Mavanger

Good enough. She had much room to improve. The smell of her burning flesh would teach her the lesson he intended. But to continue would be foolish. That she still stood with her wounds was surprising in itself. He frowned. A slave approached him- one he recognized. Ah. Her. The one from his own trials. It seems she had survived. Good. She hesitated for a moment before kneeling. "My lord. The battle for Corellia has begun." He could see the sneer on her face- another Sith must have instructed her to inform him. Valinore, maybe. It mattered not. She was here, and kneeling. It deemed a response. "Good. Return to your quarters. Obey the other Lords. I'll discuss my plans for you when I return." He turned back to his new apprentice. "Behold, the penance of failure. Slavery is a lenient sentence- I was foolish and swayed by mercy when I issued it. Your own crew member awaits the same fate. Decide what you will do with him, and then we depart to Corellia. Your first true battle awaits.

"You are not. You doubt yourself. Good. Arrogance leads to an early death. But keep your doubts to yourself. Do not display them as you do for all to see or they become an even more potent weakness. Regardless, you will either earn the right to be called Sith here, or you will die. It does not matter to me which- the Sith empire gains new acolytes every day." He stepped forwards, raising his blade in an aggressive stance. He would hold back- she had no chance of surviving a lord's assault, regardless of her potential. He swung with un-augmented strength, once, twice, three times. The first swing was downwards towards her left arm. The second, an attempt to sever her legs. For the third, he ignited his second lightsaber, swinging to her right shoulder. She would need to watch for such trickery, she would learn.

Mordecai allowed himself to laugh. She was learning quickly. Perhaps she was worthy of teaching. The threat of real violence seemed to have spurred her on. He planted his feet as she began her offensive. Her second attack was wide, and he deftly blocked it with his lightsaber, the clash searing the air with heat and their ears with the shrill bark of plasma-on-plasma. He kept his movements tight, pushing her second blow wide. He chuckled. Her hand connected with his wrist, and with a burst of strength and speed, he twisted it, sweeping her feet from under her with his leg, causing her to slam into the dirt, as he kicked her lightsaber away. Impressive. Injury need not be her punishment this time. "Impressive, but only given your prior performance. Perhaps Lord Valinor was not mistaken. You may not be quite the waste of time I suspect. Still, I don't need an apprentice who dies the first time anyone with a modicum of skill fights back. Retrieve your weapon. Ready yourself. Whether or not you survive this part is up to you."

Mordecai let out a deep, guttural laugh at her attacks. They were still sloppy, unplanned. Uncoordinated. He took her push, pushing him out of the range of the follow up attack. From there, all he did was pivot and plant his feet, sliding about a meter back at her second attempt at a force push. He still stood, unharmed and sneering, before grabbing her with the force and forcing her to her knees. "Better, but you are still weak. You're uncoordinated and unplanned in your attacks. You cannot hope to best me if you cannot even best your own impulses." Her failure was a bitter one- her failure as a student was his failure as a teacher. She would learn, whether it took harming her to teach her or simple words would be up to her. "Your strikes should have more purpose than to harm me. They should force me to sacrifice, to retreat. They should lead to a final coup-de-grace. A finishing blow. Try again. Failure this time means more than humiliation."

He could feel her anger. Good. It was a start. She would learn to fight, or he would kill her. She kept her weapon low. A mistake. There were few actions that she could perform from her stance. Her first swing was simple, low, and while it held more skill than what he had previously seen, she still telegraphed. His second saber remained sheathed. He wouldn't need it for this. He blocked her first swing, pressing close. He would teach her to fight... but first, he would humiliate her. Break her down to her core, shatter her. Then, when he put the pieces back together, she would be a weapon. None of this silly pride, this stubborn refusal to submit. He ducked under he second swing, and as she reared back for her third, he grabbed her wrist. He pulled on the force, his emotions leading his actions as he lifted her into the air and threw her over his shoulder. He watched her hit the ground, orange-red dust flying into the air from the impact. "If you will not kneel, I will make you kneel. Giving into your emotions is easy, but if you do, then your defeat will be just as easy to achieve. Being a Sith is more than giving in. It's controlling them. Harnessing the energy they possess and using it to power your connection to the force. Submerge yourself. Let yourself feel everything. The pain of injury, the shame of defeat. Even anger at me. Hatred. The desire to kill me, if you have it. Feel these emotions and rather than being bent to their will, you will bend them to yours. Now stand, and try again."

