The Battle of Coruscant -- The Galactic Congress Hall

[Rom]

Battle of Coruscant: Galactic Congress Hall

Within three years the Mandalorian and Imperial Forces had made it to the heart of the Alliance: Coruscant. The Alliance threw the bulk of its Core forces at Alsakan, the battle was devastating as the Mandalorian carved through the resistance. It opened the way for the Sith to launch their attacks on Tython, looking to break the Jedi on their very home as well as Empress Teta. There was no doubt darkness had fallen, war had come to the very place where it was first declared. Citizens who chose to stay were now caught in the crossfire; the Jedi would make their last stand at their temple, and Senators who believed in the good of Democracy pledged their loyalty by fighting alongside those who were first called to the front lines.

The Galactic Congress had stood in place for centuries, a pinnacle for peace in the Alliance systems. Now it was a target for war. Where it all begun, the very building in which Chief of State Interim, Jhon Cordatus and its representatives had taken the best intentions to fight back against the Imperium, and now it has failed. The Mandalorians and Imperials set foot to the capital’s grounds in order to eradicate the government and its supporters. Inside stand those brave enough to face these forces, the very sentients who supported the war and the values the Alliance held. Both sides would fight for what they believe is right, but there will be only one side of victory.

 

[TAC]

It was time.

Many, in fact most, of the Galactic Alliance Senators were no longer on Coruscant. The halls of the Galactic Senate building how been increasingly and increasingly more devoid of life, as the politicians and their staff retreated to their respective worlds or far escapes. They had stood in the building claiming they were the people's people, working for their best interest, and still the fled.

It was good, truly. The Galactic Alliance would not totally fall apart. Their leaders would be scattered, but at least alive to fight another day. Or rather, to pay other to fight another day. But this was truly the beginning of the end. There would be no sudden swing after the loss of Coruscant. It would be a moralistic and strategic blow to the already crippled people that constituted the Galactic Alliance. It was the end of the Galactic Alliance as it was now known.

Senator Liile Glegor, the representative of the sovereign world of Belnar, stood in his office in the "higher-ups" floor. The Khil's office was, for the most part, bare. Records, database, data, and datapads had all been removed and destroyed or taken off world, so that the Imperium could not get their hands on them. The Senator had considered getting off world, going to his home world of Belnar which would be one of the next on the Imperium's list, but he had decided against it. The people of Belnar, his constituents, had elected him to serve as the Galactic Senator. And so here he would stay. He was the Foreign Relations Committee Chairman, as well, which had been a dying cause ever since he predecessor had broke relations with the Mandalorians. Try as he might, there was nothing he, a lone senator, could do to change the slow slide backwards the Galactic Alliance had been suffering.

Thus, he simply faced it.

Today was the day the Sith were attacking.

They may kill him. They may take him prisoner and torture him. But no matter his fate, he would receive with his head held high. He was a Senator of the Galactic Alliance, and he would not turn his back and run.

 

[Nor'baal]

Standing stock still, his rifle clamped at his side in the traditional senatorial guard manner, Private Mak Tumal watched as the Sith fleet cruised overhead, and Sith troops made their way towards the Senate Building. In front of him, a Multitude of Guards milled around, making the final adjustments to makeshift defenses and barricades up the steps the Congress Building.

Mak snapped to attention as his superior officer stormed past and down the steps, taking his position at the front of the line, and then raised his hand to his ear as an incoming communication came through to his helmet. A battle was about to occur, Maks first, it was a mere matter of minutes away, he could almost feel it in the air around him, a palpable sense of dread.

''Private Tumal, report to the Chairman of the Foreign Relations committee immediately, he is in his office.'' came the voice in his ear.

''Orders received.'' he replied curtly, turning on his heel and reporting the Office. As the Senate Guard walked through the Halls of the senate building, he could hear the Sith and Alliance fighters blazing overhead, and the marching steps of Sith troops pounding towards the Building. It would be here that the last Remnants of the Alliance fell.

I am a Senate Guard, a beacon of Democracy. I will not falter, thought Mak defiantly to himself. He came to the door of the Senator, and snapped his heel's together before saying respectfully ''Senator Glegor, Guard Tumal reporting for duty, I am to be your escort during the coming hours.''

 

[Jaqen H'ghar]

The Imperial Knight-Marshall hadn't stepped foot on Coruscant in over a Decade. He looked about the sprawling megatropolis and sighed. The Force had called him here, and he arrived only two days earlier. He had not known why...now, looking at the sky, he did. In his exile all he did was train, and meditate, and dream of the day he would be able to fight the Sith again, to destroy some of those who had destroyed so much of what he truly loved. He knew from reports on the holonet that the Senate had been emptied, save for those who stood for truth, and democracy. Save for those who showed no fear against the Sith. The Jedi tempel would likely be overran, but it had it's knights to defend it. As a former Knight of the Empire, he felt his place was not with the Jedi, but with those brave enough to defy the Sith in a building that represented all the Sith hated.

Cloaked in the force the Imperial Knight wandered the halls, quickly seeing a guard in GA colors heading down a corridor. He followed, still cloaked until he was just outside the door where he heard the guard report to a Senator. Good, these were the types of people worth defending, not only because they were good and brave, but because they would be a target for the Sith. They would bring the crimson bladed usurpers, and his cold silver lightsaber would have the chance to send them across the void to become one with the force. He smiled a true smile for the first time in years as he dropped his cloak and entered the room.

"Imperial Knight Marshal Merlin Ambrosius, here to help." He said with a polite bow to the Senator and the Guard. "I figure we have a lot in common right now," He said gesturing up to the sky, where the false empires ships sung horribly in the air. "So lets enjoy defending something good against the beasts that come to destroy it."

 

[Fyston]

He knew this would come. Ever since the Imperium beat back the assault at Boonta, Ardtim Moryen knew that it would happen. He didn't know when, but the amount of ships and personnel lost gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach. Of course, that wasn't the only reason. He felt personally responsible for the Sith advance, if only because he was the Chairman of the Armed Forces committee. It was his duty to help protect the Galactic Alliance and he had failed.

