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Mon Calamari/Dac

Nikolai Kolchak

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Emma made sure the drop doors were secured as the shuttles and transports began to drop towards the surface and the floating shipyards. They were going as fast as the engines could propel them in order to get close to the surface before the Sith forces could respond with accurate anti aircraft fire. Sure the shuttles could doge, this U-Wing could do very well in a combat support role, but there was no reason to risk a directly opposed landing. That always ended poorly. 


“Twenty seconds!” 


Came the cry of the pilot as he angled towards the nearest shipyard facility. Their objective was to take and hold the entrance to the facility, wait for reinforcements, then push in to seize it completely. Or at least that was the hope. 


“Ten seconds!”


Emma ripped open the door, and the buffeting winds nearly took her off her feet, but her grip held on the frame, and the side gunner adjusted his gun. 


“Five Seconds.”

Her red eyes took in the two squads of men and she nodded. Then her eyelids began to flutter as the net began to be cast to all of them in the dropship. 


“Go. Go. Go!” 


The smell of the sea was thick in the air, and it was time to fight. 

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      The U-Wing rumbled and rocked as Alliera and Johan waited for landfall, the U-Wing was flying as fast as it could towards the ground. They had taken a different landing ship than their Master, that way they could more easily sneak off to do nefarious things, and Kirlocca could focus on doing Jedi Shenanigans. The door opened before they landed, as the Squad Leader started counting down, all the men getting ready. Alliera took this moment to ready her E-22, and patted Johan on the shoulder. "Follow my lead, and try to stay in cover when you can." Alliera said, gesturing to open door "Don't worry about these guys, they know what they're doing, and our Master isn't far behind us." Alliera took a moment to pull open the map she downloaded to her onboard Computer, checking it quickly before dismissing it, quickly giving her a path through the sewer to their target...it also had a few sewer entrances near-ish to their landing spot marked. When the Sargent called for the troops to disembark, Alliera led Johan in charging with them, using her E-22 to help cover to scramble to cover. Consulting her map, Alleira found a sewer entrance, leapfrogging from cover to cover closer to it, guiding Johan there as well as covering him. As the two disentangled from the main fight, Alliera stopped firing, sneaking around cover to cover. When the Manhole in question was found, Alliera opened it quickly and gestured for Johan to enter, once he did, alliera followed and closed the manhole behind them. 


The sewer was big enough for the two of them to walk, but just barely, and it was poorly lit. Alliera activated her Nightvision. "Activate your lamp, but keep your head on a swivel, we have no idea what's down here." Alliera started guiding them down the sewer, having slung the E-22 over her sholder with one of her bags, and having one of her Westars in her hand. 

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Johan flicked his head lamp on and followed behind, his energy buckler on and half raised, his DC-17 blaster pistol held up resting his right wrist just in front of the buckler on his left.

he wrinkled his nose at the stench but remembered to activate his HUD Goggles and took a quick peak at the map

"not far, hopefully the resident Sith has buggered off, to his command room if not the battle proper. As far as loot goes you focus on artifacts and such, I'll grab currency and any rare materials, like lightsaber resistant metal ingots, not that I can carry much of that. split what ever we don't have to hand over to command/the Order once this is over" He said and checked behind them, scanning for movement or cameras/sensors.

Edited by Johan Fae
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"and to think, you didn't buy me dinner first..." Alliera said, as she lead their way down the sewer, looking down at the river of sewage under them "Worst case, we can use it if we get overwhelmed down here, don't use your blaster or lightsaber unless your ready to dive...try to wait till we breach." 

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HC-42, Gwal, Sasha and Leep poured out of the U-wing, landing on the ground of the floating shipyard's top entrance with an audible thud. In HC-42 and Gwal's case, it was a louder thud than usual due to their immense weight. Both left a small crater where they landed, as a matter of fact. They immediately looked around the area for any Sith forces, the battlenet aiding them. Sure enough, a squad of unfamiliar battle droids were guarding the entrance, already alerted to their presence. The four of them dove for cover as they were fired at, Sasha's incredible sharpshooting already allowed her to get an accurate shot off while running. Leep's incredible agility, owed to his cybernetic legs, allowed him to jump towards cover while firing repeatedly at the droids mid-air, though these shots were obviously more haphazard and mainly intended to buy time anyway. Gwal was the slowest of the group, so he fired the most amount of cover fire with his E-22 before finally making it. HC-42 hadn't gotten off a single shot yet- he was more patient than the others. He was behind cover by now, and fired his Heavy Repeating Blaster to send a barrage of laser fire into the midst of the "Deepguard droids," as the battlenet had by now identified. He stopped shortly- the droids were too fortified for that to do any good.


"What's the plan here, 42? More of these droids will come." Sasha said, indicating the reality of the situation. 


"You three keep laying down fire. I need to find an opening in their defense."


"What the hell are you going to do!? There's gotta be a dozen droids firing from that entrance! I don't think there IS an opening!" Sasha said.


HC-42 thought otherwise. These droids were tough at their current numbers, but squads were always weaker when they had to fight two targets in different locations.  


"We have to split them up. Gwal, Leep, head for the cover point to the west. We'll cover you. Sasha, stay with me, when Gwal and Leep are behind cover, we're going to try and out-flank them." 


HC-42 then started firing his heavy repeating blaster again, the intent being to put enough pressure on the droid squad's fortifications at the entrance. If the droids were smart, they'd duck behind their fortifications and not risk firing. If they were stupid, they'd risk damage by continuing to fire, and Sasha could easily hit a target once it popped up, even if HC-42's blasts didn't necessarily destroy the droid. In any case, it would buy enough time for Gwal and Leep to make it to their new position. 


"Gwal, Leep, now's your chance!" Sasha shouted as she too kept firing. This wasn't exactly like the simulations, but HC-42 had still applied some of what he learned to this. He especially remembered Emma's advice when they fought the Imperial Squire Berea in a surprise test: "Distract and flank!" So that was what he was going to do.

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"With this much Methane, we may have to risk a Surface Breach." Alliera said, continuing to walk through the Sewer "If we detonate anything in here, the Methane Blast would do ALOT of damage, and alot of innocents would be caught in it.... We'll see when we get to the breach point." 

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"got you, will have to be careful to pick out breach point though, rather not drop a Sith military detachment on us, element of surprise or not. I can scan with my goggles but it will only go a foot or so above the street, the thing sacrifice power for, you know not being a 10 pound helmet"

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Mandalore and Raven:

Jorus could only watch out the window in shock as the ships appeared.


One. Two. Another pair 2 km starboard. Three more  just below them, in tight formation even as they dropped out of hyperspace.


Again, and again, the stars were blotted out by ships appearing. Not blocky freighters or smooth luxury liners either. Warships. Many of them Mandalorian. Their guns opened fire almost immediately, and fighters and Basilisks spread from them like the wake of a ship, moving to carry out their own attack plans.


