Oh Lazarus, how did your debts get paid...

[Dark child]

Afann
The lost city of Damash...

The decrepit city lay in ruins. A testament to it's past, but also it's present. Buildings and streets stripped of everything that they had once been by wars fought long ago. Damash was a shell. It's corridors felt empty and hollow, as if the inhabitants who had once dwelled within it's homes still could be heard, whispering in the ears of travelers, telling them that the surrounding desert would offer more solace.

The tribals had not abandoned the city. Xanthier himself had insisted on hunkering down beneath it's crumbling walls. What remained of Damash was strong, hardened from many battles which it had weathered over the ages. Here in the ruins, perhaps they stood a fighting chance. A small band of nomadic warriors against the Imperial Legion.

The irony remained, that these would-be band of rebels themselves had allowed a man almost as cruel as their enemy- a darksider who was nothing more than a minuscule parasite which had incubated and festered within the grotesque body of the Empire for years until he forced his way through it's thick hide like an insignificant maggot crawling towards freedom. A man known to himself as Xanthier and to sympathizers of the Empire merely as a rabid dog whom should have put down long ago.

Tainted with darkness by those who held him captive, Xanthier sees only one truth, one purpose. The Sith remain an incurable disease. An infection which cannot be combated, only slowed. As inevitable as death. Yet he will forever continue to fight them because without conflict he is without purpose.

~~~~~

"Get up."

Growled Xanthier, feeling his covered fingers wrapping around the tribal's jaw to grab the shaken man by his neck. Instead of lifting upwards to bring the warrior to his height, Xanthier crouched lower, until his grey eyes were exactly at the same level as the warrior's before slamming the man's head against the cracked wall of the deserted dwelling which the phased warrior had slumped against. The faded brass helmet of the tribal clanked as it connected with the wall. This swift jarring movement was harsh, but hopefully it would be enough to bring the tribal back to full consciousness.

"We're moving behind the wall. Now."
Xanthier uttered the last word through clenched teeth, forcing the man's head to look towards the direction of a crack in a half crumbled wall not far away, rubble strewn about from were a small section of it had caved outward, leaving a crack just wide enough for a body to slip through. The tribe's understanding of Basic was poor at best, and he had grown tired of trying to break the language barrier. Hand signals and simple commands were the only reliable means to communicate with the tribals who called themselves the Kamasi.

Leaving the tribal to decide his own fate, Xanthier let go of his jaw and began rushing towards the gap in the wall himself. He had no time to unify the stragglers who had not yet made it back to the city. Even now, the distant roar of thrusters on Imperial drop ships could be heard coming from the direction opposite of the wall he ran towards.

Ducking through the crevasse in the wall, Xanthier took one last glance towards the dunes.

Several members of the tribe were still running across the sands on foot. Desperately trying to reach the wall in time, their sandal clad feet kicking up tiny puffs of dust in the wind as they descended towards the town as fast as their legs could carry them.

Xanthier knew it was too late. His grey eyes remained fixated on the top of the dune for a brief moment, almost glazing over as he watched the first of the pitch black dropships appear over the crest.
He had brought this upon himself, along with all those that followed him into the city. The Empire had the power, the means, to turn them all to ashes, to level the forgotten city with bombs. He had gambled with their lives in the hopes that the Empire would behave as he thought they would.

Concealed within a pouch affixed to his belt was a slender glowing cylinder, the size of a death stick. It's contents unknown, but the darksider was certain of one thing- the Imperials wanted it back, badly. Only three hours had passed since it had come into his possession. Three hours since he had looted it off the still warm corpse of a dead Imperial during a counter raid on a secluded Imperial base concealed within a canyon several clicks North.

The Empire's forces had materialized when their raiding party was nearly home. It was no secret that the remnants of the Kamash tribe had holed themselves up in the ruins for months, the Empire simply lacked the manpower to take the worthless city. It held no strategic position and neither did the planet. A barebones emplacement of troops and several research stations were all the Empire deemed Afann worthy of receiving. Subdue the local populace and secure subjects for required tests were the Empire's primary objectives on the surface.

This did not sit well with the tribes.

Since the arrival of the Empire several months back, the nomads have fought with more resistance than ever anticipated. With Xanthier to guide them, attacks have become vicious, increasing in frequency and Imperial casualties. The darksider's knowledge of how the Sith operate has rendered many viable strategic maneuvers useless by the tribe's ability to counter and retreat to familiar ground.

So why now, as the black haired man gazed across the dunes which stretched off towards the horizon, had the Imperials decided to send all the troops they could muster towards the town when they could easily have resorted to strafing runs? Xanthier hoped it was because of the object in his belt, because if it wasn't, he would be nothing more than a pile of smoking remains come dawn.

Never breaking off his gaze on the approaching dropships, Xanthier clenched his fist, slowly raising it above his head, and in one swift motion he brought his arm forward, two fingers pointed towards the ships. The signal to fire.

Chunks of the broken city flew through the air, launched by trebuchets concealed throughout Damash in horizontal streets which had been obscured from the Imperial's viewpoint. Pieces of stone, statues, and the remnants of pillars and arches hurtled towards the fleet of Imperial dropships.



OOC:

This is a thread for Sith, Imperials, and possibly an Indie or two, check it out in more detail here.

​

 

[DraconicPsycho]

Phyxsis held his sabers in his hands as he awaited the dropship to land. He felt several junk balls approaching the ship at a fast pace. This feeling became reality as the drop ships shuddered and evaded the balls to approach the LZ. Their squad was quite motley crew, made of a comedic moff, an ace pilot, and a bloodthirsty, emotionless, sith marauder. Phyxsis cared not for the politics of the fight or of the planet. He cared about killing and conquering. And flaying. He turned to his colleagues and wondered why such a ragtag group was dispatched here. The dropships approached the LZ and began landing. Phyxsis grabbed his sabers and prepared for a fight.