It was due to this guilt that he had not left with the others. Well, most of the others. He knew of a few who had stayed, though he knew not their reasons. Whether due to guilt or due to some strange thought that they could change things, it didn't matter now. He knew he couldn't change what had happened. Not now that they were on Coruscant. The Jedi temples were being destroyed and, although Bastele had dubbed them traitors, he didn't hate them. It took more than the Jedi to build the Galactic Alliance and it took more than the Jedi to destroy it. He hoped that the Jedi would strike back against the Sith rather than lay down their lightsabers rather than take up watchful eyes on backwater worlds such as Tatooine, watching over moisture farmer families and ensuring that their nephew stayed safe from Sand People.

He heard the rushing of aides and soldiers as they rushed to defensive positions or to guard over senators. He didn't need a guard. Armed with a CX-PDW and eight sticks of ammunition, along with a loaded M88A1 and a spare magazine in a thigh holster, Ardtim had established a sort of inner peace even as the darkness encroached on the senate building. On his desk sat a half-full bottle of Whyren's Reserve and a cup, though the cup was clean. Grabbing the bottle with his left hand, he exited his office and noticed a bald man rushing to an open office at the far end of the hall. One benefit of bureaucracy was that Chairpeople tended to have offices on the same floor.

Shutting and locking his near-empty office for the last time, he made his way down the hall. It wasn't a far walk and he arrived just after the man gestured to the sky. He'd heard the Marshal's name as he wasn't deaf and he stood outside of the room, half facing the hallway and half facing those in the room. "I like you, Marshal. Good day, Liile, I trust you're well considering the circumstances. Let's make this corridor the bloodiest in the building," he said with a wry smile more befit a soldier than a senator. He had always wanted to die on the battlefield. More honor and such. Besides, he didn't like the idea of crapping himself to sleep every night. At least he had the chance before he got that old to help while doing something he was good at and loved.

 

[Ender]

"Let's go, troopers, let's go! Secure the entrances!" an NCO barked, troopers bustled about the halls of the famed Galactic Congress Hall, engineers were hurriedly building landing pads for evac shuttles. It was organized chaos, but organization was key. The Sith were on the door steps, and the war was at it's end.

It seemed poetic to Colonel McNamara that he would be defending the Senators, since it was not so long ago that the human had been among them. Yet, in the end, he belonged in the army. He always had. And he had returned to the congress halls, armed with a ER40 blaster rifle and a Katie on his hip, clad in GAMCA, minus the helm (He instead wore a patrol cap upon his head), he marched into the main halls flanked by two sergeants. It was a serious affair. Hapans were arguing with a squad of regulars as they were escorted to an incoming shuttles, some Zeltron delegates had holed up in a room and refused to budge, and the higher ups were busily doing their work, biding their time or preparing to assist in the defense of the building. This last group caused McNamara's chest to well with pride as the three troopers entered an elevator. Quickly, they moved to a different floor and entered an office that was quickly becoming crowded.

"Congressman Moryen!" Colonel McNamara snapped to attention and saluted. In another time, the two had both served on the Armed Services Committee. Now, it was the Colonel's job to escort him out of the building. "Senator Glegor," Niles nodded respectively. "It's our mission to escort the two of you out of the building..." the Special Forces Officer noticed that Senator Moryen was armed. "Sir?" he asked. "Congressmen Moryen, you don't plan to..." McNamara trailed off. "I can't allow you to follow through with your plan, sir."​

 

[Fyston]

As soon as the turbolift at the end of the hall opened, Moryen noted a familiar face. It was Senat...No. He was Colonel McNamara now. The Corellian had always had difficulty noting all of the transfers and titles in politics, a fact that most of his aides had joked about. It was with muscle memory that he slung his CX-PDW on his shoulder, freeing up his right hand for the salute he knew to come. His heels clicked together as the man's body went to the position of attention, his arm jerking up to his brow to return the Colonel's salute. When the fellow soldier realized what Ardtim had planned, the man simply smiled.

"You know me, Colonel," began the man, taking a drink from his bottle and pointing down to his leg, where his first class bloodstripe was sewn onto his trousers. "We're no different. Excepting the fact that I didn't have the courage to return to the military life. I won't allow myself to flee while hundreds of thousands die. My actions helped bring about this tragedy and I won't flee and watch from some oceanside villa on some resort planet. No. I'm staying here and I'm going to help how I can. I know the risks and I know the odds. I accept the former and I don't care about the latter. If I die, send my pension checks to my family and, if you can recover my corpse, send a diamond to the Sith." He was referring to the Corellian tradition of turning dead loved ones into synthetic diamonds. He'd accepted what would happen and the only sign that anything was out of the ordinary in the old man was a twitchy right hand. It wasn't twitching out of fear, but rather a response to the adrenaline, which would help him in the fight to come, flowing through his veins.

"If you've got ideas on how to provide a limit of advance, I'm all ears. I was figuring blowing the turbolift and dragging desks into the hall for cover, though it's too big to block off in the amount of time we have. The desks are heavy and they still have the stairwells to get here through but it's better than sitting here on our fourth point of contact waiting for them to bust through the window." He was as stubborn as a bantha, though that might be the Corellian blood in his veins. He wouldn't allow anyone to take him to some waiting evac shuttle while people died. He took another drink, tucked the bottle in his armpit, dropped the CX-PDW back into his right hand, and chambered a round. It was a silent sign that he wouldn't be moved and he only hoped that McNamara accepted that fact and helped rather than fight him.

 

[Ender]

McNamara broke into a grin. "Well, if that's an order..." McNamara winked, acknowledging the fact that Senator Moryen was second in command of the Alliance Military, next to the Chief of State. "I'm having troopers move into the Chief's office as we speak, requisitioning it as a our Command Post." he turned to the Imperial Knight. "If you say you can help, I'm in no position to refuse. We're gonna lose, but I'm gonna ensure that the Sith have no easy time taking our capitol. As for you, Senator?" he turned to Gelgor. "There's an evac shuttle awaiting you, but if you would like to stay I'm sure the Private here would have no qualms about escorting you and Moryen to the CP? If you see Nathan, give him my regards and apologies for leaving the Senate. But, alas, duty calls. Marshal, with me. Let's get some defensive positions, shall we?"