And then the dreadnought appeared, and Jorus' shock turned to horror. And that horror turned to panic as the massive, infamous star destroyer opened fire with its turbolasers.


"No step back, Jorus." The raspy voice of Apothos sounded...calm. If the hitched, rough breathing hadn't filled the silence after the words, Jorus might have mistaken his boss for a droid.


Then the call cut out, and the planet's defenders began shouting across comms.


Jorus gritted his teeth. And he took command.


Fighters launched from their bays, droid and organic pilots alike lining up in dagger formations to dive at the oncoming forces, the green of blaster fire lighting up the starry sky as a dozen different dramas and duels played out in span of seconds.


Rising from their berths, two MC140 Scythe-class battle cruisers, fresh armor gleaming from the assembly line and flanked by Tartan patrol cruisers, rotated to face the oncoming trespassers. On their bridges, Mon Calamari pilots and engineers hung suspended in tanks of preservatives and bacta, cybernetics slaving them directly to the ship they now crewed. The Divine Wrath spewed forth carrier pods, the projectiles bursting into clusters of antique buzz droids that tore at any ship they happened to land on. The Divine Edict, far more direct, emitted an emerald glow from a dozen different focusing dishes...before a thin, green-white beam lanced out, seeking to cut the life from any enemy that fell within its gaze.


Even as Apothos' pet project ships joined the gray, a set of Captor-class cruisers dropped from hyperspace, their bay doors opening to release dozens of missiles that spiraled out towards a spread of targets. Unwilling to commit all their forces, The House of Strands had only elected to send back two cruisers to fight on Mon Calamari's behalf, but the pair of ships made themselves known.


In the skies above Mon Cal, battle was joined.

Emma and HC-42:

The Deepguard squad took a second to formulate a strategy, their reflexes slowed by the sudden loss of communication with the Central Command Tower.


That second cost them two droids.


The chassis of the unfortunate pair dropped to the slick, wet metal of the landing zone, smoking holes in their torsos, red photoreceptors blinking out.


The remainder of the squad, 11 Soldier units along with 2 Monitors, fell back


DG-O37A took command, the Overseer analyzing the situation from a small maintenance closet, reading the visual data from every Deepguard unit in the fight as his mind sorted through standard battle protocols for the optimal combat solution.




Classifying capacity of enemy combatants...


Weaponry [Light] + [Heavy] detected. [Marksman] detected.


Time to reinforcements == [Indefinite]




6 hours ago, DroidsAreUnderrated said:

HC-42 then started firing his heavy repeating blaster again, the intent being to put enough pressure on the droid squad's fortifications at the entrance. If the droids were smart, they'd duck behind their fortifications and not risk firing. If they were stupid, they'd risk damage by continuing to fire, and Sasha could easily hit a target once it popped up, even if HC-42's blasts didn't necessarily destroy the droid. In any case, it would buy enough time for Gwal and Leep to make it to their new position. 


"Gwal, Leep, now's your chance!" Sasha shouted as she too kept firing. This wasn't exactly like the simulations, but HC-42 had still applied some of what he learned to this. He especially remembered Emma's advice when they fought the Imperial Squire Berea in a surprise test: "Distract and flank!" So that was what he was going to do.


Defensive position untenable!


[Command]All units, fall back[/Command]


Another two Soldier models dropped as the remainder loped and leaped back through the open loading doors, rather than divide their attention between the rebel forces' twin fronts. Even as his squad retreated, DG-O37A continued his analysis.


Tactical Assessment: Enemy Force == [Trained] : [Disciplined]


Direct Confrontation == [Suboptimal]


Combat Solution determined. [Marksman] and [Heavy Weaponry] less effective in close quarters.


[Command]Activate (2) Pacifier Units reserved for Riot Control. Regroup in Primary Loading Bay. Form Defensive Position. Close Loading Door[/Command]


As quickly as the droid's mind could parse the data and send out the commands, the large doors that separated the loading bay from the outer platform began to close, slowly as safety protocols required it to.


The remainder of the Squad opened fire blindly out the closing door as they moved to new defensive positions inside the loading bay behind piles of durasteel plating, hoping to keep the rebel forces hesitant long enough for them to fortify on their own terms and turn the doorway into a killzone. The shooting withdrawal was textbook and efficient, but standard and uninspired, a maneuver any truly experienced commander could see through.


Deeper within the facility, two more Deepguard powered on. Silently, they began running towards the Loading Bay.


Alliera and Johan:

Navezz sniffed the air. The thin Kubaz had once gagged on the foul sewer air when he'd first arrived, but over the last few weeks his nose had grown accustomed to the stench. No one came down here. No one searched for the lost and the missing down here. Navezz and his crew were left alone down here.


Now he smelled something distinctly different. Something besides half-rotted, half-digested fish.




Navezz chittered, rising from the small, dry alcove looking over the river of sewage below him. From other alcoves, other Kubaz chittered and moved as they picked up the scent. Their words were rapid, but their excitement was clear.


People down here meant one thing.




After all...they were slavers.



Navezz and his band moved through the sludge and muck. They held simple, cast-plast clubs, chosen so they wouldn't spark even if they struck metal. They closed on the pair that had caught their attention...



The Iron Howlrunner dropped through the sky, rocketing over the city darkened in patches, and lit up elsewhere by the flashes of blaster fire.


"How dare they?" he hissed.


"Master, please state landing zone," the droid pilot chirped.


Apothos opened his mouth to say his home, but hesitated.


No. This was his world. He would remind them of it.


"The Royal Palace. Take me to the Palace. The King and I will have words."

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Kirlocca stood for a moment looking at the planet of Mon Calamari from the bridge of Misericordia as he looked out over the planet. He could feel the Force moving rapidly like it always did before a great battle. Closing his eyes and let out a heavy breath as he reached out and attempted to feel out where his padawans were. Both were eager to join in the fray, a trait he was a bit worried about. Although both did share some insight, that the Jedi Master choose not to speak up on as the awaited their time. After a moment of feeling them out, he sent a telepathic message within their minds. Remember the Jedi Code. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. We as Jedi are here to protect life. Trust in the Force and let it guide your actions to preserve peace and harmony.    Letting out another deep breath, he finally opened his own eyes. He turned and looked at Raven, whom was looking at him. He gave her a slight nod. 


<< Unlike last time, I promise... I will see you after this is over. >>


The Jedi Master gave her a bow now and turned and walked off the bridge and headed towards the hangar to join his two appretinctices, of which he was sure would be on the surface without and aid for a good hour. Hopefully he could arrive and help them before things all went down hill for them...

