was he, he pondered for a moment. The Jensaarai had thrown their lot in with this ragtag band of upstarts and idealists. There was something about them. Clambering with ease from the speeder, The Mantis dropped to the packed earth and made his way into the prefabricated command structure, down the hall to a spare service room set up almost like a cafeteria eating area. He offered a nod of thanks to the much larger wolfish rebel. Otherwise, he was content to remain in the silence of the cramped room, his eyes scanning the walls; diagrams, a few odd maps and starcharts, nothing too exciting really. The comment about the Jensaarai from the wolfman took The Mantis by surprise. Not many usually knew who or what they were. When Lt. Andromina entered, The Mantis stood from the benched sear he had occupied, stepping forward to extend a hand to tightly and quickly grasp the pilot’s before releasing and stepping back. As the ranking rebel spoke, The Mantis fell into step as they left the hall and walked down the hallway. He walked in silence allowing Mythos a chance to speak first, which he did as they entered the official briefing room. With a hiss, the Defender removed the faceplate of his light Jensaarai armor helmet, the suit adapting to the pressure of the world about them. He tucked the faceplate beneath his armpit, his rugged Corellian features offset by his bright green eyes. With a low baritone, The Mantis spoke, after they entered the briefing room and Mythos had said his piece. A sight smile played across the Jensaarai’s face; surely the woman knew what she was asking. “I am Mantis.” he spoke by way of introduction. Any mention of the Jensaarai was left unsaid. His people’s anonymity was one of their greatest defenses, even as he wore his customized armor beneath his gray robe. That same robe he lifted to reveal a complete set of throwing knives held against his armored waist alongside his collapsible staff. “I am not a soldier or a Jedi. Espionage is my area of . . . ability. Like him,” he inclined a thumb towards Mythos, “I can just,” he circled his hand in the air, opening his fist in a trail of fingers before closing back into a fist as if signing a universal idea of disappearing. Taking the chance to redirect the conversation, he opted to pepper the lieutenant with a few queries of his own. “An interesting location to plan an invasion of such a contested world.” Shooting a glance around as if for emphasis he continued, “I am hoping there are more than us and a few marines. No offense sir,” he shot an apologetic glance to Mythos as he spoke. “I’ve heard stories about what has been going on at Mon Cal. Dark stuff. What are you thinking? Do we have any rebels planetside already? Getting there should be easy enough. Mon Cal has become the new Nar Shaddaa. What kind of defenses do they have set up?” The Mantis stepped up to a table bearing a holographic rotating display of the watery world in question. His eyes scanned the fluxing world map. Was this real time? Glimmers of ships in orbit blipped in and out of sight above the world. The Mantis was not by any means a one man army. He was a stealthy combatant. Protecting protectors, moving unnoticed amongst the shadows, aiding the Alliance, those were his tasks. By them, he was bettering the cause of his own people. The Sith Empire was too big a threat to be ignored. They were coming for them, the Alliance, the Jedi, anyone who might be a threat. Masters of camouflage and stealth, even the Jensaarai were threatened by the ever growing horde of evil.
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  44. “Dimitri....” The now fourth of her droids to be called by that name whistled away imperviously behind her cockpit. Feeding lines of data into the small holo display that burned in dull orange luminescence above her right hand. “Okay D. Watch for more behind that asteroid.” She flipped comm channels with a click of her right thumb. Forcing the mic that hovered an inch away from her face to broadcast over Alliance Sig 2. “Templar One making approach.” “Templar two in formation.” The two X-Wings began their run from behind the dorsal engine of their carrier towards the sith fighter screen- “Andromina.” A voice cut throug the simulation as the holo display froze. She caught a moment of nausea from the sudden lurch of the sim pod settling back down. “Guests in service hall two. Waiting.” She sighed and pulled off the helmet and pushed up the sim’s cockpit and helped Dimitri out of his socket. Then together they made their way to where the newest assignees had been sent. She grinned and extended her hand to each of them in turn. Her accent betrayed her Imperial Training. “I am Lieutenant Andromina of Templar Squadron. We have been assigned to recon and prepare for the invasion of Mon Calamari. If you will walk with me, we can hit the briefing room. I will need to know your names and abilities so I can best assign you however.”