 

[Nor'baal]

Hearing the words of the McNamara, Guardsman Tumal made a quick salute to his superior's and then turned to Senator Glegor and politely saying ''Senator, if you would come with me, we shall head to the shuttles.''

Outside, the sound of sporadic rifle fire could be heard, as the Senate Guard engaged to approaching Sith Troops. It had started, thought Mak as he went to escort the Senator to to door. He noted the two other Guardsmen stood outside the office, and motioned for them to follow him and the Senator, after all, a little extra protection for a dignitary such as Glegor could not hurt?

 

[TAC]

Suddenly, the Foreign Relations Committee was buzzing with activity. Senator Glegor had anticipated that it would be a quiet few moments before the attack began, and that all of the soldiers were ready and at their station. Apparently he was far from correct, though. This battle was not going to last long. The first person to enter the room was a Guard Tumal, and interesting young man that was obviously ready to fight. Well, it would be interesting, if he thought he was going to guard the Senator. "Good morning, Guard Tumal," he said.

As he took another breathe to speak, another man entered the room. The Senator simply shut his mouth, looking at this arrival to see who he was. Liile was quite surprised to hear that this newcomer introduced himself as an Imperial Knight Marshal. The Senator had heard whispers that they Imperial Knights were still quite active, merely in hiding, and had been informed the New Jedi Order had contact with them. He, however, had not been approached by them. "Grand Marshall, a pleasure to have you with us. I was not aware that the Imperial Knights would be joining us today," the Galactic Senator sang, as he regarded the warrior.

Liile could no more finish the sentence when, once again, yet another accomplice showed up. The Khil did, of course, immediately recognize the voice. This was Ardtim Moryen, the Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee and the Corellian Senator- an accomplished soldier and politician. "Hello, Senator Moryen," Liile responded, inclining his head to the man. The Belnar Representative always had a formal outlook on his colleagues, and really anyone he came into contact with. He was rarely informal with anyone.

A man that the Galactic Senator had only heard of, but never met, entered the room next, obviously after running around. Colonel Niles McNamara, a legendary soldier and a formal Senator. Although Liile knew it was futile, and honestly didn't even matter to him, he felt much more confident in the fact that this was one of the men, if not the man, leading the defense here at the Galactic Congress Hall. Liile received a respectable nod, to which he returned. He listened to the two "old boys" banter back and forth, a hint of a smile on his face.

The Colonel then addressed him, to which the Senator nodded slightly. "I obviously won't do you much good in a fight," the Senator said, indicating the arm which had been cut off by a saber. He could have had an artificial arm put on, but had decided to not. It had served as reminder to himself and every other Senator exactly what they were up against- and that wast just the Chiss, not even the Sith. No really cared about the Chiss. "But," the Khil continued, "My post is here. And there's not much for me to do, but I won't abandon it." He regarded the other Senator, "And once we get to the CP, I'll show you something you've never seen before." Beckoning the Private to lead the way, he smiled at the others in the room, "How Senators shut up and stay out of the way."

 

[Dmitri]

A strong will is needed for order, for stability. A single will. Democracy has a lure of promise, but it has a fatal weakness. It relies on several wills, many of which are weak, especially to corruption and cowardice. No, stability cannot come from a democracy or republic. Rather, it needed a single ruler. An emperor. A single will.

That was the belief that ran through Geist Weiss' thought process. It was his motivation to aid the Sith in their conquest of the galaxy. The galaxy needed a single leadership, not one broken between the Imperium and the Galactic Alliance. A single power was the wish of the universe, and the Sith would herald this gift.

Geist helped where he could. He was not as combat-ready as some other Sith, but he had his own machinations to use. His title Illusionist was well deserved. The man used them constantly. He had developed his art to where he could even manipulate senses, including in the Force. It allowed him to change his shape and hide his Force usage, let alone sensitivity and alliance with Bogan. It had allowed him to sneak into numerous entities and fortresses. The Centrality. The Luminado. The Systems Commonwealth. Even Empress Teta. The last one had heralded great reward. House Es Cade was no longer in power. Weiss had helped bring Empress Teta to the Imperium's knees. But his work was not finished. Coruscant was needed to be taken to solidify the Imperium's might. Coruscant was the final domino needed to put plans in motion for the collapse of the once influential Galactic Alliance.

Now it coward in fear. It's once proud leaders either turned tail, hid in their hall, or made their last stand. The latter was only a minority, not to Geist's surprise. How did he know? He was inside the Congress Hall, infiltrating the planet days before the New Sith Imperium and Mandalorians arrived. Now, of course being one of the most wanted Sith in the galaxy by the Jedi would not have allowed him entrance to the sanctuary of the Congress' dome. Instead, the Force had allowed metamorphosis into the form of the Cinnagaran Senator, Prince Cane Es Cade. The real prince was still on Empress Teta, a prisoner. When Geist had arrived on the planet, he told of his narrow escape from the Sith clutches by dressing as a commoner. It was this way that he planted seeds of doubt in the Sith's villainy by making it seem like people who weren't with the Jedi or Galactic Alliance military were being harmed.

Only time would enlighten if that claim would hold true on Coruscant. The enemies had arrived, and Coruscant was in pandemonium. "Cane Es Cade" fortified himself with the rest of the remaining Senators and a few others in the Galactic Congress Hall. Upon his arrival, he requested a meeting with the Chief of State, where he'd claim that the Jedi stole CRADLE. It was a ruse to get close enough to Nathaneau Bastele to neutralize him. He wasn't suppose to kill him, after all, as the propaganda machine believed the citizens of the Galactic Alliance would be more submissive if they believed their leader had 'willingly' joined the Imperium. That was another part of why Geist had been sent to the front lines. So that he could brainwash Bastele.

