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Coruscant - Galactic Throne


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Vice Admiral Nyarro regarded the wounded ship warily, and chewed its behavior down to the bone before he issued his orders. While the crusaders were religious extremists, they didn’t spend lives pointlessly, the more logical conclusion was that the ship was unmanned and being run by its computer and perhaps a basic droid crew.


“Seize the ship with tractor beams and haul it out of the hazard area. Once our own ships are clear of the debris we can begin boarding actions.”




Even through her chembreather Darth Nyrys’s nostrils burned from the scent of chemical fires and acrid fumes as her dropship neared the landing zone. The whole world was on fire, and no one possessed both the desire and means to douse the flames. The museum loomed over the landscape impressively, visible from their landing zone in the ruins of a former Imperial parade square turned Galactic Alliance memorial. She was indifferent to most of the displays, but one particular section took a rocket to the everything for having the audacity to exist.


An uncomfortable giddiness was seeping into her from the excessive presence of the Dark Side, a far more literal version of the phrase guilty pleasure. There was a definite bounce in her step as she lead her troops towards the museum, and she couldn’t even convince herself that it was out of excitement to experience such a prestigious collection of artifacts and art. Her insides were a cauldron of manic energy and tense nerves as she moved deeper into enemy territory, but something nibbled at the edges of her mind as she neared the museum. An ill wind moved through her bones and curdled her stomach, and she felt that something worse than pirates awaited her at her destination.


Up ahead, the sounds of combat could be heard, given the level of firepower involved, probably freelancers mopping up pirates for Sith credits. Her escorts readied themselves and ran precombat diagnostics in silence, Dark Troopers had no need for stirring speeches to quell nerves or bolster resolve, they were simply killing machines. With a dismissive gesture the unit advanced in sepulchral silence to strike the enemy from behind...


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Jax quickly got out of the pirates in the foyers sights before turning his attention the pirate captain leading the charge into the museum, He quickly fired a blaster bolt into the Pirate captains head to complete the bounty, now all he needed to do was kill as many of the Pirates as possible and return for credits. As he thought this he fired off 3 more shots nailing the other pirates that had come into the museum with the captain in various locations. Confident he'd at least disabled the pirates for the moment he charged up to higher ground to take out the pirates in the Foyer before the ion grenade wore off.

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Delta and his company pushed off in a mighty rush, slightly in front of the Marines as they exited their pods. The complete lack of intensive fire from the Mandalorians gave Delta some pause until a stream of crimson laser bolts began to light up the ground in front of him and behind him. Rocks kicked up by the fluctuating gravity from the moonfall and shattered by the crimson rain pinged off his armour as another wave of red rose up to meet the mandalorians in answer from the charging marines. 


Fire and Advance. 


A dash of a dozen meters, then cover behind scant rocks and covering fire for those charging next. Some smoke grenades went off and up ahead and Delta could hear a startled grunt and yell from his Lima comms. Frostwin beside him seemed to stumble and fell to his knees before falling into a shallow crater. No laser trail. 




The wave of melancholy hit Delta like whatever unseen sniper bolt had just tagged Frostwin. But training took control of limbs left numb by the shock of sadness that had just washed over him. He turned his sprint to his side and grabbing the protruding legs of his friend, he pitched the man fully into the crater, tossing his blaster pistol into the hole as well before he jumped in himself. He could feel more than hear the crunch of Tares Blacktorin jumping in beside him. Ducking her helmet low to keep cover in the shallow crater that was ringed by debris and the rusted spiky thorns of exposed durasteel duracrete reinforcements.


“I can get up, stop it Tares, I can ge-” 


Frostwin had taken off his helmet to clear his visor as Blacktorin shouted for him to lie still.  


“No I just trippe-” 


Blood began to drip out of his mouth in a singular stream that turned into red froth on the edges of his mouth. The man’s eyes drifted down to where Tares was pushing on his armour, seeing the cracked and busted plates that covered his stomach he let out a curse then almost instantaneously, his head lolled to the side. Blood dripping freely from his mouth to pool in his lap. Tares strangled back a cry as her hands were soaked by the sudden downpour of blood. 


“Release pressure for a moment so I can expose the wound. Break out your medipack. Now” 


Delta could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears and the vibration of the long dagger in his hand that had been activated from its withdrawal from its enclosing sheath. He took a deep breath that tasted like dust and retrohaled air  and flicked the switch on the back of the blade’s handle. The vibrating immediately ceased, stifling the danger that a slight slip might encounter on Frostwin’s life. With another inhale of stale air, he sliced the jumpsuit under the man’s armour from beltline to neckline. He pulled away the jumpsuit and burned, cracked plastoid and let another curse spill out of his mouth. Burned and blackened guts poked out from a torn and ugly hole that had been the man’s stomach. 




Blacktorin beside him also cursed as she ducked back down in the hollow of the crater as the sounds of the advancing Marine from Hotel Two thundered by them. He had been foolish, putting themselves out in the open like that, and now his good friend had paid, or was paying the price. The reading on Delta’s HUD still showed a weak and thready pulse, which told him that Frostwin had a chance. 


“HypoSyringe of bacta, and three clotting agents now.” 


Bloody hands pressed the implements into his, and Delta set to work as the charge of Hotel Two continued. A body pitched over the side of the crater, landing with a crack of bone on duracrete next to Blacktorin who yelped in terror. Delta sat undisturbed by the commotion as he emptied the hyposyringe and powdered clotting agents into the guts of his friend. He took a large section of gauze and began to pack it in 'z' strips into the wound. Careful to not jostle the man's organs too much. He wrapped the wound then waved Blacktorin to him. With the bacta and dressing applied there was little Delta could do but take his revenge. He looked into her 'T' visor and he grabbed her shoulder armour firmly. Shaking her so that she would remember the message. He kept the regret out of his voice and spoke sternly to the girl that had accompanied him for nearly a decade.  


Apply pressure. Stay with him. I’ll be back little love.” He slapped the top of Blacktorin’s helmet, leaving a dusty red handprint before he grabbed the fallen marine’s rifle  which was still grasped in twitching hands and charged himself out of the makeshift foxhole. The Marines themselves, having charged and taken cover on the edges of the caves, began to concentrate fire on what they thought may be the sniper’s nest and the large man in armour who was holding the line single handedly. Delta knelt and let a stream of bolts depart the rifle towards the large man before he continued his sprint towards the caves.




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The leader of the pirates smirked as the Mando exited cover, bringing his own disruptor pistol to bear. But the day was not his. A disruptor blast flew from his barrel, but his barrel was already pointed skyward as his corpse fell backwards, a smoking hole where his forehead once was. The others balked at this, hesitating in their charge as they saw their leader slain like a common dog. Overconfidence was a fickle bitch.


Several others turned to flee, and Jax managed to down three of their number, scattering the rest. Like cockroaches under a sudden bright light, it was every man for himself. They were no longer a serious threat. Thankfully, most of the damage to the museum had been contained to the foyer, and didn't extend to some of the more valuable exhibits within.


Suddenly Jax's comm unit beeped with a waiting message, sent from the Sith MCLO, informing him of altered work parameters:


Bounty Hunter Jax Rymateer:

Intelligence informs that your contract has been fulfilled. You have proven to be a cut above many other mercenaries hired for this kind of work, many of which are now dead. However, be aware that Intelligence has been monitoring significant enemy activity in your area. Sith Lord Darth Nyrys has taken to the field to secure various assets at your present position, but we have determined additional force may be necessary to repel potential enemy incursions. Be advised, these will be battle-hardened traitorous Mandalorian soldiers, not some hotheaded gang of pirates. Should you accept this contract extension, your actions will be monitored and reported back by Sith assets for 
verification of contract completion. Your temporary point of contact for on-site orders directly related to this contract will be Darth Nyrys herself.

Mission: General Mercenary Combat Duty
Parameters: Take all orders from Sith Lord at location until notified of relief of duty. Early termination of contract is acceptable, but will incur significant pay penalties. The Sith do not value cowards. Scavenging rights to viable equipment recovered from the dead will be negotiated after termination of contract.


Attached: MCLO_CombatDuty_PRIORITYMISSION_Payscales.nfo

The offer more than tripled the offer Jax had received to take on the pirates, and that was before any combat performance bonuses. It was quite clear that the Sith intelligence thought this place was incredibly important.


The pirates on the exterior of the building scattered, using whatever vehicles they had left to escape. The sight of a formation of Dark Troopers marching toward them was also reason to be terrified. One of the turret mounted vehicles tried snapping off a few stray shots, but within seconds it was clear that it was more intended as stray covering fire than an actual assault as it too took off, putting the museum as far behind it as it could. 


A message is broadcast to Darth Nyrys, informing her of the potential asset on the battlefield ((Jax)) as well as observed heavy enemy units closing on her position. The message heavily emphasized Sith Intelligence's belief based on observed surface movements that something of great importance to the enemy was in the area, if not in the museum itself, and that a large push was on its way to secure whatever it was. Primary orders were to demolish the inbound enemy forces with a secondary objective of identifying and securing whatever it was the rogue Mandalorians were after.


Meanwhile in orbit, the now-disabled Fane of Storms-class frigate designation Thunderous Reprisal that the Sith were towing out of the orbital debris cloud gave little resistance. A few kinetic rounds managed to fire off, but none hit any critical systems, making it clear that their targeting systems had been disabled. After a few moments, main power failed. If the ship had been in the debris much longer, it would have probably been outright destroyed. These tactics were highly unorthodox and suspect for any Mandalorian crew, and demanded reasoning for such suicidal behavior. However, that reasoning wasn't readily apparent.