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  45. Von Howlster's Reach touches down on Kessel with a subtle whirl. Aboard this ship was Colonel Mythos Von Howlster and the top men of Moon call, Callsign: SaberCats. These were the best he had to offer, veterans of both the Galactic Alliance and Imperial Remnant, forged in the flames of war as eternal brethren forever more. Clad in Katarn Class armor, each sported the weapons of issue, most notably the Lightfoils adorning their hips. They laid in wait under their Commanding Officer, Sergeant Major Jibbs, silently awaiting orders within the lower deck of the Herald Class Transport. It wasn't long ago that they faced the might of the Sith at Corellia. And it was there that they gained a whole new sense of respect for the Shistavanian they called Colonel. Stories of his mental breakdown after his fight with the Sith Nyrys had all but been wiped clean with what transpired during their last battle together. And now they were here, at Kessel, a new mission at hand. No matter what it was, they were willing to follow the towering beast straight into the Corellia Hell without question, as morale and respect rose between them. They weren't just soldiers under anyone's command. They were brothers and sisters, born of commonality, strengthened by their shared blood and bonds. Mythos departed alone, Jibbs remaining on open comm as his commander made the trek to command. A Shistavanian wasn't an uncommon sight on Kessel, but a free Shistavanian did manage to catch a few eyes. Especially a well armed one. But who would mess with a beast that towered over most men, hidden behind a mask of his own visage and strolled with his hand on the hilt of his blade constantly? His clawed hands and jagged teeth alone were deadly, but with the assortment that accompanied them, who would find themselves brave enough? As he strolled amidst the masses, he grimaced beneath his mask. Only the mystics of the two Orders would dare. On the outskirts of town where few dared to venture, let alone by themselves, Mythos found himself walking toward the Command Center posted outside the city. His duster kicking up in the wind, he pulled it's burlap across his about to hinder the dust as his trek began to shorten. Before long, a being stood before him, the Guards of the Post aiming weapons at him. He heard the being speak, but with the wind, couldn't make out gender nor tone, only their words. It seemed they had a common request. Mythos stepped in front of the being, cutting off their aim onto himself. "Let Lieutenant Andromina know that Colonel Von Howlster has arrived as well." He spoke with a hoarse snarl from behind his masked visage, his voice more roar than intelligible thanks to the scar that wrapped his vocal cords. "Lower your weapons as well. That's an order."
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  46. Darth Akheron, remained silent as he allowed the young lieutenant to lead the way to the war council, and so Darth Mavanger the man he had come to see. The only movement made was to briefly bow when they first met and allowing him to do the talking. Listening, Karys observed his new surroundings, impressed by the ship and crew as he was walking past. In the Force, he could feel everything. Feelings of pride, glory, rage, hatred. A whole mix of emotions. Entering the war council, Darth Akheron bowed as he faced his equal, Darth Mavanger, showing all due respect. Overhearing that Bothawui had fallen to the newly formed Rebels, Karys was disappointed a little. But it was not unexpected of the Bothans. Bothawui, after all on it's own, was nothing too important, only that it allowed for direct access to Nar Shaddaa, which once belonged to the Hutts. He had heard it had since become the Headquarters for the Rebel insurrection. A target they would take back eventually. For now, the Outer Rim awaited. Again, remaining silent, he allowed Darth Mavanger to speak, only speaking when he was addressed directly. "No apologies are necessary, I can tell how busy you are here. As the old saying goes 'a warriors work is never done', I must say I am most impressed by all this. And I respect one who knows the true value of the warrior, one who travels the warrior's path like myself and understands it's intricacies. Captain Hurst was right to speak most highly of you, speaking of which he informs me, you have need of me in this endeavour. I was curious to to the specifics of that. And perhaps I may be of use to you here. I hate to just stand around like a spare droid, I 'm sure you understand. As a man of action yourself." It was at that moment in the Force, he felt them. More had arrived. More Sith. Stretching out in the Darkness, he allowed his Wrath to extend and bid them welcome. He paused for a moment, as he felt something familiar...like he knew one of them, from a time before...A time before his rebirth. It was most curious, and intriguing...he would soon see just who it was.
