http://www.swaoa-mush.com/api.php?action=feedcontributions&user=Aryn&feedformat=atomStar Wars: Age of Alliances MUSH - User contributions [en]2024-03-19T03:52:19ZUser contributionsMediaWiki 1.25.3http://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Sith_Empire:_Dark_Legacy_III&diff=19493Log:Sith Empire: Dark Legacy III2023-06-28T01:59:03Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=The Sith Lords find an ancient warning. | Location=Fringe Space | Participants=Sith Empire, [..."</p>
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| LogTitle=The Sith Lords find an ancient warning.<br />
| Location=[[Fringe Space]]<br />
| Participants=[[Sith Empire]], [[Tamsin Cas]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=June 27, 2023<br />
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The departure from the evacuating outpost would've felt good had the escape been for the Sith Lords and their special forces detachment. Alas, one mission remained, and that objective laid in the heart of a massive forest, along the base of a large mountain and hidden within a cave. Allegedly, the cave was blocked off with a special vault door, one which required a very specific key. The exact coordinates were shared with the group.<br />
<br />
When they arrived, the Upsilon vessel folded its wings up, their sharp knife-blade like tips sticking out above the highest trees as the landing struts found solid ground enough to support its weight. The ramp lowered, and before them stood a modest entrance of stone with an etched emblem across the top. The sigil had cultural significance, ancient in its portrayal and distinctly made to stand the test of time. Crossed blades made up the background with a helmet at the front, a single horizontal visor at its top and widest spot, while the 'chin' of the helmet was much more small and narrow.<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus led the way down the ramp quickly, lightsaber already lit and growling with a crimson blade that cast its ominous hue upon the ground. Beside her, the weathered, but sturdy, Dark Trooper 'Cresh' walked at a ready battle stance, its weapon aimed toward the trees. With evening well underway, the forest should have been full of the crepuscule lifeforms, amphibians croaking and insects playing their songs; but instead, it was just silence. There was a gentle breeze, the only sign of nature present, and a distant sound of voices, disembodied, in pain, and crying out for help.<br />
<br />
"Does anyone recognize this sigil, and maybe a means to slip past these doors. I daresay time is of the essence."<br />
<br />
The dark trooper nods, <"AFFIRMATIVE."> Though, it was simply agreeing with this assessment.<br />
<br />
<"Ancient vault works what had been in my imagery learning... for the real examples were long lost before my first year..."> looking up at the design with his chain blade wrapped around curled arm, inert for now to avoid making sound. A sweep of ionized energy across his visor clearing debris as he approaches, looking up at the relief with his head tipped to one side. <"Mandalorian of era before Malachor IV..."><br />
<br />
<"So what do we seek within yonder rent in the living stone that make us tarry on this world that should be put to flame to assure that the foebeast not be allowed place to hunker and prepare itself for further advance across unsuspecting systems?"> shifting his weight to his left leg once he comes to a stop, and also causally kickiing <br />
<br />
Achlys was not the first from the shuttle, but neither were they the last. Weapon held at low ready, the approached the door to the structure without fear, helmet turning this way and that as they took in the environment. "I am reminded of Korriban, when we travelled to the tomb of Darth Bane. That too, was reluctant to reveal its secrets." The helmed figure stepped forward, moving to brush some of the living detritus from the stones, revealing words in an ancient tongue. When they spoke the words, the sound of their voice changed, as though the very fabric is air and reality protested the syllables. "The writing is in an ancient mode of the sith language," they offered, oddly, not in galactic standard, but in a mellifluous imperial accent. Coming as it did, it had the ring of a 'native accent' rather than an applied one. "They wish those who come to know that within likes a legacy intended to ensure the safety and security of the galaxy." That helmed visage turned back to the group. "when we ventured into Bane's tomb, it was his holocron which opened the way."<br />
<br />
Darth Durandus shakes his masked head to the negative when asked if the sigil has any meaning known to him. The swordsman's greater attention remains on their surroundings and pursuers, his own radiant blade bared and borne in a gauntleted left hand. When Bors asks after what they seek, the masked soldier sniffs sharply, once. "I know not, save that it is the fathomless value of possibility." An elegant way of saying even their boss probably doesn't know, and simply wants to keep it out of other hands. "Yet I know this much: the crest of a helm sits above the visor, not below." His empty hand is reached forward and turned harshly as if breaking open a door handle that had locked up with rust, using more raw power than finesse to rotate the image of the helmed head.<br />
<br />
As the Sith Lords figure out details concerning the vault and its contents, Kalus turns in place to watch for Mnggal Mnggal closing in on them. She could not differentiate between the dark presence the MM exuded and the imposing dread of being surrounded, and the presence that resided over this place of silent solitude. It was dark, elusive, but there was something else to it; hope, desperation, and... raw power.<br />
<br />
She made no comment to the trio who looked on, but something began to happen when Ban found the key and triggered it with his will and influence over the force. A whispered voice upon the gentle breeze is drowned out by the grinding of ancient stone, and as the imagery rotated and sank into place, the doors parted and sediment began to loosen and fall from the threshold in the form of sand.<br />
<br />
Cresh activates a light on their head, shining the bright cone into the darkness to reveal a stone path that led down by way of old stairs. There were no trophies here, just banners with the sigil of a X formed by silver chain links upon a bronze field. Cresh moved inside, scanning each side as they walked down the stairs. <"THE PATH IS NOT STEEP."> The droid says, not fully aware of its volume.<br />
<br />
"..our foes draw near, a vanguard pursues us into the depths of this place." Kalus confirms, pointing the blade of her lightsaber toward the group of sprinting Mnggal Mnggal closing the distance. They move quick, despairing voices switching to something more sing-songy and haunting. "..they open the door..." One said, and another finish, "..it is time.."<br />
<br />
"Silence her legacy."<br />
<br />
Ten (10) husks have closed the distance in what felt like a single breathe and move for the entrance.<br />
<br />
Though Bors remains still, when Achlys expounds upon the little information he can give from his youthful interests - there is a tension that takes hold of him and brings weight to his shoulders that threaten to sag him and finding only the stubbornness of age there to contest it. <br />
<br />
<"Ah."><br />
<br />
The utterance coming on the heel of Durandus's work with the door and bookended by the droid soldier's blaring voice, half turning and likely about to say something sharp when the Husks are pointed out and begin their calling of what has transpired. Eyes narrowed and quickly working details out mental notes - he doesn't race to meet them and instead flicks the switch on his blade the same motion that unlimbers it from his arm - snapping it to full extension and he turns to hold it in two hands - to receive the charge.<br />
<br />
Or he would, were they not moving around him like ink and already starting to surround the old man.<br />
<br />
"We need to get inside and find a way to stop them from following behind us. We will find nothing if all of the precious time we have left on this world is spent avoiding this scourge." Achlys, however, did not move to follow the dark trooper inside. Instead, they moved to join Bors, saber flashing as fire cut down one of the husks, the other two slashes only forcing them to move back and away to avoid the killing blow.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender shifts a step to the rear as Kalus announces that the first of their pursuers are near. He turns to lend his sword alongside the others. Like Bors, he waits for the charging enemy to close, striking down the first in a cascade of fading embers, before the next pair evade his reach. "Agreed," the swordsman rumbles to Tamsin.<br />
<br />
Cresh has returned to join the fight, bringing out a second weapon that ignites with a whoosh. <"LEAVE THIS TASK TO ME, MY LORD. THIS UNIT WAS DESIGNED FOR THIS VERY PURPOSE." Red eyes on its helmeted head turn to regard the enemy husks as it begins to track their movements in a logical, and very droid like manner. It flamer unit spreads then, stepping in front of the group of Lords and engulfs a series of the Mnggal Mnggal. As they burn, the droid expertly shifts focus to its second weapon, speaking to its side to initiate <"INCENDIARY ROUNDS"> before taking aim and firing succinctly, blowing apart the husks with very precise shots. It moved ahead, its voice saying, <"BRAVERY PROGRAMMING ADJUSTED TO MAX. FOR THE EMPIRE..."><br />
<br />
Kalus bisects an entity after an unsuccessful flurry, and doubles back as if to shield the elder Knight, Ser Bors. "To the depths then. The trooper is fulfilling its purpose. Every second counts."<br />
<br />
The path into the vault was not steep, just as Cresh had indicated, and it led deep into the mountain. They did not have to go far, but it was far enough they could no longer hear the battle taking place at the entrance. When they arrived at the main room, a single arrangement was displayed before them. A wooden pedestal held a single, sealed box, and above it was a mannequin wearing half a mask. It looked to cover the lower part of a face, hiding the mouth entirely. One could say it might have replaced the jaw.<br />
<br />
The words read, "In the end, as darkness took him; he was something. A lesson, a reminder, a promise. Do not stray. Do not bow. Do not break."<br />
<br />
A brief glance to Achlys when she steps up at his side is lost behind the helmet he wears, but the notion to begin moving into the cavern is acknowledged with a curt, <"Aye"> from Bors before he starts to drift backwards. The assailing creatures forcing his motions, a weaving of his blade to create as best a bulwark as he can manage with the weaving whipping limbs of Mngall Mngall, his burdened lifted by other's blades as they come to proximity<br />
<br />
The order down into the cavern is taken and his expeditious path is less for fear of the creature than the practicality - they're younger, faster and sorcerers alike. He's but a mere man and growing long in the tooth.<br />
<br />
Turning once within small disks are pulled from his belt as they go, quick triggers being set by connections to his HUD before they are tossed into nooks and cracks along the way and marked for the others, <<"If we need to shut the door.">> offered while he works.<br />
<br />
The glance from the Thul Lord went unseen, but it would likely not have been acknowledged by Achlys if it had been. If nothing else, the sith lord had never failed to step into battle when it was required, with mind or saber. But then, they were being urged to move, and they did. As Achlys left the sounds of the battle behind, they took what few moments were given to them to study the descent. When they came to the room with the pedestal, they stopped entirely, settling into a posture of complete stillness. Finally, they began to speak. "I see a figure, hooded, masked, setting the box on its display. She bids me to be aware that this is a warning." A slight, almost imperceptible shift, and Achlys was no longer quite as still. "It is an odd thing, to commune with the ghosts of the past."<br />
<br />
Through the visor, Durandus narrows his eyes in a mild frown as he reads the words. A second pass of his green eyes around the chamber, as if expecting something.. more. A short nod offers mute approval of Bors' precaution, though he adds, "A fit precaution, though I daresay if it be needed, we shall shortly find ourselves faced with a fresh dilemma, lord Thul."<br />
<br />
In no mood to be trapped overlong as increasing numbers of Mnggal Mnggal accumulate around their path out, he reaches to levitate the half-mask off its display and into his gauntleted grasp. "Lest we join those ghosts, we ought make haste. I see naught but these-" the sealed box and demi-mask. If there is more hidden here, it shall fall to the others to find it as the box too is gathered up.<br />
<br />
"We have what we were tasked to collect. Let us withdraw from this place." Kalus beckons after reading the words, and listening to the others. She waits by the stairs up, and begins to move back toward the entrance once Durandus collected the trinkets and 'warning'. "Perhaps the resulting blast from Ser Bors' explosives will punctuate our exit?"<br />
<br />
Upon arriving back at the entrance, the group finds their companion, Cresh, in a heated battle. Some ten husks have anchored the dark trooper in place, ripping its arm off while the flames poured from its weapon.<br />
<br />
The droid, freed from the temporary tether, doubles back and fires its other weapon. There is no rescuing Cresh, and despite his success in earning the ire and attention of the husks, many are beginning to go by it to pursue the newly arrived Sith. Five (5) stand in the path toward the shuttle and escape.<br />
<br />
Communing with spirits, crawling about old caverns that were more than likely elaborate tombs, "Mmf mmbdmb fhmmbms mm." heard softly from the old man's helm, his speakers not engaging - but if that were by design or fortune remains to be seen. There is no irritation in his movement or what little perceptible demeanor there stands for Lord Bors. But he keeps to his work, as it were, letting the Sith do as they need while he began running det-tape into a, relatively, sizable fissure that looked ready to spread to the ceiling.<br />
<br />
At length he answers, Durandus - perhaps he had been in need of the right words. Or maybe his helmet -was- malfunctioning again, but there is a distinct youthful sass to him yet, <"May perhaps that be, Highness, but I'd rather battle with atmosphere and find myself passing from hypoxia than consumed alive and that thing gaining those memories that are more cherished than gems or thrones."> <br />
<br />
But that was past and before them now further foe creatures that threatened exit from this world and the matter of dealing with more that stood between they and escape. And the growing thought that twists the very core of him. The wish for one Blood Moon class of these Sith destroyers. That he might do away with the planet and a portion of the entity upon it.<br />
<br />
Left hand squeezing and engaging a virtual switch the quartet are, for an instant, backlit in spectacular fashion before soot and smoke blend them to shadow and then envelope before the five charging husks have reached them, <<"Tarry not, I doubt this should conceal us long!">> <br />
<br />
If there had been time, quite likely Achlys would have protested the taking of the box, "Recall what the husks said...silence her legacy. The one who wire this mask within that ruin was no female. There is more here--" Achlys, as they spoke, moved forward to begin the work of cutting them a way through towards the shuttle, "--Than what we are bringing back with us." The explosives behind them put a fine punctuation to their words.<br />
<br />
Durandus nods once to Bors' more audible words. "A fit resolution, my lord," he judges the sentiment. Achlys' concern is answered evenly, "Our time here is spent; all too soon our vessel shall be overrun and our path off world closed. If there is more than mask and parcel, I cannot see it." There is no ire in the words, Tamsin may well be correct and Ban knows it. But time is not on their side. He moves with a swift and determined stride as the imperial party cuts their path through the outskirts of the horde, past the doomed droid and onto their shuttle.<br />
<br />
They board the vessel, Kalus the last aboard who uses her influence of the force to trigger the mechanism on the wall that initiated the ramp close. Ser Bors was expected in the pilot's seat, there were few to match his enthusiasm for leaving places like these and his skill to do so in a flying vessel. Kalus deactivated her weapon and looked out the open ramp as it slowly raised up. The explosion from the cave stirred up a vortex of dust, rock, and debris making it near impossible to see through it.<br />
<br />
Only a pair of droid-like red eyes shown through as the Dark Trooper put itself between the departing vessel and the pursuing enemy. Kalus thought for a moment, reflecting on the words that had been etched into the monument below. "As darkness took him, he was something. A lesson, a reminder, a promise. Do not stray. Do not bow. Do not break." Ironic the greatest example of this ancient sith reminder was perfectly represented in a droid that refused to give up the fight.<br />
<br />
<"These confounded, clumsy things..."> he had practically sprinted to the cockpit and the ramp was still rising when he'd thrown himself into the command seat, quite literally kicking the primary throttle lever to maximum.<br />
<br />
"Sir!" the co-pilot, even though he had told the flight deck officers he needed no co-pilot began, hand raising to try and pull the lever back and lessen the shrieking grinding of the landing struts digging furrows until the shuttle had gained -some- lift in addition to forward motion. Bors's finger was on his lips though, silencing the younger pilot who looked aghast, offended, confused and perhaps even moderately thrilled at the sudden and so intimate action by the older pilot. <br />
<br />
<"Shhh... Shhh. Wing thee back to sleep, dear babe and be lulled as I rock thee to slumber... shhhhhh."> pressing his gauntleted finger just a little harder against the younger man's face before finally grabbing the yolk and drawing back hard enough that even while only halfway shut the sky is suddenly very visible in the boarding hatch after nearly being scooped off by the rocky hillside. The threat of struggling grav-systems and inertial dampener systems giving way to make those within tumble to the back of the cabin from the steepness of the climb. <"She's pulling hard!"><br />
<br />
"SIR!!" <br />
<br />
Finger still on the co-pilots lips, Bors blinks <"Oh."> flicking a toggle to engage the flight wings to drop to appropriate position, <"S-Foils are stupid."> helmed head nodding at the other who finishes the other parts of the five point harness to their own seat, swallowing hard and closing their eyes while Lord Thul dumps weapons and reserve power to thrust, engaging the ship PA.<br />
<br />
<"Ere, thine captain opens lip and tumbles forth message most sincere: Restrain thyself to thine seats for we shall be within a ride most tumblesome."> alerts can be heard over the PA, and a muttered <"What dost thou mean 'standard hyperdrive'."> with a disgusted grunt and a resumption of his speech in full to the mic, <"We know thee hath many selections from which to make for thine travel arrangements, but thee selecting Thul Spacelanes humbles us."> <br />
<br />
The PA cutting out and the ship rising towards atmosphere and, relative safety.<br />
<br />
"Sir what are you DOING!?"<br />
<br />
<"Knave, to truly experience it, thou must pilot as though acquired by guile and skullduggery."><br />
<br />
"What?!"<br />
<br />
Achlys, who kept their saber ignited, even as they found the relative safety of the shuttle, kept their focus on the droid whose eyes were watching them depart. As Kalus spoke, their helm turned in her direction. "Some promises should not be broken. We should not begin a journey with this one unremarked and unremembered." The mask turned back towards the receding tomb, if such it was. The sound of tearing metal was barely audible above the roar of engines. A moment of silence, visually, and then the trooper's head turn from its shoulders shot towards the shuttle, sailing into the body of the vessel and into the curve of Achlys' free arm as the ramp closed, "We will rebuild him." Much as, perhaps, this treasure was intended to rebuild the Sith Empire.<br />
<br />
Darth Durandus deactivates his own sword once the hatch is sealed and the shuttle has lifted off. Behind the mask, his green eyes go closed as the gentleman extends his senses to gauge whether any vestiges of the corrupting life form cling to the ship's exterior before he releases a slow breath, and delivers the box and demi-mask to Darth Kalus. Though he was swift to take the artifacts, the duelist is content to leave the decisions of whether and when to open their prize in other hands. It is with distinctly less steady dignity that he takes his seat, as Bors has assumed his particular idea of 'control' over their flight path, and Ban straps himself in for the no doubt raucous flight ahead.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Sith_Empire:_Black_Night_II&diff=19489Log:Sith Empire: Black Night II2023-06-21T02:50:30Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=A scattered sith element looks to regroup. | Location=Fringe World Sith Outpost | Participants=..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A scattered sith element looks to regroup.<br />
| Location=[[Fringe World Sith Outpost]]<br />
| Participants=[[Sith Empire]], [[Tamsin Cas]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Merulia]], [[Zoka Kanas]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=June 20, 2023<br />
}}<br />
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The escape pod landed hard upon the planet far below the black fleet. The entire trip down was filled with the annoying pings of alarms as outdated systems and struggling flight controls attempted to take over the vessel to slow its descent so as to not kill the team on board.<br />
<br />
The view port was all they had to be able to see outside, and for awhile, all that greeted them was the molten image of fire as re-entry threatened and pommeled the craft in ways that had centuries old instruments rattling. The landing was not soft, but they had survived. The pressure and impact was enough to render everyone unconscious, and for long moments, only the tick-tick-tick of hydraulic coolant systems filled an otherwise quiet void.<br />
<br />
Something happened in the time that followed, and a loud clanking noise was heard on the outer door, threatening to bust it open. BOOOOM! Something struck it, bending the metal exterior inward. The methodical beating implied something of great strength. BOOOOOM! It struck again.<br />
<br />
Comms began to crackle to life as garrisoned legions of stormtroopers mobilized for a full scale defensive action. Commanders over comms began to question the likelihood the Sith Lords had even survived the landing.<br />
<br />
Kalus (Aryn) was strapped into one of the seats, her head hung down and limp, unconscious and quiet, lightsaber still clutched within her gloved grip despite her predicament. It wasn't until the fifth BOOM against the hatch that she came too and grimaced, her mask hiding the expression. Her hand comes to caress a bloody side of her head and she grunts, "Another happy landing... anyone broke?" She hits the quick release on her strap and falls from her seat to land on all fours, disoriented but quickly recovering. "...and who is making all that bloody banging nonsense?"<br />
<br />
Anyone broke?<br />
<br />
Groggily, Bors comes to with the shaking of the pod, hand lifting to pat against the side of his helmet. <"Mfzzm, bffzzmffmz ffmmzmf ihmsfzzm..."> a moment taken to smack the side of his helmet harder and his visor suddenly engages to burn bright cerulean again. Standing with the release of restraints and trying to keep his footing while drawing his whip blade.<br />
<br />
<"Zffkashhht mmffszzzmffmm bzzzffmszifmfm..."> head rolling back as if looking to the heavens for aid. <"Ffzzmzs."> Language. Bors.<br />
<br />
Achlys had survived the trip down through the atmosphere. They had survived the landing, most likely, as they were hanging like a ragdoll from the straps, but not in that dead - for real though - way of corpses. It was the banging that started to bring them out of their unconscious state, and the saber they called and ignited that cut them down from the tangle of straps they had ended up in, the impact of their body hitting what was now the bottom of the craft almost as loud as the sound that had roused them, "I am here." A moment to center themselves, before they pushed to their feet, saber having doused itself as they fell. "Viewport." They were heading to one.<br />
<br />
Unconciousness hadn't been the reprieve one might hope. There were aches, pains and discomfort from the impact...but no real injury in the cse of Merulia the nightsister. <br />
<br />
A soft groan she managed to reach up and rub her eyes before releasing her harness. <br />
<br />
She felt like she'd accidentally ingested a particular root from her own planet...but she was alive! <br />
<br />
"I am uninjured Lord Kalus," she offers in answer as Meru cautiously gets to her feet, finding her balance and equalibrium once more.<br />
<br />
The red armored trooper had made it to the escape pod, strapped herself in, and held on tight. The landing had been anything but pleasant, and a panel that had broken off had smacked against Zoka's helmet, or at least the one she had taken off of one of the other troopers, since her's had been wrecked.<br />
<br />
She unstrapped herself and fell to the floor, grunting faintly as she lands, and takes a moment to push herself back up to her feet. The sound of something slamming against the door got her attention, as she tried to shake off the cobwebs, pulling her weapon out of the rack she'd locked it into for safety, <"I think we have company."><br />
<br />
Rising up with a slow grunt, Kalus tested the integrity of her back with a slow and straightening effort that ended with an aged grunt. When she had recovered from the effort, her head turned toward the noise Bors was making and shook her head, "Your helm is still malfunctioning, sir."<br />
<br />
Achlys sudden activation of their saber and movement commanded Kalus' attention as she, too, moved for the viewport. Looking out the circular hole showed the stems of long, tall swamp grass, and mud; mud that was slowly drawing them down further as if to eat the pod and occupants alike.<br />
<br />
"Time to exit, I thi--"<br />
<br />
The door above suddenly caves in, and a black automaton hand pierces through, rotates, then takes hold of the beaten metal and yanks the hatch right out of its threshold. Illuminated red eyes peered down at the group, the eye belonging to the head of an Imperial Dark Trooper. "My Lords.." The android voice says, "Hostiles approach. Evacuate your craft and return to the garrison out post." The ten foot tall warrior droid straightens and reaches back with a hand to pluck its assault rifle from its back to level it ahead to cover. "This way."<br />
<br />
<<"This is Dark Trooper Cresh, Sith Lords located, alive, returning to friendly lines, over.">><br />
<br />
<<"Understood, Cresh. Bring them to the southern gate, our other positions are being over run.">><br />
<br />
<<"Acknowledged, Commander.">><br />
<br />
"Good," Answers Kalus when Merulia indicates they are uninjured, "It would seem we are moving now. Up we go, then." Kalus remained in the vessel until the last, accepting the arm of the droid to hoist her out and set her on solid ground.<br />
<br />
The tall and heavy droid motions for them to follow, stomping ahead of them. "This way, my Lords. The weaponized lubricant threatening to conquer the Empire is just this way. Ready flame weapons, lightsabers, and anything one can use to combat this corrosive agent. It is unkind to organics." A pump of Cresh's weapon creates a pilot flame, and the droid hunkers into a fighting position as it stalks forward.<br />
<br />
In the distance, the garrisoned outpost can be seen as the main source of light in the night. The darkened horizon was lit with an eerie fire, and laser lances, flames, and other weapon platforms fired with loud discharges into the surrounding forest. Aside from all the fighting, the forest seemed alive with the sound of husked horrors, hosts which used to be alien and human alike filled with a sentient ooze that consumed them from the inside out. They moved through the forest as a horde, converging on the garrison.<br />
<br />
Clearing an initial path, Cresh rushed ahead to engage the Mnggal Mnggal husks, firing a plume of fire that rolled out like a ball from the muzzle and consumed a small group. "Affirmative," The droid exclaims, "Burn spoiled sentient weaponized organic lubricant. Your filth will not stop the Empire." Apparently Cresh's patriotic setting was set to maximum.<br />
<br />
Moving to follow where they've been directed, Bors's hand bashes against his helmet, grunting and shaking it, <"Ever the font of joy and grand tidings."> the grimace audible and his path moving to the incoming creatures seeking to interpose and consume. Still feeling his joints feeling fine since Achlys's bacta injection before their flight from the cruiser - Lord Thul's advance is jaunty yet.<br />
<br />
Thumb brushing over the toggle of his chain weapon, causing it to become flexible and trail behind before another toggle brings it around - locking it to blade form and dragging its powered edges through the midst of one of the approaching husks.<br />
<br />
"Hurts! Hurts! Hurts! Hurts!" <br />
<br />
Spinning into a ballroom pirouette when more descend on him, finding Bors steps akin to those of a man playing coy with their floor partner, turning and weaving around the latest pair of arms and thrusting the blade through their back, <"Lady, I am making a path."><br />
<br />
Achlys, who needed only the space of a second or two to settle themselves back into themselves, held the hilt of their saber fast as the door was torn open. That they did not sense life in that arm was no guarantee of safety, but the appearance of the Dark Trooper was a better guarantee than they could have expected. Droids, so far as they knew, could not be infected. If that were not the case, well...there was neither time nor breath to make such suppositions as the group was soon on their way, following the droid towards, they hoped, the safety of the compound. But they were not unmolested, and Achlys soon found themselves in the thick of it, saber flashing as the fireblade put paid to a trip of the husks as they moved, no caution giving to looking behind them. if one could not trust the fire behind to do the work, well, there was no hope ahead.<br />
<br />
Infected horrors, creatures of nightmare wearing the flesh of others...Meru knew of this creature from the last encounter, but that didn't make the knowledge any more uncomfortable. <br />
<br />
Yet this was not the time for her mind to dull her with visions of what might happen if they were overwhelmed. <br />
<br />
The door exploding outward, Meru lept, coiled, landed and lept again like some graceful feline entity finding a path through the wilds and the horde alike. Flashing crimson of an ignited saber reducing to ash the foes that did not avoid the 'claws' of the catlike Sephi.<br />
<br />
As the group is being rescued, they should not resist. ET-6260 is thankful for the fact that the Dark Trooper droid had managed to find them. She supposes she should consider herself lucky for getting on the same escape pod as the Sith Lords. She swings her weapon out in front of her as she exits the pod, turning and leveling the rifle, a blast lancing out and hitting one creature in the leg, sending it toppling down where it still manages to craw, <"Ew."><br />
<br />
At least this way it won't be able to continue to chase after them, but they still have plenty of those gooey figures to blast apart as they move. She figures they'll be fine as long as they stick with the droid. None of these things could kill something like that.<br />
<br />
Aryn brought up the rear of the group, moving around the plume of fire at a steady jog. Not nearly as graceful or practiced in the dance movements Lord Bors was, Aryn used her running momentum to generate her strikes. Her crimson blade cuts through a pair in passing, weathering the ash just long enough for her cape to disrupt its settling flow when she passed by it.<br />
<br />
Cresh charged ahead, spartan-kicking an entity into a large tree that promptly fell over with loud, protesting cracks. As the entity the droid kicked pulled itself from the bark, the droid engulfs its haunting form with flame. "Recover from that," The droid comments defiantly, turning then to follow its group.<br />
<br />
One last horde remains between the group and the southern gate. Stormtroopers fire from the ramparts of artificial walls, effecting little change until the flame trooper arrived to send out spurts of hungry flames.<br />
<br />
The horde the stormtroopers were fighting began to turn away to run back toward the woods, back toward the Sith. <"Look!"> Yells a young trooper. <"We scared them off!"><br />
<br />
<"No, we haven't. /Look/! Sith!"> The Corporal points after palm-slapping the back of the Private's helmeted head. "LET'S HELP THEM OUT.. GET THE GATE OPEN.. FLAMETROOPERS!? FLUSH IT!"<br />
<br />
The front gates begin to open and several husks rushed the opening only to be met with a WHOOOSH of chemical fire that immediately consumed them. Heavily armored troopers carrying the flame packs trudged outside to set up a small perimeter by the door, but they were vastly outnumbered. Imperial training kept their feet planted in place, though, their weapons firing constantly to give the Sith a window.<br />
<br />
Caught by claw like hands grasping the plastoid plates of his right arm and dragged off balance, shoved and nigh toppled by the myriad of hands impacting against him. Blade rendered useless for aught but to fend off attacks, Bors is shoved back and slammed against a tree with the mouth of a teenage girl wrapped around his forearm, seeking a gap or rent in his bodyglove to do the Lord in.<br />
<br />
"Good job old man. Die all he way out here."<br />
<br />
Muttered to himself in the wake of letting himself be kicked to the ground by another attacker - forcing his arm free when plastoid composite creaks and he feels his flesh bruising beneath. Scrabbling to get clear as the husks bear down on him.<br />
<br />
Achlys was, if nothing else, imminently spacially aware. Even as the husks attacked, and the gates of the compound opened to bring fire, they continued to press forward. Not with the force of their saber, but with the might of the Force. Those who could feel its whirls and eddies felt the torrent of directed will rushing over them like a tide as the three clusters of husks were blown back from the perimeter of the entryway. The way was not entirely clear, but it was clearer. The imminent danger to the party, however, was not ignored and a quick shift of Achlys' helm brought the Thul Knight into focus. The weight of the hand that settled around him, invisible though it was, was not crushing. Simply firm as he was tugged out of harms way and held aloft until he could put himself to rights. "When you are ready, Lord Thul." One would imagine he would be dropped on the move a his word.<br />
<br />
Merulia was not a Sith Lord like others, but she was a Nightsister...and she was a keen student. She might not match the scale of Tamsin's telekinetic display, but she -did- understand it well enough. Giving a lift of her hand as she touched down, the woman extended the hand without the lightsaber and a wave of force rippling out to scatter away the creatures blocking their path.<br />
<br />
The trooper is starting to get bogged down in the muck as she runs. She struggles forward, trying to get herself onward. One of her boots does get snagged on a root under the mud and she stumbles forward to one knee.<br />
<br />
As she's working to get herself unhooked, she suddenly feels herself hauled upwards by the Dark Trooper. Once back on (relatively) solid ground, she looks up to the massive black droid, <"Thanks."> She says, as she gets back to running again. Almost there, just keep pushing!<br />
<br />
Eventually, all of the Sith group reunite with Imperial forces at the gate. Thanks to Lord Achlys and Merulia, the horde threatening to close in on the lone flame troopers, and subsequently the Sith group as well, is cast back into the darkness with significant, deadly force, freeing the others to be helped or moved along. Kalus brings up the rear with Cresh, who promptly shuts the door and locks it. The Corporal of the stormtrooper squad meets the Sith and company, dipping their white-helmeted head.<br />
<br />
<"My lords, welcome to the only outpost on the surface. Commander Ingram is mobilizing the evacuation in the landing zone up ahead, but the legion is spread out along the walls, fighting the hordes back. Last word we had was that the northern gate has fallen, troopers are dying, and there is little in the way of stopping the horde-- well, until you all arrived. The Commander has standing orders for us to convey if you arrived during the battle; keep the entity back long enough for the freighters to get off world; the evacuation is nearly done, so you won't have to hold long."><br />
<br />
Kalus, who is winded, nods, "Very well. Point us in the direction of this gate, Trooper, and we will be.. on our way." Hands on her hips, the masked face of the older blonde angles up a moment, going through a steady-breathing exercise to bring her fatigue back under control.<br />
<br />
<"That way, ma'am. Just follow the path. A squad of special forces set up hasty barricades in an effort to buy time. Maybe they're still there?"><br />
<br />
"If they are, we will find them," Confirms Kalus, who begins move along. Cresh, who remains standing there, almost takes a step to follow, but a loud THUD on the southern gate draws its attention, and the tall trooper rotated, pumping its flame rifle. "PREPARE FOR BATTLE, TROOPERS! FOR THE EMPIRE!" Declares Cresh.<br />
<br />
Taking the path toward the north is a short one, and they come upon the hastily set up barricade currently being manned by two special forces troopers. One is very injured, battered and beaten with shattered plasteel, a broken arm, missing helm, and bleeding leg. She has propped herself up against the higher barricade, holding a flame rifle out and firing in random intervals. The other trooper and jerry rigging several explosives and preparing the lob them. <"Hey, look at that. Sith Lords.."> Says the explosive-working trooper. The bleeding one spits out blood. "Best reinforcements we could ask for. Now I know we can hold this point. -- Just in time, too.. here come some more."<br />
<br />
Moving at the line with the others, to join the northern bulwark, the call outs for Kalus and Achlys being heard and the old man happy to keep moving, to be still moving, as he puts his toe to the defense line. "Ere more greatly things change." Bors murmurs within his helmet. Blade lifted in a two-handed grip. Unable to half-sword without the energy couplings of the blade slicing off his fingers he opts for a cross body hold, waiting to thrust into the oncoming enemy.<br />
<br />
<"Plot a course through the night, to a place that I once knew."> Singing... of course he's singing. <"To a place where my hope died, along with my crew. So I swallow my grief and face life's final test. To find find promise of peace and solace of rest."> head lowered and rising up onto the balls of his feet to lean into the inevitable charge.<br />
<br />
<"As the souls of the dead fill the space of my ears, their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers. My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the lanes, I remember the fallen, do they think of me?"><br />
<br />
It did not take long for the group to make their way through the compound, likely because as many troopers as possible moved out of their way to make way. better the Sith than them, yes? If nothing else, it allowed Achlys a good amount of time to both offer medical aid, to Lord Thul, as well as the downed trooper, before they stood, focus shifting to the incoming tide. "I will do what I can to slow the tide." Their blade remained in their left hand, held in a low guard. Once again, it was that invisible force that they used, power rushing out at their will to blast the husks back towards where they were rushing into the compound. Achlys' mask looked this way and that, pieces of the road obstructions which had not been used to create the barricade flying up and off of the ground and sent at speed towards the broken place in the wall, duracerete grinding as the pieces wedged themselves into the gap.<br />
<br />
Safe for the moment, Merulia pulls down her hood and deactivates her lightsaber, but the hilt is never far from her hand as she falls into step behind the Sith lords, a warrior herself at best, if not still technically an acolyte. Her hands do move, making sure the braids securiting her hair back were in place lest she be grabbed and dragged down, but the Nightsister otherwise was casting her amber eyes around them for the treats in time for the call to rally. <br />
<br />
There goes that saber, back to her hand as she looked between her commanders. "Were this a more familier planet, we might be able to summon more unconventional forces...but I will follow your lead my Lords." <br />
<br />
And follow she would. She might not have the finesse that Aryn or Tamsin do...but she tries, pushing herself harder...until the barricade actually starts to warp in the wrong direction and she's forced to draw back, lest she do more harm than good.<br />
<br />
Once they have reached the relative safety of the outpost, ET-6260 takes a moment to catch her breath, and double check her weapon, cleaning some of the mud off of the sight and making sure the barrel isn't obstructed. There's not a ton of time for rest until it's back to the firing line.<br />
<br />
She takes time to use her newly cleared sight to lock in on one of those gooey forms, watching it's movement for a moment before she fires a blasts it clean in half, sending it flying in two different directions with wet splatters.<br />
<br />
Kalus relies upon martial skill over her prowess with the Force. Knowing the overwhelming destructive power of the Mnggal Mnggal did not lay with their individual strength, but their mass in numbers. Darth Achlys display of power was impressive, and Kalus might have commended her thought process had the MM not already closed the distance and began their assault.<br />
<br />
Staying near Lord Bors, Kalus cuts through two entities, though a third swing yields nothing but a loud hum. Ashen remains flutter between the two as she spins her weapon in preparation for another flurry.<br />
<br />
The Commander over comms can be heard issuing the general retreat. Supply ships bearing the supplies of the outpost had been loaded up, and now personnel was expected to move back to the hangar.<br />
<br />
"WE MUST WORK OUR WAY BACK!" Yells the able-bodied special forces trooper. The other trooper yells, "I'm a liability. Leave me here with the explosives, I'll cover your retreat!"<br />
<br />
<"Be thee attempting to shine a hero, trooper?"><br />
<br />
Bors comments as husks bear down on them, pushed roughly back and his swing is sent wide while his boots slide through the mud with the creature battering fists against the older man's forearm.<br />
<br />
<"Just want to kill some husks, sir."> comes the response of the red armored figure and Bors steps in, spearing the husk with the bilari bladee, drawing upwards while it is engulfed in flames by the energy couplings. Knowing he lacks the physical strength to haul the other with, a swordman's salute is offered. Blade flashing and Lord Thul begins his rearward advance while holding Mngal Mngal's husks at bay.<br />
<br />
"Unacceptable. They may overrun this location before you can detonate. And an injury is not always a liability." Certainly the more troopers they had who were experienced with this contagion, an obscenely virulent one, the better. Keeping their saber in one hand, Achlys moved to retrieve the downed trooper, likely making use of the force to assist them, as the trooper was of a size, and a bit larger than they. The Sith paused, seeming to stand still for the a moment, as they studied the explosive ordinance which had been laid out, "They will detonate when required. Now move, trooper." And then, they moved, dragging the trooper with them, but managing to move at a decent enough speed that they did not both become a liability.<br />
<br />
Be it a frustration of failure or the opporunity to grow, Merulia lifts her other hand. She might not have the green glow of Dathomir's fire about her, but the Nightsister had the force...and even through her, a powerful ally it was. Rippling telekinetic force cast the horde back, preventing them from pushing further through, from getting further way from the explosives trap. <br />
<br />
Student or not...she'll hold the line as best she can!<br />
<br />
There's more focus on running than anything else, as ET-6260 fires into the crowd of creatures as she continues to back towards the ships. There's just SO MANY of those things, no matter how many shots she fires it doesn't seem like it'll be enough. Still she's not content with just running without a fight. That's not the right way to do it<br />
<br />
The fighting was not easy by any means, but the help from Merulia's display of raw power buys the team a lot of needed time to bring back the injured special forces trooper. She limps, one arm over Darth Achlys' shoulders, the other holding her weapon ready to use it. The other trooper leads the way back quickly, pausing only to take out sudden ambushing stragglers with well placed shots intended to disable, not destroy. Remove their means to move, they couldn't close the distance!<br />
<br />
That left Kalus, Zoka, and Ser Bors bringing up the rear. Kalus dips back enough to disable the fast runners, shrieking terrors that sprinted fast to close the distance only to be cut down with a pair of masterful swings.<br />
<br />
As they arrive at the port, they're met by Cresh and the southern squad. Cresh picks up the injured trooper who lightly taps the Dark Trooper on their cheek with a fist, "Thanks, Cresh-- My Lord.." She addressed Achlys.<br />
<br />
The troopers moved off to the transports, but the Sith were cut off by the Commander. "My Lords.." He addresses them. "One matter has yet been resolved, and it comes from our highest authority. Empress Kessa wishes to divert your expertise to the last remaining facility further in the forest. It contains potent artifacts of .. an esoteric nature. Our troopers lacked the.. key to open it, and we believe it may require your gifts to trigger its doors. Retrieve these artifacts, preserve the Sith legacy, and a ship will carry you to safety. -- For the Empire.." Commander Ingram gestures toward their ship, an Epsilon shuttle with a Dark Trooper that was boarding it; it seemed Cresh volunteered for the final leg of this crucial mission.<br />
<br />
As the crew drew near to their vessel, the large trooper says, "This unit is ready for action. Time to crush the lubricant once and for all!"<br />
<br />
Kalus chuckles, "Keep that energy, Cresh. We may need it."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Sith_Empire:_Black_Fleet_I&diff=19486Log:Sith Empire: Black Fleet I2023-06-13T02:04:49Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=A mission to end a terrible threat | Location=Deep Space | Participants=Sith Empire, Tamsin..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A mission to end a terrible threat<br />
| Location=[[Deep Space]]<br />
| Participants=[[Sith Empire]], [[Tamsin Cas]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Zoka Kanas]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=June 12, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
A shuttle being hastily flown by Aryn Cortess makes its way ahead of a vanguard fleet. Warfare has broken loose between the two entities; on one 'side', the strengthened might of the Sith Empire fires relentlessly, and the other side is a dark fleet, lacking power at first and lingering in the void of space. The only reason the Sith knew to attack was thanks to their sensors telling them 'something' was there.<br />
<br />
Torpedoes and laser grid defenses fire off from a pair of Star Destroyers, the light show giving away the shadowy shapes of the ships that constitute the 'Black Fleet'. A sing-songy voice pervades the comms, overriding every frequency, <<"Your tools of war are meaningless. You wage war against a storm, and nature cannot be stopped.">><br />
<br />
The shuttle that has made it within vicinity of the black fleet angles for their flag ship, the Inevitable. It is an ancient vessel, but by every standard of war, it should not be flight capable. Its hull is littered with pock marks from battles long past, and old ship collisions stick up like warts against its hull. Boarded countless times, the Inevitable lives up to its name because inevitably, it always wins. (Like Sebulba!)<br />
<br />
"There are no shields to speak of, so landing in the bay will prove to be the least challenging feat of this venture. Prepare yourselves to board, we make for the bridge and its admiral."<br />
<br />
Aryn, in her early days, was a proven ace pilot. Their approach and successful landing seem to indicate she 'still has it', but there were no hints of pride about accomplishing this challenge. The worst was yet to come, it seemed.<br />
<br />
The ship settles in the open hangar, skids emerging beneath the vessel before settling down heavily. The ramp comes down, sallying out from the white foggy steam expressed from the cooling jets underneath the Sith shuttle. Silence awaits them in this large cruiser hangar bay. No lights are on, but somehow, life support is. How the vaccuum of space is held at bay remains to be seen.<br />
<br />
They were indeed, going into the unknown. And, as they had already announced themselves, Achlys saw no reason to hide her light beneath a bushel, as it were. So, as the shuttle landed, and a moment was taken to ensure that all necessary items were indeed on their person, Achlys allows the hilt of their lightsaber to settle into the palm of their hand, keeping the angle such that should the blade be ignited, they were unlikely (!) to injure anyone who did not deserve to be so. "I am ready."<br />
<br />
Kit check completed, and finishing twitching over being a passenger, Lord Thul's helmet was on and the old Katarn suits visor was glowing icy cerulean as he made it to his feet. Patting his ammo pouches and the slung rifle hanging from one shoulder while drawing the Bilari blade from the place it hung like a belt around his waist.<br />
<br />
<"Thul, ready. I'm reading on comms as well, how me?"><br />
<br />
Checking his system charges, including the atmosphere supply on his suit - ready to engage seals when the situation is most likely to call for it.<br />
<br />
Darth Durandus had donned the mask in expectation of a difficult battle to come. His voice is level and deliberate as the gentleman voices, <"Atmospheric seals are advisable. Be wary of all contacts."> Lightsaber already in gauntleted hand, he will wait to ignite the weapon until disembarking, but no longer.<br />
<br />
It's not like the Sith would go in without Stormtroopers. The red armored forces were lined up and ready to move, and among the group was ET-6260. She was quickly checking over her T-21 again, ensuring that the settings were all correct. <br />
<br />
When the shuttle finally sets down, she tenses up, waiting for the ramp to drop, only for it to be met by silence and emptiness. It's eerie. She expected to be met by blaster fire.<br />
<br />
The hatch opened, and the group came out. It was not warfare the moment they stepped out; silence reigned and they came face to face with no less than 100 husks. Husks were formally people, their skin, features, memories, and insides have all been consumed by a sentient oil-like ooze that now fills their form completely. Eyes which were once white now stare with darkened gazes, and voices that were disembodied echoed the last words of their dying host as the entity Mnggal Mnggal consumed them from the inside out.<br />
<br />
"HELP ME!" One screams, while others moan in agonizing pain. They are not zombies, though one could argue they shared similarities. Not well known to many, the MM was a hive mind that stretched across the galaxy. To speak with one was to speak with all, and from time to time individuals presented themselves, the true architect or the true enemy, guided all with a sing-songy, riddling voice.<br />
<br />
The one hundred husks that await the travelers part, creating a path toward the bridge. "Thiiiiis way," beckons the sing-songy voice, those husks on each side of the path speaking in unison. They gesture.<br />
<br />
Aryn, who has activated her lightsaber, raises the growling weapon to provide light. Beckoned, yet unwilling to cooperate, she bides her time to strike and follows the path. "The only way is forward," she says to the others with her, and the entity answers, "Yessss."<br />
<br />
The fire blade ignited, as Achlys made their way down from the shuttle. Speaking to the stormtrooper, and any of the party who had not before encountered, moving to the group's ahred comms, "There is no saving these, no matter what they cry or how much they plead. Nothing destroys them save fire, truly. Be careful. Even a drop of their sustance will infect you. There is no salvation should that happen." They kept their pace in time with Aryn, moving warily, attention in all directions.<br />
<br />
<"Some years since the last we ran into this thing..."> Bors comments, moving to a flank position at Aryn and Ban's sides. The older man's movements a little more ginger from the caution required when in proximity to these things. Suit sealed and on canned air, the Lord Thul's chain blade snaps up to ready shape - power couplings humming to life.<br />
<br />
<"Can't flank them. Can't fake them out. As long as there's more than one that can see you, they can all see you."> head on a swivel, quietly wishing he'd been given a mission with fighters, but there's reasons for all of this and he wouldn't say no.<br />
<br />
Durandus lights his saber promptly upon emerging from the shuttle, the radiant scarlet blade held out to one side away from the others even before his boots have landed on the ancient deck. Any expression is lost behind his faceplate, but disgust is thick in his few words: <"It shall fail this day as ever it had failed, ere now."><br />
<br />
Well that's not disturbing at all. The red armored trooper raises her rifle when she sees the forms, but there's no attack yet. Instead they're summoning them forward. She's following the lead of the Sith, after all, but she keeps her weapon trained on various husks as she moves with the group. She probably has enough ammo. Assuming they can get killed. She's not entirely sure, looking at them.<br />
<br />
One foot in front of the other Zoka, she tells herself, as she continues to step forward. That's the only way to get through this at this point.<br />
<br />
The path to the bridge is a long, twisting one. There were husks stationed all along it though, and when the party arrived within proximity, the husk reacted by raising their arm and pointing. Some twitched with the movement, the animalistic nature likely the result of each husk being filled with ooze and needing to move the substance to make an appendage work. It did not operate like muscle and skeleton, making it odd and difficult for sensors like LIDAR to track.<br />
<br />
The bridge of the flagship was large. It was likely from this design of ship that Imperials learned to put their ship stations in the floor below the command aisle. Normally, the ship would be alive with activity, the sound of electronics and alarms; here? It is just silence.<br />
<br />
At the closest spot near the viewport, a single figure is seated in a foreboding command chair, and they rise with jerky like motions and point.<br />
<br />
"The Sith Lords send their ambassadors? Good." Speaks the voice, bootfalls following as it closed the distance. "Stay back, Entity. We will not suffer your filth for longer than necessary." Aryn holds the lightsaber up, the red tip growling and casting the red hue ahead of the group.<br />
<br />
"It matters little," Says the Admiral before it walks itself onto the blonde's blade, making itself disintegrate and shower the air with ashen matter. The voice is picked up by one of the guarding husks, "Our matter cannot be destroyed wholly. You were invited to our fallow corridors to discuss an arrangement." It says in sing songy tone, before deepening into a more menacing voice. The twenty or so Husks occupying the bridge remain at their stations, but their mouths move, creating incoherent whispers that either echo key words made by their 'leader', or other indiscernible details.<br />
<br />
"We have no arrangement save one," Aryn confides aloud. "Your destruction. I need not an Empress to convince me to return you to the void, but it was her command. We are here to oblige. Your mission is at its end, entity. You will not take this world."<br />
<br />
The new entity, moving in its jerky motions, begins to chuckle. The chuckle takes on a new form of a laugh shared by all. "We.. already.. have. You are too late. Negotiation was intended to make this more sporting, but your deaths will be sport enough. Long and agonizing will they be; we shall savor each morsel until the last, and listen to your dying cries for mercy for all eternity. It shall be your legacy.. your last moments."<br />
<br />
"Enough.. SEAL the doors," Aryn says, pointing toward the way they came in. "Slay the husks and commandeer this ship."<br />
<br />
Twenty (20) husks move to prevent these actions, but stormtroopers open fire, flame units igniting their flame packs to keep the initial rush at bay. The roar of the flames is drowned out by the cackling laughter of husks as they move.<br />
<br />
Hearing the order proved more likely to gain Achlys' movement than any threat from the Entity, and they turned, blade rising to attack stance as they selected a path that would take them between the storm troopers and towards the door to the bridge. Best to close that and soon. The less husks invading the command room the better. One of the husks fell to their blade, but striking was not wholly successful. Adjustments would be needed to account for the inhuman movements of the bodies. One would hope such adjustments would come quickly.<br />
<br />
<"Would be greatly sustaining were there knowledge of the beast's weakening, but time marches on and so to does it. Endless."> A bitterness in the words, expression lost behind the visor of his helmet. The black hued suit, painted matte to reduce chance of reflection, seeming to absorb light that strikes it.<br />
<br />
Silencing once they're on the bridge, listening to the back and forth, head shaking slightly at the inevitable assault by mnggal-mnggal, utilizing the flame troopers work at fending off the initial rush to start his way for the bridge doors - the weapon in hand more to keep his immediate vicinity clear - as their swinging, jerking, movements keep the husks from being struck by him.<br />
<br />
<"Lords, if thee give cover at the door I can seal them."> in theory.<br />
<br />
<"Good, I detest wasted time,"> Darth Durandus sniffs sharply as the 'negotiations' end before truly beginning. Lord Thul's comment as to clearing the door is acknowledged with a smart turn on his booted heel and stalking advance toward the cluster of husks obstructing the bridge blast doors. Two are smote unto embers, a third escapes.<br />
<br />
As soon as things all go to hell, the ET-6260, who had been continuing to train her weapon on the husks as they went, immediately opens fire at the one she had finally settled on when everything started.<br />
<br />
The trio of shots from the large T-21 lances out, two going wide and the third hitting the husk in the shoulder, only to have that ooze warp back around and re-fill the hole, save for the part of the uniform that had been burned clean through, <"Dank ferrik."> She curses, waiting for the weapon to cycle the gas into the chamber to fire the next burst.<br />
<br />
Aryn's second (technically) victim of the encounter is transformed to ash the moment her lightsaber cut through the ancient flesh. The laughter of the entity seemed to give the floating ash life as it billowed out from her passing through it. She closes the distance to the command chair, spinning gracefully and slashing down a second foe. When she straightens, she is faced off with a front of entities, their dark eyes staring through the glowing red hue back at her.<br />
<br />
The doorway is cleared when a gutsy trooper tackles the evading entity that had danced away from both Ser Bors' and Lord Durandus' blades. The two hit the deck, sliding out of the way. Had the trooper any notion of a follow up attack, it's squandered the moment the entity takes hold of their neck and rips their helmet off. Ooze is vomited from the eyes, nostrils, ears, and mouth onto the face of the brave stormtrooper, and the evidence of its presence disappears as it enters their pores, causing pain the moment it was inside. He screams in agony, and the husk he got away from the door rises back up, reforming its mass and self to carry on.<br />
<br />
The doorway is cleared, and the controls to trigger the lock-down are to the side of the entrance, a manual lever that just needs to be pulled down to initiate the blast doors.<br />
<br />
Fifteen entities remain, held at bay still by flames but not falling entirely; not yet.<br />
<br />
With the trooper sacrificing themselves, the way was clear to make out the door lock. Achlys, however, was not close enough to grasp the lever with a hand, nor were they likely to take a hand from their blade. But they were not unprepared for such eventualities, and the force of their will flared, as they reached out with an invisible hand, the lever pulled firmly downward, the sound of the blast doors slamming shut likely coming a few seconds after, as they turned their attention to the remaining husks, a quick dance as they adjusted ashing one body and then a second. That there were now injured on the field did not go unnoticed, as they moved to shield the Lord and the trooper.<br />
<br />
Attempting to weave his way towards the objective, the path cleared - Lord Bors finds his forward momentum added upon when he is struck in the back hard enough to lift the old fighter pilot half-off his feet. Forced into a skittering, skipping, set of steps with the gaping wide hatchway and the creatures beyond it there to greet him.<br />
<br />
<"Bollocks..."> <br />
<br />
Eyes beginning to squeeze shut when the hatch slams closed and then he bashes into it at a fast jog. At least he's not going through - but the clattering impact. Blade being used to keep his balance and a set of connectors eject from the back of his left gauntlet. Sword leaned on the bulkhead, so he can get the jacks plugged in and starts working.<br />
<br />
<"Doors sealing..."> frowning within his helmet and listening for the CLUNK of lock-bolts slamming home and magnetics engaging.<br />
<br />
They're moving too damn quick, the trooper watching her fellows go down to the horde as she backs up, soon finding herself the last one standing. A claw comes out of nowhere and catches her on the left side of her head, sending her spinning and crashing into the ground near the door panel.<br />
<br />
Despite the blood now filling her eyes and the HUD inside the broken helmet shorting out, she fires another burst at the husk that had just hit her, her aim sending those shots into the ceiling as she struggles to try to push herself back to her feet.<br />
<br />
Durandus takes swift survey of the deteriorating situation, sees one trooper afflicted in the leg, and swiftly lops the limb off with a pass of his sword. A thrust wards one of the husks back, however briefly, and he spares the third pass of his sword to decapitate the trooper who had cleared the door, at the cost of an agonizing death. Durandus voices to the man, "Well done, trooper," adding enough of the Force to his words to ensure that the last thing the dying man hears is the commendation, before a lightsaber ends his suffering.<br />
<br />
The fight becomes much more isolated after the hatch shuts and seals. Troopers still hold their own despite taking casualties. Several of the troopers ignite shields on their gauntlets (more like bucklers), then extend their stun batons, twisting them to generate the arcing electricity. With the fight moving more to close quarters, flamethrowers are cast aside in haste.<br />
<br />
Further within the bridge, Aryn fends off a trio, eliminating a foe with one swing but handedly missing the other two as they tumble and dodge.<br />
<br />
With the bridge doors successfully sealed, only one matter remains: taking the bridge.<br />
<br />
As the entities began to try to close in on the team, and the troopers tried tog et in their way, Achlys tracked the movements of ET-6260, maintaining their steps so that any attacks aimed at the trooper would only encounter the Sith instead. Two attacks aimed in their direction were batted away, the flame troopers putting paid to those, and a third falling to Achlys' own blade, "Stay down, ET-6260. And behind me." Healing would need to wait. For now, "Lord Thul, even if we bar the doors, can they seize control of the ship from elsewhere?" Not a pilot, this one, but canny enough to ask questions.<br />
<br />
The trooper struggled to keep herself upright, when she saw Achlys step in in front of her. Vision blurred, she let herself drop back to one knee, and took off her helmet so she could try and put a clotting agent on her bald head. If anything the damaged helmet was making it harder for her to shoot at this point. There'd be time for proper treatment after the threat was finished off.<br />
<br />
"Father grant me the will to be as I need be despite my agonies..." Murmuring within his helmet, his chin having toggled his mic off for the moment. Bors rolls against the bulkhead, looking to Lord Durandus and nodding before he pushes off. The chain blade straightening again and blazing to violet life when he swings, grunting when he feels and hears the creak of a cracked rib,<br />
<br />
<<"Possible. A second command may yet exist on this aged craft, but once we clear the rabble I can see to override protocols.">> fully in his element, Bors responds, instinctively switching to comms, hoping to maintain some sort of operational secrecy. Hissing out a grunt when the blade impacts wall and then weaves through thin air when the focus of his assault bends impossibly backwards to evade.<br />
<br />
<<"Engineering remains yet the worry... But if we swap IFF targeting on the ships guns and set to track and fire, we can start on their fleet while we make for the bridge pods.">><br />
<br />
