Gromas

[Bad karma]

((She is harder to write than I remember, forgive the low quality of this post >.>))

 

And just like that the battle had began. Demons and warriors alike had been called to the room to better set the mood of clashing titans. With a passive eye, she watched it all while only having to side-step an attack every so often. When he presence was being drawn in and eclipsed by the boys, it wasn't difficult to be overlooked in such a way.

 

Delicate fingers traced over a portion of the command center, vibrant eyes watching as the shadows deepened and took form. It stands upon four clawed paws, legs as thick as the trunk of a tree, and a gaping maw full of razor's edges. It shook itself free of the shadow and growled, glancing around before settling its black orbs on Dominique.

 

”œGo play with the boys.”

[Anilara Kadav]

Serena awoke in around 20 minutes feeling refreshed but rather aggravated. Apparently nothing had changed on the bridge and as such meant that Serena was not even noticed. This made her even angrier...

 

Serena didn't care for the consequences; she stormed right up to Deton and slapped him square in the face...

 

"What gave you the right to send me on a mission and then fire me out of the air!! You knew I was on Ikera's ship didn't you? Or did you forget that you sent my team and I to that ship on a rather risky mission? It sure seemed like it to me when you opened fire on it... You see this!"

 

Serena revealed a moderate portion of her hair that had been burnt off...

 

"That was from a near blast from ship lasers! My team wanted to abort mission because the ship was falling apart. Sure we got one charge set, but we would have gotten them all set and may have gotten out with a little more info if we weren't almost destroyed..."

 

Serena had felt her temper beginning to boil and her rage beginning to control her, but she depressed it for fear that assaulting a commander further would draw direct arrest...

 

"I don't care if you've saved me or even taken me to places anymore! I knew it was a suicide mission but I didn't know that the person who had given me the mission was going to blow me and my friends out of the sky!... Oh and did you know there were others on that ship too? I don't necessarily know what they were doing, but they were there and they were fighting... This is despicable... I am going to take what evidence of Arach'tar tech I have and go to the emperor himself because I can't deal with you right now!!! Do whatever you want with the remainder of my team I am sure they will understand..."

 

Serena was red in the face staring Deton straight in the eye... A tear rolled down her face as she turned and stormed out grabbing the crusader carcass as she went...

 

She said goodbye to her team and explained the situation and they acknowledged her decision. They hugged her and made sure she made it out ok...

 

She took the Arach'tar ship to the Imperial Spire on Coruscant...

[Damon]

With the remaining Alliance forces Damon played his role. He had ran COMMS and had help coordinate the regrouping of the remaining fleet. To say the least he had played a remedial role in the affair here today. It was across the battle flied though he could sense the struggle being fought.

 

At the main vessel of the Arach'tar a storm had gathered. Many powerful beings of the force were battling for supremacy and for life. The gods of chaos had lead to this fight. The fire with in Damon burned for the desire to fight in this matter and end it. He would wait though. More battles were to come and he would aid in those to come as needed. For now he waited for orders from his superiors in the Alliance. There was given times where he would have lead these men, but now was not one of those times. This was the time to listen and follow.

[Ason Antilles]

((Note: I'm falling asleep. I reserve the right to edit the post for grammar and such.

 

Also, I was asked to put a small disclaimer up for the kiddies:

 

WARNING: Please do not use grenades in this fashion in the real world. You will die. ))

 

Anarchy suffused the vivid scene, the empyrean realm manifesting on the plane beside Hell's darkest agents. Blurred trails of bronze flew as feral growls sounded from the darkness. Shadows sucked the vitality from the air and an eerie chill swam through the shivering air. It was clear: this avatar's frigid slumber had left him waking to a whole new darkness, and this pawn would drown in its ignorance. It knew not the ancient powers it now trifled with, the sacred order that had endured near extinction innumerable times. It knew nothing but what its baalish master would allow it, making it nothing more than a puppet in the grand scheme.

 

Allow me to set your dreams ablaze.

 

While chaos had unfolded itself all around him, the insidious frame of the wraith was unwavering in contrast. A beacon of sinister tranquility amid the malignant waves crashing violently through the arena”¦ A monument standing absolute within the tempest's fury”¦ All that moved were those indomitable pools of sallow green casting a solid gaze upon everything, their appraising stare analyzing all that was to be seen while his intangible self felt all that was to be felt. All that he found was delectable hate, and he bathed in it.

 

Crusaders, these belligerent peons whose individuality was all but extinguished by their subservience to a lie, were sprinting with a suicidal haste toward the invading forces. Their hides were wrapped in metal as simply as cloth adorned a baby's delicate form, and their weapons were poised to strike with all the venom these serpents could muster. Rattling sounded as the ground grunted with their every step, the herd's alacrity evident in the constant percussion reverberating through the air.