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      Alliera noticed the group of four first, her Nightvision outlining them well against the sludge and muck. The Mandalorian didn't wait for her fellow Padawan to act, and used her cable-line to wrap around the legs of the first, and caused him to fall into the muck when she wrapped her hand around the grapple line and pulled. The group came up fast as Alliera moved, she couldn't afford to use her blaster here, which means she had to get close. The Cable line retracted back to Alliera's gauntlet, just as she got to the second Kubaz and slammed the forehead of her helmet into his goggled, the goggles and head behind them recoiled as they weren't made of durasteel and Mandalorian. Alliera grabbed the club from his hand as it started to fall with her right hand, and used it and her free arm to break the arm of a third Kubaz, reversing the natural angle of his arm by ratcheting his lower arm with her hand and slamming into the elbow with her newly acquired beating stick. As the Kubaz with the broken arm recoiled, Alliera tossed the club to her left hand, and grabbed her Vibroknife with her right hand. Alliera buried her recently freed knife into back. The last Kubaz had stopped and was cowering at a distance, having thrown his club into a pile of sewage to show his surrender. The Kubaz with the broken arm was cowering against a wall, moving slowly towards his friend in the back. The one on the floor was just now getting up, and was looking at his friends and the MANDALORIAN almost on top of them. 


   To Alliera, she was almost at home. Slaver kriffeaters were easy to spot, they all the various greebles and things that marked them out, cuffs and drugs..... A Mandalorian Boot SLAMMED into the Kubaz' chest and forced him back down, he had been about to try something. The pitiful creature raised it's hands in surrender. It only made Alliera despise teh creature more, how many other people had tried that with slavers, only to get the cuffs and a lifetime of servitude....Alliera stopped. Something in the air, a gentle current was wrapped around her, cooling her down. These....things... had all the gear to show they likely never gave any creature mercy in their lives, but she wasn't like them, she was going to be a Jedi. Alliera was going to be better than the Dar'Manda that called themselves Noble Warriors and 'Proved' it by attacking a weak foe and destroying a planet. Alliera used her foot to force the Kubaz on the ground to join his friends as they grouped up in the distance. "Run, find other work." Alliera Said to the three survivors, pointing at them with the looted bludgeon "If we have to have to meet like this again, you may not find yourselves so lucky." The three ran, the one on the ground hurredly pulled up by the former slaver with two working arms, as Alliera pulled her knife from the dead slaver. 

Edited by MandaJetii
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Mand’alor, we’ve got incoming fighters…”


A swarm of crimson signature alerts played across the assassin’s HUD, a myriad of flightpaths all converging on her fleet. With a wave of her hand, the Blackmorne honor-guard had spread out their Bes'uliiks, arming concussion missiles and their countermeasure systems. Terra smiled as her mind passed to blessings and omens assured by her warpriests.


Thes’tuvar had cast the bones, scried the stars, and seen victory in the entrails. Her body shivered, remembering the symbols the priest had painted upon her naked flesh. It had been from a mix of ashes of a burnt Galek, mud from the Kelita, nectar of henbane, and her own blood, slit from her tongue. The revolting mixture had symbolized the homeworld of her culture, the strength of bersærkergang, and the words of Kad Ha’Rangir of which flowed from the mouth of Mand'alor.


A whispering chorus of discordant voices came from the Hades AVATAR connection, scattering her thoughts and warning her of the oncoming enemy. A pair of enemy missiles began to glow a deep scarlet on her HUD, indicating interception vectors, and the Mandalorian selected a simple chaff countermeasure as she calculated her upcoming maneuvers. The words of the warpriest spilled across her blood-flecked lips, mimicry of his trancelike incantations


“Gods crying… Wolves Howling… Jai'galaar shrieking… Giants sleeping…”


As red signals of the missiles grew so large as to take up most of her view, she pressed her knees into the saddle, and blinked a command that released a chaff charge. The Bes'uliik bucked as it activated its full reversal engine-block, coming to a full stop, and the war-droid and its rider watched as the missiles intercepted the Chaff which had taken on her vector, stunting the primitive missile targeting computers. The blossoming explosion dazzled the Mandalorian as she kicked the Bes'uliik into a spiraling descent towards the planet. Mand’alor let out an earpiecing shriek of war, for in the echoed explosion she had seen the shadow of the jai'galaar, her symbol of war.


Her guard picked up the cry, and soon all the Mandalorian fleet was filled with the shrieks of maddened frenzy. They had tasted battle on Fondor, and it had only whet their appetite.


The honor-guard of Clan Blackmorne doggedly followed their Mand’alor as she began a steep descent through the atmosphere, pushing their Bes'uliik to the limits of thermal control through the turbulent approach. Terra’s crimson eyes scanned over the insertion mapping for the Rebel Alliance assault. There was little time for positioning now, any Sith Lords planetside would need to be swiftly engaged or she would watch their head-bounties escape. 


Hades dove towards the reef-marked sea, his rider entranced by the promises of war. She let her emotions play into the wind, letting every Force User know of her presence. It was a most terrible wound in the force, a ravenous, raw thing that was barely concealed with the frenzy of the bersærkergang

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To the Death...

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Her heart beat like the thundering wardrums aboard the Mandalorian battlecruisers. As their mass drivers accelerated chunks of phrik and durasteel to something close to the speed of light, so fell the iron riders of Mandalore the Bloody. Chandrila they had brought low, its populace put to the sword, then they had been blown again by the winds of their mighty God. For Kad Ha’Rangir had called them to follow the weakness of the Rebel Alliance. To forge them in the fire of war until they shed their weakness or perished in the white hot flames. 


Ka’ Ha’ ‘Thra


The guttural calls of the Iron Knights filled her helmet as they followed Blackmorne toward the wine-dark sea. 


Kad Ha’Rangir would feast on their sacrifice.


Mandalore the Bloody would lead them again. For the Crusade was not over. It would never be over. 


Behold the Rose of Sharon is burning in the valley 

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Johan stepped from behind Alliera "well, always nice to be useful" he said sarcastically and gently moved the slavers body to the side of the sewer and shut their wide eyes. He would try to remember to come for their body should they win, if his companions did not do so themselves, few if any deserved to rot in a place like this.


Remember the Jedi Code. There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. 


He gave a start at the deep voice of the Wookie Master in his mind before trying to send back something close to an affirmative, and a general idea of their location.

"I don't think they were with the Sith, but we should pick up the pace regardless, I wouldn't mind stashing what we find and joining the battle proper" Johan moved from a brisk walk to a light jog as he tapped the other Padawan on the shoulder.

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He felt it. Inmortos felt the dark rippling of the force currents as soon as the Mandalorians burst into the atmosphere. It made him grin, a sickly smile of bloodstained yellowed and blackened teeth. It was a flavor long remembered, to when the Sith and warriors of Mandalor had bathed together in blood side by side. That dark fealty was a power few could command. Not in life at least. Inmortos cackled as he made a mental note to resurrect the dead shield maidens and berserkers at battle’s end.


For it was to be a battle. All around him, landing craft had rained down from the sky. Their steeled shells spewed forth legions of commandos unto the city, Apothos’ City, a City of the Sith! It had been fortuitous that they had returned, almost as if the force itself willed their presence upon this world; called forth to defend with dark savagery that which was theirs to claim. 