((Still Nyrys/Jax))


Lucky Son blared loud and strong through the skies as Dread Company made their approach through the twisted ruins of the sprawling Coruscant metropolis. Skudge had been with Dread Company less than four months now, reassigned after starting fights with his superiors in his last unit. Dread Company was where the Glory Bound sent its misfits and troublemakers, knowing full well that many who walked the exiled Mandalorian path of the Death Watch were such individuals, who needed to be "contained" so as to not interfere in the path of reclaiming honor.


Nobody in Dread Company seemed to care, because these were the soldiers who cared little for honor. They were commonly given suicide missions, hoping that by attrition they could be purged from the ranks, but no proper Mandalorian would ever admit to this. Dread Company, however, wore their combat prowess as a badge of pride, having survived many such encounters, despite significant troop losses. Average life expectancy in the Company was just under a year, any who survived longer than that were treated with respect. Captain Drom was one of these honored veterans, and he rode his painted war basilisk high, making himself a target for any foolish enough to engage him.


There were twenty basilisks in the formation total, with almost all carrying multiple Mandalorian warriors. Thirty eight men were in Dread Company, and while they might not all see the end of this day, they were confident in their objective. Skudge had never seen this kind of display before, and it made him question the Captain's methods. He briefly opened a comm to only the Captain.


"Why do we move so openly, Cap? Seems like a good way to bite off more than we can chew."

The Captain was swift to reply on the same channel, "Shut the frag up, Skudge. We're more than a match for any cock-sure Sith unit on this half baked hellhole. Besides, if you haven't noticed, if I draw fire, it sets the rest of you up to perfectly swarm the source while we can stay mobile. And besides that, the music is good. Save your whining for the next time you hire a prostitute."

Skudge knew better than to reply, but he did realize the Captain was right, the basilisks could easily tear through any softer targets while keeping them mobile enough to continue on to their main target. Harder targets might not be outright destroyed, but would likely be damaged enough to be rendered combat ineffective for long enough for the Mandos to pass. It was a risky gambit the Captain played at, but it demonstrated his fearlessness and combat prowess. Another message from the Captain broadcast to the rest of the company shortly after this revelation, bringing Skudge's attention back where it needed to be.

"Okay Dread Company, we're approaching our target. Check your power packs, make sure your IFF tags are engaged, and switch your visors to multi-spectral imaging. Arkab wants that key, so that's what we're going to bring him come hell or high water. And I don't see any fragging water nearby, so bring the hell. I don't give a mynock's left testicle about the rest of that place, but we need that key. These Sith bastards have already proven to be more than annoying in engaging our brothers and sisters, so if we come up against resistance, weapons free and give them a big ol' Dread Company welcome. The other idiots might be bound for glory, but without us they're nothing. Remember that! Remember your pride! DREAD COMPANY!!"

Cheers and warcries lit up the channel momentarily before most of them readied themselves for whatever this ruined world could throw at them.




"They took the bait."

"Rin? Where are you? Do you have a clear line of advance?"

"No. Don't worry about me. Bring glory to our brothers and Sisters, Rem."

"Rin? ...Rin?? RIN?!!"

The comm went silent. Remar swore. Rin had been closer than the typical brother and sister that the Mandalorians all called themselves. Like actual kin. She was always pulling stupid stunts, but Remar didn't think she'd risk something in a situation like this...unless she knew the situation was that dire. He swore again, pushing his men deeper into the caves, retreating several hundred yards to the cover of the buried apartment complex hallways. Holes torn in the walls provided access to the cave network, which was also the access the Mandalorians had used to get to the underground power substation. Now, it might be their tomb.

On the surface, Rina was out of ammunition. There was no clear escape path except through the deadly moonfall fields, and her path to rendezvous with her team had been quickly cut off. But she still mostly had the element of surprise, and some grenades. She knew she needed to buy her compatriots time to retreat and entrench, and that came in the form of a distraction. 


Her voice rang out from an overhang a short ways away from the cave entrance the marines had posted up at. She had two frag grenades in her hands, already cooking. The first throw landed neatly in the middle of the marine formation, but as fate would have it when she went to throw the second a moonfall pebble struck her in the beskar pauldron, the small impact hitting with the force of a sledgehammer and driving her forward off the ledge to tumble down to the ground below, the frag grenade landing nearby.

((It is my intention that Delta sees Rina's actions as he's running. If you want to capture/interact with her, I'm okay with that at this point, you can determine where the second grenade landed to either imply she was superficially wounded and dazed, or simply outright killed. At present, there should be no direct threat to Delta himself, just his other listed forces.))

Edited by Glory Bound
Edit 1 - Censors, Edit 2 - Added paragraph to Nyrys reply regarding ship in orbit.


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P E A K 



As one of few docking bays still functional on the Hexa, hangar bay 355 served as an empty dock to check ships which had been swallowed in by a tractor beam. Outside access to the docking bay was granted by these same tractor beams. If a ship tried to depart with the tractor beams active, the beam would again drag it back into the air-dock, but functionalities ran amiss ship-wide. Air-dock 355 had interior emergency repulsor-fields to deal with damaged vessels. The tractor beams were used to guide craft that had either lost power to their engines or directional thrusters, while emergency generators flooded the bay with repulsor-field cushioning for any disengagements. The walls and decks, likewise, were lined with various power cell charger sockets that were now disabled or leaking electricity loosely. The deck itself had directional markings etched into it that were softly illuminated to guide ships toward a safe resting place, some of which were now peeled from their roots by Darth Awenydd. 


Unlike all hangars and docking bays on the Hexa, 355 maintained a control room beneath the air-dock, once staffed by a team that monitored the approach and departure of all craft into and out of the hangar, of which normally included a complete staff of maintenance personnel, emergency medical teams, flight support personnel, and droids. The control team also supplied reports to their commanding officers, and in turn issued orders to those in the hangar. The control room contained sensor relays, flight-tracking screens, ship-to-ship communication capabilities, tractor beam and repulsor-lift controls, and consoles for regulating the magnetic field that still protected from the vacuum of space. It also housed computer consoles that could access data and monitor other areas of the Hexa. Similar to other docking bays, racks of blaster rifles were positioned close to a room's doorway so as to ensure the crew would have quick access to weapons in the event of infiltration, and as such it also held various security supplies, which included binders to secure prisoner traffic during their escort to the detention levels. Accessing the control room from the hangar itself was nearly impossible, but once the team from inside activated the dedicated repulsor-lift, the middle of the hangar would open up to allow entry. The control room's consoles included monitors for displaying data regarding various vehicles, personnel and the general status inside the adjoining hangar, as well as schematics for almost every area inside the Hexa, as well as a built-in com-link that allowed the control room officers to communicate with other personnel stationed aboard the Dauntless-class prison barge.


Docking Bay 355 was one of the locations that the Crusaders and Cabals had first docked with, ensuring a struggle for dominance and command. The vessel had worn itself out from the inside, and days later, the Sith Empire would arrive. Imperial troops held intelligence to know that this was no ordinary ship, and a search that had since yielded nothing but the remnants of battle ensued. A reconnaissance crew was sent in, searching for items and people of high value, regardless of what obstacles stood in the way. The scanning crew never completed their search of the ship for they were met with an obstacle too grand for splintered battalions; the original crew had been wiped, while the Emerald Cabal searched just as vigilantly as they did, eating their way through the opposing forces that stood in their way, enchanted by a fervor unlike their own. During this time, the officer in charge of the docking bay's control team was Lieutenant Corso, an officer of the search team. Unfortunately, they faced a demise at the hands of a simple mercenary. One that the Cabal themselves had underestimated. 























Over the sound of blaster fire, and the roars of battle, a loud voice played with detached tone over the internal communication systems. Darth Awenydd controlled her position with a storm of telekinetic energy, steel wreckage swirling around her form in a wild tempest, daring the unwise to tread into her proximity. Her raw exertion would be a gamble, such an expenditure could not last forever. Eyes watched carefully on a display from afar, paying attention to the three that stood their ground, hoping that they would either die or move on from this point of escape. Time was running out though. The Imperial Bakra safeguarded himself as best as he could behind the mass of the fallen TIE fighter, trading pocket shots with the enemy, risking his skin each and every time he stuck his neck out. Exodus moved as assassins do, only better, carving into the perimeter that the Cabal attempted to set. Each of them washing their hands in the lives of their enemies, and each of them feeling very different from one another as they did so. These affairs of war was what separated the weak from the ready; some were bred to conquer the unexpected, and others could only amount to the poorest of fruit, hanging lowest from the tree.  



"I have not, the time for this. Burn it all down."



The engine rooms, the main bridge, and places upon the Dauntless-class that were untraveled by the few here would soon detonate with explosions. The Hexa would scream with hollow anguish as it was systematically torn apart from the inside. Rhydonium canisters preset with simple explosive charges and a canopy of conductive substances were enough to break the remaining life from the Hexa, and such things were misplaced across the entirety of the prison barge. The evidence of the Hexa would perish here and now, while the salvages of this old relic still lay in question. The countdown began. 


Large tectonic plates, engineered into the middle of hangar bay 355, mechanically unfolded. Gears and cogs that fastened the large metal plates shut, now turned and wheeled alive. Clicking and spinning, unbuckling itself before the wide plates separated and revealed a gaping space in the middle of the battle scene. A repulsor-lift rose slowly, sucking the sickening miasma apart, offering at least another means of aeration. 



! ! W A R N I N G ! !