Darth Durandus aims his first cut opposite the chaotic slashing of Bors' chain whip, so that the husk that moves away from the wounded Alderaanian is promptly rendered to embers and ash by the Sith swordsman. Turning once again on his heel in a movement sharp enough to send his black shoulder-cape flaring to one side, he stalks back toward a pair of the afflicted stormtroopers, striking each once: a left and right arm, both encased in armor, land on the deck with a clatter. He spares no words before turning to assist in the operation of the ancient vessel, as best he may.<br />
<br />
The trooper struggled to keep herself upright, when she saw Achlys step in in front of her. Vision blurred, she let herself drop back to one knee, and took off her helmet so she could try and put a clotting agent on her bald head. If anything the damaged helmet was making it harder for her to shoot at this point. There'd be time for proper treatment after the threat was finished off.<br />
<br />
Once the blood was clotted, the young Rattataki was able to push herself back up to her feet, using something to wipe the blood out of her eyes as she tries to scan the area. It seems like they may have brought down the last of those threats, at the moment. But there were hundreds more outside of those doors, locked down though they may be now.<br />
<br />
Aryn deactivates her weapon when the chaos dies down. Troopers who remain, injured, but alive, have Lord Durandus to thank for stemming the spread of the parasite. The platoon gathers itself, following the commands of Lord Bors, the most experienced pilot among their number. Guns on the Inevitable come to life, orienting toward the black fleet and opening fire. Sith war ships begin to arrive in system, the main body of the fleet joining the advance party to witness the carnage.<br />
<br />
Boarding vessels from the black fleet launched and peppered the surface hulls of the two Stardestroyers that had initially arrived. Presumably, MM and Sith Marines were fighting, attempting to stem the spread of the parasite. Unfortunately, the main body fleet turned THEIR guns on the 'infected' ships and began to fire. It was the only way to be sure.<br />
<br />
The crew on the Inevitable were bid to leave by the escape pods. They launched, watching from the viewports as Empress Kessa's fleet decimated the remains of her advance party and the black fleet, but debris and other launched pods rain down upon the planet.<br />
<br />
When Empress Kessa called the Sith Lords and Trooper Platoon, it was to convey a, <<"...new mission. When you arrive on the surface, get to the Sith outpost and organize its defense. We need to evacuate our cache and stores on the surface...">> It does not look like there would be much a respite for the strike team.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Vaults_of_Shadow_Tower&diff=19430Log:Alderaan: Vaults of Shadow Tower2023-05-02T03:07:55Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A daring team infiltrates Rendon lands.<br />
| Location=[[Shadow Tower, Delaya, Alderaan Sector]]<br />
| Participants=[[Tamsin Cas]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Cadogan West]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Orin]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GM/NPC Livia Rist<br />
| OOCDate=May 1, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Built upon the mountain itself with tall, impregnable walls looms the Shadow Tower, former seat of Rist, now home to the Baronet of House Rendon. Imposing architecture and frightful gargoyles warn off any sign of hope or prolonged light in this stormy region of Delayan country side. It comes as no shock why Rendon mentioned having no city or villages to draw wealth from, the lands surrounding Shadow Tower were swampy, incapable of irrigation, and barren with spiky rocks of onyx texture. Dark clouds hide the night sky, and frequent lightning remind those of the presence of a tall tower and its scant torch light.<br />
<br />
"It is good being home," Says Lady Livia, pausing at the foot of a mountain near a river of raging water. Rain falls regularly, giving everything a fresh glean. Even Livia has left her hair to the elements, energized by the gloomy personality of the place and the familiar cold sting of rain. It's the first time she's smiled in years.<br />
<br />
"We must cross this ford. With any luck, the creatures who prey on the fish here slumber with full bellies." Without fear, the Rist trudges forward, sinking into the water, the depth rising to her mid-torso. "Old proximity traps linger ahead. Ere we alert the current inhabitants of my home, do not wander far from the shore when we have arrived at the other side. There is a reason no village found roots upon this land; everything here tries to kill you."<br />
<br />
Livia makes her way across the water, using her arms to wade forward with gentle strokes.<br />
<br />
Achlys moved in silence, following the lead set by the Lady Rist. These were not her hands, and she was not foolish enough to assume that she could handle anything unknown that might decide to reach out and touch them. Certainly not in a situation where stealth and secrecy were required. Clearly, though, as the moved, and the water began to weigh down her robes, it was clear this was not the first such situation she had been in, as she simply adjusted for force and forward momentum of her strides.<br />
<br />
Delightful.<br />
<br />
Potential flesh eating river creatures? Check.<br />
<br />
Warnings of traps that can set off tower alarms? Check.<br />
<br />
Warnings that they've entered Murderland? Check.<br />
<br />
"I suppose we are in Rist territory." said within his helmet, low enough that his mic doesn't pick up to broadcast his comments. Wading into the river, following Livia's path in hopes of he won't be the one to accidentally set off any sort of alarm or trap. Suit sealing automatically to keep from being loaded down with water, EVA systems serving for more than just spacewalks.<br />
<br />
<<"Suggest we switch to comms going forward.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West wore a plain poncho on over his armor and gear, to ward off the weather. Half his face was painted with a crude skull at the start of their trek, but rain had washed off most of the paint, by now. A wary eye is turned up at the ridiculously ominous castle. "Course lightning goes off right as we look up at it," he mutters, giving a short exhale and nod at word of fording the water. Poncho is drawn off over his head, and Cado swiftly bundles up his pistol, bandolier of grenades, datapad with jack cables, and the gun he carries in case someone found his first gun. Strapping the bundle closed with the gun belt, he carries it overhead in a (probably vain) effort to keep the weapons from submerging as they crossed. <br />
<br />
<<"I hear you, Gov,">> he acknowledges Bors' suggestion.<br />
<br />
When bodies begin to enter the water, DT-X10 follows after. He does his best to keep his equipment dry but with the rainfall, such things are next to impossible. The water splashes and laps gently at his armored shins. Higher and higher the water rises. To his waist, belly, chest, and shoulders. His head tilts back, sending his helmet to look upward as he strives to keep himself above water for as long as he possibly can. Thankfully his height is enough to at least buy him a little extra distance. A gloved hand shifts to ensure that the knife sheathed upon the left side of his chest is present and ready, just in case he must fall back upon it. The call to switch to comms earns a double click of acknowledgment from a quick swipe of DT-X10's tongue, before again the dark clad trooper delves into silence. He strives to remain close to others; both to prevent their sudden disappearance or being whisked away and protect himself from such an event.<br />
<br />
They are not the only ones traveling to the Rendon keep. Members of the Rist House follow along, their stealth generators deactivated for now. Like Livia, they follow into the water, stalking forward without a sound louder than the rushing water or falling rain. Upon reaching the other side, Livia has taken a knee and gestures up at one of the walls they will be running parallel to. <<"We follow the wall, but be on the look out. There is a new surveillance system here, so try to spot the cameras. If you are good at hiding, follow me. If you are not, hug the wall.">><br />
<br />
Without further explanation, Lady Rist moves forward and into the tall grass. The shadowsuit she is wearing, complete with its expensive and exotic shadow silk, make her part of the night with little effort. She sweeps wide of the wall.<br />
<br />
As Achlys was, for the moment, closest to the Rist, she moved with the assassin, helm turning this way and that as she moved, <<"I mark four cameras, with infrared projection capability. My helm lacks the capability to relay tracking information to the rest of the team." She did, however, try to provide a brief general idea of how the cameras appeared to operate. She did not divert away to find a wall.<br />
<br />
<<"IR sensor on the cameras.">> Noted when he starts into the tall grass with Livia, marking trails for others with active HUD systems as he slips down to hunker and skulk, drawing his rifle round. Pausing at something, head canting to one side, and then turning, murmuring a low, quick, "Bugger." inside of his helmet.<br />
<br />
Shifting, attempting to get further into cover a spot activates, sweeping and halting on the black armored form of Bors Thul in the tall grass, rifle held low still - but now fully focused on by the searchlight.<br />
<br />
<<"Well... I suppose it would have been me.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West swiftly unstraps and shakes of his bundle of boom, blasters and grenades strapped back in place, and the specialized data jack replaced at the small of his back before the poncho is draped back atop everything. A short nod to the plan of approach, and he slips off after Livia. Without shadow tech or ninja training he was not ONE WITH THE NIGHT as the Rist, but he managed to avoid the lines of sight of any described cameras. He manages not to curse when one of his comrades is less lucky.<br />
<br />
Having crossed the river without incident, X10 slips across the shore with sheets of water still falling from his black armored frame. He lowers into a squat when Livia lowers to a knee, nodding once at the instructions given. The call to follow into the tall grass finds DT-X10 glancing toward Darth Achlys, nodding, and then breaking away from the wall to move in the wake of Livia. He shifts his rifle around and into his grip once more He does not blaze his own trail, but follows in hers. While the reflec coating of his armor is designed to fool sensor relays and an assortment of other electronic surveillance systems, DT-X10 isn't about to test the effectiveness of it in the field. Trust in your equipment, but never blind faith. It is with that philosophy in mind that despite the armor that the Death Trooper wears, he does his level best to put natural aptitude to the test and to reap the bounty of decades of experience.<br />
<br />
DT-X10 freezes however when the spotlight begins to move over the long grass. As the light glides smoothly over X10 without pause, he releases the breath he was holding. Then the light seems to come to a halt. Directly upon Bors. There X10 remains frozen. Waiting. The grip on his rifle tightens marginally, prepared to spring into action if something decidedly more frantic suddenly transpires.<br />
<br />
Lights come on along the battlements as alert guards shine their beams down at Bors. It's good he has his helm on, because otherwise they would have been able to I.D. him, and thus, scandal! Rendon had spared no expense regarding security, it seemed, and the naval commander had an alert staff, as well.<br />
<br />
Down the line, Lady Livia is slipping her hood and mask on and cusses aloud, <<"Drek.. gig's up, we have to run. Stay close, or you will risk setting off old traps. I mean it, stay close!">><br />
<br />
Rising up from the tall grass, she pushes off and /runs/ parallel along the wall. To their right is the rushing water, and to their left is the wall. Up ahead, the ground begins to get rockier until it drops off rather suddenly. The water made a steep waterfall to a larger, dark shaded lake below.<br />
<br />
Livia had intended to climb down the rock face, but there was no time for it. She hefted the coiled rope off her shoulders and yelled, <<"Jump! Worry not about the depth!">> She paces a few steps back, surges forward, and leaps into the open air and darkness to fall into the water below.<br />
<br />
All was well. Until all was not well. This, was, alaas, par for the course. many a mission turned sideways when you least wanted or expected it to. But there was only one direction in which to go, and that way was forward. As the Rist Lady called for them to move, Achlys moved, running in a line like an arrow somehow tethered to the woman ahead of her. When they reached the edge of the waterfall, there was a moment, as she likely calculated the odds, and then, she leapt, making every attempt to tuck her body parts in so that she could slice into the water and not hit it like a wall. Despite her upbringing, this was not a skill she excelled at, and she drew on the force to assist. But, in the end, that was what it was for, as she plunged down, and then broke the surface, <<"Check-in. Call out of you need assistance.">><br />
<br />
"Bugger."<br />
<br />
Language, Bors.<br />
<br />
Taking off after Livia, the old man creaks within his armor - thinking long and hard about those HRO treatments again. Something for the old joints, or maybe some... modifications of a mechanical nature. That might save him the aching muscles of his much abused right leg. <br />
<br />
Running full tilt after Lady Rist, noting the rocky ground and the approaching cliffs edge. Don't worry about the depth. Wait how deep does that mean it is? Should he be ready with a grapnel? Oh Mother he's too old for - WHUP!<br />
<br />
No time to speak, he runs right off the edge - foot curling around it as if he were going to run right down it. Like he was going to sing disturbingly to some girl he stole the kid brother of. Except he doesn't keep running, or walking. Nor does he even get to sing before he's headed down, down, down, down.<br />
<br />
Arms and legs pinwheeling, the only alert he has of the impending water surface is the proximity warning on his HUD that makes him instinctively engage suit seals, moving to bottled air before he hits. Face first - his suit absorbing much of the shock as he torpedoes down.<br />
<br />
<<"Ow.">> head already beginning to ache. Finding himself with lakeweed wrapped about him, forcing him to shimmy and shift, freeing himself little by little. Able to keep calm with his personal atmosphere to work with. <<"I think I yet live.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West slips briefly in the mud, but recovers his balance with admirable nimbleness and keeps pace with the clan of shadow killers. If anything, he's running *too* well, as the young man runs off the edge of the cliff, rather than executing any sort of more deliberate leap. "Ohhhhh drek," he mutters, in the awful few seconds of freefall before he hits the water. He didn't quite hit the surface hard enough to skip like a stone, but it's several long moments before he surfaces again. Every stitch and scrap of gear is wholly sodden, possibly broken, a d be looks like he's been slapped across the entire right side face. <<"Real glad no one is ever gonna hear of this, yeah?">> Thank GAWD for secret missions.<br />
<br />
Like a pack of herd animals sensing a predator; there's a sudden burst of movement in a single direction. Much like those same animals they all follow in the same path, with only minimal deviation. X10 does his level best to remain with the herd when the call to move is given, glancing aside only briefly when Cadogan begins to slip, but swiftly uprights himself anew. Across the rocky terrain he goes, his bootfalls meeting with only the most minimal of sound as the trooper surges after Livia Rist. When she makes her daring leap from the cliffside, to his own credit DT-X10 does not hesitate in following.<br />
<br />
Maybe he should have hesitated.<br />
<br />
He plummets swiftly and after what feels like only a pair of pounding beats of his heart, the Death Trooper impacts with the water. The clatter of armor along with the slap of a heavy object striking the water's surface sounds off. Soon after the belch of the water's surface can be heard as the heavy weight impacts and then promptly sinks beneath the surface. He does not resurface. To his credit at least: he never releases his grip on his rifle. Which may be part of the problem. Without his hands freed to drag himself to the surface, the surge of his kicking feet is not enough to propel him to the surface again. It's terrifying, really. The optics of his helmet permits his vision to pierce through darkness as he stares down into the depths and the swaying kelp reaching up to wrap itself about his feet and legs amidst his furious kicking.<br />
<br />
It's only when the first inkling of dread begins to bleed into his psyche and his breathing begins to elevate that there's a sudden movement visible before his helmet's visor. One hand releases his rifle, though not both. He reaches for it, he clings to it. His hand wraps about the searching fish and only there's a sound of triumph within his helmet, followed by a report in as instructed by Darth Achlys, <<"Mrglrurl drgrlrlr!">><br />
<br />
The fish jerks away suddenly and with it DT-X10 is jerked along, as though he's on his way to discover a long forgotten piece of jewelry buried within the mud and muck of the river floor. The disorientation of being underwater is seen snatched from his mind however when he's able to breath water, but only after the torrent of water rushes from within his helmet and creates enough space for him to steal breaths. Bruised and battered, he continues to clutch to the fish-turned-hand as Livia Rist hauls him free of the river's embrace. Claiming new breathes, he nods his helmet a number of times - with exaggerated movements - to illustrate both his appreciation and that he is, in fact, still functional. For the moment he's busy reclaiming his breath to impart some verbal appreciation for the assist.<br />
<br />
DT-X10 still has his rifle though.<br />
<br />
Surfacing for the second time, Livia's hood was weighed by the water and pulled back, revealing drenched black hair. She motioned for everyone to move beneath the waterfall. They find that the rocks there form a natural cave that is pitch black for the moment. Livia is seen pulling herself from the water as lightning flashed, then she disappeared into the darkness.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, up above, men with lights have sallied out with weapons and battle armor to give chase only to find prints in the mud leading toward the cliff. "Form a police line," yells the sergeant of the guard, and the group of soldiers do just that. They move forward, scanning for any sign of life.<br />
<br />
When one of the Corporals spots the rope, he breaks rank and points, "Sergeant, there's ro--" A mine bounced up, triggered by the weight of his treaded boot. "GET DOWN!"<br />
<br />
An explosion of shrapnel followed the sudden ejection and levitation of one mine that spun a fragmentation ball up into the air, at eye level. The explosion triggered two others to go off simultaneously. The top of the cliff, for any that still observed it, lit up with orange as an explosion caused the ground to tremble. It was unclear if the men above survived, but thunder rumbled low like a satisfied purr that death and danger persisted in this twisted part of Delaya.<br />
<br />
A low-light lamp of violet turns on from one of the Rists that followed, and it reveals where Livia is in the cave. Moving a snake off the stone with careful ease, she pushes the stone in and triggers a solid wall to disappear, like a holo. Low-lights flicker to life inside the new opening, revealing a long hallway carved from the stone with shiny paneled flooring. The other assassins move inside, and Lady Rist motions them inside.<br />
<br />
<<"This way. The code has changed, and I believe a member of my estranged House lurk inside. That said, we must face our guardian droids within. Ready your weapons, we become the hunted.">> Something in Livia's expression conveyed joy if her tilted smile was any indication. Whilst her assassins moved in silent as the grave, she walked forward.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it could have been less of a struggle to make her way out of the rushing, swirling water, but Achlys' first instinct was to get out in whatever way was the most expeditious and not in a way which would alert those above that there was movement below that was not the waterfall churning up the water's flow. So, the cave was achieved, and Achlys reached into sodden robes, retrieving a sealed container or two from within its folds. "I will treat any injuries before we proceed." The tone was one of 'This is non-negotiable.' Given the danger ahead, going in already ailing...not a good look. Once wounds had been tended to, then, she would move to follow the Lady Rist.<br />
<br />
Walking part of the way, beneath the surface, biting a tab and blink shifting through suit system commands; left hand working against the heel of his palm. Causing his oxygen mixers to begin filling his suit within the bodyglove, turning it into an impromptu ballast to help raise him to the surface by the time he reaches where Livia has climbed out.<br />
<br />
<<"I understand jetpacks and the love for them now.">> amazing he doesn't already have one. <br />
<br />
Coming up to where Achlys has stationed themselves, helmet coming off to be provided medical care before they proceed.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West scrambles up the wet rocks to slip behind the curtain of falling water, remaining still against the stones and silent save for his low breathing. Once the detonations flash high above, he hustles into motion toward the revealed passage. He tries to shake the worst of the loose water out of his blasters, with a terse sigh. With visible dread, he checks on his data jack. "..Bloody hell," he mutters, carrying a pistol in each hand- unsure if one or both will misfire, he's playing the odds- leaving wet squelches and damp bootprints behind him with every step. <br />
<br />
*squeak* <br />
*squelch*<br />
*squeak*<br />
<br />
The explosions illuminate the area and for only a fleeting moment DT-X10's boot is visible in the glow as he pulls himself behind the curtain created by the waterfall. He leans one shoulder into the cave wall, while his right hand clutches at his side. When Achlys' comment is made, he offers only a distracted nod of his helmet in answer to the insistent statement. There he remains, one hand clutching his rifle at his side. Nursing his aches and pains, catching his breath. When it is his time for his injuries to be addressed, DT-X10 remarks simply, <<"Hit me with a stim.">> The 'please' is surely implied. Judging by the voice that's clearly speaking through grit teeth, pain is likely creating a far more succinct and terse creature of X10.<br />
<br />
Only after he's been hit with a stim that seems to cause the pain to recede and for him to at the very least ignore his injuries for the time being, the black clad trooper readies his rifle and falls into formation. The advanced reflec coating of the Death Trooper's armor is a great been when fooling sensors, but it isn't the only tool within the trooper's arsenal. He readies his infiltration protocols and a shift of his helmet takes in those around him before he asks, <<"Who's taking point?">> While presented as a question, it likewise seems to imply that he is prepared and willing. Maybe because he's feeling a bit jacked on the stims. His enhanced physiology would make short work in stabilizing his levels back to more acceptable norms.<br />
<br />
Mandalorian Armor was surprisingly surviveable in Water. A built-in rebreather and a strength enough to swim, Orin rises up to the surface of the water in the Doomseeker armor of his people. Sleek and well-plated, the T-visor helmet keeps his features firmly hidden and protected. In his arms in a modified rifle, a scanner in his visor examining his surroundings as he takes a slow breath of air. <br />
<br />
<<Ready.>> <br />
<br />
Orin willingly accepts medical treatment from previous dangers, nodding once to Achlys. <<Gratitude.>> He remarks in a serious tone, swiftly following the Lady Rist as he turns to look at Cadogan. <<Operational?>> He asks of the data jack as he moves with the group.<br />
<br />
The way ahead was eerily quiet, and the space behind them, where they had come into this solemn place, closed and sealed again, a solid structure slipping in place and locking so they remained unseen, unfound, and forgotten. While Livia walked with purpose, her assassins moved with more efficient combat readiness, using straight edged blades and suppressed weapons poised to fire. Several took 'point', leaving the rest of the party to fill in the gaps on the flank. As they come to a wide atrium where the roof disappears in the darkness, and the path ahead takes them to a bridge to another doorway, but outside the door is a caged in armory with racks and racks of weaponry, all locked away.<br />
<br />
Figures on the bridge stand at alert, humanoid in shape, but dressed in all white bodysuits. Their face, if one could call it a face, was absent any feature, even eyes. They were armed with a number of weapons, all of which were holstered on a body rig in random places. As Rist's party came out into the open with intentions of crossing the bridge, a voice spoke to them.<br />
<br />
Graveled, pretentious, and Core-ward accented, he said with obvious affection, <"Livia.. I thought you would be dead by now."><br />
<br />
"Not yet, Uncle."<br />
<br />
<"Soon, then. We heard about your return. A shame the Alderaan you stood for no longer stands with you."><br />
<br />
"If that is not the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy." Livia responds.<br />
<br />
<"Fitting you will die in the place you were born."> Her uncle comments as the guardians come to life.<br />
<br />
"Funny." Livia responds, crossing her arms. "I was just about to tell you the same thing."<br />
<br />
Twenty (20) Snow Wights come to lift, some eerily pulling out straight-edged swords, others dislodging SMG shaped blasters from each thigh. <"Think you still have what it takes to call yourself Rist?"> Baits the Uncle.<br />
<br />
"We shall see." She triggers something to break off the intercom with a jolt, killing the power in the area with a sudden charge. Emergency lighting came on in the atrium and the bridge. "You face our Snow Wight guardians. You must keep moving to fight them. They sync target rooted enemies. Violence of action is constant movement; do not stop until they have been defeated."<br />
<br />
As the showdown began, it was not the words which Achlys cared about. Words were only passing barbs, not the sort that did any true damage to the sound mind. So, she allowed the conversation to go on, remaining silent, still as a shade. And then the hammer fell, Achlys moved into action, surging away from the group to engage the nearest battle droids, the enemy coming to instant life and moving in the way that droids sometimes did, which made landing blows more difficult than one would imagine. One slash of the blade passed a droid completely, but Achlys sliced through it on the backswing. The sudden impinging of her senses that told her to avoid the enemy's 'blood' caused her third strike to go wide. As she fought, her voice came across the internal comms. <<"Lady Rist. I can sense his presence. Your Uncle waits for you in an observation room, high above the killing floor."<br />
<br />
The sight of the eyeless figures is enough to raise his blaster, resisting the urge to drop to a firing kneel when dealing with Rist soldiers. Glaring behind his helmets visor for the effort being put to foiling them... That is likely his fault.<br />
<br />
Well done old man, clearly you are still young enough for this, mmm?<br />
<br />
Bors is moving once it all sets in motion, though, rifle raised and sighting down the barrel for the closest figure bracketed by his HUD when they start to charge. The reek of burning tibanna and -whatever- these things are mixing when acid sprays over his armor. Jumping back, resisting the urge to try and wipe it away and glad for his suit filters for the expected stink and toxic smoke likely rising off of him.<br />
<br />
"Well and fully rekked," Cadogan mutters in answer to Orin. Then it's time for spooky ninja shit talk! "Snow whites?" the Tionese slicer echoes incorrectly, as the fight erupts in earnest. Blasters blazing away with more enthusiasm than accuracy, the outlaw opines, "This is the *worst* quiet data grab I've seen all day." Diving into a shoulder roll to one side, he doesn't hit anything, but at least keeps one of the death machines busy.<br />
<br />
The fighting breaks out and DT-X10 had done precisely what he was trained to do. Attack from advantage, when and where possible. He had clung to the shadows and his armor had aided in his positioning. He was moving even before he'd been instructed to stay on the move. Adjusting his position that he may offer optimal engagement if or when a threat presented itself. When the white figures suddenly become animated and surge into action, X10 wastes no time beginning to move upon feather-light footfalls. The T27 repeater begins to chirp harshly as the burst of blaster bolts practically explodes the torso of one of the seemingly inhuman defenders. He begins to move, approaching Darth Achlys while his rifle shifts and tracks. Another chirp of blaster fire here, then another one there. Targets of opportunity that may present themselves are addressed with the report of the T27 while he moves to the orbit of the lightsaber wielding Sith.<br />
<br />
<<Shame.>> <br />
<br />
Orin remarks to Cadogan based on the status of his data jack. Though Orin looks up and witnesses the discussion between the Lady Rist and her uncle. The guardians come to life, twenty Snow Wights armed with straight edged sowrds along with blasters. <br />
<br />
<<Good. Should be challenging.>> <br />
<br />
As the Wight moves to attack him, Orin can /MOVE/, speeding himself out of the way as he lifts his Galaar-15 to fire off two bolts, both of which miss. So, he grabs a bigger gun off of his back and re-steadies himself to strike again!<br />
<br />
Snow Wights move with fluid grace, irregular and inhuman despite their human like forms. Each pass of their sword is distinct, quiet, and brutal as one Rist assassin comes up unprepared and loses both legs before being decapitated. Everyone is moving appropriately, avoiding the sin of rooting themselves in one place to attack, and Lady Rist is no different. When the Councilor confirms the location of Uncle Rist, Livia responds, <<"Heard.">> Then she runs into the thick of the battle engaging her foe with a suppressed weapon of her own. She moves in perfect shooter-form, firing twice and only scoring a single hit. The shot lands in a way that the Snow Wight is blown over the railing of the bridge to land in the water far down below. In one moment, Livia is seen wading into the moving sea of chaos, then, she is gone.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, those remaining with the sixteen (16) Snow Wights must remain moving to avoid being struck, shot, or stabbed (maybe all three).<br />
<br />
The location given, Achlys returned her attention to the battle. Lady Rist had her own war to fight. For now, Achlys did, not what she was best at, certainly, but what she had, at least in this moment, been brought here to do. The next in the line of robots was engaged, cut down, the sith's body slipping away before the acid of the robot's blood could damage them. But the need to avoid not only the weapons, but the very ground she was now =fighting on proved to lead the next two strikes awry. Such was life. There would always be another chance to raise her saber.<br />
<br />
<<"Sergeant...">> Bors manages to get out, strafing to one side and trying to keep watch of all the movement and draw a bead at the same time. When one of the wights comes for him the pilot, become commando, become... man-at-arms he dips back, nearly spilling himself on the ground. <br />
<br />
Landing on one knee and firing in the same moment - blaster bolts flying close enough to trace a black line along one of the attacker's shoulders but little else before he is up and rushing for another position, <<"Or... Mr. West... was it?">> grumbling under his breath and adjusting his firing settings, considering going to the blade.<br />
<br />
"Ground war is for droids." said low enough to keep his mic from picking up.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West was doing well keeping distance from the machine that was after him, but his inexperience in such melees is clear as the young man loses track of what's ahead.<br />
<br />
Another eerie battle droid lurched ahead and struck with a blade, eliciting a cry of pain and outrage: "That bloody Snow White just stabbed me!" Not a series of words previously spoken, not even on Batuu. Gouts of acid are blasted out of the humanoid body, but the wight remains functional. <<"Aye, Gov?">> he returns to Bors, distracted.<br />
<br />
In his bid to reach Darth Achlys and his position revealed, DT-X10 suddenly surges forward. Now in the midst of a pitched battle, the trooper can operate with greater freedom than under typical infiltration protocols. When one of the Snow Wights had began to approach Darth Achlys from the rear, that was all the motivation that DT-X10 needed to spring into action. Following his position being revealed his sprint carried him toward the masked Sith. The butt of his rifle is brought around at the end of his charge, knocking the Wight away and to the ground. Now covering the space behind Achlys, X10's rifle is brought to bear once again. The barrel levels away and lowers as he sprays a tight cluster of blaster bolts into the torso of the fallen faux lifeform. The spray of milky white substance showers in X10's direction, only for him to reflexively twist aside and out of its path as it goes hissing by. He stays on the move, though seems stick to covering the back of Darth Achlys amongst the pitched fighting. He maintains his movement, his rifle shifting and his torso twisting to accommodate aiming at sharp angles. His helmet does twist at the mention of a 'Sergeant', searching for the source, before focusing his attention back to the fighting all around himself.<br />
<br />
<AGH!> <br />
<br />
Sliced between armor plates, Orin roars his pain. He manages to avoid an additional strike as he tries to create distance, but he quickly lifts his rifle to fire another shot, but he misses clean! His jetpack is helping him move around, but for the moment, he's hoping for the best!<br />
<br />
Two Rists fighting alongside the party cut down a pair of Snow Wights. One had stabbed the automaton through the chest, abandoning their blade to draw another as the malfunctioning warrior fell, spraying acid. Meanwhile, the other is shot down in a trio of blasts from a distance.<br />
<br />
Snow Wights dance through acrobatic means, firing and swinging their swords to damage the party. Their unnatural movements allow them to attack at random, but thus far, none of the party have allowed the Wights to hone in on one target. This is good.<br />
<br />
Livia has not been seen since, but the doors at the other end of the bridge have been opened, revealing a staircase that circles like a spiral, leading up. Snow Wights block the path with constant shifting in the ranks.<br />
<br />
Not all battles were a sprint. Certainly, no war was. Not on the galactic scale. Not even on the planetary scale. And when it came to families? Those wars were the slowest of all. Achlys, sensing the approach of X10, factored his presence into her movements, as she cut down another robot, kicking it off and into wherever it was such things went, when the lost their footing and an abyss was beneath. Alright, not an abyss, but it went over the railing, okay? The second proved more nimble, and Achlys moved to give herself more room to maneuver, as they traded blows, the robot parrying well.<br />
<br />
<<"Dost thee have ordnance? Or are we restricted to blasters?">> <br />
<br />
Asking for a friend.<br />
<br />
Keeping himself mobile as if the idea of being still were absolutely abhorrent to Bors. Ducking back when a blade whirls past where the mid-point of his head was. <br />
<br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br />
Lunging forward into a combat roll when blaster fire comes his way and reaching out to open fire, stitching blaster boltsup the torso of one of the droids. Having enough time to see it start to fall and being forced to leap to the side once again, to avoid the arterial spray of corrosive fluids meant to make opposing forces hesitant to attack them.<br />
<br />
<<"I suppose it's a non-issue soon!">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West tries to backpedal from one of the oncoming machines, successfully evading a sword slash, but landing hard on his wounded hip as he dives out of the way. Climbing back up to one knee with gritted teeth, he fatefully remains kneeling while blasting away with a pistol in each hand, showing dogged aggression, if not melee awareness. <<"I got grenades an' a shaped charge, yeah?">> he shouts back to the pilot.<br />
<br />
X10 knew that when Achlys moved away, then it was for good cause and often it was best if he did not get in the way. As a result he remains rooted in position. Perhaps without thinking and out of pure habit. Suddenly one of the androids leaps at him with its pair of blades stabbing downward with murderous intent. Thankfully the leap was predictable enough that DT-X10 is able to bring his rifle up, catch the attack across its length, and with a powerful thrust of his foot send the Snow Wight tumbling away. He regains his position, brings his rifle forward and down, and then with an angry series of chirps from the T27 assault weapon that slashes into and through the wight. The spray of acid that launches from it peppers his chestplate and helmet, sizzling but not burning deep into the material. He forgets to move still, because now he's busy considering the battlefield and the targets on it, and using that moment to breathe to answer the question regarding ordnance, <<"The risk to ourselves is too great. Blow these things up and we'll be showering ourselves.">> His answer is cool and calm, despite the circumstances.<br />
<br />
Orin manages to dodge underneath a Snow Wight's blade, sliding along the ground until he was back on his feet. He lifts his weapon and fires a few bolts,but the With is /FAR/ too quick! He looks around and intends to pick his next target. <<Agreed.>> He calls to DT.<br />
<br />
Two of the party rooted in place, the Snow Wights turn in unison to focus their efforts on Kol Goren and Cadogan West. Just as they were about to fire, Rist Assassins dispatch the remaining four with extreme prejudice, wrestling the automatons over the edge of the bridge to fall lifelessly into the rocky chasm and water below. The smell of burning metal fills the air, the sizzling of acid prevalent.<br />
<br />
The way up to where Livia presumably traveled to fight her uncle is open, and the party is able to traverse the stairs and arrive within a large control room with countless instruments. The sound of encrypted communications is continuously pouring out from various monitor speakers, the voices in varied languages but all using interrogative sounding sentences.<br />
<br />
Livia is hunkered over a central console, pressing several buttons until it's clear that the mic is hot, and the screens conveying data about the foreign speakers is muted briefly.<br />
<br />
<<"All field operatives,">> Livia says, her voice modulated to sound like her Uncle. <<"Due to a brief power malfunction, comms were disrupted. The situation has corrected itself. Resume operations and a new frequency will be provided to submit situation reports. Be advised, Shadow Tower will be shutting down, so use the new frequency. Rist Out.">><br />
<br />
Screens began to switch back to orange before going to green, each operative (of which there were hundreds responding) spoke back acknowledging the new order. Livia turned off the mic, walked over to another console, and pulled the dead body that had been her uncle off the console to land on the floor. She drew out a data prism and pocketed it, then flipped a large switch to begin a countdown to scuttle this secret location.<br />
<br />
"Our time to leave rapidly approaches. Through these doors is a secret hangar, we can escape with one of our shuttles. Fly low to avoid sensor detection; let us depart."<br />
<br />
With the last of the threat eliminated, by their hands, or the hands of their current compatriots, all that remained was to ensure that the Rist with whom they were not working had been eliminated. Not, it would seem, something that the team needed to worry about. But Achlys did not extinguish her lightsaber. They were not amongst friends, and who knew what else this place had in store. The transport? That she would move towards. Nothing was taken, and nothing explored in the room. This was Rist business, and she was not one of that number. <<"I will tend to the wounded as we depart.">> And ensure that everyone who had come with the team left with the team.<br />
<br />
A shuttle.<br />
<br />
<<"I'm flying.">> Ser Bors was already heading towards the hangar in question, <<"And we need only fly low when thee hasn't a pilot of such a caliber as presented today, Lady.">> pointing towards the Death Trooper, <<"Sergeant, a gunner may be needed as well.">><br />
<br />
Slinging his rifle once sure of their no longer needing such a thing, for the moment at least. Or at least he has no need, being dead set on getting back to his passion project, <<"Unless someone else has talent I was not aware of for gunnery position, astounded and overjoyed I shall be to know the additional aid for positions needed.">><br />
<br />
Now if the shuttles aren't as capable as he is expecting from Rist, his disappointment shall be beyond comforting.<br />
<br />
"Assuming they'll still go off after that bath-" Cadogan mutters of his explosives, before Kol (and the abrupt end of hostilities) render the subject first unwise, and then unnecessary. Which was good, as until that Rist had intercepted the murder bot, Cadogan was stuck briefly immobile one knee, and had a clear moment of 'welp, I'm screwed' writ on his face. A long exhale, and he voices to the unknown Rist, "Whoever you are, I owe you a drink or five."<br />
<br />
Working back up to his feet with a short lived grimace before hastening toward the hangar.<br />
<br />
As the withdrawal begins, DT-X10 turns back for a moment. After he has created adequate distance on the tail end of the withdrawal, he begins to strafe the seemingly inanimate droids with blaster fire. If that isn't enough he continues his slow and steady backward withdrawal, his helmet shifting ever so slightly in the fashion that may indicate that he may be speaking and his head's movement is part of that fact. What follows is the sound of a concussion grenade being fired into the midst of the broken, pierced, rended, and demolished forms of the Snow Wights. DT-X10 pauses for only a moment following the percussion dissipating, ensuring that they would not be followed or pursued. Satisfied, he turns and begins to pursue the exfiltration with long strides. During his movement he begins to reload, ejecting and placing the spent power cell into an empty ammunition pouch. Another is slapped into its place.<br />
<br />
He moves along at the rear of the team, sending frequent glances back to ensure that beyond the destruction in their wake; they leave no other tangible evidence behind. For the Death Trooper, having never been there is a mission priority.<br />
<br />
The sound of his boots thumping up the shuttle's boarding ramp announces him and through the team's shared comms he announces, <<"Last in. All clear.">> Despite that assurance, his rifle remains at the ready and the barrel of it protrudes from the open access point of the boarding ramp. DT-X10 is prepared to lay down fire until the hatch closes and their exfiltration complete. He casts a glance in the direction of Bors, but offers only a slight shake of his helmet from side to side before returning to his position.<br />
<br />
<<Come on, I don't have all night!>> <br />
<br />
The enemy was fast, but the party was faster. Before they can make further actions against the Wights, they are swiftly eliminated by Rist Assassins. Cocking his blaster rifle, Orin scans his perimeter for a moment. <br />
<br />
<<Clear.>> <br />
<br />
He turns to Livia. <<Understood.>> Abd with the others, he immediately begins exfil. <<I can take a gunnery position and cover our escape.>> Orin suggests to Ser Bors. He'll do exactly that, doing his part to protect his compatriots. <br />
<br />
A job well done by all.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Vaults_of_Shadow_Tower&diff=19429Log:Alderaan: Vaults of Shadow Tower2023-05-02T03:07:20Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your log<br />
--><br />
{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A daring team infiltrates Rendon lands.<br />
| Location=[[Shadow Tower, Delaya, Alderaan Sector]]<br />
| Participants=[[Tamsin Cas]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Cadogan West]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Orin]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GM/NPC Livia Rist<br />
| OOCDate=May 1, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Built upon the mountain itself with tall, impregnable walls looms the Shadow Tower, former seat of Rist, now home to the Baronet of House Rendon. Imposing architecture and frightful gargoyles warn off any sign of hope or prolonged light in this stormy region of Delayan country side. It comes as no shock why Rendon mentioned having no city or villages to draw wealth from, the lands surrounding Shadow Tower were swampy, incapable of irrigation, and barren with spiky rocks of onyx texture. Dark clouds hide the night sky, and frequent lightning remind those of the presence of a tall tower and its scant torch light.<br />
<br />
"It is good being home," Says Lady Livia, pausing at the foot of a mountain near a river of raging water. Rain falls regularly, giving everything a fresh glean. Even Livia has left her hair to the elements, energized by the gloomy personality of the place and the familiar cold sting of rain. It's the first time she's smiled in years.<br />
<br />
"We must cross this ford. With any luck, the creatures who prey on the fish here slumber with full bellies." Without fear, the Rist trudges forward, sinking into the water, the depth rising to her mid-torso. "Old proximity traps linger ahead. Ere we alert the current inhabitants of my home, do not wander far from the shore when we have arrived at the other side. There is a reason no village found roots upon this land; everything here tries to kill you."<br />
<br />
Livia makes her way across the water, using her arms to wade forward with gentle strokes.<br />
<br />
Achlys moved in silence, following the lead set by the Lady Rist. These were not her hands, and she was not foolish enough to assume that she could handle anything unknown that might decide to reach out and touch them. Certainly not in a situation where stealth and secrecy were required. Clearly, though, as the moved, and the water began to weigh down her robes, it was clear this was not the first such situation she had been in, as she simply adjusted for force and forward momentum of her strides.<br />
<br />
Delightful.<br />
<br />
Potential flesh eating river creatures? Check.<br />
<br />
Warnings of traps that can set off tower alarms? Check.<br />
<br />
Warnings that they've entered Murderland? Check.<br />
<br />
"I suppose we are in Rist territory." said within his helmet, low enough that his mic doesn't pick up to broadcast his comments. Wading into the river, following Livia's path in hopes of he won't be the one to accidentally set off any sort of alarm or trap. Suit sealing automatically to keep from being loaded down with water, EVA systems serving for more than just spacewalks.<br />
<br />
<<"Suggest we switch to comms going forward.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West wore a plain poncho on over his armor and gear, to ward off the weather. Half his face was painted with a crude skull at the start of their trek, but rain had washed off most of the paint, by now. A wary eye is turned up at the ridiculously ominous castle. "Course lightning goes off right as we look up at it," he mutters, giving a short exhale and nod at word of fording the water. Poncho is drawn off over his head, and Cado swiftly bundles up his pistol, bandolier of grenades, datapad with jack cables, and the gun he carries in case someone found his first gun. Strapping the bundle closed with the gun belt, he carries it overhead in a (probably vain) effort to keep the weapons from submerging as they crossed. <br />
<br />
<<"I hear you, Gov,">> he acknowledges Bors' suggestion.<br />
<br />
When bodies begin to enter the water, DT-X10 follows after. He does his best to keep his equipment dry but with the rainfall, such things are next to impossible. The water splashes and laps gently at his armored shins. Higher and higher the water rises. To his waist, belly, chest, and shoulders. His head tilts back, sending his helmet to look upward as he strives to keep himself above water for as long as he possibly can. Thankfully his height is enough to at least buy him a little extra distance. A gloved hand shifts to ensure that the knife sheathed upon the left side of his chest is present and ready, just in case he must fall back upon it. The call to switch to comms earns a double click of acknowledgment from a quick swipe of DT-X10's tongue, before again the dark clad trooper delves into silence. He strives to remain close to others; both to prevent their sudden disappearance or being whisked away and protect himself from such an event.<br />
<br />
They are not the only ones traveling to the Rendon keep. Members of the Rist House follow along, their stealth generators deactivated for now. Like Livia, they follow into the water, stalking forward without a sound louder than the rushing water or falling rain. Upon reaching the other side, Livia has taken a knee and gestures up at one of the walls they will be running parallel to. <<"We follow the wall, but be on the look out. There is a new surveillance system here, so try to spot the cameras. If you are good at hiding, follow me. If you are not, hug the wall.">><br />
<br />
Without further explanation, Lady Rist moves forward and into the tall grass. The shadowsuit she is wearing, complete with its expensive and exotic shadow silk, make her part of the night with little effort. She sweeps wide of the wall.<br />
<br />
As Achlys was, for the moment, closest to the Rist, she moved with the assassin, helm turning this way and that as she moved, <<"I mark four cameras, with infrared projection capability. My helm lacks the capability to relay tracking information to the rest of the team." She did, however, try to provide a brief general idea of how the cameras appeared to operate. She did not divert away to find a wall.<br />
<br />
<<"IR sensor on the cameras.">> Noted when he starts into the tall grass with Livia, marking trails for others with active HUD systems as he slips down to hunker and skulk, drawing his rifle round. Pausing at something, head canting to one side, and then turning, murmuring a low, quick, "Bugger." inside of his helmet.<br />
<br />
Shifting, attempting to get further into cover a spot activates, sweeping and halting on the black armored form of Bors Thul in the tall grass, rifle held low still - but now fully focused on by the searchlight.<br />
<br />
<<"Well... I suppose it would have been me.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West swiftly unstraps and shakes of his bundle of boom, blasters and grenades strapped back in place, and the specialized data jack replaced at the small of his back before the poncho is draped back atop everything. A short nod to the plan of approach, and he slips off after Livia. Without shadow tech or ninja training he was not ONE WITH THE NIGHT as the Rist, but he managed to avoid the lines of sight of any described cameras. He manages not to curse when one of his comrades is less lucky.<br />
<br />
Having crossed the river without incident, X10 slips across the shore with sheets of water still falling from his black armored frame. He lowers into a squat when Livia lowers to a knee, nodding once at the instructions given. The call to follow into the tall grass finds DT-X10 glancing toward Darth Achlys, nodding, and then breaking away from the wall to move in the wake of Livia. He shifts his rifle around and into his grip once more He does not blaze his own trail, but follows in hers. While the reflec coating of his armor is designed to fool sensor relays and an assortment of other electronic surveillance systems, DT-X10 isn't about to test the effectiveness of it in the field. Trust in your equipment, but never blind faith. It is with that philosophy in mind that despite the armor that the Death Trooper wears, he does his level best to put natural aptitude to the test and to reap the bounty of decades of experience.<br />
<br />
DT-X10 freezes however when the spotlight begins to move over the long grass. As the light glides smoothly over X10 without pause, he releases the breath he was holding. Then the light seems to come to a halt. Directly upon Bors. There X10 remains frozen. Waiting. The grip on his rifle tightens marginally, prepared to spring into action if something decidedly more frantic suddenly transpires.<br />
<br />
Lights come on along the battlements as alert guards shine their beams down at Bors. It's good he has his helm on, because otherwise they would have been able to I.D. him, and thus, scandal! Rendon had spared no expense regarding security, it seemed, and the naval commander had an alert staff, as well.<br />
<br />
Down the line, Lady Livia is slipping her hood and mask on and cusses aloud, <<"Drek.. gig's up, we have to run. Stay close, or you will risk setting off old traps. I mean it, stay close!">><br />
<br />
Rising up from the tall grass, she pushes off and /runs/ parallel along the wall. To their right is the rushing water, and to their left is the wall. Up ahead, the ground begins to get rockier until it drops off rather suddenly. The water made a steep waterfall to a larger, dark shaded lake below.<br />
<br />
Livia had intended to climb down the rock face, but there was no time for it. She hefted the coiled rope off her shoulders and yelled, <<"Jump! Worry not about the depth!">> She paces a few steps back, surges forward, and leaps into the open air and darkness to fall into the water below.<br />
<br />
All was well. Until all was not well. This, was, alaas, par for the course. many a mission turned sideways when you least wanted or expected it to. But there was only one direction in which to go, and that way was forward. As the Rist Lady called for them to move, Achlys moved, running in a line like an arrow somehow tethered to the woman ahead of her. When they reached the edge of the waterfall, there was a moment, as she likely calculated the odds, and then, she leapt, making every attempt to tuck her body parts in so that she could slice into the water and not hit it like a wall. Despite her upbringing, this was not a skill she excelled at, and she drew on the force to assist. But, in the end, that was what it was for, as she plunged down, and then broke the surface, <<"Check-in. Call out of you need assistance.">><br />
<br />
"Bugger."<br />
<br />
Language, Bors.<br />
<br />
Taking off after Livia, the old man creaks within his armor - thinking long and hard about those HRO treatments again. Something for the old joints, or maybe some... modifications of a mechanical nature. That might save him the aching muscles of his much abused right leg. <br />
<br />
Running full tilt after Lady Rist, noting the rocky ground and the approaching cliffs edge. Don't worry about the depth. Wait how deep does that mean it is? Should he be ready with a grapnel? Oh Mother he's too old for - WHUP!<br />
<br />
No time to speak, he runs right off the edge - foot curling around it as if he were going to run right down it. Like he was going to sing disturbingly to some girl he stole the kid brother of. Except he doesn't keep running, or walking. Nor does he even get to sing before he's headed down, down, down, down.<br />
<br />
Arms and legs pinwheeling, the only alert he has of the impending water surface is the proximity warning on his HUD that makes him instinctively engage suit seals, moving to bottled air before he hits. Face first - his suit absorbing much of the shock as he torpedoes down.<br />
<br />
<<"Ow.">> head already beginning to ache. Finding himself with lakeweed wrapped about him, forcing him to shimmy and shift, freeing himself little by little. Able to keep calm with his personal atmosphere to work with. <<"I think I yet live.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West slips briefly in the mud, but recovers his balance with admirable nimbleness and keeps pace with the clan of shadow killers. If anything, he's running *too* well, as the young man runs off the edge of the cliff, rather than executing any sort of more deliberate leap. "Ohhhhh drek," he mutters, in the awful few seconds of freefall before he hits the water. He didn't quite hit the surface hard enough to skip like a stone, but it's several long moments before he surfaces again. Every stitch and scrap of gear is wholly sodden, possibly broken, a d be looks like he's been slapped across the entire right side face. <<"Real glad no one is ever gonna hear of this, yeah?">> Thank GAWD for secret missions.<br />
<br />
Like a pack of herd animals sensing a predator; there's a sudden burst of movement in a single direction. Much like those same animals they all follow in the same path, with only minimal deviation. X10 does his level best to remain with the herd when the call to move is given, glancing aside only briefly when Cadogan begins to slip, but swiftly uprights himself anew. Across the rocky terrain he goes, his bootfalls meeting with only the most minimal of sound as the trooper surges after Livia Rist. When she makes her daring leap from the cliffside, to his own credit DT-X10 does not hesitate in following.<br />
<br />
Maybe he should have hesitated.<br />
<br />
He plummets swiftly and after what feels like only a pair of pounding beats of his heart, the Death Trooper impacts with the water. The clatter of armor along with the slap of a heavy object striking the water's surface sounds off. Soon after the belch of the water's surface can be heard as the heavy weight impacts and then promptly sinks beneath the surface. He does not resurface. To his credit at least: he never releases his grip on his rifle. Which may be part of the problem. Without his hands freed to drag himself to the surface, the surge of his kicking feet is not enough to propel him to the surface again. It's terrifying, really. The optics of his helmet permits his vision to pierce through darkness as he stares down into the depths and the swaying kelp reaching up to wrap itself about his feet and legs amidst his furious kicking.<br />
<br />
It's only when the first inkling of dread begins to bleed into his psyche and his breathing begins to elevate that there's a sudden movement visible before his helmet's visor. One hand releases his rifle, though not both. He reaches for it, he clings to it. His hand wraps about the searching fish and only there's a sound of triumph within his helmet, followed by a report in as instructed by Darth Achlys, <<"Mrglrurl drgrlrlr!">><br />
<br />
The fish jerks away suddenly and with it DT-X10 is jerked along, as though he's on his way to discover a long forgotten piece of jewelry buried within the mud and muck of the river floor. The disorientation of being underwater is seen snatched from his mind however when he's able to breath water, but only after the torrent of water rushes from within his helmet and creates enough space for him to steal breaths. Bruised and battered, he continues to clutch to the fish-turned-hand as Livia Rist hauls him free of the river's embrace. Claiming new breathes, he nods his helmet a number of times - with exaggerated movements - to illustrate both his appreciation and that he is, in fact, still functional. For the moment he's busy reclaiming his breath to impart some verbal appreciation for the assist.<br />
<br />
DT-X10 still has his rifle though.<br />
<br />
Surfacing for the second time, Livia's hood was weighed by the water and pulled back, revealing drenched black hair. She motioned for everyone to move beneath the waterfall. They find that the rocks there form a natural cave that is pitch black for the moment. Livia is seen pulling herself from the water as lightning flashed, then she disappeared into the darkness.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, up above, men with lights have sallied out with weapons and battle armor to give chase only to find prints in the mud leading toward the cliff. "Form a police line," yells the sergeant of the guard, and the group of soldiers do just that. They move forward, scanning for any sign of life.<br />
<br />
When one of the Corporals spots the rope, he breaks rank and points, "Sergeant, there's ro--" A mine bounced up, triggered by the weight of his treaded boot. "GET DOWN!"<br />
<br />
An explosion of shrapnel followed the sudden ejection and levitation of one mine that spun a fragmentation ball up into the air, at eye level. The explosion triggered two others to go off simultaneously. The top of the cliff, for any that still observed it, lit up with orange as an explosion caused the ground to tremble. It was unclear if the men above survived, but thunder rumbled low like a satisfied purr that death and danger persisted in this twisted part of Delaya.<br />
<br />
A low-light lamp of violet turns on from one of the Rists that followed, and it reveals where Livia is in the cave. Moving a snake off the stone with careful ease, she pushes the stone in and triggers a solid wall to disappear, like a holo. Low-lights flicker to life inside the new opening, revealing a long hallway carved from the stone with shiny paneled flooring. The other assassins move inside, and Lady Rist motions them inside.<br />
<br />
<<"This way. The code has changed, and I believe a member of my estranged House lurk inside. That said, we must face our guardian droids within. Ready your weapons, we become the hunted.">> Something in Livia's expression conveyed joy if her tilted smile was any indication. Whilst her assassins moved in silent as the grave, she walked forward.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it could have been less of a struggle to make her way out of the rushing, swirling water, but Achlys' first instinct was to get out in whatever way was the most expeditious and not in a way which would alert those above that there was movement below that was not the waterfall churning up the water's flow. So, the cave was achieved, and Achlys reached into sodden robes, retrieving a sealed container or two from within its folds. "I will treat any injuries before we proceed." The tone was one of 'This is non-negotiable.' Given the danger ahead, going in already ailing...not a good look. Once wounds had been tended to, then, she would move to follow the Lady Rist.<br />
<br />
Walking part of the way, beneath the surface, biting a tab and blink shifting through suit system commands; left hand working against the heel of his palm. Causing his oxygen mixers to begin filling his suit within the bodyglove, turning it into an impromptu ballast to help raise him to the surface by the time he reaches where Livia has climbed out.<br />
<br />
<<"I understand jetpacks and the love for them now.">> amazing he doesn't already have one. <br />
<br />
Coming up to where Achlys has stationed themselves, helmet coming off to be provided medical care before they proceed.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West scrambles up the wet rocks to slip behind the curtain of falling water, remaining still against the stones and silent save for his low breathing. Once the detonations flash high above, he hustles into motion toward the revealed passage. He tries to shake the worst of the loose water out of his blasters, with a terse sigh. With visible dread, he checks on his data jack. "..Bloody hell," he mutters, carrying a pistol in each hand- unsure if one or both will misfire, he's playing the odds- leaving wet squelches and damp bootprints behind him with every step. <br />
<br />
*squeak* <br />
*squelch*<br />
*squeak*<br />
<br />
The explosions illuminate the area and for only a fleeting moment DT-X10's boot is visible in the glow as he pulls himself behind the curtain created by the waterfall. He leans one shoulder into the cave wall, while his right hand clutches at his side. When Achlys' comment is made, he offers only a distracted nod of his helmet in answer to the insistent statement. There he remains, one hand clutching his rifle at his side. Nursing his aches and pains, catching his breath. When it is his time for his injuries to be addressed, DT-X10 remarks simply, <<"Hit me with a stim.">> The 'please' is surely implied. Judging by the voice that's clearly speaking through grit teeth, pain is likely creating a far more succinct and terse creature of X10.<br />
<br />
Only after he's been hit with a stim that seems to cause the pain to recede and for him to at the very least ignore his injuries for the time being, the black clad trooper readies his rifle and falls into formation. The advanced reflec coating of the Death Trooper's armor is a great been when fooling sensors, but it isn't the only tool within the trooper's arsenal. He readies his infiltration protocols and a shift of his helmet takes in those around him before he asks, <<"Who's taking point?">> While presented as a question, it likewise seems to imply that he is prepared and willing. Maybe because he's feeling a bit jacked on the stims. His enhanced physiology would make short work in stabilizing his levels back to more acceptable norms.<br />
<br />
Mandalorian Armor was surprisingly surviveable in Water. A built-in rebreather and a strength enough to swim, Orin rises up to the surface of the water in the Doomseeker armor of his people. Sleek and well-plated, the T-visor helmet keeps his features firmly hidden and protected. In his arms in a modified rifle, a scanner in his visor examining his surroundings as he takes a slow breath of air. <br />
<br />
<<Ready.>> <br />
<br />
Orin willingly accepts medical treatment from previous dangers, nodding once to Achlys. <<Gratitude.>> He remarks in a serious tone, swiftly following the Lady Rist as he turns to look at Cadogan. <<Operational?>> He asks of the data jack as he moves with the group.<br />
<br />
