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Imperial Knights

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  1. The young imperial knights eyebrows raised as she walked through the door into Mythos’s room. She held a datapad and gave a slight if formal bow to the wolf like officer. She extended a datapad with another bow. “I know it is likely too early in your recovery but you are being called into active duty again. Deep space scouts say a Sith Empire fleet is heading to the world of Naboo. And we need you there asap.” She turned and handed him another datapad. “You have been assigned to the 432nd Militia. Refugees from Chandrila. Treat them well.”
  2. The Imperial Knights looked at one another and shrugged. “If you wish to depart of course that is your prerogative.” The master held out his hand to momentarily delay the mandalorian. “But be careful, being a Jedi is a whole life commitment, you must leave behind everything to pursue that path.” He pointed to the damaged armour segments. “And that includes your heritage, if you return there it is to say goodbye...” The Imperials bowed low to the apprentice and stepped aside so that she could go about her business.
  3. The imperial medical squire raised her eyebrows, sparing a glance to her master who shrugged. So the squire pressed further in her questioning as she laid her hands on the Mandalorian jedi apprentice’s and let the force move through her. “So why were you trying to get to a vault?” The force moved from the squires hands to Alliera’s where it spread throughout her aching body, soothing the exhausted muscles, easing the aches of the brutal combat. “We were always taught as kids that Mon Cal was pretty much all one great sewer. But that was during the last war.” She shrugged and went back to concentrating while her master took over questions. “Where do your travels take you next Apprentice Alliera?”
  4. Wake. The voice was commanding, but also soft and full of concern. “Wake from this sleep.” This was far more commanding, and came with a small jolt in the force, something to break the Jedi Apprentice from her medically induced unconsciousness. When she awoke she would see a young woman of her early teens sitting beside her. Wearing the white and red tabard of the Imperial Order of Medics. Another holdover from the old Imperial Remnant and their ‘Imperial Knights.” The Group of jedi who had left the order to fight the sith in the waning days of the Galactic Alliance. Though they had been vindicated, and their cause recognized by the Jedi Council, they had not yet fully integrated. Keeping mostly within their own order in its bastion on Nar Shaddaa. Working closely with the Empress of the Remnant and the Rebel Alliance military command. But this one was young, a squire, whose grinning face carried none of the tiredness her master’s did. “Welcome back Alliera. I’m glad you pulled through there.”
  5. “What you speak of will put the Bothan people into the sights of the Sith War Machine.” The representative from the Combined Bothan Clans shadow government ruffled his fur in protest. The grey patterns showing brightly against the dark of the rest of his fur. The Imperial Exorcist raised a hand to speak but was once again cut off by the old clan chief. “We cannot afford a war, even if you did defeat the Sith Fleet at Corellia and ‘put the Sith on the back foot’ we will not advocate the Bothan people join you in this ritualistic suicide.” The fur ruffled again. ”And you do not fool us, we will not trade our independence for another Empress of a different force tradition. We are an independent people. We will not bow before your ‘good empress.’” The Imperial Exorcist lowered her head in acknowledgment as a red furred bothan took her turn at the lectern. “I do see the plight of the Rebel Alliance, and Clan Kir’jess, has long assisted the Galactic Alliance. Even in the darkest hours of the old rebellion the bothans were there to help against the Sith.” The Bothan turned to the rest of the council raising her hands. “Did not the Sith Empire send their soldiers to attack us not so many years ago? Do we not remember the bloodshed and violence? Do not the deaths of trillions on coruscant raise your fur in a lust for vengeance? The Sith Lords have to be stopped. They must be stopped.” She held out a paw to forestall the inevitable cry of contrition from the shadow government who were crouched at the edges of their bench. “I am not calling for an Ar’Kai. But we must see that if this Rebel Alliance falls there will be no one left? Should we not throw our weight against the last scraps of freedom that this galaxy holds?” She shook her mane and looked to the majority members of the government who nodded. “As such, the government would like to offer Bothawui’s cooperation with the Rebel Alliance. In exchange for membership and a position in the Galactic Command Structure.” The Imperial Exorcist nodded. And a mixture of boos and applause met her ears. The Rebel Alliance would grow, slowly at first, but what began at the fall of Kuat and Onderon was now beginning to take its first steps.
  6. As a Devorianian blazed like a torch at a midnight mass, followed quickly by an entire bar, three dark cloaked figures began to converge on the lone Mandalorian responsible for all the carnage. They were distant at first, but within a few minutes even a drunk Gamorrean would know that he was being followed. Even in the most crowded of alleys people parted in waves in front of the three dark figures. Some bowed, some ran away, all moved aside. When they had come close enough to call out, a lone voice echoed towards the mandalorian. It was a woman’s voice, but fell and beautiful in its tones. The basic accented by the soft and telltale accent of Carida. Whose surface still burned from the anger of the Sith Lords. “If death and violence was all that brought you to this small planet I would say that you have done far enough.” The force moved like a storm, and the night air felt electric, as if there was about to be a summer thunderstorm. “You are under arrest for multiple Homicides, and I would advise you to come with us.” For these were Imperial Exorcists. The strongest of the old order formed in the Remnant during the fall of the Galactic Alliance. Though they now answered to the Jedi Council, they still held the order of their Empress’s planet as a priority first among many.