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  47. Slipping out of hyperspace, two vessels joined the growing cluster of warships above the orange ball of Geonosis. The S-161 yacht The Eternus and the Baudo yacht The Iron Howlrunner seemed entirely out of place among so many vessels geared for war. The power of the two Krath who flew aboard them however, was another knot of dark energy to add to the swirling maelstrom of the Force that had been born of so many Sith Lords collecting in one place. A raspy voice broadcast over the hailing frequencies. "This (cough) is Krath Apothos, accompanied by Krath Inmortos. The lords of Mon Calamari would join their efforts to this endeavor. Permission to board." The message cut out, and in his cockpit, the hunched, twisted form of Krath Apothos devolved into a painful fit of coughing, his whole body shaking with each labored breath. The dull, grey skin of his hands turned white as he clenched and unclenched his fists. While his body suffered though, his mind reached out through the Force. The Force nearly boiled in the presence of so many practitioners of the Dark Side. Each sat distinct as a node of corruption that- Apothos paused in his examination. There... He knew that presence. Under the black cloth that covered his face, Apothos smiled.
    1 point
  48. Sandy slowly stood from where she was kneeling and sighed. She was tired, and it showed on her face, in her walk, and in the slight slump of her shoulders. She had been here for days, surrounded by the endless death, breathing the contaminates, and finding little success. But that voice was something new. It was the voice of those whispers she had felt in the back of her mind since she had arrived, was it the voice of the forest? No, because it was familiar. It was the same voice she had heard on ruined planets since she was a little girl. But never before had the words been this clear. They had been clear in the maw as well. What had the Togorian said on Thalassia? She couldn’t remember, the trauma had broken those memories into irretrievable shards. The memories stirred in varied levels of opacity, the most harsh of the abuse so bright and clear, while the small things seemed to be seen through a fog. She shook her head. And slowly walked to Leena. She placed a hand on her shoulder, and nodded. “We must find the voice. It is not the forest, it is a someone or a group of someones.” She could taste the smell of rot on the back of her tongue. “This is something ancient and malevolent. The darkside has lain here for an eternity, undisturbed even as we built a temple on its threshold. There is little wonder that it has finally woken up.” Danger flashed down her spine as Leena Tapped into the lightside of the force and Sandy, almost as a reaction brought her lightsaber up. And all around the darkside began to flood. "Apprentice, get back to us now!"
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  49. The Human Padawan had little difficulty in navigating the packed confines of his ship, always seeming to find the quickest way around or through scattered pieces of salvage or racks of parts. Were he a few feet shorter he likely could have passed off as a fairly competent Jawa, for all that the insides of the Plunder resembled those of a sand crawler's. He let the more experienced Jedi take the lead off the ship, stumbling a little in the dirt as his mag-boots found no purchase on the festering earth. It had been a while since he had set foot on solid ground, though he was quick to readjust and follow Leena into the foggy fungal jungles. Every now and then the distinct snap and a brief flash of dim rust, or perhaps bronze, revealed one of the things the derelict Jedi had been working on in his free time; honing his skills in specifically targeting twigs and the random stems of foliage with trakata, apparently. Every time he missed, it was an easy enough job to simply try again with the other side of his blade. "Don't think we're gonna be finding her again. Not right now, anyways. Little turbulent still." Jackson observed, voice modulator crackling slightly from the moisture inevitably collecting in its output holes. "Not very good with... people. Unfortunately. Much less the sick. Forte lies a little more with machines and circuits, if you hadn't guessed already." His admittance was quiet, not wishing to interrupt anything important anyone else mighty have to do or to say. The longer they trekked through the mud the dimmer the young Human Jedi became, in the force. He was still there, but gradually fading. Morphing into a piece of the background as he unconsciously used his sensitivity to hide, the darkness around him steadily disintegrating as it was harvested and incorporated to make his disguise more effective. In any other place it might have slid unnoticed, but the spot lamp of Light that Leena shone wherever she stepped was throwing him off. It took time for the transition to complete, but when it did the result was more of a stark grey than oily black, or radiant white. If anyone cared to watch, the same process kept going on repeat, each time with slightly different aspects and subtle changes to it as it began to adapt. It was particularly similar to the way that AI learned and evolved, with lots of trial and error. A brute force method of scrolling through every possible option before settling on the one that worked the best, and in this case it settled on a gradient. The side of Jackson facing the healer blended more with her light while the opposite did the opposite.