Urdra Magnus,

4th Pre-Cog of the Cabal


Dark Side Practitioner. A masterful tactician, perhaps through military past or simply long experience in burning his way through small settlements on backwater worlds, the alchemical brigand known as Magnus commands his raiders with a violent and tactical wit. The ferocious groups of Emerald Cabal forerunners at his helm, usually unleash a reckless abandon, attacking more brazenly preceding the arrival of Magnus and more of his dark robed cultists, a brutal indicator of the chaos to come whenever he is spotted.


Everything Burns. Magnus and his bandits seem to focus more on destruction at the height of a raid, for they find it much easier to rob the corpses of a scorched target than leave survivors. Magnus and his hordes is entirely unsustainable with their destructive tendencies, taking what they can and leaving ruin in their wake.


When in battle himself, you can expect that Magnus and his kind have sabotaged the area with heavy harboring of explosives, which is commonly used to destroy fortifications, buildings, ships, and any foes unlucky enough to be caught in the blast radius when they detonate. In these situations, Magnus often keeps his hands clean, manipulating the smaller bandit crews at his disposal to enact carnage. Urdra Magnus is an unfamiliar master of the Dark Side, ex-communicated long ago due to his affiliation to the White Wolf and his connection to a well-whispered Cult. 



Then Magnus appeared,




(Bakra)  One of the Cabal crept low, crawling as low as he could get with his eyes fixated on one, and only one target. Sweeping beneath the wreckage of the TIE fighter.  He watched as the officer pivoted and fired, looked around trying to find targets, and fired once more blindly. The Trandoshan Cabal moved like a snake, the drags and pulls of his green cloak brushing cleanly across broken bolts and misplaced cartridges. Once he slithered close enough to the unsuspecting Imperial, he rolled into plain view, removed his pistol from his waistline and fired loosely at the man.


(Awenydd) Rustic brown robes, and an augmented re-breather mask, similar to the ones the rest of the Cabal wore set upon his body. Magnus flung himself from the open-concept repulsor lift before it could actually set into place. His wiry frame twisted strangely during his trajectory, almost floating as he descended by will of Force. He shot for the one who commanded the dark side so recklessly. The cultists that rose with the platform that he came from, looked as if they were set inside of some trance, not following his advance but joined together in hymn instead. Magnus brandished a peculiar book in one hand, and a quarterstaff in his other. Licks of elemental lightning surged through the quarterstaff he palmed as he landed behind Awenydd, loosening a firestorm of electricity towards the Sith, a dozen thickening prongs of thunderbolts scattering towards her. "WITNESS OBLIVION!"




Retrievable Items:

  • Skullclamp
  • Book of the Shapers
  • Spellbinder






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Jax silently curses under his breath seeing the exiled mandalorians show up, he quickly pulls up his comm and sends a message to the Sith who contracted him reading, "Dread company here. Searching for something. Will attempt to steal item before they do. Prepare a Evac force in vicinity. Make sure all troops are aware NOT to approach museum. Message End." Jax sighs and examines the search pattern Dread company is currently using before making any further moves.

Edited by Shadow91062
Thought enemy was friendly
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Bakra missed the Trandoshan, at first. He was too busy firing into the smog, trying to do a decent job at pinning the Cabal down. It was only when he ducked behind cover that he spotted the flanking lizard. A tad to late, he took a glancing blaster bolt to his shoulder, knocking him on his ass, his heavy blaster dropping from his hands as he fell. Thinking fast, he pushed off of the wing with his feet, sliding back as he drew one of his pistols. He had to stay mobile, otherwise he'd be dead before he could fire. He used his momentum to roll to his feet, drawing his second blaster as he did so, and firing off a flurry of shots.


His shoulder throbbed with the motions, but it was like flying a damaged ship. If he slowed down to assess the damage he'd risk getting hit again, and then he'd be in real deep shit. After this Trandoshan was dead, he'd look at his shoulder. But not before.

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What makes us powerful? …Truly? it is our embrace of humanity. We do not fall into the denial of passions or the harmony of peace. That isn’t human, or well, it isn’t sentience. Think of a funeral of a loved one murdered… A Jedi will give you that inhumane smile and say everything is at peace, but a Sith… We’ll pull you aside and promise to flay the murderer alive. Which one shows love? The inhumanity of inner peace has no power other than that which is devoid of life. We are powerful in our embrace of life, in all its forms, and with all its problems.




The storm howled, the twisted metal shrieking as it tumbled through the air. The power of it reverberated in Darth Awenydd’s eyes, staining the hazel with a sickening sulpheric yellow. The power was as unrelenting as the darkness that tarnished the stars, forever threatening to overtake them until each met its end, to be drowned in the blackness of entropy. Her heart raced, her anger flaring white-hot in her breast.


I… Bring Order…


Corrupted eyes searched feverishly for targets, but there were none left standing. The withered husks of those Trandoshans that had foolishly challenged her were nothing but leaves, cast from the tree of life by her strength to rot and die to feed her power. There were no more bright heartbeats within her grasp for her to consume and destroy. It infuriated her, and the decking seemed to shake in answer.


A cruel smile painted The Sith Lord’s freckled features. The entrance of the newest enemy was hardly subtle, the turning of cogs and the loud machinations of hidden machines were matched in the Force with a sense of overwhelming danger. The enemy was a bright hot flame amongst the ashes of her destruction. Her storm took on a frenzy that matched her heartbeat.


Fieldgrey tracked the Sith through his leap, the jagged metal of the storm screaming to impale him, but she let it twist through the air on a different mission. As the Sithling landed, a curtain of durasteel was drawn from the wind to close down between them. The lightning would glance and shatter the void harmlessly. The Sith Lord cried in furious wrath, sending a half dozen shards of metal to impale the nimble creature from all angles.


…To Chaos…


The Force raged with a dark furiousity, crying for the gnashing of bone and sinew within the maddening storm. It was infectious, the wrath crawled within the Sith Lord’s soul, feeding upon her emotions and drawing from it even greater power. An endless cycle of violence and rot that could only end in death.


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The music blared loudly, echoing off the buildings, announcing the arrival of Dread Company. Like locusts they swarmed from between the ruined skyscrapers and building remnants as they rode their basilisks to war. The formation of Dark Troopers in the square immediately was noticed, and orders were quickly given to stay mobile and airborne, using the speed of the basilisks to begin strafing and overwhelming the concentration of troops. 


Several other Basilisks quickly dropped off their troops on the roof, a small strike force of eight men that quickly used explosive charges to breach and rappel down to the middle of the museum, decently away from the foyer but near enough that the breaching charge clearly rang out their position. Swiftly they broke off into four teams of two, beginning to fan out through the expansive maze of a building, searching for their quarry.


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The cover was running out quick, the fallen buildings smoothing down to mere broken hedges of duracrete and shattered transparisteel. With a glance that was amplified by the HUD buried in his helmets visor, he could see the first sections of the Isihi Tib marines forming up at the tunnel’s entrance. He continued his run began to close on the ledge of one of the looming sideways canted buildings, he looked left, then right, then back to where the elements of Hotel Two were forming up into four man teams for a clearing advance into whatever awaited them below the surface of the hellscape that had once been beautiful towers that stretched for miles. Packed with life, families, and business. 


Delta steadied his breathing from the sprint, gulping down a lungful of stale air as he heard a commotion above and in front of him. His head snapped up searching until he saw a small orb drop right in the midst of a squad sized unit of Marines who shouted and began to run but were overtaken with the detonation that left them as a writhing pile of chunked meat. Their inhuman screams filled his ears as he switched away from their comm set. Delta’s eyes spotted the mandalorian as she tried to toss another but was struck by a blur of stone from the sky. The Mandalorian and her grenade pitched over the ledge into the mass of troops. The Mandalorian herself landed with a decisive crunch on the fractured wall in front of Delta While the grenade went off behind it, likely snuffing out a few more amphibious lives. It’s explosion arced debris all over the place, scattering a mess of rocks and dirt over Delta as he ran full force into the wall below the Mandalorian. His armour crunched and he reached up above him and snagged her arm before yanking to pull her to the ground beside him.


She was an asset, and there was no use in leaving her fate to the vengeful Isihi Tib. He spoke in instinct that language that Dred Priest had beaten into him in the ARC training a century before. He kept his helmet close to hers. Almost Intimate. As he kept the barrel of his blaster carbine firmly underneath her chin.


“Meg cuyir gar aka?” Meg hut'uun lay o'r?”

What is your mission? What traps lay for us?


He kept the injured woman pinned beneath him as his questions rasped out of his helmet's projection speakers. The blood from Frostwin still splattered over his arms, and now coating the woman's chest armour with the slurry of dust and coagulating blood. He switched to his unit comms with Hotel Two as he waited for the woman to speak in return. 


"Hotel Two Status?" 


But the sound of his voice echoed from the bloody mess of meat behind him that had been Hotel Two's command unit. 






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  • 2 weeks later...



A low rumble rattled in the bowels of the warship, rising wildly in vibration. The floor panels jumped from their hinges, the walls shook the dust from their edges, power that continued to flicker on and off, shorted out entirely. The rumblings quickly surged into wincing detonations, loud heavy-handed explosions that now buckled the failed infrastructure of the Dauntless. Where the emergency energy reserves once functioned, black fire now enveloped the empty shell of a ship and all reserves flushed itself completely from depleted batteries. Creatures ran wild in the dark, chaos unraveled in the blink of an eye. Louder explosions cracked the belly of the Dauntless, but the narcissistic voice of Prism continued melodramatically.  The walls, floors and ceilings were tortured; folding under pressure and shifting at the seams. The strict architecture muttered and stretched with every blast.



"This is Captain Alvaro Correra of the supply freighter, Amberwitch," Correra answered quickly and calmly. "Requesting docking authorization aboard the Hexa"

"Amberwitch, transmit passcodes and await clearance," the A.I. stated dully.