 

While the trio that Ason had arrived with pledged their allegiances to Gods and called upon their powers, the sith lord pledged himself only to the Order. His devotion was to one cause and his fate was his own. This Krath would call upon his sole arsenal in this bout, the perversion that ameliorated his every fiber. This malicious demon drew power from the veins of this mystical entity like a vampire draining every ounce of life for sustenance. Here it was: a feast.

 

Enter: Ason Antilles.

 

From beneath the approaching party rose horrific tentacles, sable limbs sprouting forth from the floor with a striking suddenness. Cecaeliac pride rose to wrap around the crusaders, seeking to halt their advance and mark their overdue graves. They fed upon all the animosity swirling around them, the torrent only ossifying their attempted grips on the foreign attackers, a wall of black rising between these doomed souls and their targets, seeking to block any ranged weaponry should it be fired in an attempt to disrupt the fray.

 

And flying past the beast the dark lady had summoned was a single thermal detonator. It would explode upon contact with the erected dark hand, which would gladly catch its flame and deteriorate into ember. All the tendrils would follow, the dark side manipulating the blast of the explosion to run flame through all the dark fuel that sought to immure these unfortunate beings. This pyre would be their final resting place, for it was a different sort of fire that preyed on the physical and the spiritual (as limited as that side may be for these barely human creatures). If they somehow survived by means unknown, the superheated metal on them would at least be malleable for this summoned abomination to tear through, and perhaps their logical systems would be reduced to mush. Should these crusaders prove entirely resistant, these tenebrous arms would rise once more to entomb them and suffocate their movement, making them easy pray for the beast ready to consume them.

 

Susurrus words parted from his lips.

 

"Let me burn your idea of perfection at its seams."

[Deton]

His face stung where she had slapped him. However, had that been the end of it he would have accepted as much. However, for her to blatantly say that what he had done was despicable was something far out of line in his mind.

 

Did she honestly believe that he had not known there were others on the ship? Did she not pause to consider at least who the other were? He had sent a full Stormtrooper Battalion over with the imperial Inquistor. That was nearly a thousand men he had sent over to the enemy ship. A thousand men who were just like him.

 

A Thousand men he had no doubt served with on countless campaigns. Only when he was found by the Empire on tattooine after a disastrous battle had he even begun getting promoted. Before that time he could have easily been one of the men on that enemy capital ship. He would have been one of the men on that enemy flag ship had not these fleet duties kept him tied to the command chair.

 

He had treated her like a brother, like an imperial stormtrooper. Ready to fight and die for a cause worth believing in. He had treated her equal and she had called him despicable.

 

Well that's women for you.

 

He wouldn't allow such open displays of emotion and breeches in imperial protocol distract him from the true matter at hand. There was at least one decent thing that had come of this. She had been safely removed from the battlefield. That alone was a positive outcome though not necessarily the best one.

 

He turned his full attention back on the battle. The Alliance had finally done something useful. In their retreat that seemed to be the norm in tactical thinking with them. They had caused enemy fire to be directed their way. With out such a torrent of fire constantly aimed at him, he was able to take his remaining non-cloak able ships and link up with ghost batch two, forming a semi circle on various space plane around the enemy. Now with the ability to hammer into the enemy, he hoped that the Alliance would pull through for him in another way.

 

So far he had been forced to counter the Alien's tactic's and advances , however he really needed another line to fend off the fleet that had dropped in behind them.

 

"Give me an open comm channel to the Alliance fleet. I want who ever is now in charge of the operation."

[Damon]

((For the purpose of moving this along.))

 

A message was recived asking for the commanding officer of the remaining Alliance fleet. Damon as heading all the communications for the remaining fleet he was first to recive the message and interpited the message to make use of what time and power they had left.

 

 

"This is the Alliance flag ship Crusader. You have your channel. What is that you want Imperial commander? We are busy preparing for our counter attack and taking a majority of the damage here. How can we be of assitince?"

[Cadio Sikaot]

Cadio sat aboard the Rebel flagship, watching the battle unfold. They had lost many ships today, too many good men and women wouldn't be going home to see their families, and that was a problem...They only had 20-30 ships left of their original 200, and that was another problem. He couldn't allow this to continue, not while he was in charge. He noticed a Jedi Master that he knew by reputation only on the bridge running comms, but that wasn't where he wanted him right now. He called him over with a wave of his hand.

 

"Jedi Master Damon, I would like you to lead a strike team to the Arach'tar flagship. If we can take out their leader they will crumble, and when they crumble, victory will be in our grasp. I can't stress how important this is. Take however many men will make you feel comfterable, you leave ASAP. Good luck, and may the Force be with you."

 

With that he dismissed the Jedi Master, looking at the comm from the Imperial forces. It was time to push, and push hard. Everything they had, everything they'd ever have was going into this one final thrust at the heart of the enemy, into the approaching storm. It wouldn't do for them to give up now, when victory was so very close. This wasn't a time for emotions, this was the time for war.