Looking to the sky, Inmortos could see the battle beginning to unfold above, the swarms of Mandalorian riders a herald for an unnatural pairing. Inmortos head whipped downward as if he could surveil in a glance. Children of the light, children of weakness, they were here as well. Worthy sacrifices perhaps?


With his eyes narrowed, the Sith Lord could see the beginnings of an assault across the massive duracrete field that made up the largest shipyards in the floating city. He stood amongst the warehouses and construction bays, but in the distance the sound and flash of blasters foretold of death. Inmortos licked his lips. Ah death.


With a wave of his gaunt sallow hand, Inmortos wordlessly directed twenty of his hundred undead lizard primitives to aid in the defense of Apothos’ divine sanctuary of finance, the unholy halls of Mon Cal Shipyards. Clad in angled blackened plate and mail, bearing weapons of medieval evil nature (spears, swords, etc) the diminutive lizards fell into a haphazard charge, their hissing battle cries heralding their chaotic advance on the men, women, and droids pushing against the entrance of Apothos’ sanctum.


Without waiting to see if his undead minions would succeed, Inmortos turned and approached the  nearest hulking enclosed ship bay, a rickety stair provided all the access he needed. With a thought he directed the eighty remaining kobold-esque undead to surround the structure. No access would be allowed, wilingly.


Hand over hand and step by step, the prematurely aged sorcerer ascended the rocking stairs, the winds beginning to whip his heavy robes about him as they began to grow and crescendo following the chanting rasp of the Krath’s voice as it formed ancient words that were carried forth by the wind and the tempestuous roil of the dark side.


Gaining the roof, Inmortos leaned into the wind, clasping his ithor wooded cane against the  howl. With steps as sure as the encroach of death itself, Inmortos walked to the center of the roof.


Once there, the Sith Lord’s voice rose as he threw back his head howling his accursed tongue unto the winds. His staff fell to the room with a clank as the Sith’s hands preoccupied themselves with repeatedly tracing profane sigils unto the air and wind, each born and carried forth into the darkening sky.


Across the city and centering upon the sorcerer, radiating out in etching arching bands of cold, the temperatures began to plummet. It would take some time, but soon enough even the seas that lapped at the city’s edge would begin to crystalize, frozen in the embrace of darkness, death, and eternity as the warmth was sapped from them.


Overhead, deep dark clouds began to channel themselves into existence, exploding exponentially over and over again with each unholy cast of Sithly magic. They began to poor forth sheets of driving rain that froze to whatever it clung to. The city that was bathed in darkness by the rebels own assault would fall even deeper into the black as the power of the Sith sought to block out the very sun. And still the temperatures fell and the winds howled their ethereal call.


Across the city, liquids began to solidify, fuels began to gel before solidifying in time.  Joints froze. Engines seized. Lives began to wither against the onslaught of winter’s beauty unleashed once again upon the city and world.


Still, Inmortos chanted; his words were torn from his lips by the wind. His body sho with the cold as it overtook him. He felt it. The pain of frostbite and beyond wracking his body. That pain drove him, focused him until he looked to be half mad with pain and dark enthusiasm, his frail body dancing in the wind as he traced the darkness of his soul unto the world before him. His cloaked ripped with rage against the frail being’s body, held in place against it’s will as it sought to free itself unto the grasping teeth of the wind.


In the distance, thunder pealed out in a chasing cacophony across the city; lighting raining down haphazardly without aim or cause. In centered locals, the wind s began to form themselves into grasping funnels. And all the while, the temperatures continued to fall.


Eventually the cold caught up with the onslaught of the weather and the droves of falling rain turned to sleet and then to snow. Driven like innumerable falling shards of glass on the wind, the snow carved farrows into anything soft and exposed.  

Bathed in the glow of dark side energies, Inmortos allowed any control of the storm to supersede him as he poured forth energies into the blizzard.




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  Alliera said nothing, only lightly rubbing Johan's Shoulder to comfort him. She continuing following the Path through the sewers towards thier target, not thinking about the chill that started to set in. What did grab her attention was the feeling of a great darkness, of evil itself manifest. "All the better reason to stay down here Johan." Alliera said, as she kept leading the way "Our Master will have to deal with whatever did that..." The pair continued through the sewer, as the world got colder and colder, not understanding what just happened. When the Sludge under Alliera froze, then she noticed the temp, turning on her Thermal Vision, only to see wave after wave of air that got colder and colder...they were already past freezing, and it was getting worse. Alliera backtracked, practically grabbing Johan and dragging him with her. They found a Manhole cover, and Alliera climbed up the ladder, and tried to open it. The cover didn't budge, it's natural weight was aided by the increasingly strong layer of ice in keeping the sewer's current occupants contained. Alliera thought for a moment, could she use one of her weapons...but remembered that Methane's condensing point wasn't coming until Johan and her would be long dead. The Force also came up as an option, but that was disgaurded, they were both trainees with no experience, the odds of them moving the manhole were shoddy at best, and that was if the force favored them...the sheer evil she felt earlier made her question that... 


Alliera climbed down from the access ladder. "No go, it's stuck." The Mandalorian said, looking around for an option.... before coming across the Bags, the bags with Detonite... Alliera dropped her Detonite bag, and even threw her personal block into the bag. Alliera told Johan to drop his own bag, which she then tossed beside the other one, with both open. The other bag was left as well. "Run towards that alcove, I'll be right behind you!" Alliera said, quickly setting a detonator on the top most Detonite block, knowing from experience that the extreme kinetic force of one going off would set off the others...and that all would set off the Methane. Alliera then ran after Johan, and almost tackled him when she came into the alcove. "Tell Master I'm sorry I couldn't learn more." Alliera then clicked her detonator. The Blast was intense, as the the merest spark from the first detonite block set off the methane, and the rest didn't matter. 


The initial blast rocked the Mon Cala Shipyard building, and carved a massive hole into the street. The Entire city started to shake then, as Methane went off throughout the entire sewer system. Toilets, sinks, drains, bathtubs, and showers...these became great gouts of fire, or were destroyed outright. Streets and buildings over sewer lines collapsed as the pressure of the blast went up through previously blocked manholes that became vast crevasses that swallowed their victims whole, almost like Urban Sarlaccs. It only lasted a few moments, but the damage was vast, covering the whole city and reigning destruction wherever it was. 


When Johan opened his eyes after it was all over, he would find himself huddled against a wall, with Alliera leaning on him. "...Would you believe I didn't necissarily plan to live through that?" She said, pulling herself up with a groan of pain "Lets see if that stops the cold, and try and salvage something from this mess..." 