  7. A soft knock rang on the door of the armourshop and a young imperial squire, the equivalent of a jedi apprentice, stood looking into the darkened storefront. She held a flimsiplast list in her hand that had been crumpled thoroughly by nervous hands. "Hello?"
  8. Sergeant Horatio Kine tapped his prosthetic leg with a finger, loud enough that the hollow metallic sound of it was audible to the enraptured group of young men around him. The music was loud in the tavern, but not loud enough that it would overpower the Sergeants voice. Made strong from long years of command in the Sith Empire, then Galactic Alliance, then Imperial Remnant, and now finally the Rebel Alliance military. His name had been stylized ‘Kine’ instead of ‘von Kine’ as his connections to imperial royalty back on Carida had been slim at best, and a long line of inheritance had not kept the family fortune intact enough for him to live off of it. So he had become a soldier, joining as a private and now suitably as a Sergeant Major, and he had no desire to go farther. Command was a bore, and his natural talents were in talking and convincing, not commanding vast swaths of imperial marines. So he was a recruiter. Paid per head recruited. There was nothing better. It was enough to bolster his small pension and go whoring on weekends, as such was the life of a near retired regimental sergeant major. So he sat on the edge of a well worn duraplast stool, and told his war stories t oan enraptured audience of young men from the colonies and a spattering of refugees. This was mainly a human bar, but RSM Kine had no prejudices. Anyone from a Devorian, to a Zeltron, to Human, could join the armed forces of the Rebel Alliance. Even women were allowed! Though he shook his head at that. He took a long swig from a tot of rum and rubbed at his greying moustache as he pulled out a large denomination credit chip from his pocket. Letting it spin through his fingers as he talked. “And so there we were on the Death Star! No Emperor Deton was no friend of mine but I must say he led us well. Yes sir, he was a good man. But let me see what were we talking about? The benefits?” Eager heads nodded in unison. “You see lads. Five hundred credits. Another thousand signing bonus!” A few of the refugees gasped as if they had never seen so many credits in their lives. And RSM Kine knew he had them.
  9. Ismael grinned at the expression on the young Knight’s face. “No, we are not anticipating assigning you a squire at this point, but if you wish to have one, we are happy to provide.” He thought of the wealth of young men and women in the service that would jump at the opportunity, but the young man needed rest. According to his file, he had been in combat in and out since the war had started. And the weariness of that war was already marked visibly on the young man’s face. Ismael turned and gestured back to the bedroom. “Now get some rest young Darkfire, sleep for a week if you need.” He smiled and with a swirl of his grey cloak. Was gone.
  10. Ismael smiled warmly at the Imperial Squire, a man in his own right, and a descendant of powerful lineage. He winked a grey eye and stood back to let the man close his door. He had obviously been expecting someone else, someone who cared less than Ismael might about clean rooms and uniforms, but the Master did not mind. He had been a young man once as well, and some of the only joy out of those missions and long deployments had been the women that had graced his presence. He waved off Aidan’s apologies and returned the bow, “There is little you can do for me young Darkfire, but I do have something for you.” He held out a new holo identification, no longer marking him as an imperial citizen, but a citizen of the Rebel Alliance. But what was most particular of the gift was the rank listed on the identification. In the light blue. Imperial Knight “We are proud to welcome you from your apprenticeship and into the ranks of the Imperial Knights.” He held out a hand to the imperial knight. “Well done.”
  11. The leather wrapped hilt of the standard issue imperial sabre felt rough to the Imperial Exorcist. His fingers worked themselves around the hilt, finding the smoothed sections of the leather where, after hours of practice duels and real fights, the rough leather had worn down to a fine smoothness that was comfortable to the touch. Ismael smiled, his grin transected by a solid scar that crossed his face, giving him a mocking appearance whenever he smiled. The result of a tangle with the Sith during his service to the Jedi Order under Grandmaster Ara-Lai. Would that the Jedi had kept their strength! What would Master Damon have said to the failures of Onderon and Kashyyyk? But the answers had lain in schism, and even though they had done their best, the Imperial Knights had taken severe losses in the long war. While the Jedi Order had nearly fallen to pieces. Ismael shook his grey haired head as he walked down the long corridors of the barracks, walking towards the room of young Aidan Darkfire. Senses told him that he was fast asleep, so Ismael gave him a few more hours of rest before he doubled back and softly rapped his knuckles on the door. There was no ceremony in this. There would be no screaming crowds.