 

He sent the order, the fleet began to regroup, forming a spearhead straight towards the heart of the Arach'tar fleet. He stood from the command chair, moving to stand right in front of the forward view port. "All ships," there was a deep breath emitted from his lips. "Fire."

[Damon]

With in the sub bridge of the crusader the order was given to the jedi. He was to lead a small strike force and kill the enemy commander. He was to take as many people as felt needed to accomplish his task. Walking away from the bridge one officer asked him how many men did he want. Standing still he said one word, none.

 

From with in the landing bay Damon left the ship and navigated the battle filed. Dodging fire fights and taking quick movements the jedi navigated to the very ship where everything hanged in the balanced. It was there the dark side existed. The darkest beings of the galaxy were there now fighting and waging war on behalf of all in the galaxy and jedi. He was there to do what his superiors and the force ordered. The destruction of the Arach'tar.

 

Pulling into docking bay of the Arach'tar vessel the master exited his small fighter and noticed all have been slain. Nothing remain. Death had claimed most of this vessel. The only thing that still breathed was of the final battle that raged at the heart of the ship. Blind to all around him with his physical sight the force revealed all. The bodies that laid on the floor littered the halls and kept him silent. With every step he took the darkness reached ever closer. Keeping himself hidden Damon did not delve into the force or embrace the inner flame that would condemn his enemy. Instead he found solace in the fact that this battle would soon end. Even without becoming consumed in the force he could see that the fight was near ahead.

 

On the outskirts of the battle of darkness and evil. Where flames of rot and disease were felt and nearly consumed the master. It was then the power that was being displayed and engulfing that the flames changed to that of the exorcist. A series of words etched with in his soul came with out sound to his mind.

 

White fire of justice. Come forth and exorcise the demon before me

 

The white cloth that shielded the eyes of the pure turned to ash and dissipated in a bust of white flame that formed from within the eyes of the blind judge. Within his soul and mind the flames of justice rose from his being to the doorway of his essence. Moving from his eyes to his hands the fire seemed to flow to his hands. Within an instant the arc of fire reached from his hands to the avatar. The fire was controlled as if Damon's soul escaped his body so it could exorcise the being of the darkness. The flame that touched him did not last long however as it was merely the precursor as Damon leapt to the avatar feeling, the burn of the flames that were consuming him prior. The pain did not push back the desire that pushed him now. With a grasp of his left hand to the liquid burnt metal the energy of the white flame that numbed his ability to gasp the force and would kill him to even touch the darkness shimmered. The soul of the judge cried for the sentence to be given. With in the mind a phrase was uttered that shined brightest in his heart.

 

Light of truth shine bright. Dispel the deceiver stripping him of his crutch.

 

Within a breath a white light pulsed around the avatar and Damon. The light washed over the two wiping clean the taint of darkness and evil removing all things that empowered this false god. When the pulse vanished as quickly as it appeared the jedi moved back to a wall out of harms reach and slammed onto the cold steel of wall. A long breath escaped this mouth as the flames now resided with in his eyes. The avatar had been exorcised and cleansed. He had felt the pain of the flames of rot. He was hurt and he was tired from the long day. The exorcist within was not done, but the body of the jedi was. To perform both task so quickly and ruthlessly, had drained him of his energy taking a toll. Now only death awaited the avatar as judgment was demanded. The darkness around him yelled to Damon to cleanse them all, but for now he would watch as they would finish what the force had sentenced guilty.

[Amon Saulot]

OOC((Dogfight goes to Gren, impresssive flying.))

 

::A veritable plethora of powerful champions of the Force had finally come to bare on the avatar. Ikerra had managed to evade the brass skulls that Amon had willed at him, and had disappeared into the grating. What came next was like a cliche out of an action holovid. Amon knew that the next attack would come from behind, and gracefully rolled away to avoid being impaled. With so many fighters present, it was becoming difficult to find a window to attack. With everyone else on the offensive, Amon chose to take a support role, healing and protecting the fighters as they fought against the machine priest.::

 

((Appologies on the short post, but its after 4 AM and we need to move on.))

[Gren Sairdonga]

Gren watched the field of red turbolaser fire, listening to the reports. When they were finished he grinned. No casualties yet! Not even the new guy. Suddenly his grin faded. On the edge of the killing ground a lone fighter had just slipped into a carcass of a cruiser of some sort, half a second later a pair of torpedoes flashed after it. Swearing he snapped out some orders.

 

"Sentinels. On me. Full throttle. Prep all weapons. Heading is my vector. Expect company."

 

Punching his fighter to full throttle he flew straight to the opposite end of the destroyed cruiser. He had two thoughts about the outcome. They would come around the wreckage to find an ambush waiting for them. The enemy weren't dumb. And according to his pilots only five of their fighters had been destroyed. Leaving at least seven including his mark as a viable threat.