Unfortunately, fate laughed at the disguised alchemist. Preparations had consumed Bastele's schedule, so he had not been able to meet with the Cinnagaran representative yet. Instead, Geist found himself exploring the Congress Hall. He secretly transmitted intelligence as he collected it to Darth Vereor and other Sith nearby using the plumbing. Many people focused on phone lines that they failed to realize that the plumbing was electronic, and could be hacked, and had been.

His disguise had shed him from suspicion so far. He noticed a couple Senators bravely defying warnings to flee. If possible, he'd prefer to capture them alive. Their bravery and popularity would be useful to the Imperium after the war. They needed good men, not the Build-a-Moffs that could be ordered off of any low-time politician with a corrupt piggybank.

Geist overheard surprising news as he passed Senator Glegor, whom he recognized from Arch'elie'lia's footage of her ambush on the Jedi delegation at Lehon. The man claimed to be an Imperial Knight. An idea sprouting, he approached the Imperial Knight. "You're an Imperial Knight? I didn't realize there were any left."

 

[Jaqen H'ghar]

The Knight laughed at the Senators claim of seeing a senator shutting up and getting out of the way. "Keep that attitude Senator, we'll need it in the days that follow." He gave a genuine smile for the first time in quite some time. Then a voice called out, along with a body entering to join it, asking if there were any others left. The smile faded from his face. "If there are, I'm not sure theres any in a cohesive force. At least not that I've heard. Twice I've gone into exile after the Sith ravaged my home. The second time they were more monstrous than before. In truth, the only reason I'm here today is because the force guided me here." His words were true, as far as he knew he could very well be the last true Knight of the Empire left.

"My goal today however is to show that the Empire itself isn't evil. Only the pretenders to the throne. With any luck, I'll take several down today." His hands had turned to fists at the thought, a righteous indignation pulsed easily in his veins, however he tempered it by drawing on the lightside of the force, rather than allowing it to fuel his darker emotions. It would shine bright and hot like a star to any sensitive to the force, and to all who were not tainted by the darkside it would empower them some, maybe enough to help them survive. In the presence of darkness, light always pushed it back, weakening the sith when they came. He walked over, newly reinvigorated and looked out the door. He could hear the blaster fire approaching.

 

[Rom]

Theme
​

It was raining on Coruscant.

Reports indicated that the Weathernet had been one of the earliest targets ruined by the Sith attack on the Capital, and it showed in the conflicting reports of weather planetwide. Sunshine in the Temple district, gusts of wind easily capable of flipping a speeder as it traveled through the Works, and a massive thunderstorm hung low over the Senate district, the rain lashing the assembled armies as they fought, slipping and dying as one. The rain was cold and biting against exposed flesh, and blaster bolts hissed and spit with contrails of steam as they plunged into the bodies of the enemy. But even the driving rain could not put out the fires that raged across the Senate district as the fighting moved deeper towards the Senate Hall, nor could the wind pull the screams of the wounded and dying. Men and women.. human and alien.. all lay draped across the metal walkways and plazas of the Galactic Center, their colors and symbols designating their side covered in blood and soot. They were all the same in the eyes of the Hungry One who sat perched on his throne with clawed hands dripping blood and pitch wrapped tightly around the neck of the once vibrant world. It was Hell on the surface of Coruscant... and the architect of that Hell walked calmly through the chaos, his sabers lit and held down at his sides.

Darth Vereor stalked alone through the battlefield without care, bringing a saber up to lazily bat a wayward blaster bolt into the sky or back at it's originator. All around him, the brave soldiers of the Galactic Alliance threw themselves down to the ground gnashing their teeth and clawing at their eyes as a sudden insanity overtook them. Ahead the call went up and the forces started to scatter away towards the Defense Headquarters as news of the Demon's arrival spread through the battle lines. The Barabel allowed a cold hiss of amusement to come from the confines of his tattered dark cloak, his bladed whip-like tail snapping out here and there behind him to crush the windpipes or decapitate the sobbing Alliance soldiers he left in his wake. He had been known by many names and titles throughout his life... Teryn Kord amongst the Jedi, This One during his early years with the Sith before becoming a Darth and taking the name Vereor. Warmaster he had been called in Imperial Space as he lead the Imperial Military in it's rapid expansion and rearming, and most recently he had been named Dark Lord, Empress Andraste's second and leader of the Sith Imperium.

Demon, a title he gained within Alliance space following his brutal massacre of Jedi and civilians during the Battle of Konstalleon in the days before the War ever started, had always been his favorite. It seemed to fit him perfectly; a dark and evil monster from the burning Hells, come to take your soul.... and the Hungry One always desired more souls to feed upon. Shaking himself from his musings, the Barabel looked up with a smirk as the Force pinged a soft warning against his senses from somewhere ahead of him, showing an Alliance tank vehicle positioned infront of the now closed Main Doors leading into the interior of the Senate Hall turning it's main gun to bear on the single figure parting through the army of Defenders ringing the Senate Hall like a scythe through fields of grain. He didn't raise a limb, not even a single finger, in protest of the action as the tank fired it's explosive shell with a *whump* of displaced air, the explosive propelled at his location like a missile. Vereor glared at the incoming projectile, and without warning the shell suddenly veered off to the right, careening into a group of Alliance soldiers taking cover behind one of the many fallen statues ringing the courtyard in a burst of telekinetic energy. The next shot did the same, flying past the Dark Lord's right side close enough to send his cloak billowing out behind him from the wake before crashing into one of the communication relays set up around Congress to keep up to the minute reports coming into the Senators barricaded within.

As he stalked forward, his tail whipped up from behind him and pointed at the tank before flicking upward and then twisting suddenly; and just ahead the tank barrel did the same, half of it bending within on itself to point towards the sky and then sheared off by the force of the telekinetic grip his mind had on the vehicle. The tank operator fumbled for his pistol and bravely raised it towards the silent Barabel, firing off shot after shot that were casually batted into the surrounding walls and pillars. A gust of wind caught the hood and whipped it back, and as the soldiers eyes met the Barabel's he froze. Black orbs with yellow irises gazed back into his blue ones, and before the full force of Vereor's insanity aura came bearing down on the man, he had time to whisper a soft prayer for the Force to be with him. The soldier convulsed and brought his free hand up to his face, his nails digging into the skin and clawing at it. His eyes rolling up into the back of his head as he started to scream, a wounded and tortured howl that was loud enough to pierce the protections of the building and echo inside the Entrance Hall that was suddenly caught up when the soldier brought his pistol to his head and fired.