  12. The lightning hit her hard. She could see its wispy form reeling through the force towards her a moment before it hit and knew that she had kept the lightsabre too high. The arcing embodiment of the darkside struck under her raised arm and a searing pain shot through her body. There was little she could do of course, other than wait for the convulsions play themselves out and begin to meditate again on the force, willing her muscles to slow. But she was very lucky, and she knew it. The lightning could have arced through her heart, but had only gone down one side of her body, and though she couldn’t see the effect other than through the force, she knew her foot, which had been firmly planted on the durasteel decking, had passed the lightning through it and into the ship itself. The sole of her boot had boiled away and the acrid smell of burned and vulcanized rubber bit at her nostrils. As she struggled to her knees, her arm still thrashing about from the electric blast through her nervous system, her senses slowly came back to her. Firstly came her sense of smell, already filled with the smells of the charred boots, now mixing with the smell of seared flesh which could have been hers or the Sith Lords who had been hit by the holy exorcism. She gulped a breath of air to steady herself. And the throbbing humm in her ears was replaced by the shouts and blasterfire of a close engagement. Then at last came her balance, and she shook her head, but before she could get fully up, two strong hands grasped her and a harsh voice whispered in her ear. “The chronometer is beeping commander. We have run out of time. Now lets help you back to the shuttle.” The strong hands pulled her firmly back from where she could sense the Sith Apprentice recovering. She grinned and nodded. “Then let us be gone, commander, this is a loss. We have been repulsed and there is little doubt that they knew we were coming.” She lifted her sabre in a solemn salute to the Sith, and shrugging off her helpers, walked to the shuttle which whisked her back to the Misericordia.
  13. Anger still echoed its bloody pattern through the hanger, and Cassandra followed every step of the Sith, their cruelty and corruption would be their undoing. Her pressed attack had left two of them stumbling, but it had not been the finishing blow that she had desired, and if the rebel alliance were to succeed today, then it was very necessary to take the star destroyer and end these Sith. Cassandra breathed out as she surveyed the Sith before her, the apprentice was coming for another rearward attack, one was pressing a forward charge and the last was gathering another force attack. She mentally sorted the threats and stepped forward, bringing the silver sabre up in a high guard as Lord Fahren made his attack, she knew a lightsabre was enough to delay him until the apprentice came close. The force was building on both sides, Anger and wroth against the still calm of justice. The force filled her every move, as she deflected and avoided the first few slashes of the Sith Lord, allowing herself to be driven towards the stalking apprentice who was making no move to hide his intentions. She batted aside the last thrust from the Sith lord, his sabre scoring along her armour, and bubbling at the flash of her abdomen in a glancing blow. But she would not die from such a wound as that, and pain was the lifelong companion of an exorcist. She smiled grimly and felt the crawl of danger come up her spine as the apprentice charged and she let the force begin to move its will. It was time. With the speed only given to users of the force, she simply sidestepped the brutal charge, letting his momentum carry him past her. She knew he would not be foolish enough to run headlong into his own compatriot so she continued her step to carry her towards his exposed flank. Letting his blows flurry away at the air as she reached her hand out and simply touched him as he passed. The force making the move as quick as a blaster shot. The fingers of her hand brushing towards the nape of his neck, where she could feel the seat of his anger. It was the hand that she had dipped twice into the bag at her waist and it was thoroughly covered in the fine powder. That same fine powder that had dispersed onto the deck, onto the Sith in their abortive charge, and that same powder that would now ease their end. Iter impiorum peribit! The words carried with them a command. A desire, a love. A justice. Justice for the rape and murder of Carida, of Kuat, of Coruscant, countless lives that had forever been effected by the Sith and their Dark Lords.Lords that only deserved the Justice of a burning hell. The force called for it, and provided the path of judgement. A channel that would open to steep the Sith in Justice’s fire. And Cassandra was honoured to be that channel. From her hand, from her entire being erupted the hellfire of eternal justice. The fire of Exorcism, the deep blue fire that would melt flesh like beeswax, and bore through bone like phosphorus. Consuming anger, rage, and hate before it like chaff in the wind. Leaving behind the pure and divine untouched. That fire sought the anger of Mordecai and Fahren, to burn it from the galaxy in deadly finality. And behind that holy fire was the raised the silver sabre of the Master Exorcist for whatever cruelty the last Sith could throw. For in this hour at least, Justice had come to Kuat. ((3))