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  50. A single mischance and horribly bad judgment parsecs away are about to have devistating consequences for the unfortunate Bothans on this distant and remote planet. Over the captial city of Bothawui, the citizens are happy and carefree- the empire and rebels wars distant and not of immediate concern. The petty conflicts are removed from their day to day affairs. Nothing bad could come of them. Really. Truly. Even something as insignifigant as a Nastarine retalitory attack for a dismantled probe droid should have no bearing what so ever on this world's peace. Of course, fate is not always kind. Who would think that a band of rabid, communist Ewoks would try launching their world devistating weapon of destruction against a simple transport. Then when the Taepodong 2 Hyperspace missile shot into the aether of its namesake, randomly flying through the spirals of the galaxy, what would the odds be it would, in following its programing, pull out and smite the first large gravity source it came across with its nuclear fires, chose an inhabited, thriving world like Bothawui? The exact odds are 1:666,666,666. Today, it would be as if God Himself has foresaken the whole world, turning away with studied indifference on this jewel. Today, Bothawui is about to become Hell on Earth. A young female Bothan child is out in a field picking flowers in the wild, lush country outside the capital city. She bends down to pick one and in her tiny, delicate hands, picks off the petals. LBJ in his campaigns against Goldwater, in galaxy far, far away into the distant future, couldn't have asked for a better model. 10... The missile pulls from orbit. 9.... Zooming at the fastest possible sublight speed, it races through defenses, ships, and surpasses even the abilities of the sensors to pick up. 8... The poor unfortunates with only seconds left in their short, tragic lives might see a bright streak rapidly falling from the heavens. 7... The missile clears the atmosphere, it's deadly payload activating 6.... The first sense of something hidiously wrong registers on all concerned. 5.... The Taepodong 2 Missile activates in mid air. 4... A blinding flash spreads across the sky, covering the whole hemisphere. 3... The little girl looks up, blinded by this brilliant explosion. She unconsciously still picks the petals, watching a brilliant ultraviolet and blue fireball shoot out. 2... The capital city is practically atomized from the force of the explosion, which would leave a crator over a three and a half miles deep into the bedrock over the former city. The girl Bothan screams as her face starts to melt off. 1... The petals, scattered to the wind, distintigrate. The mushroom cloud drawn by this explosion can be seen from the other end of the system. The whole planet shakes and rumbles as radiation bursts to ooze over the four corners of the globe. Those who would live would face an exponentially rising cancer rate, severe burns, and wallow in grief and despair. The EMP shockwave takes out electronics on the whole planet for an hour, causing chaos and destruction even on the other side of the shattered rock. In the aftermath, hours later, when the smoke has cleared, nothing remains. Miraculously, a few scattered survivors ((Namely: Any PCs in this thread and about say.... 2 dozen others total)) endured the blast, escaping unharmed. Miraculously? On this day? No, it was a cruel jest from an uncaring universe. In the absolute and total destruction, far, far better to have perished than live on in this irradiated and red tinged wasteland. The vast dust thrown into the air has a sickly, crimson tinge, akin to the red banner of China of the Soviet Union. Bothawui would be in for an ice age, destroying those who might survive the initial dose of radiation. One survivor, covered in horrible, glowing scars and not long for this world due to the irradiated wounds, sinks to his knees and lets out a cry, a howl, a soul tearing wail of total despair as everything he knew and loved vanished beyond recall in some tragic, unforeseen event, metted out by an uncaring universe whose chill surpasses even the poetry of Stephen Crane. The nuclear holocaust had struck- not out of intended malice against the Bothans per say- but out of a terrible mischance. Woe unto Bothawui and woe unto those who would live in the wake of such tragedy. Over half a world was annihilated, billions perished, and the ecosystem damaged beyond recall. To those who lived, only their grief, and a sense of wonder and questioning- screaming to God "Why?", inevitably leading to vengence is left to them. ((Here's the scoop: Any PCs left, you're alive and unharmed, but need to vacate before radiation poisoning finishes you off. You have the clothes on your back and maybe about a half dozen others surviving in that hemisphere. Everything else- gone in the blast. Have a nice day! ))
    1 point
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