"The Force haz long abandoned you and yourz.... there iz only the Darkness now"

The sky behind him darkned more as lightning clouds and smoke filled the air, hiding the Senate District from the sun. Black shapes started to materialize out of the darkness around him, cloaked Sith and black armored soldiers of the Imperium; his hand-picked force of men and women to help clear the Senate of it's refuse, and gather them all to be destroyed alongside the Democracy they served. Pulling his cowl back into place, the Dark Lord did a brief inspection to check and make sure all of his equipment was in its proper place; his personal krayt-tooth lightsabers, the Sith sword he claimed from the smoking corpse of Carnaj, a pair of pistols holstered at his thighs, a bag of small jagged durasteel pieces hanging from his belt, along with the lightsabers of Fawn and Audroti magnetized to his Warmaster Mk1 armor.

Deactivating one of his sabers and clipping it into place on his krayt hide vest, Vereor raised his free clawed hand and grasped the now empty tank sitting between himself and the door with the iron grip of his will. The tank slowly lifted off of the ground and hovered over his head, and the Barabel sissed in laughter as an idea came to him. His arm moved forward swiftly, and with it went the large battle tank, slamming into the doors with a mighty crash that caused the decorative enameling to crumble and fall in a glittery rain towards the ground. The Dark Lord pulled his arm back and then threw the tank back into the door, the gong-like sound of metal striking metal echoing through the Senate Plaza and into the building itself. Taking a deep breath, the Barabel brought his arm back and heaved himself forward, the tank bursting through the door with an almight crash and hurtled through the air to land within the hall with a crash, crushing decorations and people waiting to exit the very same door he had just crashed down to the supposed safety of an evacuating shuttle.

"Knock knock.... are there any snivelling cowardly Senatorz still hiding beneath their deskz?"

The cold laughter that followed echoed around the fearfully silent hall, drowning out the snap-hiss of igniting lightsabers and the clicks of primed Blaster Rifles, as Darth Vereor - The Demon of the Imperium - entered the Senate Halls with Hell following after him.

 

[Silverface]

War was a strange beast. It was an ugly necessity in a galaxy full of uncountable beings, all of whom were looking out for themselves at their core. It was the ultimate challenge to some, a sadistic indulgence for others. It could be fought cleanly or dirty. Weapons technology kept improving at a shocking pace to make the next war faster, nastier. But for Echoylir Bralor, war was a source of joy. Not impure, sadistic joy from ending another being's life. But a thrill ride to life. As fighter craft streaked past him, through the turbulent weather that had a mind of it's own, Echoylir was giddy with excitement. Pressure panels at his knees and feet, and the two control yokes in his hands made darting through the war torn skies of Coruscant pure excitement. But he was no pilot. No machine would tolerate his lack of reflexes in a sensor laden envrionment. In truth, riding flying beasts was easier for him, more natural and where he found his intentions aligned more with the animal he was with.

While a Basilisk War Droid was no animal, the primitive sentience it had in it's metal brain was a close approximation. Riding one of these mechanical beasts was a rare pleasure for the aging Mandalorian, something he had only done a few times in war and dozens of times for the sake of it. Feeling the wind tugging at his cloak, Echoylir, clad in his father's armour and wielding weapons so archaic that it probably caused pilots on both sides of this war to stop and take notice at the absurdity of it all. Aircraft streaked by him, blasters and cannons and missiles exploding and whizzing past to impact with things behind him. The Basilisk jerked to the left as he leaned in that direction, his knee pushing on the control surface and triggering the thrusters studded along the War Droid's right flank. The Basilisk automatically compensated for the movement, turning the jink into a turn and rocketing away from the fighter duels.

Stormclouds were isolated over one particular part of the city-planet right now, and they loomed ahead. Lightning and thunder crackled and rumbled, the sounds muffled by the Mandalorian's helmet as wind buffeted him. The Imperials and Alliance were battering the osik out of each other down there, by the Senate Building. The plazas were littered with bodies, many clad in Stormtrooper white or Imperial army grey as they had to advance over nearly open ground. Vehicles exchanged fire and another furball of aircraft was developing in the stormclouds. It was mayhem, pure and simple. A battle fought in the old ways, where tactics meant little and sheer endurance and numbers were more important. Echoylir, still high above the fight, banked and dove, his Basilisk responding to his commands as easily as any mundane beast of flesh and blood. He'd never understood how such ancient machines like the Basilisk were so easy to ride compared to their modern counterparts.

Too much technology in the wrong places perhaps? He dismissed the musing from his mind as he dove, his crimson cloak flapping in the wind behind him. He let out a wordless yell of sheer exhilaration as the ground came closer and closer at shocking speed. Then, with a lean and a nudge of the controls, the Basilisk turned out of the dive and rolled, jetting straight for the Senate entrance, rent open by a hover tank that a Sith had used as a battering ram. Even as the Basilisk accelerated towards this gap, Echoylir triggered the built in weapons as targets appeared in his HUD. Quad laser cannons sounded in the staccato crack-shriek, blasting Alliance troopers from their barricades. A nudge on the right control yoke sent a cluster of micro-concussion missiles, the last of that ammunition in truth since he hadn't had time to resupply from earlier battles, howling into the side of a personnel carrier that was rumbling towards the break in the Senate building, flipping the machine onto it's back, Alliance soldiers spilling from it's hatches. The final weapon system that was still fully functional, a high-yield flame-projector cluster mounted in the nose of the Basilisk, had yet to be fired. And Echoylir doubted he would need to fire it today. Hoped even. He was no sadist.