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"KRIFF, YOU DAMN FOOL!!!" Johan practically roared and slid Alliera's left arm over his shoulder and after a moment of fumbling had his blaster in his off hand

"Yes i can believe you planned to die in that, armor or no your going to need to be soaked in Bacta, if not put in a damn tank when this is over" He stared at the massive hole and could feel a sense of loss, he didn't know if they were mostly Sith or civilian but more then a few had just died

"well that should be distraction enough, and we don't have the detonite for the heist even if you were in any shape for it. were leaving" Johan said and winced at the burns on his own body, dragging his companion towards the nearest hole that looked like they could climb out off, wearily eyeing the smoke for signs of the battle restarting after the blast.

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"Hey! I was trying to save your life you di'kut." Alliera spared back, as she accepted his help and pulled out her one of her Westars with her free Arm "I agree though, we must have done enough distracting with that bit, so lets get the Shab out of here." Alliera lowered her Targetter and readied her pistol.

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As he dragged her out of the sewers he spotted and lit a flare on her belt and pushed her behind a near by speeder- the front half of one that is -and tossed the flare on top, switching the blaster to his right hand and flicking on his buckler. he heard clanking and watched as a few droids (battered but still active) and began turning the corner and he roled behind some rubble sending a trio of bolt towards the droids, 1 missing, another glancing off the armor of one and the last hitting a damaged portion of the same ones left arm, its arm falling limp in a stray of sparks.


"Karabast" he bit out, he had picked it up from a Lasat on Dantooine. not important right now. he counted 7 droids, all DG-series including the one now one armed soldier. 6 soldiers total and a Exemplar in the back. 


"not good, even my thermal dets wont get through that things armor easily" 


he flew into a flurry of shots rolling between cover and blocking shots with the buckler. 2 shots hit the lead soldier in the head and it fell, slowly. he saw the damaged one look over towards Alliera, her foot was sticking out "Kriff" he shot out of cover, half trained force pre-cog flaring as he tried to dodge the shots of the last soldier and the short burst from the exemplar and slammed to back and tossed a shot at its chest before it  flung him back towards the rubble near the speeder. he got up, tossing a glace at Alliera.

Edited by Johan Fae
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Alliera pulled herself up, to where she was looking over the speeder, and threw her Pistol at him. "It's a newer Westar, it'll hit harder." Alliera said, grabbing the E-22 that she still had with her and opened fire on the damaged droid with a disciplined three round burst. Unlike the lighter bolts, the heavy blaster bolts of the E-22 slammed into the damaged droid, and sent it crashing to the ground. Alliera quickly hit another, which caused it to fall as well. After that Alliera ducked, dragged Johan back to her with a yowl of pain, and tossed a Thermal after she brought him into her cover. 2 were destroyed in the blast, with a third suffering some damage. "Sorry we couldn't rob a Sith Lord..." 

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The squad of soldiers dropped down beside Emma as she landed on the decking behind HC. He was performing optimally with his squad and she let herself feel a moment of pride that she had been at least a part of his military training. Or as much as one droid could be to another. Perhaps it had been as helpful as his initial flash programming,  but those were extra thoughts. Data that she could not spare as the blaster bolts began to fly. 


And the…. the world around her began to grow very cold. 


Sith magics no doubt. 


“Turn the ship and give us backwash from the engines. Fire up deicing protocols.” 


The U-Wing pilot reacted immediately, her cybernetic unit feeding her the data before Emma even spoke it through the net. THe U-wing rotated and the light repulsor engines bore down on the two squads of rebel soldiers. Enough to buffer them, but more importantly, to keep them warm enough to function.


Thermal flaring from grid Echo two.


The data came in from one of the linked star destroyers, an emergency flare had just popped up from the source of the sewer explosion. 


“Pilot pick them up, we are pushing in.”


The U-Wing spun again and sped to the two downed Jedi Apprentices and Emma brought her blaster up.


“Push into the tunnel. That will take us out of this storm.” 


She looked at HC, and motioned him to engage the coming mass of undead. They could afford to push in out of the direct cold, and if not, they would deploy their heavier weapons. 

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Johan shot a grin at her "This will make a pretty good story to" he slipped the DC-17 back into his holster and shot the last soldier once with the Westar, droping it. he tried a few shots at the exemplar but between the lack of accuracy due to its return fire and the Duranium armor the shots did almost nothing.

"the Westar's Kriffing fantastic but this clanker is more of a tank then the old Supers from the clone wars" he said as he dropped into cover and handed the pistol back.

"think the saber is the only thing that will take it down, the therms will eventually but we only have so many and we may drop the rest of the street if we use any more then that last"

he slid over the cover and strafed from side to side, occasionally blocking with his buckler and once slamming aside one with the now active saber (and it nearly hit his leg as he defected it improperly) the last 2 shots struck him but hit the thigh and breast plate of his armor, stopping them if barely

"Argh!" he cried and rolled into the hits, cutting half through the blaster arm and stumbling back as a small explosion occurred. He they threw up the buckler in response to a cry from the force and took the swing of the droids baton on his shield, shoving it back and making some room, saber raised.


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he stepped left to avoid a thrust and stepped forward with a high Shii-Cho strike, which was narrowly blocked by the droid. It was good, not trained Jedi good or anything but better then it really should have been. Johan traded a few more blows with it, ending with a shield parry to the side and striking out at its elbo- DODGE

he flung himself back as it brought up a fairly slow but powerful snap kick. 2 could play at that game. on a whim he darted forward and to his right around another swing of its baton and forced the heh FORCE into his right foot and slammed into the baton arm just below the baton, biting back a cry at the stray bolts hit his leg. the buckler met the droids receptors with a crunch as he continued the spin and the saber came down on the arm where his foot just was. he danced around the follow up kick and a final thrust ended the battle

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As the blizzard came upon the squad, HC-42 noticed that Gwal, Leep, and Sasha began to panic. Hordes of undead reptilians began charging toward the area. HC-42 had no idea these kinds of forces were at play, but was determined to complete his objective nonetheless. Sasha didn't sound as enthusiastic, however.


"First those damn droids, and now this! We can't possibly hold out!" She said as she fired on the lizards, her sharpshooting abilities allowing her to incapacitate several.


"Squad, this is a mere setback. These reptilians may be undead, but they're primitive. I calculate they will melt away soon as long as we keep the pressure on them."


"I don't think 'melt' is the right word in this weather. Also, what about the droids? They're shutting the entrance, we need to act soon if we're to compete our objective." Leep said.


HC-42 pondered this, but soon calculated a way to get the squad to their objective. It wasn't textbook at all, and was risky, but had a chance of eliminating a lot of resistance if successful. The droid took all of his available thermal detonators, and tied them together. 


"Sasha, you and I will concentrate fire on all droids and reptilians guarding the entrance to cover Gwal and Leep! Gwal, I need you to charge to the closest droids and reptilians and engage in hand to hand combat! The intent is to distract them. Leep, charge toward the door firing all the blasters, use your cybernetic legs to gain speed and to jump over obstacles, then when close enough, arm the thermal detonators and toss them through the entrance! Then run back here, taking out as many enemies as you can on the way! If we succeed, the thermal detonators should neutralize all the enemies inside!" 