The way ahead was eerily quiet, and the space behind them, where they had come into this solemn place, closed and sealed again, a solid structure slipping in place and locking so they remained unseen, unfound, and forgotten. While Livia walked with purpose, her assassins moved with more efficient combat readiness, using straight edged blades and suppressed weapons poised to fire. Several took 'point', leaving the rest of the party to fill in the gaps on the flank. As they come to a wide atrium where the roof disappears in the darkness, and the path ahead takes them to a bridge to another doorway, but outside the door is a caged in armory with racks and racks of weaponry, all locked away.<br />
<br />
Figures on the bridge stand at alert, humanoid in shape, but dressed in all white bodysuits. Their face, if one could call it a face, was absent any feature, even eyes. They were armed with a number of weapons, all of which were holstered on a body rig in random places. As Rist's party came out into the open with intentions of crossing the bridge, a voice spoke to them.<br />
<br />
Graveled, pretentious, and Core-ward accented, he said with obvious affection, <"Livia.. I thought you would be dead by now."><br />
<br />
"Not yet, Uncle."<br />
<br />
<"Soon, then. We heard about your return. A shame the Alderaan you stood for no longer stands with you."><br />
<br />
"If that is not the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy." Livia responds.<br />
<br />
<"Fitting you will die in the place you were born."> Her uncle comments as the guardians come to life.<br />
<br />
"Funny." Livia responds, crossing her arms. "I was just about to tell you the same thing."<br />
<br />
Twenty (20) Snow Wights come to lift, some eerily pulling out straight-edged swords, others dislodging SMG shaped blasters from each thigh. <"Think you still have what it takes to call yourself Rist?"> Baits the Uncle.<br />
<br />
"We shall see." She triggers something to break off the intercom with a jolt, killing the power in the area with a sudden charge. Emergency lighting came on in the atrium and the bridge. "You face our Snow Wight guardians. You must keep moving to fight them. They sync target rooted enemies. Violence of action is constant movement; do not stop until they have been defeated."<br />
<br />
As the showdown began, it was not the words which Achlys cared about. Words were only passing barbs, not the sort that did any true damage to the sound mind. So, she allowed the conversation to go on, remaining silent, still as a shade. And then the hammer fell, Achlys moved into action, surging away from the group to engage the nearest battle droids, the enemy coming to instant life and moving in the way that droids sometimes did, which made landing blows more difficult than one would imagine. One slash of the blade passed a droid completely, but Achlys sliced through it on the backswing. The sudden impinging of her senses that told her to avoid the enemy's 'blood' caused her third strike to go wide. As she fought, her voice came across the internal comms. <<"Lady Rist. I can sense his presence. Your Uncle waits for you in an observation room, high above the killing floor."<br />
<br />
The sight of the eyeless figures is enough to raise his blaster, resisting the urge to drop to a firing kneel when dealing with Rist soldiers. Glaring behind his helmets visor for the effort being put to foiling them... That is likely his fault.<br />
<br />
Well done old man, clearly you are still young enough for this, mmm?<br />
<br />
Bors is moving once it all sets in motion, though, rifle raised and sighting down the barrel for the closest figure bracketed by his HUD when they start to charge. The reek of burning tibanna and -whatever- these things are mixing when acid sprays over his armor. Jumping back, resisting the urge to try and wipe it away and glad for his suit filters for the expected stink and toxic smoke likely rising off of him.<br />
<br />
"Well and fully rekked," Cadogan mutters in answer to Orin. Then it's time for spooky ninja shit talk! "Snow whites?" the Tionese slicer echoes incorrectly, as the fight erupts in earnest. Blasters blazing away with more enthusiasm than accuracy, the outlaw opines, "This is the *worst* quiet data grab I've seen all day." Diving into a shoulder roll to one side, he doesn't hit anything, but at least keeps one of the death machines busy.<br />
<br />
The fighting breaks out and DT-X10 had done precisely what he was trained to do. Attack from advantage, when and where possible. He had clung to the shadows and his armor had aided in his positioning. He was moving even before he'd been instructed to stay on the move. Adjusting his position that he may offer optimal engagement if or when a threat presented itself. When the white figures suddenly become animated and surge into action, X10 wastes no time beginning to move upon feather-light footfalls. The T27 repeater begins to chirp harshly as the burst of blaster bolts practically explodes the torso of one of the seemingly inhuman defenders. He begins to move, approaching Darth Achlys while his rifle shifts and tracks. Another chirp of blaster fire here, then another one there. Targets of opportunity that may present themselves are addressed with the report of the T27 while he moves to the orbit of the lightsaber wielding Sith.<br />
<br />
<<Shame.>> <br />
<br />
Orin remarks to Cadogan based on the status of his data jack. Though Orin looks up and witnesses the discussion between the Lady Rist and her uncle. The guardians come to life, twenty Snow Wights armed with straight edged sowrds along with blasters. <br />
<br />
<<Good. Should be challenging.>> <br />
<br />
As the Wight moves to attack him, Orin can /MOVE/, speeding himself out of the way as he lifts his Galaar-15 to fire off two bolts, both of which miss. So, he grabs a bigger gun off of his back and re-steadies himself to strike again!<br />
<br />
Snow Wights move with fluid grace, irregular and inhuman despite their human like forms. Each pass of their sword is distinct, quiet, and brutal as one Rist assassin comes up unprepared and loses both legs before being decapitated. Everyone is moving appropriately, avoiding the sin of rooting themselves in one place to attack, and Lady Rist is no different. When the Councilor confirms the location of Uncle Rist, Livia responds, <<"Heard.">> Then she runs into the thick of the battle engaging her foe with a suppressed weapon of her own. She moves in perfect shooter-form, firing twice and only scoring a single hit. The shot lands in a way that the Snow Wight is blown over the railing of the bridge to land in the water far down below. In one moment, Livia is seen wading into the moving sea of chaos, then, she is gone.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, those remaining with the sixteen (16) Snow Wights must remain moving to avoid being struck, shot, or stabbed (maybe all three).<br />
<br />
The location given, Achlys returned her attention to the battle. Lady Rist had her own war to fight. For now, Achlys did, not what she was best at, certainly, but what she had, at least in this moment, been brought here to do. The next in the line of robots was engaged, cut down, the sith's body slipping away before the acid of the robot's blood could damage them. But the need to avoid not only the weapons, but the very ground she was now =fighting on proved to lead the next two strikes awry. Such was life. There would always be another chance to raise her saber.<br />
<br />
<<"Sergeant...">> Bors manages to get out, strafing to one side and trying to keep watch of all the movement and draw a bead at the same time. When one of the wights comes for him the pilot, become commando, become... man-at-arms he dips back, nearly spilling himself on the ground. <br />
<br />
Landing on one knee and firing in the same moment - blaster bolts flying close enough to trace a black line along one of the attacker's shoulders but little else before he is up and rushing for another position, <<"Or... Mr. West... was it?">> grumbling under his breath and adjusting his firing settings, considering going to the blade.<br />
<br />
"Ground war is for droids." said low enough to keep his mic from picking up.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West was doing well keeping distance from the machine that was after him, but his inexperience in such melees is clear as the young man loses track of what's ahead.<br />
<br />
Another eerie battle droid lurched ahead and struck with a blade, eliciting a cry of pain and outrage: "That bloody Snow White just stabbed me!" Not a series of words previously spoken, not even on Batuu. Gouts of acid are blasted out of the humanoid body, but the wight remains functional. <<"Aye, Gov?">> he returns to Bors, distracted.<br />
<br />
In his bid to reach Darth Achlys and his position revealed, DT-X10 suddenly surges forward. Now in the midst of a pitched battle, the trooper can operate with greater freedom than under typical infiltration protocols. When one of the Snow Wights had began to approach Darth Achlys from the rear, that was all the motivation that DT-X10 needed to spring into action. Following his position being revealed his sprint carried him toward the masked Sith. The butt of his rifle is brought around at the end of his charge, knocking the Wight away and to the ground. Now covering the space behind Achlys, X10's rifle is brought to bear once again. The barrel levels away and lowers as he sprays a tight cluster of blaster bolts into the torso of the fallen faux lifeform. The spray of milky white substance showers in X10's direction, only for him to reflexively twist aside and out of its path as it goes hissing by. He stays on the move, though seems stick to covering the back of Darth Achlys amongst the pitched fighting. He maintains his movement, his rifle shifting and his torso twisting to accommodate aiming at sharp angles. His helmet does twist at the mention of a 'Sergeant', searching for the source, before focusing his attention back to the fighting all around himself.<br />
<br />
<AGH!> <br />
<br />
Sliced between armor plates, Orin roars his pain. He manages to avoid an additional strike as he tries to create distance, but he quickly lifts his rifle to fire another shot, but he misses clean! His jetpack is helping him move around, but for the moment, he's hoping for the best!<br />
<br />
Two Rists fighting alongside the party cut down a pair of Snow Wights. One had stabbed the automaton through the chest, abandoning their blade to draw another as the malfunctioning warrior fell, spraying acid. Meanwhile, the other is shot down in a trio of blasts from a distance.<br />
<br />
Snow Wights dance through acrobatic means, firing and swinging their swords to damage the party. Their unnatural movements allow them to attack at random, but thus far, none of the party have allowed the Wights to hone in on one target. This is good.<br />
<br />
Livia has not been seen since, but the doors at the other end of the bridge have been opened, revealing a staircase that circles like a spiral, leading up. Snow Wights block the path with constant shifting in the ranks.<br />
<br />
Not all battles were a sprint. Certainly, no war was. Not on the galactic scale. Not even on the planetary scale. And when it came to families? Those wars were the slowest of all. Achlys, sensing the approach of X10, factored his presence into her movements, as she cut down another robot, kicking it off and into wherever it was such things went, when the lost their footing and an abyss was beneath. Alright, not an abyss, but it went over the railing, okay? The second proved more nimble, and Achlys moved to give herself more room to maneuver, as they traded blows, the robot parrying well.<br />
<br />
<<"Dost thee have ordnance? Or are we restricted to blasters?">> <br />
<br />
Asking for a friend.<br />
<br />
Keeping himself mobile as if the idea of being still were absolutely abhorrent to Bors. Ducking back when a blade whirls past where the mid-point of his head was. <br />
<br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br />
Lunging forward into a combat roll when blaster fire comes his way and reaching out to open fire, stitching blaster boltsup the torso of one of the droids. Having enough time to see it start to fall and being forced to leap to the side once again, to avoid the arterial spray of corrosive fluids meant to make opposing forces hesitant to attack them.<br />
<br />
<<"I suppose it's a non-issue soon!">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West tries to backpedal from one of the oncoming machines, successfully evading a sword slash, but landing hard on his wounded hip as he dives out of the way. Climbing back up to one knee with gritted teeth, he fatefully remains kneeling while blasting away with a pistol in each hand, showing dogged aggression, if not melee awareness. <<"I got grenades an' a shaped charge, yeah?">> he shouts back to the pilot.<br />
<br />
X10 knew that when Achlys moved away, then it was for good cause and often it was best if he did not get in the way. As a result he remains rooted in position. Perhaps without thinking and out of pure habit. Suddenly one of the androids leaps at him with its pair of blades stabbing downward with murderous intent. Thankfully the leap was predictable enough that DT-X10 is able to bring his rifle up, catch the attack across its length, and with a powerful thrust of his foot send the Snow Wight tumbling away. He regains his position, brings his rifle forward and down, and then with an angry series of chirps from the T27 assault weapon that slashes into and through the wight. The spray of acid that launches from it peppers his chestplate and helmet, sizzling but not burning deep into the material. He forgets to move still, because now he's busy considering the battlefield and the targets on it, and using that moment to breathe to answer the question regarding ordnance, <<"The risk to ourselves is too great. Blow these things up and we'll be showering ourselves.">> His answer is cool and calm, despite the circumstances.<br />
<br />
Orin manages to dodge underneath a Snow Wight's blade, sliding along the ground until he was back on his feet. He lifts his weapon and fires a few bolts,but the With is /FAR/ too quick! He looks around and intends to pick his next target. <<Agreed.>> He calls to DT.<br />
<br />
Two of the party rooted in place, the Snow Wights turn in unison to focus their efforts on Kol Goren and Cadogan West. Just as they were about to fire, Rist Assassins dispatch the remaining four with extreme prejudice, wrestling the automatons over the edge of the bridge to fall lifelessly into the rocky chasm and water below. The smell of burning metal fills the air, the sizzling of acid prevalent.<br />
<br />
The way up to where Livia presumably traveled to fight her uncle is open, and the party is able to traverse the stairs and arrive within a large control room with countless instruments. The sound of encrypted communications is continuously pouring out from various monitor speakers, the voices in varied languages but all using interrogative sounding sentences.<br />
<br />
Livia is hunkered over a central console, pressing several buttons until it's clear that the mic is hot, and the screens conveying data about the foreign speakers is muted briefly.<br />
<br />
<<"All field operatives,">> Livia says, her voice modulated to sound like her Uncle. <<"Due to a brief power malfunction, comms were disrupted. The situation has corrected itself. Resume operations and a new frequency will be provided to submit situation reports. Be advised, Shadow Tower will be shutting down, so use the new frequency. Rist Out.">><br />
<br />
Screens began to switch back to orange before going to green, each operative (of which there were hundreds responding) spoke back acknowledging the new order. Livia turned off the mic, walked over to another console, and pulled the dead body that had been her uncle off the console to land on the floor. She drew out a data prism and pocketed it, then flipped a large switch to begin a countdown to scuttle this secret location.<br />
<br />
"Our time to leave rapidly approaches. Through these doors is a secret hangar, we can escape with one of our shuttles. Fly low to avoid sensor detection; let us depart."<br />
<br />
With the last of the threat eliminated, by their hands, or the hands of their current compatriots, all that remained was to ensure that the Rist with whom they were not working had been eliminated. Not, it would seem, something that the team needed to worry about. But Achlys did not extinguish her lightsaber. They were not amongst friends, and who knew what else this place had in store. The transport? That she would move towards. Nothing was taken, and nothing explored in the room. This was Rist business, and she was not one of that number. <<"I will tend to the wounded as we depart.">> And ensure that everyone who had come with the team left with the team.<br />
<br />
A shuttle.<br />
<br />
<<"I'm flying.">> Ser Bors was already heading towards the hangar in question, <<"And we need only fly low when thee hasn't a pilot of such a caliber as presented today, Lady.">> pointing towards the Death Trooper, <<"Sergeant, a gunner may be needed as well.">><br />
<br />
Slinging his rifle once sure of their no longer needing such a thing, for the moment at least. Or at least he has no need, being dead set on getting back to his passion project, <<"Unless someone else has talent I was not aware of for gunnery position, astounded and overjoyed I shall be to know the additional aid for positions needed.">><br />
<br />
Now if the shuttles aren't as capable as he is expecting from Rist, his disappointment shall be beyond comforting.<br />
<br />
"Assuming they'll still go off after that bath-" Cadogan mutters of his explosives, before Kol (and the abrupt end of hostilities) render the subject first unwise, and then unnecessary. Which was good, as until that Rist had intercepted the murder bot, Cadogan was stuck briefly immobile one knee, and had a clear moment of 'welp, I'm screwed' writ on his face. A long exhale, and he voices to the unknown Rist, "Whoever you are, I owe you a drink or five."<br />
<br />
Working back up to his feet with a short lived grimace before hastening toward the hangar.<br />
<br />
As the withdrawal begins, DT-X10 turns back for a moment. After he has created adequate distance on the tail end of the withdrawal, he begins to strafe the seemingly inanimate droids with blaster fire. If that isn't enough he continues his slow and steady backward withdrawal, his helmet shifting ever so slightly in the fashion that may indicate that he may be speaking and his head's movement is part of that fact. What follows is the sound of a concussion grenade being fired into the midst of the broken, pierced, rended, and demolished forms of the Snow Wights. DT-X10 pauses for only a moment following the percussion dissipating, ensuring that they would not be followed or pursued. Satisfied, he turns and begins to pursue the exfiltration with long strides. During his movement he begins to reload, ejecting and placing the spent power cell into an empty ammunition pouch. Another is slapped into its place.<br />
<br />
He moves along at the rear of the team, sending frequent glances back to ensure that beyond the destruction in their wake; they leave no other tangible evidence behind. For the Death Trooper, having never been there is a mission priority.<br />
<br />
The sound of his boots thumping up the shuttle's boarding ramp announces him and through the team's shared comms he announces, <<"Last in. All clear.">> Despite that assurance, his rifle remains at the ready and the barrel of it protrudes from the open access point of the boarding ramp. DT-X10 is prepared to lay down fire until the hatch closes and their exfiltration complete. He casts a glance in the direction of Bors, but offers only a slight shake of his helmet from side to side before returning to his position.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Vaults_of_Shadow_Tower&diff=19428Log:Alderaan: Vaults of Shadow Tower2023-05-02T03:06:34Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=A daring team infiltrates Rendon lands. | Location=Shadow Tower, Delaya, Alderaan Sector | Partic..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A daring team infiltrates Rendon lands.<br />
| Location=[[Shadow Tower, Delaya, Alderaan Sector]]<br />
| Participants=[[Tamsin Cas]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Cadogan West]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Orin]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GM/NPC Livia Rist<br />
| OOCDate=May 1, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Built upon the mountain itself with tall, impregnable walls looms the Shadow Tower, former seat of Rist, now home to the Baronet of House Rendon. Imposing architecture and frightful gargoyles warn off any sign of hope or prolonged light in this stormy region of Delayan country side. It comes as no shock why Rendon mentioned having no city or villages to draw wealth from, the lands surrounding Shadow Tower were swampy, incapable of irrigation, and barren with spiky rocks of onyx texture. Dark clouds hide the night sky, and frequent lightning remind those of the presence of a tall tower and its scant torch light.<br />
<br />
"It is good being home," Says Lady Livia, pausing at the foot of a mountain near a river of raging water. Rain falls regularly, giving everything a fresh glean. Even Livia has left her hair to the elements, energized by the gloomy personality of the place and the familiar cold sting of rain. It's the first time she's smiled in years.<br />
<br />
"We must cross this ford. With any luck, the creatures who prey on the fish here slumber with full bellies." Without fear, the Rist trudges forward, sinking into the water, the depth rising to her mid-torso. "Old proximity traps linger ahead. Ere we alert the current inhabitants of my home, do not wander far from the shore when we have arrived at the other side. There is a reason no village found roots upon this land; everything here tries to kill you."<br />
<br />
Livia makes her way across the water, using her arms to wade forward with gentle strokes.<br />
<br />
Achlys moved in silence, following the lead set by the Lady Rist. These were not her hands, and she was not foolish enough to assume that she could handle anything unknown that might decide to reach out and touch them. Certainly not in a situation where stealth and secrecy were required. Clearly, though, as the moved, and the water began to weigh down her robes, it was clear this was not the first such situation she had been in, as she simply adjusted for force and forward momentum of her strides.<br />
<br />
Delightful.<br />
<br />
Potential flesh eating river creatures? Check.<br />
<br />
Warnings of traps that can set off tower alarms? Check.<br />
<br />
Warnings that they've entered Murderland? Check.<br />
<br />
"I suppose we are in Rist territory." said within his helmet, low enough that his mic doesn't pick up to broadcast his comments. Wading into the river, following Livia's path in hopes of he won't be the one to accidentally set off any sort of alarm or trap. Suit sealing automatically to keep from being loaded down with water, EVA systems serving for more than just spacewalks.<br />
<br />
<<"Suggest we switch to comms going forward.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West wore a plain poncho on over his armor and gear, to ward off the weather. Half his face was painted with a crude skull at the start of their trek, but rain had washed off most of the paint, by now. A wary eye is turned up at the ridiculously ominous castle. "Course lightning goes off right as we look up at it," he mutters, giving a short exhale and nod at word of fording the water. Poncho is drawn off over his head, and Cado swiftly bundles up his pistol, bandolier of grenades, datapad with jack cables, and the gun he carries in case someone found his first gun. Strapping the bundle closed with the gun belt, he carries it overhead in a (probably vain) effort to keep the weapons from submerging as they crossed. <br />
<br />
<<"I hear you, Gov,">> he acknowledges Bors' suggestion.<br />
<br />
When bodies begin to enter the water, DT-X10 follows after. He does his best to keep his equipment dry but with the rainfall, such things are next to impossible. The water splashes and laps gently at his armored shins. Higher and higher the water rises. To his waist, belly, chest, and shoulders. His head tilts back, sending his helmet to look upward as he strives to keep himself above water for as long as he possibly can. Thankfully his height is enough to at least buy him a little extra distance. A gloved hand shifts to ensure that the knife sheathed upon the left side of his chest is present and ready, just in case he must fall back upon it. The call to switch to comms earns a double click of acknowledgment from a quick swipe of DT-X10's tongue, before again the dark clad trooper delves into silence. He strives to remain close to others; both to prevent their sudden disappearance or being whisked away and protect himself from such an event.<br />
<br />
They are not the only ones traveling to the Rendon keep. Members of the Rist House follow along, their stealth generators deactivated for now. Like Livia, they follow into the water, stalking forward without a sound louder than the rushing water or falling rain. Upon reaching the other side, Livia has taken a knee and gestures up at one of the walls they will be running parallel to. <<"We follow the wall, but be on the look out. There is a new surveillance system here, so try to spot the cameras. If you are good at hiding, follow me. If you are not, hug the wall.">><br />
<br />
Without further explanation, Lady Rist moves forward and into the tall grass. The shadowsuit she is wearing, complete with its expensive and exotic shadow silk, make her part of the night with little effort. She sweeps wide of the wall.<br />
<br />
As Achlys was, for the moment, closest to the Rist, she moved with the assassin, helm turning this way and that as she moved, <<"I mark four cameras, with infrared projection capability. My helm lacks the capability to relay tracking information to the rest of the team." She did, however, try to provide a brief general idea of how the cameras appeared to operate. She did not divert away to find a wall.<br />
<br />
<<"IR sensor on the cameras.">> Noted when he starts into the tall grass with Livia, marking trails for others with active HUD systems as he slips down to hunker and skulk, drawing his rifle round. Pausing at something, head canting to one side, and then turning, murmuring a low, quick, "Bugger." inside of his helmet.<br />
<br />
Shifting, attempting to get further into cover a spot activates, sweeping and halting on the black armored form of Bors Thul in the tall grass, rifle held low still - but now fully focused on by the searchlight.<br />
<br />
<<"Well... I suppose it would have been me.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West swiftly unstraps and shakes of his bundle of boom, blasters and grenades strapped back in place, and the specialized data jack replaced at the small of his back before the poncho is draped back atop everything. A short nod to the plan of approach, and he slips off after Livia. Without shadow tech or ninja training he was not ONE WITH THE NIGHT as the Rist, but he managed to avoid the lines of sight of any described cameras. He manages not to curse when one of his comrades is less lucky.<br />
<br />
Having crossed the river without incident, X10 slips across the shore with sheets of water still falling from his black armored frame. He lowers into a squat when Livia lowers to a knee, nodding once at the instructions given. The call to follow into the tall grass finds DT-X10 glancing toward Darth Achlys, nodding, and then breaking away from the wall to move in the wake of Livia. He shifts his rifle around and into his grip once more He does not blaze his own trail, but follows in hers. While the reflec coating of his armor is designed to fool sensor relays and an assortment of other electronic surveillance systems, DT-X10 isn't about to test the effectiveness of it in the field. Trust in your equipment, but never blind faith. It is with that philosophy in mind that despite the armor that the Death Trooper wears, he does his level best to put natural aptitude to the test and to reap the bounty of decades of experience.<br />
<br />
DT-X10 freezes however when the spotlight begins to move over the long grass. As the light glides smoothly over X10 without pause, he releases the breath he was holding. Then the light seems to come to a halt. Directly upon Bors. There X10 remains frozen. Waiting. The grip on his rifle tightens marginally, prepared to spring into action if something decidedly more frantic suddenly transpires.<br />
<br />
Lights come on along the battlements as alert guards shine their beams down at Bors. It's good he has his helm on, because otherwise they would have been able to I.D. him, and thus, scandal! Rendon had spared no expense regarding security, it seemed, and the naval commander had an alert staff, as well.<br />
<br />
Down the line, Lady Livia is slipping her hood and mask on and cusses aloud, <<"Drek.. gig's up, we have to run. Stay close, or you will risk setting off old traps. I mean it, stay close!">><br />
<br />
Rising up from the tall grass, she pushes off and /runs/ parallel along the wall. To their right is the rushing water, and to their left is the wall. Up ahead, the ground begins to get rockier until it drops off rather suddenly. The water made a steep waterfall to a larger, dark shaded lake below.<br />
<br />
Livia had intended to climb down the rock face, but there was no time for it. She hefted the coiled rope off her shoulders and yelled, <<"Jump! Worry not about the depth!">> She paces a few steps back, surges forward, and leaps into the open air and darkness to fall into the water below.<br />
<br />
All was well. Until all was not well. This, was, alaas, par for the course. many a mission turned sideways when you least wanted or expected it to. But there was only one direction in which to go, and that way was forward. As the Rist Lady called for them to move, Achlys moved, running in a line like an arrow somehow tethered to the woman ahead of her. When they reached the edge of the waterfall, there was a moment, as she likely calculated the odds, and then, she leapt, making every attempt to tuck her body parts in so that she could slice into the water and not hit it like a wall. Despite her upbringing, this was not a skill she excelled at, and she drew on the force to assist. But, in the end, that was what it was for, as she plunged down, and then broke the surface, <<"Check-in. Call out of you need assistance.">><br />
<br />
"Bugger."<br />
<br />
Language, Bors.<br />
<br />
Taking off after Livia, the old man creaks within his armor - thinking long and hard about those HRO treatments again. Something for the old joints, or maybe some... modifications of a mechanical nature. That might save him the aching muscles of his much abused right leg. <br />
<br />
Running full tilt after Lady Rist, noting the rocky ground and the approaching cliffs edge. Don't worry about the depth. Wait how deep does that mean it is? Should he be ready with a grapnel? Oh Mother he's too old for - WHUP!<br />
<br />
No time to speak, he runs right off the edge - foot curling around it as if he were going to run right down it. Like he was going to sing disturbingly to some girl he stole the kid brother of. Except he doesn't keep running, or walking. Nor does he even get to sing before he's headed down, down, down, down.<br />
<br />
Arms and legs pinwheeling, the only alert he has of the impending water surface is the proximity warning on his HUD that makes him instinctively engage suit seals, moving to bottled air before he hits. Face first - his suit absorbing much of the shock as he torpedoes down.<br />
<br />
<<"Ow.">> head already beginning to ache. Finding himself with lakeweed wrapped about him, forcing him to shimmy and shift, freeing himself little by little. Able to keep calm with his personal atmosphere to work with. <<"I think I yet live.">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West slips briefly in the mud, but recovers his balance with admirable nimbleness and keeps pace with the clan of shadow killers. If anything, he's running *too* well, as the young man runs off the edge of the cliff, rather than executing any sort of more deliberate leap. "Ohhhhh drek," he mutters, in the awful few seconds of freefall before he hits the water. He didn't quite hit the surface hard enough to skip like a stone, but it's several long moments before he surfaces again. Every stitch and scrap of gear is wholly sodden, possibly broken, a d be looks like he's been slapped across the entire right side face. <<"Real glad no one is ever gonna hear of this, yeah?">> Thank GAWD for secret missions.<br />
<br />
Like a pack of herd animals sensing a predator; there's a sudden burst of movement in a single direction. Much like those same animals they all follow in the same path, with only minimal deviation. X10 does his level best to remain with the herd when the call to move is given, glancing aside only briefly when Cadogan begins to slip, but swiftly uprights himself anew. Across the rocky terrain he goes, his bootfalls meeting with only the most minimal of sound as the trooper surges after Livia Rist. When she makes her daring leap from the cliffside, to his own credit DT-X10 does not hesitate in following.<br />
<br />
Maybe he should have hesitated.<br />
<br />
He plummets swiftly and after what feels like only a pair of pounding beats of his heart, the Death Trooper impacts with the water. The clatter of armor along with the slap of a heavy object striking the water's surface sounds off. Soon after the belch of the water's surface can be heard as the heavy weight impacts and then promptly sinks beneath the surface. He does not resurface. To his credit at least: he never releases his grip on his rifle. Which may be part of the problem. Without his hands freed to drag himself to the surface, the surge of his kicking feet is not enough to propel him to the surface again. It's terrifying, really. The optics of his helmet permits his vision to pierce through darkness as he stares down into the depths and the swaying kelp reaching up to wrap itself about his feet and legs amidst his furious kicking.<br />
<br />
It's only when the first inkling of dread begins to bleed into his psyche and his breathing begins to elevate that there's a sudden movement visible before his helmet's visor. One hand releases his rifle, though not both. He reaches for it, he clings to it. His hand wraps about the searching fish and only there's a sound of triumph within his helmet, followed by a report in as instructed by Darth Achlys, <<"Mrglrurl drgrlrlr!">><br />
<br />
The fish jerks away suddenly and with it DT-X10 is jerked along, as though he's on his way to discover a long forgotten piece of jewelry buried within the mud and muck of the river floor. The disorientation of being underwater is seen snatched from his mind however when he's able to breath water, but only after the torrent of water rushes from within his helmet and creates enough space for him to steal breaths. Bruised and battered, he continues to clutch to the fish-turned-hand as Livia Rist hauls him free of the river's embrace. Claiming new breathes, he nods his helmet a number of times - with exaggerated movements - to illustrate both his appreciation and that he is, in fact, still functional. For the moment he's busy reclaiming his breath to impart some verbal appreciation for the assist.<br />
<br />
DT-X10 still has his rifle though.<br />
<br />
Surfacing for the second time, Livia's hood was weighed by the water and pulled back, revealing drenched black hair. She motioned for everyone to move beneath the waterfall. They find that the rocks there form a natural cave that is pitch black for the moment. Livia is seen pulling herself from the water as lightning flashed, then she disappeared into the darkness.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, up above, men with lights have sallied out with weapons and battle armor to give chase only to find prints in the mud leading toward the cliff. "Form a police line," yells the sergeant of the guard, and the group of soldiers do just that. They move forward, scanning for any sign of life.<br />
<br />
When one of the Corporals spots the rope, he breaks rank and points, "Sergeant, there's ro--" A mine bounced up, triggered by the weight of his treaded boot. "GET DOWN!"<br />
<br />
An explosion of shrapnel followed the sudden ejection and levitation of one mine that spun a fragmentation ball up into the air, at eye level. The explosion triggered two others to go off simultaneously. The top of the cliff, for any that still observed it, lit up with orange as an explosion caused the ground to tremble. It was unclear if the men above survived, but thunder rumbled low like a satisfied purr that death and danger persisted in this twisted part of Delaya.<br />
<br />
A low-light lamp of violet turns on from one of the Rists that followed, and it reveals where Livia is in the cave. Moving a snake off the stone with careful ease, she pushes the stone in and triggers a solid wall to disappear, like a holo. Low-lights flicker to life inside the new opening, revealing a long hallway carved from the stone with shiny paneled flooring. The other assassins move inside, and Lady Rist motions them inside.<br />
<br />
<<"This way. The code has changed, and I believe a member of my estranged House lurk inside. That said, we must face our guardian droids within. Ready your weapons, we become the hunted.">> Something in Livia's expression conveyed joy if her tilted smile was any indication. Whilst her assassins moved in silent as the grave, she walked forward.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it could have been less of a struggle to make her way out of the rushing, swirling water, but Achlys' first instinct was to get out in whatever way was the most expeditious and not in a way which would alert those above that there was movement below that was not the waterfall churning up the water's flow. So, the cave was achieved, and Achlys reached into sodden robes, retrieving a sealed container or two from within its folds. "I will treat any injuries before we proceed." The tone was one of 'This is non-negotiable.' Given the danger ahead, going in already ailing...not a good look. Once wounds had been tended to, then, she would move to follow the Lady Rist.<br />
<br />
Walking part of the way, beneath the surface, biting a tab and blink shifting through suit system commands; left hand working against the heel of his palm. Causing his oxygen mixers to begin filling his suit within the bodyglove, turning it into an impromptu ballast to help raise him to the surface by the time he reaches where Livia has climbed out.<br />
<br />
<<"I understand jetpacks and the love for them now.">> amazing he doesn't already have one. <br />
<br />
Coming up to where Achlys has stationed themselves, helmet coming off to be provided medical care before they proceed.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West scrambles up the wet rocks to slip behind the curtain of falling water, remaining still against the stones and silent save for his low breathing. Once the detonations flash high above, he hustles into motion toward the revealed passage. He tries to shake the worst of the loose water out of his blasters, with a terse sigh. With visible dread, he checks on his data jack. "..Bloody hell," he mutters, carrying a pistol in each hand- unsure if one or both will misfire, he's playing the odds- leaving wet squelches and damp bootprints behind him with every step. <br />
<br />
*squeak* <br />
*squelch*<br />
*squeak*<br />
<br />
The explosions illuminate the area and for only a fleeting moment DT-X10's boot is visible in the glow as he pulls himself behind the curtain created by the waterfall. He leans one shoulder into the cave wall, while his right hand clutches at his side. When Achlys' comment is made, he offers only a distracted nod of his helmet in answer to the insistent statement. There he remains, one hand clutching his rifle at his side. Nursing his aches and pains, catching his breath. When it is his time for his injuries to be addressed, DT-X10 remarks simply, <<"Hit me with a stim.">> The 'please' is surely implied. Judging by the voice that's clearly speaking through grit teeth, pain is likely creating a far more succinct and terse creature of X10.<br />
<br />
Only after he's been hit with a stim that seems to cause the pain to recede and for him to at the very least ignore his injuries for the time being, the black clad trooper readies his rifle and falls into formation. The advanced reflec coating of the Death Trooper's armor is a great been when fooling sensors, but it isn't the only tool within the trooper's arsenal. He readies his infiltration protocols and a shift of his helmet takes in those around him before he asks, <<"Who's taking point?">> While presented as a question, it likewise seems to imply that he is prepared and willing. Maybe because he's feeling a bit jacked on the stims. His enhanced physiology would make short work in stabilizing his levels back to more acceptable norms.<br />
<br />
Mandalorian Armor was surprisingly surviveable in Water. A built-in rebreather and a strength enough to swim, Orin rises up to the surface of the water in the Doomseeker armor of his people. Sleek and well-plated, the T-visor helmet keeps his features firmly hidden and protected. In his arms in a modified rifle, a scanner in his visor examining his surroundings as he takes a slow breath of air. <br />
<br />
<<Ready.>> <br />
<br />
Orin willingly accepts medical treatment from previous dangers, nodding once to Achlys. <<Gratitude.>> He remarks in a serious tone, swiftly following the Lady Rist as he turns to look at Cadogan. <<Operational?>> He asks of the data jack as he moves with the group.<br />
<br />
The way ahead was eerily quiet, and the space behind them, where they had come into this solemn place, closed and sealed again, a solid structure slipping in place and locking so they remained unseen, unfound, and forgotten. While Livia walked with purpose, her assassins moved with more efficient combat readiness, using straight edged blades and suppressed weapons poised to fire. Several took 'point', leaving the rest of the party to fill in the gaps on the flank. As they come to a wide atrium where the roof disappears in the darkness, and the path ahead takes them to a bridge to another doorway, but outside the door is a caged in armory with racks and racks of weaponry, all locked away.<br />
<br />
Figures on the bridge stand at alert, humanoid in shape, but dressed in all white bodysuits. Their face, if one could call it a face, was absent any feature, even eyes. They were armed with a number of weapons, all of which were holstered on a body rig in random places. As Rist's party came out into the open with intentions of crossing the bridge, a voice spoke to them.<br />
<br />
Graveled, pretentious, and Core-ward accented, he said with obvious affection, <"Livia.. I thought you would be dead by now."><br />
<br />
"Not yet, Uncle."<br />
<br />
<"Soon, then. We heard about your return. A shame the Alderaan you stood for no longer stands with you."><br />
<br />
"If that is not the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy." Livia responds.<br />
<br />
<"Fitting you will die in the place you were born."> Her uncle comments as the guardians come to life.<br />
<br />
"Funny." Livia responds, crossing her arms. "I was just about to tell you the same thing."<br />
<br />
Twenty (20) Snow Wights come to lift, some eerily pulling out straight-edged swords, others dislodging SMG shaped blasters from each thigh. <"Think you still have what it takes to call yourself Rist?"> Baits the Uncle.<br />
<br />
"We shall see." She triggers something to break off the intercom with a jolt, killing the power in the area with a sudden charge. Emergency lighting came on in the atrium and the bridge. "You face our Snow Wight guardians. You must keep moving to fight them. They sync target rooted enemies. Violence of action is constant movement; do not stop until they have been defeated."<br />
<br />
As the showdown began, it was not the words which Achlys cared about. Words were only passing barbs, not the sort that did any true damage to the sound mind. So, she allowed the conversation to go on, remaining silent, still as a shade. And then the hammer fell, Achlys moved into action, surging away from the group to engage the nearest battle droids, the enemy coming to instant life and moving in the way that droids sometimes did, which made landing blows more difficult than one would imagine. One slash of the blade passed a droid completely, but Achlys sliced through it on the backswing. The sudden impinging of her senses that told her to avoid the enemy's 'blood' caused her third strike to go wide. As she fought, her voice came across the internal comms. <<"Lady Rist. I can sense his presence. Your Uncle waits for you in an observation room, high above the killing floor."<br />
<br />
The sight of the eyeless figures is enough to raise his blaster, resisting the urge to drop to a firing kneel when dealing with Rist soldiers. Glaring behind his helmets visor for the effort being put to foiling them... That is likely his fault.<br />
<br />
Well done old man, clearly you are still young enough for this, mmm?<br />
<br />
Bors is moving once it all sets in motion, though, rifle raised and sighting down the barrel for the closest figure bracketed by his HUD when they start to charge. The reek of burning tibanna and -whatever- these things are mixing when acid sprays over his armor. Jumping back, resisting the urge to try and wipe it away and glad for his suit filters for the expected stink and toxic smoke likely rising off of him.<br />
<br />
"Well and fully rekked," Cadogan mutters in answer to Orin. Then it's time for spooky ninja shit talk! "Snow whites?" the Tionese slicer echoes incorrectly, as the fight erupts in earnest. Blasters blazing away with more enthusiasm than accuracy, the outlaw opines, "This is the *worst* quiet data grab I've seen all day." Diving into a shoulder roll to one side, he doesn't hit anything, but at least keeps one of the death machines busy.<br />
<br />
The fighting breaks out and DT-X10 had done precisely what he was trained to do. Attack from advantage, when and where possible. He had clung to the shadows and his armor had aided in his positioning. He was moving even before he'd been instructed to stay on the move. Adjusting his position that he may offer optimal engagement if or when a threat presented itself. When the white figures suddenly become animated and surge into action, X10 wastes no time beginning to move upon feather-light footfalls. The T27 repeater begins to chirp harshly as the burst of blaster bolts practically explodes the torso of one of the seemingly inhuman defenders. He begins to move, approaching Darth Achlys while his rifle shifts and tracks. Another chirp of blaster fire here, then another one there. Targets of opportunity that may present themselves are addressed with the report of the T27 while he moves to the orbit of the lightsaber wielding Sith.<br />
<br />
<<Shame.>> <br />
<br />
Orin remarks to Cadogan based on the status of his data jack. Though Orin looks up and witnesses the discussion between the Lady Rist and her uncle. The guardians come to life, twenty Snow Wights armed with straight edged sowrds along with blasters. <br />
<br />
<<Good. Should be challenging.>> <br />
<br />
As the Wight moves to attack him, Orin can /MOVE/, speeding himself out of the way as he lifts his Galaar-15 to fire off two bolts, both of which miss. So, he grabs a bigger gun off of his back and re-steadies himself to strike again!<br />
<br />
Orin says, "Well and fully rekked," Cadogan mutters in answer to Orin. Then it's time for spooky ninja shit talk! "Snow whites?" the Tionese slicer echoes incorrectly, as the fight erupts in earnest. Blasters blazing away with more enthusiasm than accuracy, the outlaw opines, "This is the *worst* quiet data grab I've seen all day." Diving into a shoulder roll to one side, he doesn't hit anything, but at least keeps one of the death machines busy."<br />
<br />
Snow Wights move with fluid grace, irregular and inhuman despite their human like forms. Each pass of their sword is distinct, quiet, and brutal as one Rist assassin comes up unprepared and loses both legs before being decapitated. Everyone is moving appropriately, avoiding the sin of rooting themselves in one place to attack, and Lady Rist is no different. When the Councilor confirms the location of Uncle Rist, Livia responds, <<"Heard.">> Then she runs into the thick of the battle engaging her foe with a suppressed weapon of her own. She moves in perfect shooter-form, firing twice and only scoring a single hit. The shot lands in a way that the Snow Wight is blown over the railing of the bridge to land in the water far down below. In one moment, Livia is seen wading into the moving sea of chaos, then, she is gone.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, those remaining with the sixteen (16) Snow Wights must remain moving to avoid being struck, shot, or stabbed (maybe all three).<br />
<br />
The location given, Achlys returned her attention to the battle. Lady Rist had her own war to fight. For now, Achlys did, not what she was best at, certainly, but what she had, at least in this moment, been brought here to do. The next in the line of robots was engaged, cut down, the sith's body slipping away before the acid of the robot's blood could damage them. But the need to avoid not only the weapons, but the very ground she was now =fighting on proved to lead the next two strikes awry. Such was life. There would always be another chance to raise her saber.<br />
<br />
<<"Sergeant...">> Bors manages to get out, strafing to one side and trying to keep watch of all the movement and draw a bead at the same time. When one of the wights comes for him the pilot, become commando, become... man-at-arms he dips back, nearly spilling himself on the ground. <br />
<br />
Landing on one knee and firing in the same moment - blaster bolts flying close enough to trace a black line along one of the attacker's shoulders but little else before he is up and rushing for another position, <<"Or... Mr. West... was it?">> grumbling under his breath and adjusting his firing settings, considering going to the blade.<br />
<br />
"Ground war is for droids." said low enough to keep his mic from picking up.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West was doing well keeping distance from the machine that was after him, but his inexperience in such melees is clear as the young man loses track of what's ahead.<br />
<br />
Another eerie battle droid lurched ahead and struck with a blade, eliciting a cry of pain and outrage: "That bloody Snow White just stabbed me!" Not a series of words previously spoken, not even on Batuu. Gouts of acid are blasted out of the humanoid body, but the wight remains functional. <<"Aye, Gov?">> he returns to Bors, distracted.<br />
<br />
In his bid to reach Darth Achlys and his position revealed, DT-X10 suddenly surges forward. Now in the midst of a pitched battle, the trooper can operate with greater freedom than under typical infiltration protocols. When one of the Snow Wights had began to approach Darth Achlys from the rear, that was all the motivation that DT-X10 needed to spring into action. Following his position being revealed his sprint carried him toward the masked Sith. The butt of his rifle is brought around at the end of his charge, knocking the Wight away and to the ground. Now covering the space behind Achlys, X10's rifle is brought to bear once again. The barrel levels away and lowers as he sprays a tight cluster of blaster bolts into the torso of the fallen faux lifeform. The spray of milky white substance showers in X10's direction, only for him to reflexively twist aside and out of its path as it goes hissing by. He stays on the move, though seems stick to covering the back of Darth Achlys amongst the pitched fighting. He maintains his movement, his rifle shifting and his torso twisting to accommodate aiming at sharp angles. His helmet does twist at the mention of a 'Sergeant', searching for the source, before focusing his attention back to the fighting all around himself.<br />
<br />
<AGH!> <br />
<br />
Sliced between armor plates, Orin roars his pain. He manages to avoid an additional strike as he tries to create distance, but he quickly lifts his rifle to fire another shot, but he misses clean! His jetpack is helping him move around, but for the moment, he's hoping for the best!<br />
<br />
Two Rists fighting alongside the party cut down a pair of Snow Wights. One had stabbed the automaton through the chest, abandoning their blade to draw another as the malfunctioning warrior fell, spraying acid. Meanwhile, the other is shot down in a trio of blasts from a distance.<br />
<br />
Snow Wights dance through acrobatic means, firing and swinging their swords to damage the party. Their unnatural movements allow them to attack at random, but thus far, none of the party have allowed the Wights to hone in on one target. This is good.<br />
<br />
Livia has not been seen since, but the doors at the other end of the bridge have been opened, revealing a staircase that circles like a spiral, leading up. Snow Wights block the path with constant shifting in the ranks.<br />
<br />
Not all battles were a sprint. Certainly, no war was. Not on the galactic scale. Not even on the planetary scale. And when it came to families? Those wars were the slowest of all. Achlys, sensing the approach of X10, factored his presence into her movements, as she cut down another robot, kicking it off and into wherever it was such things went, when the lost their footing and an abyss was beneath. Alright, not an abyss, but it went over the railing, okay? The second proved more nimble, and Achlys moved to give herself more room to maneuver, as they traded blows, the robot parrying well.<br />
<br />
<<"Dost thee have ordnance? Or are we restricted to blasters?">> <br />
<br />
Asking for a friend.<br />
<br />
Keeping himself mobile as if the idea of being still were absolutely abhorrent to Bors. Ducking back when a blade whirls past where the mid-point of his head was. <br />
<br />
"Oh..."<br />
<br />
Lunging forward into a combat roll when blaster fire comes his way and reaching out to open fire, stitching blaster boltsup the torso of one of the droids. Having enough time to see it start to fall and being forced to leap to the side once again, to avoid the arterial spray of corrosive fluids meant to make opposing forces hesitant to attack them.<br />
<br />
<<"I suppose it's a non-issue soon!">><br />
<br />
Cadogan West tries to backpedal from one of the oncoming machines, successfully evading a sword slash, but landing hard on his wounded hip as he dives out of the way. Climbing back up to one knee with gritted teeth, he fatefully remains kneeling while blasting away with a pistol in each hand, showing dogged aggression, if not melee awareness. <<"I got grenades an' a shaped charge, yeah?">> he shouts back to the pilot.<br />
<br />
X10 knew that when Achlys moved away, then it was for good cause and often it was best if he did not get in the way. As a result he remains rooted in position. Perhaps without thinking and out of pure habit. Suddenly one of the androids leaps at him with its pair of blades stabbing downward with murderous intent. Thankfully the leap was predictable enough that DT-X10 is able to bring his rifle up, catch the attack across its length, and with a powerful thrust of his foot send the Snow Wight tumbling away. He regains his position, brings his rifle forward and down, and then with an angry series of chirps from the T27 assault weapon that slashes into and through the wight. The spray of acid that launches from it peppers his chestplate and helmet, sizzling but not burning deep into the material. He forgets to move still, because now he's busy considering the battlefield and the targets on it, and using that moment to breathe to answer the question regarding ordnance, <<"The risk to ourselves is too great. Blow these things up and we'll be showering ourselves.">> His answer is cool and calm, despite the circumstances.<br />
<br />
Orin manages to dodge underneath a Snow Wight's blade, sliding along the ground until he was back on his feet. He lifts his weapon and fires a few bolts,but the With is /FAR/ too quick! He looks around and intends to pick his next target. <<Agreed.>> He calls to DT.<br />
<br />
Two of the party rooted in place, the Snow Wights turn in unison to focus their efforts on Kol Goren and Cadogan West. Just as they were about to fire, Rist Assassins dispatch the remaining four with extreme prejudice, wrestling the automatons over the edge of the bridge to fall lifelessly into the rocky chasm and water below. The smell of burning metal fills the air, the sizzling of acid prevalent.<br />
<br />
The way up to where Livia presumably traveled to fight her uncle is open, and the party is able to traverse the stairs and arrive within a large control room with countless instruments. The sound of encrypted communications is continuously pouring out from various monitor speakers, the voices in varied languages but all using interrogative sounding sentences.<br />
<br />
Livia is hunkered over a central console, pressing several buttons until it's clear that the mic is hot, and the screens conveying data about the foreign speakers is muted briefly.<br />
<br />
<<"All field operatives,">> Livia says, her voice modulated to sound like her Uncle. <<"Due to a brief power malfunction, comms were disrupted. The situation has corrected itself. Resume operations and a new frequency will be provided to submit situation reports. Be advised, Shadow Tower will be shutting down, so use the new frequency. Rist Out.">><br />
<br />
Screens began to switch back to orange before going to green, each operative (of which there were hundreds responding) spoke back acknowledging the new order. Livia turned off the mic, walked over to another console, and pulled the dead body that had been her uncle off the console to land on the floor. She drew out a data prism and pocketed it, then flipped a large switch to begin a countdown to scuttle this secret location.<br />
<br />
"Our time to leave rapidly approaches. Through these doors is a secret hangar, we can escape with one of our shuttles. Fly low to avoid sensor detection; let us depart."<br />
<br />
With the last of the threat eliminated, by their hands, or the hands of their current compatriots, all that remained was to ensure that the Rist with whom they were not working had been eliminated. Not, it would seem, something that the team needed to worry about. But Achlys did not extinguish her lightsaber. They were not amongst friends, and who knew what else this place had in store. The transport? That she would move towards. Nothing was taken, and nothing explored in the room. This was Rist business, and she was not one of that number. <<"I will tend to the wounded as we depart.">> And ensure that everyone who had come with the team left with the team.<br />
<br />
A shuttle.<br />
<br />
<<"I'm flying.">> Ser Bors was already heading towards the hangar in question, <<"And we need only fly low when thee hasn't a pilot of such a caliber as presented today, Lady.">> pointing towards the Death Trooper, <<"Sergeant, a gunner may be needed as well.">><br />
<br />
Slinging his rifle once sure of their no longer needing such a thing, for the moment at least. Or at least he has no need, being dead set on getting back to his passion project, <<"Unless someone else has talent I was not aware of for gunnery position, astounded and overjoyed I shall be to know the additional aid for positions needed.">><br />
<br />
Now if the shuttles aren't as capable as he is expecting from Rist, his disappointment shall be beyond comforting.<br />
<br />
"Assuming they'll still go off after that bath-" Cadogan mutters of his explosives, before Kol (and the abrupt end of hostilities) render the subject first unwise, and then unnecessary. Which was good, as until that Rist had intercepted the murder bot, Cadogan was stuck briefly immobile one knee, and had a clear moment of 'welp, I'm screwed' writ on his face. A long exhale, and he voices to the unknown Rist, "Whoever you are, I owe you a drink or five."<br />
<br />
Working back up to his feet with a short lived grimace before hastening toward the hangar.<br />
<br />
As the withdrawal begins, DT-X10 turns back for a moment. After he has created adequate distance on the tail end of the withdrawal, he begins to strafe the seemingly inanimate droids with blaster fire. If that isn't enough he continues his slow and steady backward withdrawal, his helmet shifting ever so slightly in the fashion that may indicate that he may be speaking and his head's movement is part of that fact. What follows is the sound of a concussion grenade being fired into the midst of the broken, pierced, rended, and demolished forms of the Snow Wights. DT-X10 pauses for only a moment following the percussion dissipating, ensuring that they would not be followed or pursued. Satisfied, he turns and begins to pursue the exfiltration with long strides. During his movement he begins to reload, ejecting and placing the spent power cell into an empty ammunition pouch. Another is slapped into its place.<br />
<br />
He moves along at the rear of the team, sending frequent glances back to ensure that beyond the destruction in their wake; they leave no other tangible evidence behind. For the Death Trooper, having never been there is a mission priority.<br />
<br />
The sound of his boots thumping up the shuttle's boarding ramp announces him and through the team's shared comms he announces, <<"Last in. All clear.">> Despite that assurance, his rifle remains at the ready and the barrel of it protrudes from the open access point of the boarding ramp. DT-X10 is prepared to lay down fire until the hatch closes and their exfiltration complete. He casts a glance in the direction of Bors, but offers only a slight shake of his helmet from side to side before returning to his position.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Shadow_of_Delaya&diff=19397Log:Alderaan: Shadow of Delaya2023-04-26T03:18:06Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Rist raises a petition to the Delayan Court. | Location=Leilani Palace, Delaya | Participants=B..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Rist raises a petition to the Delayan Court.<br />
| Location=[[Leilani Palace, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]] (also NPC Aitax Rendon), [[Tamsin Cas]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Losor]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GM (NPC Livia Rist, Avlin Teraan)<br />
| OOCDate=April 25, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Leilani city was a combination of industry and old Alderaan if the two influences had been married. Pollution was much more prominent here, like any industrious world, and the wear and tear of a city with a heavy population in that working class certainly showed. Buildings were not the shining pinnacles of architecture marvels they were on New Alderaan, and the city here clung to something older and much more primitive in nature, giving Leilani the personality that often came with 'old money'.<br />
<br />
The Noble district was the closest to the Great Bay, the large inlet from the sea. In the far, far, far distance and through the haze and fog of the sea, one could see the eternal burning flames from Last Light, the Sealord seat of House Killesa.<br />
<br />
Today's event took place in the most prominent structure in the nobles district, Leilani Palace. It is a foreboding building, with five massive peaks, watchtowers, and old-stone walls long decorated by the overgrowth of vines and other flora. The only thing that dwarfed the presence of the white palace was the massive mountains and crags that loomed beyond it. With an earth toned back drop to the palace, it made it easier to discern the presence of white gulls as they migrated to different areas of the harbor. Bells often rung, sirens going off as crane droids moved about the distant docks, and the hazy shadows of the naval fleet within the bay gently rocked with the coming tide.<br />
<br />
Here sat the power of the Grand Duchy, seat of the ancient House Teraan, rulers of Delaya.<br />
<br />
A shame the ancient house was reduced to one living member, a young woman in her mid-twenties now and sole survivor of an assassination attempt that claimed the lives of her entire family. Duchess Avlin Teraan presides over court, arriving at her throne with a view of the great bay behind her. Motioning for the proceedings to begin, members of the court were invited to petition her influence and involvement in matters, and if rumors were to be trusted, House Rist has just returned to the fold.<br />
<br />
The same House responsible for all the horror that had come to Avlin's family.<br />
<br />
"Have any Lords or Ladies come to petition the Duchess this day?" Asks a herald after arriving in front of the dais.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender, Prince-Consort of the Queen, was in attendance at the Delayan court today. Such was not rare, but the gentleman's presence did reinforce whispers that some significant business was planned by.. someone. The whispers varied greatly in that regard. For his part, Ban maintains a solemn demeanor, speaking with cool courtesy to any who approached, and otherwise behaving as a simple bystander to the Teraan audience.<br />
<br />
House Thul was represented this day as well, the Countess and her husband absent and in their stead the younger brother. Bors Thul, titled Knight of The Black by the Queen - the now stately looking old fighter pilot in his house colors. Monocle in his eye, expression somewhere between absent minded and mildly irritated about whatever is to happen today.<br />
<br />
Unarmored, but far from unarmed, with two blades hung from hip and over shoulder while his butler droid remains close - looking to be carrying other equipment should the situation call for it.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it was commonplace, for those who had neither input nor influence in matters of court to attend such meetings. Perhaps it was such a strange sight that it was likely to fuel questions and consternation. The dark robed figure who had found a seat for themselves in what might have been otherwise denoted as the 'cheap seats', but here, were perhaps known as the 'viewing galleries' was unaware of such protocols. Though the silence in which they sat, hands lost beneath the sleeves of their robes, but, nominally folded in their lap, gave no impression that such concerns were their concerns. The masked face gave no impression of any emotion, though it was turned to observe the Duchess holding court.<br />
<br />
It's an odd place to find the Echani, but word of a gathering like this was more than what he could ignore. Armed with his own sword hanging from his hip, dressed in his best of Echani finery black and crimson red accents as he keeps to the back wall and shadows.<br />
<br />