Reaching the Senate's shattered doors, Sith and Imperials spilling inside, Echoylir brought his Basilisk into a hover. The massive claws, used to latch onto Starships or rend fighters asunder, crashed against the frame and walls of the door. Even with the hole already there, it wasn't big enough for the War Droid. And with Echoylir's gentle insistence at the controls, the mechanical beast went to work, tearing chunks of masonry and metal from the building's entrance, tossing them aside with an indifference only a machine could have. It took mere moments for the Basilisk to rip the opening asunder, to make it big and wide enough to accept the War Droid's bulk. Seconds later, the machine was in, Echoylir still upon it's back. Dragging the heavy, all-beskar blade of his Mythosaur axe from it's holster on the Basilisk, Echoylir goaded the machine into the building, the bulk of the War Droid ripping and tearing the building's hallways apart. At some points, the Basilisk had to go into ground mode, using it's massive claws to drag it's bulk through doorways to catch up with the rampaging Sith.

Sith running rampant through the building, followed by a dust-covered, burn-marked monstrous machine carrying a warrior clad in the bones of vicious beasts and wielding an axe with a blade almost as wide as a man at the shoulders.

Hell was an understatement for what had arrived.​

[[ Some suggested listening with this post: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so10dKbhorI ]]

 

[Brandon Rhea]

From where the Sith were standing, what was about to happen would look like little more than a speck. From the shattered entryway, dwarfed by the towering heights of the Galactic Congress rotunda, the second door to the rest of the building was dozens of meters away, across a great hall where the Sith forces stood on one side and Alliance forces stood on another. Debris fell all around from high above, all from the mess that the war droid had made there. It was a chilling scene. To think that the Sith could penetrate the very heart of the Galactic Alliance… most people had to have known that this was the end.

As the dust settled in front of the interior doorway, the massive constructs slowly began to swing open. Those watching it could soon begin to see the two dozen armed guards that had been previously stationed underground, in the prison where the Grand Master had been held, standing on the other side. They were all armed to the teeth; large blaster rifles, a few with the ability to send out massive energy bursts, and more. They wouldn’t stand a chance against a large group of enemy forces, but they could sure give them a hell of a fight.

That was all that the Galactic Alliance could hope for, at this point. No one wanted to speak it out-loud, except for the Jedi who ran from the planet, that this battle was doomed to failure. That just couldn’t be broadcast; if there was even the slightest chance in a million, the government couldn’t risk their cynicism becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy for the military.

The man who made that decision emerged from the back of the guards, flanked by the freed Grand Master himself. It was the Chief of State, Nathanaeu Bastele, ready to fight to defend Coruscant from the invaders. He was never a military man, but he knew how to fight. Growing up in the slums of Corellia taught one had to survive in the harshest of circumstances. Though a Sith invasion was not comparable, Bastele hoped he had a think or two that would help him.

Now, armed with two blasters in his hands, Bastele stood out in front. He wouldn’t cower behind his men. A true leader stood out in front of danger, not away from it; it was something the Jedi could have done well to realize, and something the Grand Master was at least coming around to. The Chief of State turned his gaze to the Barabel in front of the Sith forces. Bastele didn’t need to see a holo-image to know that it was the Dark Lord of the Sith himself, here to personally exterminate his enemies.

With a grin, and across the meters separating them, Bastele shouted, "Aren’t you a little short for a Dark Lord?"

 

[Rom]

Theme​

Vereor suppressed a hiss of laughter at the terrified face of the young Hapan who's guardians he had just systematically ripped apart; there was something indescribably amusing about watching the hope and innocence bleed from the eyes of a child. The Entrance hall had been cleared relatively quickly, the arrival of an airborne tank followed by the flood of a small army of Sith warriors into the Congressional building would have been enough to throw any security force into chaos, and the arrival of an axe-wielding Mandalorian on a Basilisk War-Droid only made things worse for the beleaguered defenders. They were hopeless; the guards had been disarmed - in several cases, literally disarmed - and the Senators were being corralled by a pair of Acolytes into a side records room for safe-keeping; hostages to their worlds and a source of information once they made it to interrogation. Vereor softly began to call out orders, directing his men to take up positions near the doors to prepare a deeper foray into the Congressional building when the stomping of boots filled the air as Alliance soldiers poured in and made a line, blaster rifles and vibroswords drawn as they stood defiantly in front of the amassed Sith forces.

"Well... this iz most surprising.. and here this one waz thinking we would take Congrezz without any obstaclez. How delightful."

The words were said with a cold and menacing hiss, a hint of Force Fear woven into the words to cause the newly arrived soldiers to glance around the room in nervous apprehension, paying specific attention to the bloody smears along the marble floors and the pile of cut apart bodies resting behind the Barabel covered in a cloak dripping with blood. Their fear bloomed and the Dark Lord shuddered in anticipation as the room filled with their growing dread; this is what he lived for, the overwhelming terror that consumed a battlefield right before the two sides crossed bolts and blades. His lightsabers were lit and held in an 'x' across his chest, his tail whipping out behind him in agitation, the tail blade seeming to seek out it's next victim. Vereor hissed and prepared to throw himself forward when a voice tinged in amusement called out a jest about his height.

Cold fury swept through the Dark Lord as he quickly looked up and down the line, looking for the fool who dared to stand before Death and laugh... and found the Chief of State walking forward from the Atrium doorway, flanked by Grandmaster Jedi Sigur with a cock-sure grin on his face. Vereor could only growl at the back of his throat, trying to hide the way the comment irked him. Most who had thought to mock his relatively small stature in comparison to most other Barabel ended up dead, or wishing that they were. It was a sore point for the Dark Lord and one he did not like to have known.

"You will regret that jape, ape. So... you are the leader of thiz sad rabble? And armed with those two pea-shooters... how quaint. This one iz honestly shocked to find you here, Chief Bastele. This one expected to find you hidden away in some Alliance bastion far from thiz world, scrambling to find some meaning in your defeat. Allow thiz one to clue you in... there iz none. You lost, not because of fate or destiny but because you thought yourself stronger than the Dark. You thought that good and truth and democracy would prevail over "evil", and put your trust in a group of monastic cowardz who would rather run than fight the war they started until the bitter end.... well, try to run. Thiz one doesn't mind telling you that fourteen hourz ago the Light of the Force was pulled from Hyperspace by our interdiction line and lost with all handz."