The squad didn't have time to argue the strategy, so they instead took a moment to do a group hug that made HC-42 uncomfortable. He played along, however- it may be the last time he sees his squadmates, should his strategy fail. 


When the tenderness was over, the squad started doing their respective duties. HC-42 began firing his heavy repeating blaster at all enemies guarding the entrance, with Sasha sharpshooting any that were missed. Gwal then charged to the nearest enemy and pummeled it to the ground with his thick cybernetic arms, before shooting it while it was down. He then engaged another, picking it up and tossing it in the path of enemy fire, killing it. He then grabbed two, using them as shields against enemy fire. Leep was already making good progress. He used his signature "blaster kata," as he called it, to mow down any enemies that were quick enough to notice him charging amongst the chaos. When he was close enough to the entrance, which was almost closed, he armed the detonators, and rolled them underneath the door. He bolted back the other direction, ambushing confused enemies with blaster kata along the way.


Gwal was starting to get overwhelmed when Leep came back and took out a few enemies for him. The rest got mowed down by the heavy repeating blaster that HC-42 was firing. 


And then the detonators... well, detonated.

Edited by DroidsAreUnderrated
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Mythos panted as his speed began to increase, the bipedal Shistavanen now crossing the threshold on all fours as he shifted gears. His ears shifted atop his head as he heard the sounds of persuit, but paid little heed. His part was done and as darkness fell over most of the city, Mon Cal's liberation had begun. He only hoped his escapades caused little inconvenience for the planet's natives.


Above Mon Cal, drop ships began dropping like fire and brimstone across the canvas, the Rebel Alliance intent on freeing the oppressed with hostile intent. Like the hammers of heaven, they screamed across the upper atmospheres and laid a crimson trail of fire in their wake until they slammed across the city's surfaces like judgement, SaberCats at the helm. Operatives of MoonCall, their Colonel the infamous Mythos Von Howlster, they were trained to be the ultimate culmination of both the Imperial Remnant and Galactic Alliance Forces under the Rebellion's banner. And Mon Cal would soon see their might.


In the Pleasure Sector, Green, Altos, and the others were making their way to Mythos. With communication down and now the darkness falling over the city, chaos would erupt and they knew that they had to act fast against the ensuing mechanical oppressors. As riots erupted and drunkereds stumbled across retaliation, bursts of automatic weaponry and surges of ionic blasts favored salvation for the unfortunately sentients that found themselves at the blunt ends of the Deepguard Droid's malware. Their jobs may have been to regroup with the Colonel, but none could stand by as Innocents were terrorized.


Throughout the city, Squadrons of SaberCats and other Alliance Forces engaged Deepguard Battle Droids with vengeance. The SaberCats, engulfed in modified Katarn Class Battle armor with the infamous hilts of Lightfoils dangling from their hips, were a force to be reckoned with, even for Sith Lords. This was Mythos' intent, not only as a Colonel in the Rebellion, but from his years of experience as a Alliance Marshall as well. And here, on Mon Cal, they were designation was to hinder and cripple to opposition and clear a path to the Royal Palace. There, Mon Cal's Liberation would be paramount.




Meanwhile, hidden in a vault of the old shipyards, a Dark Soul began to stir and drift upon the currents of the Force. It's intent, a body to possess and let it's will be remembered.

Edited by Mythos
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After looking through everyone’s actions for the last few days, there are a few matters that need to be addressed with regards to MandaJetii’s and Johan Fae’s actions: in a combative scenario such as an invasion on an actively-defended world, it is required to give an opponent at least three days to respond before continuing to post. Violating what we call the “Three-Day Rule” has the potential to result in your actions being nullified, but as Johan Fae’s and MandaJetii’s actions have been primarily conversing with each other, we are going to stop at just warning both of you to be mindful of this rule in the future.


More significant is the detonation of explosive charges in the sewers by MandaJetii, leading to the destruction of a sizable portion of a Mon Calamari city through a chain reaction of exploding gases. This is an atrocity that would cause the loss of many thousands of innocent lives if the results of these actions are accepted as posted. As a result, we are going to significantly curtail the damage caused by this detonation. It is very reasonable to assume that this detonation has caused severe localized damage, including injuries to those who have set it off, demolition and loss of local power, gas lines, industry, and other infrastructure. It is not reasonable to say that this has sparked a chain reaction throughout the entire city. Again, this is a combative scenario with an active defender, and it is a breach of RP rules to post “closed attacks”: that is, posting the damage suffered by your opponent. The precise damage that has been inflicted to the city is to be determined by your opponent, Krath Apothos.


And lastly, the moderator team wishes to express their dismay at the recent disruption on the Discord server. We call JediRP a “Collaborative Storytelling Community” for important reasons. Player vs. player combat is a unique feature of our community and every player should be prepared for their best-laid plans to be foiled in combat--but we thrive on friendly communication and coordination between players. This is true even and especially when our characters (who may hate each other’s guts in-character) are doing their best to kill each other. Heated exchanges and starting fights over a matter of a scuppered battle plan will not fly. Battle plans will fail again in the future, and while that’s always frustrating, we hope that a future conflict on our Discord will not ensue.


We will do our best to ensure that all storylines are able to continue satisfactorily. From here on out, all players should abide by the Three-Day Rule to give all other combatants the opportunity to react in this ever-changing situation. As we have issued a warning, any future violations will result in actions up to and including removal from this scenario or temporary bans, to be determined by the mod team.


------ObliviousKnight and the JediRP Mod Team

Edited by ObliviousKnight
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Terra and Rose:

The anti-aircraft guns that locked onto the Mandalore and her coterie opened fire, but the guns had never been designed to stop something as small, maneuverable, and quick as a the honed and terrible Basilisk droids. Gunners uselessly cried out reports of the incoming threat into the downed comms, the Central Command Tower deaf to their warnings.


As Apothos' Iron Howlrunner docked at the upper, gleaming balconies of the Royal Palace, he sat still and quiet in the dark of the hold. His head jerked around as the emotions of something rippled through the air like the shockwave of a seismic charge. To his Dark Sight, the Force twisted and knotted at the touch of such anger. Could it even be called that? Not anger...frenzy. Madness.


Beneath the black cloth that hid his face, he smiled.


"I remember you..." he whispered into the darkness, to no one in particular. "You stole from me. Kessel..."


The ship docked with an audible chung and the outer hatch opened. Apothos descended, his Emperiax throne carrying him down in a rhythmic beat of tink tink tink.


"This world is mine..." he said to himself. "Take it from me if you can."


Krath Inmortos:

As the first whispers of Krath Inmortos' dark sorceries began to permeate the air of Coral City, Apothos's chair stopped, halted by its master's will.


Apothos...had felt this before.