A tall and imposing figure armored in black stands to the right flank of the robed and masked figure so often referred to as simply 'Councilor'. With a carbine held with its barrel directed to the floor at the trooper's left, DT-X10 stands in observation of not just the illustrious pageantry of Delaya's ruling class but also the trooper's immediate surroundings. Acting in some capacity as the bodyguard of some dignitary from the Sith Empire, no doubt. Where swords are worn aplenty, the one known simply as DT-X10 stands with but a serrated knife sheathed across the left side of his chest. He observes much of the court, making it a point to admire nothing.<br />
<br />
The court is filled with gentle whispers as the Duchess shifts uncomfortably in her seat, another indication something was to take place this day. When the proverbial silence went on long enough, Avlin seemed ready to speak and the doors in the back opened with a bit of noise followed by the armored foot-falls of the two guardsmen pushing them open.<br />
<br />
"The Lady Livia of the ancient House Rist!" They call out, though the absence of land to mention for which Rist was presiding over remained silent, something the court took into account as the whispers grew louder for a moment, then silenced as the lone figure in dark green approached.<br />
<br />
Lady Livia was tall for a human woman, standing 5'11 in boots. She appeared unarmed, and wore an ensemble complete with a half cape, gloves, and tall boots. Her dark hair was left short, accentuating her pale cheeks, ruby lips, and cold stare. Every Alderaanian knew Rists were killers, trained assassins that either served themselves, or the good of Alderaan.<br />
<br />
It remained to be seen which sort of Rist Livia was going to be. As she approached the center of the room, passing through an aisle which had Lords and Ladies on both sides, she came to a halt before the dais and bowed, sweeping her cape to one side. "Your Excellency."<br />
<br />
A Rist's presence has a marked effect upon the Duchess, who again shifts in her seat before deciding to lean forward, contempt in her stare. "Lady Rist. It has been a long time since the Rist walked these halls; why have you returned?" Avlin had gestured for Rist to straighten.<br />
<br />
"Not all that long," Livia corrects, taking a moment to glance around. "My House has returned from exile by Order of her Majesty, the Queen. I petition the release of House Rist's holdings, so that my kin might have a home again. I understand that there is some.. history between House Rist and the esteemed members of this Court, but it is my hope that through our service to Alderaan, we might one day return to our former strength."<br />
<br />
<br />
An anxious murmur passed through several circles at that. Many families hold cities or resources which had once belonged to Rist. Yet which would dare oppose the legendary assassins?<br />
<br />
A clear voice speaks up: "If it please the court," one among the courtiers steps out from the press, "Which of the former Rist holdings does Lady Rist seek the return of? Or is it a question of all or none?" The speaker is tall gentleman in his middling twenties, with blue eyes, a strong jaw, and an athletic build, marked by thick dueling scars at the base of his left ear, and above the left eyebrow. He wears fine but not ostentatious royal blue and black garb, tall boots in the native style, and carries a simple naval saber in a sheath at his belt.<br />
<br />
An unconscious lift of one hand towards his face at the mention of histories and Lord Thul's countenance turns to something not unlike thinly veiled ire. Hands folding behind his back and his posture changing fractionally to shift the weight to his left leg while he stands. Head turning to focus his right eye on Livia Rist, data-scrolling up the HUD of the monocle pinched before it.<br />
<br />
One hand going to the cuff of the other, keys concealed in the fabric are pressed and L7's upended bowl like head lifts, optical sensors shifting from an off-white to a gold colouring. A sniff from Bors at Rist's comment on 'returning to former strength' and a deepening of the frown cutting into his features.<br />
<br />
When attention shifted away from the Grand Duchess to the woman now making her way into the hall, the masked face turned in that direction, tracking movement as the Rist woman approached. Still, the hands remained cover, and no other movement betrayed the shift in attention, from Duchess, to Rist, to the man now voicing his concerns.<br />
<br />
Losor watches hand resting upon the pommel of his sword. Ice blue eyes peering about taking in all those in attendance. Losor remains to himself keeping silent watch his way of staying out of the way and still being useful.<br />
<br />
DT-X10's helmet turns this way and that, taking into account the sudden sea of murmurs and shifting presences. It is neither the Grand Duchess, nor this Lady Livia Rist that the trooper's dark green tinted visor turns but quite literally any and everyone else. It isn't a frantic survey of his surroundings but the slow and purposeful consideration of many elements one after another. There's drama afoot however and everyone loves a good drama, so while he may be keeping visual tabs on his and the Councilor's surroundings and those within it; he's providing at least a fraction of his ear to the unfolding dramas as the one young noble steps out to present his question to Lady Rist's desire for returned property.<br />
<br />
Livia turns slightly, lifting her gaze toward the tall gentleman, the effort almost lazy. When her gaze settles upon him, it does not waver and takes root. "A fitting question. I would say /all/ of them, but I am aware that when my House was deposed, our holdings were split among many in this court. For now, I petition the ownership of Shadow Tower. Its battlements and deep archives would serve my mission to her Majesty, and put an end to the old Rist regime responsible for the scars many of you bear; visible or unseen."<br />
<br />
Livia shifts her stance, putting her back to the gentleman to regard Avlin. "Shadow Tower has been home of Rist for ten thousand years. It is my birth right."<br />
<br />
"A right forfeited when House Rist sided with the Pretender and murdered my family, your liege lords." Avlin said, anger toned in her voice.<br />
<br />
"I never broke faith, your excellency; it is that very reason why I was put away on Belsavis to rot by mine own family."<br />
<br />
"Yet, we invite a House at war with itself back to Alderaan, and we are supposed to take your word that you are a 'good' Rist as opposed to whom? The bad Rist?" Avlin sighs aloud, pointing at Livia. "I see no distinctions here, my Lady. You are a Rist, and it may have been the blood flowing in your veins that stayed their daggers when they conceived some notion to move you out of the way, but no such mercy found my family. Or my people. -- Now the Gods test my patience. Well, Lady Rist, I have no holdings for you. The Shadow Tower, the other fiefs.. gone to more deserving.. /loyal/ families."<br />
<br />
Livia doesn't seem all that angered by the reaction, but she nods. "This is why I am petitioning, your excellency. Those lands and holdings do not belong to those families. They belong to mine."<br />
<br />
The young Lord who had first stepped forward exhales quietly when the Shadow Tower is named, eyes dipping in the look of one who badly wishes they had been wrong. As Livia and Avlin volley back and forth, and the Rist states her continued claim. "I feel compelled to speak otherwise, Lady Livia," before formally naming himself to her, "Aitax Rendon. Baronet of the Shadow Tower and Commander in Her Grace's fleet," with a bow from the waist to Avlin. A baronet being the very lowest rung of noble title.<br />
<br />
"The modern holding of Shadow Tower is limited to the ancient castle itself, together with the surrounding lands for one kilometer. These lands are without population, apart from those Rendon has supported, and generates no notable wealth. My family's revenues are produced by our commercial ventures; a fact some present are no doubt aware," he adds, with a short-lived smirk that earns a few polite tension-diffusing laughs from his supporters among the new money, and sniffs of distaste from some among the old blood.<br />
<br />
"As was agreed thirteen years past by the late Countess Liadon, and as was affirmed upon his own ascension by the current Count Liadon: for our service and contributions to the Planetary Defense Force, my family are recognized as the rightful vassals of Shadow Tower." He turns in place, hands held out to his sides to regard those filling the throne room. "We've never failed in that fealty, or ever proved untrue in our loyalties. Rendon has been the model of a faithful vassal, and we've given no just cause- *none* - for being stripped of our station."<br />
<br />
A long breath is drawn in as the Baronet lets that claim sink in, and his stare rests at last on Lady Livia. "The war whose end saw the Rist exiled deprived us all of much. My own father died in that strife, and I won't meekly accept that your return should deprive my family of our rightful rank. House Rist still has claim other lands. Rendon has none," his eye goes from Livia to Avlin, "And I appeal to my liege lady's wisdom that we keep it."<br />
<br />
"Grace, vaunted Umbral Tower being the flashpoint it clearly is - Thul could tuck Rist into crags on our periphery. Aberrin, the spine of stone and ice - where naught goes without Gravenheim's watchful gaze upon it." Bors says at last, expression still grim and glowering for Livia, utterly absent his more common benign absence. Instead his attention is laser focused on the proceedings and the growing, potential, arguments.<br />
<br />
"A minor parcel, a Manor at best description, but an allowance for Her Majesty's wishes for Rist to serve to be done, without upsetting present nobility..." mouth tucking to one side, lips pursed. <br />
<br />
Is she a good Rist? Or a bad Rist? <br />
<br />
If the former, set her to her work. If the latter, drop a house on her.<br />
<br />
"But it would guarantee no inconvenience for minor blooded who have kept the faith." head tilting like a raptor on a branch, turning towards Lady Rist again.<br />
<br />
Now there were three players on the field of battle, and the masked face settled somewhere equidistant in its focus, so that none drew more of their attention than any other. A brief tilt of the head came in the midst of some comment or another, but not at any point which might have betrayed weight given to one position above the other two.<br />
<br />
Losor keeps his eyes peeled starting to move around keeping himself to the walls and as far out of sight as possible. His gaze falling on all the assembled he could.<br />
<br />
DT-X10's helmet shifts to regard the latest player to enter the fray. It lasts for all of a heartbeat before again the black armored trooper moves his attention onto another point of interest. His head tilts for a moment in the fashion one may associate with confusion or curiosity from a domesticated animal. Then it corrects itself and continues onward.<br />
<br />
Livia stands her ground, turning slightly to regard the Baronet, her expression much the same as it had been when she entered the court. She listens to his points, brow perking when he casts shade upon her house. "It is true, House Rist broke faith. There are no ancient Houses of Alderaan who can claim they have kept faith during times of strife and power. House Ulgo after the assassination of the Panteer Queen during the Old Republic, House Organa and House Alde when they broke concordat with House Panteer to treat with the Old Republic. House Cortess and House Thul when they broke concordat to treat with the Sith during the Old Republic. There are no paragons of faith, and yet.. all of these Houses took back their holdings and were permitted to resume."<br />
<br />
Avlin stifles a cough, "You cannot mean to regale us with ancient history to substantiate a claim, Lady Livia."<br />
<br />
"No?" Livia asks, turning back, "But I can with money. House Rist could purchase the land out from under these nobles. I have no shortage of wealth and continued income of compounded interest dating back thousands of years. Let us not forget House Rist's chief contribution to this nation."<br />
<br />
"I think we know well your trade, Lady Rist." Avlin interjects again, disgusted.<br />
<br />
"And yet, your excellency, it is House Rist that Alderaan turns to when it is at its darkest." Livia's gaze take in the Sith in the audience, settling over Losor, the Death Trooper, and the Councilor, before resting on the Prince-Consort himself.<br />
<br />
Lord Bors' voice cuts through then, and Livia turns to regard the old name, bowing slightly in that way old money recognized old money. "House Rist would be in your debt, Lord Thul. I assume the litigation over our holdings will take longer than this court is allotted. So I will make arrangements for our kin to go to this minor parcel. You have our thanks, my Lord."<br />
<br />
The litany of great houses breaking faith over the centuries is answered quietly by the baronet: "Not Rendon. Our title is not for sale, Lady." A look aside as Bors speaks up, a moment's hope flickering through his eyes at the prospect of a territorial substitution, followed by a small nod as Livia accepts, at least for the moment.<br />
<br />
When Lady Rist looks to him, Ban is regarding her back, the bearded gentleman observing her words and manner with his familiar stoicism. The matter of Delayan court proceeds without his interruption.<br />
<br />
<br />
"House Rendon has nary yet had time, were thee a babe thine hair would still be wet from the womb..." Despite the truth of House Thul's checkered past and The Black Knight of Alderaan's generally lackadaisical treatment of court and protocol - Uypiia was not present, so it was up to the Champion of House Thul to be just that. <br />
<br />
Even if Rendon's comment was meant as an affirmation of their loyalty. Even no ill will was intended to others. The barb was out there and Thul Remembers, even if decades pass before they provide their rejoinder; sometimes it was immediate. <br />
<br />
"Lady Rist, porters shall make work to get thee and thine upon the manse. Because I yet agree that litigious endeavor shall take greater time than any of us have time for. Practically wins the day, but be aware, Lady Livia, of the reminder twice in this diatribe. Thul Remembers."<br />
<br />
Perhaps it was only a passing calm, this seeming accord between one House and another. Now a fourth person, to which the helmed face turned its attention. A shift, something in the shoulders, perhaps, or in the way weight settled in the seat appointed for them, but no less attention was paid to the courtly details now being arranged.<br />
<br />
While more voices join into the courtly debate, DT-X10 continues to survey his surroundings. While the nobles of the Alderaan sector manage their own internal affairs, the Death Trooper among them turns his attention to watching those who may be doing just as he is. Watching everyone else, rather than the action. It's the one or ones that aren't honed into the lively debate that is could present the threat. While the trooper may stand out like a recently hammered thumb among most of the court, it is still the eye that wanders in DT-X10 and the Councilor's direction that tends to garner the greater moment of scrutiny from the black clad trooper. He maintains the grip on his slung carbine, but for now its barrel remains unthreateningly turned down and aside.<br />
<br />
Livia was on the verge of answering Lord Bors when something noticeably caught her eye and she turned from him to follow whatever clue she picked up on. Avlin, whose nerves were already shot, looked ready to toss the entire petition out and was preparing to do just that until the sound of glass shattering disturbed the court.<br />
<br />
"TO ARMS!" One guardsman yelled, producing his rifle only to be picked off from a distance. It was not a lethal shot, the shock ball adhering itself to their armor and disabling them. However, stealth generators release and the sound of clanking metal cannisters bounce along the stone floors, emitting smoke with a loud hiss.<br />
<br />
Frightened Lords, Ladies, and bystanders flock to the exits. The last view of Lady Livia Rist anyone saw was her running up the stairs of the dais and toward Avlin Teraan. The smoke around the throne and the hidden figures was briefly illuminated by the red hue of a blaster rifle that went off three times, followed by the scream of the young Duchess.<br />
<br />
Figures in black who materialized in the court, were dressed like assassins, but lacked much of the proficiency of well trained assassins. They become locked in battle with the guards, numbering roughly 15 in total.<br />
<br />
Ban's intent scrutiny of the drama playing out ends abruptly with the screams and broken glass. The dragoon's gloved right hand extends toward the throne, mustering what power he may at range, while his left hand grasps and ignites his scarlet sword.<br />
<br />
Amid the chaos, words are lost in a cacophony of shouts and Baronet Rendon can offer no answer to Bors; instead the young man can only draw his durasteel naval saber and dash toward the spreading smoke.<br />
<br />
Assassins for the Assassin...<br />
<br />
A press of his left cufflinks and the hangar on his back clicks, dropping the powered blade hung over one shoulder and into a waiting hand. "Why do they always need make it so public?" Bors's grumbling rasping between clenched teeth when he sets to moving. Approaching at speed in the smoke and chaos with the crimson glowing sword arcing up to dispatch one of the would be assassins.<br />
<br />
"El-Seven." called out to the butler droid that issues a lowing sort of grunt, head rotating and communications going out. Lord Thul's continuing arc of his blade wheeling around - a broad swipe that is caught on an armored vambrace before he older knight is pushed back off his balance.<br />
<br />
The masked and hooded figure, who had been still and silent for the duration of the court proceedings did not speak even now. They announced no action, nor called any to arms. They simply rose from their seat, moving with effortless grace as a fire blade ignited in their hand, the darkly silver hilt sparking golden as they moved to engage those who appeared to have been taking the opportunity to pose a threat to the last of House Teraan.<br />
<br />
Losor charging into the smoke he moves to the first enemy he spots. Three slashes and each goes wide or is deflected. His own mind so preoccupied he doesn't notice the attack that strikes him, though in his anger he does manage to deflect the next two.<br />
<br />
Things take a turn for the dramatic when suddenly there is a shouted call to arms, smoke canisters hissing, and a stun ball stuck to a guard's torso. As many begins to scatter and flee, the Councilor begins to move toward the throne where the attack seems to be directed. DT-X10 moves swiftly along with the Councilor, attempting to utilize his own body to cover her back. He is an abundance of movement and action. While DT-X10 moves his stance transitions from a straightforward stride to keep up with the Councilor, to suddenly sidestepping, and then even walking in reverse with one hand held with a palm directed behind himself and fingers splayed. While the sudden eerie green glow shining dull from his helmet feeds into the active pulse emitters which directs details of his surroundings and the threats within it into his helmet, he still uses that hand to prevent himself from colliding with the Councilor during his steady backpedal.<br />
<br />
The pulse emitters alert him to the presence of another through the smoke, moving toward his and the Councilor's advance. He pauses. The hand behind, preventing him from colliding with the Councilor shifts up and grips his carbine. He fires. The whining shriek of the carbine, the red glow through the smoke as the blaster bolt slashes through it for a split second, a scream of pain that is accompanied by the momentary pulse of fiery orange that glows within the expanding cloud as the would-be assassin's chest cavity erupts in flame. Then he's on the move again with a hand dropping from cupping the barrel of his carbine. It falls back again to renew its place, ensuring that he does not suddenly back into and trample over the Councilor in their movement. Even while he hears the tell-tale sound of a lightsaber humming and doing its own work behind him, DT-X10's attention remains on those vectors not immediately covered by the Councilor.<br />
<br />
The attack was sudden, but so too was their planning it seemed because the coordination was lost amongst the chaos of smoke and fighting. Needless to say, they did not expect the Sith to have such a turn out! Many were slain in the initial scuffle, and shots began to go in every direction.<br />
<br />
Those within proximity of Duchess Teraan and Lady Rist see that Rist had not orchestrated this attack, but was instead, defending Avlin from harm.<br />
<br />
In the brief exchange she had with one of the assailants, she struck their weapon from their hands and slipped around them with the fluidity of water. In a succinct motion, the neck of her attacker was captured in a tight hold, and she jerked it one direction until it broke.<br />
<br />
Avlin, who had been knocked out of the way of danger, hid behind the throne watching Livia move like a wraith in the smoke, and it triggered deeply-rooted trauma from her childhood. Scrambling away from the Rist, Avlin has to navigate the maze of smoke, and in her rush, she runs right into Baronet Rendon, who had just slain one of the attackers. "Do not harm me!" She says in earnest, arms up to defend herself as she ran for the naval officer.<br />
<br />
The smoke was beginning to clear now, and 10 assassins remain, locked in combat all over the throne room. God rays of light was beginning to pierce through the smoke from the broken window, and a fresh sea-breeze carried much of the smoke outside, alerting the city to the chaos as smoke was coming out of the palace! Oh no!<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender deflects a pair of blaster bolts upward with casual ease, making a point of scorching the ceiling rather than risking a bolt being sent into the crowd. Cold green eyes don't even deign to fix upon those who shot at him, instead searching out those nearest the throne and stalking toward them. <br />
<br />
Aitax Rendon is further behind Livia, fully impaling one would-be assassin with a sword thrust, wrenching the blade down to loosen it enough to pull free of the dead man before continuing in his haste to where the Grand Duchess was last seen. As Avlin emerges, the Baronet calls, "This way, your Grace!" casting a cloak around the lady's back in hopes of hiding her from any marksmen, before cutting down another assassin with a vicious slash.<br />
<br />
Restrictive clothing does make for a fast defensive, or offensive, action. <br />
<br />
His cape in in the way, trousers... -everything- and they've only served, briefly, to flare and distract when blaster bolts came his way. Ducking and rolling along the floor in a movement that was a great idea when he was in his youth an ideal move. Now it's a reminder that he may need to look into HRO treatments soon.<br />
<br />
"That's going to hurt later." back up on one knee with the powered blade thrust through the side of an attacker, pulling free with a hard sideways jerk that Bors carries too far, still getting used to this blasted thing - the bilari going wide of a second target.<br />
<br />
The Councilor, though, perhaps, in this moment, they might have better been address as Achlys, moved in concert with the trooper behind them, the pair fighting point and counterpoint as could only be achieved through years of long practice. Any attack which came towards the trooper seemed to find itself redirected to the robed figure, and they always managed to be elsewhere when the trooper fired. The assassins of ill skill were slowly thinning, three falling to the fire blade, even as the smoke began to clear.<br />
<br />
Losor dancing around and he sizes up the opponent a smile upon his face. Strike one misses he's still smiling, the second deflected, the third he drops his blade connects with the leg dropping him as he laughs.<br />
<br />
They are still on the move and DT-X10's hand remains behind him to prevent his collision with the Councilor during their movement. He keeps note of her position in comparison to his own through the active pulse emitters built into his helmet. The collision is unlikely to happen, but creating an artificial failsafe with his guiding hand prevents a potentially fatal mishap. He shifts his own vector to the right, just as one of the would-be assassins appeared from the rapidly thinning smoke. Whether they were attempting some haphazard escape or truly rushing toward the back of the masked Councilor otherwise known as Darth Achlys; he couldn't be certain. All that the commando knows is that they are a threat until they are no longer a threat. Under these circumstances a threat that is dead, is no longer a threat.<br />
<br />
The carbine whines again as a lance of scarlet energy flashes, collidings with the midsection of the assassin, and sends the body pitching forward onto its face to slide with a squeak across the polished floor. The stink of charred meat already wafting into the air. Thankfully such scents are filtered from the Death Troopers helmet.<br />
<br />
Another alert from the pulse emitters broadcasts the present of another threat. A flash of movement to his left. He leans, twisting his torso with the lean as his free hand swiftly rises up to grip the underside of his barrel. He fires across his own body with the carbine clutched in at his chest and held high so that a tilt of his helmet will permit him a cursory glance to his sights. Again the carbine shrieks as a scarlet bolt erupts from its wide bore barrel and collides with the next threat. The body runs for a step more before it too crumples to the polish floor; still hissing from the superheated plasma launched into its face.<br />
<br />
Again the hand drops back and away, ensuring the collision does not take place. It is at this point that the stormtrooper commando begins to shift anew, rapidly taking in all approaches and analyzing for potential threats to himself or those within his immediate vicinity marked as friendlies.<br />
<br />
With the last of the assassins cast down, officers of the guard stormed the room led by a pair of Knights. Stepping through the chaos, they had their eyes set upon Rist, who they leveled the points of their swords toward. "You are under arrest, my Lady, till we can determine the cause of all this."<br />
<br />
Livia turns slightly, seeing Avlin being escorted to safety by the Baronet, out of sight. Good. She looks back toward the Knights and steps down the stairs, hands raised. "So be it, sirs, but I shall leave with dignity. Spare me your restraints, I come peacefully."<br />
<br />
Rifles raised at the Rist, she doesn't bat an eye, and stops before both Knights who nod. "Very well, this way, ma'am."<br />
<br />
Others were seen to as well, and the investigators were just arriving. Media drones were already outside the palace trying to get a view of what transpired, but the only thing that was caught 'on camera' was Lady Livia being escorted away.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Belsavis_Debrief&diff=19378Log:Alderaan: Belsavis Debrief2023-04-21T14:13:55Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Sealord informs the Prince-Consort of progress.<br />
| Location=[[Droalder Palace, Bastion, New Alderaan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]] (NPC: Lord Ty Killesa)<br />
| OOCDate=April 20, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Palace was in its evening shift with the change of guard underway in the courtyard. The ceremony happened every night at the retiring of colors when a color guard marched out to collect and fold the banners for the evening, and loud-speakers played the evening songs. Service men and women came to attention where they stood outside and saluted until the tunes faded, and the color guard retreated to pass the colors to the next shift, signifying the inheritance of duty, and an oath to protect the royal banners.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty was caught by the colors, but when the tunes concluded, and the guard changed, he stepped into the palace and asked for an audience with the Prince-Consort at the welcome desk. Originally, he was told his Highness was retired for the evening, but upon presenting the royal seal, a sigil used to indicate the Lord had important information for the crown, the Prince was disturbed in his leisure time and asked if he would meet with the sea lord of Delaya.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty was instructed to meet in the throne room, and it was there he stood, looking upon the united banners of every noble house of Alderaan. Ancient, great, and lesser as one. It resembled an unending tapestry of colors and sigils that hung from the ceiling and decorated the walls; thousands of houses represented under one roof as it had been for tens of thousands of years. Pride in this history left the young Lord standing taller, or so he felt.<br />
<br />
Ban takes only as much time as is needed to don a cape and swordbelt atop his more casual attire in marching to meet Lord Ty. It is a sign of his subtly decreased formality and comfort in receiving Ty that the Prince-Consort folds his gloves and tucks them into the swordbelt rather than drawing the formal articles on. <br />
<br />
Bootsteps bear him audibly nearer in Ban's habitually measured and precise paces, until the bearded swordsman lays eyes upon and acknowledges, "My Lord Admiral; I bid thee fair met, once more."<br />
<br />
"Your Highness, apologies for the late hour." Ty says, turning and bowing as Ban approached. "I have just returned from assignment, an operation orchestrated by her Majesty to find and retrieve House Rist." Ty seemed uncomfortable saying the name, but he managed to recover his composure.<br />
<br />
"The Lady Livia Rist makes for Delaya to meet with the Grand Duchess about the reinstatement of the Shadow Tower, the Rist seat. Would you care to hear of our mission, Ser? Or would reports suffice?" Lord Ty brings his hands to clasp at his lower back, a show of deference before the Prince. <br />
<br />
Ban promptly gestures for Ty to rise from his proper bow, hearing our Ty's initial description. "I would hear all of the mission which you see fit to share, my Lord. Reports have their place, but that place does not overawe the views of a trusted eye. Proceed."<br />
<br />
The naming of Rist does not shake Ban's familiar solemnity, his expression remaining well schooled, with even the old scar on his jawline from a Rist blade largely hidden by his beard.<br />
<br />
"Yes Ser," Ty says, using again the title Ban had earned through military service. "My team arrived on Belsavis and happened upon a woman calling herself Kristy. Presumably, she was an inmate there, and knew well the lay of land where we might find the Rist. We did not know her motive beyond wanting to help us, but I held my doubts. No alarm rose from the Sith Lord traveling with us, so I assumed we would be safe to trust her, at least in helping us navigate the terrain and arrive most expediently to our objective."<br />
<br />
"From Kristy, we learned that Rist were taken captive by another inmate and his gang, and were held hostage in a fortress, as trophies. To earn an audience with this alien named Jaloosi, we must slay his vanguard occupying the court yard and make our way inside to make our demands."<br />
<br />
"Kristy informed us that the fortress had defenses, mechanized turrets on the walls which might discourage most pilots from flying, but you may be pleased to know, Ser Bors flew anyway..."<br />
<br />
Ban's green eyes narrow subtly at the description of the Rist as prisoners, but he does not interrupt. Only when Ty describes Bors flying in anyway does the dragoon sniff in dry amusement. "It is a reassurance to hear that some truths of the universe have remained constant, my Lord." A nod invites the younger nobleman to continue.<br />
<br />
"So we invited ourselves to the court yard. Ser Bors flew our craft whilst I shot from the back ramp. Kristy drove the Councilor, a trooper, and Mr. West into the court yard where they could get out and climb the towers. Each side of the wall had control towers which controlled the turrets. So whilst the turrets fired at the ship, some thirty or more vanguard fought on the ground."<br />
<br />
Ty continues, "Once control of the turrets was accomplished, however, the resistance proved more nuisance than threat. We moved uninjured into the structure itself and found the occupants in the corridors slaughtered. Kristy believed these to be others who had attempted to reach Jaloosi but failed."<br />
<br />
"Jaloosi was where Kristy said he would be, and upon reaching the main room of this facility, I attempted to barter with him. When accused of holding Rists hostage, he pointed out a young girl in a cage suspended above us all. Starved, dying, and laying in her own filth. I.. was outraged. Suffice to say, I produced my sword, which may have endangered our mission if not for..."<br />
<br />
He trails off and looks down with disappointment. "If not for the fact we had been deceived. Kristy, the inmate, was Lady Livia holo-disguised. Twenty-one men stood between us and freeing that young scion, and Lady Livia had them all assassinated at the clap of her hands. Our team had been manipulated to gain access to the facility and allow them to rescue her niece..."<br />
<br />
One dark brow lifts slightly when Ty casually notes that his team moved uninjured past thirty defeated foes, but once again does not speak immediately. The summary of manipulation is heard out with a small nod. He is aware of the holographic pledging of fealty, but waits for the Sealord to bridge any remaining approach to that moment.<br />
<br />
"Ser Bors and I addressed Lady Livia about returning to Alderaan. She seemed to understand that by accepting the invitation, she would need to swear fealty to her Majesty. I am certain you are well aware of this already, but I now understand why House Rist merits such caution." Ty seemed to have doubts about this course of action, but he did not voice it.<br />
<br />
"I have reservations about a woman who makes ease of lying, and doing so spectacularly. I do not discredit their craft or reputation, but..." He trails off, clearly disturbed by the introductions that House Rist had made.<br />
<br />
"To the first," Ban begins. "I daresay thy righteous ire at the cruelties done unto a child presented the very face of our New Alderaan which Her Majesty most wishes the exiles to behold. I commend your command and your company in piercing this barbaric stronghold unmarred. Be assured that such was not lost upon they who could not do the same, even to save a tortured child."<br />
<br />
A slow breath is drawn as he orders his next thoughts. "To the second: you are wise to be wary. Those folk of dishonest habit ought never be wholly trusted. Yet I hope it may assuage thy concern however slightly to consider this: our people are surrounded by enemies, and by allies we cannot trust. Whatever else Rist is, was, or will ever be, they are of Oldest Alderaan. Even the most dubious of Our people shall have the opportunity to return home." The slightest hint of a pointed smile touches his face. "There is an old proverb apt to this, good ser: better to face the devil one knows, rather than the devil one knows not. The Rist can perform services that no other gallant heart could undertake with success, and- Mother and Father allow it- in doing so, perhaps atone."<br />
<br />
Ty is quiet for the lesson, nodding when Ban had finished to acknowledge it. For a moment, the silence allowed the words to sink in and Ty's shoulders seemed to relax. "Do you believe they will find the treacherous lot tainting their name and bring them to justice? Or were it just words to warm the honey?"<br />
<br />
"I cannot say with certainty, my Lord," Ban admits, plainly "That there was some schism within House Rist seems quite likely, as I cannot expect that those without Rist itself would consign so many to Belsalvis: most would execute a captured Rist, fearing to leave such a foe living."<br />
<br />
Another slow breath is drawn, Ban's shoulders and chest rising with it. "Our Queen has a gift for inspiring faith among those once counted as deadly foes. Be wary of these Rist, as you would be wary of any power coming into Alderaan from without. But so too, you may trust in Our Queen. Always."<br />
<br />
Ty again nods. "No truer words have been spoken, your Highness." Brushing his coat open, he unclips the royal seal and offers it back to Ban. The seal was to be returned at the end of each crucial mission to ensure its use would not be abused in gaining an audience or being privy to data they did not rate. It, too, was a reflection of humility in turning over the power once the task was completed.<br />
<br />
"The seal, ser. I believe I have completed the task as best I could. Your words inspire confidence in the choices I made, and that is payment enough. By your leave, your Highness.." Lord Ty bows again.<br />
<br />
"Fare thee well, Lord Admiral. Go with Our thanks," Ban voices upon accepting the seal. A short bow of his head and shoulders is given, as to an honored individual of lower station. The dismissal given, Ban will linger a moment, regarding the banners and making a mental note of where space will need be made to accommodate the return of Rist's blazon, should all go well.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Belsavis_Debrief&diff=19377Log:Alderaan: Belsavis Debrief2023-04-21T14:13:24Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=The Sealord informs the Prince-Consort of progress. | Location=Droalder Palace, Bastion, New Aldera..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Sealord informs the Prince-Consort of progress.<br />
| Location=[[Droalder Palace, Bastion, New Alderaan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]] (NPC: Lord Ty Killesa)<br />
| OOCDate=April 20, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Palace was in its evening shift with the change of guard underway in the courtyard. The ceremony happened every night at the retiring of colors when a color guard marched out to collect and fold the banners for the evening, and loud-speakers played the evening songs. Service men and women came to attention where they stood outside and saluted until the tunes faded, and the color guard retreated to pass the colors to the next shift, signifying the inheritance of duty, and an oath to protect the royal banners.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty was caught by the colors, but when the tunes concluded, and the guard changed, he stepped into the palace and asked for an audience with the Prince-Consort at the welcome desk. Originally, he was told his Highness was retired for the evening, but upon presenting the royal seal, a sigil used to indicate the Lord had important information for the crown, the Prince was disturbed in his leisure time and asked if he would meet with the sea lord of Delaya.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty was instructed to meet in the throne room, and it was there he stood, looking upon the united banners of every noble house of Alderaan. Ancient, great, and lesser as one. It resembled an unending tapestry of colors and sigils that hung from the ceiling and decorated the walls; thousands of houses represented under one roof as it had been for tens of thousands of years. Pride in this history left the young Lord standing taller, or so he felt.<br />
<br />
Ban takes only as much time as is needed to don a cape and swordbelt atop his more casual attire in marching to meet Lord Ty. It is a sign of his subtly decreased formality and comfort in receiving Ty that the Prince-Consort folds his gloves and tucks them into the swordbelt rather than drawing the formal articles on. <br />
<br />
Bootsteps bear him audibly nearer in Ban's habitually measured and precise paces, until the bearded swordsman lays eyes upon and acknowledges, "My Lord Admiral; I bid thee fair met, once more."<br />
<br />
"Your Highness, apologies for the late hour." Ty says, turning and bowing as Ban approached. "I have just returned from assignment, an operation orchestrated by her Majesty to find and retrieve House Rist." Ty seemed uncomfortable saying the name, but he managed to recover his composure.<br />
<br />
"The Lady Livia Rist makes for Delaya to meet with the Grand Duchess about the reinstatement of the Shadow Tower, the Rist seat. Would you care to hear of our mission, Ser? Or would reports suffice?" Lord Ty brings his hands to clasp at his lower back, a show of deference before the Prince. (edited)<br />
<br />
Ban promptly gestures for Ty to rise from his proper bow, hearing our Ty's initial description. "I would hear all of the mission which you see fit to share, my Lord. Reports have their place, but that place does not overawe the views of a trusted eye. Proceed."<br />
<br />
The naming of Rist does not shake Ban's familiar solemnity, his expression remaining well schooled, with even the old scar on his jawline from a Rist blade largely hidden by his beard.<br />
<br />
"Yes Ser," Ty says, using again the title Ban had earned through military service. "My team arrived on Belsavis and happened upon a woman calling herself Kristy. Presumably, she was an inmate there, and knew well the lay of land where we might find the Rist. We did not know her motive beyond wanting to help us, but I held my doubts. No alarm rose from the Sith Lord traveling with us, so I assumed we would be safe to trust her, at least in helping us navigate the terrain and arrive most expediently to our objective."<br />
<br />
"From Kristy, we learned that Rist were taken captive by another inmate and his gang, and were held hostage in a fortress, as trophies. To earn an audience with this alien named Jaloosi, we must slay his vanguard occupying the court yard and make our way inside to make our demands."<br />
<br />
"Kristy informed us that the fortress had defenses, mechanized turrets on the walls which might discourage most pilots from flying, but you may be pleased to know, Ser Bors flew anyway..."<br />
<br />
Ban's green eyes narrow subtly at the description of the Rist as prisoners, but he does not interrupt. Only when Ty describes Bors flying in anyway does the dragoon sniff in dry amusement. "It is a reassurance to hear that some truths of the universe have remained constant, my Lord." A nod invites the younger nobleman to continue.<br />
<br />
"So we invited ourselves to the court yard. Ser Bors flew our craft whilst I shot from the back ramp. Kristy drove the Councilor, a trooper, and Mr. West into the court yard where they could get out and climb the towers. Each side of the wall had control towers which controlled the turrets. So whilst the turrets fired at the ship, some thirty or more vanguard fought on the ground."<br />
<br />
Ty continues, "Once control of the turrets was accomplished, however, the resistance proved more nuisance than threat. We moved uninjured into the structure itself and found the occupants in the corridors slaughtered. Kristy believed these to be others who had attempted to reach Jaloosi but failed."<br />
<br />
"Jaloosi was where Kristy said he would be, and upon reaching the main room of this facility, I attempted to barter with him. When accused of holding Rists hostage, he pointed out a young girl in a cage suspended above us all. Starved, dying, and laying in her own filth. I.. was outraged. Suffice to say, I produced my sword, which may have endangered our mission if not for..."<br />
<br />
He trails off and looks down with disappointment. "If not for the fact we had been deceived. Kristy, the inmate, was Lady Livia holo-disguised. Twenty-one men stood between us and freeing that young scion, and Lady Livia had them all assassinated at the clap of her hands. Our team had been manipulated to gain access to the facility and allow them to rescue her niece..."<br />
<br />
One dark brow lifts slightly when Ty casually notes that his team moved uninjured past thirty defeated foes, but once again does not speak immediately. The summary of manipulation is heard out with a small nod. He is aware of the holographic pledging of fealty, but waits for the Sealord to bridge any remaining approach to that moment.<br />
<br />
"Ser Bors and I addressed Lady Livia about returning to Alderaan. She seemed to understand that by accepting the invitation, she would need to swear fealty to her Majesty. I am certain you are well aware of this already, but I now understand why House Rist merits such caution." Ty seemed to have doubts about this course of action, but he did not voice it.<br />
<br />
"I have reservations about a woman who makes ease of lying, and doing so spectacularly. I do not discredit their craft or reputation, but..." He trails off, clearly disturbed by the introductions that House Rist had made.<br />
<br />
"To the first," Ban begins. "I daresay thy righteous ire at the cruelties done unto a child presented the very face of our New Alderaan which Her Majesty most wishes the exiles to behold. I commend your command and your company in piercing this barbaric stronghold unmarred. Be assured that such was not lost upon they who could not do the same, even to save a tortured child."<br />
<br />
A slow breath is drawn as he orders his next thoughts. "To the second: you are wise to be wary. Those folk of dishonest habit ought never be wholly trusted. Yet I hope it may assuage thy concern however slightly to consider this: our people are surrounded by enemies, and by allies we cannot trust. Whatever else Rist is, was, or will ever be, they are of Oldest Alderaan. Even the most dubious of Our people shall have the opportunity to return home." The slightest hint of a pointed smile touches his face. "There is an old proverb apt to this, good ser: better to face the devil one knows, rather than the devil one knows not. The Rist can perform services that no other gallant heart could undertake with success, and- Mother and Father allow it- in doing so, perhaps atone."<br />
<br />
Ty is quiet for the lesson, nodding when Ban had finished to acknowledge it. For a moment, the silence allowed the words to sink in and Ty's shoulders seemed to relax. "Do you believe they will find the treacherous lot tainting their name and bring them to justice? Or were it just words to warm the honey?"<br />
<br />
"I cannot say with certainty, my Lord," Ban admits, plainly "That there was some schism within House Rist seems quite likely, as I cannot expect that those without Rist itself would consign so many to Belsalvis: most would execute a captured Rist, fearing to leave such a foe living."<br />
<br />
Another slow breath is drawn, Ban's shoulders and chest rising with it. "Our Queen has a gift for inspiring faith among those once counted as deadly foes. Be wary of these Rist, as you would be wary of any power coming into Alderaan from without. But so too, you may trust in Our Queen. Always."<br />
<br />
Ty again nods. "No truer words have been spoken, your Highness." Brushing his coat open, he unclips the royal seal and offers it back to Ban. The seal was to be returned at the end of each crucial mission to ensure its use would not be abused in gaining an audience or being privy to data they did not rate. It, too, was a reflection of humility in turning over the power once the task was completed.<br />
<br />
"The seal, ser. I believe I have completed the task as best I could. Your words inspire confidence in the choices I made, and that is payment enough. By your leave, your Highness.." Lord Ty bows again.<br />
<br />
"Fare thee well, Lord Admiral. Go with Our thanks," Ban voices upon accepting the seal. A short bow of his head and shoulders is given, as to an honored individual of lower station. The dismissal given, Ban will linger a moment, regarding the banners and making a mental note of where space will need be made to accommodate the return of Rist's blazon, should all go well.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Free_the_Rist&diff=19357Log:Alderaan: Free the Rist2023-04-19T03:43:24Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=A covert team goes to Belsavis to find House Rist | Location=Belsavis | Participants=Cadogan We..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A covert team goes to Belsavis to find House Rist<br />
| Location=[[Belsavis]]<br />
| Participants=[[Cadogan West]], [[Tamsin Cas]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GM/Ty Killesa<br />
| OOCDate=April 18, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Belsavis<br />
<br />
The Republic's worst kept secret. Began as a world of ice with volcanic fissures that, over a thousand or so years, allowed for the creation of various biomes. The biomes appeared from orbit as giant freckles on a sea of white, with green vegetation and the occasional molten hot spot. The Republic used the world for its natural environment as a way to store its worst criminal scum to live out their days.<br />
<br />
In the early days of the Old Republic, staff intended to mitigate the prison violence, and biomes had precinct prisons which they managed. Over time, powerful enemies made it impossible to manage the increasingly dangerous security risks, so the Republic took to managing the planet from a space station high above, away from the violence and the need for risk pay.<br />
<br />
In time, the Republic lost control of the station too, and it became a cess pool for criminals looking to expand their empire to negotiate with criminals below. In exchange for their freedom, they become enslaved to serve this or that organization, and thus, the cycle repeated.<br />
<br />
Knowledge of Belsavis was relayed through the Elder Houses of Galaxy; it seemed even the aristocracy needed a place for their scions who proved too violent for their cultures, who had harmful secrets, or simply needed a place to exile someone where they'd never be found. It should come at no surprise that even Alderaan utilized these services. It is how, according to the narration of Lord Ty Killesa, that House Rist found itself upon the surface of Belsavis.<br />
<br />
As the shuttle makes its way through atmosphere, Ty explains, "It is her Majesty's intent that we negotiate the release of House Rist from the confines of this prison world. There are, of course, conditions which need be met; the most important being that the matriarch of this House, Lady Livia Rist, bend the knee and swear fealty. Whether or not we can negotiate that remains to be seen, but I hold out hope that Rist will want a taste of the outside world again."<br />
<br />
The Sea Lord shifts as the shuttle rocks. "We will need to locate the facilities that House Rist has claimed as their own and pray they have not come into the possession of tools for their intended trade. I am told by many there exists no deadlier assassin in all the galaxy. For ten thousand years, House Rist has perfected their art. No super weapon of mechanical make has a higher kill count.."<br />
<br />
Cadogan West is the unfamiliar face among the assembled team, and he hears out Lord Ty's summary and warnings with a wary raised brow. "You ain't been in any prison afore, have you," he drawls in a voice that mixes lowbrow Old Imperial with a backwater Outer Rim drawl. "They'll have weapons." A drawn breath and he adds, with a glance among the others, "We come up on any data networks, mayhap I can dig something up, elsewise just holler what-for, yeah?" He accepts the holo puck and eyes the projected image for a moment.<br />
<br />
The Councilor sat in silence, as they listened to the debriefing, the shuttle still underway to their destination. The puck was accepted, the face studied, before it was tucked away into one of the many pockets in their robes. A brief glance towards 1141, to ensure that the trooper was also prepared, before they rose to their feet. Already hooded and helmed, they awaited only the word to disembark, "We will bring the Queen back her prize."<br />
<br />
In the midst of a final prep and check, ET-1141 takes a moment to cant the barrel of his rifle down and aside in the interest of mitigating the risk it may pose in sweeping anyone within the confines of the shuttle with the weapon's barrel. His helmet tilts slightly, turning the lenses of his helmet to regard the puck that is offered. He accepts it with only the faintest of nods, before thumbing the projector to life. He studies the holo-image for a moment, nods again, and finally deactivates it. The puck is placed into a pouch on his utility belt and at that point Kol resumes his final checks.<br />
<br />
Satisfied he straightens. It's an afterthought that results in his readying one pouch in particular on his utility belt for rapid retrieval. Once he's concluded his preparations, he lifts his helmet to stare ahead toward Lord Ty Killesa. Swaying with the movement of the shuttle in the atmosphere, a question is presented with a click of his helmet, <"If she refuses to cooperate?"><br />
<br />
<"I expect no happy reunion once Livia and mine eyes meet..."> Sealed up in his old commando armor, hued black with only the glowing cerulean visor to give any indication that there was someone inside the suit before Lord Bors spoke. Adjusting the equipment hung from their various hangars. <br />
<br />
One hand lifts to tap at the side of his helmet before a small crackle of static ripples over comms and he nods at something, having gone silent again, dropping to one knee with an ancient looking sword drawn and his hands wrapped around the grip - crown of his helmet touching the pommel stone and the faintest motion of his head hinting that he is speaking without his mic keyed.<br />
<br />
Cadogan's assertion that Ty had never been to prison checks out, the young sea lord confirming this with a nod of his head. He does not seem embarrassed by this lack of experience, but also comes to trust Cadogan's take on their present situation. The Councilor's confident statement earns a nod from the sea lord as well, and he rises out of habit, when they do. ET-1141's question is regarded with a thoughtful expression, "Her Majesty did not express an option for failure, though were I to hazard a guess, there is but one choice. To defy the Queen is the highest treason any son or daughter of Alderaan may commit. Let us hope reason is a tool among the Lady Livia's vast arsenal."<br />
<br />
Ser Bors is regarded with a sideways glance, but Ty held no contempt for the old Knight and his grudge. "They say you fought the Rist on more than one occasion, Ser. I do not envy your experience, but I admire you live to tell the tale."<br />
<br />
The vessel is going through the process of landing, and the aft ramp lowers to allow them out. Belsavis greets them with sounds of a jungle and the intense humidity that's spawned from ice and volcanoes being married. Their view is an odd one in the galaxy, and humbling. The landing pad is common with old buildings showing their apparent age. The ice in the far distance stand like walls that go as high as the clouds and disappear. Vegetation from the vast sea of green that grows where ice is not nearly as tall or foreboding. Old speeder paths are carved into the land leaving the landing zone, and oddly enough, there's a speeder there. A young woman with blonde hair climbs out and steps toward the group speaking in a similar accent as Cado, lacking the outer rim edge, though.<br />
<br />
"Been awhile since anyone landed, but sensors went crazy, yeah. Who you lot looking for? I'm Kristy, and know what outsiders don't."<br />
<br />
"Uhh, Kristy, right. We come seeking an audience with House Rist. Know of them?" Ty says, stepping to the forefront.<br />
<br />
Kristy nods her head. "Oh, aye. Creepy lot, Rists. Took up residence in that main facility just there.. the one with towers poking up above the trees, yeah? Well, they did own the facility till Jaloosi took over. Now he holds them hostage, trophies or some such. You want Rist? You have to deal with Jaloosi."<br />
<br />
"Seems simple enough..." Ty says, but Kristy is shaking her head. "It ain't. You gotta reach Jaloosi to get an audience, and there's quite a few killers between you and them. I can take you there, but the fighting is up to you."<br />
<br />
Ty considers the proposal and looks to the others. "Thoughts?"<br />
<br />
<br />
Cadogan West checks over his weapons. Blaster with enough juice left.. other blaster.. grenades, knife, yeah. He's not the first to step out into the swirling soup of hot-or-freezing air, but follows closely enough. He eyes 'Kristy' at her greeting, not bothering to hide it as he looks her over for weapons. When she speaks of Rist's current fate, he sniffs once. "One helluva trophy." To Ty, he shrugs once. "Gathering information is off to a bloody good start," he observes deadpan.<br />
<br />
The Councilor made their egress from the shuttle with a stride that was both relaxed and purposeful. They had agreed to undertake this task, and clearly, they intended to see it done. There was neither comment nor complaint as the atmosphere shifted, though, as they came upon the seeming do-gooder (in a place like this!), the faceless mask shifted in their direction, clearly considering both the words and the possible intentions of their potential speeder pilot. "We will make faster progress if we do not need to go on foot." A gloves hand reached into their robes to retrieve the one thing which needed no translation. Credit chits.<br />
<br />
Other members of the alleged diplomatic party begin to disperse from the shuttle and its ramp, only to encounter Kristy. He moves away from the shuttle's boarding ramp and a few yards away from the gathering of minds that are drawn to Kristy. He takes up a position in order to form what constitutes a perimeter at the edge of the landing area, his blaster rifle up and at the ready with an audible, but soft click of the safety being disengaged. His helmet shifts and casts only a brief glance in the direction of Kristy. Then it's back to providing security to the impromptu meeting at the end of an F-11D's barrel pointed down range.<br />
<br />
<"Lived, not untouched or unscarred."> <br />
<br />
Said before their exit from the ship to meet with the one called Kristy. The sword housed again in the sheath on his left hip, Bors's hands rested near different weapons when they had their tete-a-tete, noting the state of the newer rifle in his arsenal and taking the time to slot a fresh blast-pack in place.<br />
<br />
<"If thee lot wished us bypass some of the wanderings aground, put me at the ships controls and even if meant as a humble freight hauler, in my grip controls shall make her dance and we shall be carried on her back - though some of thee may have hair grayer than mine once we've arrived."><br />
<br />
Slinging the rifle once loaded and then brushing his hand over the shoulder hung sheath where another blade sleeps for now, <"But if we choose to walk and brave the masses, I shall march and carry Her Majesty's banner."><br />
<br />
"Creds have no value here. Only the trading of action, or useful items. Blaster packs, knives, bullets, and weapons have the highest value. Narcotics second, and then of course.. the skin trade. Not certain any of you lot are into that, but if you're feeling generous I could be swayed by pretty boy, there.." Kristy motions toward Cadogan, "or fancy pants.." Ty. Ty's cheeks turn red, "Not certain time allows for such .. distractions, mistress. Best be on our way if you intend to haul us, yes?" Ty clears his throat twice, then shares a look with Cadogan.<br />
<br />
"Ahhhh, yes, about that.. see there are defense turrets there on the walls of the facility and such. Being a prison and all, weren't too keen on allowing shuttles in, but..one of yous ought get in to change those turret read outs, might make slipping inside a bit easier, yeah? Plus, you lot get to keep your ship, an leaving it here? Not a capital idea, you what I mean? T-Faced sir there has an idea."<br />
<br />
"My recommendation is that any with techno-savvy come with me. We can get access to the turrets and change the target data.. but you gotta be good, know what I mean. Targeting parameters is its own like.. code language, yeah? That said, to reach these things, you have to get to the top of the wall and run for the control shack on each side. Chances are, you'll have company, yeah? You reprogram the guns, they take out the bad guys, and you can shut the hatch to the compound and ain't no body getting out. T-Face over there can even land his purty ship."<br />
<br />
"I am not keen to trust this woman, but it is all we have. If killing is our ticket to an audience with this Jaloosi, then we must carve a path through the enemies. I can ride with Ser Bors and provide ranged cover with a rifle. The rock of the seas is not much different from the rock of a starship. The quicker we get these guns to our side, the quicker we turn this to our advantage."<br />
<br />
AND THUS, the team split with Lord Ty riding with Ser Bors, and the others braving the jungle ride with Prisoner Kristy. Both prove uneventful until they reach the facility itself. Large walls encase this fortress in a foreboding and ominous fashion. Ramparts upon the wall are reached through the interior, which happen to have some 30 or so wandering lunatics and criminal scum scattered and carrying out their daily routine.<br />
<br />
Without warning, Kristy drives the speeder into this massive courtyard and arrives at the first stair case leading up to a rampart. The control booth awaited at the top with a door requiring someone a terminal entry.<br />
<br />
Shots pop off at the speeder, sparking off its exterior and catching Kristy in the shoulder. She cried out with surprise, then grumbled. "MOVING TO THE SECOND STAIR, HANG ON!" She moves the speeder through the chaos of fire and arrives by the last staircase, but this time she hops out to take cover. "THERE.. GO UP AND GET CONTROL OF THE TURRETS. THEY SHOULD HANDLE THE REST!"<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, said turrets have already begun to open up on Bors.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West keeps his eye on Kristy, "Sounds fair," until he cracks a grin at Ty's clear discomfort. Right, the time. "Maybe on the way out, yeah?" he needles the nobleman until his attention is gradually drawn aside to Bors as the noble gentleman speaks. Pale blue eyes slowly narrow in confusion as he passes the elder pilot's meaning. "...You ain't convincing me there's any planet where folk talk like that, yeah?" The words are spoken with a wry curl bending the corner of his lip. When the pitch to split the party is made, Cadogan will join those moving in the speeder, giving the occasional reflexive sidelong glance at the stormtrooper. Clearly, Kol's is a presence he's not accustomed to, yet.<br />
<br />
When the shots start plinking the speeder, and Kristy slows the vehicle at the first stairs, Cado is quick to vault over the side, sprinting up the stairs and swiftly bypassing the security to gain access to the first turret control room. Only once he's ducked inside does he draw a blaster.<br />
<br />
"Of course," came the heavily modulated voice. The Councilor did not appear dissuaded by the young woman's comment. They only nodded, slipping the credits back into their robes and retrieving, instead, a few phials of pain killer. Quite likely better quality than was available in most of the galaxy. True medical grade. A bit of cutting, as one tended to do on the streets, and even these few phials could stretch a long way. Once those were offered, and whether or not they were accepted, the Councilor moved to join the pilot on her speeder. "I will make the necessary adjustments."<br />
<br />
With that decided, they stepped onto the speeder, waiting in silence for the journey to their point of entry. As soon as the speeder made it;s first stop and the young human made his way off, their attention turned to the second set of stairs. They did not bother to engage the enemy. Instead, they moved with preternatural speed to the top of the stairs, skirting enemy that would surely attempt to shoot them in the back. As soon as the door was reached, they went to work, breeching the booth's security and slipping inside.<br />
<br />
ET-1141 is quick to mount up onto the speeder. Blaster rifle held at the ready and a knee bent at the speeder's edge. He seems ready to dismount at a moment's notice, though does his level best to at least keep his crimson helmet hunkered down. Where Cadogan spares a glance toward the stormtrooper; that same trooper seems intently focused on his surroundings. His helmet shifts and turns, survying the next hill or path and then the other.<br />
<br />
When the journey does come to an abrupt end, Kol's dismount is already locked and loaded. He rolls from the speeder and when his boots touch earth, he begins to move. Barrel up and helmet tilted to at least offer his sights a reflexive, if token, consideration as he begins to move forward while providing his own suppressive fire. He moves quickly into cover and continues peppering his surroundings and enemy positions with blaster fire as he's already surveying the battlefield with the intent to move into his next piece of concealment and, hopefully, cover.<br />
<br />
Cadogan's barbs were addressed simply before the parting of ways, <"Need to kindle in my breast the care of what thee believe or nary do is thine first hurdle."> <br />
<br />
A-Wing pilots are insane. Even if they don't fly RZAs anymore. <br />
<br />
Needing someone to move their craft - Ser Bors: Knight of The Black was never one to shirk in duty. Nor was he one to avoid a chance to put a craft through its paces... whether designed for such or not. The travel of the shuttle being quick, if erratic to attempt to baffle ground sensors and potential AA equipment - the aging pilot having pulled his paint-stylus to put a small number eleven at the very top of the throttle lever slot... as is proper.<br />
<br />
<<"Lord Killsea... Brace.">> all the warning given before the ship corkscrews its flight and slews to one side, ethereal rudder being tested to its limits and the engines screaming at system power being re-routed from needless, trivial, sources like Life Support to power the engines and maneuvering thrusters. Weaving through most of the fire, with glancing strikes to shields as they make their approach.<br />
<br />
<"Hush"> offered testily to the shield alerts, muttering to himself and seeking a proper, or impromptu, landing spot, growling at the controls when they seem to stick, checking sensors and flicking over reserve power to shields and hunkering further down in his seat to ride out the shaking.<br />
<br />
<<"Lord Killsea, can thee see a place to put down?">><br />
<br />
The chaos that erupted from inside this large compound is a touch insane, but the response the team gets is born of complacency. Three quarters of the crew lounging about in the court yard have no idea what's happening until the turrets above begin to open fire, the heavy concussive shots thunderous and scary.<br />
<br />