"Disappointing." He wouldn't kill her. But he would humiliate her. His stance remained relaxed. He wasn't threatened by this woman, not yet. "Your stance is sloppy. Your grip on your weapon, too tight. You're telegraphing your moves. I know you'll attack by the way you've positioned yourself. If I were a Jedi, or an Imperial Knight, you would die before you completed your first strike." He began to circle her, inspecting. Sloppy. Untrained. Her assets, unused. Disappointing. "You shouldn't feel pride, you should feel shame. I don't even warrant you to be threatening enough to bother killing you, even though you intend to attack. I've faced down Knights and Masters, other apprentices and swarms of troopers. I've spilled more blood that your entire crew combined, and this is what you meet me with? Strike me! Give me a reason to train you! Strike me, and prove to Lord Valinor that allowing you to live was not a mistake! Strike me, and prove to me that I shouldn't correct that mistake!" As he spoke, his voice raised, shouting at the woman. She showed inaction. Unwillingness. No sincerity. He needed to fix that. If she was going to fight for the Sith Empire, she'd need to show conviction. It infuriated him. Did she even have a plan? He could feel the pull of the Force, beckoning for him to give into his emotions. His disappointment, and his anger. His contempt for the turncoat. He shouted once more, the Force booming through his voice. "Strike me!"

With those words, Mordecai inhaled sharply. It was done, then. He was a true Sith. Nothing seemed to change, as he thought it would have. Perhaps, in reality, it was but a rank. But with it came privilege. Privilege to command lesser Sith, to fight his own battles, and to mold these two as he deemed fit. He rose as his former master left, not shaken by her predictions of his early death. At worst, it meant he would die as Lord Fahren had, on the cusp of greatness. At best, it was an expectation to be shattered like glass as he rose above it. And this would be his first step. He turned to the two survivors, one still unconscious. "Interesting. It seems that you are mine. And through the fire of battle I shall temper you into a weapon, one that shall slay Jedi and Imperials alike. But first... you must survive. You stand with false pride- you have not slain fighters, but crewmen, with a weapon unearned and undeserving for one of your station. You will attack me, or you will kneel, but either way I will see such falsities banished from your mind." He glanced at the injured crewman. there would be... other uses for him. Though weak in the force and in body, perhaps there was a chance for his mind. And iff not, then he would fall like the rest of his allies. Turning back to the upstart before him, he ignited his own blade, the cyan blade reflecting eerily off of Korriban's crimson sands, his second still hanging from his waist. "Which will it be, pretender?"

Mordecai scoffed at the Imperials. So quickly they turned on eachother, not even hesitating to pounce on one another like animals. Was this the famed Imperial Navy? No. This was a lowly pack of deserters. The irony in this thought given his own past did not escape him, and he shook his head. He was disappointed. This is what had awaited him had he not joined the Sith. He would have gladly killed them himself had Lord Valinor commanded it. But she had other plans, and he would not get in her way. He had not stakes in this. Even if she was seeking to replace him like the Sith of old, his competition was... lacking. When the battle was over only two remained. A force sensitive woman, her pride stubbornly holding her up despite her bloodied state. Pride in what? Betrayal?In supposedly administering the Sith Lord's justice? And a broken and battered man, unconcious but alive, who had sought to win through treachery and guile rather than through the blade and his own mettle. Both equally undeserving. False Imperial filth. But if Valinor was intent on training one, he would put his bets on the victor. There was something there, at least, to work with. He knelt before his master. "Lord Valinor, my task is complete, and I return with my report. After I landed on Dark Sun, I engaged a Jedi in one of the hangars. I defeated her, though her allies arrive before I could claim her life. Instead, I took on of her arms, and her lightsaber. I was enlisted to aid Lady Darksong in the Dark Lord's plan, and... I suffered the indignity of defeat over Borleais at the hands of two Imperial Masters. After my recovery, I was taken to Corellia, to establish a beachhead for Lady Darksong's invasion. The enemy struck Kuat before we could land, however, and we moved to defend it. There I encountered one of the Masters that left me as you see me, and in the assistance of two Lords, I evened the score. She lives yet, but she will have scars to match my own. After we drove the rebels off, I returned here, to Korriban. I have massacred rebels in the Sith name, and have grown more powerful than I could have imagined when I left the false Empire."

Kuat had been a test on Mordecai. His body had been tried on the battlefield, facing the Imperial Knight who had embarrassed him before, reclaiming some of his wounded pride. She had still escaped, but just as battered and bloodied as he. And while her escape infuriated him, he drew on that well to fuel him, to drive him to lengths he hadn't thought possible. His mind and spirit had been tested next, as he battled his fatigue and his feelings to remain collected, commanding his forces to the best of his ability. It was here that he was more disappointed- Only one ship. His only claim to glory. He would have to do better. His leader's silence had worn on him, however. It was clear that the losses of two potent lords had been too far, and he'd returned to his master before judgement could be mustered. If the Sith Master wanted him dead, he'd put up a fight. Build his forces. A power-base. If not, then it would do him well regardless. His thoughts of legacy and legend had been left behind. They had been half-baked and hardly thought of. A fool's motivation. It didn't matter to him anymore. Instead, he was concerned only for his own strength. The wish fora mighty legacy still lingered, a stubborn and frustrating ember that he'd found impossible to stomp out, but it could be addressed later. He returned alone, his forces left under command of the Captain. If the opportunity arose, Mordecai would return for them. If it didn't, they would continue Quala's campaign, waging war for the Sith empire. As his shuttle approached where he had originally landed all those years ago, he was greeted by an almost familiar sight. An imperial craft, though larger than his had been, and a line of crewmen. This was new, though he was aware of what fates would soon befall them. Save the one who seemed to stand off to the side. An officer. He recognized the uniform. Not even a captain. But then... where was the captain? Already dead, perhaps? Maybe they were prisoners. He disembarked, waiting patiently. His master would see to him when she was finished with these mongrels.