His smile widened. His chair returned to its brisk pace, entering the palace and moving through it towards the throne room.


Power. They would see the power of the Dark Side soon. Let them see what a world in the hands of the Krath could hold. What it could turn loose.


The thought made him pause. Turned loose, this power would hamper his own forces as well. Deepguard were designed to handle underwater combat, and they could take a wider array of temperatures than most battle droid models, but the storm Inmortos had conjured last time he'd been here had well exceeded those limits. Apothos droids would continue to function for a time, but if this took long they would be locked down as surely as the living soldiers. And communications were down, so his commanders had little recourse but to hold out where they were.


The path of the walking throne shifted as it now took the neimoidian Krath upwards, towards the peak of the palace's central spire. As he ascended, he thought a command to a squad of Deepguard, scouring the palace for intruders if appearances were to be believed.


Bring the king to me. Immediately.


Carried on the power of his mechu-deru, the command was absolute. Code changed and protocols shifted to accommodate the all-consuming directive.


"Yes master."


Apothos barely heard the acknowledgement, his throne having moved past them and up towards his goal.


The final door whooshed open at a thought from Apothos, and he stood at the peak of the palace. A massive spire, the top was spread out into a magnificent balcony, large enough that it must have held press events and socialite gatherings at one point. The space however was not what Apothos was after.


At the center of the balcony, rising still hire, were a series of antennas and dishes, shivering in the rising, chill wind. It was the palace's communications array. Designed to broadcast to the entire city, as well as receive deep-space transmissions in bulk, it was the eyes and ears of the royal family. Unfortunately, it was crippled as every other communication device in the city, with network still down thanks to the rebel hacking and losing power to half the city in quick succession.


Apothos had no intention to use it as it was however.


He extended his hands, and began to chant. The array shuddered...and began to shift.


Emma, Johan, and Alliera:

Manhole covers burst up, fiery plumes illuminating the darkened streets as they spread from the point of impact. Pavement cracked, and in several places the street caved in completely, dropping into now open tunnels with a cascade of debris. As the explosions sent violent pressure waves through the tunnel system, old overflow systems tripped, and floodgates dropped down to stop what it perceived as a deluge of water from submerging the rest of the sewers. The explosions rocked up to the barriers and battered at them, leaving them scorched and sizzling hot...but intact.


Apothos' home, once the main office of Mon Calamari Shipyards, still stood, though a careful eye might have detected the barest hint of a lean in the once perfectly perpendicular structure. Inside however, was another story. Toilets, sinks, and drainage lines had burst throughout the facility drenching expensive carpets, pantries stocked with exotic foodstuffs, and galleries of foreign art in fishy, smelly sewage water.



DG-O37A felt what may have been pride, or maybe relief, if his model-series was capable of such things. The doors were closing, and if the shouts from outside were of any indication, reinforcements had arrived.


The rebels had no way in here. If they rushed, they'd be cut down in the kill zone. If they hesitated, they'd be trapped against the door with whatever reinforcements had arrived.


Potential opposing combat solution determined. Standard tactic == [Explosives deployment]


DG-037A only briefly analyzed that possibility. Even if they had explosives, the standard estimated yield of one such device would never-


Something rolled under the door.






Multiple detonators.


Estimating explosive yie-


The thought never came to completion. The explosion rocked the base, blowing back the fortifications and sending the Deepguard droids who'd only just before had been arranged in a semi-circle around the door flying back in pieces.


The door screeched and squealed, but it stopped its slow descent. The explosion had bent it outward, and now it simply shuddered in place as motors struggled to force it down.



DG-OG13 was furious. It had not realized it could feel such a thing, but this Shistavanian had kindle something in its mind.


This was his fault, DG-OG13 was sure of it. Armed insurgents had popped up in the Pleasure District, gunning down droids even as the squads there tried to regroup. DG-OG13 could now only feel the datalinks of the other Overseers, and even then only the ones nearby. The Central Command Tower wasn't transmitting, and the logical, precise droid could see the pockets of chaos forming all across its sector. It enraged it.


Even now, it committed more and more droids in pursuit of the Shistavanian. It would catch him. It would make him-


Incoming transmission. Priority override code.


Impossible. The network was still down...



King Halargo struggled. The king's girth had subsided in recent days, and his skin had taken an unhealthy, pallid tone that now hung loose off of him in places. The king's "voluntary" seclusion had taken its toll. But even so, he struggled.


It didn't amount to much. The pair of Deepguard Exemplars hoisted him effortlessly up the stairs, his wild kicks and shaking barely fazing the strong droids.


The door opened, and the unnatural chill hit Halargo like a rolling wave. It drove his breath away, and his lungs stung as he sucked in more air, the cold already spreading through his body.


Before him was Apothos' throne, facing away from him and towards...


Halargo stared. The communications array...or what had once been the communications array, stood stark against the floodlights ringing the building. It still resembled its orginal self to a degree, but now the antenna jutted out at strange angles, fusing and twisting around each other in an aesthetic usually reserved for abattoirs and abstract artists. Cables had ripped themselves out of the floor and reconnected in new, tangled weaves. And where before dozens of status lights had blinked erratically as data poured in and out, now they all pulsed slowly. Softly. Like a heartbeat.


The throne rotated, metal legs skittering to keep it level, and Halargo was brought face to face with Apothos.


The king recoiled. He'd not seen the neimoidian in weeks, but this thing was entirely unlike the neimoidian who'd threatened him before. This creature was withered and twisted, something that should have died long before it reached this state.


"Your majesty," Apothos' raspy voice came from somewhere under the black cloth hiding his face. "Your city...betrays you."


Halargo shivered in the chill, wondering how Apothos could stand it. "My people would never betray me."


"They have sided with the invaders. You have sided with me. And so, they have betrayed you."


Halargo struggled to move, but the droids still held him firmly by the shoulders. In the end, he only spit in Apothos' direction. The phlegm crackled as it froze on the floor.


"My mistake. Then, you have betrayed me."


"I was never yours. Neither was this world, and never was its people!"


"...You are brave.


But wrong.


Take him below to the dungeons. Have them break him. He will serve."


Apothos' chair turned, and the droids dragged the king from the terrace, kicking and shouting.


"You won't win!" He screamed. "My people have hope! We have pride! You can never own us!"


If Apothos heard, he gave no indication.


Now to work.




All across the city, the communication networks were down, hacked and disabled by expert rebel tech. The only communications still running in the city were the datalinks of the Deepguard themselves. Boosted by the Overseers, they allowed a squad to function as a unit even at range, but served poorly as a city-wide communication system.


Unless someone used mechu-deru to transform a large communications array into a single, giant Deepguard transmitter.


Across the city, Deepguard paused as new links formed in their minds, connections across the city networking into a single, cohesive weave of data. Overseers were suddenly sharing enemy troop counts, squad positions, combat solution analyses, and more. Squads that had been fighting separately suddenly shifted position, joining up in singular waves that drove back at the enemy attackers, caring nothing for the units they sacrificed to push their beachhead, strategic arithmetic dictating which droids would die to take the next block.