"Transmitting now," Correra replied as the pre-loaded data were beamed to the strange battleship. Now, the true moment of faith had arrived and he and his crew waited in tense silence.


The Amberwitch had actually passed the majority of the bulk of the warship and was well on its way to pushing past when things finally started going south in a hurry.


"Captain!" Another yelled into the com-link as they saw a myriad of gigantic wreckage spiraling wildly towards the freighter. Reacting immediately to the call out, the transport freighter dove sharply, cleanly dodging the oncoming mess. Correra felt himself sway ever so slightly as the engines boosted to full power and the ship leapt forward in a surge of speed. He was sure that the deflector shields had been quickly brought online as well. Not that the shields would be of much help, but some protection was better than none.


Swinging his transport around, Correra quickly opened fire to break up the wreckage, aiming to divide their orientation. His shots dissipated harmlessly off the hardened grouping. Warped and broken steel from another warship, breaking towards the derelict Hexa. An unexpected roll of the freighter caught Correra by surprise and sent him spinning disoriented. The roll was quickly followed by the ship beginning to shake and rock violently, almost throwing Correra out of his seat if he hadn't buckled himself into the harness. Fear and confusion quickly washed over him, causing him to subconsciously open up to his instinct. When he submerged himself into focus, he always  found a sudden clarity of the situation around him.


Correra was throwing the transport into a chaotic dance of dodges, rolls, and dives. He was trying not to use the same maneuvering combination twice, lest he became predictable. But as superbly as he was trying to fly his large freighter as a starfighter, the sheer bulk of the vessel was working against him. The force and size of the broken ships had easily crunched into the shields and brushed harshly against the ship itself. And while the armor of the mediocre transport was respectively thick and strong, it couldn't withstand much. Then he felt the ship jolt as its forward momentum was suddenly halted. He could feel the engines still straining at their full power but the transport was being pulled back towards the warship.


"They've got us in a tractor beam?" Correra informed his team over the comm. It was clear from his voice that he had already resigned himself to failure. Breaking free of a tractor beam was a very difficult feat in the best of cases. And the stronger the beam was, the greater the difficulty became. For a ship the size of the Hexa, it was nearly impossible. But there was something more to this Dauntless, this was suicide. There was a moment of pause over the comm. He submerged himself to uncertainty before he finally settled for a reluctant acceptance. "That bloody ship is going to blow."



(Don't have a lot of time to post for everyone aboard, freeform your situations from here on out, and make landfall when you can. The ship is clearly about to blow, survive and create your own narrative. See you guys planet-side.)

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Turning another unknown corner, Shiro ordered a full halt to the team as his face went ghost white in comparison, the metallic plates beneath his feet echoing of a small tremor that rolled through the ship's vast form. He knew the concussion of explosives, felt them in the arena when those stupid enough to use them against an opponent did. Everyone knew. And those who didn't, didn't live long enough to learn such a mistake... if they were lucky. In the brief second, his memory turned back to a veteran he had befriended, legs lost to amateur who decided to use such a crude means of winning. But Cho was quicker, and managed to save most of his form in his escape. For the arena was large, but not for explosives. And by the way these felt, Shiro knew they were in tandem, rolling along in the belly of this beast they had found themselves upon.


"Frek the Seal." Shiro mumbled under his breath, his words mainly aimed at Dunstan until he whistled and circled his hand in the air briefly as he called out to his group. "The ship is lost. Head to the hangar. Double time it!"


And with that, the group spun around and headed down the opposing corner from wince they had came. Even as they ran, the rumbling of explosions and the heat of fire sifted upward from beneath them, Shiro himself stumbling a few times from the sheer force rolling levels below them. And to explain it in simplest terms, it could only be described as the ore beneath their feet rolling like waves. Shiro knew the importance that this Seal held for his superiors, but it was long lost to them now, even if they properly gave their lives to retrieve it. The Hexa was going down and there was no stopping it now.


By now Shiro and Dunstan had taken the lead, the learing weariness of what laid behind them growing a distant memory as their survival Instincts kicked into overdrive and their determination grew tenfold. But as they neared the hangar, a ghastly sight forebod them. Piercing through the mixture of green gas and moving forms came a mask as it turned to meet their sight, the beastly Cabal turning his weapon to rain death upon the group. But this group had changed. Though most were considered fresh recruits, their hearts and minds echoed of hardened veterans as their will to survive overcame fear and doubt in a simultaneous bearing of arms. Before the other Cabals could even attempt to face them, a barrage of crimson bolts lit up the hall in a tandem unison.


Confined and with little room to move against the squad of Imperial Marines and Troopers, they never stood a chance. Only those in the open that would use their comrades as meat shields would have time to react, but neither the Marines nor the Troopers would relent their pursuit of survival to even give them a chance. Time was of the essence and the explosions were growing near.

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The Trandoshan stumbled back as two of the bolts Bakra fired hit it, and a third careened into the lizard's weapon, knocking it from his hand. The Trandoshan wasted no time, drawing a vibrosword and charging with a battle cry. Bakra fired again, and then the weapons hissed at him, overheating. The shots hit, but seemed to have no effect on the enraged mercenary. He swore, dropping one and stuffing his own into his holster as he drew his vibroknife. He let out a war cry of his own, and charged.


Bakra wasn't a small man, at nearly six feet, but he was wiry. Not built for melee combat. He couldn't out fight the foe, so he had to outsmart it. He threw the knife at the thing's face, which the Trandoshan dodged. But that gave him the opening he needed to draw his pistol and fire nearly point blank into it's head. He stood, panting, firing again to make sure it was dead. He took back his position of cover, not bothering to retrieve his knife, though he did grab his second blaster.


Now that the immediate threat was gone, and his adrenaline was fading, he could much more acutely feel the pain in his shoulder. He glanced at it, taking a moment. His suit had taken the brunt of the attack, but he could still smell the charred flesh of his shoulder, and he could tell he was bleeding. Still, he doubted the two Sith present could heal him, even if they cared too. He'd fight on then, until he found some bacta or a medic. Another shot like that though would put him out of commission rather quickly. Hoisting up his heavy blaster again with a grunt of effort. he stood, and joined Awenydd in her assault, unleasing a hail of blaster fire.

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The onslaught continued deep into the northwesteern corridor, chaos rapidly dancing in the backdrop as he moved. These creatures had never seen such footwork in their lives, the way in which this speed demon murdered so liquidly. Allfather Exodus swept his feet as deftly as the shadows themselves, and with that, his sun-touched blade burned through his adversaries two at a time. The dangerous stalemate of the smaller airdock had not interested him, for he knew the two he had left behind were more than enough to quell the pathetic uprising. The King of the Sith desired answers, secrets that were confined within this ancient barge that had eluded him and the Sith intelligence for far too long. Windows of opportunity were now closing however, and closing fast as explosions tore through the Hexa.

There was another strike team that extracted what he needed, operating under the distractions the other Imperials provided when they had boarded, trained to remain a mystery to even those that were considered allies. These four were marked in the armor of classic stormtroopers, but blackened in paint with small detailings of luminescent emerald. Their deployment always signified a critical extraction, but reaching them for answers was an impossible feat. Once their objectives were confirmed, a direct line of communication with their commander-in-chief would verify that their departure was permissible. Stealth technology was extremely prevalent in teams that conducted themselves under the emblem of the Spider, nurturing the air of mystique that surrounded them.

He could feel the fires of this Dauntless spread like wildfire beneath these scorched layers of metal. Bolts and beams splitting apart as the infrastructure viciously separated, peeling undone before the atmospheric gravity of Coruscant suctioned them into an unforgiving heat. Exodus rounded the bend and made way for the airlock that had suspended his cloaked starfighter. The rummagings planetside had unfolded and the struggles of Coruscant would not be sorted without the Emperor-King leaving his imprint.



(Going off grid.)


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  • 2 weeks later...





[ Imperial Replenishment Fleet RX-311 ]




Coruscanti space now flooded with Imperial vessels. The deliberate sanctioning was an aggressive push for control before the chaos of the galactic throne reached a point of no return; the trillions without hope, abandoned by the galactic alliance, now found their saftey within the iron grip of the true Emperor. The dockyards of the Sith Empire, pivoted inside their own coveted territories, churning out an impressive patchwork of starships that served their visionary purposes. It was endless, and it was unstoppable. Now it was here. Container vessels spread themselves to the highest areas of concern, accompanied by tankers and militia in order to properly endorse the liveforms present. IM-8005 shield projector garrisons were constructed to shelter perimeters that suffered the brutal starfall from above, IM-S-653 Orbital Garrisons were erected above to assist in this. IM-X-981 Hostile Environment Garrisons were the most popular of these, with how devastated the major terrains were. And of course, Garrison complexes were chained to one another in the heaviest chokepoints, garnering an enormous support of operatives and militia to influence the hazards. Heavy Vehicles and Starships, more than just AT-ATs and TIE monstrosities, drenched the crippled planet abroad, quelling whatever now rose to challenge them. Civilian Population were shielded and sheltered inside the Garrisons, recovered in mass by hover-trains that continued to increase their spread of influence by the hour. Empire armor covered Coruscant whole, strenuously aiding and abetting those incapable or too weak to provide for themselves. Imperial Might poured on incessantly, crushing the remnants of those Crusaders, dismantling the wheels of chaos and disorder by those who have mastered both chaos and disorder.


An Imperial Extermination Ship hung coolly in a high atmosphere, dictioned as The Furnace, responsible for detaining the insurrection of brigands and Crusaders that would swiftly find Imperial Justice. Sith influence remained intimate to the hardest of regions, breaking the friction with their command of the high-heralded dark side. The full brunt of the Imperial Militia functioned in full regalia; Sith Troopers, Commandos of the old Empire, Masters of the Dark Side and a deployment of much more were now visible. Rapidly, and efficiently, a world of automaton engineered a fluid and systematic regime present all over the Galactic Throne.    