At once, it washed over him. Where anger was blunt and fiery, triumph was sharp, cold. The death and destruction of his enemies hit him with such force that he nearly forgot his injuries. Nearly. His pain was warm, almost its own fire. It burned from the scarred tissue, but there was more to it. The shame of his failure, maybe. And still, over all of it, the cool wash of victory. The rebels turned tail and ran. They hadn't even bothered to finish off his limping task force. The day had taken a heavy toll, though. He watched in sorrow as the Lightsbane erupted into a devastating fireball, felled by a well placed barrage from a previously undetected ship. That barrage gave its position away though. He laughed. It was all that was left aside from their flagship, and if they'd left these two behind in their rush then he was willing to make a gamble that the Imperial capital ship would be next to tuck its tail and run. Suddenly, his knees weakened. His injuries were taking their toll. Had he stayed andfought he would had hit this peak sooner, and on the battlefield. "This battle is over. The bridge is yours once more, Captain." ~ [For Johanna] The Sith had failed. They couldn't retreat to fight the breach- if they did, the rebels that had opened a second front would make it through. They simply had to hope that their lines stayed intact. But it was hope set in vain. All that stood between Johanna and her goal was a single Sith. Not a trooper, but an apprentice. He grinned, twin crimson lightsabers igniting in the darkness, casting hazy beams through the ash and smoke. He grinned. "You should have run when you had a chance. My master says that if I kill you all I'll be lorded, so unfortunately for you, you all need to die." ~ [For Vox] The troopers held their line. They would let the Trandoshans come to them. They were looking to delay, not to stop. They had seen the footage from the bridge- there would be no surrender. But something was bothering the Sergeant. "Why the Rebels, eh? Seems like you folks love causing pain. Rebels won't like that at all. I don't suppose there's any way to sway you to our side? The Sith don't shun brutality- it's a show of force, of strength. They'd prize you, where the rebels would shun you. If all you are are mercenaries, then allow us to buy your loyalty." The plan was the same of course, but the Sergeant was an enterprising man. Turn these two, and retaking the ship suddenly became much easier. If it didn't work? Oh well, they'd kill the mercs, or at least slow them down. It was all a game for time as the corporal worked, waiting for his comm to beep with confirmation of a job well done, for fire to wrack the ship. _________________ Aboard the other Kyber class Star Destroyer, the rest of Vox's forces worked quickly. The ship was under the Rebel's hold in all but name- all that remained was taking the hyperdrive before the Sith blew it up. It was the site of a bloody battle; The sith had given ground whenever the rebels pushed, only for the rebels to be met by brutal traps and crossfires. Corpses from both factions lined the halls. Vox's troops were the finishing touch to a cascading failure of the Sith's defenses, however. They'd given too much ground, and lost too many people doing it. Now they had a final line of defenses. Two dozen troopers holding just outside where the hyperdrive was housed. They were locked out, but not for much longer. In a matter of minutes the door would be open, and it would only take a single well placed grenade to cripple the ship and stop the rebels and their plans. The rebels would need to act fast.

Mordecai snarled as the rebels began mopping up his corvettes. In a few seconds, the Shroud of Darkness's escorts were annihilated, the fire from the other task forces turning their attention to the cruiser itself. They wouldn't last long- He had to make his move now. He gazed across the battlefield, hit hatred and anger at his own failure to kill the exorcist the only thing keeping him standing now. He would not fail again today. He received an encrypted communication and smiled. It seems everything was lining up now. He marked his targets, sent his orders, and played the game of tactical grace that was fleet combat. He felt little for the fallen sailors- they were not his men, they were Lady Darksong's. Her lack of response to his own communications had very clearly stated what he had suspected- he was alone now. He would live or die by the choices he made on the battlefield and nothing else.