 

Decent odds. He thought to himself. We've taken worse odds before and even the new guy is flying alright by the looks of it. Flying wide around the hull Gren's grin returned. He'd caught them with their pants down trying to reform.

 

"All fighters engage! Pick your targets and go!"

 

He yelled over the comm as he targeted the leader. Like the crack team they obviously were the enemy responded instantly. Breaking formation, but it was too late. The carcass of the cruiser had shielded the Sentinels long enough. They were well within range.

 

A wave of unanswered torpedoes and lasers flashed through space. Instantly vaporising several four fighters. Gren fired a triple burst point blank on his desperately maneuvering opponent. He had a little bit of an idea how he lost the torpedoes but he wouldn't avoid lasers. The first trio struck. Knocking down the shields. The second trio also struck. A surgical strike. Wiping out the cockpit. The fighter flew on for a few hundred meters before rolling and shredding itself on flying shrapnel.

 

The last two enemy broke and ran. Sentinels in hot pursuit. Calling them back they reformed and arced up and around, heading towards the embattled Mon Cal cruisers, though now it appeared their side was gaining the upper hand by leaps and bounds.

 

"Thanks for the fire support, Justiciar. Crusader launch the commandos for the enemy command ship. Sentinels Form up on the transports. Any spare squadrons defend the transports!"

 

Seven transports appeared from the hangars of the Crusader. Each carrying a fifty men. Three companies of Commandos plus a special unit of Elite Alliance soldiers personally trained by Gren. The task force was small. By all appearances too small to tackle such a large opponent. But they had a special mission.

 

((Any Alliance or Jedi PCs feel free to tag along.))

[Guest]

Shining brilliance waivered as an icy chill spread throughout him. His malicious strike slowed as his form constricted and solidified, quickly reducing the heat the titan's attack had gifted. His liquid exterior mellowed to his standard temperature as the two extremes met within him. He shuddered under the strain of change, everything within him contesting the frozen destiny another attempted to force on him. His deadly strikes had missed their marks, the follow through finding him in a tight necrotic hold. With a slight shift he pulled himself away, only to find himself too late. The supernatural rot had already taken its hold on him, slowly spreading throughout.

 

Panic poured throughout. There were simply too many, and their caliber was way beyond what the intel told. How could organics be this strong? Their design alone was so flawed this fight should have been over before it started. How...how could this happen? The machine...the machine was supposed to work better than this. It didn't make sense, nothing was making sense. In his confusion, he watched as a massive hell hound ran past him to meet his crusaders. As Ikera turned to see the origin of the massive beast, utter pain spread through him. What was odd was that this was not the pain of others he was so used to gorging on. In his metallic glory, it was impossible for him to feel physical pain, but this...this was something far more terrible than he had ever experienced. Every sense lit up, the pure white flame within him scorching its way out. The more he summoned the force to his aid, the more intense the flame grew.

 

With a deafening roar he lashed out in every direction, the very rot spreading through him extending to all around. Countless tentacles ripped from his form, taking hold on mortals and supernaturals alike. Another surge of pain rippled through him, causing his hold to tense even further. This was it, there was clearly no hope in sight, but he'd be damned if he fell here today without dragging a few of these heretics down to the pits of hell with him. Spikes erupted out of the tentacles gripping his foes like thorns on a rose stem, acting as a final serrated attempt at validation before he allowed himself to move onward, his final gift the very rot that would destroy him.

 

Now who's rotting in hell bitches...

[Bad karma]

She had managed to evade the tentacles when Ikera first lashed out with them, trying to strike at every target at once. It was an admirable tactic, but she was just too skilled at evasion and his focus was spread a little too thin to catch her lithe, petite form. There was a moment's pause where she pulled in a frosty breath and glanced up, to see a silvery, spiked tentacle coming straight for her face.

 

It was that moment that everyone experiences at one point or another, where you can just see something coming but you are powerless to stop it. The barbs collided roughly with her face and sent her sprawling backwards as another caught her from the side, tearing into her stomach roughly. The rot took hold instantly, eating at the flesh and muscle on her face along with her stomach.

 

For a moment she gasped for breath, reaching up to feel her teeth where her cheek should have been. A bead of sweat began to drip down the side of her face from sheer panic, but it froze before it could drop lower than her eyes. This being deserved death and she was the one to deliver it.

 

Standing up straight, the small figure rolled her shoulders and gripped her Caelestum tightly, clenching her fist and loosening it a few times as she glared at the foul creation before her. The shadows of every corner deepened and seemed to squirm as if there was something living inside of them and Dominique's demeanor became something ancient and completely incomprehensible to those around her.