"Na-hah ur su ka-haat.

Su ka haru aat"

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With a small flash, a small shuttle formerly in the service of Black Sun reverted from hyperspace over the former Galactic capital. The ship had been refitted extensively to better suit the needs of the strike force while maintaining a profile and signature matching what had been observed from other Black Sun shuttles that had been turned over or absorbed into the Sith Empire. Most of the modifications composed of an immense array of both active and passive sensors and recording devices: the team didn't want to miss any sort of intelligence data they could glean while here. They were using a freshly made and intercepted identity sent from loyalist agents within Kuat's shipyards where thousands of ships were being made.


Even so, it was always nerve wracking in the first minutes of infiltration missions while the fourteen individuals inside waited to see if the enemy would pick up on their presence. Adenna deliberately kept her Force presence as minimized as possible to avoid detection by any Sith in the system. They were mostly relying on the vast numbers of ships coming and going from a rather impressive amount of Sith activity. Adenna and other Rebel strategists had been wondering what was occupying the Sith over the last few months after Dark Sun Station and as she gazed out the viewport, she suspected she had at least a partial answer.


As the minutes passed by and they continued to approach the planet Adenna began to relax slightly. Though they had no idea what faced them on the surface, it would be particularly ignoble to be destroyed in orbit before they even touched land.


Adenna's heart broke to see what happened to the once glistening city planet. She had spent a lot of time here and to see the utter destruction visited it and the cloud of enemy ships controlling its space and surface left her struggling to contain her righteous anger. These were actions done by evil beings, both the Sith Faust and the Mandalorian Crusaders. She wished that there had been something the Jedi Order could have done, but that was not possible. It was folly to look to the past, she could only look to the future and fight the enemy to do what was needed to prevent this from happening all over the Galaxy.


They were eventually directed through various automated signals to a region that seemed to be on the edge of heavily devastated cityscape and slightly more stable ones. As they grew closer, they could see plenty of signs of recent combat or destruction, though they had no way to knowing how or when it occurred. They managed to find a fairly abandoned looking rooftop that seemed stable enough to land on. As they touched the surface, their pilot kept the repulsorlifts active and very slowly lowered their effectiveness until they were sure the roof wouldn't collapse on them.


Once that was done, it was time to depart. "Remember," she said as the ramp lowered, "we are here primarily to observe and record. Unless needed, we will not expose ourselves even if there are innocents under attack by the Sith. As much as we may want to interfere to safe a few dozen from death, doing so would likely bring a vastly increased Sith focus on the area which would probably result in even more deaths. We must be wise, use restraint, and gather the information that will help us when we eventually return to liberate the planet once and for all."

Adenna Sig


Send PM's to Travis.

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He spoke Mando'a. It was the one thing preventing Rina from cursing out the trooper. Somewhere, through all of the clans and bloodlines, they were kin, if not by blood then by creed. She replied in kind, but not with the information he wanted.

<"You are the enemy. Why would I tell you anything? Just give me the warrior's death.">


A blast echoed from the tunnel, but as none of Delta's troops had gone into the tunnel, it caught the attention of several outside it. Something had tripped one of the traps Remar and his men had laid, though the Mandalorians weren't so sloppy as to blow themselves up with their own explosives. It was either a seismic tremor causing falling rubble to pull a tripwire or set off a pressure plate. Regardless of the how, it partially answered Delta's line of questioning for Rina. She chuckled briefly, looking back at him.

<"Go on. Find out for yourself what traps have been laid.">


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If you consume strength, is it truly yours? If you rely on the power of others, does that not make you weaker? Is power, in of itself, enough for a Sith? Or is it one’s own strength that makes us truly powerful?




The cacophony of blasterfire created a discordant rhythm with which the Sith Lord danced, an angry, rebellious beat that that carried with it the death knells of the Cabal. Darth Awenydd’s pale lips twisted into a smile as she danced over the decking, her body twisting to compensate for the roiling chaos of the ship’s rattling death throws. The Sithling’s lightning ripped through the veil of smoke, writhing about her but not ensnaring her. The azure light blinded her, stars of multiform color clouding her vision as her ocular nerves were overwhelmed temporarily. The Sith’s eyes closed and she focused upon the rhythm of the Force.


Fieldgrey could feel it, the rapid heartbeat of the Trandoshan Sithling. She could smell his blood. She could taste his fear. Her tongue curled, a predatory imitation, drawn from her deep psyche, a desire for a crimson stain upon her ashen lips. The Sith had trapped the lizard with her furious storm. The lightning faded; the heartbeat increased with adrenaline’s touch. She amplified the primitive reactions of the Trandoshan as she moved through the smoke, growing the flight reflex to augment his fear.


The Cabal Sithling had been impaled through his gut, a writhing ribbon of durasteel trapping him and curling through the wound. She let the metal writhe and coil like a snake. Black blood poured upon the durasteel. Darth Awenydd could feel the durasteel’s lust for blood as it was an extension of herself. She let it work its way through his viscera, drawing out as much pain from the reptile as she could, letting it nourish her own power. The heartbeat began to stall, but she bade it on, bathing it in its own dopamine and epinephrine, keeping the beast alive until she could devour all of its power. There was a rattling gasp.


The Sith Lord bathed in the lasting terror and sundered the corpse. Black blood fell like rain. She added the Trandoshan's book and belongings to her own. Her sulphuric gaze found the pilot and the newcomer, (Shiro). She drew the remaining Cabal to her, letting her twisting metal dance through them. More rain, more terror, more power. She stalked like a predator towards her allies. Her simple robes, soaked as they were in reptilian blood, whirled around her, sending a shower of darkness about her teenage form as she leapt.


…Shiro of the Sith.


The Sith Lord landed nearly on top of the Pilot (Bakra). The decking reverberated beneath her feet. Her voice exploded into his mind, with none of its previous subtlety.


…Fear not, Pilot.


The dark magic of the Krath was averse to life, but it thrived on power. Only he could see it, in the hollows of her eyes, a regard averted from life. The Sith Lord brought her hand to her face and with a swift motion, slit her wrist with her own teeth. As she bled, so his bleeding reduced. As her wound grew, so his would shrink.


Equivalent exchange.


The teenager spoke with a snarling voice,


“Shall we leave this accused ship?”


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“Hotel Two this is Lima One command. Hold fast until command elements reach the from with a guide.”


Delta hissed under his breath a trail of heavy curses after he heard her retort. He knelt heavily on her chest and then reached forward and grabbing the woman’s helmet right below the ‘T’ visor, ripped the external comm until mic from where it was usually set. There was no reason to allow this woman to give his enemies any additional support while in captivity. He quickly searched her for weapons, discarded those he found, then firmly secured her hands behind her with binders handed to him from a helpful Ishi Tib marine. 


The squid like humanoid appeared to be about to say something quite brilliant when a small finger sized chunk of permacrete rocketed through the top of his duraplast helmet and struck him dead on the spot. Another hapless victim of moonfall. Delta closed his eyes for a moment as he looked away back to his prisoner. 


“Now.” His voice was soft but carried well due his helmet’s blood spattered speaker projectors. “Then you will show us where the traps are yourself.” He tossed the mandalorian over his shoulder and strode down the tunnel to the front lines. As he walked his earpiece lit up with a broken chatter on Lima comms.


“Lima one command, this is Lima three actual.” 


Lieutenant Haylee Langraf. The commanding officer of strike group three, assigned with heavy fire support in the Lima One company. His smile could be heard over the comm as he replied. 


“Lima three status?” 


She had been on the Holofernes with him over Kuat and Dark Sun. She was good, and had been an easy pick for leadership. 


“Casualties high, enroute to objective. Ten minutes out.”


He sighed. It was good news at least. 


“Understood, dispatch a medical specialist to the following coordinates then rendezvous with elements of Hotel Two at cave entrance. We are clearing a path for you. Copy?”


The voice was tired but understanding. 


“Solid copy boss. See you in fifteen.” 


Perhaps the medical teams would be in time for Frostwin. Perhaps not. He didn’t have time to think as he put the Mandalorian down in front of him as they arrived to where the first trap had been set off. He kept one hand on her binders and lay the barrel of his blaster along her thin shoulder. Walking her in front of him like a mobile shield. 


“Now walk. If any of my men behind me get hit, I will take you apart piece by piece. Sold Copy?”




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The force moves darkly around creatures about to kill.

The small transport descended carefully over the last recorded landing zone of the Devil Hounds, suspending itself under the constant shelling of moonfall. As armored as the carrier was, the damage it had endured thus far was physically evident in how crushed the steel skin of the bird appeared. Traces of black smoke inked from out of the loud and overworked motors, wheezing as the strain of suspension worked the last nerves of the ship. The ventral side of the carrier heaved open, while search-lights popped on and scanned the depressing proximity of the broken building. War had quite obviously taken its toll, and the emptied drop pods were evidence that the Hounds had become part of the struggle. Thick cables flung from the ventral port, and down them came the grisly black polish of Imperial Shadow Troopers. As they descended into the gloomy landing zone, their cloaking devices vanished them as soon as their boots met with the uneven surface. They were in their truest form as invisible predators, sweeping the scene, securing the bewildered premises. The first of them moved to secure the blind corner of the room, the second disappeared as he slid down the rope but made for the opposite corner. The third of them dropped down and moved up the middle, angling his T-21 blaster rifle evenly towards the gaping breach in the wall that exposed outdoors. He paused half-way, sweeping to his left, and then to his right.