Outside the speeder, Kristy finds a hiding spot and is not seen for the time being. Leaving the covered Kol Goren, the piloted vessel, and the Lord Ty who does his best as a Marine, sharpshooting down below. Three shots ring out and only two prisoners are wounded and incapable of fighting. Ty cycles the bolt and relays over comms, <<"The foemen converge on your location, trooper. I will do my best to help you.">><br />
<br />
With slicers in each cabin, they find the controls to the turrets to be as complicated as Kristy had said. It was it's own code language, and each turret required a manual change to inherit new targeting parameters. (125 x2, if you pass, I'll provide further instructions.)<br />
<br />
<<"No Ser, but our people have made it to the turret towers. Perhaps we persist for now, for as long as our shields hold!">> The Captain calls back, hand braced and holding as an experienced sailor would with rough waters.<br />
<br />
<br />
Cadogan West sets his blaster pistol down flat on the terminal to free both hands for work. A data plug is inserted into the terminal's jack and he quickly navigates through the system's fail-safes. In moments, two of the turrets go silent, accomplishing the most crucial of his tasks. Alas, programming new firing solutions on the fly is another matter, and Cado tries a series of four new inputs without success. "Come on, come on.." he mutters.<br />
<br />
The Councilor remained within the control room, quite likely allowing themselves to become an easy enough target. But, that would simply be as it would be. There was work to be done, and not enough time in which to do it. Quick hands and sharp eyes focused on the keys and the computer system which was fighting to withhold its secrets. The sound of slugthrower slugs hitting the metal of the cabin's walls provided a fine counterpoint to the tapping of keys as they found a medium somewhere between finessing the system and brute forcing through the defenses of the system to bring the turrets down. Bring them back up and under their control would be more difficult. The whine of machinery from one of the disabled turrets was lost in the gunfire, as one of the turrets came back on line, swiveling to retarget, not the ship, nor the speeder, but the courtyard and the hostile forces within.<br />
<br />
A spark from cover results in a tilt of his helmet and an exhale of breath. ET-1141 reflexively releases his grip on the Sonn-Blas F-11D rifle and allows it to simply fall freely upon its sling. He reaches to take hold of the hilt of the knife sheathed across his chest, even as the snarl of his attacker is picked up by the receptors of his helmet. It all moves so slowly. His helmet turns, followed by his shoulders as the first blow is avoided by the heavy blade of his attacker. Everything seems to slow; likely on account of ET-1141's implants. The wrist is deflected with a blow from a plastoid covered left forearm, resulting in the clatter of the stormtroopers armor. There's a guttural gasp and deep sucking from the attacker's throat as Kol's right hand soon follows with a blade chop of his into the soft cartillage of the screaming prisoner's nose.<br />
<br />
The crunch that results soon sends blood rushing from the savage countenance of the man. Sergeant Goren seeks to trap the arm with the blade, hoping beyond hope to at least forestall its full deployment while Kol's own hand reaches for the hilt of the knife angled across the left side of his chest.<br />
<br />
It all happens quickly as reality seems to snap back into its normal pace with the opening up of turrets, announcing that they have joined the battle. Between Goren and the prisoner, they both seem to be snarling and attempting to gain the physical upperhand on the other while the battle rages. Someone will die. Whether it's the Imperial or the hardened criminal is anyone's guess.<br />
<br />
"Bugger..." keeping his mic off for the expletive when he gets word that there is no landing sight at present. Straining against his seat restraints when the turret fire catches up to his flying, "Either they're well versed, or I've aged too far." free hand striking a console, making the shield alert silence with a 'WHIuuuRRurrp' of final protest. <br />
<br />
<<"Ty.">> back on comms, and Bors has dropped titles. Somewhere there is a redhead trying to discern why she is clenching up so. <<"I'm going to do something.">> readouts on the pilot console begin shifting color codes from golden alerts to a very sudden and panicky sort of red. The computer systems fortunate to lack a Heuristic Processor, also known as a Droid Brain when several toggles on one control board are flipped with a sweep on his hand.<br />
<br />
<<"Ground. Danger close. You'll know where.">> <br />
<br />
The craft meant for troop transport, maybe a rapid combat drop, shrieks when its airframe is made to protest under the fantastically drastic pressures being introduced to it by Ser Bors. Plummeting at speed partway to the ground, repulsor systems protesting and Lord Killsea treated to the sound of engines being fed too much power while thrust is being locked off. Looking to a camera feed, piped to his HUD, Bors sniffs in a most haughty fashion - feeling the ship dangerously closer to smashing into the ground by the second despite the lift systems.<br />
<br />
<<"Brace.">><br />
<br />
Thrusters fire at full power, liftoff strength and then some if being truthful. Blasting nearly a dozen and their cover into the air like sticks and leaves in a high wind, one of the poor saps pants trailing after in a flailing motion like they were chasing him. That one and their fellows trying to understand what just happened, why they're flying. How Zek's boots are on but his pants are off.<br />
<br />
And the shuttle is boosting up, fast enough that even with inertial dampeners at 95 percent, Lord Thul is being slammed into his seat and forced to "HURK" and tighten his body to keep from going into g-LOC... and laughing at the same time.<br />
<br />
With one turret firing on the populace, a ship in the air making it impossible for foemen to maintain their cover, a trooper kicking teeth in, and two slicers hard at work on resolving the rest of the turrets.. this plan was shaping up quite nicely. Those who may see the courtyard are witness to the untold slaughter one turret has, but due to restrictions on its lateral limits (how far it can rotate), not all enemies are within its range. Ser Bors helps with that when many are displaced by the output of impulse engines and thrown into the turret's lateral limit. LIDAR tracking allows the turret to spool up and engage targets 3 at a time, and in the matter of seconds, 10 were blown apart. Belsavis did not play around.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty fires from the back of the ship, scoring a single hit in three shots. Admittedly, not his best work. He cycles the bolt. <<"Three turrets continue to fire on friendly forces. Once we have control, I think the field will be ours. Keep up the good work!">><br />
<br />
Less than half the thirty remain, and they've taken to hunkering down near the facility itself. Ty is seen leaning out of the personnel hold of the ship, chicken-winging his rifle with one arm, and holding on with the other. He seems to be enjoying himself amidst the maniacal laughter of the ace pilot.<br />
<br />
Cadogan West cracks a fierce grin as his next attempt to guess the code input for exclusion is successful. Once he figures out how to tell the targeting matrix what NOT to shoot, the big guns are released to go play, like the gigantic puppies of energized destruction they are. A quick override command added to secure one gate in and out of the facility, and Cadogan turns around to learn his elbows on the viewport frame to watch his handiwork.<br />
<br />
The Councilor was not one to give up easily. They had told their pilot, wherever she might have gone, that they would see the turrets under their control, and that was the intention. The more they worked with the controls, the more familiar the controls became, and the system was soon defeated. It was not, however, an enemy to be put down, but a useful tool to be brought to their side. The second turret now spun up, targeted the courtyard and began to do what it could to remove the living obstacles in their way. The rest would have to be removed the old fashioned way.<br />
<br />
Sergeant Goren and his new criminal acquaintance are locked in their own mortal combat. Death and destruction abounds all around with bodies and their respective parts being hurled through the air. ET-1141's helmet shifts and connects with an already broken nose with an additional wet and decidedly distinct crunch. The shout of pain erupts from the criminal as his head rocks back from the force of the blow. This is the opening which Kol needs to yank free the serrated blade at his chest when the criminal's grip slackens for that fleeting moment while starts dance behind his eyelids and pain blossoms furiously across the entirety of his face and head.<br />
<br />
There's a sickening slurp as the durasteel blade finds purpose and purchase in ET-1141's reversed grip; first in the criminals neck and then in rapid descent from neck across the soft impression between collar bone and shoulder, scratching across flesh and rib bones, and finally parting the flesh and muscle of abdomen as the blade plunges home twice.<br />
<br />
The criminal's grip goes slack and ET-1141 swiftly pulls his blade free with strings of crimson still clinging to the durasteel as its quickly pulled back and away to prevent it being claimed by the falling criminals body. Again the blade is sheathed and once more Sergeant Goren reaches to reclaim his grip on the Sonn-Blas F-11D blaster rifle. Quietly he curses its lack of rapid fire capability given the present mission scenario.<br />
<br />
He begins to move again having dispatched his opponent and spares nary a glance back to the leaking human form. There is still a mission to see completed.<br />
<br />
The nose of the shuttle reaches apex and in an afterthought the speed is bled off, the ship systems issuing another warning with an exasperated helpless surrender as overtaxed systems continue to strain under the paces the old fighter pilot is putting this craft through what he calls 'its paces' and most technical crews regard as 'murder'.<br />
<br />
<<"Sensors read turrets down, good work ground. Coming in.">> <br />
<br />
The craft hangs in an allowed stall that results in its tumble backwards and to one side, maneuvering jets kicking in before thrusters to right its vector back into the thick of what few enemy remain. Bors leans back in his seat, flight yolk in his grip and throttle lever being worked like it was a simple adjustment toggle, feathering until he is a solid two meter over head height and then drops. Landing gear extended and repulsor systems cutting in before the ship can slam into the ground - but not before potentially smashing down on a few of the criminals caught beneath.<br />
<br />
<<"Like a glove...">> nodding at his handiwork, pleased.<br />
<br />
It would be an understatement to convey the slaughter that followed as three other turrets turned in unison, spooling up anti-personnel shots and new targets. In a matter of seconds, the turrets unleash absolute hell upon Belsavis, picking apart the foemen in the courtyard with pinpoint accuracy. Even after Kol Goren had killed his enemy and dispatched the body, the turret fired a single shot that ensured the job was done, splattering the organic leftovers all over the cracked duracrete and weeds.<br />
<br />
As Ser Bors brings their vessel down amidst a compound now thoroughly locked down from outside influence, the group can regroup at the center. Lord Ty emerges from the hold of the ship just as Kristy is seen walking out to join them. "All that remains is confronting Jaloosi." Kristy says. She points toward the facility, where the doors were already open, and she grins. "I took the liberty of unlocking them while you lot did your thing. Proper good plan if I say so myself.. and I do.." She says cutely.<br />
<br />
"..right," Ty confirms. "Best be about it then. Not sure what we face, but let us embark and finish this quest." Ty slings his rifle across his back and adjusts his sword belt so the curve-bladed weapon is available for him to pull.<br />
<br />
The group proceeds inside, but they find that guards who had occupied the building were left slain in the halls. Throats slit, some dismembered, and others pinned to the wall and brutally gutted. "Gods," Kristy commented. "Jaloosi's men know no limits to brutality.." Were these all attempts at reaching the main room?<br />
<br />
They arrive at the main doors again to find the bodies of slain men and women everywhere. Ty, reluctantly unsure of what else to do, bravely steps forward to tug the large doors open and reveal a makeshift throne room. Skylights allow natural godrays to crisscross and illuminate the interior of stone, and there, seated on a throne of trophies sits the Trandoshan Jaloosi. They rise up, and members of his blood pack step forward to make themselves known to the party joining him in his court of blood. "Ahhhhhhhh, fresh victims to join the murder. The Scorekeeper will be pleased with the numbers I send him this day."<br />
<br />
Some twenty people stand around Jaloosi.<br />
<br />
Ty speaks, "Jaloosi, I am Ty Killesa. We were told you possess the members of Rist, assassins of great value. We seek to barter for their lives."<br />
<br />
Jaloosi laughs, then the others begin to laugh. "There is only one Rist here, pale skin." He points up at a cage where a young girl lay sickly, dying from starvation. "If she possessed legendary skill or value, I think I would have known it, but her kin have not come to bargain for that one's life."<br />
<br />
Cadogan West walks through the fire splattered halls toward the Trandoshan on the 'throne' with twenty of his pack. When Jalooshi speaks, Cado eyes the starving child in the cage and leans toward Ty to advice him- loud enough that others can hear- "Traditionally speaking, we blow that guy's head off to show who's swinging big, yeah? With humans, usually his sidekicks back down, but with lizards we might just have to kill em all, yeah? On the upside, we got a good in with the Rist after."<br />
<br />
The robed, helmed figure of the Councilor stepped forward, still bearing no weapon. An easy target, yes? Their modulated voice crackled in the relative silence following the Trandoshan's words, "If it is a fight that you want, you may feel free to try to take the first blow. I would advice you, though, to tell us where our quarry has been hidden. Give us the information we need, and I may yet let you live to please the Scorekeeper another day."<br />
<br />
ET-1141 moves along with the crowd. Thankfully so when the revelation as to the interior of the structure is revealed. The Scorekeeper? 'Never heard of her', is likely the thought flowing through Sergeant Goren's mind. Then it's onto applying the majority of his thoughts and tactical consideration to the scenario and mission parameters. His helmet shifts and tilts, turning a goggled eye upward to regard the cage and the child within it. Then his helmet shifts down again, following the cable connecting cage to pillar. The group of criminals lurking there are regarding. Then it's back to the Trandoshan that Kol's attention turns.<br />
<br />
All the while his left hand holds his carbine at his side, relaxed. Nice and easy. Not threatening at all. He shifts, angling his body ever so slightly and placing the frame of Cadogan between ET-1141 and much of the poorly lit chamber. Two fingers and a thumb dip into a pouch on his utility belt, plucking free a grenade by his sense of touch and familiarity with the grenade's shape alone.<br />
<br />
Moving on the flank of the group, a length of metal blades held by power couplings bound about his arm in easy posture to be dropped, save for the hafted grip at the ready. Expression hidden by the helmet, his pace marked with the sort of amble of a man who now has to have tinctures and regular treatments for his joints. <br />
<br />
No word is offered when the Trandoshan speaks, but Cadogan's words are listened too, the enemy studied and his fist tightening on the grip of the weapon in hand. <br />
<br />
'Fine kettle we've got boiling.' thought to himself as Ser Bors lifts, with a little creek onto the balls of his feet - waiting for all of the galaxy's hells to break suddenly loose. Like when the Stormtrooper pulls out ordnance.<br />
<br />
At seeing a young Lady Rist above, and hearing the council from Cadogan West's experience with prison environments, the young sea lord bravely draws his sword with a practiced motion, the metal rasping and bringing attention to himself. "No son or daughter of Alderaan will long endure such treatment. No matter where Rist stands, they are Alderaanian. I abhor you, sir, prepare to meet your Scorekeeper." Ty holds his sword out.<br />
<br />
Councilor Cas commanded Jaloosi bring the quarry out? Well he had no such, but the bootfalls of Kristy carry her forward and in front of Ty. Touching her belt and her face, the image that was Kristy fell away like static, and the matriarch of House Rist was revealed. "No need to look any further," She says, her accent high Core and distinctly highborn.<br />
<br />
Ty, caught completely offguard by Kristy's identity, steps back. Kristy says,"Long have I endured the filth of this world and taken pleasure in assassinating its leaders. None give me more pleasure than this one." She claps her hands, and stealth generators release the shadowed-mist forms of assassins behind every member of the blood court that opposed them. Before they could react, the Rist assassins dispatch each guard with sudden thrusts of straight-edged katana like swords, then cut their throats.<br />
<br />
Jaloosi is slain by an unmasked assassin, short for a man, but he levels the field of battle by removing Jaloosi's legs with a single pass of his sword. Before the Trandoshan can protest, the assassin removes his head. "Bring my daughter down," He commands after all are slain, and the assassins work to do this.<br />
<br />
Lady Livia turns to face the group then, her cold, expressionless look and dark gaze meeting each member of the crew before she speaks. "Apologies for my deception. You possessed skills we did not, and I still had an agenda to complete."<br />
<br />
Raising her hands, she addresses them, "I am the Lady Livia of House Rist. You seek me. What is it you want from me?"<br />
<br />
Cadogan West looks aside sharply as 'Kristy' steps in front of Ty and.. ah. A slow breath is drawn through flared nostrils, pale blue eyes flicking around the throne room quickly as stealth fields and swords are bloodily revealed. In some desperate bid to exert any scrap of calm in the aftermath of the bloodbath, he quips to Ty, "You're up.. Fancy pants," echoing the nickname chosen by the disguised Livia. The young slicer is quite content to let the Alderaanians and Sith do the talking, while he tries not to look behind himself.<br />
<br />
The Councilor, as the Rist were unmasked, took barely a moment to look around the room, seeing the figures now arrayed around them. Still, they took up no weapon. Instead, they moved towards where the young girl was being brought down. Barely a glance was offered to 1141, before they shifted their focus to the form being freed from its cage. And while the voice, still modulated, did not shift in its intonations, neither did it offer menace or threat. "I am a doctor. I will tend to the girl." There was a glance to the ones releasing the child, "Lest you wish for her to expire before you can reunite her with her mother." The child certainly did look to be on death's door. Any delay was likely to be to her detriment. Once the girl was freed, the Councilor took a knee, retrieving the necessary supplies to stabilize the young girl, remaining, at all times, positioned so that the Lady could see her child. Consciousness returned soon enough.<br />
<br />
There's suddenly blades flashing in the poorly lit chamber and ET-1141's helmet aids Sergeant Goren in capturing it all with its low-light enhancing technology really allows him to pay witness to ever strand, spray, and arc of ruby life's water flashing through the dim chamber. He grunts quietly and it almost sounds like heaving emanating near or around the stormtrooper's bodysuit-wrapped throat. There doesn't seem to be a spray of anything of note from the helmet and without missing a beat ET-1141 begins to move after the Councilor who looks to attend to the malnourished girl. He stands nearby, but not so close to be intruding on the process. He is there to provide security while the Councilor is otherwise occupied. The stormtrooper's helmet shifts to regard one of the Rist phantoms. His helmet dips once, a simple acknowledgment. Then it's back to sentry duty Kol goes with his blaster rifle held barrel-down across his chest.<br />
<br />
<"Lady Livia, we need thee come with us, and thine house kin too. Liberated by Her Majesty - perchance to gain amnesty and place again among the Great Houses."> Bors chimes in before Ty could address as goaded by Cadogan.<br />
<br />
The slayings had brought back memories of the forests of New Alderaan before others. Crossing blades and being saved from toxins that had been drooled on his skin when his armor had saved him from being cut. <br />
<br />
<"Whatever glorious rogue empire thou hast carved for thineself upon Belsavis - likely can do with being heaped upon the rubbish. Cast off the dust of this misbegotten world and return to Alderaan and mayhap Rist may rise again." Remaining standing where he is, the chain-whip still looped over his arm and ready to be snapped to blade form if the circumstances call for it.<br />
<br />
He wanted to draw the moment the Rists had appeared. His instincts screamed to draw and charge and it was a wonder he remained where he had stood. That he was speaking clear voiced despite old memories being dredged up.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty speaks after Ser Bors, "The Ser is correct. Your freedom, my Lady, need only require one thing."<br />
<br />
Before Ty can reveal what that is, Livia's smile tips one corner of her mouth, "That I bend the knee and swear fealty." Turning in place to look over those with her, then of her niece being treated by the Councilor, she nods. "No Empire awaits us here, Ser." Said to Bors and company. "We were exiled here during the war for standing against my Lord Father and his shadow council. Freed, we will bring those responsible for the atrocities during the war forward to face the Queen's justice."<br />
<br />
Ty nods, sharing a glance with Ser Bors and nodding, then he unclips something from his belt and activates it. A shimmering image of Aryn Cortess comes into existence, a holo-call, obviously. "Your Majesty, we have established contact with Lady Livia as you commanded."<br />
<br />
<"And of her fealty, Captain?"><br />
<br />
Livia speaks, and the image of Aryn turns to regard her. Taking a knee, Livia says, "For our freedom, your Majesty, House Rist swears its fealty to serve the crown whenever called upon. We name but one boon in return for our loyalty."<br />
<br />
<"Name it."><br />
<br />
"That Your Majesty permit the hunt of our traitorous kin, and return my House to its rightful, loyal place."<br />
<br />
<"You may dispense your justice, my Lady, but first, I have need of you. Old enemies once thought out of reach are now no longer. Return home and we will discuss the details of our Prince's war."><br />
<br />
"Yes, your grace."<br />
<br />
The image of Aryn fades and Ty stores the holo-emitter back to his belt. With his free hand, he offers it to Livia and she accepts, rising back to her full height and nodding. "To Alderaan," She asks. Ty confirms, "To Alderaan, my Lady."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Sith:_Unearthing_the_Past_Pt_1&diff=19351Log:Sith: Unearthing the Past Pt 12023-04-18T04:09:15Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Sith investigates the ruins of an old outpost.<br />
| Location=[[PF-01.91]]<br />
| Participants=[[Sith Empire]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Raskta]], [[Ban Iskender]] (Darth Durandus), [[Losor]], [[Merulia]], [[Netep Muri]], [[Tamsin Cas]] (Councilor), [[Aryn Cortess]] (Darth Kalus)<br />
| OOCDate=April 17, 2023<br />
}}<br />
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Even crossing and journeying into the Deep Core is a journey oft wrought with peril and doom. Over millennia countless exploring souls have been lost on account of making the voyage into the Deep Core. It is a place often at odds with what may be deemed the norm for the rest of the galaxy. Using known paths through hyperspace achieved through the decryption of an Old Galactic Empire databank, a shuttle known by the name Wayfinder from the Harbinger steadily works its way through the hazardous section of space. While there are moments where the shuttle exits hyperspace only to hang in the unending blackness of space with nary a celestial body in sight, there are other moments in the journey where a leg drops the shuttle from hyperspace within view of astronomical phenomena that threatens to bend the mind. Oddly shaped planets or moons abound, while some others are clearly beyond habitation on account of the completely impossible means of surviving upon their molten surfaces that begins to rapidly cool into obsidian and only to heat up and become molten anew. Then there's the small planet that seems to be constantly changing its shape in rather drastic ways on account of the many earthquakes constantly hammering beneath its surface. It is through the combined efforts of the Sith Lords Aryn Cortess and Losor that the shuttle is able to traverse this deadly span of space with minimal effort. Following their supplied coordinates that make good time in their calculations and if it weren't for the sheer strangeness of some of the sights, many of the passengers could call the journey almost pleasant - if it weren't for the constant fear of a meaningless death.<br />
<br />
When the shuttle drops out near PF-01.91 there is a moment of wonder and respite from the sheer oddities of the galaxy. While the long-forgotten planet is peculiar in its own right on account of its mind-boggling massive size; where in many instances planets orbit their suns, the sheer size of PF-01.91 has resulted in its three suns orbiting it. Which in turn throws the planet's surface into a near-constant daylight with only the slightest twilight patches from time to time that last but minutes.<br />
<br />
The shuttle begins to make its descent into the atmosphere, following coordinates supplied by a probe droid previously sent by the Sith Empire. Under the capable guidance of Aryn Cortess and Losor, the shuttle makes its way through the breathable atmosphere. Instruments indicate that the air quality is superb. For some who had lived in my industrial or highly populated areas of the galaxy, it's very possible that the air on PF-01.91 may prove to be the most refreshing ever enjoyed. Sensors indicate that the planet's surface is teeming with life and not just flora, but fauna as well. Though from the air there seems to be no visible signs of the wildlife.<br />
<br />
Dread.<br />
<br />
Dread.<br />
<br />
Dread.<br />
<br />
As the shuttle drops lower and lower in the sky and the planet grows to fill the entirety of the viewport, a fear of the world begins to take shape. It tugs at the mind and the heart. If there was such a thing as a soul, even it begins to feel the anguish of inevitability.<br />
<br />
The shuttle thumbs down on the gradually overgrown landing platform in the very heart of the old Imperial outpost. A soft hiss can be heard as the boarding ramp begins to lower and the rush of refreshing, exhilarating air can be felt invading the interior of the shuttle. Immediately the sounds of life, wild and free, begin to infiltrate the shuttle's passenger hold and boarding area. Cries of one avian or another can be heard in alarm or allure, some high-pitched squealing roar can be heard beyond the boundary walls of the complex.<br />
<br />
The complex itself has been long abandoned with the vines laying across the perimeter wall and having worked their way deep into the compound, probing for new places to soak up the sun as they cling to structures and earth alike.<br />
<br />
Raskta Frowns as she's holding onto the shutter walls she's got herself strapped in and is shaking in her seat as she helps to co-pilot though her eye's shit " What the hell is with this planet " she frowns feeling it's hunger and want for flesh!<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender has donned the simple silver mask of Darth Durandus, marked only by the thin visor for sight, and the solitary ornament of a teardrop engraved below the right eye. The solemn swordsman rises once the shuttle has landed and steps toward the main hatch, stepping off the vessel and onto the overgrown world. A slow breath drawn as a turn of the head surveys for some point of entry deeper into the abandoned base.<br />
<br />
Losor shrugs off the feelings or tries to from his spot in the co pilot's seat. "The frak? This planet is so....well I don't know but it's something." He says trying to rid his mind of that insatiable hunger for meat!<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus (Aryn) is seated in the pilot's seat wearing a sealed mask over her face. With her hood down, the restrained blonde hair is in view, but hardly an obstacle as she moves over the controls of the flightboard and takes them to their destination. With the aid of Lord Losor, they are able to navigate the dangers well, eventually arriving at their destination. She engages impulse engines with a subtle shove of the lever and brings them to the surface for a smooth, easy going landing. When the ship's weight has transitioned to its skids, Kalus rises up from her seat and moves for the ramp. She was not immune to the draw of imposing dread this world seemed to have. Its unspoken anguish was heard in the echoes of the Force, and something Aryn was acutely aware of, though thankful for years of meditation training, her mind was not so easily invaded and influenced.<br />
<br />
Stepping off the vessel and arriving next to her husband, Durandas, Kalus spares not a single word before walking forward.<br />
<br />
Not a death world, but a dead world in this narrow spot. Such things were far less comfortable for the Nightsister as Merulia shudders a little on the shuttle's decent and then closes her eyes to center herself. <br />
<br />
As they touch down the blonde Sephi stretches, her hands adjust the cloak and the weapon at her hips before she comes to glance between the others. <br />
<br />
"What do you think?" she questions softly in accented tones.<br />
<br />
Meaningless death? Nonsense. Netep Muri's no stranger to running fools' errands into the unknown, whether for her own selfish curiosity's sake or when enough credits are dropped into the lap of the Explorer's Guild. This...is just another job. It is, of course, to a part of the galaxy she's before avoided at all costs. Muri prefers the Outer Rim and the wild space beyond, because the Core means big government and Muri never cared much for...well. Life's got a funny way of changing one's plan. <br />
<br />
Netep Muri works for Sith, now. Mostly /a/ Sith, but by extension, she is under the employ of that Empire. She dozes through much of the flight, or so it might appear with her slouch in seat, legs kicked out as far as they can, for comfort's sake. Why? She ain't having to fly, this trip. It's a luxury, for one who's usually at the helm. When the hyperspace bit's at end and they are gathered into orbit of the celestial giant, Muri rises from her seat and hazards a look for herself. A low whistle of appreciation escapes her lips, in spite of that gnawing sense of dread. And sure enough, as they descend further into the atmosphere, honing in on that complex, she can't help but wonder if this is like Felucia, on steroids. No, not Felucia...maybe like if Kashyyyk and Endor had a love child. Yeah...that's it. And it brings a slow smile to her lips. <br />
<br />
This is what the wandering space gypsy lives for - exploration. Sometimes that means getting noosed by carnivorous vines, or snip-snapped by giant crustaceans. It's all just part of the game. A game she takes seriously, which is why she's suited up in scouting armor, prepared for any noxious fumes this planet might throw their way. <br />
<br />
Muri wastes no time in following Darth Kalus out.<br />
<br />
Helmed, hooded, robed, the Sith Councilor sat in silence for the trip. They had already taken the liberty, of course, to ensure that all necessary supplies were tucked away within easy reach. What interest they took in the approach to the planet was a few glances taken once they had escaped from hyperspace and were making their way down, into the belly of the beast.<br />
<br />
Leaving the ship was easy enough, and boots followed boots until the group was standing at the exit ramp. 'What dis shr think?' The councilor looked over towards the Nightsister, "I think something lies here that has not been fed in quite some time."<br />
<br />
A set of durasteel stairs lead down from the landing tarmac. These too have been invaded by the thick cables of vines. Some may note that the vines possesses particularly large thorns, hooked and curved to defend them against the probing mouth of some creature or another. The air is wonderfully free of humidity. If it weren't for the underlying sense of dread that seems to hang about every set of shoulders like some manner of malevolent cloak? The place could almost be considered idyllic in its climate.<br />
<br />
The ring of boots on durasteel grating can be heard as the Sith Empire's team descends from the landing platform and across a broad bridge connecting the platform to what is likely the outpost's central command center. The dread hangs in the metaphorical air, but each individual works to push it to the back of their mind. What, after all, is a simple feeling besides emotions playing tricks?<br />
<br />
Through the journey from the landing platform to the command center doors, the sounds of thriving life calls and fills the air. It does not, thankfully, feel threatening.<br />
<br />
The door of the command center opens readily. The two halves of the doors open with a hiss. This is a good sign. The outpost still has at least the most rudimentary of power. It's entirely possible that it is powered by some old geo-thermal generators beneath the mountain itself.<br />
<br />
The interior of the command center seems almost pristine. Beyond a few items seemingly out of place - a chair turned upside down, an old caf cup knocked aside, a datapad without power discarded near the doorway - the command center seems altogether untouched. As though it is frozen in time. Its terminals undisturbed and ready to be visited once again by servants of the (old) Empire. It is here that one could theoretically plug into the mountain base's security systems and open the blast doors from the outside. In theory.<br />
<br />
Raskta Looks about as she walks out her mask is on as she peers about " This place is strong in the force " She says frowning any place strong in the force would be like this but something is not right about this place. She Glances about a hand moving to her hip to grip her saber. <br />
<br />
" I have never heard of a planet like this place " She glances about " It's perfect and not " .<br />
<br />
Durandus rumbles evenly to Raskta's observation, "It hungers. The terminals appear functional, be about our task, ere we must slay a world-beast."<br />
<br />
Losor growls shaking his head back and forth fingers curling and uncurling into fists as they observe. "The need, it's so frakking strong...it hungers...Meat it wants meat..." He shudders his ice blue eyes wide at the presence upon the planet.<br />
<br />
Kalus does not pause her approach until they were well within the control room. Despite the cadence of her pace, she was subjected to a number of mental experiences she reasoned only she could hear. A voice whispering to consume meat, obsessed with it really, and the presence was imposing. She spoke nothing of it and took to looking over the room.<br />
<br />
Immersing herself in the Force, Kalus waded out into the proverbial lake, embracing the nexus of power and blending time in that moment. Echoes from the past lingered like blinking lights only she could see and access, touching places within the room to trigger the psychometry. After a moment of experiencing the echoes, their surface thoughts, and the underlying urgency of the situation, Kalus's perspective returned to the present. <"Those which were here left in dire haste. An evacuation that would have taken hours occurred in minutes. They ran from this presence, the one calling for meat. Claiming, it is almost here. Dread drove them away; dread and overwhelming fear. -- Perhaps data within these terminals will reveal more? Has someone a strong skill in such?" Kalus withdrew her hand from touching anything else and clasped it with her other at the small of her back. "Perhaps it is as Lord Durandus says; a world beast lurks..." She peers out a window (if there were any.)<br />
<br />
"There was power here," Merulia offers as she walks, thoughts voiced aloud. "Question simply is if we explore a tomb that lay dormant and might house an explorer and looter, or a lair in which something awaits us..." <br />
<br />
Considering the thought softly, the comments of others brings a frown. "A hungry beast awaits us then. We must be prepared to bare our teeth and flex our claws in response."<br />
<br />
These vines look wicked. Muri's steps slow going down the stairs, allowing others to pass her by while she reaches under a flap, into a utility pouch on belt. It's the sort of compartment one might store an extra power cell for their blaster or cartridge for slugthrower. But Muri? She's got some fancy tweezers and a vial being pulled forth. Tissue sample? You bet. Her short legs double-time it to catch up after, taking care to not stomp ON the vines, lest she trigger some reaction. <br />
<br />
"It's perfectly awe-inspiring..." Netep purrs out with a hint of Ibhann'I drawl to Raskta and Losor's observations. "There are many wild places that'll chew you up and spit you out, no druks given. I get the sense...'she' is no different." Not the sense born of an ability to tap into some unseen Force, no. Muri is mundane. It's merely an intuition, acquired over decades of taking idiotic risks for sake of a little cred. Xavier did (probably still does) often wonder how the hell she's survived as long as she has. The luck o' the Muri... <br />
<br />
Ah yes, the terminals. What they came here to do. "Well, I'm not one for teeth and claws, but I'll do what I can t'poke around here." And keep an eye out. Muri's violet gaze gives a partially opened viewport the side-eye from behind her visor as she moves past and begins to nose around the work stations.<br />
<br />
The Councilor did not bother with looking further beyond the boundaries of the port of entry, as the team made their way inside. What was outside would for now, remain outside. If it did not, they could consider the options then. For now, accessing information on the base itself was top priority, especially given the reports from Kalus on the sights the base had seen. They did not take a seat at the terminal, but still, they worked as though taken with an easy familiarity with the system. This was not a brute force assault on an old system, more...a gentle waking up of a slumbering giant.<br />
<br />
As they worked, the sent back reports of what they were uncovering. And in the same time, it was being transferred onto a clean datapad retrieved from their robes. "They seem to have been proceeding well on their mission. But the end was not sudden. Increasingly frequent reports of missions going out into the forest and not returning. Every few weeks, then one report a week, two reports of troops lost, four reports. And then nothing at all. No reports, and no manned station. Why the continued to send patrols, that I can't say, save perhaps they were afraid their secrets had been uncovered. This was a seed bank, of sorts, but for data and scientific discovery. A place to store knowledge in a secure location."<br />
<br />
Raskta moves to search the area but the only thing people will hear is her moving to jump up and look into the view ports.. only for her fingers to slip on a something left over and her comming crashing down .. and ALOT of Echani swearing.. not sure what she's saying but it's clear she's swearing up a strom as she struggles to get up only to slip on some more fluid or something and yeah... She's kinda seething! In face she yanks out her saber and takes several not needed and clearly ineffectual swipes at the wall<br />
<br />
Beyond the viewport the thoughtful mind and attentive eye may note something peculiar. In a world so lush, green, thriving, and alive; a veritable curtain of wilted and dead leaves have broken free of home upon the branches of trees outside the outpost walls. What should have likely been vibrant green leaves, were suddenly brown-and-yellow-and-peppered with black. Carried on the wind, they glide and dance their weaving and twirling patterns. Death has claimed them, but those leaves continue their dance none the less.<br />
<br />
The terminal chirps and there's the faintest of stuttering-grinding sounds as it becomes active anew. While Councilor Cas works diligently to access its systems, it seems just as eager and diligent to serve. Somewhere deep in its processors it's thankful to be awakened from its sleep. While it doesn't open itself entirely to the newcomer, the system seems almost appreciative of the fact that it gets to perform its duties once more.<br />
<br />
There is suddenly a massive, deafening CRASH that feels the air. It sends a tremor through the command center. Those who rush to the viewports to look outside find a new addition to the outpost's central courtyard. It had barely missed the landing platform, but down resting against one of the support struts rests a large ball of durasteel and transparisteel. Bits of foliage has embedded itself in the lumpy ball and many vines have sought to interlace themselves among the wreckage over decades. There is one distinct shape however and it the aged and starship enthusiasts of the group: it almost looks like the misshapened cockpit of an older model Imperial Lambda-class Shuttle. Now twisted and crushed into the shape of a speeder-sized ball which rests against one support strut of the landing platform.<br />
<br />
Some may note through the open access doorway that the sounds of wildlife have become much quieter now.<br />
<br />
Raskta eye's narrow " If i didn't know better that looks like something laucnhed a ball of steel at us " She looks around eye's peeled for danger as she glances around looking for a place that might surive getting attacked from above..<br />
<br />
Darth Durandus sniffs behind his expressionless mask, commenting to Tamsin with a hue of disdain to the otherwise level words: "They sent patrols because it was procedure to send patrols. The Old Empire demanded obedience, not intellect." The thud of impact from outside draws a slow, terse exhale. Without further word, he takes his lightsaber in one hand and stalks back up to open air, where their shuttle is standing exposed. Under his breath, the swordsman rumbles, "Come ye forth and break thy teeth upon us."<br />
<br />
Losor jumps slightly at that loud crashing sound, oh no he doesn't run to the viewport instead he draws his Saber with that electronic hiss. "Frak this can't be good, looks like we might be in for some fun!" He chuckles as he looks around at all those assembled here.<br />
<br />
The ground shook from the impact and Kalus did not even stutter in her footing when she had cried out moments before, <"INCOMING!"><br />
<br />
As dust, debris, and dirt settle outside from the impact, Kalus is also unclipping her curved hilt from her belt. <"Best to proceed with the mission. Lord Durandus and I will see to this gargantuan nuisance, or at the least, give you time to delve deeper."><br />
<br />
As the Knight of Tears stepped outside bravely, inviting the creature to join him in battle, he likely heard the subtle clip-clop of her boots as she stepped behind him. <"Come what may, this foe proceeds no further."> Aryn activates her lightsaber with a snap-hiss, the wavering red growling with each movement as she salutes the unknown, then drags the orientation of her blade to her right side.<br />
<br />
Quite the threat as things are hurled at them, Merulia snatching the hilt from her waist and activating the weapon with the classic thrum of humming crimson as her lightsaber was brought to life. <br />
<br />
"As you wish," she offers, the Nightsister looking back to the threat. "We will push onwards, but we will remain in communication!" <br />
<br />
With that, the Sephi began to move as commanded.<br />
<br />
The Councilor appears to have the tech side of this operation well in hand. "Seed bank?" Muri echoes softly. Admiring the thought. Literal of figurative, seed banks are delightful things for those with a bottomless hunger for knowledge. So far, the only 'knowledge' Muri has uncovered is that somebody had a decent taste in thermos-ware, had possible pics of the fam, and....oooh, a manual. The thermos is hooked onto belt, the tiny holo-emitter pocketed into pack, and the manual...well, what the hell. That's going into the pack, too. "Looks like they cleared out pr---" <br />
<br />
*BOOM* <br />
<br />
Muri freezes....click-clacks her way over to peer out. "Mmm..." Yeah, she doesn't look the look of that! "Yeah I'm in favor of deeper."<br />
<br />
It was not that the Councilor was unaware of what was going on around themselves, but, at the moment, they were otherwise engaged, and they continued to tap away at the computer terminal, working in easy accord with the computer system. Certainly they understood what it was to feel useful, and, they made use of the computer system. Durandus' comment received only a mild, "The it is fortunate that this is the New Empire."<br />
<br />
As balls of steel and seemingly living vines crashed into what amounted to the courtyard, the sound of locking mechanisms cycling up and releasing broke the silence beyond the receiving area, "Any who are comping with me move towards the blast doors." They took a few seconds to adjust the receiving frequency of the datapad so that it could continue to communicate with the computer systems, as they stepped away from the terminal and headed towards the now cycled open doors.<br />
<br />
It's as though the blast doors unlocking with their massive, thunderous clanks and clunks had acted as a dinner bell. Suddenly the forest beyond the perimeter wall - specifically in the west-southwest sector - begins to shift. It is as though some behemoth moved slowly and purposefully through the trees. Not only do the trees and other vegetation shift and sway with the passage of something gargantuan unseen; more and more of the green leaves break free of their homes upon the branches of trees. In flight those same lush, green leaves begin to yellow and then brown. Curling in on themselves as they are swiftly withered and leeched of all their life.<br />
<br />
Life has ceased to exist. At least metaphorically. Where before there were the calls and screeches of an abundance of wildlife filling the forest, reaching the ears of those within the outpost's compound. Now? It is silent. It is as though all living things. All meat. Has fled into their holes, nooks, crannies, and refuges.<br />
<br />
The blast doors begin to grind open. They offer sanctuary. They offer refuge. They offer salvation. The dread is strong now. Overwhelming, even. Fear takes root in even some of the strongest of resolves. While it may not be enough to drive those same strong souls to madness; it's enough to tear away the shell of their bravery. The dread is palpable. It makes some think back to the innocence of childhood. The safety of playing pretend with childhood friends.<br />
<br />
The forest, once green and alive, is now blackened and dead. It is a swift transormation. Once vibrant leaves have now fallen to the forest floor, blackened and slimy as though months of decomposition and rot had settled into place in a matter of moments. The trees once proud, strong branches have already began to sag beneath their own weight. The watchful eye - particularly Lord Durandus and Kalus - can watch this transformation of the forest in real time. It's like a cascade of withering rot travels across the forest and toward the compound's walls to the southwest. Right up until that blackening rot reaches the trees closest to the boundary zone between forest edge and perimeter wall. Moments after there comes a weighty thud of a great vine hurling itself like a grappling hook and rope over the perimeter wall that stands two stories high. The durasteel catwalk which had once upon a time provided sentries with a place to stand their vigil becomes broken and twisted as the vine as thick as a human male slams across the wall. Then another. Then another. Then three others. Then more. And more. And more. They flex and coil, twisting and gripping as though the legs of some soft-bodied, multi-legged mollusc from the depths of old Mon Cal. It is clear they seek purchase to pull whatever they are attached to up and over the wall. A voice can be heard, dry and rasping like the shaking of leaves and cracking of tree limbs...<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
The blast door lays to the east, nestled within the foot of the mountain.<br />
<br />
Raskta Looks up " MOVE " She growls and starts to sprint... she's not sure what is comming but something is telling her to get into a position she can defend none the less.. She sprints towards those opening doors at top speed.. using her long legs to propell herself forward! She moves like the wind some would swear she's using the froce to run but she's not that fast though close.. clearly moving at extreme speeds with the sheer power of her body!<br />
<br />
It is not that Durandus does not know fear. He does, all too well and all too deeply. As the vast, eldritch horror lashes out with it's horrible limbs in a ponderous effort to haul it's bulk over or through the walls, Durandus reacts the only way he knows how when faced with fear: he charges.<br />
<br />
Advancing on the besieged wall, the swordsman cleaves through one, and then a second of the thorned limbs with powerful hewing cuts. A spray of sparks is raised as one cut goes amiss and gouges into the cortosis facing of the bulwark. At least for this instant, the advance of this terrible being is slowed.<br />
<br />
Losor following in the steps of Durandus he charges in his saber battling with the vines though it's a tough one and Losor growls. "Tough bit of foliage ain't it?"<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus stands confidently behind Lord Durandus as he begins his battle with the creeping vines. Although it may be a futile gesture given vines beget more vines, Kalus adds to the potency of the attack by submitting a two-pronged approach.<br />
<br />
Summoning great strength in the Force, Darth Kalus' presence can be felt causing a large ripple as her power sweeps outward from the stones upon which she and her husband stand. A bass like sound rattles outward, displacing dust from surfaces as it forges a path like a strong breeze, to their foe.<br />
<br />
Crying out from the effort of the power, Kalus pours into it her emotions and the training she had spent years honing. Both hands rise, one of course still wielding the lightsaber, but from her gloved palms emits a kinetic energy that halts the creature itself, and begins to keep many of the vines at bay.<br />
<br />
Hands form fists, influencing the force to crush inward using unseen tendrils of infinite power, and in doing so, strained Kalus' focus to its max as she tried to interface her enhanced perception of their surroundings with the abilities that allowed her to stop her foe's advance.<br />
<br />
<"HOLDING IT IN PLACE!"> She screamed, clearly strained from the gargantuan effort, but trusting her Knight of Tears to safeguard her as she tried to aid him.<br />
<br />
The Nightsister knew the command to move on and fell in behind the exploritory team, yet as they moved one of the vines lashed and snaked, intent on seizing her. <br />
<br />
Meru had been a rock, born on Dathomir and raised on a world of darkness, wild creatures and predators unfathomable...and yet even she felt some of that supernatural dread slip through as the tendril lashed towards her. <br />
<br />
She twisted, slashing out with her new saber and driving the length back, but she didn't pause to fight, insteaded headed to join the others at the blast door.<br />
<br />
MEAT. MEAT. MEAT....<br />
<br />
It's more than a little disconcerting when mother nature *speaks*, and with the linguistic eloquence of a hungry teenage boy, no less. As such, Netep acknowledges that yes, now would be a great time to stop what she is doing and get the kark outta dodge before the borked up, beefy foliage can sample *her* meat. It's not quite as terrifying as the horde of the parasite-puppeted corpses that attacked her and her peers many years ago, on that derelict station, but....close second. At least a close third. Enough to light a fire under her ass, at least, because the mathlete is running like her life depends on it. Which it likely does. She doesn't look back, just keeps going until that checkpoint is reached, at which point she flattens out against the inner frame and better aims that pistol at anything that moves that isn't dressed like her comrades. It's only after a few panting breaths that she realizes Tamsin's already here! An upnod, for the Councilor.<br />
<br />
With the remote link to the computer secured, the Councilor moved away from the terminal and began to make their way towards the blast doors. The sudden screaming of whatever beast it was that now hunted them exploded in her mind, and their step faltered, just for a moment. Only a single voice kept the fear and terror at bay. An old voice, once well-loved and now, long lost, 'Defeat of the body is pittance in comparison to defeat of the mind.'<br />
<br />
There would be no defeat today, as the Councilor turned on their heels. There were a few holding the line. Their job was to get the rest into the bunker. "All of you, with me!" She did not forget those three at the threshold of horror, however, "Fall back to the bunker, we can seal ourselves inside!" The Councilor began to do just that, plugging into the closest access terminal and beginning to key in entry to the control systems from the inside. Muri's upnod was returned with a signal of her hand to go further inside. Better in here than out there, yes? "If you need me to pull you back, yell out."<br />
<br />
There's a moment of thrill and exhilaration when the first few vines are cleaved from the monstrosity. There's an equally powerful moment of dread and despair when those same vines split at the stump and two new, freshly grown vines begin to grow out from the sheered appendage. In some cases this means that while the drengir's body has been halted along with many of its appendages? There are just still many vines whirling and whipping, being shorn free by the cleaving power of lightsabers. Which only serves to grow the number of flailing appendages as the old saying of violence begetting violence takes root in this situation.<br />
<br />
The vines lash and slash, the air practically whistling as they cut through the air. The thorns practically glisten with the poison that coats them. One vine batters Darth Durandus, rocking him in his place of stalwart defense of Darth Kalus. Another pair of lash out and strike Lord Losor. They do more than pummel him however, as when they batter his frame those pair of tentacles likewise begin to coil around him. He's lifted from the ground and already those same tentacles begin to pull him up, up, up and toward the crest of the wall.<br />
<br />
"Meat."<br />
<br />
The voice can be heard, only blocked by the perimeter wall itself. The snapping of branches and twigs intermingles with the slap of vines against the wall and the rustle of foliage, even as blackened leaves fall from the trees beyond the wall and land within the perimeter of the outpost's wall.<br />
<br />
Losor grunts and growls as those tentacles hit his, his skin breaking from the impact probably another scar though this one will appear as though he were whipped his bones cracking as he's squeezed and hefted the pain and wounds causing him to pass out.<br />
<br />
Evading one blow, sword held back and poised for an aggressive parry, Durandus is struck with a sideswipe by the next tentacle, propelled bodily like a black clad missile to impact against the mountainside in a puff of dust and sliding gravel a short distance away. If not for his personal shield, he would likely be slain; instead, the swordsman is able to rise again, dirtied but unhurt as he falls into step with Kalus as she withdraws.<br />
<br />
Concern etches itself upon the face hidden beneath an emotionless callous mask. Seeing Ban struck and thrown threatened to wrench her heart tight, and she stepped in the direction of the monster, prepared to unleash her rage for its transgressions, but wisdom won out in that instance and the voice from the Councilor reined her back in. <"Time to move,"> She calls out to Ban.<br />
<br />
Kalus fully intended on intercepting Durandus, but witnessing the brutality of Lord Losor's defeat influenced her to act otherwise. For her involvement, Losor is seized from the demise that would have seen him consumed as meat. She grimaces, taking hold of his body vicariously through the Force and ripping him free from the clutches of the poisonous brambles and living vines.<br />
<br />
His body is cast (with care) to the open doors, and unable to secure a soft landing for the Echani warrior, Aryn had to trust his constitution would hold out against further damage upon hitting and sliding across the ground inside the protective embrace of the bunker. Aryn took to running for the doors now, lightsaber deactivated so as to not injure herself while closing the distance.<br />
<br />
Merulia's hand extensed as she waited from her position on the 'safe' side of the threshold, the room bathed in the red glow of her saber while she focused her power outwards. <br />
<br />
The force surged, rippling and 'slapping' the the vines like a mother preventing its child from touching naked flame. <br />
<br />
"Hurry!" she called, eyes narrowed with effort.<br />
<br />
"Righto..." Muri murmurs and rocks on heels around with an exaggerated about-face...and cautiously steady saunter (not march) forward. No telling what lies in wait ahead, but from first impressions, there's no immediate threat to their existence on *this* side of the blast door. The further in she moves, the more out-of-the-way she becomes and the longer the runway becomes for those sprinting inside to slow down and not plow her over. <br />
<br />
The tag-along explorer takes point with her tac-light aimed squarely ahead...in the daylight. For another ten paces or so, then the floor begins to slant and down, down, down she prowls. The taclight, aka pistol, becomes less redundant now, more of a blessing. Not that her scouting helmet didn't already have its own little visual aids, but ya know. There's a comfort in ILLUMINATION. <br />
<br />
Until there isn't. <br />
<br />
"Uh," Muri's voice returns over comms as her footsteps slow to a wary halt in the would-be darkness. A metallic gleam glints menacingly back at her as that tac beam sweeps up, and down, and around. Up and down the other side. "Droids." What about them? "There's droids down here, maybe some...battle series er...security series? They're pretty big." And she's not moving another inch. Not unaccompanied.<br />
<br />
Despite the fighting and vine failing that was going on outside, the Councilor did not move to assist. They remained at the controls, marking as each of the group made it to the blast doors. The three who had held the rear guard were last, and one was being brought on waves of the force, but they were all coming. Some less gently than others, but what was the momentary discomfort of pain when weighed against the permanence of death?<br />
<br />
The Acolyte called Losor is carefully extracted from the grip of the pair of vines by Darth Kalus and soon both are making their escape from the drengir's presence. The dread seems to recede the further away they come. Freed of the Force holding it in place, the drengir does not waste time in beginning its ascent of the wall anew.<br />
<br />
While Darth Durandas works to make his way from his new spot on the slope of the mountain's foot, Darth Kalus and the Acolyte Losor are swift in their own arrival to the bunker. Especially the Acolyte, as Losor is hurled with the force toward the bunker and beyond the relative safety of the blast doors.<br />
<br />
It may be a thing to be appreciated that Darth Kalus' back is turned to the drengir. It climbs atop and over the wall with relative easy and begins its rush through the compound, its vines whipping and tossing aside old, long forgotten equipment with ease. One immense vine swings horizontally, knocking the shuttle called Wayfinder from the landing platform. It does not explode, but the horrendous crash of durasteel and shattering of transparisteel spells out the demise of the shuttle.<br />
<br />
"MEAT. MEAT. MEAT." comes the calling voice of the drengir as it surges across the compound and toward the blast doors. Its vines waving and flashing, slashing and whirling.<br />
<br />
The blast door begins to close just as the last of the Sith begins their approach. There is a mournful, yet angry call of "MEEEEAAAAAATTTTTT" that can be heard before it is cut off by the blast doors sealing. The blast doors do well to block noise of the outside world away. Finally. Peace. Safety. Security.<br />
<br />
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG CLANG CLANG! CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG!<br />
<br />
The sound of thick vines and fury striking the blast door turns the reinforced durasteel structure into a gong as the creature outside vents every ounce of its frustraton, anger, and fury upon the door. It holds, even if it sings out in protest.<br />
<br />
The perpetual daylight of the outdoors now robbed of them, the tunnel is bathed in darkness with the talk of security droids now on the lips of Netep Muri.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Sith:_Unearthing_the_Past_Pt_1&diff=19350Log:Sith: Unearthing the Past Pt 12023-04-18T04:05:30Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=The Sith investigates the ruins of an old outpost. | Location=PF-01.91 | Participants=Sith Empi..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Sith investigates the ruins of an old outpost.<br />
| Location=[[PF-01.91]]<br />
| Participants=[[Sith Empire]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Raskta]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Losor]], [[Merulia]], [[Netep Muri]], [[Tamsin Cas]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=April 17, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Even crossing and journeying into the Deep Core is a journey oft wrought with peril and doom. Over millennia countless exploring souls have been lost on account of making the voyage into the Deep Core. It is a place often at odds with what may be deemed the norm for the rest of the galaxy. Using known paths through hyperspace achieved through the decryption of an Old Galactic Empire databank, a shuttle known by the name Wayfinder from the Harbinger steadily works its way through the hazardous section of space. While there are moments where the shuttle exits hyperspace only to hang in the unending blackness of space with nary a celestial body in sight, there are other moments in the journey where a leg drops the shuttle from hyperspace within view of astronomical phenomena that threatens to bend the mind. Oddly shaped planets or moons abound, while some others are clearly beyond habitation on account of the completely impossible means of surviving upon their molten surfaces that begins to rapidly cool into obsidian and only to heat up and become molten anew. Then there's the small planet that seems to be constantly changing its shape in rather drastic ways on account of the many earthquakes constantly hammering beneath its surface. It is through the combined efforts of the Sith Lords Aryn Cortess and Losor that the shuttle is able to traverse this deadly span of space with minimal effort. Following their supplied coordinates that make good time in their calculations and if it weren't for the sheer strangeness of some of the sights, many of the passengers could call the journey almost pleasant - if it weren't for the constant fear of a meaningless death.<br />
<br />
When the shuttle drops out near PF-01.91 there is a moment of wonder and respite from the sheer oddities of the galaxy. While the long-forgotten planet is peculiar in its own right on account of its mind-boggling massive size; where in many instances planets orbit their suns, the sheer size of PF-01.91 has resulted in its three suns orbiting it. Which in turn throws the planet's surface into a near-constant daylight with only the slightest twilight patches from time to time that last but minutes.<br />
<br />
The shuttle begins to make its descent into the atmosphere, following coordinates supplied by a probe droid previously sent by the Sith Empire. Under the capable guidance of Aryn Cortess and Losor, the shuttle makes its way through the breathable atmosphere. Instruments indicate that the air quality is superb. For some who had lived in my industrial or highly populated areas of the galaxy, it's very possible that the air on PF-01.91 may prove to be the most refreshing ever enjoyed. Sensors indicate that the planet's surface is teeming with life and not just flora, but fauna as well. Though from the air there seems to be no visible signs of the wildlife.<br />
<br />
Dread.<br />
<br />
Dread.<br />
<br />
Dread.<br />
<br />
As the shuttle drops lower and lower in the sky and the planet grows to fill the entirety of the viewport, a fear of the world begins to take shape. It tugs at the mind and the heart. If there was such a thing as a soul, even it begins to feel the anguish of inevitability.<br />
<br />
The shuttle thumbs down on the gradually overgrown landing platform in the very heart of the old Imperial outpost. A soft hiss can be heard as the boarding ramp begins to lower and the rush of refreshing, exhilarating air can be felt invading the interior of the shuttle. Immediately the sounds of life, wild and free, begin to infiltrate the shuttle's passenger hold and boarding area. Cries of one avian or another can be heard in alarm or allure, some high-pitched squealing roar can be heard beyond the boundary walls of the complex.<br />
<br />
The complex itself has been long abandoned with the vines laying across the perimeter wall and having worked their way deep into the compound, probing for new places to soak up the sun as they cling to structures and earth alike.<br />
<br />