 

Something terrible emanated from deep within her, saturating the bridge with its terrible taint. Frost lined inched its way down the length of her arm, turning her alabaster skin a strange shade of blue. Swift, powerful strides carried her towards Ikera, flecks of flesh flittering off of her face with every step.

 

”˜Where's your God now?'

 

Strangely, the whisper did not only meet Ikera's ears, rather it met every ear present as the first blow was struck. Ice began to spread from below Ikera and Dominique's feet as the flurry of blows pushed the corrupted thing backwards. Each blow came a little faster, struck a little harder, and the harder the blows struck the more the very floor beneath them shook. Crackles of lightening accompanied the groaning of the ship as she forced it into further instability while her serrated blade dug deeper into the ”˜flesh' of the being.

 

An arm was the first appendage to be cleaved from Ikera's body, but Dominique never went after a second. Instead her weapon cut at a horizontal angle, leaving the Avatar's torso laying around the ground with an uncountable number of slices and gashes in it. Her Caelestum was dropped to the floor and a serpentine dagger was pulled from within the fold of her robes.

 

”œYour God can suck me, your soul's mine.”

[Exodus]

• Turn the Tide ”“

 

Metallic lianas fizzed from the liquid skin of the foe, it fashioned with twisted silhouettes and then widened out for its final assault. Exodus breathed, his mind focused on not just the battle at hand, but the world of chaos round him. A simple collision of ships could end him now, and here on this battlefield. He had to be attentive, and ever primed.

 

 

Exodus bounced back with readiness, his muscles taut and pushed to their feverish threshold; his dark blood stampeded with the beat of his awful heart. Obsession and the stain of retribution consumed him undivided. No distractions, no errors, this superficial slave wouldn't touch him. He was a spectacle to behold, a smeared haze of shadow between the fascinated beacons of silver that punched holes into steel. The creature was desperate, frantic even, to take one of them down with him. He dropped to floor, weaved twice beneath death and hewed his footwork to side step in what space he had for himself. He turned, steered clear of another and then froze.

 

 

”œDominique...”

[Amon Saulot]

"Malithas echita foulas-kor" Amon cursed under his breath.

 

Somehow Nurgle always makes a mess of everything.

 

Nurgle's rot was not just a disease like pox or an infection. It was a spiritual ailment that afflicted the person's very soul. It was in situations like this that the combination of Jedi healing and Tzeentchian sorcery came in handy. Eldritch blue flames came from Amon's left hand as he burned away the spiritual foulness of Nurgle from those present, save Exodus, who probably enjoyed the rotting sensation consuming him. Laying hands on Dominique, Amon probed with the light of the Force, scouring away the biological elements. Less than human, little could survive in the woman's black blood, so Amon's work moved swiftly.

 

That left Ason.

 

Eyes locked, twin wills clashing in an eternal dance, Amon said nothing. Fate had eternally bound them together for some unknown purpose that even Amon couldn't see. For now, he cleaned Ason's wounds in silence, the vast emptiness between them saying far more than any words.

 

"Alliance command, be aware, we have a highly lethal viral agent on the bridge, quarantine the area and don't let any unprotected troops up here. I'm taking Damon to safe haven to get him cured."

 

"Come on, brother, lets get you patched up."

 

Amon didn't have the energy to heal Damon on the spot, having just healed two others, but he knew where he could take the ailing man. It was time to go home. Behind him the angel and the demon turned into an almost comical scene of blue horrors standing on each other in stacks, the illusion ended. The two blue horrors holding the axes got into an arguement over who's axe was bigger and shinier, until one cut the other in half, and all agreed that his axe was killier. Amon took a moment to gather a piece of Ikerra for Khorne before leaving.

 

Using the last of his energy, Amon tore a hole in the real, into which the horrors went diving in. Amon carried Damon into the rift, taking him home.

 

((Amon's taking Damon to Yavin IV to cure him of Nurgle's rot.))

[Gren Sairdonga]

In the midst of a dogfight Gren's mind was detached. He was within the void. All his emotions and passions fed into a flame that engulfed thought. Freeing his body to fly and fight as few, even the very best of the Jedi and Sith could, whilst leaving his mind free to listen and think. And so he did.

 

A barrel roll brought the fighter away from the guns of an enemy pilot. Good pilot. Not as good as the other one but still good. Cross-fire from Sentinels Five and Four incinerated him before he could cause further harm. The loss of their Elite Squadron and its Leader. Gren assumed his equal in their ranks had demoralised them the same way his loss would have for the Alliance

 

Mostly to the mass of battle reports flooding in from pilots scattered across the battlespace, his own view of the center and his own good ability to read the flow and shift of battles, though unlike many his ability came from long years of experience, not some mystical force. Gren deduced that this one was nearly done. According to the few reports coming off the Arach'tar flagship the Imperial and Alliance infantry supporting the Jedi and Sith were pushing back the enemy.

