Falleen

[Piotr Malczewski]

Piotr exited their craft right behind Kyrie, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He'd never been in a jungle before- He wasn't ready for the smell of decay that permeated everything. He'd trained on the way, and while he had a solid understanding of the blade work required of him, he didn't yet have the muscle mass nor memory yet to use it effectively. Still, it was a start, and while he wasn't confident that he could beat a trained Sith, he could probably survive against a cultist or two. A number of K-Wings escorted by A-Wings flew close overhead, screaming across the sky as they began the preliminary bombing.

 

They were on the outskirts of the capital, preparing to charge a trench system that protected the entire city. Edsbryder was in the lead with what was likely his own house's forces, with Kyrie and himself inside the formation of troops. His armor was heavy despite the time he'd spent training in it, a side effect of his soft upbringing. What would his father say if he saw him now? He had hoped that Piotr would become someone worth inheriting House Malczewski's titles and responsibilities, and yet here he was, barely able to keep up with the marching pace set by those before him.

 

Beside him strode Adrenne Contispex, one of their many daughters that had been present on Chandrila. She'd hardly left his side since they had left the dinner, though whether that was what she was told to do or if she genuinely enjoyed his company was yet to be seen. Much to his surprise, she had joined them in the shuttle, fully equipped for battle. Was this what it meant to be the scion of a sovereign House? That every member be able and expected to deploy to combat zones?

 

 

[Piotr Malczewski]

Dirt showered Piotr as he was swept up in the advance across the field towards the trenches of Falleen. An armored speartip shattered across the shield of House Contispex, one of the greatest houses in the Sovereign alliance. It was here that Piotr was expected to find himself. To become a man, a staunch defender. A warrior, a champion of the light. He was supposed to be filled with jubilant reverie at the idea of freeing the world from the Dark Side. The birth of a champion. 

 

But all he felt was fear.

 

It paralyzed him. It turned his legs to stone, and his arms to jelly. How was he supposed to fight this? Their foe had LAVs, mounted weapon emplacements, and a horde of unwavering warriors. All he had were a blade and a shield made for a man much more worthy. Had his father sent him to die? A mortar landed a few yards away, killing two men and sending him to the dirt from the force of the blast. He hit the ground and rolled, struggling to his feet as the battle came into focus. He froze, raising his shield instinctively as friendly forces pushed past him. He'd just watched people die. It was the first time he'd been exposed to death, especially on such a large scale.

 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by an armored hand grasping at his arm. He looked over to see Adrienne looking at him intently.

 

"If you stop, you die. You need to move."

 

She yanked him forward, out of his stupor. She was right. Staying there, in that open field, if the mortars and defenders didn't kill him, then the armored forces behind them would trample him. Ironically, the safest place to be right now was right against the trench. He followed close behind as she pushed forward, following in her wake as she moved troops aside with her presence. She wasn't a great lord or a renowned warrior, but she wore Contispex's heraldry, and was marked as one of their own.

 

He tried to spot Kyrie, or Raphanel, or even Tygo, but in the chaos of battle, finding individuals was nearly impossible. When he looked back in front of them, they were only meters away from the trenches- Friendly forces were already inside, but he was forced to raise his shield beside Adrienne as they came under fire from a second line.

 

"Get in, now!"

[Piotr Malczewski]

The hail of gunfire pelted the few that had survived the vanguard's push, catching any who couldn't find cover in a lethal barrage. The bolts hammered against his shield, leaving ripples in the energy lattice like rain hitting a pond. Unlike such an event though, these felt like hammer blows against his arm, threatening to unbalance him and send him to the ground by their velocity alone. His head was down, and he was braced in the mud as he tried to survive the hail of bolts. He felt something heavy press against his shoulder, and raised his head just in time to see Adrienne using his position to return fire, the bark of her blaster deafening the sounds of battle.

 

This is where he'd die. Feet away from relative safety, caught on a battlefield on the furthest reaches of the galaxy. And for what? To liberate a planet from an enemy that was supposed to be defeated already? 

 

And then, in an instant, hope returned. A barrier erupted from the air in front of him, absorbing the blaster fire and offering him a precious reprieve. Lord Raphanel Contispex had joined the fight, and possibly saved Piotr's life. On his left, Tygo moved gracefully forward, a brilliant white light erupting from his hands. The power of the Force. Two people were able to completely turn the momentum of battle. An impenetrable wall of light. He understood why people rallied to them now, why entire armies would rally to the banners of Knights and Jedi.

 

He felt himself carried forward, though whether it was cowardice or inspiration that moved his legs he couldn't tell. He supposed it didn't really matter. The few feet that had seemed like an insurmountable field before seemed like barely a road bump with the aid of the Knights. In seconds, he was over the lip and in the trench. For a moment, he was safe, he could catch his breath.

 

It didn't last long.

 

Someone rushed him. Their eyes glowed red, their body driven by some dark force. He barely caught a glance of her before she was upon him, wielding her blaster like a club. It collided against his helmet, and he smelled iron as he collided against the muddy wall of the trench. His weapon dropped to his feet, and it was only his instinctual raising of his shield that prevented a second blow from connecting with his head. It hit the shield with a power that belied the young woman's frame, and as she raised her weapon for another blow, he pushed off the wall, driving his shoulder into her. She lost her footing in the mud, slipping backwards as he pushed against her. She hit the ground, her neck colliding with a box. Even with the sounds of war drowning out everything, he could have sworn he heard a wet pop as her neck broke. The eerie light faded from her eyes, and he couldn't look away. They were the same color as his younger sister, little Emilia's.

 

The fighting around him was already moving on- the defenders' morale was low already, and with an elite force bearing down in close combat, the first line melted away like conscripts. And even though he had survived this attack, he was frozen, his eyes glued to those of the dead girl who sat mere feet away from him,

[Piotr Malczewski]

Tears fell unbidden down Piotr's face, leaving streaks in the dirt and grime of combat. He couldn't pull his eyes away from her lifeless body. Luckily, he didn't have to. Lord Raphanel found him, throwing a cloak over her body. He blinked as he was pulled away, and as his mind settled and he realized what had transpired. He had killed someone. In a battle, in self defense, in a scenario that no one would ever blame him, but it didn't help. He felt nauseous, closing his eyes and taking a deep, shaky breath. Raphanel's words were a cold comfort, unable to put the doubts in his mind to rest.

 

If he hadn't been here, if she hadn't had the misfortune of attacking him in her blind fury, would she have survived? Could she have been saved? Healed? How many siblings did she have? Would her parents be mourning her come the dawn? Would she have gone on to meet someone, have children? What futures had he just rendered impossible by being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

 

In a moment, he threw his borrowed helmet to the ground, leaning forward as last night's meal came back up to meet Falleen's dirt. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of the burning sensation the vomit had left behind. He shuddered, trying to compose himself. In doing so, he felt ashamed. Even now, he was concerned with what they would think of him. That they might think him weak, or undignified in his composure.

 

He struggled to his feet, regaining his balance as he glanced back at the form under the cloak. He didn't speak, but he glanced at the Lord Commander, nodding his thanks. He was far from over this, but unless he wanted to get them killed here in this trench, he would have to push on.