The last sentence was directed at the Grandmaster with a vicious grin, bloody fangs gleaming in the lighting. Turning his attention back towards Bastele the Barabel stalked forward uncaring of the armed guard, one of whom recoiled in fear as his Fear aura grew closer, one saber held loosely at his side until he stood about halfway between his own line and Bastele's forces. He extended his arm and pointed accusingly at the Chief of State, his voice tinged with accusation and fury.

"This iz not a childrens story and this one iz no comic book villain. There isn't any clear cut good or evil here, Chief Bastele. Your government gambled with the livez of it'z citizenz, and now you are paying the price, on trusting the Jedi Order to guide you and protect you through thiz storm that they themselves caused... and look where it got you. Alone facing the full might of the Sith Armada, as the Jedi abandon you to your doom. But let it never be said that Darth Vereor iz unreasonable.... This one haz come to offer termz for the immediate cessation of hostilitiez between the New Sith Imperium and the Galactic Alliance."

Anyone in the room would feel as though a sonic dampner had come down around them, cutting them off from all other sound of battle as the ramifications of his worlds settled within the minds of all those present. Peace... with the Empire? It almost seemed unthinkable.... but what if the offer was sincere?

"Effective immediately, the Galactic Alliance will surrender and cease all military actionz against Imperium Forcez. The Alliance will hand over all Jedi who remain on the planet, as well az the information and treasures remaining in their Temple. Jedi shall hereby be exiled from Alliance space, on pain of death, and any Alliance system found harboring a Jedi will be severely punished. The Alliance Military shall disband immediately, surrendering all warships classified higher than a Corvette into the control of Imperium and Mandalorian forcez. And effective immediately the Galactic Alliance will cede all territories beyond the Core into Imperial control."

The Barabel dropped his arm and slowly walked backwards towards his own line, his sanguine eyes locked onto Bastele's own as he moved into position standing at the head of his forces.

"Choose wisely, Chief Bastele... the livez of trillionz are within your handz."

 

[Brandon Rhea]

Bastele forced a laugh, and a hearty one at that. He let it bellow through the chamber, to let the Dark Lord know just what the Chief of State thought about that declaration of terms. The truth was, though, that Bastele was terrified. He knew Vereor would know that, but it wasn’t a front to put off the Dark Lord. This was for Bastele’s men, the ones who would be even more scared than he was. And it was for that reason that in spite of his fear, part of him also didn’t care. This was the time to throw caution to the wind.

This was the time to be a big damn hero.

“For the record,” Bastele shouted out to the Dark Lord, “your super villain speech is well rehearsed and all, but I never really put much faith in the Jedi either. They may have been commanders sometimes, sure, but I’d hardly call them protectors. I mean, these are people who ran away when you decided to show up. So you destroyed the Light of the Force, big deal?” though he had to resist a gulp at that line. “Bunch of spineless cowards anyway if you ask me. Good riddance!”

He was putting on a show, of course, but he hoped it was an effective one for his men. It was uncomfortable saying those things next to the Grand Master, but Bastele suspected that Sigur knew it was a ruse anyway. The Chief of State was hoping to instill confidence in his men by casting the Dark Lord’s claims off to the side. He didn’t want his men to be afraid and think they needed the Jedi.

“And seen as how the world is about to end, let’s cut the bullshit. The Empire started this war when it destroyed The Will of the Force. Oh I know, you Sith do love your propaganda machine and that idiot Cordatus sure fed right into it, but I think we can all speak honestly here."

He continued, “But, you didn’t come here to talk about that, did you?” he asked. “Fair enough. I have an answer to your terms, the answer that I think you want.”

The Chief of State began to walk forward, visibly taking his fingers off the triggers of his blasters; they may not have looked like much to Vereor, but they had it where it counted. He knew how to use them. He was never a military man, but growing up in the slums of Corellia forced one to learn how to survive by any means necessary. He’d done well with dual blasters before, even if the Sith did think they were pea shooters.

His walking was slow and methodical, to tell the Sith and Mandalorians that he was not about to attack them. Bastele knew what he was going to say, but there was no sense getting shot down beforehand. That would’ve made this quite the futile exercise. No, Bastele knew what he was doing. As he stepped into the dead center of the room, he got down onto his knees and knelt before the Dark Lord. Bastele let out a sigh for a moment, as if to say that he couldn’t believe it had come to this, and he stared towards the Sith before finally looking back down towards the floor.

“Excuse me.”

With his eyes cast at the ground, the Sith would note that Bastele’s boot had come untied. He reached down and began to tie them, muttering “One bunny ear goes around the other bunny ear…,” as he kept tying. He checked his other boot, making sure the laces were secure, and then slowly stood back up again and looked back towards Vereor.

“Sorry about that,” Bastele said. “I could’ve fallen down and gotten really hurt!”

Watch yourself, Nate, he thought to himself. Mocking and taunting the Dark Lord of the Sith felt so right, yet it wasn’t without its risks. Nor was what he was about to do, what he was about to say. This was a moment he would never be able to take back. Hell, it could have ended up being his last moment. He had to rely on being saved by the person he had called a traitor in front of the entire galaxy.

“Now then,” Bastele said as he moved closer to the Dark Lord, only two meters away now. “Having to be on my knees a second ago kinda hurt, and that was only a for a minute. I can’t imagine living on my knees forever, and neither can the people of this Alliance. So, on behalf of trillionzzzzz,” he hissed, mocking the Dark Lord’s speech pattern, “I reject your terms.”

As he finished speaking, he rose his blasters into the air towards the Dark Lord of the Sith and fired. May the Force be with us all.