 

[The Good Doctor]

Flying his personal X-58 'Zioist Hunter' Starfighter, Alister Blightwing is making his way towards the the lost city of Damash. Flying in a formation alongside the dropships. The caustic Sith Marauder declined to be dropped in a dropship. This reason is two fold, because the smaller profile of his fighter would mean that there are less people shooting directly at him. Second is because Blightwing would rather not trust anyone but himself with his own life. He were to go down, he would rather do it with him being able to do something about it rather than dying because of someone else's mistake. As Blightwing was flying towards the drop site where everyone else would be landing, he was evading huge pieces of debris from what it looks like from the city itself that would be heading in his direction. Alister's piloting skills aren't that great, but with the slow moving projectiles, the agility of the Zioist Hunter let him dodge anything that might hit him. If basiclly throwing rocks is the best these guys can do, than this mission should be pretty easy for the Angel of Death. Once Blightwing gets towards the drop-site before the dropships do because of the higher speed of his fighter. He goes a little further before hastily landing his craft, but not by much. So that the dropships would be able to land in their designated positions and so the Sith Marauder could get a little closer to the action.

He is ready, the objective is clear. On Blightwing, he has his standard equipment: His venomous lightsaber, 2 firespray weapons, 2 Venom grenades, his dart rifle with extra dart ammo, a holdout blaster just incase, a medkit also just in case, and a lastly datapad. There are some research facilities, they must have some important stuff. He wonders if there is anything interesting. Lets not forget his intimidating black and dark green armor either.

Alister proceeds to exit his craft, he draws out his lightsaber with the sickly green glow, but not ignited, yet. Looks like all they did was one wave of debris being thrown from primitive catapults. What is their next move he wonders. But nonetheless, let the show begin.​

 

[Shax]

Afaan, not a world Volken new much about, but Grandmaster Tyris had sent him here to bring the Church to the natives. He had found a few recruits, lured by the promise of a better life off this rock and the chance to be welcomed by their betters. The Tribesmen especially were susceptible to the lure of the church, they were a superstitious bunch and a simple display of the force was often enough to win them over. He had struck a deal with the chief of one such tribe, should he assist in the defence of Damash against the Imperials, the tribe would swear its service to the Paladins. So Damash is where he went, Volken already had a dislike for Imperials, lead by darksiders known as the Sith. He had had enough of the Blackguard for his lifetime, and the Sith were just them with a different coat of paint.

When he had arrived he met up with the local resistance, offering his aid while simultaneously preaching about the Church of Mortis. Unfortunately it wasn't too long until the first wave of Imperial attackers began their assault, which was repelled handily, as it was just a small force. It was soon after this that Volken met up with Xanthier, the man who apparently led these rebels in the defence of the city. They stood in stark contrast, Volken in his pristine and maintained colourful armour, and the Darksider in his fittingly dark foreboding armour.

Immediately Volken would have attacked the man, it wasn't hard to tell what Xanthier was, but he had made a deal with other better men, and he was compelled to honour that deal. So he fought with the man, and had to respect his ability as more scouting parties of the Imperials ranged too close to the city. It had been about four days since Volken had arrived at Damash and he and his armour was dirty, dented and battered. he was several meters away from Xanthier as he gave the command to fire the hidden Trebuchets in the streets, Volken was sitting behind cover, reading his bowcaster for the oncoming assault, while extending his song-steel lance to its full height in challenge to any who would face him. "Xanthier! I recommend we fight together, will you be my brother for this battle?" Volken's tone was sturdy, commanding and confident, his helmet was yet to be placed on his head so he could talk freely, the expression on his face was completely serious, he didn't want to go into battle without someone of ability at his back.

 

[Dark child]

Xanthier lowered his fist. The first barrage crashed against the fleet of warships like waves against a rockface. The sound of the impacts deafening. Stone upon stone collided with the drop ships's energy shields, cracking under the immense pressure. On the dunes outside the city chunks of the boulders rained down, and Xanthier watched helplessly as one of his warriors was crushed under the falling debris.

Passing through the rocks as they fell to the earth below was a single Ziost starfighter. It dodged any large pieces crashing down around it with ease and slowly descended towards the West of the city.

Through it all the black ships remained triumphant, an impenetrable wall it seemed was heading straight for the city. Xanthier's spirit dwindled and the black haired man turned to ready the city for the impending assault. He had only ran but a few steps when a high pitched whine filled the air. Glancing behind him he saw that one of the black metal personnel carriers on the left flank had suffered a blow to it's starboard engine. The craft was now desperately trying to right itself and regain control, but it's altitude was simply too low. Pushed to the right by it's single remaining engine, the ship began to drop drastically, headed directly towards a section of wall some sixty meters to the left of where Xanthier had taken cover just moments before. Smoke billowed from the starboard side of the ship, and Xanthier took off running again several seconds before it's eminent impact. The roar of flames could be heard behind him as he ran further through the narrow streets covered in sand, beneath archways, and past dried fountains. In the eastern courtyard he had hoped to find his most competent Kamashi warriors, but instead, he found the holy man from Sanistus.

Xanthier despised religion. It's practices were foreign and irrational. He was a zealot, steadfast in his own beliefs. The darksider knew how the Paladin viewed him, yet he had let him stay. An enemy of the Empire was an ally, no matter how vile or distasteful their views.

The tribals liked the holy man, they followed him, listened to his preachings. They saw kindness in Volken's eyes and coldness in Xanthier's. The black haired man had shown them how to obtain victory on the battlefield at all costs, but afterwards he was distant and unapproachable. The tribals wanted to praise him, but Xanthier didn't want their praise, he wanted obedience, and the best way to do that was to command it. He knew nothing of compassion, the Empire had driven it out of him long ago. The Paladin promised the tribe peace, understanding, and empathy through his actions, and although nothing had been said, the tribe was now divided over who deserved to lead the Kamash.

Several days ago this had sickened Xanthier, and it was part of the reason he had taken the best warriors to lead the attack on the nearby Imperial base a day early, leaving Volken in charge of the city in his absence.

Brother, he had called him...

Funny, how Volken did not truly see him as his equal but still acted as though he was a member of Mortis. Xanthier had only one brother, and that man was Mirdala Priest. There were no blood ties between them, but Mirdala had treated him like a proper human being, without judgment or damnation. The Mandolorian had seen him for who he was, not who he appeared to be aand therefor he commanded Xanthier's respect. Far more then this so called knight ever would. But if one cannot trust their own allies then they are not worthy of having them. Xanthier was glad Volken was here without a doubt, and despite how much he hated to admit it, Volken had proved to be an invaluable strategist since his arrival. A slight smile found it's way to his lips as he finally processed just how formal the Paladin could be, even in the midst of war.