This was her ecstasy. Chaos. Corruption. Infecting the populace. She'd been deployed to Corellia as an agent of chaos, sewing discourse and mistrust as she traveled so that the Sith Empire could reap the gains. A whispered rumor, an angry comment on the Holonet about the government. It was easy, she'd found, to rile the populace. The Dark Lord had gathered the kindling with his propaganda, all she had to do was light the match and watch it burn. Unfortunately, she wasn't the most experienced. Only recently namedLord after her efforts over Coruscant, she still had much to learn. She'd been made, and reports made to local forces. She'd done what she could to reduce them to mere rumors, but it seemed some enterprising local had hunted her down anyways. She'd been alerted to their presence a few moments earlier. She felt a movement in the force, a life had a special feeling to it, but when she looked, there was nothing. That meant they were either used to the area, using a stealth field, or both. She put her money on the first- locals wouldn't have the money for a personal generator. Unfortunately, she was proved wrong when a blaster shot rang out from the empty field- she quickly drew her weapon, barely deflecting it with the aid of her augmented speed. She watched as the cloaking field faded, revealing a lone rebel scout. She laughed. "Is this all they brought to bear? Corellia will be easier taken than anyone imagined." She kept her distance. She knew she could cut this grunt down at any point, how could a lone rebel stop her? But she was bored, and combat always gave her such thrills. So instead of charging the rebel with her lightsaber, she pulled on the force. A sorcerer had two weapons. One was the lightsaber, an elegant weapon, not without its uses. The other was invisible, unseen, a power to be bent and controlled for her own nefarious gains. Now, it twisted and churned, working at the environment. Control the battlefield, control the outcome. The air thickened, the sun seemed to grow darker. She played at the rebel's mind- nothing overt, she wasn't trying to break the woman. Not yet. She would break the will to fight, and then kill her on her knees as she begged for mercy. "You're all alone, little rebel. You should leave while I'm still feeling playful- maybe I'll let you live yet. If you beg." There was a deeper plan, however. She was reaching out, finding projectiles. Rocks, large and small, sharp and dull. This death would be painful. She didn't act on it- not yet. For now, she played mind games with the rebel.

~ [For Johanna] Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Those words stuck in Harman's head, on repeat as they faced off with one of the rebel forces. They had orders- don't move. Don't pursue. Blast the rebels if they came. The rebels had tried for a push, but the poor sod who'd gotten furthest had been forced into a glorified cupboard by the turret above. He hadn't needed to fire a shot. he could hear orders being barked over their sergeant's headset, but couldn't hear the details. They were putting up a good fight, but the station's groans and shudders reveal what the ultimate outcome would be if they sat still. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He'd first heard those words from a girl on Nar Shaddaa. He'd grown up in the seedy underbelly, where even law enforcement dared not tread. Openly run by gangs and mafias, he'd learned enough tricks to get by, but still struggled to keep up with the leader of his crew. It had been some of the last words he'd heard her say. She saved up the money from heist after heist, stealing from anyone they could that wasn't already gang territory. When she finally could she'd moved to Carida, asked him to come with her. He almost did. And after what the Sith did to it... He regretted it. She'd died in the attack, but he didn't learn that until after he enlisted in the Sith. Nothing ventured When he learned, it had broken him. But he hardened quickly. Waited. Biding his time, he sat on his anger. His hatred for the Sith. He wasn't true Sith, nor was he even force sensitive. But it motivated him. Now was his chance. An ally that even the Rebels didn't know about. They would learn now that burning an entire world? It made enemies. He grasped a grenade on his belt, thumbing the pin for a mere moment before pulling it. And then, he waited. One. Two. He dropped it, moving to his feet. Three. His sergeant barked at him to return, calling him a coward. He never saw it coming. Nothing gained. "For Carida!" The explosion rocked the hallway. Scattered sith bodies and wrecked barrier willed the hall. The sith troopers further into the transformer pushed in almost immediately, executing the traitor as soon as they realized what had happened, but it was too late. Their position had been rocked. The Rebels were given their chance. "We have a breach! Stop them here, don't let them push any further! Get another E-Web up and pin those rebels down until reinforcements arrive!" The real battle for the Golan platform was just beginning.

[For Vox] The leader of the Sith resistance aboard the Virulence was a seasoned Sith trooper, Sergeant Norris Quarl. He'd served in countless Sith campaigns, from Onderon, to Dark Sun, and even when they'd first taken Kuat. He had first hand experience at combating the rebels and their guerrilla warfare, hence why his defense of the ship had gone so well. Now, however, he faced a problem. Despite all odds, a mere two Trandoshan mercenaries punched through his lines again and again. This was a problem. He checked his armor and his weapons. He'd killed wookies before, but these two were clearly more than slobbering carpets. "Corporal Vane, rig the bridge to blow." "Sir?" "I'll take a few of the others and buy you time. But if we can't have the bridge... then no one can. After you've rigged it, pull your squad and blow it. Don't wait for me, and don't hold the trigger for anything but a direct order from myself. I'd rather cripple one of our ships than let these rebels take it." "Understood." He turned to the door. "Fizt, Kima. With me. We'll take them like we took those pirates at Coruscant. I'll take the big one, you two mop up the smaller and move to assist." The blast door opened, and they stepped out, shields raised as they moved. "Trandoshans, in the name of the Sith Empire I command you to halt, or face death." Behind him, the blast doors began to seal again as the corporal began rigging grenades and using the few charges he had at his disposal to trap the bridge.