"LZ Secured, Spider One."


Just as the courageous voice sizzled through their communication set, the Imperial Emperor stepped from the carrier at roughly sixty feet, plummeting dangerously fast, landing with a powerfully charged force that seemed to stretch the barrier of sound. The raw pressure loosened the moon-fall brie and shook the exposed room to the roots. Sediment fell from all over and softly revealed the positions of three more Shadow Troopers not previously seen. Their cloaking devices were slightly hampered under these conditions, but the veil still offered a considerable measure of comfort from sniper nests in the area. The fragrance of death was a sweetened scent he could taste on the wind as it brushed by, so remarkably fresh. Bleak and colorless vistas of destruction seemed to be the only backdrop that Coruscant could now afford the people, no matter which way you looked. A dark force marinated the bodies of the fallen here, sweeping from mangled corpses and draining into the black hole of power that wreathed the Dark Emperor as he motioned through them. The passing of lives was an intimacy more telling than the taking of them, and as the surcoat of the reaper swept over them, their failing spirits yawned the secrets they once held dearest. The dead had nothing to lose.

Exodus marched forward while the men with him kept themselves extremely aware. Meteoric moonfall began to line the indentations of Sith steel that were sanctioned on his body, a mounded ebony warplate resting against exotic trimmings from the fiercest of creatures. He embraced the visage of a nomadic conqueror, with the trappings of his kills drawn about him, emboldening his mighty presence. Truly, the warmth it afforded him was a pleasure on this miserable planet. He drew the traditional hemming of his black hood over his wild and unmistakable mane, covering himself from the uncertainty of the powdery mildew.


"Jurek. Lead reconnaissance through the immediate vicinity.

Eliminate any hostiles, leave none alive.  Beetle, provide assistance for our wounded. 

I will find the others, they are nearby. Make contact if there are obstacles."

(Jurek, Mu, Xora, Beetle, Law, Code)


"Copy, Spider One."



Six Shadow Troopers heralding their stygian-triprismatic polymer armor, embellished with the insignia of the Imperial Spider, confirmed their mission by moving as soon as their Emperors' had finished. Unit NZ-44 withdrew through the building, navigating an adopted and digitized schematic. The Emperor stood on the edge of the breach, staring out into the abyss, tracing where it was that the Blood Prince had found himself now. 



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The girl slipped through the destruction, the listless throws of a dying world, listening to the voices of the dead. Her teenage form was draped in a mud-stained canvas of mottled green and brown.  Its previous owner had been a much taller and broader woman. The hem was tangled and frayed, stained dark with a half meter of the putrid mud that drowned the fading world. Once a glittering gem, shattered now as it was into mud and crumbling permecrete, no longer radiated the light that had made it the pillar of civilization.


Kyrie’s scavenged, military-style boots slogged through the foul mud, the leather bindings fighting against the tide of tepid sewage and runoff. She brushed the hair from her eyes with her freckled hands, sweeping the blonde tangles behind her ears. The whirling crash of a missile caused her to crouch, nearly disappearing into the sludge. The rancid odor invaded her nostrils, driving her to nearly wretch, but her empty stomach allowed her only to shudder. She drew into herself as she heard footsteps slapping through the putrid muck.


The Imperial Knight let the force flow about her, steeling her body, enhancing her muscles. The aura she allowed within the force was small and weak. No more than a padawan. She pumped fear into the force, but there was no response in the footsteps. No quickening of pace or movement of the dark side.


…Not a Sith then.


The Jedi thought about the longhandled-lightsaber that hung from her hip, concealed in the mud, but had no desire to attract even more unwanted attention. Clarity came as she focused, allowing herself to feel her surroundings. She hadn’t tapped into the song in far too long. Kyrie tried to burrow herself deeper into the mud. Perhaps it held some protection


…Two sets of footfalls. Heavy armour. Their song was of Malice and Lust.


A guttural voice cut through her silence.


“Ber’aka I see a girl. Cloaked in the mud.”


Kyrie stood slowly, letting her blonde hair fall over her violet eyes.


“Pretty little thing. Looks half starved.”


She faced them slowly, her eyes taking in their armored forms. She let the force crawl over them, exploring their armor, probing for weaknesses. Somewhere in the distance she could feel more Jedi presences, but they were not of her concern now. These soldiers were Mandalorian raiders, marked as Deathwatch. Scavengers.


The Jedi could feel the lust in their eyes as they looked over her teenaged form. It reviled her, but she took the anger that welled within her and let it burn away upon her soul’s flame. She began to feel strength flow into her, along with a righteous power. Her boots set themselves, her muscles tensing. The song of the force hardened before her and she raised it as a shield against their wickedness.


“We can feed you, girl.”


The voice was sneering at her wretchedness. The other raider spoke, a gruff laugh staining his laugh


“You’ll have to work for it”


He motioned to his codpiece, which Kyrie found to be an unnecessary clarification. The Exorcist brushed the hair from her eyes once more, letting them see the glowing silver fire in her eyes.




They stumbled and fired their weapons haphazardly, but the shots fried the mud only. Before they could move further, the Jedi Master was upon them. Her long-handled lightsaber was wielded like a baton, the burnished metal hardened by the fire. With a hammer-handed strike, the pommel crushed the larynx on one raider, leaving him crumpled and choking in the mud. The other was decapitated by a quick burst of energy from her blade, one sweeping motion, a single beam of light that was extinguished almost before it was lit. She kissed the onyx rosary on her wrist, thanking Il-Andon Rorik for the blessing of his power.


The Exoricist stripped the weapons from the raiders, admiring the E-11 and the scattergun, slinging the latter on her back and holding the former in her shaking hands. The two vibroblades she placed in her belt. With heavy footsteps, she began to trudge towards the force signatures, letting her own aura pulsate with the inexperience and caution of a scared padawan, hiding her strength to draw in Sith prey.



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The hall strobed with the flashes of crimson and emerald fire as Shiro and his men firmly stood their ground, some bolts recieved while most were given. Thankfully, none of the wounds gain were critical as the combination of adrenaline and determination boiled with them. Shiro stepped to the front, Dustan following his lead as they attempted to push forward through the flooding green of the Cabal and into the open, fire in their eyes mimicking Shiro's own crimson gaze.


It was the field of battle and the drums echoed the pulse of their hastened hearts. And for Shiro, accompanied by Dustan, it was more than just life or death. They were the leaders of this marry band of brothers, chosen specifically by each of their comrades to replace what they had lost in this hopeless cause, not just to have orders given, but in the chance of survival even if it remained slim. And both chose to take it to heart, their men more important than themselves, and what they stood for in each of their eyes. They were to stand as examples, and truly lead by it.


Step by step Shiro and Dustan began the push forward, their men guarding the rear as well as the front as they marched, a unit of few choosing to face death with a smile rather than a cowardly whimper. Their boots soaked in the blood of the Cabal and the green smoke that had settled upon their hidden forms twisting together beneath each step they made over the strewn bodies. Shiro felt the burning sting graze his cheek, and Dunstan nearly fell over as one tore into his calf, but neither of them faltered in their assault even as those behind him wrapped his arms around them and carried him forward out of the bottleneck. And in moments, the open arena welcomed them.


Shiro's Z-6 whirled as the clip emptied, the young Armegedon stooping down as the two behind him continued their fire, giving him just the few spare seconds it took to eject the mag and clasp in another as they emerged from the hall and into the hangar, the group fanning out amidst the chaos that had ensued within the hangar. Unleashing the holy hell fire that rested in the new magazine, his gaze shifting toward the two combatants that the Cabal fiercely fought against ( @Fieldgrey, @Bakra). It was madness that he saw, the Force User ripping forms apart and reveling in its bath while the pilot looked to be nearly overcome by injury. And as the battle began to die down, Shiro glanced at Dustan and both gave a mutual nod toward the other.


"Alright men, fan out. See if any of these ships are salvageable for our escape." Shiro ordered, his men quickly crossing the hangar to search the ships to see if any were worthy of flight. As the Sith rose from over the Pilot, Shiro approached alone, Dustan being tended to by the medic in his group. The white haired boy gave a subtle bow to the Sith, his crimson eyes glowing against his tanned skin even in the darkness of the hangar. "Ma'am. Corporal Seven of the 7th Marine Battalion. Are you two alright?"



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Lok sat mostly in silence during the trip to Coruscant, the imagery he retained of Coruscant being that of before, his stomach in knots knowing he would finally see first hand what Hesperidum had done to what he had long held as his second home. During his time as an Initiate in the reformed Bear Clan of younglings, Coruscant was the only home he knew, his homeworld of Onderon being but a distant memory. And even later, as a Padawan and as a Knight, the jewel world always held a certain nostalgia for him when his missions led him away, a semblance of being homesick settling within him.


But that was before the Schism, before he followed Kyrie and the others away from the Order and he found a new home among the Imperial Knights. And yet, even now, the sensation of know the place of his raising was no longer what it was, it tore at his heart, just as Onderon being under the suppression of the Sith Empire enraged him. So when he felt the shift of the ship and their departure aboard the captured shuttle, Lok delved himself deep into his meditation. It wasnt just to distract him from the pain he would feel upon the Force as they grew closer, the entire planet that was Coruscant screaming in pain, but it was also the only means he knew to suppress his presence within the Force its self. Where others could with little ease, Lok required focus and intent, his own talent focused on support and combat. 