"Did you pray for me?"

Xanthier's grey and yellow eyes gazed at the songsteel lance briefly before returning their attention to Volken's face.
"Where are Dramás and Kolta?"
He asked in a more serious manner, one which even had a hidden tone of demand beneath it. They had been his most trusted and reliable warriors.
"If the Empire ever came to Damash I told them to meet me here. We don't have much time. They are already landing in the southwest."


​

 

[wristclerk]

"The great war machine was awoken. For too long had the Empire ignored the Way-Landers of Afann stood against the might of the Empire!"
​

"Sheesh, this guy can drone on for hours... ca-lick!" Frankie turned off the incoming comms link from the commander back at base. How the hell would he know what was happening on the battlefield at the moment? Two transports had just been taken out by chunks of rock and building. Both crashed and burned, at best the soldiers in there are crawling away with maybe six weeks in bacta. "Squad! bank right, go around the city. Teams A and E are already on the ground at the West access point."

The three trooper buses slowly maneuvered to the East wall of the city, covered by Frankie's Zeta Squad Cadet crew. "Another transport down with the main onslaught, lets get these boys to safety and then provide support from the air.... Zeta 2 watch out!" The Interceptor was pulverized by a flying boulder from the enemy forces on the ground. The flaming hunk of metal spiraled and crashing into a building shortly after destroying the foundation of the already ruined building, causing it to crumble to the ground. The small squad of three remaining interceptor quickly flew over the landing zone making sure it was clear for touch down.

The intense whining of the interceptor engines rang out through the sand dunes and into the city streets. Perhaps striking fear into the Empires enemies, though for the pilots it only served to give them confidence beyond measure. The three interceptors, Zeta One, Zeta Five, and Zeta Three made their first strafing run. Raining hell fire down upon the city. Not really sure if they were able to hit anyone as the first run was mostly a speed run. "Squad form up on me. Concentrate fire on the outer perimeter of the city. Make the locals retreat further in!"

Zeta squad was able to make several runs over the southeast embankment of the city. From the dizzying heights of the Interceptors the pilots were able to see several small figures running for cover. Another strafe run with the three of them they were able to destroy two trebuchets. However Zeta Three's wing was clipped harshly by a piece of debris, sending the interceptor spiraling out of control into the city streets and exploding into a fiery mess of metal.

 

[Infintus]

My first battle alongside the forces of the Empire, it won't be my last.

My beautiful Infiltrator is large but it's fast

These petty tribesmen are below my brothers and sisters in war, let's hope I don't get shot down on my way there.

"Inquisitor Varian here, I'd like air support and cover on my way down towards the city, the fire up here is heavy, *EXPLOSION* you would please obliterate those force forsaken air guns or whatever is shooting at me, send me the coordinates to the command center!" I irritably demanded.

All I hear is static and murmurs from the commanding crew on the ground.
"Sir.. make.. way.. to... Blightwing" the officer unknowingly revealed.

I just realized my comm link transmission is being cut from all the constant spinning and flying I've been doing.

I need to get in contact with Blightwing.

"Blightwing my Lord, can you hear me? If you can, please send me your coordinates as soon as possible." I desperately plea.
@Faster Than Light

 

[Shax]

Volken smiled warmly, there was no sense being hostile to your allies when threatened with impending death. "No Xanthier I did not Pray for you, I figured you wouldn't appreciate it, would you like me too?" It was a genuine question, Volken had prayed for everyone here, except the man in front of him. Who knows where it would lead if Xanthier said yes? Xanthier asked in a much more serious tone, probably relating to the battle at hand. "Kolta took it upon himself to ready the rest of the tribe for combat, I saw him head towards the arsenal. And Dramás..." Volken jabbed a thumb over to a pile of rubble "The wall came down on top of him." Volken let sadness enter his voice, before looking back up at the darksider.

He stood up, strapped his bowcaster around his back and retrieved his Vibro-lance before walked over to Xanthier. With a completely serious tone, and an almost pleading face Volken says "Though I must ask again, will you be my brother in this fight? I don't want to face death alone." Volken extended his free hand so as to propose a handshake.

Volken tried to meet the eyes of Xanthier, though he was distracted by fighters soaring overhead, obviously targeting the trebuchets. He saw a few land further into the city, probably piloted by special forces or advanced shock troops. Volken waited a few more seconds in case the darksider had any intention of accepting his gesture, before turning away to retrieve his helmet. He placed the ornately designed piece of armour on his head, before turning back to Xanthier "Shall we go to the landing sites of those fighters? Dropships? Or should we check on the tribe?" Xanthier had been here far longer than Volken, so it seemed that he would know more about what should be done in order to properly defend the city, therefore it was prudent to let him take the lead.

 

[The Good Doctor]

After Blightwing exited his Zioist Hunter. He proceeds to move towards a street to the right side of where he exited his craft, and after encountering a 4 way cross road, he took a left turn onto a smaller two lane road. His intention is simple, to avoid a huge slugfest between the two forces. He doesn't care that some of the transports got hit by those rocks back there. Not his problem. Those fools can have their own barbaric slugfests out on the main roads, but Blightwing intends on bypassing as much fighting as possible, looking for the more... important people behind enemy lines, like the commanders. Once he finds those important people, he will... do things to them. Might not involve killing, but if anything it will be worse than death he can assure you.

Now quite a distance past the main landing zone and off on the street to the sides, he keeps on moving forward at a brisk pace. Not too fast, he wants to give the Legion cannon fodder a chance to move out. On Blightwing's end he doesn't see any of the opposition yet.

"Blightwing my Lord, can you hear me? If you can, please send me your coordinates as soon as possible."

"What? Who is this?" the caustic Sith Marauder asked. Who is this person? Blightwing stopped where he was, wondering who that was. That person on the commlink sounded like he was in distress. Annoyed by the static he was getting and relative loudness, the Marauder got on his datapad, touches a few screens and send the coordinates through the same signal that person is using the contact Blightwing. He was being paranoid of his surrounds so he doesn't get ambushed while he can't defend himself. He uploaded the coordinates. If he doesn't have an appropriate output to receive the data, that's his own problem.