[For Vox] On board the ships, Sith and Rebels fought a complex battle of guerrilla warfare. Elevators became death traps as either side sabotaged them for their own gain, hallways littered with corpses from the initial fighting. The rebels had made sure they controlled the most important of the systems, the engines, hyperdrives, the bridge. Sith forces, however, had rushed to the defense. Aboard the destroyer Virulence, a rebel leader met Vox and his comopanion. "So you're all they could send? Though I suppose I shouldn't judge considering the havoc we watched from here. I'm Kala, I led the rebels on this ship during the first bit of fighting. We have the engine room in emergency lockdown- The Sith need reinforcements to break through. We've lost the bridge, however, and Sith troops are beginning their attack the hyperdrive. If they get through, it's over. They'll blow it up before they let us take it. I have a handful of seasoned troops with me we managed to smuggle on board- whichever objective you push, we'll take the other." ~ Mordecai had just barely arrived on the bridge of the Wyvern when the Captain met him with a damage report. Their own actions had been lacking, primarily disabling enemy ships where they could. Their hidden card, the Coalescent Fury had begun to stalk its prey. Their own ships had taken heavy fire from an enemy task force, targeting the electronic warfare pod. The Deciever had wilted almost instantly, lost with all hands on deck. They hadn't launched escape pods- they hadn't been given the time. Mordecai frowned. He was still waiting for a response from Quela, but without one, he'd have to act one his own. "The bridge is mine now, Captain. You've performed adequately."

[For Vox] The Kuat Drive Yards were under siege. Two fleets battle for brutal supremacy in orbit, the conflict visible from viewports and observation decks. On the docks themselves, dozens of Rebel teams had landed to secure the most recent destroyers, manufactured for the Sith Empire. Across the ships, station security battled for their lives and for their honor as rebel dissidents attempted to mutiny the skeleton crews present. Those security forces who had been lucky enough to survive or be absent from the destroyers when the rebellion kicked off worked to thwart them in any way possible. As Vox's crew landed and began executing officers and workers alike, it became clear that there were two options. Fight, or die. Surrender, and they would die. Flee, and the Sith would execute them for cowardice. More Sith poured into the hangar, blasters screaming with fury as they launched hot bolts of plasma at the Trandoshans. One of the officers brought a hand to his earpiece, shouting over the carnage. "They're coming for the destroyer! Cut them off- seal the blast doors and set up fortifications. They've got tra-" he was cut off as a blaster bolt hit him square in his chest, knocking to the ground. He was dead. With no other orders, the Sith troops outside the hangar began sealing the doors. They didn't need to fight the rebels, not yet. All they had to do was slow them down until the Rebel fleet was defeated. ~ [For Johanna] Whereas the Kuat Drive Yards were crewed by largely station security, the Golan Battlestation was crewed by a hardened compliment of Sith soldiers. While still not enough to fight off a concentrated boarding attack like what the rebels were trying, it was enough to bloody their noses for the station. Defensive turrets whirred to life, dropping from ceilings and from under the floors. Barricades were fashioned in chokepoints with search and destroy teams deployed to hunt down the rebel forces that were hunting the station's turrets. On the bridge, officers and security personnel alike prepared their weapons, only the most essential remaining at their posts as the hostile boarders got closer. Sith troopers were putting up a good fight, but it was only a matter of time. Holding the bridge would be key.