 

Vaguely his mind saw an enemy fighter, falling away, half incinerated. Its wingmate desperately maneuvering to avoid a similar fate.

 

And Gren could see for himself that the center was firmly the Alliances. Though they had taken heavy casualties they had smashed the enemy formation and fighting ability and were steadily pushing them back. The mighty Mon Calamari cruisers that had closed to point blank and engaged were still rumbling forwards.The ones that were still able to. Their turbolasers lighting up space.

 

The wingmate never escaped. A blast caught it straight in between the engine shafts. It exploded in a spectacular expanding ball of fire, gas and debris.

 

In the cockpit of the Ranger's Eye. Surrounded by his fellow pilots Gren couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief. Surprise mingled with shock, sadness too. Sadness at all the death and waste. Good men and women died here. Humans, Twi'leks, Mon Calamari, Quarren, Sullustans, Wookiees, Bothans, hundreds of species representing the peoples of the Galaxy. Hell even Imperials. Virtually a species to themselves as far as being like the rest of humankind went.

 

Fourteen proton torpedoes smashed the shields of an Arach'tar Capital Ship. Their firers arced away before they could be effectively targeted and annihilated. A few moments later directed fire from an Star Defender concentrated on the weakened shields. Taking them down and incinerating the bridge underneath. That one was doomed.

 

Switching channels to one used by Alliance Command he heard the tale end of the last transmission. Something about a quarantine and what really caught Gren's attention news that indicated Jedi Damon was injured. Or infected by this virus. From the little he'd heard it seems Vice-Admiral Sikaot was in charge. Admiral Starlisk having been killed through the force.

 

A large group of enemy bombers harrying an Imp Star Destroyer. One of the newer models Gren didn't know much about. They were close to achieving a mobility kill that would end up in the sun or the asteroid field. Either meant death for the ISD. Like a pack of wolves on their exhausted prey the Sentinel's leapt. Tearing through the enemy ranks with deadly efficiency.

 

Gren had known Cadio for years. They had both joined around the same time, according to the records Gren had been a little earlier. They had both proceeded in lockstep rank by rank. Cadio had moved more into the Research, Theory and Strategic wings of Leadership whilst Gren had always been heavily involved in the Combat and Tactical Arms of it. In fact up until his disappearance which he still knew little of it had been possible he would take the post Cadio now occupied. They had been in competition for it and Gren had been more popular and well known to both the Alliance and outsiders. Judging from the records Gren had dug up on the Alliance. Better him then me. he thought to himself. I can barely remember my name right now much less all their is needed in a Command position like that. He was surprised he had been allowed to keep his rank. Though he supposed it would have caused a great deal of trouble if they had stripped him of it.

 

Space around them was clear. Enemy fighters were now avoiding them. Not that it helped. Their E-Wings were specially modified. They were the fastest craft involved in the battle. Faster even then the newer model A-Wings and Tie Defenders. More powerful too. Angling for the largest furball he could see he evened his shields out front and rear.

 

A ping sounded in the back of Gren's head. That name still rung bells all his searching had failed to answer. Since being cut off from the force Gren could remember far less of his past. Though some things came back clearer then the present. Shaking his head clear he concentrated on what he had to do. The boarding ships had successfully got on board the enemy Command ship. Their payloads even now ripping havoc throughout the enemy. Unknowing of the true danger poised.

 

"Cadio. Fighter space is looking fairly clear. Not much more good I can do around here. Orders old boy?"

[Bad karma]

Dominique released a deep breath as the Jedi moved away from her and watched as the specks of rotted flesh and disease that had been rendered harmless escape her body. Now that things were starting to slow, the pain in her jaw and gut was starting to throb. Grunting, she concealed her dagger and lifted her caelestum from the ground.

 

Viktor had already unloaded the two vessels on her ship off onto an Imperial ship. In but a few seconds she was gone, disappearing to go and fix herself up. The Galaxy could fend for itself for a while.

[Guest]

Their figurehead defeated, the Arach'tar fleet ignores its tactical advantage and begins retreating.

[Sgt. Slaughter]

The last few minutes had been hideously costly for the Alliance in the wake of the Admiral's death, but finally, after countless exchanged volleys and attempts to maneuver into a more coherent formation, there was a report of a combined Jedi/Sith boarding party. Sensors had just reported a sudden break in the Arach'tar's lines. The Alliance's snubfighter corps had just scored a major victory, one that could probably be exploited to attack the planet itself.

 

And it was an opportunity that had to be seized in the next few minutes, lest the Rebellion lose access to a potentially valuable resource.

 

"Talons, report to your transports and prepare for a groundside assault. Wolf Spiders, likewise; stay with your designated units. Let's do this!" Though Slaughter cut off his headset comm, hundreds of his fellow soldiers had just let out a cheer at being able to finally take the fight to the aliens on their own terms. Bruce started jogging to meet his squad, the original score of extraordinarily proficient men and women when his helmet's comlink crackled with another message.