"Now, where we were we. Ah yes! " He muttered to himself, he faced himself back in the direction he was going. He then moves forward at a walking pace. He still has his lightsaber in hand ready to ignite for when he finds trouble at a mini-seconds notice. Once he gets where he wants to be, he will watch from the shadows, and make his move.

 

[DraconicPsycho]

After a rough ride, Phyxsis' transport hovered in an LZ hidden to the trebuchets. Phyxsis hopped off of the transport and turned on his comms. "Phyxsis to Frankie, i have a transport going back into orbit. Make sure it gets back in one piece. Phyxsis out." He then quietly walked through the city towards the soldiers he could hear. On his way to the attack zone, he heard a worried voice. "This is Alpha one-two-seven. Ive been seperated from my squad in an evasive maneuver. I need directions back." New prey, phyxsis thought. He lurked and tailed the soldier until the lost man reached a dead end. Phyxsis made clicking noises with his mandible and wings, trying to alert the soldier. "W-whos there?! Come out with your hands up! Do it or ill shoot you!" Phyxsis quickly went behind a market stall, which the soldier was in front of. Phyxsis made a louder buzz with his wings, which startled the soldier. He approached the front of the stall slowly and carefully, with his gun raised. When he reached the stand and looked over it, a large, insectoid hand came out and grabbed at the soldiers neck. Phyxsis ignited his right saber and cut the soldiers gun in twain. "Tell me where the rest of your squad is. Now." The soldier looked terrified and was on the verge of crying. "I-I don't...*sniff* i got seperated..Please dont kill me. PLEASE! NO!" Phyxsis threw the soldier to the ground and pointed his saber at his chest. "Are you familiar with the name Phyxsis the Flayer? You will be." With one fluid motion, Phyxsis thrust his saber into the young soldiers body, making him cry out in terror. Phyxsis began to saw through his body from his neck to his midriff. Phyxsis put his saber away after unigniting it. He put his hands where the edges of the wound were and began pulling them apart. In an instant, the soldiers outer layer of skin was in phyxsis' hands. The screams got louder, alerting those within 50 meters or so. Phyxsis stomped on the soldiers belly, piercing through the muscle and bone, and silencing the screams. "I thought he'd never shut up." Phyxsis sarcastically stated as he threw the skin over the mans body and walked away to the center of the city where he would meet with the other soldiers.

 

[Infintus]

After at least thirty minutes of breaking into the atmosphere and passing the air defenses my ship hovered above the town market, right next to a church, the hatch opens and a swarm of breeze strikes me in the face, almost like cold water in your sleep, I am almost knocked onto my behind till I clutch onto a handle on the side, I regain my wits, analyzing the battlefield, soldiers scrambled everywhere, they don't notice the ship due to them being rushed into position, these men aren't Imperials, they are my enemy, these militia almost look like Republic swine with that armor and gear, "R7, take the ship into the Imperial blockade" I demand. I look around again, looking for the nearest hostile, I spot him just below me, perfect.
I throw myself out of the ship, it felt like a lifetime falling down, I was so eager to fight and kill, I shut my mouth, trying not to breathe in too much, as I fall I un-sheath my saber, I am falling head first, and my blade lies down straight, I flip, and twist as I finally reach my mark, I steadily land on my knee and left hand, my blade held in a 'edge in' stabbing motion, my crimson blade inches away from the back of my head, I hear the air leave the victims lungs, a man, I cut cleanly through his trachea, you can hear the struggle for air as he lands on his knees, he leans to his right side and flops like he had no bones. The sand and fire is getting out of control, peoples home aflame, corpses plague the streets as Imperial blaster fire flushes through militant defenses, both sides getting pulverized.

I regain my posture, and lean behind a stack of crates. I contact Blightwing and his assigned team.
"This is Inquisitor Varian, I may have put myself in a dead zone, I will try to prevent the militants from gaining any ground whilst I make my way to you, Varian out."
After saying my bid on comms I sneak up on a barricade, the hostile forces clueless of my presence, my blade still ignited and in hand, I throw it, dropping at least three men, all cry out in shock as they are struck down prematurely, I brashly pull the saber back, clutching it and igniting it, the raw buzz of its power courses, blaster fire rains upon me as I am surrounded by at least eighteen foot soldiers, all non-reluctantly spraying bolts at me, I connect my spare blade to my lightsaber and twirl and spin and struggle, trying to maintain foresight as all this occurs, a few shots manage to pass my defenses and land blows into my shoulder and rib, my shoulder armor absorbs the shot, my ribs begins to bleed, I double my efforts because of this, at least seven men are killed by their own or their fellows shots, another sevens legs and arms are obliterated, or minimally injured, the men on the roofs and closest to me are forced into hiding, I take cover, pulling a metal rod using the force, I burn it using my lightsaber, this will help stop and clot my bleeding, I gently rub the metal against my wound, I can never get used to pain.
They yell commands and sentences I can barely hear, blaster fire and explosions echo throughout the town, children weep as parents or adult strangers are riddled, more than a dozen blaster holes in each of them, others suffered a far more terrible fate, some bled to their demise, others detonated and burnt.
I look at them, unswayed by the joys of war, I walk down a alleyway, the force guiding me to my destination, my saber raised in a vertical line, slightly leaned forward, my other saber held in an 'edge in' clutch, behind my back, I smoothly walk as memories and feelings of pain are remembered and felt from the casualties and their companions.

This is your gift, feed on it, let it give you power my father whispered, I feel like my energy is sapped and I feel as if I am sleep, my eyes are wide open however, I know it.

Snaps of the present and past, and the supernatural are spiraled, I see glimpses of my battle with my parents, my movements mirroring the battle, a large assembly of innocents stand before me, in a desert, huts well built, with children laughing and playing, their siblings, parents and friends, or others would join them.
Kill them..
Kill them now..
Kill them all..

Snaps of my father marking me and whipping me are seen, no remorse for his actions, nor happiness, he's not even there.
I look down at my sword, as I was given during my 'trials', I want to drop it so bad, I thought having my rightful place would be easy, I look back at my innocent adversaries, some greeting me and others suspicious and backing away, they should've ran. Blood drains from my scars as I shut my eyes tight.