Mordecai stood aboard his transport, Xahl kneeing ahead of him in pain. The sorcerer fed off of it. Mordecai could feel it now- the swirling mass of darkness around him. He commanded the force in ways Mordecai could not fathom, and yet in the battle he had only managed a measly two lightning bolts, neither of which had killed their foe. Were it not for the witnesses and the wishes of his current master, he'd have cut the man down in his anger. But that would not sit well with the other Sith- blatant powerplays made them... uneasy. He grinned, relishing in his own pain, an untouched cornucopia of raw power. It would sustain him for the rest of the battle. While his duties on the front line were completed, he still had to oversee his forces. He made his way to the cockpit, hailing the Herløv on a secure channel. "Lady Darksong, I was successful in my duties aboard the Subservience have been completed. My forces have established a beachhead and will secure the rest of the ship in short order..." He hesitated. There would likely be penance to be paid for his failure to kill the Exorcist, especially given the loss of a potent Lord. "... Lord Fahren fell to an Exorcist, Cassandra, and Lord Xahl has been incapacitated by his injuries. We inflicted enough damage to force her retreat, however, and their troops are without support from her and her guards. I'm returning to the Wyvern now to direct my forces in the battle." In the mean time, Captain Jarvus had been given permission to command the ships as he saw fit. ~ On board the Wyvern, Captain Jarvus ran the ship with practiced ease. Officers and enlisted personnel ran between stations as the klaxons sound a full alert. He gazed at the carnage ahead of him in dismay- when he'd heard that Kuat had been attacked, he expected a few rogue rebels, not their entire kriffing fleet. He took a quick assessment of the scenario- He had statuses of both friendly and hostile ships displayed before him. One allied cruiser destroyed, one hostile heavily damaged with countless corvettes fallen in some sort of hopeless charge. He reacted quickly, his forces receiving orders and acting them out with utmost discipline. This was no skirmish, as Corellia had been. This was a real battle. Careers and lives were staked on battles like this. ~ The Kuat Drive Yards were under siege. Two fleets battle for brutal supremacy in orbit, the conflict visible from viewports and observation decks. On the docks themselves, dozens of Rebel teams had landed to secure the most recent destroyers, manufactured for the Sith Empire. Across the ships, station security battled for their lives and for their honor as rebel dissidents attempted to mutiny the skeleton crews present. Those security forces who had been lucky enough to survive or be absent from the destroyers when the rebellion kicked off worked to thwart them in any way possible. As Vox's crew landed and began executing officers and workers alike, it became clear that there were two options. Fight, or die. Surrender, and they would die. Flee, and the Sith would execute them for cowardice. More Sith poured into the hangar, blasters screaming with fury as they launched hot bolts of plasma at the Trandoshans. One of the officers brought a hand to his earpiece, shouting over the carnage. "They're coming for the destroyer! Cut them off- seal the blast doors and set up fortifications. They've got tra-" he was cut off as a blaster bolt hit him square in his chest, knocking to the ground. He was dead. With no other orders, the Sith troops outside the hangar began sealing the doors. They didn't need to fight the rebels, not yet. All they had to do was slow them down until the Rebel fleet was defeated.

Lord Fahren's body fell to the ground, the sith lord's skin blistered and burned. He was dead, his last moments spent in agony as the exorcism ripped through his body, made all the more potent by his desperate attempt to stave off the damage with the dark side. Wisps of smoke and steam rose from the corpse, a solemn warning to any that thought to engage the Exorcist as she retreated. Lord Xahl didn't fare better by much, stumbling and falling to his knees after a moment of sadistic glee as he reveled in his success. He coughed, spewing bile and blood as he did so. The cost had been high. Most of the Sith troops had fallen in the fighting, with only scattered troops in the condition to engage the retreating rebels. Mordecai knew his failure. He watched with seething hatred as the battered and bloody Master retreated from the battle. In the time it had taken him to recover for his overextension at Xahl's hand, she'd risen again and fallen in bewtween her bodyguards. Normally, he would have pressed the advantage. But he was injured, and with Lord Fahren dead and Lord Xahl unable to fight, he simply watch with helpless fury as she took her leave, her salute only serving to salt his emotions. His troops scattered and heavily damaged, they couldn't press after her. But they'd taken the hanger, and he could see his own fleet now, dozens of transports departing to board the Subservience and continue the fight. The battle here was over. His fleet needed his orders. With one last longing glance at the Master and the violence that he sought to inflict upon her, he boarded the craft he'd arrived on, Xahl stumbling behind him. The troops who were just landing would have a long fight ahead of them. The rebels were entrenched and knew the ship better than his own did- they'd built it. But he'd done what he set out to do, securing the hangar.

Duel History Mordecai vs Aleria: Victory (3 day rule), cybernetic arm and lightsaber taken as trophy Mordecai +2 Lords, 1 Apprentice vs Ismael and Cassandra (Master NPCs): Defeat, Mordecai is permanently scarred by burns Mordecai +2 Lords vs Cassandra: Tie, the Subservience remained contested by both Sith and Rebel forces Mordecai vs Genesis: Victory, Genesis is captured and later escapes. Mordecai vs Hunan: Tie, KDY shipyards remain contested, Lord Xahl is killed. Mordecai vs Leena Kil: Victory, Mordecai slays Leena and takes a Sith Holocron from the ruins of a Sith temple. Mordecai vs Alcemene: Defeat, Mordecai loses both sabers and resurrects himself through sheer force of will and rage. Mordecai vs Cassandra: Victory, Mordecai slays Cassandra and fights his way to the bridge of the rebel flagship, killing Empress Raven Narsa and trapping her soul in a Sith victory crystal.