  14. And so the first and easiest attack failed. They always did, for the way to victory was rarely an easy path. The anger that filled the trio stained their auras a deep and sickening crimson, their actions spilling out before them like pools of frothing blood. Their anger betrayed them and the force saw through them, and Cassandra, a master of the order of Exorcists let them come, her hand dipping again into her pouch of chalk. First came the apprentice, the one who Ismael should have slain, barking orders like he was a lord to his peers. He was the easiest to read, and his unbridled rage beat at the force, subduing it with little finesse, its excess spilling out in a vaporous cloud of heated anger. Anger that came from what? What could the young man have experienced that made him so angry? A little slight at not being promoted, a mother favouring a daughter over him? Perhaps it was just anger at the galaxy as a whole, in which case there was little that Cassandra could do to redeem him. Ismael should have not shown mercy, and Cassandra would show none at all. Redemption was something this sith needed to want, and could not be demanded on the end of a lightsabre. This was a war of no quarter, and so the bloody flag flew high. Two blows came for her from the apprentice and Cassandra let them waste their anger on a slight deflection. Angling the powerful blows away from her by angling her own silver sabre and redirecting the energetic blows off to either side of her. Her footsteps were smooth as she began to spin away from the blows of the second Sith, letting the blow from the sith lord score her armour, cutting a trench through the duraplast instead of her back. It still hurt of course, and here and there she was scorched by the blade along its path, but it was not dangerous. It was then that she counter attacked, tossing a handful of the salty chalk into the face of the apprentice and the lord, its white powder filling the small space where she had been as she completed her spin. The lightning bolt wasting its energy on her raised sabre. She planted her back foot and dove towards the two Sith (Mordecai and Fahren) Summoning the force to speed her sabre strokes as she pulled at their ankles with the force. An easy move to accomplish, and if it succeeded would result in one or both falling before her blade. Three fast blows for each before she bounded back, letting another handful of the chalk fall to where she had landed. She took another breath, watching the trio through the force, they no longer surrounded her but they were still very dangerous. She took a step towards them. So she drew on the force again, letting the pain from her burns bleed away into the echo of the force. Her mouth moving in words long practised. Viam iustorum et... ((2))
  15. (3 post modded duel between Imperial Master/Exorcist Cassandra and Apprentice Mordecai + 2 NPCs) And so the darkness stares back Cassandra, Imperial Exorcist, Master in the Knights, and once Jedi Knight stared with sightless eyes into the expanse of heaven’s field. To the Alliance Marines gathered in the transport, jostling and holding their blaster rifles like mothers cradled babies, she was just another sightless Miraluka in grey plastoid. Some looked at her in awe, most looked on with fear. Some with a burning disgust. That had used to bother her. Every stare had. But it had been many years since such a stare brought a flush to her pale cheeks, and Cassandra cared even less now. There was little time for anger, for lust, for fear. There was only the resolve that came from another mission. Another mission after a long string of missions, another miserable failure or blissful success. Some of the stares felt that way, a negligent uncaring that brought a smile to her lips. That was the stare of a truly veteran soldier, one who had seen as much action as she, and she felt a ting of hope in her own mind for this mission's success. The Jedi could live and die for hope. The knights lived and died by their ideals. And so Cassandra let her hope slip away to be replaced by the resolve that had hardened the hearts of so many of the Rebels that came from the Imperial Remnant. No matter the cost, they would make the Sith pay dearly for their lives. She sighed, her hand checking her weapons for the thousandth time and felt the tension in the boarding shuttle begin to spike. So they were there The shuttle bucked under her feet and she followed the marines down the boarding ramp. Letting her mind settle, she took a breath and expanded her presence in the force. A million presences stretched out before her like blades of grass, and among that grass a single presence called to her. A familiar and dark shadow. She smiled widely. The Sith were here in force, and this one was familiar. Borlieas perhaps? Yes. He had been the one left craven and maimed by Ismael. Another life thrown away for the Sith, but this one was still kicking. And he had faced an Exorcist before. And when he appeared in the hanger she called in a voice of command to the marines that surrounded her. “Leave the Sithari to me.” That would spare the marines at least an earlier death than they likely wanted. And she could feel the deaths of the Kuati partisans close now. So she gathered the force to her, letting it flow through her with a well practised ease. She angled towards him, her first lightsabre coming to a fierce glow in her right hand. She normally fought with two, but for now she kept the shoto in reserve on her belt and reached out to the force to her surroundings. They were still dozens of meters away so she would do what she could from range. His aura of hate was so clear, so concise, so sad. So were the presences beside him. So with a flick of her hand she pulled at the ruins of the shuttle that had spilled its life upon the burning hanger and found its weakness. One of the long Lambada styled wings flew from the hanger floor and threw it upon the trio in an attempt to batter them down like one would a housefly. She held up the sabre in a salute. Her mouth moving in words that carried no sound. Her fingers of her unharmed hand dipping into the pouch at her belt, a fine trickle of powder falling beside her to coat the decking as her hand withdrew. It was the exorcist's weapon, a salty chalk like substance that enhanced the powers of exorcism. Quoniam novit Dominus... ((1))
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