I raise my blade and slash ferociously, one by one or one by threes they would drop, out of my view, blood flying opposite ways and intersecting post modem, the lovely laugh of happiness is converted to the screams of pain and fear, the parents fought back, trying to save the children, even the eldest siblings, others tried to reason, I still hear their pleas, and the cries of newborns.
So much for a killing machine, this is war nor power, this is savagery.

My thoughts are cut off as I end up in the face of Blightwing, my eyes uncontrollably wide, my frown maximized, and the blood from my scar dripping, he looks somewhat concerned, I look behind me, a carpet of blood trails back to where I came from, hostile forces lay dead, their limbs and blood scattered across the nile, some survived, being dragged away by friendly troops, cuts and bruises laid onto them, cuts and large holes in the walls and objects nearby are more than few, I don't bother to count them, I lost track of my kill count years ago. A few friendlies lay with them, some were killed by the enemy, the majority of them.. by me. I fall to my knees, nauseous from my experience, I again look upon Blightwing, I await his judgement.

@Faster Than Light

 

[Dark child]

The unmistakable wraith-like sound of Imperial Interceptors circling the city signified to all within it's walls that death had indeed come for every last one of them. It was time to fight, for the Imperial Legion had no mercy, and neither did the black haired man.

The words spoken by the Paladin weighed heavily on Xanthier, not because he cared for the warriors, no, his reasons were far deeper and more selfish than that. Xanthier knew Dramás was capable of leading the Kamashi to victory. The tribe had viewed the proud warrior as their strength, unfaltering and fearless. Now crushed beneath a pile of rubble still visible in the distance, Xanthier's prized fighter was now just another edge they had lost against the Empire. Once more Xanthier's fist clenched tightly, straining the fraying material of his left glove. He wished to blame Volken for what had happened, even now, with the dust still settling on from the collapsed wall and Dramás's still warm body beneath, he knew that he could not. Dramás was brave. It did not surprise Xanthier that the warrior had died waiting to ambush the Imperials and deal the first blow. The two of them might have even shared the same fate had Xanthier arrived sooner.

The Knight before him strapped his bowcaster to his back. Volken's expression was grim. Xanthier could tell that the man had seen conflict before, the young man's eyes held a certain sadness within them, that there was no glory to be had in battle. His tone much more sincere, Volken extended his hand as he spoke, a silent contract, a code of honor among knights, a chance perhaps, to make amends between the both of them.

Xanthier looked the knight in the eyes and extended his own right hand covered by a tattered glove to meet Volken's. His left hand was now limp at his side, no longer clenched into a fist, the anger he had felt slowly passing, but instead of shaking the hand of the missionary, he pulled Volken closer, giving him a rough pat on the back before speaking. Xanthier knew nothing of most customs, but Mirdala had greeted him in such a way many times.

"This will not be the end."
Neither hushed nor spoken with force, Xanthier said the words with confidence, as if they were beyond doubt.
He then released Volken, turning his attention to the West where the lone Imperial fighter had landed as the knight went to retrieve his helmet.

"We will meet them head on before they have a chance to fully dig in. Test their strength. If they break, good. If not, we pull back towards the heart of the city."

He said in response to Volken's question.

By now, the knight had donned his helm and was ready to set off.

"Circle round the West courtyard, I will head South through the market and meet you at an intersection some distance above where the Imperials are landing. Gather any Kamashi that will follow you and get any remaining crews off those trebuchets, the ships are too close now. Trouble may find me, and if it does do not wait for me to arrive, bring your men in my direction and attack from the rear."


​

 

[wristclerk]

"Zeta 5 come in this is Zeta 1. I repeat, come in Zeta 5 this is Zeta 1, Dammit Corso come on! This is Flynn to Zeta 5 over!" Frankie circled around the crash site of Zeta 5. He was taken out by one of the last trebuchets in the southern sector of the city. The wing had been severely damaged and Corso lost control and crashed into a market street, but slid into an old building after the crash land in the market square, causing some rubble to fall onto the ship. It hadn't exploded, but no sign of Corso had been seen yet.

"Command, this is Pvt. Flynn of Zeta squadron. My team has been taken out, I am the last Interceptor above the assault. Landing teams Alpha, Baker, Echo, Fox, and Kilo are deployed. Waiting on further orders, over..."

Nothing but static came over the airwaves of the comlink in Frankie's interceptor. Strange, the savages shouldn't have any sort of technology to jam our frequencies. However, just as she thought of this she looked to the top left hand corner of the cockpit and noticed that she had been hit. Not with anything major, but enough so that her comlink antenna in the ship was disabled. "Blast it! I got fried." All of a sudden a barrage of blaster bolts came from the ground. She was flying low enough so she could see the ground without too much difficulty, however the tribesmen were also able to shoot at her, although it was sporadic and poorly aimed, there was enough ground with enough coverage to fry more of her systems when she was hit. The ship started to buzz and whir at her. The twin ion engines began to smoke and the left wing of her interceptor was failing. After a few more hits to the wide undercarriage of the Interceptor the starfighter was practically gliding through the air at that point. Sirens began to scream, alarms were going off, the dim red lights of the cockpit were now an almost blinding white light so the entire console was lit up.

Frankie's interceptor bounced off the side of a building, damaging left wing even more, however also causing some rubble to fall to the streets bellow. She wasn't slowing down enough, but if she played it right she could ricochet off the buildings to slow her down so that she could land with the ship still intact. But during war... plans never go the way you want them. The ship was hit with a hard crosswind after clearing a few taller buildings. the interceptors right wing clipped the edge of a building she was too close to and sent the ship spiraling into the streets. However the ship snagged itself into a wall, although barely hanging on, it stayed put for the moment, half in, half out, hanging over a deadly fall. Frankie lucked out and crashed into a building that hadn't fallen apart just yet.

She raised the cockpit latch above her. Smoke filled air instantly greeted her. She grabbed her pistol and holstered it before the ship started to shake unsteadily. Frankie climbed out as quick as she could forgetting anything else left inside the ship, she was just concerned with surviving at this point. She jumped from the top of the interceptor to the open hole in the building the wing had made. Safely landing, just in time too as the ship was too heavy for the buildings walls to support. The ship detached itself from the side of the five story building and fell to the war torn streets bellow, exploding in a fiery mess of heat and metal. The only word that came to her mind was, "Damn..."