Lord Fahren knew when to press his advantage. Once, twice he had scored her body. Once a fluke, twice an underestimation of his skill. When she sidestepped, he shoved Mordecai out of the way- the bumbling apprentice would not stand in the way of this achievement. He had many kills under his belt, and this would be the one that propelled him to his title of Darth. He would make sure of it. He saw her hand, moving to catch it at the wrist with his own and his other swung for her raised arm. Only once he made contact did he realize his mistake, the Force tearing down his arm in an excruciating wave that boiled his blood and seemed to cook his flesh. He only survived as long as he did due to the point of contact. His swing continued- if he were to die here, this would instead be his act of vengeance. An arm for an arm, a death for a death. Mordecai stumbled, the other sith's shove unintentionally pushing him from the path of the exorcism. He swung around, watching with disgusted horror as the Pretender worked her despicable sorcery. The sight of it, the smell of burning flesh. His own scalp tingled as he was pushed over the edge that he'd been precariously teetering over the entire fight. He rushed her, aiming to cleave her in two, and with both arms occupied, he was confident as he let out a roar of rage, using the very last of his strength. She'd cast her last sorcery. Killed her last Sith, too, it seemed. Lord Xahl, left unattended the entire battle, had waited for the perfect moment, and had spotted it at the same time as the apprentice. One arm raised, and another mid-cast. His nose began to bleed, and the crimson liquid spashed against the durasteel ground as he overtaxed himself. The pain, the anger, the hatred, the rage, the fury of it all. He pulled on it all with practiced finesse, ozone filling the air as electricity cackled in a hand. In the other, his lightsaber flew from his grasp as he threw it, ignited, towards her raised arm. A second before it collided, he unleashed the fury of a storm, lighting arcing between himself and the Excorcist. ((3)) Asset Denial Force: Surgical Strike Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP Victory II Cruiser Wyvern 9/9 Lancer Frigate Dark Hand 3/3 Tartan Corvette TC-64523 2/1 Tartan Corvette TC-64524 2/1 Tartan Corvette TC-64525 2/1 Tartan Corvette TC-64526 2/1 Electronic Warfare Pod: Information Control Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP Acclamator II Cruiser Shroud of Darkness 9/9 Pelta Class Frigate Deceiver 3/3 Thranta Corvette TH-78143 Thranta Corvette TH-78144 Thranta Corvette TH-78145 Thranta Corvette TH-78146 Covert Strike Force: Silent Hunters Assigned PC: Mordecai Valar Task Force Experience: Green, 1XP Strike Class Cruiser Coalescent Fury 9/9

Mordecai's anger did not stem from anything his opponent suspected. It came from the shame of his previous defeat. It came from his disdain for the Imperial Knights, too cowardly to embrace the dark side and yet too weak willed to fully embrace the light. They were lower than the Jedi even in his eyes. His anger came from those sources, but as the Pretender deflected their blows and threw salt in their eyes, it was directed at her. His previous hold on his emotions easily slipped- He grew bolder. Angrier. He would not lose again. Not here, not now. Not to the Pretender. The salty chalk did its job though. Mordecai and Lord Fahren were forced back, lest their eyes be blinded by the attack. Unblinded and on the defensive now, Mordecai struggled to block the quick attacks- were the attacks directed only at him they would have felled him. But with the attacks directed also at Lord Fahren, it gave them both just enough leeway to block the frenzy of blows. The pull however knocked both duelists off their feet, and while Fahren was lucky enough to roll out of the way from the followup, Mordecai received a gash across his torso for his trouble. Lord Xahl, however, had no such troubles. Left alone, he'd taken his time, his first bolt deflected. He pulled on the suffering of those around him, from the rebel dockworkers, to the injured Sith Troopers, to his injured ally fighting the Master. Lightning crackled at his fingertips, a hint at what was to come. Lord Fahren rolled to his feet, lightsaber in hand and Mordecai followed suit a moment after. The Sith Lord began the attack this time, a flurry of blows coming towards the Imperial Knight, pulling on the force to quicken his movements. Three strikes, as Fahren continued his press into her comfort zone. All he had to do was close the distance... Meanwhile, Mordecai slunk behind her, the pain of his injury adding to his fury and his hatred for the woman. He charged with reckless abandon, the Force strengthening his blows. One from overhead. Another sweeping towards her right arm.

Her He could see her lightsaber. Hear her commands. He pointed her out to the lords, and a lightsaber ignited behind him, the red glow mixing with the bright blue of his own to his right, Lord Fahren, a warrior of some skill. The Lord to his left, Lord Xahl, kept his sheathed, pulling on the Force, commanding it to obey as he barely deflected the flung wing, which still wreaked havoc on their lines as troops scattered to avoid it. The lord grunted with effort- his command of the force was admirable, but against a practiced master such as Cassandra, he wouldn't win any fight through brute strength alone. Mordecai charged beside Lord Fahren, his rage no longer unfiltered. He'd let his reckless fury best him before, and paid for it. It wouldn't happen again. Instead, he channeled his fury, sharpening his mind and his movements. He wouldn't be able to keep up with a Master, but he didn't need to. He simply had to give her someone else to think about. He peeled to her right as Lord Fahren moved to her left. "Don't let her finish her ritual." he barked, warning the other Sith. This battle would need to be ended quickly. Mordecai attacked first. Two simple blows in quick succession, to draw her attention, the force aiding in his speed, followed by a thrust from his left saber to her chest. Lord Fahren circled, and as Mordecai struck, so did he, a slash angled for her torso to start as he pressed close to her, inside of what a comfortable range would be. Lord Xahl, who had bide his time to strike, conjuring a bolt of force lightning while he did so, launched said bolt straight down the middle of the battlefield. ((1))