Apothos watched the flow of data through the perception of his mechu-deru on the array. He gleaned where his troops were, what sections of the city they had lost, and where they were pushing back.


It is time.


His thoughts extended once more, and new set of commands spread to his mechanical troops.




The Deepguard did not stop fighting. They gave no indication they were even aware of what was happening to them. Yet, in perfect unison, every Deepguard in the city began to shout in one voice.




At the remaining powerplants across the city, the Deepguard units that had rushed to protect them from any further attacks received new orders. Levers were thrown, and the city was plunged into absolute darkness. Every house went black and silent. Every street was engulfed in shadows, only the echoing sounds of battle and the howling of the icy wind breaking the stillness.




A new command issued to every Deepguard, both those in combat and not.


[Priority Command]Withdraw to nearest structure capable of defense. Fortify and hold position[/Priority Command]


Deepguard locked in combat suddenly began retreating, firing to cover their escape as they broke and ran. In the residential districts, the various squads invaded the most secure homes they could find, indifferent to the confusion and fear of the residents, unless one decided to fight back. Others found banks, factories, and other sturdy businesses. And hundreds withdrew into the Royal Palace and Apothos' now flooded home. Yet even as they ran away, one last message rang out from their vocabulators.






On the edge of the city, something wet, cold, and pale grasped the edge of the dock. Ungainly and stiff, it pulled itself from the water that was already forming a layer of slush. The cold meant nothing to it. It was already dead.


Warmth. Life.




It could feel them. It wanted them. It needed them.


Its jaw, once the fishlike mouth of a mon calamari, now hung only by strips of half rotted flesh. Tears and black rot painted stripes across its otherwise pale corpse. Clouded eyes stared hungrily into the city.


Its master was there. His power saturated the air.


Blood had been spilled. Anger, hate, and fear...so much fear...it could taste them on the wind.


It lurched forward, stumbling at first, then breaking out into an ungainly, loping run down the street, lurching and scuttling like some crustacean that had lost half its legs.


Behind it, another corpse rose from the sea.


Then another. And another.




All around Coral City, now dark and quiet save for the fighting and the howling storm, the sea boiled with the dead. They crawled onto the docks in pairs, then in scores, then by the hundred.


A tide of death rose, and it sought to consume the city.

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Inmortos danced. His body flailed about almost as if he were possessed. The cold winds tore at his robes. The razored snow and ice tore at his flesh leaving infinite furrows against his pale taut skin. It did not blossom a rosy red against the onslaught of cold. It could not. The Sith Lord was becoming one with the storm, his own body encased in an aura of cold timeless death. Still he danced on.


His rooftop perch was swept free of the droves of snow that fell sideways from the sky, carried by the force of the maelstrom. In the distance thunder cracked and rolled, it’s own power unchecked as it rained down flashes of firey power from above.


The winds blew. The weight of the darkness of the force Inmortos’ only anchor against being swept downwards. Ice accumulated across any surface it might cling to even momentarily and snow began to drift in deep dunes of crystalline power wherever the wind deposited it to lie.


And yet, Inmortos danced on, pouring more and more power and hatred into the storm. He hated these fools who thought that these worlds were worth saving. He hated they they sacrificed their lives so wantonly for something so mortal. He hated the Sith domination. He hated the rebels. He hated the overlords who ground his parents into oblivion. He hated the very idea that this could happen to him. He feared it and reviled it and that gave him power. He raged in anger at the waste this battle created; that it tore him from the one thing that mattered, eternity. His emotions fueled his dance. His frostbit fingers carving their unholy sigils into the biting wind. His words torn from his mouth and lungs to fuel the feast of immortality the storm carried upon it’s fronts. The blood and ichor that seeped from his wounds blossomed into icy shards binding the sorcerer to the storm itself.


He was the storm. He could not be stopped until all that he hated had been cemented in ice, ceased in their tracks to be redeemed by his own hands in death.



The undead soldiers that Inmortos had ferried with him from his burgeoning fortress world stood guard; sentinel statues amidst the chaos. Their undead muscles froze and solidified in the cold. They felt no pain. They did not shiver or seize. They stood. When the time to move would come upon them, they would quake and snap. Pain that would fell a living thing was nothing to them. Broken limbs and torn muscles were merely a hindrance to be overcome.


The twenty undead lizardfolk progressed asa barbaric mass against those assaulting the slowly closing doors. The hissed and cries and bit and clawed and struck with their fanged metal weapons. Driven back and knocked down by the overwhelming firepower of the rebel force, they kept getting up, dragging deadened limbs or crawling forward with their hands, raging the whole time. The only way to stop them would be atomization or destruction to a point that they flopped on the ground, no longer a threat. They felt no pain, their vision burned red with the master’s will: destroy.


It was the gift of their god. Their will for no more pain, no more loneliness, no more death. Elevated above their mortal peers to demigod like status back on their homeworld.


The assault pressed forward unhindered even as an explosion rumbled in the building behind their prey.


Even when the ground opened up swallowing some of them, there were no cries of pain, no whimpers for mercy. Instead they clawed their way out, burnt and smoking, focused on the hunt.



Elsewhere about the fringes of the city, the sea gave up her dead without question. Long since having crawled forth from the depths, summoned by profane powers, the long dead of Mon Cal surged forth, oozing, shambling, and even crawling. Some carried ancient and not so ancient weapons akin to their time of death; many advanced empty handed, hans clawing for flesh and anything that got in their way. Their skin and sinews hung as ragged as the remnants of their clothes.

They came and they kept coming, clamoring up the city sides and across the ice. Wheb the ice broke beneath their crush, the fetid remains of Mon Cal, Quarren, men and women, and more pressed on and up. They were called by a darker purpose and they would not be denied. They were the dead of Mon Cal brought back unto unlife. Pain did not hinder them. Cold and loss of limb were but a hindrance to be overcome. At the city’s edges they pressed and inward they drove en masse, ransacking anyone and anything in their paths. Locked doors gave them pause, but even then the crush of their weight was enough to overcome but the greatest of security measures. Those unfortunate enough to be caught in their midst and grasp were devoured and destroyed until their mangled bodies rose upon the necromancic energies that radiated from the swarm; joining their undead kin.



The pipeline explosion shook the structure Inmortos’ used as a perch. He was so lost in his neurotic dance that he hardly noticed, stumbling only to right himself and continue to throw himself into his profane ritual.


((OOC NOTE: Both the blizzard and the undead horde are environmental hazards brought to bear in the environment that is the battlefield and skies above and seas beneath.

The NPCs that Inmortos brought with him are not environmental , but are simply flavorful NPCs.))




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  • Esterhazy changed the title to Mon Calamari/Dac
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