 

[Shax]

Volken nodded to Xanthier, his words were comforting, even if they came from a darksider. His plan was better. While Volken may have disagreed with splitting up he understood the tactical reason behind it, there was troops scattered all over the city, and they needed to be organised. He raised his arm, bringing his lance to his forehead in salute. "May your battles favour you, Xanthier." It was a simple goodbye, but he felt the man would appreciate it more than one of Volken's more customary farewells.

With that, he took off, headed around the west courtyard towards a few trebuchet emplacements. He moved at a full sprint, he had his lance in the crook of his elbow, while at the same time carrying his bowcaster in both hands so as to be ready to fire when needed. He passed a few men, who he called out to or gestured to in order to get them to follow him. Many of them looked like they had given up hope, but they followed because they knew they couldn't stop fighting. He reached the trebuchet emplacements, only to find them destroyed by fighter strafing runs. Several blocks away Volken and his men heard the cries of a man, a man truly terrified. Volken knew the scream well, it was the same scream that the Blackguard elicited in their methods.

Volken motioned for his men to follow him, and they took off towards the screams. They were nearing the area when the screams reached a crescendo and were abruptly silenced with a wet slap, followed by loud gurgles of a dying man. The group rounded the corner, too see a gruesome scene some seventy-five feet from where they stood. A man appeared to have been vivisected and then ripped apart, but he was still twitching, still alive. Volken moved quickly, he covered ground fast and stood twenty feet from the man. It was obvious he was going to die, he was left to suffer at the hands of evil, Volken without hesitation aimed at the mans head with his bowcaster and fired a shot, ending the mans miserable life. He looked back to see his men did not follow him, some had outright abandoned him. Turning back to the mutilated man, Volken said a prayer, asking the Maker to protect and love the man in death.

He called for his men to head towards the location Xanthier had indicated, before turning towards the stink of the darkside. The area was permeated with the smell of evil and Volken had to simply follow it. He moved at a brisk pace, towards the centre of the city, until he arrived about forty metres behind a grotesque alien. He didn't know what it was, but it left a trail of blood in its wake, and Volken knew that it was wrong. It was wearing strange armour, fitted to form around its owners unique structure. Volken briefly thought of calling out a challenge, but he had long since abandoned that idealistic notion. Instead, he planted his lance in the ground, bit down on the leather strap in his helmet, and aimed carefully at the aliens back, before firing off two bolts.

(OOC: hooray! first shots fired. If anything needs to be changed let me know. I know I atleast will probably need some coaching through some of the more important stuff. @DraconicPsycho )

 

[DraconicPsycho]

Phyxsis was a good 80 meters away from the body before he heard stomping towards him. A group of soldiers had just caught him. Phyxsis heard two blaster shots fired at his back. He quickly side-stepped to avoid them. He ignited his sabers and turned around to find someone with a bowcaster aiming right at him. Without a moments hesitation, he flew up to a rooftop to try and evade the troopers. They all gave chase, following where he had gone, but the trail went dark. Phyxsis was lurking in the shadows of the buildings that were being searched. He found two soldiers lurking underneath furniture, searching containers, etc.
He jumped out from cover and quickly chopped a soldier in half. The other replied with cover fire that was easily deflected. Phyxsis kicked the soldier down and seperated his head from his neck in one fell swipe. He began his escape once more, Running through buildings and killing men. @Dawnrider

 

[Shax]

The alien was being attacked from two fronts, from behind, where Volken had arrived, and forward, where his vengeful tribesmen had disobeyed orders in order to try and kill this evil alien. Unfortunately, it didn't just go down with the shots Volken had fired at it, this immediately indicated to Volken that the Alien had some kind of sensitivity to the force. Not many beings could simply dodge blaster bolts when they didn't know they were there. The Alien extended its wings, and flew to a nearby rooftop. Thankfully the rooftop was low, and Volken and his men could still see the being before it disappeared into the building. Volken called out to the grotesque alien, in a commanding and arrogant voice "Come fight me you blackguard! Do not slink in the shadows like a coward!" Volken put emphasis on the words blackguard and coward, hoping to taunt the beast into a duel.

Instead, his men gave chase. Volken prayed for them as they entered the building in search of the beast, and the prayer increased in volume as he heard the deaths of his men. It was a bastardisation of the Paladins code, produced with zeal and volume that Volken hoped would carry across the city, and he used his limited force ability to amplify his voice "FACE THE WICKED WITHOUT FEAR! SHOW PURITY IN THOUGHT AND ACTION! SERVE THE MAKER WITHOUT FEAR! AND THOU SHALL HAVE VICTORY!" His Master and the other Paladins would probably have frowned upon such use of the code, especially when changing around the words and core tenants. But it had a profound effect on the tribesmen, at least in his area they were inspired to fight on, and Volken could only hope that the Imperials could hear the challenge.

Volken waited outside the building, he knew his men were being slaughtered but he could not help them. By now the alien would be in prime position to strike him down easily should he enter, which left Volken one option, wait, and keep preaching. He readied his bowcaster and watched the building, all the while calling out prayers and religious condemnations. It was only until he heard the last man in the house stop screaming that he stopped amplifying his voice. Thankfully he didn't need much effort in order to amplify his voice over the relatively small distance of the city, leaving him in an almost pristine condition force wise. Though if he used any more of the force he ran the risk of serious injury. Volken didn't let up on his natural volume, which carried far enough to be heard from blocks around, he once again challenged the beast inside the ruined building, calling out angrily and impatiently "I will not tolerate your presence on this world any longer COWARD!" He hoped that by taunting the Alien, it would make mistakes out of anger during their eventual confrontation. @DraconicPsycho

 

[The Good Doctor]

OOC: Reacting to this post as per @Dark child

Spoiler

After at least thirty minutes of breaking into the atmosphere and passing the air defenses my ship hovered above the town market, right next to a church, the hatch opens and a swarm of breeze strikes me in the face, almost like cold water in your sleep, I am almost knocked onto my behind till I clutch onto a handle on the side, I regain my wits, analyzing the battlefield, soldiers scrambled everywhere, they don't notice the ship due to them being rushed into position, these men aren't Imperials, they are my enemy, these militia almost look like Republic swine with that armor and gear, "R7, take the ship into the Imperial blockade" I demand. I look around again, looking for the nearest hostile, I spot him just below me, perfect.