He could feel her. His shame, his defeat. His hatred. One of the Imperial Pretenders that he had faced over Borleais. Not Ishmael, the one that had scarred him, but his compatriot who's name escaped him. She was aboard one of the Kyber destroyers that the Rebels were trying to steal, the Subservience, named to taunt the workers that held hatred against the Sith occupation. He was aboard a Sith transport, moving to stop the rebels on board. A taskforce followed behind, three dozen Sith troopers with one task- secure the bridge, and keep it from rebel control. Two Lords waited behind him. He'd requisitioned them from their posts under the name of Lady Darksong for the sole purpose of killing the woman who waited. He's face any repercussions for that action after the battle. The battle was only beginning in the orbit of the massive rings that encircled Kuat, light enough to slip through. A comms device in his ear barked orders from the commanders of the battlefield. His own fleet was only minutes out from the conflict, if not closer. It had taken time to regroup after Corellia, his inexperience leading to delays, which even if only a few minutes, would now impact his effectiveness in the naval theater. With a shudder and a groan, the transport landed. He could hear blaster fire impact the hull of his transport, the troops around him readying for a bloody landing. The rebels had been prepared. No matter, his forces were only the first wave. Secure a beachhead, and take survivors to the bridge. Take no prisoners. That was his mission, and his hatred fueled him. He could feel her. She was here, in the hanger. More than likely, she could sense him too, though he doubted she'd remember him. It mattered not- He would kill her regardless. An explosion rocked the hangar as a transport was hit by a missile, but its momentum carried it into the rebel forces that had shot it down, killing many of them and scattering the rest as burning wreckage rained upon the battlefield. There was a loud hiss, and the exit ramp slammed the the ground, a hail of blaster fire surrounding him as the troopers behind him opened fire. He moved fast- in a second, he had disembarked, the Lords behind him following his lead as he ignited his twin sabers. A bolt flew by his head and was deflected by the sith behind him into a nearby rebel. Two more charged him. There were always a few who tried to take on Sith- they never survived. He severed the arm of one, kicking him to the ground as he shoved his other saber into the second's chest. Around him, Rebel and Sith forces clashed in a rave-hued battlefield as blaster fire of all colors arced across the hanger. Where was she? He charged a squad of rebels- these ones dressed in work uniforms of the KDY technicians. Traitors. Letting out a cry of fury and seething hatred, he cut them down. Evidently, they had not counted on what it meant to truly face down the Sith empire. The fighting was fierce, but with the second wave being minutes out with the rest of his fleet, the battle would be won quickly if he could hold this hangar. To accomplish that, he'd need to kill every last rebel.

Mordecai wasn't one to count his victories before they were earned, but he couldn't help but smile. The battle had taken a poor start, but with one of the cruiser's shields down, the Wyvern could disable it with ease unless they tried to make an escape. He didn't even need the good captain to make the suggestion. He was concerned about the Herløv though- without the flagship of their fleet. He relayed Lady Darksong's orders, commanding his own fighters to assist. Throw in his corvettes and there was very little the enemy carriers could hope to accomplish. The whispers still gnawed at his mind, though he continued to ignore them. At least for now. A fleet battle was no place to be distracted by such things. The same went for any fears or anxieties he or his crew felt. Victory was withing their grasp- after this battle, Centerpoint would be theirs. He opened a channel to the Herløv. "Lady Darksong, I await your command. We will continue to fire on your target." ((2))

Mordecai could respect that course of action. An invasion wouldn't end in a day, why use all your resources like it would? The frigate Fury took the lead on his task force's advance, being careful not to be separated from the Herløv. There was a pitched anticipation deep in his gut- A lesser man would succumb to the fear that gnawed with the whispers at the edge of his psyche. Instead, he embraced it. Used it to sharpen his perception, his body's primal reactions to danger serving him, rather than the other way around. He noticed things he'd usually miss. Smells, colors, sounds. The calm breathing of the experienced Captain, the faster breathing of an ensign trying to hide his fear. Mordecai strode forward, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. "Embrace your fear. Control it, do not be the one controlled." He glanced out the observation glass. "Open fire on Lady Darksong's command."