Raskta Frowns as she's holding onto the shutter walls she's got herself strapped in and is shaking in her seat as she helps to co-pilot though her eye's shit " What the hell is with this planet " she frowns feeling it's hunger and want for flesh!<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender has donned the simple silver mask of Darth Durandus, marked only by the thin visor for sight, and the solitary ornament of a teardrop engraved below the right eye. The solemn swordsman rises once the shuttle has landed and steps toward the main hatch, stepping off the vessel and onto the overgrown world. A slow breath drawn as a turn of the head surveys for some point of entry deeper into the abandoned base.<br />
<br />
Losor shrugs off the feelings or tries to from his spot in the co pilot's seat. "The frak? This planet is so....well I don't know but it's something." He says trying to rid his mind of that insatiable hunger for meat!<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus (Aryn) is seated in the pilot's seat wearing a sealed mask over her face. With her hood down, the restrained blonde hair is in view, but hardly an obstacle as she moves over the controls of the flightboard and takes them to their destination. With the aid of Lord Losor, they are able to navigate the dangers well, eventually arriving at their destination. She engages impulse engines with a subtle shove of the lever and brings them to the surface for a smooth, easy going landing. When the ship's weight has transitioned to its skids, Kalus rises up from her seat and moves for the ramp. She was not immune to the draw of imposing dread this world seemed to have. Its unspoken anguish was heard in the echoes of the Force, and something Aryn was acutely aware of, though thankful for years of meditation training, her mind was not so easily invaded and influenced.<br />
<br />
Stepping off the vessel and arriving next to her husband, Durandas, Kalus spares not a single word before walking forward.<br />
<br />
Not a death world, but a dead world in this narrow spot. Such things were far less comfortable for the Nightsister as Merulia shudders a little on the shuttle's decent and then closes her eyes to center herself. <br />
<br />
As they touch down the blonde Sephi stretches, her hands adjust the cloak and the weapon at her hips before she comes to glance between the others. <br />
<br />
"What do you think?" she questions softly in accented tones.<br />
<br />
Meaningless death? Nonsense. Netep Muri's no stranger to running fools' errands into the unknown, whether for her own selfish curiosity's sake or when enough credits are dropped into the lap of the Explorer's Guild. This...is just another job. It is, of course, to a part of the galaxy she's before avoided at all costs. Muri prefers the Outer Rim and the wild space beyond, because the Core means big government and Muri never cared much for...well. Life's got a funny way of changing one's plan. <br />
<br />
Netep Muri works for Sith, now. Mostly /a/ Sith, but by extension, she is under the employ of that Empire. She dozes through much of the flight, or so it might appear with her slouch in seat, legs kicked out as far as they can, for comfort's sake. Why? She ain't having to fly, this trip. It's a luxury, for one who's usually at the helm. When the hyperspace bit's at end and they are gathered into orbit of the celestial giant, Muri rises from her seat and hazards a look for herself. A low whistle of appreciation escapes her lips, in spite of that gnawing sense of dread. And sure enough, as they descend further into the atmosphere, honing in on that complex, she can't help but wonder if this is like Felucia, on steroids. No, not Felucia...maybe like if Kashyyyk and Endor had a love child. Yeah...that's it. And it brings a slow smile to her lips. <br />
<br />
This is what the wandering space gypsy lives for - exploration. Sometimes that means getting noosed by carnivorous vines, or snip-snapped by giant crustaceans. It's all just part of the game. A game she takes seriously, which is why she's suited up in scouting armor, prepared for any noxious fumes this planet might throw their way. <br />
<br />
Muri wastes no time in following Darth Kalus out.<br />
<br />
Helmed, hooded, robed, the Sith Councilor sat in silence for the trip. They had already taken the liberty, of course, to ensure that all necessary supplies were tucked away within easy reach. What interest they took in the approach to the planet was a few glances taken once they had escaped from hyperspace and were making their way down, into the belly of the beast.<br />
<br />
Leaving the ship was easy enough, and boots followed boots until the group was standing at the exit ramp. 'What dis shr think?' The councilor looked over towards the Nightsister, "I think something lies here that has not been fed in quite some time."<br />
<br />
A set of durasteel stairs lead down from the landing tarmac. These too have been invaded by the thick cables of vines. Some may note that the vines possesses particularly large thorns, hooked and curved to defend them against the probing mouth of some creature or another. The air is wonderfully free of humidity. If it weren't for the underlying sense of dread that seems to hang about every set of shoulders like some manner of malevolent cloak? The place could almost be considered idyllic in its climate.<br />
<br />
The ring of boots on durasteel grating can be heard as the Sith Empire's team descends from the landing platform and across a broad bridge connecting the platform to what is likely the outpost's central command center. The dread hangs in the metaphorical air, but each individual works to push it to the back of their mind. What, after all, is a simple feeling besides emotions playing tricks?<br />
<br />
Through the journey from the landing platform to the command center doors, the sounds of thriving life calls and fills the air. It does not, thankfully, feel threatening.<br />
<br />
The door of the command center opens readily. The two halves of the doors open with a hiss. This is a good sign. The outpost still has at least the most rudimentary of power. It's entirely possible that it is powered by some old geo-thermal generators beneath the mountain itself.<br />
<br />
The interior of the command center seems almost pristine. Beyond a few items seemingly out of place - a chair turned upside down, an old caf cup knocked aside, a datapad without power discarded near the doorway - the command center seems altogether untouched. As though it is frozen in time. Its terminals undisturbed and ready to be visited once again by servants of the (old) Empire. It is here that one could theoretically plug into the mountain base's security systems and open the blast doors from the outside. In theory.<br />
<br />
Raskta Looks about as she walks out her mask is on as she peers about " This place is strong in the force " She says frowning any place strong in the force would be like this but something is not right about this place. She Glances about a hand moving to her hip to grip her saber. <br />
<br />
" I have never heard of a planet like this place " She glances about " It's perfect and not " .<br />
<br />
Durandus rumbles evenly to Raskta's observation, "It hungers. The terminals appear functional, be about our task, ere we must slay a world-beast."<br />
<br />
Losor growls shaking his head back and forth fingers curling and uncurling into fists as they observe. "The need, it's so frakking strong...it hungers...Meat it wants meat..." He shudders his ice blue eyes wide at the presence upon the planet.<br />
<br />
Kalus does not pause her approach until they were well within the control room. Despite the cadence of her pace, she was subjected to a number of mental experiences she reasoned only she could hear. A voice whispering to consume meat, obsessed with it really, and the presence was imposing. She spoke nothing of it and took to looking over the room.<br />
<br />
Immersing herself in the Force, Kalus waded out into the proverbial lake, embracing the nexus of power and blending time in that moment. Echoes from the past lingered like blinking lights only she could see and access, touching places within the room to trigger the psychometry. After a moment of experiencing the echoes, their surface thoughts, and the underlying urgency of the situation, Kalus's perspective returned to the present. <"Those which were here left in dire haste. An evacuation that would have taken hours occurred in minutes. They ran from this presence, the one calling for meat. Claiming, it is almost here. Dread drove them away; dread and overwhelming fear. -- Perhaps data within these terminals will reveal more? Has someone a strong skill in such?" Kalus withdrew her hand from touching anything else and clasped it with her other at the small of her back. "Perhaps it is as Lord Durandus says; a world beast lurks..." She peers out a window (if there were any.)<br />
<br />
"There was power here," Merulia offers as she walks, thoughts voiced aloud. "Question simply is if we explore a tomb that lay dormant and might house an explorer and looter, or a lair in which something awaits us..." <br />
<br />
Considering the thought softly, the comments of others brings a frown. "A hungry beast awaits us then. We must be prepared to bare our teeth and flex our claws in response."<br />
<br />
These vines look wicked. Muri's steps slow going down the stairs, allowing others to pass her by while she reaches under a flap, into a utility pouch on belt. It's the sort of compartment one might store an extra power cell for their blaster or cartridge for slugthrower. But Muri? She's got some fancy tweezers and a vial being pulled forth. Tissue sample? You bet. Her short legs double-time it to catch up after, taking care to not stomp ON the vines, lest she trigger some reaction. <br />
<br />
"It's perfectly awe-inspiring..." Netep purrs out with a hint of Ibhann'I drawl to Raskta and Losor's observations. "There are many wild places that'll chew you up and spit you out, no druks given. I get the sense...'she' is no different." Not the sense born of an ability to tap into some unseen Force, no. Muri is mundane. It's merely an intuition, acquired over decades of taking idiotic risks for sake of a little cred. Xavier did (probably still does) often wonder how the hell she's survived as long as she has. The luck o' the Muri... <br />
<br />
Ah yes, the terminals. What they came here to do. "Well, I'm not one for teeth and claws, but I'll do what I can t'poke around here." And keep an eye out. Muri's violet gaze gives a partially opened viewport the side-eye from behind her visor as she moves past and begins to nose around the work stations.<br />
<br />
The Councilor did not bother with looking further beyond the boundaries of the port of entry, as the team made their way inside. What was outside would for now, remain outside. If it did not, they could consider the options then. For now, accessing information on the base itself was top priority, especially given the reports from Kalus on the sights the base had seen. They did not take a seat at the terminal, but still, they worked as though taken with an easy familiarity with the system. This was not a brute force assault on an old system, more...a gentle waking up of a slumbering giant.<br />
<br />
As they worked, the sent back reports of what they were uncovering. And in the same time, it was being transferred onto a clean datapad retrieved from their robes. "They seem to have been proceeding well on their mission. But the end was not sudden. Increasingly frequent reports of missions going out into the forest and not returning. Every few weeks, then one report a week, two reports of troops lost, four reports. And then nothing at all. No reports, and no manned station. Why the continued to send patrols, that I can't say, save perhaps they were afraid their secrets had been uncovered. This was a seed bank, of sorts, but for data and scientific discovery. A place to store knowledge in a secure location."<br />
<br />
Raskta moves to search the area but the only thing people will hear is her moving to jump up and look into the view ports.. only for her fingers to slip on a something left over and her comming crashing down .. and ALOT of Echani swearing.. not sure what she's saying but it's clear she's swearing up a strom as she struggles to get up only to slip on some more fluid or something and yeah... She's kinda seething! In face she yanks out her saber and takes several not needed and clearly ineffectual swipes at the wall<br />
<br />
Beyond the viewport the thoughtful mind and attentive eye may note something peculiar. In a world so lush, green, thriving, and alive; a veritable curtain of wilted and dead leaves have broken free of home upon the branches of trees outside the outpost walls. What should have likely been vibrant green leaves, were suddenly brown-and-yellow-and-peppered with black. Carried on the wind, they glide and dance their weaving and twirling patterns. Death has claimed them, but those leaves continue their dance none the less.<br />
<br />
The terminal chirps and there's the faintest of stuttering-grinding sounds as it becomes active anew. While Councilor Cas works diligently to access its systems, it seems just as eager and diligent to serve. Somewhere deep in its processors it's thankful to be awakened from its sleep. While it doesn't open itself entirely to the newcomer, the system seems almost appreciative of the fact that it gets to perform its duties once more.<br />
<br />
There is suddenly a massive, deafening CRASH that feels the air. It sends a tremor through the command center. Those who rush to the viewports to look outside find a new addition to the outpost's central courtyard. It had barely missed the landing platform, but down resting against one of the support struts rests a large ball of durasteel and transparisteel. Bits of foliage has embedded itself in the lumpy ball and many vines have sought to interlace themselves among the wreckage over decades. There is one distinct shape however and it the aged and starship enthusiasts of the group: it almost looks like the misshapened cockpit of an older model Imperial Lambda-class Shuttle. Now twisted and crushed into the shape of a speeder-sized ball which rests against one support strut of the landing platform.<br />
<br />
Some may note through the open access doorway that the sounds of wildlife have become much quieter now.<br />
<br />
Raskta eye's narrow " If i didn't know better that looks like something laucnhed a ball of steel at us " She looks around eye's peeled for danger as she glances around looking for a place that might surive getting attacked from above..<br />
<br />
Darth Durandus sniffs behind his expressionless mask, commenting to Tamsin with a hue of disdain to the otherwise level words: "They sent patrols because it was procedure to send patrols. The Old Empire demanded obedience, not intellect." The thud of impact from outside draws a slow, terse exhale. Without further word, he takes his lightsaber in one hand and stalks back up to open air, where their shuttle is standing exposed. Under his breath, the swordsman rumbles, "Come ye forth and break thy teeth upon us."<br />
<br />
Losor jumps slightly at that loud crashing sound, oh no he doesn't run to the viewport instead he draws his Saber with that electronic hiss. "Frak this can't be good, looks like we might be in for some fun!" He chuckles as he looks around at all those assembled here.<br />
<br />
The ground shook from the impact and Kalus did not even stutter in her footing when she had cried out moments before, <"INCOMING!"><br />
<br />
As dust, debris, and dirt settle outside from the impact, Kalus is also unclipping her curved hilt from her belt. <"Best to proceed with the mission. Lord Durandus and I will see to this gargantuan nuisance, or at the least, give you time to delve deeper."><br />
<br />
As the Knight of Tears stepped outside bravely, inviting the creature to join him in battle, he likely heard the subtle clip-clop of her boots as she stepped behind him. <"Come what may, this foe proceeds no further."> Aryn activates her lightsaber with a snap-hiss, the wavering red growling with each movement as she salutes the unknown, then drags the orientation of her blade to her right side.<br />
<br />
Quite the threat as things are hurled at them, Merulia snatching the hilt from her waist and activating the weapon with the classic thrum of humming crimson as her lightsaber was brought to life. <br />
<br />
"As you wish," she offers, the Nightsister looking back to the threat. "We will push onwards, but we will remain in communication!" <br />
<br />
With that, the Sephi began to move as commanded.<br />
<br />
The Councilor appears to have the tech side of this operation well in hand. "Seed bank?" Muri echoes softly. Admiring the thought. Literal of figurative, seed banks are delightful things for those with a bottomless hunger for knowledge. So far, the only 'knowledge' Muri has uncovered is that somebody had a decent taste in thermos-ware, had possible pics of the fam, and....oooh, a manual. The thermos is hooked onto belt, the tiny holo-emitter pocketed into pack, and the manual...well, what the hell. That's going into the pack, too. "Looks like they cleared out pr---" <br />
<br />
*BOOM* <br />
<br />
Muri freezes....click-clacks her way over to peer out. "Mmm..." Yeah, she doesn't look the look of that! "Yeah I'm in favor of deeper."<br />
<br />
It was not that the Councilor was unaware of what was going on around themselves, but, at the moment, they were otherwise engaged, and they continued to tap away at the computer terminal, working in easy accord with the computer system. Certainly they understood what it was to feel useful, and, they made use of the computer system. Durandus' comment received only a mild, "The it is fortunate that this is the New Empire."<br />
<br />
As balls of steel and seemingly living vines crashed into what amounted to the courtyard, the sound of locking mechanisms cycling up and releasing broke the silence beyond the receiving area, "Any who are comping with me move towards the blast doors." They took a few seconds to adjust the receiving frequency of the datapad so that it could continue to communicate with the computer systems, as they stepped away from the terminal and headed towards the now cycled open doors.<br />
<br />
It's as though the blast doors unlocking with their massive, thunderous clanks and clunks had acted as a dinner bell. Suddenly the forest beyond the perimeter wall - specifically in the west-southwest sector - begins to shift. It is as though some behemoth moved slowly and purposefully through the trees. Not only do the trees and other vegetation shift and sway with the passage of something gargantuan unseen; more and more of the green leaves break free of their homes upon the branches of trees. In flight those same lush, green leaves begin to yellow and then brown. Curling in on themselves as they are swiftly withered and leeched of all their life.<br />
<br />
Life has ceased to exist. At least metaphorically. Where before there were the calls and screeches of an abundance of wildlife filling the forest, reaching the ears of those within the outpost's compound. Now? It is silent. It is as though all living things. All meat. Has fled into their holes, nooks, crannies, and refuges.<br />
<br />
The blast doors begin to grind open. They offer sanctuary. They offer refuge. They offer salvation. The dread is strong now. Overwhelming, even. Fear takes root in even some of the strongest of resolves. While it may not be enough to drive those same strong souls to madness; it's enough to tear away the shell of their bravery. The dread is palpable. It makes some think back to the innocence of childhood. The safety of playing pretend with childhood friends.<br />
<br />
The forest, once green and alive, is now blackened and dead. It is a swift transormation. Once vibrant leaves have now fallen to the forest floor, blackened and slimy as though months of decomposition and rot had settled into place in a matter of moments. The trees once proud, strong branches have already began to sag beneath their own weight. The watchful eye - particularly Lord Durandus and Kalus - can watch this transformation of the forest in real time. It's like a cascade of withering rot travels across the forest and toward the compound's walls to the southwest. Right up until that blackening rot reaches the trees closest to the boundary zone between forest edge and perimeter wall. Moments after there comes a weighty thud of a great vine hurling itself like a grappling hook and rope over the perimeter wall that stands two stories high. The durasteel catwalk which had once upon a time provided sentries with a place to stand their vigil becomes broken and twisted as the vine as thick as a human male slams across the wall. Then another. Then another. Then three others. Then more. And more. And more. They flex and coil, twisting and gripping as though the legs of some soft-bodied, multi-legged mollusc from the depths of old Mon Cal. It is clear they seek purchase to pull whatever they are attached to up and over the wall. A voice can be heard, dry and rasping like the shaking of leaves and cracking of tree limbs...<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
"MEAT."<br />
<br />
The blast door lays to the east, nestled within the foot of the mountain.<br />
<br />
Raskta Looks up " MOVE " She growls and starts to sprint... she's not sure what is comming but something is telling her to get into a position she can defend none the less.. She sprints towards those opening doors at top speed.. using her long legs to propell herself forward! She moves like the wind some would swear she's using the froce to run but she's not that fast though close.. clearly moving at extreme speeds with the sheer power of her body!<br />
<br />
It is not that Durandus does not know fear. He does, all too well and all too deeply. As the vast, eldritch horror lashes out with it's horrible limbs in a ponderous effort to haul it's bulk over or through the walls, Durandus reacts the only way he knows how when faced with fear: he charges.<br />
<br />
Advancing on the besieged wall, the swordsman cleaves through one, and then a second of the thorned limbs with powerful hewing cuts. A spray of sparks is raised as one cut goes amiss and gouges into the cortosis facing of the bulwark. At least for this instant, the advance of this terrible being is slowed.<br />
<br />
Losor following in the steps of Durandus he charges in his saber battling with the vines though it's a tough one and Losor growls. "Tough bit of foliage ain't it?"<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus stands confidently behind Lord Durandus as he begins his battle with the creeping vines. Although it may be a futile gesture given vines beget more vines, Kalus adds to the potency of the attack by submitting a two-pronged approach.<br />
<br />
Summoning great strength in the Force, Darth Kalus' presence can be felt causing a large ripple as her power sweeps outward from the stones upon which she and her husband stand. A bass like sound rattles outward, displacing dust from surfaces as it forges a path like a strong breeze, to their foe.<br />
<br />
Crying out from the effort of the power, Kalus pours into it her emotions and the training she had spent years honing. Both hands rise, one of course still wielding the lightsaber, but from her gloved palms emits a kinetic energy that halts the creature itself, and begins to keep many of the vines at bay.<br />
<br />
Hands form fists, influencing the force to crush inward using unseen tendrils of infinite power, and in doing so, strained Kalus' focus to its max as she tried to interface her enhanced perception of their surroundings with the abilities that allowed her to stop her foe's advance.<br />
<br />
<"HOLDING IT IN PLACE!"> She screamed, clearly strained from the gargantuan effort, but trusting her Knight of Tears to safeguard her as she tried to aid him.<br />
<br />
The Nightsister knew the command to move on and fell in behind the exploritory team, yet as they moved one of the vines lashed and snaked, intent on seizing her. <br />
<br />
Meru had been a rock, born on Dathomir and raised on a world of darkness, wild creatures and predators unfathomable...and yet even she felt some of that supernatural dread slip through as the tendril lashed towards her. <br />
<br />
She twisted, slashing out with her new saber and driving the length back, but she didn't pause to fight, insteaded headed to join the others at the blast door.<br />
<br />
MEAT. MEAT. MEAT....<br />
<br />
It's more than a little disconcerting when mother nature *speaks*, and with the linguistic eloquence of a hungry teenage boy, no less. As such, Netep acknowledges that yes, now would be a great time to stop what she is doing and get the kark outta dodge before the borked up, beefy foliage can sample *her* meat. It's not quite as terrifying as the horde of the parasite-puppeted corpses that attacked her and her peers many years ago, on that derelict station, but....close second. At least a close third. Enough to light a fire under her ass, at least, because the mathlete is running like her life depends on it. Which it likely does. She doesn't look back, just keeps going until that checkpoint is reached, at which point she flattens out against the inner frame and better aims that pistol at anything that moves that isn't dressed like her comrades. It's only after a few panting breaths that she realizes Tamsin's already here! An upnod, for the Councilor.<br />
<br />
With the remote link to the computer secured, the Councilor moved away from the terminal and began to make their way towards the blast doors. The sudden screaming of whatever beast it was that now hunted them exploded in her mind, and their step faltered, just for a moment. Only a single voice kept the fear and terror at bay. An old voice, once well-loved and now, long lost, 'Defeat of the body is pittance in comparison to defeat of the mind.'<br />
<br />
There would be no defeat today, as the Councilor turned on their heels. There were a few holding the line. Their job was to get the rest into the bunker. "All of you, with me!" She did not forget those three at the threshold of horror, however, "Fall back to the bunker, we can seal ourselves inside!" The Councilor began to do just that, plugging into the closest access terminal and beginning to key in entry to the control systems from the inside. Muri's upnod was returned with a signal of her hand to go further inside. Better in here than out there, yes? "If you need me to pull you back, yell out."<br />
<br />
There's a moment of thrill and exhilaration when the first few vines are cleaved from the monstrosity. There's an equally powerful moment of dread and despair when those same vines split at the stump and two new, freshly grown vines begin to grow out from the sheered appendage. In some cases this means that while the drengir's body has been halted along with many of its appendages? There are just still many vines whirling and whipping, being shorn free by the cleaving power of lightsabers. Which only serves to grow the number of flailing appendages as the old saying of violence begetting violence takes root in this situation.<br />
<br />
The vines lash and slash, the air practically whistling as they cut through the air. The thorns practically glisten with the poison that coats them. One vine batters Darth Durandus, rocking him in his place of stalwart defense of Darth Kalus. Another pair of lash out and strike Lord Losor. They do more than pummel him however, as when they batter his frame those pair of tentacles likewise begin to coil around him. He's lifted from the ground and already those same tentacles begin to pull him up, up, up and toward the crest of the wall.<br />
<br />
"Meat."<br />
<br />
The voice can be heard, only blocked by the perimeter wall itself. The snapping of branches and twigs intermingles with the slap of vines against the wall and the rustle of foliage, even as blackened leaves fall from the trees beyond the wall and land within the perimeter of the outpost's wall.<br />
<br />
Losor grunts and growls as those tentacles hit his, his skin breaking from the impact probably another scar though this one will appear as though he were whipped his bones cracking as he's squeezed and hefted the pain and wounds causing him to pass out.<br />
<br />
Evading one blow, sword held back and poised for an aggressive parry, Durandus is struck with a sideswipe by the next tentacle, propelled bodily like a black clad missile to impact against the mountainside in a puff of dust and sliding gravel a short distance away. If not for his personal shield, he would likely be slain; instead, the swordsman is able to rise again, dirtied but unhurt as he falls into step with Kalus as she withdraws.<br />
<br />
Concern etches itself upon the face hidden beneath an emotionless callous mask. Seeing Ban struck and thrown threatened to wrench her heart tight, and she stepped in the direction of the monster, prepared to unleash her rage for its transgressions, but wisdom won out in that instance and the voice from the Councilor reined her back in. <"Time to move,"> She calls out to Ban.<br />
<br />
Kalus fully intended on intercepting Durandus, but witnessing the brutality of Lord Losor's defeat influenced her to act otherwise. For her involvement, Losor is seized from the demise that would have seen him consumed as meat. She grimaces, taking hold of his body vicariously through the Force and ripping him free from the clutches of the poisonous brambles and living vines.<br />
<br />
His body is cast (with care) to the open doors, and unable to secure a soft landing for the Echani warrior, Aryn had to trust his constitution would hold out against further damage upon hitting and sliding across the ground inside the protective embrace of the bunker. Aryn took to running for the doors now, lightsaber deactivated so as to not injure herself while closing the distance.<br />
<br />
Merulia's hand extensed as she waited from her position on the 'safe' side of the threshold, the room bathed in the red glow of her saber while she focused her power outwards. <br />
<br />
The force surged, rippling and 'slapping' the the vines like a mother preventing its child from touching naked flame. <br />
<br />
"Hurry!" she called, eyes narrowed with effort.<br />
<br />
"Righto..." Muri murmurs and rocks on heels around with an exaggerated about-face...and cautiously steady saunter (not march) forward. No telling what lies in wait ahead, but from first impressions, there's no immediate threat to their existence on *this* side of the blast door. The further in she moves, the more out-of-the-way she becomes and the longer the runway becomes for those sprinting inside to slow down and not plow her over. <br />
<br />
The tag-along explorer takes point with her tac-light aimed squarely ahead...in the daylight. For another ten paces or so, then the floor begins to slant and down, down, down she prowls. The taclight, aka pistol, becomes less redundant now, more of a blessing. Not that her scouting helmet didn't already have its own little visual aids, but ya know. There's a comfort in ILLUMINATION. <br />
<br />
Until there isn't. <br />
<br />
"Uh," Muri's voice returns over comms as her footsteps slow to a wary halt in the would-be darkness. A metallic gleam glints menacingly back at her as that tac beam sweeps up, and down, and around. Up and down the other side. "Droids." What about them? "There's droids down here, maybe some...battle series er...security series? They're pretty big." And she's not moving another inch. Not unaccompanied.<br />
<br />
Despite the fighting and vine failing that was going on outside, the Councilor did not move to assist. They remained at the controls, marking as each of the group made it to the blast doors. The three who had held the rear guard were last, and one was being brought on waves of the force, but they were all coming. Some less gently than others, but what was the momentary discomfort of pain when weighed against the permanence of death?<br />
<br />
The Acolyte called Losor is carefully extracted from the grip of the pair of vines by Darth Kalus and soon both are making their escape from the drengir's presence. The dread seems to recede the further away they come. Freed of the Force holding it in place, the drengir does not waste time in beginning its ascent of the wall anew.<br />
<br />
While Darth Durandas works to make his way from his new spot on the slope of the mountain's foot, Darth Kalus and the Acolyte Losor are swift in their own arrival to the bunker. Especially the Acolyte, as Losor is hurled with the force toward the bunker and beyond the relative safety of the blast doors.<br />
<br />
It may be a thing to be appreciated that Darth Kalus' back is turned to the drengir. It climbs atop and over the wall with relative easy and begins its rush through the compound, its vines whipping and tossing aside old, long forgotten equipment with ease. One immense vine swings horizontally, knocking the shuttle called Wayfinder from the landing platform. It does not explode, but the horrendous crash of durasteel and shattering of transparisteel spells out the demise of the shuttle.<br />
<br />
"MEAT. MEAT. MEAT." comes the calling voice of the drengir as it surges across the compound and toward the blast doors. Its vines waving and flashing, slashing and whirling.<br />
<br />
The blast door begins to close just as the last of the Sith begins their approach. There is a mournful, yet angry call of "MEEEEAAAAAATTTTTT" that can be heard before it is cut off by the blast doors sealing. The blast doors do well to block noise of the outside world away. Finally. Peace. Safety. Security.<br />
<br />
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG CLANG CLANG! CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG!<br />
<br />
The sound of thick vines and fury striking the blast door turns the reinforced durasteel structure into a gong as the creature outside vents every ounce of its frustraton, anger, and fury upon the door. It holds, even if it sings out in protest.<br />
<br />
The perpetual daylight of the outdoors now robbed of them, the tunnel is bathed in darkness with the talk of security droids now on the lips of Netep Muri.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_On_Target_for_Spring&diff=19338Log:Alderaan: On Target for Spring2023-04-16T03:08:37Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Spring Festival celebrates the cavalry knights of the Spring Order. | Location=Droalder Beach, New..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Spring Festival celebrates the cavalry knights of the Spring Order.<br />
| Location=[[Droalder Beach, New Alderaan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Zacara Saronno]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Kol Goren]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=April 15, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
A calm drizzling rain lightly taps a rap against the canvas flies strung up for the spring festival. No native to New Alderaan truly expected the weather to hold out, especially this far north where mountains dominate the horizon in all directions. With spring settling in, green has become the prominent color and it is everywhere; the firs and cedars upon the mountains, the treelines along the edges of the forest, and the rolling hills with trimmed grass leading to the palace.<br />
<br />
The boardwalk and beach prove the most popular place, because it's here that the festivities of spring take place. There are rides for children, tavern tents for parents, and ample seating around the lists. Alderaan had a Knight Order for each season, and members of the Alderaanian Knight Order of the Spring were responsible for the festival of the spring. Comprised of artists, performers, and yes, even combat-oriented knights, the festivities were built around the traditions and customs of the Knightly Order.<br />
<br />
It is from the Knights of the Spring that all mounted cavalry units were assigned, its origins dating back to the Pretender's Civil War. Customs dictated that the main event be one of command over a beast or 'steed' (mechanized speeder), and skill of marksmanship while mounted. To honor the cavalrymen who died in the war, the lists were set up with obstacles named after the Knights of Spring who did not live to see the end of the war. Those knights wore the green cloak of spring, which was a long cape with the bronze image of a blooming tree dominating its center; every member of the order wears this cloak for the festival, distinguishing them from the rabble.<br />
<br />
Laughter, games, food being cooked and served, and general merrymaking is had from all. Live music is louder than the chatter, and high spirited flutes and distinctive drums set the rhythm for one section of the beach dedicated to dancing. Women in green dresses twirl about, running barefoot in the sand while men wear the earthen toned brown or bronze dancing opposite. People on the side lines clap in time with the drums, making it easier for all to find the beat.<br />
<br />
Aryn Cortess can be found by the lists, surrounded by a small group of nobility as they all partake in the festive green drinks. Brushing back her Spring Knight cloak, she accepts her shot and grins. For a moment, eyes are on her and she lifts her glass to toast. "To our cavalrymen, both beast and mechanized, who braved the charge amidst cannon, lance, and rocket. May our enemies remember the thunderous hoofbeat and engine roars as they set out at dawn. The gallant fought, and many died, but we will remember them loud and long."<br />
<br />
Dressed not in spring colors, but in sparkly golds and silvers, the recently re-eligible Bachelorette Lady Saronno clutches a probably-too-large glass of pink champagne in one hand while she stands near the Queen among the nobles. While her dress stands out among the spring colors, so too does her red skin and pink hair, the Alder-Espirion contrasting with the natural born sons and daughters of Alderaan, though in demeanor and body language she's Alderaanian through-and-through.<br />
<br />
Zacara Saronno once lived for high adrenaline spacecraft and daredevil stunts but in the past few years she'd settled down and found social engagements, spring flings and courtly gossip to be the more exciting adventure. She was no stranger to it, as it wasn't uncommon to see her name or face on the cover of a tabloid lately.<br />
<br />
Zaca sipped greedily from the pink champagne after Queen Cortess delivered her monologue, having learned to indulge to excess as her lifestyle didn't suggest moderation as a principle, nor living to a hundred. Yellow eyes set within green sclera look out to the knights, a playful tilt of her brow appraising the competitors while indulding herself again in the pink liquid. "Whatever this is, I want a bottle to take home," she mumbles to nobody in particular, holding the glass out to study it a moment. Her accent is thoroughly Alderaanian, though with a more down-to-earth pronunciation than usual - one that wasn't from a born noble.<br />
<br />
Clad in his house finery and mingling among the crowds, apart from the majority of House Thul who seem intent on reveling in the pageantry of the festival. Though well dressed, Lord Bors - Knight of The Black, is near a collection of food tents. A platter in hand, the other actively attaining nibbles and bites. At his side Kuhlai D'Mahn casually paying for whatever food is selected.<br />
<br />
Bors? Handle the -money-? How droll. How very... common.<br />
<br />
No he has more important matters for his aging rumpus, and so a deep fried, cheese covered, breaded, morsel is caught between his teeth, a song is in his throat and not a care in all the galaxy is had for the present. Not. A. Damn. Thing.<br />
<br />
There are all sorts of things his doctor has said he should avoid at his age. But much like red-lining even the yacht his sister gifted him, or tearing across atmosphere in his E-Wing - there are many things he shouldn't do at his age, that he does so most happily. <br />
<br />
The rapscallion.<br />
<br />
Ulani has found herself a nice shady place to sit under a pavillion, minding some of the younger Thul brood as they run between that and all the games, food, and excitement of the festival. Clearly here to spectate and not participate, she's dressed as well as one would find a noblewoman of a High House. Blue and blackes and greys. Though she does like to mix a bit of color into her outfits. Today, it is a some subtle shows of green that bring to mind the fan-tails of exotic birds that strut around the gardens.<br />
<br />
She's long given up on telling Bors to listen to his advisors and medical professionals. So instead, she opts to just watch and support. And later when he needs a warm bath to soothe those aching muscles--because they will ache--she will make sure that is done, as well.<br />
<br />
If there's any indication that one is an off-worlder among the various nobility, commoners, and other level of separation between people on New Alderaan? Kol Goren seems to strike the box of every single one of those common stereotypes. While he isn't necessarily dressed like an off-worlder per se, he is dressed exactly as an offworld tourist would dress to blend in with casual Alderaanian society. Needless to say among the commons working on moisturizing their skin with the light drizzle in the air sits the mercenary known as Goren. He's even donned a customary hat in Alderaanian style which is much like the rest of his attire: a hat that only an obvious tourist would wear. Altogether it's an acceptable outfit, especially if one wished to appear the wide-eyed and awe-struck tourist. Thankfully the hat serves well to protect his smoothly shaved head from the elements.<br />
<br />
Over time though he is able to casually wander his way beneath one of the pavilions and out of the typical spring weather of New Alderaan. The back of one hand casually wipes away at the accumulated drizzle upon his skin, but he does well not to flick it somewhere - anywhere - for fear of insulting some Alderaanian nobility unintentionally. For now he's keen to keep to himself, maintain an obviously low profile, and observe the festivities.<br />
<br />
Drinks lift in salute, then are consumed in the seconds that follow. If there were words to follow, they are drowned out by the loud speaker conveying the voice of Alderaan's First Sword, Ser Lars of House Syrush. Standing tall, and in ornate armor, the older Knight intends to conquer the crowd by announcing the start of the riding games.<br />
<br />
"Come all to the lists and find a warm seat to watch. Riders both beast and mechanized intend to display their skill at arms whilst mitigating the obstacles set before them. Who will hit all targets and who will ride back empty-handed?!" There's some cheers from the stands, and a large shift from the crowds.<br />
<br />
Prince Marcus and Prince Aidan are seen running for the front row to join other younger generations and watch their favorite Knights and well-known soldiers ride FOR GLORY.<br />
<br />
Aryn passes off her drink and slowly makes her way inside, sharing a brief word with Lady Saronno, who had been near her during the toast. "Best find a good seat, my Lady." She offers. "Alas, I would join you, but I have volunteered to ride. Do wish me luck.." Aryn offers at her expense, a nervous smile following.<br />
<br />
The first rider is up, this one mechanized and a fan favorite. Their colors are black, but the green cloak and bronze sigil upon its back mark them a member of the Spring Order. <"Our first mysterious rider as arrived; a member of the Royal Lir-Dragoons hailing from Belleau-a-Reyn, I name the Black RIDER!"> Ser Lars calls out.<br />
<br />
The engine of the Black Rider's steed roars, antsy to jump forth and begin the obstacle course. They hoist an exotic carbine, priming it before giving the thumbs up. Noisemakers from the crowd whirl.<br />
<br />
"I know them," Claims Prince Aidan. "They ride with my dad!"<br />
<br />
"Mmm, a seat," Zaca agrees, her eyes looking toward the seating. She isn't looking for where to sit so much as who to sit beside. Looking back to her Queen, there's a small dip of her head. "Don't think you'll need luck, but as custom dictates - best of luck," she says with a small grin. The announcements are largely unheard by her as she walks away daintily in her stiletto heels - not a look many would have seen from her very many years ago - but the Alder-Espirion has fully embraced her position, even if she acts more like a teenager than a proper adult these days. Even her perfume is a light and fruity one, as you'd expect on a young girl and not a nearing-50 grown woman.<br />
<br />
Her dual-toned eyes pass over the obviously-tourist mercenary beneath one of the tents, hovering on him a moment before breaking toward the seating. Two met have caught her eye, and one sits beside a woman of minor nobility who had just stood up to go and fetch something. Zacara takes this as an invitation, setting herself down in the other's seat, crossing one leg over the other, her foot pointing toward the young man seated beside her. "Mind if I sit here?" She asks, not waiting for a response before indulging in her pink champagne.<br />
<br />
"You missed the toast, sir..."<br />
<br />
"Mrpmph!? Hwmph whumffpf?!" Language, Bors. Your mouth full doesn't stop us from knowing that your mamma is frowning at that, somewhere in the hereafter. Even his daughter, Riina, on of the Thul Brood who has escaped Ulani's watchful gaze, knows he said a bad word and while the teen girl was no stranger to such impropriety when her parents weren't around, she knew well enough to stare open mouthed at Bors. <br />
<br />
She even points.<br />
<br />
"Whupf!?" The Black Knight of Alderaan exclaims with a most noble spew of crumbs from his lips in the general direction of his eldest child. Squinting at her with the eye not held open by the long suffering monocle he wears. His right eye looking ever-quizzical and the left INquistive. "Dare not give thine father look so, crass to assume I am pure of speech, nary does perfection string from your lips, dearheart, my spies are ere on thine very step and dwell within thy very shadow!"<br />
<br />
"Father, nary a cad so grand as thee shall curse this land!" Riinalias now has the GAL to look scatching, a hand lifted and the tip of her thumb caught between her lips... Wait. Is it between her teeth??<br />
<br />
"Daughter! Do thee dare bite thy thumb at me!" his voice edging into 'grounding' territory and her response is quick thought,<br />
<br />
"Nay sir! I do bite my thumb, but I do not bite my thumb at thee!"<br />
<br />
"Then pray tell why thee bite thine thumb?"<br />
<br />
"Hangnail."<br />
<br />
OH... the look he gives.<br />
<br />
Oh, Ulani heard it, too. Such language but no stranger to it. Though he does get a look from her. "Don't complain when they start using their new vocabulary," she warns gently, taking a sip from her wine. Blue eyes glance glance here and there to make sure the boys didn't hear it as they'd be more than eager to add it to their arsenal. Who knows where they are, even? Probably causing someone else grey hairs. Ulani has plenty of crimson left but doesn't wish to spare many more.<br />
<br />
The calls begin to be made, applause begin to sound off, and it is Kol Goren that begins to shuffle away from one cluster of some Alderaanians. He sketches an appropriate bow to the minor nobles, even if they surely recognize him for the tourist that he is. He still plays the part like a not-at-all expert. Following his own dismissal and careful return to the stands, Kol Goren again resumes his seat in order to settle in and enjoy the spectacle. When others cheer, then he joins his own cheering into the mix. When others begin to offer applause, so too does the mercenary. While he may not dress the part well, he at least blends with their activity of the crowds and takes their cues well. The anticipation mounts for many and Kol Goren is no exception to that building eagerness.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender adds a dignified baritone, "Hear!" of acclaim to the cheers that greet the first rider. He adds adds, "Hie thee, Dragoon!" in encouragement to a comrade in arms, but will thereafter fall silent to watch the course intently.<br />
<br />
When the shot rings out, the Black Rider surges forward with a roar of engines and the flash of their knightly cape! They make the first jump, standing up mid-air and using the stirrups of the mechanized ride to remain upon the speeder while simultaneously firing the carbine. The first target is hit before the speeder 'lands', and the rider takes hold, putting more gas and speed. Sand, mud, and dirt fling up in their wake as they ride for the second.<br />
<br />
When the jump comes, again they fire mid-air, smacking the target. The crowd cheers!<br />
<br />
The speeder rounds the bend now, having to fire whilst drifting from right to left, and the armored marksman nails the driving maneuver but misses the target. The crowd issues a low, Ohhhhh! This seems to cause some distress from the driver who suddenly stalls, but the cavalryman proved their mettle in the seconds after, restoring functionality to the accelerator and taking off before they might collide with the far wall. Cheers follow as the Black Rider nails the next target and prepares for the serpentine section of the lists. Riding switch overs saw the engine maxing out, yet at each pass, the Black rider nails their target.<br />
<br />
The last turn before finish comes up, and the rider's steed has begun to release telltale signs of overheating. Ignoring these, they enter the drift and commit to the action, firing a 100 meter shot in motion on a moving target at the center and nailing it.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the rider's steed hits the wall, but they are in no danger. They simply kickstart the trusty speeder, and jet across the finish!<br />
<br />
Ser Lars claps and remarks, <"A respectable finish! And an impossible shot from across the lists, give it up for the BLACK RIDER! THEY REPRESENT THE DRAGOONS WELL!"><br />
<br />
Prince Aidan has run to find his dad, pointing at the cavalryman dismounting and raising their weapon in the air. The crowd cheers loudly before the Knight walks off, passing the weapon to a waiting attendant.<br />
<br />
<"Our next rider approaches, this one upon beast. Hailing from Delaya, I give you the Dame Sidney of the ancient House Ulgo, Commander of the Thunderous Dozen and Hero from the Pretender's war."> The Lady Sidney is seen riding out upon horseback, each trot making her lightly bounce in the saddle. Her exotic weapon is a lever-action slugthrower which she primes by flipping it sportingly in hand. The raven haired soldier arrives at the line and her horse stands upon two legs a moment before settling.<br />
<br />
The intercom cuts over to Lady Sidney who speaks. <"This day would not have dawned were it not for the intervention of Aldera Squadron. My capture at the hands of our enemy were my darkest hours. Ser Bors Thul, the Lady Ulani Thul, and the Lady Zacara Saronno saved me. I salute their heroism."><br />
<br />
Readying at the line after the cheers go out for those named, the snare drums start as Lars loads the starting gun.<br />
<br />
Beside her, the young man gawks at Zacara when she takes his lady's seat. 'Oh, uh, ma'am, that's--'.<br />
<br />
Zaca turns her head to look at him, an impish look in her eyes. "What's your name, good sir?" She speaks much more calmly than he, the young man's voice tinged with anxiety.<br />
<br />
'M-my name?' The fact that she asked his name when he was clearly objecting to her sitting there.. 'Julian de Witt, but that's--<br />
<br />
"You're cute," the Alder-Espirion interrupts with a warm smile. She allows herself another sip of champagne, this one smaller than the others - she has company afterall. "I'm--" 'intervention of Aldera Squadron' plays over the speakers and she nods once, knowingly. "Listen now," she says to the man, pointing with glass in hand toward the speaking rider. '..and the Lady Zacara Saronno--'. When her name is said, the Alder-Espirion smiles innocently toward young Julian, though his eyes narrow slightly, clearly knowing the name.<br />
<br />
'Hey! I'm sitting there!' The shrilly voice of a slighted young lady standing before the seated Alder-Espirion cuts through the conversation, this young maiden with her hands on her hips.<br />
<br />
"You two are so boring," Zacara says with a groan as she stands up. "He'll disappoint you dear," Zacara warns the young lady, patting her shoulder once before stepping away to find another seat.<br />
<br />
Called out so, and in public no less. Head ducking and moving to settle down where Ula has claimed, the displays made by the riders are noted and appreciated for a talent that is not Lord Thul's.<br />
<br />
"Needn't thank me so... you or Zaca, certainly. But left in hazy past is fine enough for me." Bors comments once he is settled in, offering his nibbles platter to Lady Thul. For who can resist the siren song of Horse Doovers? In all of their delightful miniature meal form. All the joy without having to deal with the chef's current midlife crisis requiring they dress up something as simple as nerf steak like a cabin... made of meat logs. With a lawn meticulously made from your vegetables and a roof made from little breadsticks and the -worst- serving of mashed tubers spread over with far to little gravy.<br />
<br />
Ugh. He actually misses barracks food. Slap a pile of hot, greasy, filling food. Plenty of it. No art-deco meals that he has so often destroyed with a fork while making unflinching eye-contact with kitchen staff. <br />
<br />
"I should take ere the time to ride as a cavalryman. I feel that some of those that Prince Ban ride... speed must be phenomenal on them. <br />
<br />
Oh no Ula. He's got The Look.<br />
<br />
It's a beautiful day with beautiful people and this calls for beautiful treats. It's a nice litle plate of cheese and crackers given to Ulani by one of the staff that always seems to be buzzing around, and she nibbles on it to her heart's content. The accolades passed to her and the others does earn a bit of an acknowledging nod. "Appreciated, but I am sure we'd all do it again should it be called upon. Hopefully not. I've been rather enjoying these years of relative peace."<br />
<br />
Relative. Given the state of the galaxy.<br />
<br />
To Bors, she grins a little, noting the others putting on their full display of talents. "Well, it would certainly give you the thrill you seek on the ground. Though you may find it hard to do the loops without crashing into a hillside. But master the ground and you've only the sea left to conquer."<br />
<br />
The cheers continue rising across the stands and Kol is no stranger to joining them. The Black Rider's successes earn enthusiastic hollars from the tourist in the stands. All good things must gradually come to an end however. Soon enough Kol Goren slips from the stands and begins to make good his departure. Merging back into the crowds on the boardwalk and back toward the plaza. It isn't long before he's changed out of the tourist's ensemble and blends seamlessly into the crowds anew in more appropriate attire in earthen tones. Soon enough he is simply another face among the population of New Alderaan.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender inclines his head to Prince Aiden's excitement. "You shall scarce see another so skilled in marksmanship asteed as that. Do note how the carbine was fired in the moments before the repulsor jolt of landing.. I daresay Lady Sidney shall do the same in timing her shots for the instant in which her steed's hooves are off the ground, so as to avoid fouled aim." A pause a d look about for the elder of the Royal heirs. "Tell me where your brother is," he bids quietly.<br />
<br />
The starting shot discharges, and Sidney is heard over the crowd as she drives spurs to encourage her animal forward. "YAAAH! YAH! YAAAH!" She rides hard and fast, showing the crowd she's no stranger to the saddle or marksmanship. Rising up from his spot in the lists, the Count Ulgo places gloved hands upon the railings of the front of one section's seating and watches, cheering his second born daughter on. "DOING GOOD, SIDNEY! RIDE HARD, GIRL!"<br />
<br />
Sand and dirt kick up behind her beast as she clears the first pair of jumps quick, firing in time with the jumps. Her slugthrower is loud, issuing a 'PPCOW!' noise each time she pulls the trigger. Two targets spark with positive connections, and the rider has taken to the turn. "YAHHH! YAAAAAH!" Sidney screams, hanging off to one side of her horse and steadying her rifle in the flanking shot. She fires on a moving target using the grip of one arm and hits it, earning a loud SCREAMING CHEER from the stands. She rights herself in the saddle, coming toward the end of the bend and leaning out to fire upon another target on her other side. Ambidextrous shooting sees her hoist her weapon out with her other arm and no support from her right. 'PPCOW!'<br />
<br />
'PIIIIING!' The shot hit!<br />
<br />
Sidney is at the switch overs now, and her animal, well trained to respond to the rider, moves through the obstacle with varied ease. "YAAAH!" At the bend of each, she nails one, then two, then three targets, and it's finally time for the last bend.<br />
<br />
With no jump to steady her aim, she stands in the saddle and turns toward the target, aiming a 100 meters out. The gallop paired with a distant moving target proves her undoing though, and instead of hitting the last target, the sand pocks up with a slug. The rider is unfazed by this though, her expression joyful as she sits back into a timed bounce on her beast.<br />
<br />
Count Ulgo is clapping hard from the stands. "BRING IT HOME, SIDNEY!" He calls out, visible pleased when she's crossed the line uninjured. "WELL DONE!"<br />
<br />
The octave of the crowd is sincerely difficult to process. Ears ringing, stands vibrating, clapping, noisemakers, and flags waving prove she's earned the crowd's favor. Lady Sidney dismounts, landing easily and brushes her green cloak to one side to bow. Attendants bring the horse in as the Lady waves and moves off the track.<br />
<br />
Prince Aidan points down toward the front of the stands where Marcus waves vigorously at Lady Sidney. By the looks of it, Marcus is boasting to his friends how she's been training him (if that thumb angled back at himself said anything about it!)<br />
<br />
The slugthrowers and pings and crowds and PA systems would be enough to give Zaca sensory overload were it not for the dulling of the pink champagne on her ocular senses. Swirls of whites and yellows and blues and greens coalesce in her visual field as the noise is made visual, but the sweet alcohol in her blood makes them easier to ignore and easier to see through. She hands her empty glass to a passing young woman - without quite caring if she was a server or not - and walks her way from the second to the third row of seats, finding an empty one to sit on.<br />
<br />
The sparkles and flashes from her elaborate golden gown shine bright under the artificial lighting within the rain-protecting canopy as she finds a seat seemingly at random (and by chance not already belonging to someone else). She pulls the bottoms of her skirts smooth against her bottom as she sits, careful not to ruffle them up. The dress was quite expensive, and though she was careless with her spending lately, this particular dress was from a world that could no longer produce them. She needed a moment to belanace herself, and sitting while everyone else stood and cheered gave her the brief moment of isolation it would take to do so.<br />
<br />
A little cottage, irritatingly crafted of horse doovers, on a hilly lawn of decorative greens, besides a little lake of gravy is delivered to Zaca once she has been spotted. Bors having no bones with subjecting others to the nightmare of food architecture.<br />
<br />
Why his isn't so bad? The interior of the little cottage isn't a hollow shell of culinary disappointment. No. Not at all. It is filled to the brim with cheese nibbles. Delicious cheese, friend golden brown, with bits of deliciousness jammed into it before the cooking. A little heart made from a cracker sitting next to it and written in little... tasty string things that are anyone's guess are the components it says 'To Z' and below the heart 'U & B'<br />
<br />
Bors, meanwhile hrmmms, "If the repulsor carriages are modified to rest upon gyroscopic guided gimbals with an anti-grav on similar rotation, centered beneath the control saddle, you could do it with the proper application of thrust to velocity ratio - reliant heavily on it being a tight loop."<br />
<br />
"That would look absolutely wizard!" Riina pipes in, getting a brow raise,<br />
<br />
"My little love, we do not say wizard here. It is ere a common phrasing, from a hutt world." Ew. Tatooine. The dictionary poster-world for both poor and common.<br />
<br />
Yuck<br />
<br />
This has been Ulani's existance for nigh on sixteen years now. Her time with Bors has gotten her acustomed to a great many things and the concept that anything benign can be turned into a gravity-defying death machine is near the top of that list. The fact that this is likely being passed down to their children is merely a by-product of the man she chose to marry. Though there is at least one son she has hopes for in terms of not scaring her into an early grave. The same son that the Countess has likely seen the most Courtly potential in.<br />
<br />
Their daughter, however? Ulani laughs. "Lord Bors Thul. Have I lived to see the day where you have turned into thy mother?" Scolding his progeny for the terminology they wield all to the sound of ruckus applause. <br />
<br />
Which Ulani joins in. "Well done, well done! A feat to be sure!" Now she is starting to worry where her sons may be. No doubt the youngest has found himself a calvary man to grill questions and the eldest offering an impromptu dance to some blushing maiden.<br />
<br />
Again. All by-products of the man she chose to marry. Ulani's efforts to dull those edges have worked about as well as they worked on Bors.<br />
<br />
"The Beastlords of Onderon would stand in awe of such," Ban notes evenly to Lady Sidney's skill as a rider as the Ulgo navigates the course flawlessly, a near miss of the final target being the only blemish of aim. A gloved hand is raised to offer a salute of the performance. Ban looks where Aiden points, giving a short nod. Exhaling slowly through the nose, he looks back to Aiden. "Do you favor watching steeds mortal or mechanical?" he wonders of the youngest prince.<br />
<br />
Another rider makes their way out to the track, and Ser Lars begins the introduction by saying, <"The next rider needs no introduction; Her Majesty, the Queen of Alderaan! She earned her spurs during the war and under the pressure of a dire assault. Do note, that in place of a distanced weapon, her Grace wields a pistol. Staff, bring up the dampening fields.-- Meaning no offense, your grace.."><br />
<br />
Aryn, who has rode her beast out to the line, starts laughing. "None taken, Ser Lars. Hahaha." Her horse walks an impatient circle as the blonde royal frees her pistol. She waves at an over-eager son (Marcus), grinning.<br />
<br />
At the discharge of the starting gun, Aryn drives her spurs to encourage her beast forward and rides hard for the first jumps.<br />
<br />
One jump is made and a target hit, two jumps, target hit. Then she's beginning the bend. "YAH! YAHYAH!" She fires on the next target, hitting it, then leans out to fire on the moving one. Unfortunately, the red lance from the exotic Westar-34 pocks up sand, and Aryn is tested in the saddle, but recovers. She fires on her other side, scoring a head shot upon the target before leading into the switchbacks.<br />
<br />
These are challenging, even for a trained rider, and it highlights just how good Lady Sidney had been. Struggling for speed, Aryn hits the first two targets, but the last pocks up the dirt and she's heading into the final bend for the long distance shot.<br />
<br />
Standing up in her saddle, the Queen takes aim and fires, but between the gallop, her movement, and the movement of the distant target, her shot is feral and is absorbed by the protective field encasing the lists, protecting the crowd from danger.<br />
<br />
Aryn is seen grimacing at the last shot, cheeks red as she rides in at a casual bounce, but cheers follow when she crosses the line and holsters her weapon before she hurts someone. She dismounts before attendants can make it to her to help, and lands gently in the sand, brushing her cape back so her other hand can come up and wave!<br />
<br />
To Ban, his youngest son answers, "I like the roar of the engines more! It is loud, and looks hard to control." His gestures seem to indicate some fantastical notion of driving, but admirable all the same. Aidan grows quiet watching his mother ride, and he stands up to see the distant shot. Without much of an understanding of tact, he says, "Mom sure did miss a lot of targets. What was she aiming at down there?!"<br />
<br />
A plate is offered to Zaca once the crowd have all sat down and she perks a pink brow up at the serving girl. "Thank you - how about some of that pink champagne, too?" Whatever the girl's response was went unheard as Zacara squints at the treat surrounded by greens and gravies. Years ago she'd have been grossed out, but this kind of thing was familiar to her now in her retired life. The card is opened and it's immediately apparent who U and B are. A smile makes its way to her painted lips and she picks her head up to look for the Thuls. Among the crowd and the noise, the cheers and 'awws' as their Queen takes and misses some of her shots, she finally makes them out between the swirls of color. A red arm is raised - rudely, right in front of her neighbor's face - to wave at the Thuls and the little mini-Thuls cursing up a storm around them.<br />
<br />
The main treat is thrown into her mouth like candy and she's mildly surprised to find the cheese inside, but not upset about it. Cheese is great. Watching the Queen for a time, Zacara leans to her side to speak to her unknown neighbor (the same one who's face she waved in front of), gossiping: "she used to be great in an X-Wing." Was that a well-known fact? She didn't know. Gossip was her new profession, and she eagerly awaited the tit-for-tat her neighbor may offer in kind.<br />
<br />
Instead, she gets, 'Yeah.. cool.'<br />
<br />
The serving girl returns with her pink champagne and earns herself a hefty tip for the service. "This is my new favorite! Thank you, girl."<br />
<br />
"My mother was a sainted and wise woman and I am lucky to have taken after her many, varied, verified, and undeniable traits." giving Ula a 'SNIFF' a most noble and courtly SNIFF that he chases by taking a sip from a ludicrously tiny glass of sherry passed to him with Kuhlai's unstoppably perfect timing. A particularly snooty pinky -popping- out at the moment the glass is tilted back and a 'mmmmMMMMMMmmmmm' look is given by one eye - the other hidden in his profile.<br />
<br />
Showed her, he did. That won't come back to bite him later. Nope. Not at all. Never.<br />
<br />
Bora watches the Queen's display, head tipping - and if he had heard the Prince's comments? Well. You could imagine the quip he would have tonight, with The Sass Knight in full swing it seems.<br />
<br />
Oh the quips that would risk a fine and brutal sabering from Her Majesty... or from Ban. Or from Ban -and- Aryn. Yes. A right and vicious swording from the monarchy for his troubles. You foolish, foolish Bors. Who is most lucky he is only sassing a fractionally less dangerous sass target. Hairs breadth difference. <br />