 

[GABA]

The Grand Master walked along side the Chief of State, his own saber at hand, but not ignited, the Chief wielding his own set of blasters. He was much curious to know if the man knew how to even dual wield. Nevertheless, the man's courage was admirable, if he had recalled right, he was Corellian, Sigur never like Corellians to begin with; their cocky demeanor and their high risk, rocket fuel blood had its ways of making the Jedi Master uneasy.

The guards that flanked them spread out, taking their positions as they entered the atrium. Sigur senses expanded, his focus centering on the powerful Force signature in the room. There was an icy chill as he begun to speak, his hisses trying the patience and wills of the men and women who stood in the room. The Grand Master pulled on the Force's light, burning away darkness that threaten to engulf them. He felt it int he Barbel's words, but Bastele's words still remained strong even if they were insulting to the elder Jedi. The Sith continued to speak, taking mention of the Light of the Force. The Grand Master paused, he doubted the report on the Light, but the last he knew, the Light was still trying to find a safe passage out of the core. Now though was not the time to decide to see if it was safe.

Sigur didn't flinch, keeping his outward appearance stern and focused, but inside, things were turning, he was pulling and pushing as the Force welled up inside. Bastele took the initiative and spoke, his confidence radiated, but Sigur could feel the man trying not to get too carried away in front of the Dark Lord. But for what he could, he aided Bastele's words with the Force, keeping the confidence ignited with the rest of the soldiers in the room.

The Corellian Leader begun to stride forward, Sigur did his best to keep his uneasiness about what the man was going to do pushed out of his mind. He gripped his lightsaber tighter, listening to Bastele mocking the Dark Lord. Though he knew this was an awfully gutsy and possibly a deadly decision by the man, he did have to agree he enjoyed it. Sigur watched and listened carefully both to Bastele and the Force. He waited, listening for the slightest ripple that would spark him into action and it wasn't long until he felt it.

A slight surprise took the Grand Master as he could feel the world around him slow down. The Chief of State had raised his blaster pistols and fired them into the Dark Lord. He cursed the maverick nature of the Corellian and within a blink the Jedi moved. The distinguished snap hiss of his blade echoed against everyone in the room, Bastele would feel a pull from behind, the Master pulling him out of harm's way as Sigur landed between the Chief of State and Vereor. His green blade fluidly twisting across the Dark Lord's torso, the Force would be with them all.

 

[Dmitri]

Geist started to ignore Merlin as he spoke. He needed to get back to spying on the situation before the Sith arrived. He knew they were coming, as he could sense them. He was about to send a telepathic message to Darth Vereor when a loud noise echoed throughout the building like a gong. Suddenly a tank smashed through the gigantic door, debris crushing the sanctity of the beauty the halls carried and the lives of the inhabitants. A cold sinister laughter heralded the arrival of Darth Vereor.

Geist mentally sighed in relief. The Barabel had not mentioned he was going to do that. Had Merlin not spoken up, he would have been down in that area right now. Though unintentionally, the Imperial Knight had saved his life. Geist decided that if given the opportunity, he'd spare Merlin's. However, that didn't mean a nice little brainwashing wouldn't be added in the deal, and all for free!

The disguised alchemist was intrigued by the strange companion of the Dark Lord of the Sith. Riding a mechanical monstrosity was a Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian's arrival was the the most surprising. It was the one that followed. He had been searching for the Chief of State for a while and here he arrived out of almost no where, accompanied by the Jedi Grandmaster Sigur Vainkainen. He wondered how this would affect the operation. The initial plan had illustrated the capture or execution of the Chief of State. It considered some Jedi being there; an Imperial Knight was a decent substitute. However, it had not considered for the possibility the Jedi Grandmaster would be here.

Though, to the Chief of State's credit, he showed the more ballsy maneuver. Not only did he insult Vereor's height, a topic that could get even a highly respected Sith killed, Nathanaeu Bastele even had the gall to step up to the Dark Lord of the Sith and flat out decline the offer of surrender. He knew the situation had changed. Vereor would be too preoccupied with Grandmaster to deal with the Chief of State. Discretely, he sent a telepathic message conveying he'd deal with the Chief of State.

Immediately entering propaganda mode, even before Sigur Vainkainen could begin the Force Pull to throw Bastele out of harm's way, Geist used Force Illusions, hiding his work with Force Stealth. Normally it would be difficult to do, but less so since all he focused on was auditory machinations. With voices seemingly coming from all over the place, difficult to pinpoint to a single person at the Galactic Congress Hall, a fabricated panic ensued.

"We're all going to die!"

"What is he doing? He's gonna get us killed!"

"He's gonna let us all die for his stinkin' pride!"

"Run away!"

"I don't want to die!"

Geist let the panic settle in. Bastele had tried to act tough for his men. How tough would he act now that it appeared his men weren't responding as he hoped?

 

[Jaqen H'ghar]

Merlin took off his cloak, revealing the full armor of an Imperial Knight. It was well kept, and would come in quite useful given it's properties with lightsaber combat. When the voices started he could feel fear, and the twisting essence fear granted. He took a deep breath and concentrated sending out his aura of Force Valor to all those nearby as he propelled his way forward through the crowd, shouting his voice enhanced by the lightside of the force as it radiated out against the cursory illusions, unbeknownst to Merlin.

"Men of the Alliance! Know that those who stand before you rule with fear! It besets every step that the Dark Lord might take! It slithers into our hearts and minds! Infectious only when our Courage falters! I have seen it time and again! Perhaps one day there will be a day when the courage of the Alliance fails! But it will not be this day! For those who have fallen before us! For the families lost to war! For all our hopes of a free people of the galaxy!" And with a snap hiss he held up his lightsaber shining out silver, pure as the day it was made. "Give 'em hell!" and he leapt into battle, heading directly for the two Sith guarding the masses of Senators, if he could free them and get them out while the Dark Lord was busy, perhaps when he returned after having done his duty he could take his own chances, gamble his own fate. Entering into the swift style of Vapaad he lashed out with what appeared to be an innumerable amount of lightsabers, in reality only one moving at superhuman speeds to cut down the oppressors swiftly.