 

"We bring greetings from the Jedi Grandmaster. Direct us so we may destroy this filth."

 

Demanding an explanation from his ship's bridge, Slaughter quickly discovered that the transmission had been sent by a newly-arrived force of sixty small transports--the same used by the Wolf Spider's titanic brethren. As far as he knew, these were the heaviest ground assets that the Rebellion and Jedi possessed. There were precious few of them, but if their performance in battle matched that in the simulations... this had the potential to get extremely bloody--or oily--for the Arach'tar.

 

Yay for the cavalry.

 

They came out of hyperspace, all from different vectors that converged on a sector of space of slightly over a cubic kilometer, quickly assembling themselves into a writhing formation that was disturbingly reminiscent of a provoked hive of insects. They plowed through the Imperial forces at a speed that any TIE pilot would envy. More than that, the maneuvers they would performing would literally crush a human pilot.

 

They would soon be joined by the scores of heavily-armored transports carrying the thousands of soldiers that had undergone the same elite training and preparation that Slaughter had suffered. The call had already gone out for fighter support.

[Ason Antilles]

An eldritch decay retreated as a trail of flame chased it away. This azure blaze left restoration in its path, truly uncharacteristic for an element renowned for its destructive potential. It was a bittersweet twist on the element.

 

All the while, even as the plague attempted to consume him, all Ason's being wished to lash out and take revenge upon this putrid filth. While the sith lord had an obvious distaste for this jedi's pathetic order, he still found himself able to give a couple of them his respect. It wasn't this man's affiliation that he loathed. It was the man himself. His master had been taken from him thanks to this spoiled little, deified little brat. And now he had accepted him as a temporary ally. Much more, he was accepting the aid of this scum.

 

Not now. Our time will come soon enough.

 

Reality focused back in as the frozen space around the two enemies grew more vivid. The fray was over, and Ikera had been bested. A pool of metal liquid lay there, the remains of Revvy's little toy resting untouched. There was no soul. There was no avatar. There was just the empty vessel that had been used to kill a Jedi Master without laying a finger on him, wreak havoc upon an accomplished sith master, and lead a dominating force to devastate the sum of this galaxy's forces. Now this puddle before him showed what it really was. It was a tool, one that now had no master.

 

Rising and drifting toward the remains, he collected the substance. He then transported it and himself away as soon as he found the ship that Dominque's assistant had dropped off.

 

Next stop: Mechis III

[Deton]

With the defeat of the enemy in his hands, he finally cracked a grin.

 

"Look they have finally broken and decided to run. We shall stop off all attacks and let them run. Have everyone regroup on the flag ship gentlemen. We are going home."

 

The Imperial fleet quickly formed up and after a long and gruesome battle. Evacs were deployed in an attempt to gather those who were dead and or stranded. When all was said and done and the gruesome yet liberating task as completed, the imperial fleet formed up and began to trek back in such a manner as to not leave a trail for the enemy to follow.

 

The only remained of the Imperial presence was the damage they cause, the losses they sustained and numerous probe droids meant to monitor the area in case of an enemy's return.

[Gren Sairdonga]

(That being the case and me not being sure how active Cadio is right now...)

 

With no reply from the Vice-Admiral Gren had frowned. That usually wasn't a good sign. Then ordered a number of fighter groups to jump in and support the new arrivals. Moving to do so himself. After a few brief skirimishs something changed. They'd won. Time to pull out, repair, recruit and bury the dead. Before something else happens.

 

With the Arach'tar fleet breaking and attempting to flee Gren knew it was done. The Imperial and Alliance fleets were tearing their now retreating hips to shred. Mop up. With the Imperial fleet already beginning to pull out of the system the Alliance needed to move too. If the Arach'tar had a reinforcement group en route the enemy wouldn't know the battle was over till they kicked it off again.

 

"All ships this is General Sairdonga. Halt Pursuit. No need to bite at the heels of the retreating wolf. Launch recovery craft and begin casevac. Fighters return to your carriers. If your carrier doesn't exist anymore Wing Leaders find a place for them on another ship. No one leaves till we're all done troops. Lets hurry."

 

Suiting action to words Gren heeled his fighter around in a slow arc. Coming around and shooting off to the Mon Cal Cruiser Justiciar. Dodgining around outgoing recovery craft to get to the main hangars. A few minutes later he was landed in the hangar bay. With fighters landing all around him. Far fewer then should have returned home. Most that did weren't even from the Justiciar Originally.

 

As the seal on his cockpit slowly opened Gren removed his helmet. Rubbing a hand through sweat soaked hair. I survived. Once again. Does that make me good... Or just lucky? Taking a breath Gren spent a few moments reflecting on the battle. The vast number of casualties taken. Easily the most costly battle Gren had ever been involved in. Perhaps the most costly battle the Alliance had ever had.