It wasn't until they had landed that Lok gathered himself. He didn't wear the Imperial Armor he usually adorned with pride, but instead wore a lighter and thinner variant of his own creation. Mostly thick hide, interwoven with durasteel that protected the vitals and overlaid with an urban netting cloak, it did not stand out amongst any masses they would eventually encounter and blended in well with the chaos that even he could not have imagined until he saw it with his own eyes. Placing his hand upon the saber that hid beneath the netted cloak, he pulled the T-21B from over his shoulder and gripped the heavy blaster tightly as he dismounted the ship with a look of horror upon his face.


Tears streamed down the Imperial Knights face, causing the blackened face paint to run slightly with it as he gazed around at the destruction he saw. It was heartbreaking, the anger and sadness within him aching to boil to the surface. But he slowed his breathing and calmed himself, Master Alluyen's words echoing in his ears. Looking around, he felt no presence of the Sith nearby, only that of the Marauders and a few hapless beings. There was darkness enveloping the planet, and its foul stench smothered the air. But it wasn't Sith. It felt different, untamed and wild, similar to the untrained. And yet, there seemed to be pockets of hope strewn about as well, small whispers and echoes dotting the horizon. Careful not to fully reveal himself, he kept watch as their mission began. At least, until he felt a familiar presence (@Kyrie Eleison) a few clicks away, causing him to stop and wonder.


"Master Alluyen." Lok spoke softly, his gaze still observant for unwanted company. "I'm not sure if it's anything, but I feel a strong and familiar presence a few clicks to the east, definitely not Sith or wild like the others. I can't be sure without completely opening myself up, but it feels like a Jedi or possibly another Imperial Knight."


Personally, he wanted to investigate. But he held no command on this mission, so the decision was left up to her. But he couldn't quite shake this was someone he knew of very well, a presence he had felt around him since he left the Jedi Order. But since it was taking most of his strength to hid his presence at a bare minimum, he would have to get closer, and that wasn't the mission they were sent to do. Only the Grandmaster before him held that power.


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Jax curses under his breath at the sudden arrival of dread company. He sighs before yelling out, "Stand down dread company, friendly bounty hunter in the AO, no hostiles!" Jax quickly types away at the holopad that he had and sends the contract info over to the Dread company commander to confirm he was supposed to be here.

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What do you see?

He planted his knee in the unsifted rubble, rocks and rust thrown askew. The Dark King rested his breathing, slowing the heaves of his heavy chest. He quieted his mind, just enough with the chaos of Coruscant running free, Exodus would become acutely still. The wailing wind coursed through his wild mane, brushing through the small trinkets of his fuel-black armor, dancing with the darkness that shed from his skin. Kneeling with his balance surer than standing, the Spider focused his mind into a clarity that could see so much more. The skies were seething with pain, black smoke chalking the atmosphere as the industrial clouds burned horribly red. Corpses by the thousands filled the soil as fertilizer would, blossoming into a misery that the Sith could feed from like swollen fruit. Rivers of blood were tickled by the shine of a dying moon, draining into the deep wells of the galactic city with the thickness of wine. He could see it all with eyes wide shut, and it was the force that showed it to him. Lacking the natural biorhythm that most creatures had, his body began echoing vivid sights through sound for miles away. The range of detection that opened up for a King of the Dark Side was beyond ordinary measurements, heightened predatory senses that was wielded so naturally.

"We will bring an end to this." The voice of the Spider was as comforting as stone, both unmoved yet strangely empowering as the smooth fluency of his Anzati tongue whispered like a warm chill down the spine of his most powerful allies.

He slammed his fist into the broken earth, breaking the floor beneath him apart as he shoved his weight from the ledge and leaped far into the distance. First instinct drew him to crush the resistance that his commanding forces weighed their lives against, but something more had revealed itself to him. Echo detection unearthed a cluster of activity buried in a place shunned by the citizens of Coruscant. Beneath the roughened crust sat a broken site once claimed by the darkness that had been buried away shamelessly. Whatever it was, it now called to him. The assassin spared no quarter to his speed, the whistling and waning of meteoric impact punished the grounds around him. He slid beneath barely suspended canopies of steel, bound himself over vast canyons filled with fire, spearheading through blockades of failing buildings. In the passing, there were creatures and small groupings of people that caught this and blinked twice, checking their eyesight while trying juggling their survival. He harnessed the force as if it were entirely his to command, allowing it to burn through his blood as he covered great lengths that landed him before a fortress he had longed to set his sights on.

"So this is it?"


Taut rancor-skinned boots nestled deep into the moonfall debris beneath his feet, planted sternly as a high-heated storm began to brew overhead. The Emperor dusted his cloak leisurely and tightened the metal gauntlet braced to his right hand, now sizing up a vast uneven region of land that was utterly beaten to pieces. The people of this world were beneath the oppression of a nightmare, and every where he turned, Coruscant seemed drearily seeped in an inevitable downfall. The roots of the industrious land were heaved to the surface, the streets were cracked wide open with mammoth splinters of concrete staggered awkwardly everywhere. There was something here.




Edited by Exodus


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The devastation of Coruscant pierced Adenna to the core of her being, but she refused to allow herself to show or dwell upon those emotions. This was neither the time nor place to truly contemplate those things, and a Jedi needed to be centered and in control at all times. Perhaps it would make the men and women with her feel she was too cold, but they needed to keep focused on this mission until a more appropriate time to process everything presented itself.


She could feel the constant misery and despair rising from the planet and wished that she could help in a more substantial way, but with the massive Sith fleet in orbit and Rebel resources stretched thin taking care of the mass of refugees from Coruscant and other planets affected by the Sith and Mandalorian invasions, they simply didn't have the ability. As cold as it was, the smaller number here had to suffer so that the greater number in the rest of the Galaxy might one day see freedom. If the Rebels and Jedi attempted to throw all of their resources here, it would irrevocably destroy their hope to face the Sith and one day liberate the thousands upon thousands of worlds under their brutal grasp. She hated that truth, but it was the direct result of the complacency of the Jedi Order and corruption of the Galactic Alliance. That had to change so that it wouldn't happen again.


Knight Skyshatter's words reached her and she considered them. She did not sense anything yet, but that was because she was shielding her Force presence to an area no more than a couple dozen meters around her. If any Sith sensed her on this planet, it would certainly doom them all. There could be any number of stranded Jedi or even Imperial Knights left on this planet. If one was alive, it would be helpful to recover them for multiple reasons. The largest would be the fact that any Jedi who had been here through the invasion would hold far more intel than this one mission could provide, though there was no denying the benefit of rescuing another trained ally and the inherent boost to morale that may also provide.


"You could be correct," she responded. "Do not open yourself up further at this point, but I see no reason why we couldn't begin our scouting in an eastward direction. If we come across one of our comrades, then the Force is truly with us. If we do not, then we will still be carrying out our mission."


With the scouting team loading up their various and assorted surveillance gear and weapons, they began to carefully pick their way through the abandoned and damaged buildings towards the east. Nothing irreplaceable was left on the shuttle: all of the data it had collected had been transferred to small storage devices and distributed to all of the team so that if even one survived, it would not be lost. Every night, they would share whatever data had been collected that day among themselves. To help them survive, each of them carried two weeks of extremely compact dehydrated nutrient pouches that didn't taste very good, but if mixed with water would fill the stomach and keep the body in shape. The hope was to eventually return to their shuttle, but if they weren't able to make it and had to find another route out, their mission could still be completed.


Only their pilot and two security/sentry droids remained in the shuttle, waiting for a mundane but very specific signal to attempt a recovery. Each of the scouting team had a beacon that could be used to summon the shuttle if the correct password and biometrics were input. Still, despite that, the pilot was given orders that if he didn't hear from the rest of the team in three weeks, he was to leave and attempt to escape.


As the first few days passed with fairly slow progress, they began to fall into a rhythm. They tried to hide from any survivors which wasn't as hard as Adenna had feared it might be. These people were traumatized, constantly plagued by terror and threats. The sound of anyone coming was enough to make most hide. Even then it wasn't always possible to avoid everyone. Sometimes, people couldn't hide or, worse, didn't care if they were discovered and killed. Those were the worst because, as much as they wanted to help, the team simply couldn't. They couldn't take them along nor could they spare rations. Seeing the terrible condition of the planet, Adenna couldn't even bring herself to issue hollow, empty promises of salvation. For most, the only thing she could do was carefully use the Force to nudge their attention away and numb their anxiety.


By the fourth day, even the hardest of the shock troopers and recon rangers in the team were clearly shaken. There was very little chatter among the team even when it was deemed reasonably safe to speak. Adenna spent many hours silence attempting to process and store what they were seeing and feeling while struggling not to let it split her heart asunder. In some ways, this was the hardest mission she had ever been on, yet she was glad she came firsthand instead of sending someone else. If she were to lead the Jedi Order and help the free people of the Galaxy remain free, she needed to see what would happen should they fail.


There hadn't been too many rampant reports of Sith atrocities yet but there were plenty of stories of individual brutality, slavery, extremely harsh punishments for any violations of "order," and an overall sense of authoritarian control over more and more of everyone's lives. It may be true that this iteration of the Sith Empire wasn't as overtly cruel as those of the past, but it was far from optimal. Even Palpatine's Empire had planets and societal circles that thrived and enjoyed his rule, but beneath that crust of order, wealth, and structure was a foundation of massacres, torture, brutality, and suffering.


This planet wasn't directly the result of the Sith Empire, but it well could be what happened to planets that resisted in the future. For now, it seemed to her that the Emperor Exodus was content to portray himself as an almost benevolent authoritarian only wanting to bring order to chaos. Such tactics were ingenious as many planets that might have resisted were mollified and elected to join. She wasn't so sure how long this phase would last if the Sith were in complete power and Exodus no longer needed to restrain himself. How many planets would be stripped of life to fuel some Sithling's lust for power? How many slaves would be needed to build his war machine or vain monuments to the Sith's glory?