I throw myself out of the ship, it felt like a lifetime falling down, I was so eager to fight and kill, I shut my mouth, trying not to breathe in too much, as I fall I un-sheath my saber, I am falling head first, and my blade lies down straight, I flip, and twist as I finally reach my mark, I steadily land on my knee and left hand, my blade held in a 'edge in' stabbing motion, my crimson blade inches away from the back of my head, I hear the air leave the victims lungs, a man, I cut cleanly through his trachea, you can hear the struggle for air as he lands on his knees, he leans to his right side and flops like he had no bones. The sand and fire is getting out of control, peoples home aflame, corpses plague the streets as Imperial blaster fire flushes through militant defenses, both sides getting pulverized.

I regain my posture, and lean behind a stack of crates. I contact Blightwing and his assigned team.
"This is Inquisitor Varian, I may have put myself in a dead zone, I will try to prevent the militants from gaining any ground whilst I make my way to you, Varian out."
After saying my bid on comms I sneak up on a barricade, the hostile forces clueless of my presence, my blade still ignited and in hand, I throw it, dropping at least three men, all cry out in shock as they are struck down prematurely, I brashly pull the saber back, clutching it and igniting it, the raw buzz of its power courses, blaster fire rains upon me as I am surrounded by at least eighteen foot soldiers, all non-reluctantly spraying bolts at me, I connect my spare blade to my lightsaber and twirl and spin and struggle, trying to maintain foresight as all this occurs, a few shots manage to pass my defenses and land blows into my shoulder and rib, my shoulder armor absorbs the shot, my ribs begins to bleed, I double my efforts because of this, at least seven men are killed by their own or their fellows shots, another sevens legs and arms are obliterated, or minimally injured, the men on the roofs and closest to me are forced into hiding, I take cover, pulling a metal rod using the force, I burn it using my lightsaber, this will help stop and clot my bleeding, I gently rub the metal against my wound, I can never get used to pain.
They yell commands and sentences I can barely hear, blaster fire and explosions echo throughout the town, children weep as parents or adult strangers are riddled, more than a dozen blaster holes in each of them, others suffered a far more terrible fate, some bled to their demise, others detonated and burnt.
I look at them, unswayed by the joys of war, I walk down a alleyway, the force guiding me to my destination, my saber raised in a vertical line, slightly leaned forward, my other saber held in an 'edge in' clutch, behind my back, I smoothly walk as memories and feelings of pain are remembered and felt from the casualties and their companions.

This is your gift, feed on it, let it give you power my father whispered, I feel like my energy is sapped and I feel as if I am sleep, my eyes are wide open however, I know it.

Snaps of the present and past, and the supernatural are spiraled, I see glimpses of my battle with my parents, my movements mirroring the battle, a large assembly of innocents stand before me, in a desert, huts well built, with children laughing and playing, their siblings, parents and friends, or others would join them.
Kill them..
Kill them now..
Kill them all..

Snaps of my father marking me and whipping me are seen, no remorse for his actions, nor happiness, he's not even there.
I look down at my sword, as I was given during my 'trials', I want to drop it so bad, I thought having my rightful place would be easy, I look back at my innocent adversaries, some greeting me and others suspicious and backing away, they should've ran. Blood drains from my scars as I shut my eyes tight.
I raise my blade and slash ferociously, one by one or one by threes they would drop, out of my view, blood flying opposite ways and intersecting post modem, the lovely laugh of happiness is converted to the screams of pain and fear, the parents fought back, trying to save the children, even the eldest siblings, others tried to reason, I still hear their pleas, and the cries of newborns.
So much for a killing machine, this is war nor power, this is savagery.

My thoughts are cut off as I end up in the face of Blightwing, my eyes uncontrollably wide, my frown maximized, and the blood from my scar dripping, he looks somewhat concerned, I look behind me, a carpet of blood trails back to where I came from, hostile forces lay dead, their limbs and blood scattered across the nile, some survived, being dragged away by friendly troops, cuts and bruises laid onto them, cuts and large holes in the walls and objects nearby are more than few, I don't bother to count them, I lost track of my kill count years ago. A few friendlies lay with them, some were killed by the enemy, the majority of them.. by me. I fall to my knees, nauseous from my experience, I again look upon Blightwing, I await his judgement.

@Faster Than Light

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What? Why did...? After managing to get a sight of this other Sith managing to leave a trail of the tribals along with a small number friendlies he killed a majority of. He was alerted to this by the sounds of blaster fire among other things. He shrugged as this guy is most likely going to be a liability from here on out. Guy looks like a loose cannon. Something should be done, first he wants an exclamation for this. He went to Blightwing's face and then got on his knees. Good boy, now Blightwing then turns around, takes about 10 steps forward and then swift turns around. "You fool! What do you think you are doing?" Blightwing said with a livid tone. He then extends his left hand at Varian with his palm out, quickly squeezing on it, attempting exert the force to grip Varian's throat. The vile Sith has no love for the troopers, to him they are cannon fodder, but cannon fodder is supposed to die to the enemy so the important people can do their work, not die to the people on the same side. Alister Blightwing still had his saber in his right hand just in-case he countered it somehow or tries anything else ... hasty.



@Dark child

 

[Dark child]

The will to rule. A lust for power. The Dark Side thrives in all who seek these things. The Sith, by an extension of their unquenchable greed known as the Empire, send droves of men and women to their deaths in the name of control. The peace and security they seek is not for the galaxy, but for themselves. By conquering all known worlds they hope to find satisfaction. An end to their desires.

Xanthier knew that the Sith would never satisfy these cravings, nor find peace. For he knew, that even if they ruled over every planet, held every city, controlled every leader, they would not stop there. The hearts, the minds, the souls of every living being would be forced to bow before Sith masters.

Xanthier was still a slave. To himself, and to his beliefs. He, like the ones who had originally chained him, would never find inner peace. There was a comfort in knowing that his enemies suffered with him. A comfort that did not outweigh the rage within, or wash away the memories of the agony he had endured at the hands of the Sith.

Wrath had no purer form than the young darksider. In the clutches of darkness, Xanthier had found solace. A hatred which drove him further towards what he sought...vengeance.