 

Vaulting out of his seat and onto the deck he landed in a half crouch. Still reflecting even as fighters stopped streaming in and recovery shuttles began returning.

 

"Col."

 

He yelled, looking for his Second In Charge.

 

"Sir."

 

The officer called. Appearing from a knot of medics hauling pilots who'd ejected off a recovery shuttle. Hopefully most would survive. But even short periods in the freezing temperature of space not to mention the amount of debris and laser fire flying around would see that not too many pilots made it out.

 

"Your in charge down here. Inform me when the recovery is done. Also get the reports from the other ships. After that I want a CEV. Get someone else to do it. Hop too it Colonel."

 

With a tired and somewhat forced grin Gren turned away and made his way to the bridge. Going slowly. Stopping to talk many of the soldiers bustling around him. Their were so many wounded that they couldn't all fit in the med bays. Many were lying outside in the corridors. Awaiting treatment or being treated. To them he gave reassurance.

 

Once he got to the bridge he found the old Mon Cal Captain waiting for him.

 

"I was about to send someone to find you General. The recovery is complete. The fleet is formed up and ready to jump."

 

Gren nodded. He hadn't realised he'd spent that much time making his way up here. But it mattered little. All he'd have done is sit around waiting for reports.

 

"Alright. Give the order. All ships are to break formation. Form into battlegroups by damage severity. Make sure their are some lighlty damaged ships in each group. Then jump to their first hyperpoint. After that the badly damaged ships will be escorted to shipyards to be fixed. The lightly damaged ships will move to Gala. Making sure we follow tracking SOPs with hull clearances in deep space."

 

The next half hour was given over to sorting ships into groups and sending them off. Finally only one group remained in system.

 

"Alright. Order the group to jump. But hold back jumping for a minute. Conduct a thorough scan of the system. Now that its empty of ships we might pick something up we missed. Also send a comm to HQ. Inform them of our victory and request further orders for the securing of Gromas. We aren't sticking around here. But we can come back."

 

Two minutes later Gren sighed with relief as the last Alliance ship in orbit over Gromas jumped into hyperspace. Leaving behind a vast field of battle debris and corpses.

[Lhinneill]

At the order from his CO, Adam and his wingmate brought their fighters around and returned to the Justicar with the rest of the Rebel pilots. He set his E-Wing down among the other crafts and put into its shutdown cycle. Then, with a hiss of air, the hatch popped open and he tiredly climbed out. It had been a long, hard battle and he was incredibly glad it was over.

 

As the Alliance ships jumped into hyperspace, Adam sat beside his E-Wing, surrounded by his gear, and let out a long sigh. His first real space battle was over. He'd shot down several enemy fighters, and though he'd failed to do any real damage to the enemy, he'd survived. And he'd learned something about how the Alliance worked in a great space battle.

 

All in all...it had been a pretty good day. But Adam was still glad it was over.

[Sgt. Slaughter]

A half-squadron of stealthy scoutships began a brief patrol of Gromas, scanning the wreckage of the recent battle for survivors, the surface for remaining personnel, and the outskirts of the system for active probes. Once satisfied that the system was secure, they signaled to a small Rebel fleet that it was safe to begin their operation. The three warships arrived only minutes later.

 

Though a positively ancient, outdated, and thoroughly unsuitable ship for pitched fleet combat, the Dreadnaught-class Heavy Cruiser served fairly well as a transport. True, it was cramped beyond belief, even with considerable slave rigging, but most of the men on one of two sister ships that appeared in the orbit of Gromas were recruits, men without rank, fighting experience”¦ or any form of privacy, military doctrine had decreed millennia ago.

 

The other was packed to its steel gills with more experienced soldiers, all men that had either been recruited or been transferred into the Rebellion's new training program. The two ships had a multitude of objectives here: to secure the surface of the planet and ensure that all Tinhead (meaning Arach'tar) assets had been forced from the planet, reclaim the phrikite mines, establish a new training center for the Talon units, and lastly, patrol the site of the fleet action and recover as many artifacts from the ”˜Tar wrecks as possible. A number of these would also serve as the instructors for the new recruits.

 

Right away, assault shuttles began ferrying soldiers and battle droids down to the surface with the mission of sweeping the mines. Gromas was supposed to be abandoned, but it was possible that the ore in the mines was interfering with their sensors.

[Sgt. Slaughter]

Before the business of establishing the training facility was even completed, the Rebel expedition to Gromas was called away to rendezvous with the remainder of the fleet to attack the Corellian system and Centerpoint itself.

 

Most of the men would go, but not the raw recruits. Times weren't so desperate for the Rebellion that it had to throw untrained men into the meat grinder.