On the other side of the proverbial coin was a harsh lesson in what happened to even the "good guys" who grew complacent and allowed themselves to let their guard down. This was a failure of the Galactic Alliance an an isolated, insular Jedi Order that refused to fight evil directly. However this Rebel Alliance played out, Adenna was determined to do everything she could to ensure that it learned from the lessons of the past and kept its guard up while staying true to the concepts of freedom and liberty as well as the Light Side. Failure to do so would only lead to another Old Republic collapsing into the Galactic Empire or the Galactic Alliance giving way to the Sith Empire or Mandalorian Crusader brigands.


No, with each passing hour on this ruined planet, she steeled her resolve to fight as long as needed while constantly guarding herself and the Order entrusted to her for corruption, complacency, and compromising morals.

Adenna Sig


Send PM's to Travis.

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Bakra watched in disturbed fascination as the young Sith mutilated herself, her voice vreeping into his thoughts as she did so. He shuddered, and had it not been for the sorcery he'd just witnessed, he would have spoken against such an intrusion. But the Sith held abilities spawned from his nightmares and he didn't fancyfalling on the recieving end. So he gave a curt nod and a thanks, looking at the apparent reinforcements as the ship shuddered. 


"Petty Officer Bakra, Dagger Squadron. I was shot down in the fighting and landed here. If there's a ship here that's spaceworthy, I can fly us through the fight, get your troops back with the fleet. Then I need to link up with whatever is left of my squadron- I don't like the idea of training a new squadron from the ground in wartime."


He looked around, briefly wondering where the second Sith had gone. Maybe he'd died. Perhaps his objective had been further into the ship. Regardless, he needed to coordinate. He jogs through the smoke, climbing into the wrecked cockpit of his TIE. The comms were still slickering, which meant they had life. He flipped a few switches, and they came alive.


"Dagger Squadron, Dagger One. I'm on board the hostile ship. It's tearing itself apart, I'm commandeering the first craft I find. If  it doesn't have guns I'll need an escort. Don't be late." 


Making his way back to the Sith, he offered a shrug. "You helped me with my wound. If you're ever looking for an escort, I'm in your debt"

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This commando knew his stuff. Rina was mildly impressed, but still belligerent. Still, it made her think. The stories she'd been told about the Sith made them all out to be monsters, to the point where she expected him to use his men as living land mine detectors. None of what the Glory Bound had done had really made sense after they'd gotten to Coruscant, and Rina was one of the few who had noticed. Every one of the troops under Skon's command were either too afraid of reprisal to say it, or completely oblivious because of the chance to jump at combat. None of this made any tactical sense to her, and she had a head for tactics.

Speaking of tactics, she also knew that every second she could give her comrades was another second they had to reinforce positions and ready themselves for battle. Every second counted in a war zone. He kept walking her down the tunnel, and her mind raced as she scanned the environment. A pang of alarm ran through her body as she saw the first marker, wires hanging from the wall, the ends of two of them tied in a square knot. To the untrained eye, it was very hard to spot features like this made from the surroundings, but Rina had trained well with her unit and knew all the signals they would use. Every step forward her thoughts raced faster and faster, contemplating sacrificing herself to take out this commander and some of his guards. But when the breaking point came...


"Stop." He kept pushing for another half second, and she pressed back hard on the pressure he was putting into her back. "Stop. Tripwire mine in the doorway. We use near monofilament wires so they're hard to see. You'll need a plasma torch or something that can cut with heat to disarm it. Having all your men try to step over it is impractical and one of them is likely to set it off."

There. That would buy some time. In Mando'a, she talked to him again, questioning his motives.


<"So tell me. Why have the Sith come to Coruscant? Laying waste to the remnants?">




Dread company's commander laughed at the comm transmission before jamming the channel with more loud music. If this bounty hunter thought he wasn't a valid target in a war zone, he had another thing coming. Meanwhile, the teams in the museum kept winding further through the expansive building, nearing the item they needed to claim. Outside, there was blaster fire and screaming, and of course blaring loud music, as the troops of Dread company began to lay waste to the Dark troopers still out in the open.






((By the way, the Temple in this plot was an underground structure, hidden away for years from both most of the Sith who came to Coruscant and also especially against the Jedi or any other organizations that had controlled the planet. It was not the typical old Sith temple that has been used in the past, I came up with this location when I wrote the plot specifically for use only in this scenario. It had a secret entrance, but that entrance was destroyed and is moot in the aftermath of the moon impact. Instead, a large cavernous hole in the cliff face of a tectonic upheaval from the impact now leads to the Temple, which was what the Glory Bound found. This cavern in a cliff face is also located in the more dangerous parts of the moon fall fields.))

A single being saw the Dark One and exited the building, moving to greet him. There were a mere handful of others left, but this one was distinctly different from other typical Sith acolytes. This servant was once groomed to serve as a mouthpiece for Ar-Pharazon, and had long ago been intentionally disfigured into this role. He wore a helmet that was fused to his skull, revealing nothing but a mouth that was withered and filled with yellowed and rotting teeth. He cowered as the Dark Lord approached, seeing his terrible magnificence through the Force and knowing immediately the station of the Spider. As he spoke, it was clear that the action caused great pain, and spittle dripped from the wretch's cracked lips.

"Sire...forgive me. I am but a humble worm in your presence. Terrible atrocities have occurred since the one called Faust decimated the jewel of the Core Worlds. Another temple, hidden to even other Sith Masters, has been taken. In the cataclysm it was exposed and overrun with Mandalorian filth. A new entrance was carved in stone from the moon's fury, in the scarred fields where its touch lingers. It holds secrets, holocrons...dark and terrible things. Only Ar-Pharazon the Great and Powerful and the Dark Lord are permitted to know the knowledge kept there. I am the only one to survive to pass on this message. I humbly offer you my life for this failure."


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Kyrie kicked the torn boots from her feet, casting them carelessly down the permecrete ridge she had climbed up over the course of the last two days. The shattered stone and steel beneath her now bare feet hummed with the terror inherent in the dying world. It had been skyscraper once, full of life, but from the pain she could feel, it was the poor that had died here in the destruction of the ecumenopolis. It was nothing now but a crumbling mesa. As she walked, she left footprints of crimson upon the bare permecrete.


Five days.


The Jedi placed a protein cube in her mouth, washing down the gritty taste with a mouthful of rainwater. She let the metallic wrapper float away on the wind, the imperial insignia glittering in the refracted sunlight. They had been scavenged from a wreck. Looted from the rotting bodies of the mandalorians who had died on their basilisks. Their base nature had led to their deaths, and she had no reason to mourn the deaths of raiders. She was no Jedi Pacifist.


A rusting steel beam jutted from the rubble, hanging haphazardly like a bridge across a ravine of wreckage to a downhill slope. The girl slowly clambered onto it, balancing herself as she made her way across. The steel coolly caressed her wounded feet, the rust grinding into the cuts and blisters. Wind swept its way across her, billowing her mudstained cowl and blinding her with her own hair. She stretched her arms out like a circus performer and calmed her galloping heart with a sharp breath. She was almost at the end, but there was something else that made the hair on her neck rise.




Permecrete shattered into dust and splinters tore at Kyrie’s face. There was another report and a hole punched its way through her cloak. The Imperial Knight let herself fall from the beam, her shoulder catching her weight as she tumbled down in a hail of stones and rust. She let her body twist and contort as it moved down the hill, distributing her kinetic force into momentum, letting the Force redirect her from being impaled on any jutting rebar. Eventually gravity gave way to the entropy of friction and she skidded to a jarring halt.


The Jedi wanted to get up and fight, but there was something that gave her pause; there was a sense of friendliness nearby, vague and distorted, but there, nonetheless. Her own force signature was still disguised and diminished, but perhaps it would serve as a beacon. She pumped innocent fear and desperation into the Force. She lay as if dead, taking shallow breaths to disguise her life amongst her tangled cowl.


The Imperial Knight could smell them before she sensed them, the pungency of unwashed human and alien. Four figures approached, a Rodian at the lead of two humans and a wookiee. The hard steel of a slug-thrower’s barrel bit into her back as he prodded her. One of the humans spoke behind a patchy beard that was squirming with lice.


“Could have gotten her alive, Kato.”


The Wookiee chortled, scratching at the mange that pockmarked his creamy coat. Kyrie held her stomach at bay as they leaned closer. The Rodian picked at her cowl, lifting it to reveal one of her legs. His rough hand stroked her bleeding foot.


“Still warm though, Warg. I know how you hate when they struggle.”


He slapped a hand on the Wookiee’s rump, and the crew roared with laughter. The allied presence was close.


“You’ll get last turn Mak’ath, for obvious reasons.”


Kyrie nudged the beastial mind.


Why shouldn’t you get prime pickings?


The Wookiee roared and pushed the Rodian to sprawl across the Jedi. As the weight came down upon her, The Imperial Knight slipped the E-11 from her back and put a blaster bolt through the belly of the bearded human and another that reflected off the permecrete to char the throat of the other. The Jedi slapped the trigger again to send a bolt into the Wookiee, but the gas canister misfired, slagging the rifle and nearly tearing her hand off.


…Oh kriff.


The Wookiee roared as the Rodian scrambled and withdrew a vibro-dagger. The girl threw  the useless rifle at the Rodian with her burnt hand as she jumped to her feet. She longed to wield the force to her capabilities, but with the Sith in orbit, it would only bring a hail of turbolasers upon her head. It would be a fight like her old days in the fighting pits of Nar Shaddaa, but only now she was in a much weaker body.





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