Though the question remained, did the Dark Side value wrath more than gluttony?



Emotionless, expressionless, devoid of life, Xanthier looked into the eye covers of an Imperial Shock Trooper's helmet, his own reflection gazing back at him in the opaque black surfaces, his lip partially upturned in a snarl and eyes narrowed. He felt his saber drive itself into the trooper's body, where it burned through armor and into the living flesh beneath. His gloved hand tightened on the saber's hilt, tugging the blade even further upwards with a sizzle before he turned off it's emitter, allowing the body to crumple to the ground at his feet surrounded by several others who wore the same armor and served the same flag.

Blaster fire echoed within the corridors of the city. Overhead, Imperial ships screamed, signaling their approach. Smoke and the smell of burnt flesh filtered in through Xanthier's nostrils as the wind picked up, blowing dust in his face. He did not run to find more men, he did not tread lightly over the bodies of those who had just fought beside him. The dead did not care how you treated them, and his lungs needed rest. His boots stepped on chest plates, faces, and hands of both tribal and Imperial alike.

They had fought well...but not well enough.
The sun reflected off every piece of metal in the street, and the glint of brass armor could be seen all the way up until the dry sandy street rounded a bend quite some distance ahead. The bodies who wore black were few and far between. Even in death, the Imperial uniforms looked to pristine in a place such as this. Xanthier looked no better than he had years ago. His new gear, clothes, even the boots that he walked upon, all had faded in the harsh sunlight of Afanncovered in dust, now grey, ripped, and torn.

The bulk of the Imperial forces had continued onward, fully believing that a single squad of Shock Troopers could handle an entire city block of Kamashi.

They had...until Xanthier arrived and finished what the tribe had begun. It seemed like ages since he had split up with Volken, but the truth was, very little time hag lapsed at all. Death could come quickly for any and all, and now that Xanthier had recovered his breath, his eyes searched for any tribals that had not yet retreated further into the city. To his left he saw a squad of Imperials run past an alleyway. They either had not seen him, or simply assumed that anyone left standing here in the West had to be on their side. Volken would need his help...

Heading in the direction where he had seen the Imperial soldiers, Xanthier crept to the edge of the alley, gazing out into the courtyard beyond.

His steely grey eyes took in the carnage there, and this time it was not the tribals who had been massacred.

Around a cracked fountain, long since dried up, lay the bodies of imperials and tribals alike, their bodies severed and burnt. Some were cleaved in two at odd angles while others still were missing limbs, their torsos and legs bearing charred gashes. The work of a Sith.

Xanthier's eyes followed the trail of bodies past the fountain further up the courtyard where he spotted two figures. One bowed to the other, but as Xanthier watched, the one that still stood cast out his hand and began advancing towards his lesser. The words he spoke were difficult to hear, but the word "fool!" echoed within the courtyard, louder than the battle which still raged on towards the North.

Coated with dust, Xanthier's gloved hand reached down to grab one of the thermal detonators affixed to his belt, his grey eyes never leaving the two invaders he watched the two Sith with interest. A Master and Apprentice perhaps? He thought to himself, fingers absentmindedly turning the metal object in his hand.
He would wait in the shadows of the alleyway for the opportune moment...


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[wristclerk]

The screaming voices in her helmet were never quiet. It was either the shock troopers dying horrible deaths, or shock troopers calling for reinforcements to inflict horrible death on the Empires enemies. It was almost impossible to hear, or even ignore every single plea, yet what got through to her enough so to decipher was apparently a friendly had cut a clean swath through out men and the enemies alike, a high alert had been sent out not to get in the Siths way, "Noted", Frankie said before taking her helmet off, it blocked her field of vision to much while she was on the ground.

Frankie remained in the building where the Interceptor had crashed only moments ago, so she could regain some semblance of self. She knew where she was, roughly, and she knew she was behind enemies lines. Bellow her several tribesmen had ran past the now destroyed Interceptor. A small 'hooray' could be heard from the streets as they cheered for their victory over taking down the Interceptor. "Blast it!" Frankie cursed herself for being so foolish, yet there was little time to do even that.

Bellow her the tribals moved on, not stopping to check the wreckage for any actual body, just the sight of the destroyed interceptor was good enough for them, apparently their leader was with them otherwise she would've already been dead. Frankie snuck through the abandoned building, careful not to make too much noise. After a few minutes of moving slowly she had made it to the ground floor. Tribesmen still ran past the front doors in a hurry, moving to god knows where, that information wasn't important to her right now.

When the coast looked clear she moved out into the street, careful to avoid the fire still ragging from the crash site of her Interceptor. "Corso crashed near here, if he's still alive, he'll be able to help." Frankie whispered to herself. She moved into a nearby market area, the canvas roofs torn and worn down after decades of sun and sand exposure. The wooden stalls would provide her enough cover to get to the southeast market square where her friend, Corso of Zeta 5, crash landed.

 

[Infintus]

"You fool! What do you think you are doing?" Blightwing furiously but gracefully questions, he is choking me with ease, my neck feels as if it's being tugged from behind with a noose at my throat, the feeling changes the more power he puts into, I feel the cold invisible hands wrapped around my throat, it burns as I struggle to find an air source, this guy seems more savant then I am when it comes to questioning.
"If you expect someone to talk, fool, give them some air" I spit.

They don't understand..
They don't understand..
They are blind..
They have no purpose.. Kill them.. Kill them all..
"Shut up" I whisper to myself
He isn't the type that welcomes a cocky response.
I rub my throat as I get off my knee.
"I go elsewhere when I feast on the dark side for sustenance and endurance, the troops were merely an obstacle for me to be vitalized, these rodents live to serve us! And we in return, serve the will of the Force, besides, there are plenty more to replace them."
I scold, it is true however, the idiots should have killed those savages before I arrived, maybe their replacements deserve a similar fate, I will judge them when they arrive, they have the propaganda sewn into their eyes, they dream of glory, of wealth and fame, these Imperials, they don't see the big picture, they march into battle, their brains left in the ship they were delivered from.
All of us Sith can't stand Imperial infantry, they do prove useful at times, but it doesn't make up for their previous degeneracy and failures, We might as well try to enslave an army of force-damned tusken raiders.
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