<br />
A-Wing Pilots are nuts.<br />
<br />
"I swear, the Mother and Father test me." She's mostly teasing. Mostly. There's a regality to her that has been gained over the years of not only dealing with Court and their half-vieled snubbing of a married-in commoner, but also in the tireless wrangling of her own love and progeny. The lot of them sent to test her. <br />
<br />
A member of Thul staff approaches from the side, offering a short bow and a quiet "My lady?" Upon given an approving nod, the young man leans in to whisper something into her ear. Ulani's jovial expression fades into something more akin to reserved frustration. Note enough to crease her face, but enough to make Riiha a little nervous. She's seen that look from her mother before.<br />
<br />
And Riiha is thrilled it isn't aimed at her. "Ooooo. Who is in trouble?" The pre-teen is far too eager to know which of her brothers is going to get it. Far too eager to rub it in their faces later, too.<br />
<br />
"All of you, at this rate, my dove." Ulani sets what's left of her cheese and crackers down, the distraction making her miss the Queen's run on top of everything else. The one event she really, really wanted to see! She rises, smoothing out her dress with a steady intake of breath. "Mind your father. Bors, dear. It would appear Byron has challenged another young lord for the hand of their sister." At fifteen, noless. Who knows WHERE he gets it from. "I am off to save our legacy."<br />
<br />
The word 'again' lingers in that statement.<br />
<br />
"You will wish to watch closely, Aiden," Ban notes as the Queen is announced to ride next. "Hear!" is added to the cheers, but otherwise the gentleman does not shout on his wife's behalf, careful to maintain a regal dignity, raising his hand on respectful salute to Aryn at the completion of her course as he had for the prior riders.<br />
<br />
He looks sharply aside to Aiden. "She struck five targets of eight, at speed. With a pistol. Both rider and beast completed the course unhurt, this is not a poor showing. Your eye is spoiled by the performance of the prior showings: only Lady Sidney rides like Lady Sidney; only the Black Rider shoots like the Black Rider. Now salute your mother."<br />
<br />
Prince Aiden deflates a bit at his father's stern correction, but he does as he's bid and mimics his father's salute, standing out where his mother could see. Marcus was seen saluting, too, yelling for his mom by saying, "Well rode, mom!"<br />
<br />
Aryn is led off the track and the next rider comes out, another Dragoon! The engine is LOUD, roaring even, and its rider young and not yet Knighted, but brave enough to ride the course. They sally up to the line and rev as the First Sword curates their details.<br />
<br />
And so the day went in celebration well into the night. Spring was here, tradition honored, and peace reigned upon Alderaan, hard earned and well sacrificed. Thanks was given to the sons and daughters of Alderaan.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_Job_Opening&diff=19307Log:Alderaan: Job Opening2023-04-10T03:30:29Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Darth Kalus aides the Janissars in freeing one of their own. | Location=Desevro, Tiatov Maximum Sec..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Darth Kalus aides the Janissars in freeing one of their own.<br />
| Location=[[Desevro, Tiatov Maximum Security Prison]]<br />
| Participants=[[Cadogan West]] GM, [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=April 9, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The planet Desevro was prominent on the galactic stage, once. A century-long war with the nascent Republic dozens of millennia ago had left one power poised to dominate the galaxy, and the other a broken civilization, doomed to fade.<br />
<br />
The Thirty-seven noble families of Desevro were among the oldest lines of nobility in Human history- at least the few that still survived- but the world was unimpressive on approach.<br />
<br />
A rusty, oily brownish-grey on approach, the atmosphere was intact enough that wisps of white cloud streaked the sphere from orbit. The kindest that could be said of it was that millenia of irrelevance had allowed the worst of archaic pollution to clear up. <br />
<br />
Ek-shiik guided the Broadstar to follow a series of ancient beacons that once guided heavy star traffic, but following now was more a courtesy than a necessity. No civilian ship larger than a light freighter appeared on scopes, and those were few. The only ship of any significance was a Vindicator-class heavy cruiser in geosynchronous orbit above a particular point on the planet, below. To no surprise, Ek-shiik points out, "The Tiatov Maximum Security holding facility is built on an island below that big Hutt-sucker. They bought up an island from some local, leveled everything and built their private little prison laboratory." He looks to Aryn. How you want me to approach this?"<br />
<br />
"Open a comms channel." Aryn says after emerging from her trance to look out their view and see the old world and track their approach. "I will negotiate an audience at the facility. Once you land, and I disembark, leave and await the transponder to signal. Our means of evacuation may not be.. conventional, but we shall see."<br />
<br />
Aryn takes hold of the emotionless mask and places it over her face. It makes a seal, the subtle sound of breathing as its eyes, void slits, offer nothing of comfort when one looks upon them. Aryn's voice emits from the mask itself, slightly modified, and some how, possessing a sharper edge.<br />
<br />
For all intents and purposes, the girl he had seen in the jungles of Rodia was gone in this instant, and before him sat a Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Kalus.<br />
<br />
<<"Tiatov Maximum Security, I am a harbinger of the Sith Empire, the Darth Kalus. Reports from our vast intelligence agency indicate a prisoner of significant importance to our operations. I demand an audience with the administrator of this facility, and request a landing pad so that I may speak with them in person.">> <br />
<br />
"I hear you," Darstan acknowledges the instructions.<br />
<br />
By strict protocol, approaching such a secured facility should be outright denied without scheduled approval. However, confronted with a scenario FAR above their lay grade, the comms officer at Tiatov is silent a long moment, answers, <<Please stand by,>> directs a trio of TIE fighters to intercept and monitor the unscheduled Broadstar, and hastily summons their superiors. <br />
<br />
The Dark Lord is left for an unseemly three minutes, as the is inflexible machinery of blind obedience must struggle and grind to adapt. All throughout, Ek-shiik focuses his attention on the TIEs, the facility itself- a glossy, monolithic black spire, circled by seven smaller tower-spikes- which draws slowly closer.. anything to avoid the sight of who sits where Aryn had been, moments before.<br />
<br />
At long last, the comm crackles live, and a different voice states, << Unidentified transport: you are approved for conditional landing on pad Kappa. Lower shields and prepare for inspection upon arrival. >><br />
<br />
"Proceed with the landing, master Darstan. Rest assured, no one save me will set foot upon your vessel." Kalus says firmly, her gloved hands clasped over her lap in patient review of their situation.<br />
<br />
<<"The Empire appreciates your cooperation. I will be greeted by the Administrator upon arrival.">> The comm cuts, and the incoming prompt provides the respective coordinates to their landing zone. Kalus rises silently from her seat, drawing up the hood to hide her restrained blonde hair and eliminate any trace of the young woman that resided beneath the vestments and lifeless face.<br />
<br />
Kalus's foot falls were distinct in the silence that ensued, heavy upon the durasteel plated deck until she paused at the ramp, waiting for the craft to rotate and the ramp to open. Her cape was lifted from her right, cast over her shoulder to present her right arm and the presence of an obsidian curved hilt on her hip. The hungry pulse of a violet hued button blinked slowly on and off, seemingly eager to be activated to have its thirst for blood quenched. (edited)<br />
<br />
Ek-shiik nods once to the assurance before his brows knit in a mild frown. "We're getting new landing instructions.. landing directly at Tower Alpha, now." The demand to be greeted by the Administrator personally has led to a further bypass of security protocols, as the head of the facility wasn't willing to hustle across the entire facility for the sake of 'security concerns'. <br />
<br />
Guided by illuminated tracers built into the facing of the tower itself, followed by suspicious TIEs and tracked by defensive turrets, the Broadstar at last came to rest within a well appointed docking bay. There are fixed riot control turrets at the corners of the hexagonal chamber, along with the droids and machinery needed to fuel and service prisoner transports or VIP shuttles. <br />
<br />
The open air of Desevro at their stern was tinted orange with the dull red light of the system's star, for the moments before a ray shield closes off the atmosphere.<br />
<br />
A party of troopers is present in formation. A dozen strong in blue and black armor, ornate blaster rifles shouldered and standing at attention to either side of a figure in a resplendent blue and gold uniform that is more fashionable than militant. The middle aged administrator stands with a kerchief held over his nose and mouth until the air circulation systems have purged the decaying stench of the swamps outside from the pristine inner air. When the common little freighter's ramp lowers, the administrator lowers the kerchief revealing a habitually smug smile. <br />
<br />
The smile falters subtly as Darth Kalus begins walking down the ramp, and while concentrated effort keeps an echo of the pleasant expression on his face, the Dark Lord's approach has driven the assurance from his eyes.<br />
<br />
Notably, the troopers are deployed as guards, rather than in columns to honor a notable guest.<br />
<br />
There is no ceremony in the Dark Lord's approach. Aryn had learned the meaning of presence from watching her husband's command. Urgency commanded attention, and Darth Kalus embodied this with every step forward. Without missing a beat, the Dark Lord raises her hand, commanding through the force that the ramp which had lowered to allow her exit was now forced shut.<br />
<br />
The tension ticking against the hydraulic components that allowed for a slow ramp descent now protested as the ramp was brought up and locked. Any light that had trailed Kalus's wake was closed off in that instant, and the heat that followed from the increased output of the ventral thrusters set to disrupting the air around them, stirring capes and sending dust in every direction. It was, in its own way, a moment of chaos.<br />
<br />
Despite the show of guard force, despite the auspicious display of arsenal weaponry and dormant defenses, the chaos of stirring dust and noise of engines, Darth Kalus's focus never wavered from the Administrator, and she arrived before him, and then walked passed him. <"I would see the manifest of recently captured prisoners, Administrator."> Pausing briefly to look back at him through the void slits that posed as eyes, she glared, her voice changing from a casual command, to something darker and sharper.<br />
<br />
<"Show me."><br />
<br />
The administrator discreetly swallows once (not as discreet as he thought), as Kalus approached, starting to greet, "Darth-" but the slight, ominous figure walked straight past him. "d-Darth? Ah, a manifest of recently captured -" was echoed dumbly as the bureaucrat hastened to follow the Sith into the spire, proper. As the doors hissed open and the pressure normalized it was clear that this level was a ring of seperate hexagonal landing bays, surrounding an open chamber surrounding a central shaft of six clustered turbolifts. Moving in step behind and flanking the man in blue, the Santhe-Sienar troopers moved along with the pair, as a pretty young clerk who had been waiting outside the landing bay hastened to catch up to the administrator, clutching a datapad.<br />
<br />
Deprived of the flex of introducing himself, the babbling bureaucrat was saying, "P-perhaps if the Dark Lord would be more specific? As to any particular prisoner, or.. perhaps a more precise timetable, I might be of better assistance? I would remind milord that we process a great number of degenerates at this facility, and -"<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus pauses and turns to face the administrator. His explanation for her to specify her orders is met with an uncomfortable silence. Entourage and all are given respite enough to catch up with them, and the young clerk finds a heavy, void gaze settling on them a moment before attention rests solely upon the Administrator.<br />
<br />
When it seems an eternity has passed since he trailed off (though honestly only a few, painful seconds), Kalus's voice returns. <"I trust that given the age which we live and the technological solutions available at our fingertips, I need not repeat my desire to an organization that prides itself the 'tip of the spear' with innovative solutions."><br />
<br />
Tension tightens the gloves she wears in an audible way, the leather ticking from the small of her back where her hands perch, small fists forming. <"Now take command, Administrator. Or I will."> Kalus's arm presents itself, her hand flat and gesturing for him to take the lead. Poise and limited patience seem to asphyxiate the very air from the vicinity surrounding Kalus as she gives the Administrator a chance to recover his command.<br />
<br />
The clerk's eyes drop to Kalus' feet, either for respect, for fear, or for both. <br />
<br />
The administrator nods once, then a second time more firmly. "Yes.. yes, of course. Right this way-" the slightly overweight head of the facility gestures to a particular one of the turbolifts. "The central processing database will have access to.. all manifests." A snap of gloved fingers and he looks to his assistant, "Have prisoner transfers of the past month brought up for the Dark Lord."<br />
<br />
The instruction prompts a nervous nod and tap tap tap into the datapad. By the time the turbolift doors hiss open, the datapad is offered to Kalus with a subtly shaking hand.<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus accepts the datapad from the shaking hand, the exchange surprisingly gentle despite the dark lord's demeanor. Eyes turn down to the screen as she steps aboard the lift, and a gloved hand rises to her mask clicking a button, before lowering to the screen to scroll through the pictures and names.<br />
<br />
Kalus eventually found the prisoner she was looking for. A young man by all accounts, shaved hair on the sides, tattoos, and certainly Tionese by the look of him. More importantly, his name matched up in a very unique way. Had she not known Sera West, the detail would have evaded her, but Cado West was most certainly the scrappy engineer's progeny. Every bit his father, and every bit his mother.<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus leaves the entry magnified and passes it back to the assistant. <"Deliver this prisoner unto me at once."><br />
<br />
The administrator accepts the datapad and peers at it, muttering, "A priority prisoner.. held in the third sublevel of Alpha Tower. But a moment, Lord Kalus," as the turbolift doors close around them all. A comlink is raised and the bureaucrat opens a channel with a pompous edge to his voice: "Warden, I have new instructions for you: you are to have prisoner number.. Aurek four thousand eighty-seven brought to my offices for questioning immediately." His smug smile back in force, "It will be but a moment, Darth-" <br />
<br />
He is interrupted by a flat, authoritative voice that might be a high pitched male, or a deep female, difficult to tell. <<That prisoner is immobilized, administrator. On highest authority, any interrogation must take place in the inmate's secured cell.>><br />
<br />
Smile gone, mortified at being contradicted the administrator retorts into the comm, "Your orders have changed. I am ordering you under highest authority to bring the prisoner at once."<br />
<br />
<<"You do not have that authority, administrator. Further, under strictures governing the transfer of priority prisoners, I must report this conversation for review by->> <br />
<br />
Awkward. <br />
<br />
Darth Kalus's silence adds to the contention in the air as she listens to the conversation take place. Seeking an immediate solution to the problem, Darth Kalus comments. <"Whilst you secure the transfer of prisoner Aurek four thousand eighty-seven, I would have words with the one you deemed warden."><br />
<br />
A subtle shift as the turbo lift moves, and Kalus's hands clasp at her lower back. <"Suffice to say, Administrator, you will have a vacancy to fill soon. I hope your next warden proves more amenable to authority."><br />
<br />
The administrator is clearly relieved that Kalus is angry with someone other than himself. The pudgy human nods once, firmly. "As do I, Lord Kalus. You there-" one of his guards, "Direct the turbolift to the first sublevel. While the dark Lord has ..words with Warden Alain, we will secure this prisoner, personally.<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus waits for the lift to arrive at the respective level containing the offices belonging to Warden Alain. Silence accompanies her patience as she senses the urgency which she has instilled upon the Administrator and his assistant. Satisfied she has made an impression that will see the deed done, she steps off the lift when they arrive to erase the loose end that threatens to unravel her forceful diplomacy.<br />
<br />
Dark Lords were well known for their mettle with affairs adjacent to them. This situation was no different than those. She waits for the guards to lead her to Warden Alain's office, and from there, she will handle the rest...<br />
<br />
The troopers and personnel occupying the sublevels are more plainly attired and armed, glossy black open faced helms reminiscent of old Imperial troopers, and uniforms of dark grey. The official behind the desk starts to stand and protest at this unexpected intrusion, but the words are swallowed abruptly when the masked figure in black is spied. <br />
<br />
The first sublevel is clearly the operation center for those who work in the highest security division within the facility, a petty fiefdom unto itself. Holographic scanners project energy signatures of any carried weapons, and the unmistakeable cylinder of a lightsaber on Kalus' belt ensures that no one makes so much as eye contact as the Darth stalks past.<br />
<br />
The guards in blue and black guide Kalus to the end of a corridor, opening the double doors with a hiss and stepping to either side, saluting.<br />
<br />
Within, the same stern voice from the comms states, "Cordiano is only making this worse for himself- Lady Santhe will hear of this-" before catching sight of the figure in the doorway.<br />
<br />
Darth Kalus steps inside the office and unclasps one hand to gesture back at the door behind her. In one motion, the waving gesture inspires the door to the outside to shut against its volition. It may have symbolized any hope of escaping being squandered in that moment.<br />
<br />
<"Warden Alain,"> Kalus decrees aloud, a powerful bass sounding kinetic energy emitting from her form, displacing every object in view suddenly by rattling it. The power, the energy she commanded seemed to manifest around the Warden's throat and body, and effortlessly, Kalus suspended them in air as she approached.<br />
<br />
Robbing them of air to breathe would certainly be the next step, but Kalus seemed intent to allow them this moment to voice their concerns, their fears if they had them.<br />
<br />
Kalus arrives and stands before them, listening to any reaction the comms may have.<br />
<br />
Alain is of average height and thin, dressed in an off-white uniform clearly inspired by old Imperial Security and Intelligence division aesthetics. The warden's spare frame and short hair suggest a masculine gender, but addition to the obvious intimidation, another outcome of lifting Alain off the deck by the throat is that the presence of a masculine bulb in the throat can be seen clearly. Mild mystery solved. Although Alain carries a standard pistol holstered at his side, both hands are grasping in futility at his neck. <br />
<br />
Though the comms are silent, Alain is not, gasping out, "Following.. orders.. the- scum is bait..." <br />
<br />
<"Orders change from time to time, Warden. Are you so incapable of adapting that you would deny a Dark Lord their desire?"> Kalus steps forward, the foot fall distinct.<br />
<br />
<"Come on then, tell me to my face that I may not have what it is I desire."><br />
<br />
+Chance roll by Cadogan West - (50/50) Fail! (35)<br />
<br />
"I- didn't know-" Alain struggles to state, clawing in vain at the invisible grip at his throat. "Take- hrrrh! Take him. Take anything."<br />
<br />
<"Pathetic. I had hoped to find some spine behind the voice who told their Administrator no. Instead, I find this.."> Kalus says, acute disappointment relayed through the emitter of her mask.<br />
<br />
<"However, having your approval expedites things for me. The Empire thanks you for your cooperation."> Kalus closes her hand into a fist and makes one single jerking motion. It's accompanied by the sound of something breaking, muffled by the Warden's flesh. Life was claimed in that instant, replaced with the sound of a crumbling body hitting the floor and silence.<br />
<br />
<"Ensure the Lady Santhe hears of this.."> She says aloud, echoing the recent conversation she had interrupted. <br />
<br />
<"Imperial interests will not suffer delays or insubordination. This extends to all patrons experiencing the benefit of our Empire's galactic peace and prosperity. Need I say more on the topic?"><br />
<br />
There is a brief pause, as of the voice on the other end of the comm was hoping Kalus had been speaking to someone else, before the Sith is answered, <"No, my Lord."> <br />
<br />
There is no one else in the office, and the pair of guards in black and royal blue armor say nothing outside the door, remaining at attention.<br />
<br />
<"Good."><br />
<br />
Pivoting back around to return to the doors, Kalus waves her hand and they open. To any who looked into the office, they'd find the crumpled form of their former Warden on the ground, the body experiencing death as nerve endings fired off and the brain died.<br />
<br />
Even though they could not see the eyes behind the void slits of the mask, they were glowing yellow and hateful. Seething energy is reined in thereafter as her escort resumed their lead. <"Bring me to my charge."><br />
<br />
And thus, the Dark Lord left as suddenly as she appeared, sharing a glance with the secretary who thought to stand in protest upon her initial arrival.<br />
<br />
The official behind the desk is watching Kalus until the masked Sith looks their way, then eyes are lowered. Aryn might deduce that this was the voice on the other end of Alain's comm, undertaking a futile bid to warn the warden.<br />
<br />
The weapon sensors flare to holographic life once again as Kalus and her escorts march through and re enter the turbolift, one trooper inputting the command to access the third sublevel. Approval is given a moment later (even guards can't access the sublevels without approval) and the doors slide shut, the turbolift descending with a thrumming vibration for long moments afterward. Another automated stop at the second sublevel, a light glows red as the occupants of the lift are surveyed, and an instant later it glows green as once again, approval to proceed is granted.<br />
<br />
They are deep underground by the time the doors hiss open to reveal the third sublevel. The lift is a security hub, from which six corridors branch out like the spikes of a wheel, each corridor lined with dozens of top security cells. The troopers stationed to this level already stand at attention, and one of the administrator's guards in blue can be seen awaiting their arrival.<br />
<br />
The ride on the lift is dead silent, the kind of silence that rings in ones ears. Kalus does not break character to look at the guards with her, but the thought puts the desire to do so there. When the hatch hisses open, she steps out with the same urgency she had when she first arrived. She did not stop to look at the guard, just simply moved passed them and let them either catch up or guide her in the direction she ought to go.<br />
<br />
Passing glances are taken when a cell goes by, seeking a glimpse of the occupants inside. She felt only pain here, overwhelming despair.<br />
<br />
Roughly three quarters of the deepest cells are full, as can be seen with a glance through the small viewports mounted in the soundproofed durasteel doors. This deep, there are slightly more aliens than humans. Some prisoners are huddled against the back walls, some are suspended from the ceiling by their arms to keep them from lying down. <br />
<br />
At the end of the corridor, another of the administrator's guards can be seen at sing outside an open cell door. A sound of revulsion can be heard from within, along with the words, "Sub-human scum!" Upon arrival, this is the place. <br />
<br />
The Administrator is dabbing his kerchief at his face and lapel, with a look of utter disgust, trying to clean up a splatter of red. <br />
<br />
Cadogan West is suspended from the ceiling by projection manacles binding his hands. Legs are slack, and the fading light of a grid pattern in the walls suggests the present of pain matrix emitters built into the walls. Alongside the inscrutable tattoos along arms, hands, a d upper chest, the young man has clearly been heavily beaten, ribs and back striped with angry red, half his face dark with bruising, and the red of fresh blood staining bared teeth.<br />
<br />
Kalus's temper flared at the treatment of unarmed prisoners, but there was a time and place to dispute it, and it wasn't now. When she arrived, her medical training kicked in to diagnose the trauma his body had seen. Without doing a closer examination, she would not know the extent of internal injuries, but judging from external, it might be some time before he can fight.<br />
<br />
This assured Aryn that her approach to this mission had been the sound one. <"Cut him loose, and escort him to the top. Ensure he is restrained. No further harm comes to this man. He has no use to me dead."><br />
<br />
Hands clasp at her front as she waits, standing beside the Administrator patiently.<br />
<br />
Cado's head lolls to a fresh angle, eyeing the slight, masked figure in black with the distorted voice. While a real fight might be beyond him, the news that he is needed alive sinks in, as does the order that no further harm come to him. As the administrator mops up the worst of the bloody spittle, he regards the silk square, judges it soiled beyond recovery, and discards it on the cell floor. "And summon sanitation, afterward," he adds. And when one of the guards looks toward him to nod, Cado lashes out with a kick. He has no hope whatsoever of escape, but seems intent on making this as difficult as possible, catching a guard in the side of the knee and drawing a pained cry, before he is wrestled down and has hands locked in binders, despite thrashing efforts that grow more feeble when multiple guards step to restrain him.<br />
<br />
The admistrator sniffs in disdain. "I would swear the entire race is feral. Get him on his feet quickly, or else bind him to a repulsor board," he orders the guards, unhelpfully.<br />
<br />
The guards need not wrestle too hard. A subsequent strike is frozen in place before he is taken down, and the sense of losing control of his body's movement as if in a state of paralysis sets in. Were he to look upon the masked figure again, he'd find her standing there with one hand outstretched, its palm presented to him as if she's cast something over him.<br />
<br />
Kalus has nothing to add to the Administrators observation. She shows restraint, patience for the moment, and embraces hope that they can reach the surface and the ship before something else goes wrong.<br />
<br />
<"My patience is a finite resource, Administrator. See that it does not go extinct whilst I wait for this escort to proceed."><br />
<br />
"Of course, milord," is answered. "A repulsor board, at once! Quickly, now!"<br />
<br />
It is a common piece of equipment on the third sublevel, and within seconds, the guards have bound the prisoner to a hovering rectangular slab purpose-made for the transport of problematic humanoids.<br />
<br />
Losing control of his own body, unable to move, speak, resist.. Cado's pale blue eyes are fixed on that expressionless visor and outstretched glove. He feels a spike of anger, of fear, and an intense hatred at being so defeated in that moment.<br />
<br />
He loses sight of the Sith when strapped to the platform, which can be moved with the lightest touch, handled as if it were nearly weightless.<br />
<br />
<"Inform my vessel that we will meet them at the former landing zone momentarily."> Kalus indicates, stepping out of the way when the guards guide the repulsor board containing her acquisition by. She falls in step beside them.<br />
<br />
By design, Kalus brushes her cape back for only a moment, something eye level that Cadogan had plain sight of. Her hand touches upon a square transponder hooked to her belt, the old beaten up device bearing the skull of Xim upon it. Her hand abandoned the device upon her belt, turning slightly to glance down toward him, then ahead again, and her cape fell back in place. <br />
<br />
The brief paralysis passed, but the small and deliberate gestures had a clear effect, and when restrained only by mundane bindings once again, there is no self-damaging thrashing, or words aimed at provoking his captors. <br />
<br />
"See it done as Darth Kalus has ordered," the administrator affirms with the gesture of a gloved hand. Obsequious to a fault, the bureaucrat inquires idly of the Sith, "How would milord like this prisoner recorded? Transferred to your care? Expired during questioning or perhaps during escape attempt?" He considers it a forgone conclusion that none will survive a Sith inquiry. <br />
<br />
<"See that the prisoner is transferred to my purview with remarks made to Imperial interests. Your staff will receive official details from my own, and commendations for an efficient transaction to be shared with your superiors."><br />
<br />
Kalus keeps step beside the prisoner, walking with graceful ease and unbridled urgency. An occasional glance is paid to Cadogan as if monitoring his state, but this effort remains unnoticed thanks to the presence of her mask.<br />
<br />
A voice within Ek-Shiik's mind whispered unto him in Aryn's tone. 'Do not cause an explosive scene. Things are well in hand. Trust me.'<br />
<br />
Unseen far overhead, with a trio of suspicious TIE fighters circling him, and attempting a quick repair of the damaged hydraulics on the boarding ramp, Ek-shiik exhales in a jagged chuckle. "Well in hand, she says. Great." Abandoning his work on the hatch, hoping it's enough he hastens. Ack to the cockpit, disables the autopilot, and very slowly guides the freighter back to the prior landing zone, all while TIEs wait for him to do something wrong enough to open fire.<br />
<br />
Arriving at the landing zone, the doors open and Cadogan West is guided outside by the guards. Darth Kalus stands beside the acquisition, who at this point, seems resigned to his fate with the Sith. Rather than face out to watch the arrival of the ship, Kalus watches her host in a fit of quiet paranoia.<br />
<br />
At any point, weapons could be trained on them, defenses activated, or the like. Her disruptive aggression has kept things in the balance, and unlike a bluffed ruse, she would be true to her word. Arrangements to accept the prisoner filed, Imperial intelligence alerted to a new initiative led by the Dark Lord, and commendations to the Administrator who was like to be interviewing for a new Warden.<br />
<br />
The automated anti-personnel turrets in the corners still stir, slowly tracking movement, which do very little to ease the tense few moments between when the Broadstar eases into a landing, the ramp descending unevenly with a few screeches of protesting metal. <br />
<br />
All throughout, the administrator - who was less than subtle in finally making certain Kalus knew his name, now that commendations were being discussed - was Major Vir Cordiano. And if something irregular about a Sith Lord arriving in a tramp freighter was bothering the guards, none were willing to risk their necks over a possible mistake that their boss would be blamed for.<br />
<br />
When the hatch shut noisily behind them, Aryn waved her hand over the board restraining Cadogan West and the restraints released all at once. Sparing only silence for the progeny of Ektor-Xer, Kalus stormed to the front to impress upon Ek-Shiik that now was the time for speed.<br />
<br />
<"A honest ruse that should not lose its potency. I return you your man in the hopes that mine own requests will be fulfilled. Now, to the stars, master Darstan.. as quick as you may."><br />
<br />
"Ain't gotta tell me twice, Princess Doc," Ek-shiik answers without even sparing a backward glance, the ultralight clearing the ray shields- yes, the administrator was waving goodbye- and streaking up steeply for orbit. "You arright back there, Cado?" he calls while laying in a course for home.<br />
<br />
"Ek-shiik?? What the burning rekk are you doing with a Sith? How did-" Yeah, that was trying to move too fast, too soon, and the steep angle of climbing left him lightheaded.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Alderaan:_The_Odds_of_Success&diff=19302Log:Alderaan: The Odds of Success2023-04-09T06:20:16Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Aryn meets with the notorious Janissars of Tion. | Location=Tion 3, Undisclosed location | Partic..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Aryn meets with the notorious Janissars of Tion.<br />
| Location=[[Tion 3, Undisclosed location]]<br />
| Participants=[[Cadogan West]] GM (NPCing), [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=April 9, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The namesake system of the Tion Star Cluster had been a hotbed of malcontents, separatists, and outlaws for generations, and the fifteen years since the rise of the new Sith Empire were no exception. Liannan domination of the system had been bloodily opposed by raids, piracy, and sabotage that occasionally drew brutal retaliation from the powerful Sith-backed Liannan navy.<br />
<br />
Tbe more things changed, the more they stayed the same. <br />
<br />
Unless one knew the names and hideouts of the pirates and rebels, it was nigh impossible to track them down. But some old friends did remember such names and places...<br />
<br />
A luxury yacht was assigned to land upon one of the restricted pads, enclosed to protect against the chill /and/ the wandering eyes of pirates who might sniff out wealth through a single glance. Aryn was at the controls of the Baudo class, its state-of-the-art design making it both easy to navigate the airspace and conduct a landing which was completely automated. As the vessel set to cooling down, the landing pad structure closing above, Aryn was left to exit the craft in near darkness.<br />
<br />
She watched from the ramp as the last remaining light was cut off by the closing ceiling, and she felt it like a moment of introspection; was this quest the start of a dark path, she wondered.<br />
<br />
Paying the docking authority was standard, and from there she left the port building, pausing only to tug the hood of her long coat up. It had been many, many, many years since she'd seen any of the Tion worlds; as much as things had changed, the more they stayed the same.<br />
<br />
Following a familiar route into the ruins of a structure belonging to an age passed, she sought out old friends from a younger age. The feeling of nostalgia filled her senses, prompting her to suck in a sharp breath through her nose as she approached, denying her instincts to infiltrate and purposefully trigger their proximity to initiate a meeting.<br />
<br />
To the sentries watching, they saw a dark figure approach through the feeds of their cameras, navigating the maze by memory alone and managing to take all the correct turns...Was today the day?<br />
<br />
While the enclosed hangar and ship maintenance apparatus were present on the first moon, Tion 1- the only true star port in the system- when Aryn settled her ominous shuttle down on Tion 3 is was like landing in the past in more ways than one. The 'Third World' had only an open field, ground blasted bare of all but the hardiest shrubs by the coming and going of skyhoppers and small haulers that served the lakeside fishing town, downhill. But when Aryn's steps bore her through the whipping winds toward the Stony highlands, where a palace had been cut millenia before the first Old Republic, hidden eyes on flickering monitors did indeed take note. Hurried inquiries were made among the outlaws whether any were expecting an arrival, and a hasty effort to set down their dinner and grab the guns was undertaken. <br />
<br />
All the whole, Aryn walked the remembered path into the hidden hangar. Within was a hodgepodge of obsolete fightercraft, several of the same, but with a number of 'newer' chop job Uglies cobbled together from destroyed TIEs, Scyks, and Dunelizards. As well, there were pirates, and a voice at once familiar and different: Ek-shiik Darstan was past thirty now, the veteran of half a hundred skirmishes and several full fledged battles. His voice still had a youthful quality, and a little brother's bouyancy, but there was an iron under the tone that well masked his fear as the pilot called, "Where you from, stranger?" in the way of one offering a coded call and response.<br />
<br />
Aryn comes to a pause when the challenge goes out. It was not a sequence she could recall using upon her last visit, but much had changed from those days. She recognized the voice though, and closed her eyes to his tone to recall the memory of his youthful face looking up at her as she offered a gloved hand to him. A dangerous endeavor it had been to rescue the downed pilot, but they never left a man behind if they could help it; those were the rules.<br />
<br />
"I will fail your challenge simply because it has been a long time since my last visit." She says back, her gloved hands rising up to pull back her hood. Blonde hair falls into place around her scarred visage as Aryn's regal features come plainly into view. She resumes her poised stance, a subtle smile curving her lips. "The years have done you wonders, master Darstan. Your voice nearly sounded foreign to me; were it not for the touch of youth in your tone, I would not have recalled pulling you out of the muck all those years ago."<br />
<br />
"Though, to answer your inquiry. I am of Alderaan, though I suspect my entry may yet be barred still."<br />
<br />
Ek-shiik is stunned. He makes an effort to hide it, but there is no mistaking the surprise. "What the Hell- Princess? Derek, I guess it's 'Queen' now, ain't it?" A lopsided grin- a familiar expression- belies his next thought: is she here to kill us? Of the other pirates (all are younger than Ek-shiik) some have hands on their blasters and at least two have discreetly drawn weapons, though none are yet pointed at the Alderaanian. One whispers, "Should I blow it?" Ek-shiik shakes his head slowly, and whispers back, "If she was here for for blood we're rekked anyway. And she *did* save my life, once." Swallowing once and praying he's right, the young man calls, "Come on in. We just pulled some fish off the fire. Ain't 'zactly royal fate, but.."<br />
<br />
"My thanks for sparing me," Aryn calls back. Stepping forward with quiet grace, the much older royal steps into the heart of the ruins pondering the old stone structures in passing. She must have been the first of royal blood to walk these grounds in a long, long, long time. Though, to tell that to a Tionese was folly. Xer had once told her all Tionese claimed blood with the great Despot Xim. How many had been truthful in their claim, she wondered.<br />
<br />
Emerging to plain view, Aryn looked no more a threat than she had before. The scent of cooked fish and the crackle of fire stirred within her a sense of nostalgia that took her back to the days of being in the Resistance. A small smile forms, but she turns to regard the Tionese pirates to see if any among them looked familiar as Ek-Shiik Darstan.<br />
<br />
The pleasant smell of fresh, fire roasted fish mingles with the acrid stench of engine exhaust, as the improvised hangar has grown no better organized in the past fifteen years. None of the other faces are familiar, but several *looks* are: the young women tend to cut their hair short in n the same way Zappa did, several sport tattoos of questionable quality that mimicked ink Ektor had worn years ago, and the stylized skulls Xer had painted on his flight helmets were a popular motif. "So," Ek-shiik asks with wry levity, "What brings you by, Princess Doc?"<br />
<br />
As for Tionese honesty, galactic historians agree Xim died without issue, which would make *all* claims of descent untrue.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns to regard Ek-Shiik, studying his physique and build a moment, the marks of years on his face and the heavy gaze of eyes that had seen much. She could easily dive inside his mind to retrieve the knowledge she sought, the dark thoughts are pushed aside when she smiles, though. "I have come seeking audience with your esteemed Captain. My husband was once wronged by the Santhe-Sienar noble family; a wrong he intends to pay back in full. I told him that I knew of one crew whose hate for this family surpassed his own, whose knowledge of their vast estates and properties would prove valuable in our quest to destroy them."<br />
<br />
Making a gesture toward the pirates, Aryn smiled. "Thus, my quest has led me to you, and to Ektor-Xer Apollyon.. if he yet lives? Few grow to a wise old age in your vocation, after all, but you know this truth more than most, I venture." Her last gesture indicating the venerable Darstan, fluffing him up a bit.<br />
<br />
There are a couple chuckles at the banter, but fear remains palpable. Ek-shiik cracks another crooked grin and drawls, "I don't know anybody who'd call him *wise*, but ol' Xer is still alive, yeah? But-" the pilot hesitates, weighing an unspoken decision. One of the younger outlaws hisses to him, "Could be a trap-" to which Darstan laughs, flatly. "You don't say? The Queen of Alderaan saunters in for some fish and it could be a *trap*?" A few nervous snickers defuse some of the tension. "Speaking of which, get her some rekking fish and a beer, already. Ain't nobody gonna claim we're drek hosts, yeah?"<br />
<br />
One lesson the young man learned from his old captain was how to buy time to make a decision. By the time he's done sending a pirate to fetch Aryn's skewer and bottle, he looks back to the Queen. "I don't see him much these days, but if you got some kinda comm relay, I can send word along. Or.." A small shrug. "Could try raising him on ship to ship.. see if we get lucky," with a gesture at one of the fighters.<br />
<br />
"I commend your loyalty to your Captain. A means to speak with Ektor-Xer will suffice. I did not travel here to spill the blood of patriots." Her gaze travels to the others a moment, sharing the genuine look. "You have my word."<br />
<br />
The skewer and beer are accepted in each hand, and the Queen steps back from them enough to afford a little privacy as she bites into the offered meal and chews. There was a tradition on Alderaan regarding guests and offering refreshments; no harm was to come to them once they partake. Oddly enough, the gesture here is interpreted that way, adding credence to the tactic Xer long ago instilled upon Ek-Shiik. Wise.<br />
<br />
Aryn takes to walking the hangar while waiting, finishing the skewer and washing away the taste of char with the beer. It was an awful beer.<br />
<br />
A truly awful beer.<br />
<br />
With anice white wine, the fish would be quite nice, were it prepared with more care and mild seasoning, but alas culinary skill was not a priority among the Janissars. Ek-shiik gives a quiet word to the others and scrambles up the side of an old R-42 Starchaser, and powers it up. Canopy open, he takes the precaution of scanning to see whether any ships were following the Sith Queen before raising a series of contacts. After a few minutes (in which several of the younger pirates made no secret of their fascination with the dark robed Alderaanian- a rough squawk of status is audible over Ek-shiik's comms. << So what, does 'comm silence' not mean the same thing back there no more, yeah? >> <br />
<br />
Ek-shiik cracks a grin and calls, "I got him," before answering, << Yeah, yeah, I know. But I figured you'd wanna hear this: Remember that time you told me you got outta Kessel? The Doc who patched you up just walked in, asking for your help." <br />
<br />
There's a long pause. << No drek? Did she come alone? You ask her out? >> Yep, definitely Xer.<br />
<br />
Aryn steps closer, setting aside the beer she held between two gloved hands. Standing poised, hands tucked to her lower back beneath the cape, she addresses the audio with an amused expression. "For all that has changed, Xer, much remains the same. I trust you and your wife have your health?" She doesn't pause long enough to allow him to comment. "I have come seeking counsel. My husband intends a war with an old enemy of yours. Santhe-Sienar. Recall you our campaign in the Ash Worlds, the machinations and automatons that put his people to the proverbial sword?"<br />
<br />
"Alderaan remembers."<br />
<br />
<< Oh, thank GAWD, I ain't gotta be sly. No lie, I ain't sure how long I coulda kept that up, >> Ektor's voice drawls. << The thing with the drones, yeah? Sure, I remember that. HEY, SERA. SERA. GUESS WHO'S ON THE COMM. >> He still hasn't gotten better about comm chatter. << So you wanna kick Sienar in the junk, yeah? I can get behind that. Them Hutt-suckers got it coming and worse. What you need, yeah? >><br />
<br />
Aryn's expression remains the same, ever amused by the pirate's antics. The sound of his wife over the comms is heard, the familiar engineer's working class accent. "Still all noble and drek; posh, as you like. Good to hear your voice, Princess. Figured you forgot what friends sound like with your new banners and all.." Scrappy as always, Sera addressed the elephant in the room. Aryn just nods, her bearing still held.<br />
<br />
"Alliegances change like the weather, Miss West. We cannot change its coming, only weather the storm."<br />
<br />
"Clever, but I get you. Stay hidden, Princess. The clouds are still dark outside, yeah?" Aryn's response is simply a nod, even though they can't see it. Topic returns to Sienar. "I require intelligence about Sienar. Holdings, shipments, family members, and historical data. Some say the legendary Janissar Leader has a network of spies to pinpoint his attacks. I suppose it is this insight I am keen to negotiate over. Have you a price in mind for these things?"<br />
<br />
<< See, that's why I never bother with flags: they always going outta fashion, yeah? >> Ektor drawls. As for holdings, family members, a d historical data, Ektor pauses a moment. Something unverbalized passed Ng between Ektor and Sera before the old pirate answers, << So I got some good news, some bad news, a d some more good news after that.. I can get you alla that. Good news. Bad news? My best slicer got netted few days past. Kid can get you anything. Any names you want. But he's rotting in a max security rock on Desevro. They trying to draw us into doing something stupid, and.. well, I'm still me, yeah? So more good news: you get him out alive, and you get everything you want. We'll even lend boots for the junk punting."<br />
<br />
"A fair price," Aryn comments, her eyes angling up briefly to weigh the consequences. "If you can get me to this max security facility, I will retrieve your slicer. It would be best to limit your footprint in this retrieval mission. Make no mistake, Ektor-Xer, I am a Dark Lord now. Attending to our war will carry with it consequences, and word travels by mouth. I appreciate your willingness to help us in this fight, but would it be at the expense of your reputation? As your wife so keenly pointed out, the stench of the Empire is not so easily swept away with a breeze."<br />
<br />
<< Rekk the Empire sideways with a rusty gaff hook, but if this gets one of ours back from the dead, I don't give a bucket of another man's drek of some body wants to think less of how I fight my rekking wars, yeah?>> A drawn breath. << Being him back, you get everything you want on Santhe, and Sienar, and I'll throw in Jaemus, too. >><br />
<br />
"So be it, Captain," Aryn confirms. "I agree to this arrangement. I am ready to begin the mission whenever it conveniences you. I require only an IFF beacon so you know where to retrieve us once the deed is done." Aryn shifts slightly, regarding the faces of the Janissars around her. "Regarding my husbands war, I will ensure the Janissars benefit from a privateer certificate. Your service, or at least that is how it will be recorded, will ensure you people see no bounty issued by the Empire. Should you desire it, I can keep this contract in good faith and in perpetuity, for as long as it serves your needs."<br />
<br />
<< Liannan gonna put its own bounties out anyhow, but even a thin shield is better than nothing, yeah? >> Ektor opines with a flat chuckle. << Ek-shiik, you there? Get her the beacon and a ride, yeah? I ain't keen on waiting. >> <br />
<br />
Ek-shiik nods. << I hear you, Xer. We'll get it done and bring him home. >> <br />
<br />
Ektor returns, <<Arright. Let me know when the world needs blowing up, yeah? Out. >><br />
<br />
Aryn nodded toward the emitter when the comm cut out, and she turned slightly to regard the Janissar XO, Ek-Shiik. Offering the pirate a slight, attractive smile, she says, "Once more unto the breach..." A poetic phrase probably lost on the lot of them. "..whenever you are ready, master Darstan. We can begin this operation." Aryn's hands return to the small of her back to clasp idly, and she turns to read the expressions of the others who likely heard the terms of their new foreseeable future. Young faces to join an old, bitter war.<br />
<br />
Young faces already mired in a other old, bitter war that they grew up with. The more things change, indeed.<br />
<br />
Ek-shiik nods. "Once more, yeah?" He looks to the others, "Get the Broadstar prepped. That transponder won't be flagged, yet. Then prep all the warbirds, and holler at Captain Kavrith to have her cell ready to fly. Just in case."<br />
<br />
Accustomed to a life of command and little in the way of physical labor or urgency, Aryn does what she does best by staying out of the way. The den of pirates have orders and it's a wonder to behold as things begin to set in motion. Aryn spares a moment to use her own communication device to contact her husband, relaying a simple encrypted message for the benefit of his knowing there was progress on this front.<br />
<br />
"My love," she begins, stepping away from the sound of a freighter engine coming to life. "I have made contact with our old friends and struck an accord to secure valuable intelligence. We embark upon a small matter now; the means to this data, and then I will return to you." A pause as she considers the worst outcome a moment, then pushes the thought from her mind. "I love you. See you soon." Her thumb presses the button and the message is sent away. The device is pressed back upon her belt where she had to gently brush her cape aside, revealing the obsidian hilt fastened upon her hip. Its activation stud slowly pulsated purple, an ominous light beckoning to be pressed. She denied its thirst by brushing her cape back into place, concealing the weapon beneath its confines.<br />
<br />
Amid the swift scramble of getting an ultralight freighter and half dozen obsolete, heavily modified fighters ready for launch, Aryn receives a brief encrypted response: "I endure thy absence and await thy return." The Broadstar is prepared, and the boarding ramp lowered. Ek-shiik runs the vessel through a brief pre-flight, starting the NavComp working on a course to Desevro while awaiting Princess Doc to join him in the cockpit.<br />
<br />
Informed of the waiting vessel, Aryn makes her ascent upon the ramp and inside. She claims a co-pilot seat, adjusting herself to discover some measure of comfort in the old chair. An emotionless mask is placed upon the middle console between she and Ek-Shiik, then she tends to the matter of securing her blonde hair.<br />
<br />
"This slicer must bear some importance to your Captain, though I scarcely saw such devotion to retrieve those displaced to him as I witnessed the mission you were shot down. He was changed that day." Aryn muses, considering her old memories of the Ace-Pirate-Rebel. She shares a glance with Ek-Shiik, a momentary smile. "It seems you bring out the best in people."<br />
<br />
Ek-shiik eyes the mask briefly, finding ease in conversation only when he looks away from it to focus on taxiing the small freighter out into the open and thence up into orbit. "I was everyone's idiot little brother, back then," he reflects, without hurt. "Just a dumb kid with more guts than skill, only flying because these three worlds had been so beaten down for so long there was no one better than me left to fly." A long drawn breath. "I really do think Xer would go just as hard after any of us, if the poncy scum got hold; they'll torture any pirate they catch. But you're right: this one is special. They're not gonna kill him quick, if they got his name." A slow exhale as the vessel glides into the black of low orbit. "Cado... Cado-Xer Apollyon."<br />
<br />
"The weight of command is a double-edged sword, master Darstan. Just as you would want to do anything for your Captain, so too is he inspired to do the same for you. As Captain, he bears the responsibility of you all, and as Janissars? You all bear his name and legacy." Aryn's intuition into the weight of this misplaced team member proved true, and she ponders it a moment while staring out the view port toward the atmosphere fading away.<br />
<br />
"Has it all been war? Your time growing up from everyone's little brother to everyone's executive officer? I sense the loss on your conscience, its weight heavy on your shoulders. Does twilight seem so close?"<br />
<br />
"Not all war like Rodia," the young pirate amends. "Most of it is a lot smaller: raids, hits, Sienar and Hutt freighters poached where we can take them.. Running blasters and bacta to whichever moon folk are fighting back, yeah? But every few years, some Hutt-sucker in Lianna wants a promotion, or gets tired of looking stupid, and they hit the worlds back. Orbital bombardment on Tion Two, twelve years back. Pattern bombing Tion One nine years back. The corporations move back in after to get rich rebuilding what they just blew up, and within another few years, they overstep and Tionese riot again. Corporations run back to Lianna crying after their 'lost assets' and some new army officer gets deployed with his shiny new hovertanks to put us back down." Darstan draws a deep breath, oddly sharing more with a Sith Lord he'd not seen for most of two decades than he can with his own comrades. "I just don't know if we can change it. Really change it, yeah? Or if we're all just locked into following the same dance that went on, before."<br />
<br />
"Normally, this would be where my husband might say you are not hitting the right targets." Aryn comments, considering their predicament from an outside perspective. "Perhaps our intentions with Santhe-Sienar may resonate with your Tionese patriots." Aryn considers a moment, then draws in a breath to add..<br />
<br />
"You spoke of the torture of other pirates. This facility, would it currently be home to more than just the progeny of your Captain? Perhaps we can add a few more names to your roster? For the cause.."<br />
<br />
"None of ours," Ek-shiik notes, "So I can't give names.. no doubt there are a damn pile of Tionese in there, but much as I'd enjoy springing everyone who Lianna likes locked up, that'd most likely be bigger than we can manage without drawing the army." As for hitting targets and Tionese patriotism, "Aye, none among us would flinch at killing Santhes. Damnable bloodsuckers, the lot of them."<br />
<br />
Aryn glances over at Ek-Shiik, admiring for the moment the full realization the young pirate has grown to a wiser age. She can appreciate his restraint, even at being presented an opportunity to free others. His response informs her he has an idea of the bigger picture, something a lot of officers struggle with in regards to war. "Sound judgment, master Darstan."<br />
<br />
"I will remain true to our mission then. The release of the young master Apollyon. I believe as a harbinger of the Empire, diplomacy might be my most potent weapon here. Should violence ensue though, will your Janissars be prepared to escort us away?"<br />
<br />
Ek-shiik nods. "The third world squadron will be ready, and Xim will come back from the dead before Zappa would fail to bring her flight to a fight. That's two flights, alongside whatever hammer Xer and Sera have to bring down. Near about fifteen birds, total. Enough to sweep any fighter cover, and fast enough to outrun any cap ships, just in case they get stupid."<br />
<br />
"The odds of our success increases."<br />
<br />
Aryn takes a moment then to draw in a deep, deep breath and closes her eyes. The sounds of the ship, their flight, begin to fade as she enters a trance completely sustained through her connection with the Force. A younger Sith Lord might seethe, preparing their mind and body for a bloody task, but Aryn was not a young Sith Lord or an amateur practitioner of ancient mystical arts.<br />
<br />
A serene calm gathers before the release of the storm, and her strength gathers like a levy against the current of the Force, holding it within her and channeling the power. Perception begins to expand, encompassing her immediate surroundings and transforming them into an extension of herself. She could hear the beating of Darstan's heart, the way he breathed in and released the air, she could detect the subtle vibrations of the ship, the energy pulsing through its cables and consumption of fuel. Everything had its place within the grand scheme, and it all resided within her 'gaze'.<br />
<br />
The levers were pulled as the Broadstar cleared the third moon's gravity well, and the utralight freighter darted into hyperspace. The flight to Desevro would be brief, and thereafter, the odds of success would play out, for better or worse.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19225Aryn Cortess2023-03-14T19:01:08Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Aryncsith.gif]]<br />
| Title=Queen of Alderaan; Darth Kalus<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Sith Lord<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=Sith Empire, Alderaan System <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Sunrunner (Baudo Yacht), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Grimoire (Upsilon Shuttle)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
Aryn of House Cortess serves Alderaan system as its ruling Queen. Aryn began her journey a second born child to Duke Jace Cole and Duchess Marian Cortess. She had not intended to grow beyond the confines and duties of a noble lady, but circumstances led her down an adventurous path. Aryn was mentored by the late Princess Leia Organa, and installed as the royal Princess following Leia's death during the Cold War. Aryn was accepted by the Elder Houses of the Galaxy, and the last will of Organa was fulfilled when the responsibility for Alderaan, and its vast and frustratingly divided diaspora, became hers to rule. <br />
<br />
Aryn has since united the great houses of Alderaan and established a capital upon the world of New Alderaan. When the Sith Empire imposed its influence upon the system and called out for the alleged Jedi Queen to surrender herself, she arrived as requested to negotiate peace for Alderaan and its people. Through diplomacy, Aryn was permitted to join the Sith Empire alongside her husband, the Prince-consort Ban Iskender, to strengthen its cause by becoming Darth Kalus and Darth Durandus, respectively. As Dark Lords, the pair were permitted to see to Alderaan's security personally, allowing them to preserve the peace for which they sacrificed a great deal to achieve. This arrangement brought an abrupt end to the Alderaanian civil war with Delaya, and the execution of its architect, the despot ruler Lady Lana of House Panteer, aka the Pretender.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Ruler<br />
|Aryn is seeking help from Lords, Ladies, or Citizens of Alderaan to preserve the peace, and contend with Alderaan's enemies. Should this interest you, ask about serving the cause!<br />
|-<br />
|Sith Empire Cause<br />
|Open to story and plots concerning the Empire. I may relegate Aryn to the Alderaan system, but I would be happy to NPC and GM to help with plots that add to our narrative.<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19224Aryn Cortess2023-03-14T18:57:31Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Aryncsith.gif]]<br />
| Title=Queen of Alderaan; Darth Kalus<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Sith Lord<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=Sith Empire, Alderaan System <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Sunrunner (Baudo Yacht), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Grimoire (Upsilon Shuttle)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
Aryn of House Cortess serves Alderaan system as its ruling Queen. Aryn began her journey a second born child to Duke Jace Cole and Duchess Marian Cortess. She had not intended to grow beyond the confines and duties of a noble lady, but circumstances led her down an adventurous path. Aryn was mentored by the late Princess Leia Organa, and installed as the royal Princess following Leia's death during the Cold War. Aryn was accepted by the Elder Houses of the Galaxy, and the last will of Organa was fulfilled when the responsibility for Alderaan, and its vast and frustratingly divided diaspora, became hers to rule. <br />
<br />
Aryn has since united the great houses of Alderaan and established a capital upon the world of New Alderaan. When the Sith Empire imposed its influence upon the system and called out for the alleged Jedi Queen to surrender herself, she arrived as requested to negotiate peace for Alderaan and its people. Through diplomacy, Aryn was permitted to join the Sith Empire alongside her husband, the Prince-consort Ban Iskender, to strengthen its cause by becoming Darth Kalus and Darth Durandus, respectively. As Dark Lords, the pair were permitted to see to Alderaan's security personally, allowing them to preserve the peace for which they sacrificed a great deal to achieve. This arrangement brought an abrupt end to the Alderaanian civil war with Delaya, and the execution of its architect, the despot ruler Lady Lana of House Panteer, aka the Pretender.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Ruler<br />
|Aryn is seeking help from Lords, Ladies, or Citizens of Alderaan to preserve the peace, and contend with Alderaan's enemies. Should this interest you, ask about serving the cause!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19223Aryn Cortess2023-03-14T17:05:27Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Aryncsith.gif]]<br />
| Title=Queen of Alderaan; Darth Kalus<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Sith Lord<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Sunrunner (Baudo Yacht), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Grimoire (Upsilon Shuttle)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
Aryn of House Cortess serves Alderaan system as its ruling Queen. Aryn began her journey a second born child to Duke Jace Cole and Duchess Marian Cortess. She had not intended to grow beyond the confines and duties of a noble lady, but circumstances led her down an adventurous path. Aryn was mentored by the late Princess Leia Organa, and installed as the royal Princess following Leia's death during the Cold War. Aryn was accepted by the Elder Houses of the Galaxy, and the last will of Organa was fulfilled when the responsibility for Alderaan, and its vast and frustratingly divided diaspora, became hers to rule. <br />
<br />
Aryn has since united the great houses of Alderaan and established a capital upon the world of New Alderaan. When the Sith Empire imposed its influence upon the system and called out for the alleged Jedi Queen to surrender herself, she arrived as requested to negotiate peace for Alderaan and its people. Through diplomacy, Aryn was permitted to join the Sith Empire alongside her husband, the Prince-consort Ban Iskender, to strengthen its cause by becoming Darth Kalus and Darth Durandus, respectively. As Dark Lords, the pair were permitted to see to Alderaan's security personally, allowing them to preserve the peace for which they sacrificed a great deal to achieve. This arrangement brought an abrupt end to the Alderaanian civil war with Delaya, and the execution of its architect, the despot ruler Lady Lana of House Panteer, aka the Pretender.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Ruler<br />
|Aryn is seeking help from Lords, Ladies, or Citizens of Alderaan to preserve the peace, and contend with Alderaan's enemies. Should this interest you, ask about serving the cause!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19222Aryn Cortess2023-03-14T16:59:46Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Aryncsith.gif]]<br />
| Title=Queen of Alderaan; Darth Kalus<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Sunrunner (Baudo Yacht), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Grimoire (Upsilon Shuttle)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
Aryn of House Cortess serves Alderaan system as its ruling Queen. Aryn began her journey a second born child to Duke Jace Cole and Duchess Marian Cortess. She had not intended to grow beyond the confines and duties of a noble lady, but circumstances led her down an adventurous path. Aryn was mentored by the late Princess Leia Organa, and installed as the royal Princess following Leia's death during the Cold War. Aryn was accepted by the Elder Houses of the Galaxy, and the last will of Organa was fulfilled when the responsibility for Alderaan, and its vast and frustratingly divided diaspora, became hers to rule. <br />
<br />
Aryn has since united the great houses of Alderaan and established a capital upon the world of New Alderaan. When the Sith Empire imposed its influence upon the system and called out for the alleged Jedi Queen to surrender herself, she arrived as requested to negotiate peace for Alderaan and its people. Through diplomacy, Aryn was permitted to join the Sith Empire alongside her husband, the Prince-consort Ban Iskender, to strengthen its cause by becoming Darth Kalus and Darth Durandus, respectively. As Dark Lords, the pair were permitted to see to Alderaan's security personally, allowing them to preserve the peace for which they sacrificed a great deal to achieve. This arrangement brought an abrupt end to the Alderaanian civil war with Delaya, and the execution of its architect, the despot ruler Lady Lana of House Panteer, aka the Pretender.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Ruler<br />
|Aryn is seeking help from Lords, Ladies, or Citizens of Alderaan to preserve the peace, and contend with Alderaan's enemies. Should this interest you, ask about serving the cause!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19221Aryn Cortess2023-03-14T16:58:12Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Aryncsith.gif]]<br />
| Title=Queen of Alderaan; Darth Kalus<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Sunrunner (Baudo Yacht), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Grimoire (Upsilon Shuttle)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
Aryn of House Cortess serves Alderaan system as its ruling Queen. Aryn began her journey a second born child to Duke Jace Cole and Duchess Marian Cortess. She had not intended to grow beyond the confines and duties of a noble lady, but circumstances led her down an adventurous path. Aryn was mentored by the late Princess Leia Organa, and installed as the royal Princess following Leia's death during the Cold War. Aryn was accepted by the Elder Houses of the Galaxy, and the last will of Organa was fulfilled when the responsibility for Alderaan, and its vast and frustratingly divided diaspora, became hers to rule. <br />
<br />
Aryn has since united the great houses of Alderaan and established a capital upon the world of New Alderaan. When the Sith Empire imposed its influence upon the system and called out for the alleged Jedi Queen to surrender herself, she arrived as requested to negotiate peace for Alderaan and its people. Through diplomacy, Aryn was permitted to join the Sith Empire alongside her husband, the Prince-consort Ban Iskender, to strengthen its cause by becoming Darth Kalus and Darth Durandus, respectively. As Dark Lords, the pair were permitted to see to Alderaan's security personally, allowing them to preserve the peace for which they sacrificed a great deal to achieve. This arrangement brought an abrupt end to the Alderaanian civil war with Delaya, and the execution of its architect, the despot ruler Lady Lana of House Panteer, aka the Pretender.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Noble<br />
|Aryn is asking for help from all Great Houses in an effort to reunite the divided Alderaan people. Do you wish to be a part of this daunting task? Seek her out!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=File:Aryncsith.gif&diff=19220File:Aryncsith.gif2023-03-14T16:57:45Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div></div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19219Aryn Cortess2023-03-14T16:36:33Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Ar1.png]]<br />
| Title=Queen of Alderaan; Darth Kalus<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Sunrunner (Baudo Yacht), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Grimoire (Upsilon Shuttle)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
Aryn of House Cortess serves Alderaan system as its ruling Queen. Aryn began her journey a second born child to Duke Jace Cole and Duchess Marian Cortess. She had not intended to grow beyond the confines and duties of a noble lady, but circumstances led her down an adventurous path. Aryn was mentored by the late Princess Leia Organa, and installed as the royal Princess following Leia's death during the Cold War. Aryn was accepted by the Elder Houses of the Galaxy, and the last will of Organa was fulfilled when the responsibility for Alderaan, and its vast and frustratingly divided diaspora, became hers to rule. <br />
<br />
Aryn has since united the great houses of Alderaan and established a capital upon the world of New Alderaan. When the Sith Empire imposed its influence upon the system and called out for the alleged Jedi Queen to surrender herself, she arrived as requested to negotiate peace for Alderaan and its people. Through diplomacy, Aryn was permitted to join the Sith Empire alongside her husband, the Prince-consort Ban Iskender, to strengthen its cause by becoming Darth Kalus and Darth Durandus, respectively. As Dark Lords, the pair were permitted to see to Alderaan's security personally, allowing them to preserve the peace for which they sacrificed a great deal to achieve. This arrangement brought an abrupt end to the Alderaanian civil war with Delaya, and the execution of its architect, the despot ruler Lady Lana of House Panteer, aka the Pretender.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Noble<br />
|Aryn is asking for help from all Great Houses in an effort to reunite the divided Alderaan people. Do you wish to be a part of this daunting task? Seek her out!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Spies_of_Icy_Watch&diff=19206Log:Spies of Icy Watch2023-03-07T03:16:33Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=A raid on Icy Watch | Location=Avishan, Alderaan Sector | Participants=Tamsin Cas, [[Merulia]..."</p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your log<br />
--><br />
{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A raid on Icy Watch<br />
| Location=[[Avishan, Alderaan Sector]]<br />
| Participants=[[Tamsin Cas]], [[Merulia]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=March 6, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Icy Watch was once a great fortress. Ancient were the stones of its foundation, built with curved walls and ramparts to withstand the straight-line winds of the arctic climate of Avishan. Its central keep used a rotating light, like a light house, to help those ranging the icy tundra beyond the 'wire' to find their way back when the blizzards were too much to see through.<br />
<br />
Conventional means of travel was limited here, even starfighters had a tough time with the ice, just ask any veteran from Aldera Squad. Flying through a blizzard was suicide, and walking through one was no different. At a scouting outpost on a cliff of ice and rock, the team hoping to invade and take Icy Watch have a great view of their objective.<br />
<br />
Snipers man the towers of the circular shaped fortress, and its central tower has been turned off in the hopes that its battlements remain forgotten, a crypt buried in the snow. Baron Panteer wears the white plasteel of an Imperial officer sans helmet. He's an older man, but years have afforded him ample battle experience. Once deemed a traitor to the crown, Gerald Panteer was a general for Lana, heralding a new age and hope that Panteer would once more resume its occupancy of the ruby throne.<br />
<br />
With Lana dead, Panteer was redeemed and given purpose anew, but nothing was ever truly given. When he saw the fortress below, he did not see insult. It was a stepping stone in returning to grace, the light at the end of the tunnel. Pulling on his beanie cap to cover his bald head, the bearded Baron turns to regard the team. They're some 20 strong, with heroes joining them from other corners of the galaxy.<br />
<br />
"My envoys were slain in cold blood. To kill an envoy is an act of war. We just received word from Her Grace. We are to eliminate all hostiles and retake the keep. Best approach is during the blizzard.. snipers will not be so keen to pick us off. The main gate is like to be frozen and barred, so we will need to scale the walls.. no easy feat."<br />
<br />
The baron motioned for the trooper holding a box to begin handing out grapple-guns, these were of similar design to the S5 pistols the Naboo royal guard used. "Make good use of these. Our key to surviving the storm is staying close and low. The less of you the wind catches, the less likely you are to go on a flight of death."<br />
<br />
"Come on, then. Best be about it."<br />
<br />
"Ser Lars.. Ser Bors, you gentlemen have point. Bring us in close, my Lords. The storm is fast approaching now."<br />
<br />
A grapnel gun, Merulia was wrapped in the tight winter gear and her cloak...and was decidedly not enjoying the temperature far from what she'd grown up with on Dathomir. Still, the Nightsister Sephi turned the weapon over in her hand with a frown on her fair features. "I have no skill with such things. There were no blasters among my tribe." <br />
<br />
Still, she shrugs lightly. "I will find another means if I must." <br />
<br />
The prospect of reclaiming a home and dealing with others who had snuck in to claim it? That bothered Merulia little as she fell into stride with the others, ready to follow their lead.<br />
<br />
Flying through the blizzard, that one time, was mildly inconvenient if one were to question Lord Bors, of the ancient and most noble house of Thul. That's what he'd say at least.<br />
<br />
His shirt was quite damp when they got home.<br />
<br />
Also his pants were quite sweat soaked, too.<br />
<br />
And his perfect, perfect, hair.<br />
<br />
Battered old rifle held at low ready, nigh a century old armor dyed black encapsulating the quinquagenarian, The Black Knight of Alderaan stalked forward as requested - not without a flash of gut deep anger at being given a command by one of the, until recently, Rebel House of Panteer. Cerulean viaor of his helmet glowing, obscuring his features behind it, <br />
<br />
<<"Aye, your excellency.">> head turning marginally towards Lars as he starts the forward trek, noting sure footing and wind-breaks via his HUD while keeping eyes up for potential foemen..<br />
<br />
Quite unlike the Panteer general, the hooded and robed Sith had not bothered with dressing for the environment, and quite likely, were it not for the blizzard, the dark of their robes would be a dead giveaway. Emphasis on the dead. But, they were what they were, and they stepped forward, helmed head tipping momentarily to the side before the are around them began to warm, the air around them almost comfortable, the expanse of the heat around them enough that the group could move easily without needing to bum into each other. The gun was accepted, the helm turning towards Merulia, "I will ensure that you are able to cross the barriers." The weapon was disappeared into the folds of her robes, before she nodded towards the general and the Knight, the voice distorted by modulation. "We are ready."<br />
<br />
Ser Lars, the First Sword of Alderaan, returned the look from Bors perhaps sharing some unspoken solidarity of the moment. When the Black Knight tread forward, so to did his companion. Lars was a tall man, large too, and much of him was covered in armor. He carries a dueling pistol on one hip, and a sword upon his other. His cloak, a heavy fur of white wolf, wraps his collar, hoods his head, and hangs off his back to lightly flap in the heavy winds they move into. "Stay close. The ice has claimed many lives. If we are to die this day, let it be with weapon in hand, and the blood of our foes decorating its blade."<br />
<br />
Lars falls in behind Ser Bors; Bors had more experience on Avishan than most. By the time they reached the foot of the cliff they had been on, the blizzard was in full force. Any distinction of direction was lost, it was just white, and the shapes of the men and women in the group trudging through the ice and snow.<br />
<br />
When they arrived at the western side of Icy Watch's wall, it was thanks to Bors keen sense of direction and know-how in arctic situations. Lars motioned the group to hug the wall and take a moment to 'breathe'. Traversing the blizzard was tiring. Baron Panteer brought up the rear, giving a thumbs up to indicate they still had all men. With everyone in place, Lars stepped out with his grapple hook in hand. He fired it at the tower and made the ascent. A second later, a body fell from on high, landing in the ice and snow, splattering blood and missing an arm. <<"Make your way up.. we need to clear the ramparts.">> Lars says over comms.<br />
<br />
The other men and women of the group began their ascent, climbing over the wall to land in the ramparts. A few moments later, the battle had begun.<br />
<br />
There's no buzzing glow or bright flow of plasma from a lightsaber, Merulia did not have one! Instead there's a soft sound of sliding metal and the short combat sword was drawn by the petite Sister who was apparently keen enough to move with the front. <br />
<br />
A lift of her hand and the first sniper was hoisted upwards, grasping at his throat before being sent screaming over the edge to his doom. <br />
<br />
Continuing to spring forward like some sort of feline predator emerging from the snow, she plunged her combat sword into the throat of the next sniper with a splash of blood.<br />
<br />
Atop the ramparts, moving low and utilizing his suits equipment to bracket the enemy, Bors raises the old EE-3 to set the stock against his shoulder plate, head tipping fractionally. A reflexive action, his HUD was marking his crosshairs where the barrel was pointing and a blink singled out his first target among many.<br />
<br />
<<"Black Knight, drawing attention.">> the monocle pinched before his right eye scrolls data, doubled some but filtering out his focuses from the helmet HUD. <br />
<br />
The rifle barks twice, two throaty reports of triple bolts erupting and cutting spiraling heat contrails before the weight of the blizzard dissipates his shots. Disappearing mid-flight before they can reach their target, "Bugger" teeth gritted behind his helmet, preparing to drop when the inevitable comes his way.<br />
<br />
Dark robes, dark deeds. There was probably some bit of ratty old Sith poetry just to that effect. The helmed figure did not, however, recite any of it. Instead, they simply moved, the heat around them flowing with them as they began to cross the ramparts heading left to clear the offside. The fire-orange blade was like a brand as it spun in gloves hands, and the first of the snipers fell, bisected, a piece tumbling down to either side. As they moved, they adjusted, making certain to allow the wind to whip their robes, the darkness surely draw attention and focus as they closed on a second target, The first strike only took the range, before another body fell from the battlements to the icy field below.<br />
<br />
They find Lars already locked in a heated battle between two snipers. One blocks the Knight's sword with their rifle, and the other takes aim at him. Lars draws and fires his pistol at point blank, killing the one blocking him. Twisting suddenly, he cut the throat of the other in a blinding fast slash, and kicked the body from the ramparts to the courtyard below.<br />
<br />
It becomes obvious that the fortress is under attack when a siren sounds and men begin to pour into the courtyard. To the keen eye, these people are wearing the phoenix of the Rebellion, with placards to denote rank. In the courtyard, comm equipment has been erected to allow for deep-space transmissions. It didn't take a comms expert to note the scrambler and encryption devices hooked up to keep the transmissions secret.<br />
<br />
As the group spreads along the ramparts, engaging the snipers in close combat, the 20 good men and women who had joined the group begin to fire from the ramparts toward the soldiers in the courtyard, pinning them down and preventing them from joining the fray above. It turns into a hellacious battle. Four of the Panteer men are already slain from the cross fire, one even toppled over the edge of the wall to splat below in the courtyard.<br />
<br />
Baron Panteer is taking cover near Bors, firing at one sniper that came upon them in a frantic way. The shot was enough to kill that one, but when a second followed, the old man locked into close quarters with them, grunting and pushing.<br />
<br />
A whoosh of motion, more telekinesis sends another sniper hurtling to his death...her sword however is not so lucky as she swings and the sniper evades, her blade no more finding its mark than their shots.<br />
<br />
An arm goes out when his helmet system tracks incoming fire, clouting Baron Panteer in the meat of his shoulders and forcing him down and turning to put his plates in the way of one of the shots coming in.<br />
<br />
The impact staggers him, throwing Bors back against the ramparts with a wheezing grunt while his arm swings of its own accord, returning fire in a sweep of triple-burst reports. Elbow cocked to press the stock against his bicep to fight the buck of the plasma bursts. Chest smoking, glossy cuirass scored black above his heart where if he'd been wearing lighter armor - the results might have been more than the burns and bruising he feels forming.<br />
<br />
<<"Next time I'm strafing and Thul will pay for repairs.">> hissed out, dropping to a kneel, not seeing the second trio cleared away by snow after the first stitch across the leg plates of his assailant.<br />
<br />
The dark figure on the ramparts was not oblivious to the rat's warren of activity that suddenly spilled into the courtyard, even if they moved to shield the team behind them, blaster bolts seeming to wing away like screeching birds as they snipers bore down on their location. A quick calculation, not visible behind the mask, but notable in its execution, as the figure turned, almost as if dismissing their opponents, the saber hilt hovering at their hip as their fingers clenched beneath the deep sleeves of their robes. They had studied too long at the feat of another master of long ago, to give themselves over to flashy gestures. Below, in the courtyard, the radio communication exploded, as though some force had squeezed it with all the force of a vice grip. But the figure was not undefended, and as one of the snipers rushed in to take advantage, the lightsaber winged away from the sith, flashing out to slice through their erstwhile attacker, before it flew back to its master, the sith's left hand rising to catch the hilt in a ready palm.<br />
<br />
Lars is working his way toward the end of the far right rampart. Holstering his pistol to focus on sword work, the large man charges through the hail of blaster fire to engage his next pair of foes. One is struck diagonally across the chest, spilling what muscles kept locked inside. The second was stabbed and moved to the edge of the ramparts where they were kicked off the edge of the blade to fall into the blizzard below. "For Alderaan!" He yells, stomping after the next group of foes below.<br />
<br />
The presence of two Sith have heightened the level of fear. The fiery presence of the lightsword earns screams below, and troops rush for the communications beacon with the hope they can signal for help!<br />
<br />
That hope is dashed when Cas crushes the equipment before their eyes, putting on a small light show of sparks and fire. There was no hope of help coming. Dread began to set in.<br />
<br />
Panteer, who had been forced down by Bors to be shielded, rose back up to deal with the man responsible for harming Thul. They were struck down with a pair of shots (the first missing). Gerald turned to offer a gloved hand to Thul to help him back up. "Where is the fun in that, sir? -- FORWARD.. UNTO VICTORY!" Gerald moved ahead, motioning for the men on the ramparts to join the fray below where some 20 militia try their hardest to hold out. Down from 30, the 20 men of Panteer are eager for a close quarters battle; they all pull swords and give war cries.<br />
<br />
Gravity seems to be Meru's greatest weapon, certainly it seemed the poor snipers had no means to defend against such sorcery even as they batted and parried her sword. <br />
<br />
Sliding her weapon down the butt of the rifle used for one such block, the blade bit deep into the man's shoulder.<br />
<br />
The group was a small one, and whatever side of the force the sith walked, the sensation of pain around them did not go unnoticed. Stepping aside from the remaining enemy in their direction, that dark robed figure moved from the left side to the strong right side, the warmth that still radiated around them a palpable signal of impending doom. Well, of a sort. "You are still needed for the fight, Knight." Again, that mechanically modulated voice, before the hand that did not hold the saber slipped free from the billowing sleeves, a quick pair of shots of hypospray, hitting with that shock of energy that only really, really good bacta could offer, before the sith slipped away again, robed billowing like dark wings as they jumped down into the center of the courtyard.<br />
<br />
Helped up only to be struck again, spun on his foot and put against the ramparts again with a hissing sound coming from his vocalizer grill, his voice chasing it with a pained tone, <"Oh, sure, we could keep getting blasted ere to bits. That's fine too."> resisting the urge to spit - never good in a sealed suit that is blaring integrity threats across the top of his HUD.<br />
<br />
Stumble stepping forward, having a distinct realization that this must have been what Antilles went through when he kept refusing those desk jobs. Desk jobs. <br />
<br />
No. Then he'd have to give up the cockpit.<br />
<br />
<"Father, give me strength."> Still walking fire as he goes, seeing his bolts spatter against stonework and shaking his head and dropping to a knee again to lean and brace on the rampart, muttering to himself, helmet vocalizer not picking up the under-breath words, "Or don't. That's fine. Thanks. I'm telling Mother." a cynical chuckle rattling in his chest.?<br />
<br />
Then the warmth hits him - and the stimulants riding the Adrenaline train through his blood system. Pupils dilating and the arthritis on his joints fading and a breath is sucked in, with the old Knight on his feet, "Ok! I take it back... You -are- mysterious!" several hyperventilating breaths chasing the words.<br />
<br />
The snipers are done, slain one by one till the ramparts are but soldiers maintaining their up-hill advantage. Whilst the blizzard waged, so too did the small battle. 8 militia from the rebellion are gunned down as they attempted to retreat inside, one being their officer. The remaining are cut off by the First Sword, who cut down the last man attempting escape.<br />
<br />
Despite the hopelessness of the battle, the rebellion hunkers down to fight to the last, there was no other choice. Lars had a notion to capture them, but that went out when they continued to fire.<br />
<br />
"WIPE THEM OUT!" Screamed the old-man Panteer, who joins Lars down below. What remains are some 11 terrorists, and Alderaan had but one treatment for enemies of the state; Steel.<br />
<br />
When did he drop from the ramparts?<br />
<br />
When are his knees going to hell him he's not young enough for that?<br />
<br />
When is the sound of blood in his ears going to fade.<br />
<br />
Oh... did he leave the hot-plate on? <br />
<br />
Bors is on the ground, still feeling like a Wampa is shoving him forward and the raging thunder of the stormclouds over Gravenheim in his bones. It's a pounding sweep into the thick of the fight while combat stims have him forgetting that he should be staying further back. One of the militia forces finding their ribs being pressed by the older man's shoulder. Thrown up against what had been cover and riddled with blaster bolts. <br />
<br />
Glowing visor turning, the Black Knight presses, carbine raised and firing again - a torrent of crimson stitching along the ground next to their feet.<br />
<br />
The sudden jump down into the thick of things had the desired effect, as many, though, sadly, not all of the militia turned their guns on the dark robed, flame-blade wielding sith, the shots all seeming to tack away from the figure save one, that lucky one, which impacted that faceless helm, rocking the figure. Not the best idea, but then, what did one expect from rabble? A breath to catch themselves, and the sith dove him, cutting through two of the militia who had not had the good sense to run away. Likely not for their lives, but perhaps a few extra seconds to say their farewells. Not these two, though, and a third was approached, though not struck, the blade carving through the still whirling snow, heat from the blade and the core of warmth from their ow body billowing a fog of warm mist around them.<br />
<br />
Rebellion soldiers were brave, but bravery only earned one so much before death caught up to them. This day, the rebellion died. With the last of the militia down, Panteer was left to command his men to search the rest of the fortress, and so they did. A good number of rebellion intelligence was uncovered, to include a public recording of the Lana Panteer execution.<br />
<br />
There were logs of communication coming from Onderon, about someone holding sway over Lana Panteer. Something about payment, and invasion plans.<br />
<br />
Additionally, the rebellion was keeping tabs on ships in the area, establishing a routine scan on patrols, patrol routes, and things of that nature. This was clearly operating as a listening/observation post. With it routed, communications wiped out, the place was wiped clean. Panteer gave the order to bring his family, retainer, and belongings. Ships from the sky began to arrive, landing inside the ice-shelf hangar. They had a guiding light; it seemed after the battle, Baron Panteer turned the tower light on. Through the ice, snow, and blizzard, the roving light shown, rotating slowly and announcing once more, this was Alderaan.<br />
<br />
Banners bearing the sigil of Panteer were hung from the ramparts and walls.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:The_Queens_Justice&diff=19187Log:The Queens Justice2023-02-27T04:05:11Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=The Lady Lana receives a long awaited justice | Location=Droalder Palace, New Alderaan | Particip..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Lady Lana receives a long awaited justice<br />
| Location=[[Droalder Palace, New Alderaan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]], [[Bx-B8]], [[Noemie Lenoir]], [[Rieve Selki]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Thul]], [[Yari]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=Feb 26, 2023<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The throne room was a rather large venue, complete with seating on each side of a carpeted aisle, and a dais near the end of the room with a single throne placed upon it. The throne was an elegant seat, carved of fine fogstone and inlayed with jewels and sapphires earning its name, 'Ruby Throne'. At present, the dais and throne are not occupied, but the large room itself is. The sound of mumbled chatter gives the space a touch of apprehension; this day had been 15 years in the making and many people, like Duchess Avlin Teraan, had a tough time believing it was here. Avlin fret with her hands, standing off to one side and watching with anticipation.<br />
<br />
The First Sword, Ser Lars Syrush, has aged handsomely and still wears his golden armor. A black cape hangs from his left side, leaving his sword which is on the right in plain view and available to draw at a moments notice.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty Killesa approaches the Duchess, lightly touching the back of her arm to earn her attention. Rather than coach her on the finer points of relaxing, he over emphasizes taking in a deep breath; a not so subtle hint she takes under advisement and echoes with an appreciative look. "Justice will come, your Excellency, fear not." Captain Killesa tries his best to offer a reassuring smile, but the scar over his lip is a rather unsightly thing. Still, it prompts Avlin to smile. "I know. It just seems surreal. All the fighting, all the bloodshed, everything has led to this moment." Avlin steps closer to Ty, finding comfort from the experienced sea lord.<br />
<br />
Count Ulgo and his daughter, the Lady Sidney, arrive with a small contingent of their house guard. The entire group walk as if marching, their heavy steps echoing in this large chamber until they arrive at some place to sit, yet they remain standing, awaiting the arrival of the Queen.<br />
<br />
The young royal Princes were near the dais, speaking with a red armored Mandalorian warrior whose helmet was hooded with a red-furred blood wolf. It was not clear who this woman was, but the two young men are enamored by the tall warrior, who stands, arms tucked to the small of her back looking every bit as military as the culture suggested she was. "What kinds of weapons come from your gauntlet, mistress?" Aidan asks appropriately, the elder, Marcus adds, "That would be a flamethrower. No armor can protect from fire." Marcus had the smug look of arrogance about him as he observed his younger brother's eyes widen. The Mandalorian chuckles, but does not confirm or deny. One does not tell a Prince they are wrong, afterall, especially if they're an outsider.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender has grown a short beard in recent years, but otherwise cuts the same stern, polished figure he ever did in the Alderaanian court. Attired for the formal occasion in a dragoon's dress uniform, resplendent with gold braid on grey and green. Tall black boots and white gloves complete the uniform, with a high collar and half-cape leaving the gentleman's face the only bare skin. His armaments have changed. Gone is the elegant pistol and intricate swept hilt of his sword, in the blade's place at his side the relatively plain metallic cylinder of a lightsaber hangs. Gloved hands are composed at the small of his back.<br />
<br />
Bait had come to New Alderaan, as he was curious about the so-called big news of some person being brought to justice. Whatever that means in the Galaxy in this new era. The fortunate side of being a Droid, he tended to be overlooked by most organics, even if he did had a somewhat odd design.<br />
<br />
Currently Bait was standing off to the side near the front of the room. He wanted to have a good view of the events as they were to unfold. His photoreceptors scan over thr crowd, always on guard should anything unfortunate come to pass.<br />
<br />
Noemie Lenoir had arrived to New Alderaan onboard the Queen's Grace, flown comfortably and without harm by her personal pilot, Remi Rayne. Once the ship was cleared through palace airspace, it would set down with skillful grace alongside some of the royal Alderaanian starships, the silver chromium trim of the J-Type Royal Starship's hull looking as though it belonged in that hangar. The hatch would lower and the fairly recently appointed Ambassador Lenoir would descend the boarding ramp on her first official trip to Alderaan since Queen Nalia had appointed her as Naboo's foreign ambassador just a few months ago.<br />
<br />
Her personal detail would remain on the ship, the ambassador feeling wholly safe and without need of protection within the seat of the Alderaan system and felt fully confident that in the unlikely occurance of hostilities within the palace, the royal guards and pilots would quell the troublemakers as they had recently done with the settling of the civil war.<br />
<br />
Noemie came dressed in a dual-layered outfit comprised of an indigo velvet overdress over a cobalt hued gown which sparkled with delicate beads along its skirts - the skirts growing wider as they descended closer to the floor. With the Queen and her procession busy near the throne, she would save the greetings for later, finding a seat near to the front, behind the royal familes, on the right side of the aisle, setting herself down and smoothing out her skirts. "Back straight, shoulders back!" She reminded herself quietly, the youthful Naboo a bit giddy to be out on her first official assignment.<br />
<br />
Rieve had arrived on Alderaan to meet with a local worthy, with dance lessons, some measure of fencing, and a quick light meal to round off the day, a day that Rieve sought to finally finish with the event of the season. Indeed, he'd arrived on the arm of his client, nodding but once and offering a smile to BX-B8 as they passed, a courtesy for seeing the droid once more, before guiding his client to a seat and settling in beside her. His blue hair was artfully coaxed and styled, and his Hapan style robes were varying shades of blue and abundant in their folds and various details. The pale and youthful looking male leant in to smile and listen to some small comment made by his companion, offering a softly spoken and delightfully accented reply, with that Hapan lilt ensuring a swift swirl of words flowing one after the other, before finally reaching their conclusion. More whispered gossip drifted back and forth, pointing out various titled peoples, with Rieve's eyes delighting in the pomp and the show being put on all about them as he sat for the most part rigid, his robes having fallen loose down one side, through against his left, they certainly seemed to have likely caught on something sheathed at his hip for all of a moment, before they are set tumbling free with a dextrous flick of his right hand.<br />
<br />
The arrival of House Thul is, ever, an affair of state. Muted to -just- below the grandeur allotted to the Queen. Only just.<br />
<br />
Their procession is headed by a pair of footmen with a roll to lay out carper of midnight blue shot through with sweeping bands of ruby red weaving through golden spheres. A glitter of shimmersilk threads in the weave set off by the lighting, giving the suggestion and illusion of underlighting when the lead of their pack comes. <br />
<br />
The Black Knight of Alderaan, Champion of Her Excellency Countess Uypiia, Lord Bors of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Thul. Clad in armor that had once championed the early days of the Galactic Empire, the black plastoid plates polished to mirrors and the visor a blazing cerulean T that hints a silhouette of the noble features beneath. The Sword of Thul belted at his waist, each step precise in his vanguard escort of the Noble Family.<br />
<br />
The Countess follows, her gown black, slim, chased in crimson and deep blue with a halo collar fanning out behind her head like an eclipsed sunburst and the train of her dress a starfield of gemstone chips in the delicate gauzy material. To her right, Vanko the Count Consort in smart courtly tunic and cloak, like a softly smiling shadow at his lady's side. To her left Ulani Thul, Formerly of Kuat, Champion of Aldera Squadron, Grand Vizier of House Thul.<br />
<br />
Those that follow are a mass of dark shapes and viper's grins with glittering eyes and a lack of teeth in smiles. Adorned in black, crimson and blue and most often in cut that flares out or is conspicuous for its lack of elaborate design. <br />
<br />
The Thuls Have Come. Their processional carpet stopped at their precise place at Court.<br />
<br />
Ulani is dressed appropriately for the occasion in finery fit for House Thul. Colors of silver, black, and blue wrap around her in a well-fitted bodice that then flares out in a long if thin dress that is made to just barely drag the ground. Even in the heels, she picks up her skirts enough from the floor when she moves along with the group of Thuls as they make an entrance. The years have been kind fo Ulani in terms of beauty but the years of war and strife show well enough in her eyes which she has learned to guard and harden as must as her sister-in-law has. Head held high and posture immaculate, she goes with the group unhindered; practices steps learned over the years that comes without a thought. "To think that it all can end here," she says gently to those near her, lips moving but eyes remaining forward. Everything poised and proper. "Or does it, I wonder."<br />
<br />
The back doors opened with a bit of fanfair, two armored knights stepping through first to flank the opened hatch and clear the path of any bystander. A hush swept over the crowd and the general shift of bodies to look toward the green caped warriors who began to herald the Queen with a unified voice.<br />
<br />
"Queen Aryn of House Cortess; Queen of Delaya, New Alderaan, Birren, and the Ash Worlds; the Unifier, Lord of the Alderaan Sector and Protector of the Realm."<br />
<br />
Aryn walks by both Knights with a quiet step. The Queen had never been one for dresses, she wore a dark tunic paired with shined ebon armor. The armor itself had properties within that powered small blue lights along its exterior, giving it an elegant and sleek look. A dashing white cape, fastened upon the pauldrons of the Queen's armor, swept back with each step forward, dragging /slightly/ upon the stone and carpeted flooring. Gloved hands are tested with light tugs as she marches by, her blonde hair brushed and pinned back elegantly to remain off her color, and her make-up emphasized the presence of a scar over one eye; a point of intrigue among the Alderaanian people!<br />
<br />
As Aryn passed the rows of nobles and attendants, ladies dipped into a curtsy while men bowed. Even the stern looking military family of House Ulgo showed deference. When Aryn made it to the dais, her sons were there to greet her, each at one side and bowing. She paused to watch them both a moment, her neutral expression cracking slightly with a look of pride. They were their father's children. Lady Kiko Alde arrived at the other side of the First Sword, Lars Syrush, and they ushered the two Princes away to find seating with them.<br />
<br />
The Mandalorian who had been waiting at the side, dipped down into a bow, then resumed her quiet vigil.<br />
<br />
Aryn arrived at the ruby throne and turned with a gentle sweep of her cape before sitting down and sighing. Her voice was amplified over the room thanks to the technology embedded in the throne. "Your excellencies, my Lords, my Ladies.. be seated. -- " The shuffle for seating follows and Aryn waits patiently to speak again.<br />
<br />
"A matter of great importance awaits our judgement. Just yesterday, we received word that the renegade Lady Lana of House Panteer was captured in the Outer Rim. For those who remember the horror Lana waged against us, against our people, then you know what she must answer for. The captor responsible for this was invited as well.." Aryn lifts her hand to gesture toward the Red Wolf. The Mandalorian does nothing but bow slightly to Aryn at the mention of her presence and invitation.<br />
<br />
"Let us begin. -- Bring in the Lady Lana, and the imprisoned members of House Panteer."<br />
<br />
A side door opens, and a small group of people are escorted inside and stationed before the court. The Mandalorian pivots and leaves the room by way of another exit, and returns with a humbled Lady Lana. Lana, wearing common clothes, is led barefoot across the stone wearing chains and a neural restraint upon her head. Her dark hair is a mess, she's been bloodied and bruised from her capture, and left unarmed and incapable of defending herself. She is placed closer to the dais and shoved to her knees before Aryn.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender's formal bearing does not slip as his green eyes regard the various familiar faces at court, or while studying those who remain unfamiliar. A short dip of his head to a few, but once the Queen enters and summons the Pretender, the gentleman's stare is reserved for the captive lady and her prisoner kin, years of wariness leaving him curious if there will be some last ditch piece of desperation in the moments ahead. For the moment, he says nothing.<br />
<br />
Bait simply stands quietly, amused by all the pomp the Organics seem to obsess over. As the queen walks in and begins the events of the night, the Droid focuses his attention on the Speaker, and takes special note of the prisoners as they are brought in.<br />
<br />
Having stood with the rest as the Queen was announced, Noemie, only being five feet, had to lean to the side a bit to see over one of the taller nobles standing in front of her. On seeing Queen Cortess her face lit up delightfully. The young ambassador had known Aryn since the formation of the Artisans Guild, having met her when she was a princess and shortly before the civil war had started in Alderaan. Seeing Aryn reminds her of some of those initial meetings, and the things they had gotten up to in places like Ord Mantell and Taris. These situations had shown to the young Naboo that the now-Queen fully had it within her capacity to act with grace, intelligence and fairness in whatever was to be ruled here today. Even with the scar, which the Alderaanian seemed to accentuate with her makeup, seeing Aryn brought some comfort to the young ambassador.<br />
<br />
The two of them were quite opposite in appearance, with the Alderaanian not showing much interest in dresses, and the Naboo delighted to design them. Even their makeup was different, though that was largely attributed to their cultures. Here on official business, Noemie's makeup reflected the formal style of her homeworld and today had chosen a very pale face given a shade lighter of concealer and setting powder, over which her bright red lipstick ran only down the center of her lips rather than all around. Similarly, a set of red dots were on either side of her jaw, with two on each side, and a darker, crimson hued eyeshadow extended to her eyebrows similiarly in the center only. Her cheeks were devoid of blush, save for a small bit to maintain the purposefully pale look. <br />
<br />
As the Queen walks near to Noemie's side of the room on her way to the throne, Noemie would curtsey with many of the others, and would take her seat as the court began, smoothing out her skirts once more as before. She'd keep her back straight and her shoulders back, chest out, as etiquette had taught her. Her face would remain neutral when emotional display wasn't warranted, another form of training she'd received with her recent station.<br />
<br />
Rising with the arrival of royalty, Rieve, his companion and those all about show due deference before seating once more. The softly spoken conversation between the blue-haired Hapan and his female companion no doubt drifting back and forth on the various houses present, and who is indeed whom. Though the conversation ceases as they listen to the words issued by the Queen herself, heads turning to witness the collared and commonly attired Lady Lana, with Rieve's face showing a hint of a wince at the state of the captured woman. It was clearly quite the fight, and given the fierce countenance of the Mandalorian present, there's no doubt about it. A few more hushed whispers follow, no doubt some measure of intrigue as to the Red Wolf. "She seems quite the fierce huntress." The fluid and swiftly spoken words are soft and uttered to his middle-aged companion, who nods in agreement, before offering her own take on the scene playing out.<br />
<br />
While the Thul's sit, Bors remains standing once he has come to stand between the chairs provided to Countess and Grand Vizier. A figure of propriety to his leading titles. His posture ready, formal but loose should the need to draw steel come. No expression to be read, no body language to speak of in the man who holds as a storm cloud among his House. A man who has been known on one occasion to storm a castle on another planet entirely. Slashing through house guard to retrieve something most precious to him.<br />
<br />
The appearance of Lady Panteer drawing outraged murmurs from the Thuls, a rippling growl that drifts back to coiled silence. The Countess herself sitting a little taller and the slow growing twist of her lips anything but pleasant. A mirror of Vaanko who appears serene and even upbeat, though the expression of his eyes is flint being scraped by steel.<br />
<br />
The Black Knight's gaze, concealed as it is, blazes on Lana. If there was a place for naked hate in the heart of the man - this may be the one person who could kindle the ice cold spark of it there. Tense, despite himself. Enough so that his sister's hand comes out, in a glancing touch, to brush against his hand even as the Countess keeps her face and eyes forward.<br />
<br />
The appearance of Lana does draw Ulani's own ire, her eyes narrowing just a bit and showing some of the creases she has earned at the corners of her eyes. The mascara empahsizes this steely glare all the more. Back still stiff, head locked in position, her blue eyes are following the movement of the accused, the guilty. Still, her hand does reach up and those she does not take hold of her Lord husband's hand, she does rest it gently at his knee as Bors stands between her and the Countess. "Of all the death she has caused. The bloodshed and destruction," her accented voice says among the murmurs. "Tell me, Pretender. Where is my brother to help you now?"<br />
<br />
The first time Yari set foot upon palace grounds, she had no words to describe it. Not because her deafness had negated the need for verbal speech, but because she'd never seen anything of the sort. The icy stone of Kijimi was a very different place. But that was nigh seventeen years ago, and Yari's been here a time or three since. Today though, she's not catering squat. <br />
<br />
If the years have done anything to Yari Bartyl, it's hard to tell. Put a little more confidence in her step, perhaps. In the squaring of her shoulders as she stands there among the crowd of lookee-loos waiting to see this 'lady' receive her come-uppins. There are no house colors being represented by her garb. No armor. Just a heterochromatic stare that fixates upon the Panteer without an ounce of sympathy. Has Yari got a dog in this hunt? No. Her people have since settled far away, fleeing yet another wave of darkness before they'd recovered from the first. But there's a solidarity between her and the Alderaanians - some of them - and the years have done nothing to strip it away.<br />
<br />
Queen Aryn doesn't seem the type to gloat at the seeming victory, if anything, there is a stark aura about the ceremony carried out here, one that seemed indicative of one outcome. They all felt it, and even Lana, who had stood defiant to the end, looked beaten, tired, and worn down. Despite her filth and sorry state, she glared up at the Red Wolf and moved abruptly to rid herself of the Mandalorian's firm grasp upon her shoulder. Not wanting to make a scene, the Red Wolf allowed this mercy, but she rested her hand upon the baton prepared to bash the woman's head in should anything transpire.<br />
<br />
Aryn speaks, "You stand accused of treason, murder, and conspiracy. You waged a civil war, using ill-gotten gains and foreigners to invade our lands, and spill the blood of our people. Have you anything to say for this?"<br />
<br />
A pregnant silence follows as Lana adjusts her head to glare at Aryn. "I apologize for nothing. What I did, I did for my House and our people. Panteers have ruled Alderaan for centuries. We would not have bent the knee to the Sith. To the Republic.. we would have been our own people!" Her voice echoes, but her influence here doesn't seem to take root.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulani's question makes Lana's cheeks burn hot with rage. "It was his cowardice that saw to our defeat. I do hope, for your sake, it is not something that runs in your blood. The Thuls are a proud family, and could do without watering it down with foreign ---"<br />
<br />
"Enough." The Queen says, but Lana speaks over her. The words are lost though when the Mandalorian slugs her hard across the face to shut her up. The impact of the hit resonates across the room, punctuating the fact Lana had no friends here. Lana spits out blood after being hit, falling to one side and crying out in a wince of stinging pain. The Red Wolf pulls her back up by the back of her neck, like she was some rowdy kitten.<br />
<br />
"You have spoken your peace, Lady Lana." Aryn says, and Lana spits out blood, coughing.<br />
<br />
"What of those from my Court? Have you anything to say to her; justice you want answered?"<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender's first word is spoken steady, firm, and calm as in answer to Lana's protests, he names her, "Liar." A sharp sniff punctuates the word. "You have never cared for the souls nor freedom of Alderaan, and only ever desired to make our people slaves bound to your own service." The harsh words are curiously void of outrage or emotion. It is as if he were reciting the plain truth of basic arithmetic. No doubt more impassioned words will follow his.<br />
<br />
Bait looks around the room at the mention of the current rulers giving allegiance to the Sith Empire, and for once he was glad he could not show emotions. He even watches Selki closely to see if he can tell where is recent benefactor's allegiances rest. Suddenly Bait was worried he might be owing a favor to a Sith sympathizer. For all the talk of Justice in the room, Bait doubted there was going to actually be any.<br />
<br />
Noemie's pale and red-painted face shoots wide with surprise when the fallen Lady is socked in the face, jumping back and grimacing when the blood can be seen from where she sits. She's very quickly composed herself, however, likely only the person sitting behind her having even noticed the startled jump - and even then only if they hadn't been watching the procession themselves. Her face is drawn down, expression neutral again, as she'd been taught by others in Queen Nalia's Advisory Council. It's this practiced behavior that keeps Noemie watching, despite her distaste for violence, and her duty to be here that keeps her collected when the fallen Lady hits the floor, her chains rattling with the echo of a disgraced rebellion.<br />
<br />
Noemie had recognized Ulani's voice but it wasn't until Lana had addressed her back that Noemie looked over to see her and identify the speaker. Normally her face would light up and she'd have the urge to smile or wave, but now in her collected demeanor she simply made note of where Ulani was, so that she could go and say hello to her later if the circumstances allowed for it.<br />
<br />
The charges as they are laid out warrant a glance from Aryn to lana herself, and the words offered up by Lana in her own defence have Rieve certainly looking curious, though the sudden and rather blunt silencing has him grimace faintly. Perhaps the same would have happened upon his home world, or perhaps not. Rieve stiffens faintly, sat there quite formally, for even as a distinctly untitled guest, there was a time when he too had title and some mild position at a court a ways from here. Feeling his companion jolt a little as Lana is silenced, more from shock and surprise than anything else, the blue-haired male leans in lightly to rest his shoulder against hers, a reassuring pressure compounded with a gentle squeeze of her hand between them both. A beat, a breath, and calm is restored for now. Shoulder to shoulder, her hand soon clasped within both of his offering gentle pressure and warmth to his companion's lightly trembling hand.<br />
<br />
"Rather than sue for peace you sprung assaults at would be gatherings for the Houses to meet, share company, enjoy the world we had anew. All so that you could rule from Delaya, a would be tyrant. The blood of innocents runs so freely from your hands it should drown us all here and now."<br />
<br />
Uypiia had stood, hands folded before her and her look for Lana something like pity than derision. Vaanko, ever at her side has his head shaking slowly, head tipped and turned to look upon her with his left eye more than his slowly milking right. The children of the Countess and Count eerie mirrors of their parents.<br />
<br />
Bors himself trembles enough that there is the rustle of his plates and the sensor wipe of the visor could be compared to a turn of expression that must be thunderous when his voice lifts as from a tomb, quiet, steel. Fury. The voice of The Great Despiser wreathing it and washing away that which ordinarily is honied by the peace of The Mother and the calm of The Father. Amplified by the armor systems, a voice that could and has carried over battlefields on ground and across the stars, his hands not fists for the smaller one gripping his left.<br />
<br />
<"Thee... forced hands of those who strode in the light of evil so that our people should need not. Thee stirred needles in their hearts. Cleft in twain were families noble and common. Hewed to the root families. Sundered peace sought ere after for decades. Thee cultivated evil in everyone's. Thou hast stained the hands of Alderaan in Alderaan's heartsblood." right hand lifting and for a change that is so sudden that even his sister dearest is taken aback, her already pale features becoming driven snow. <"Thou hath robbed us all and grandeurize thyself in a cloak of righteous indignation and condemnation for thine betters. _ALL_ thine betters"> the teeth in his snarl become audible a fury that has been burning slow and cool for nearly twenty years now.<br />
<br />
<"I speak now to heap greater darkness upon shoulders mine, so that others needn't. I take on this evil I am in hopes others not know such cold in the pit of them. Thou cur. Thou slanderous trollop of the Dark Places where Shadow seeks to encompass The Mother. Where cruelty seeks to seed the even heart of The Father... I hate thee. I hate thee as I hate all the dark and coldest hells. I hate what thou hast wrought of us and I shall ask no forgiveness that thou are found outside the scope of Her Forgiveness or His. Be cast out and forgotten, Lana Panteer... Betrayer. Base and low thou art. Thy blood is as thin as thine veneer of nobility. May thou haven in no grave, no tomb. No memory. Let the carrion birds have thee, though the taste of thee would curse a maggot... If I was given it, the honor of your throat would be mine own. Foul bitch..."> <br />
<br />
Still pointing, having taken steps forward, leaving the other Thul's gawking in outright horror of what has come over Bors whose right hand rests on the grip of his blade.<br />
<br />
Well-versed in how to keep track of a crowded, dazzling group of nobility, a movement catches Ulani's attention. Somewhere in the near-distance beyond where the Great Houses have front row seats of this trial, Ulani spots a familiar, fellow redhead among the lot. For the first time since entering, her eyes soften a little and she speaks a hushed word to the armored man next to her. "Bors, dear. If something goes wry, make sure Miss Yari is protected. I won't see her--"<br />
<br />
Dafuq she just say?!<br />
<br />
Ulani's lyrical, Kuati-laced voice ceases upon the razor edge of the sylabel she was speaking; blue eyes darting right back to Lana. Locked and loaded like the cannons on her X-wing and just as deadly under her guidance. Bors is first to speak and she lets him. She has seen his hatred of this magnitude only once before and it ended in her father's death. But even then, he had allowed himself remorse afterwards. She senses there will be no remorse here and she does nothing to stop him.<br />
<br />
Slowly she raises, chin up and haughty, unphased by the smack that brought Lana low. "It is true my birth is Kuati, but my heart is Alderaanian which is more than can be said for you. While I have fought and bled for my people a hundred times over, you have exploited and murdered them for your own selfish gains. I stand here not just as a Lady of Thul by marriage, but that of deed and honor. Earned and unquestionable. You, Pretender, stand in the rags that suit you and may the weight of those you killed drag you to the deepest, darkest pits wher the Mother will not embrace you and the Father will not regard you. May you be as cold, empty, and alone as you deserve. Your family name forever tarnished; a curse among our people. You who stole from us the future of so many families and houses. You who, with all the wealth and power in the galaxy, still failed. Wallow in misery while you've still a heart beating to feel it. Then be forever damned."<br />
<br />
The force of that impact tenderizing Lana's meat(can it still be called a face?) is plenty visible. The way her head snaps aside, the bloody spittle, the crumple of defeat. It's almost enough to make Yari cringe, thinking back to a time aboard the Flotilla. Almost. Just a quarter eye twitch, if that. <br />
<br />
The impassioned speech from the Thuls is felt more deeply, of course. Hatered - it's an emotion she knows well. A slow, surreptitious turn of her head angles a look toward the ranting nobility, peeling her attention away from Panteer.<br />
<br />
"Irony is all I hear from you, Prince Iskender, slave of an Empire," Lana belts back with a bloody mouth. The Red Wolf moves again, but this time Lana cowers and sinks away from her, covering her face; the Mandalorian is left to menace there, the wolf hood glaring down upon its acquisition.<br />
<br />
The Thuls spoke out against Lana, and she was left to cower and endure the insult. Each word broiled, burning the air around her skin until her face was red with anger. There comes a point where venom can no longer be spoken, the ability to think lost in the raging fires of tempered anger. She seethes, hissing either from the pain of a swollen lip, or from the words that wounded her more.<br />
<br />
A silence follows the Thuls, as if the seeds of their painful words were left to grow into something more. "Your Grace," calls out Duchess Avlin, who stands from her place and walks to the center. "I understand the pain of all who speak out against the Lady Lana. It comes from places within us that hurt. I, myself, experienced such at the hands of Lana's allies. It was my family's throne she sullied whilst issuing orders that put brother against brother, and great House against great House. Even in her death, those who perished long ago remain in the ground, no promise of retribution or justice that might make them rise again and resume the lives taken from them."<br />
<br />
"My late Lord Father once said that ruling bears an appreciation of the bigger picture. Sometimes, what we want most cannot be the right answer. I have no doubt that by your word, your Grace, the Lady Lana's life will end and justice be served, but to echo my father once more.. we are not butchers or brutes. We should handle our people, criminal or no, with honor." This barb is sent toward the Mandalorian with a single gaze, admonishing her treatment of the unarmed prisoner. "Our people were not a violent until war was thrust upon us. We must strive to be better. By the grace of the Mother, and the gaze of the righteous Father, we are all of us charged with one simple task before stepping into the next life."<br />
<br />
Avlin steps in a small circle, addressing everyone and the Queen at once. "To leave this life better than we found it. -- The Lady Lana's death should bring meaning if it is indeed her blood you intend to spill, your Grace."<br />
<br />
"A Mother's mercy," Aryn says, rising from her throne to stand above the entire court. "Your Lord Father would be proud of the Lady you have become, Duchess Teraan." Aryn's gaze shifts to Lana, and she gestures. "Rise, my Lady. You profess that your actions be to the benefit of your once Great House. That you sought to elevate them, even despite lowering them to the place they are now."<br />
<br />
Aryn's gesture indicates the row of Panteers dressed in rags and chained off to one side, imprisoned for the crimes of their liege lady, Lana. "Let us put truth to your word, Lady Lana." Aryn unclips the curved hilt from her belt and steps down the dais to stand to one side of Lana. Lana, who has risen to her feet, turns to face Aryn. They stand some ten feet apart from each other. Aryn activates the lightsaber in her hand, its hungry red blade emerging with a sudden growl and low rumble, rises up and points toward Lana.<br />
<br />
"I give you this one mercy, Lady Lana. By the Gods, and all who bear witness, I will restore your great House, and grant them a way forward again, into the good graces of our realm, to serve and one day return to their former glory."<br />
<br />
"In order for me to do this.. you must die for your House. Prove to them, to us, that this madness has come to its end and that you go to the after life fulfilling our Gods one promise. Leave this life in a better place than you found it."<br />
<br />
Aryn shares a look with Avlin, who in turn nods, then joins Aryn at her side, hands tucked against her front in a lady-like pose.<br />
<br />
All eyes are on Lana, who has locked gaze with the red growling blade held by the Queen of Alderaan.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender finds some faint amusement in Lana's retort to him, though he is content to remain silent as first the young Duchess Avlin speaks, followed by Aryn. The former's words earn a dip of the Prince-Consort's head for their truth, while the latter's offer pushes one of the gentleman's brows into an arch.<br />
<br />
With the activation of the lightsaber, Bait takes an involuntary step back. A droid he may be, but not even the best armor is proof against a lightsaber. He watches, silently, waiting to see what Lana chooses for her Fate. Will she submit or fight with her last breath for what she believes in? Organics were so unpredicable when it comes down to it.<br />
<br />
Noemie had kept calm and collected during the shouting, keeping mental focus on who is saying what and trying to imagine where they're coming from as they do it. It was always easy for Noemie to put herself in someone else's shoes, mentally, which was the primary source of her sense of compasion and empathy. She could easily see both sides of an argument, which made her an excellent choice for Naboo's foreign ambassador. However, she didn't like to see the hurt that some of the people she knew were displaying today, but she still held confident that what Aryn would choose today would be fair and just.<br />
<br />
The Naboo quirks a black, sculpted brow when the lightsaber comes out. She wasn't the most educated on force users, but even she knew that red had some kind of a meaning in opposition to a Jedi. Still, she held firm, consciously resetting her neutral expression, and leaned slightly to her right to get a better view of what was occuring at the throne.<br />
<br />
Rieve's companion has turned to speak with her neighbour, apparently some matter regarding the events that only Alderaanian's could understand. Rieve takes that moment to gently squeeze her hand, now that the owner of said hand is calmer and clearly engrossed in matters of discussion. The Hapan companion moves with a certain ease, a quiet grace as he slips free of the seating to weave his most blue and stylish way to finally settle beside BX-B8. Slipping his hands within his billowing sleeves, Rieve looks to the droid and then back to the red glowing lightsabre which inspires a chill down his spine, there follows a softly spoken whisper, pleasantly accented as it is. slipping free of Rieve's lips. "There's no justice like courtly justice." As to which side Rieve falls upon, there's no tell. Though a glance is given, a brow lightly quirked, his face neutral.<br />
<br />
Not drawing back, hand ready to draw while even the Queen herself has ignited her own, Bors's fury is palpable. Young Avlin's softer words in all the vitriol doing nothing to dull the edges of him. It's only when it's clear he might simply stride forward like an avenging thunderbolt that he is shocked from his focus.<br />
<br />
Countess Uypiia, hand on his shoulder, turning his head and pulling with enough firmness to invoke both her elder age and higher status upon the man who comes back two steps. Brother and sister remain standing, one leaned to speak softly to the other in a practiced level of whisper that even this hall designed to capture such is failing to.<br />
<br />
Around them the rest of the House look on, watching Aryn and Lana intent as gundarks about to fall on unwary prey.<br />
<br />
Having said her piece, Ulani slowly sits herself back down, crossing one leg over the other, and smoothing out her dress. One hand rests to her knee then the other over top it, deigning to look over to the remaining Panteers with scorn; riled as she is to have her honor questioned on the cusp of another's mortal demise. "Redemption is a gift," she says to those of Panteer who can hear her. Not to Lana. Oh, no. She is already dead to Lady Thul. "A chance given only once. The Great House of Thul has walked the path you are close to treading. They have found honor again. Should you be given this chance, I strongly suggest you take it to heart and strive to return to your people whole." The unspoken threat of what the alternative is lingers silently otherwise.<br />
<br />
That deadly saber glow gets Yari's attention, in full. Did her eyes get just a smidge wider all of a sudden? Maybeeee... <br />
<br />
Under the cuffs of tunic, short fingernails press firmly into palms, hands folded together at the low of her back. Watching. A little glance from saber to Aryn, back to saber.<br />
<br />
The Red Wolf stepped away, and in her place, the First Sword arrived to stand behind Lana. Lady Lana looks back, and up at Lars quietly, expecting to see a menacing look but instead finding one with a bit of compassion written across it. Ser Lars gives her a quiet nod. It seemed they both understood what she had to do. Lana returns the nod from the Knight, draws a deep breath, and looks back to Aryn and the red blade humming before her.<br />
<br />
One barefooted step paces out, then another. Defiant until the end, Lana washes herself of pride, ego, and faces death with a stern look, her eyes upon the humbled masses who are her kin. This was for them after all.<br />
<br />
She flinches at first as the blade is within millimeters of her chest. Tears welling in her eyes as she tries to quell the fear of death and steel herself with resolve. "For Panteer," She says in a shaking, emotional voice. "For Alderaan."<br />
<br />
She steps forward and the red blade pierces her heart instantly, emerging from her back. She tries to breathe, but her lungs fail, and confusion is written on her face at the unfamiliar sensation of dying. Her knees buckle, and before she collapses, Aryn deactivates the lightsaber as to not mutilate her.<br />
<br />
Lady Lana of the Great House Panteer dies, falling backward and into the waiting arms of Ser Lars Syrush, who sweeps her up gingerly, hooking his arm under her knees to allow her legs to hang freely. Hoisting her small form up with ease, he adjusts to allow the late Lady's head to rest upon his golden pauldron.<br />
<br />
Duchess Avlin makes a nod toward the crowd, and the sea Lord, Ty Killesa, arrives a moment later bearing the banner of Panteer. It is a small thing, but it is draped over the body of Lana, hiding her corpse and fresh death from view. Both he and Ser Lars exit the room in silence.<br />
<br />
Aryn clips her weapon back to her belt and rises back to the top of the dais, claiming the ruby throne once more and settling. A gesture is made to the remaining Panteers. "Remove their chains."<br />
<br />
Instantly, guards address the restraints and offer gloved hands to help the Panteers to their feet. They are ushered to stand before the Queen, and all of them lower to their knees.<br />
<br />
"Lord Gerald Panteer.." Aryn calls out.<br />
<br />
"Yes, your Grace?"<br />
<br />
"Swear fealty to the crown and Alderaan once more. Let all bear witness to your House's oath."<br />
<br />
"Your Grace, I, Lord of the Great House Panteer, swear fealty to the crown of Alderaan, to serve in times of peace or strife. We offer our loyalty, and humbly place ourselves before your mercy."<br />
<br />
"I accept. I hereby appoint you Baron of Icy Watch. Our military outpost on Avishan. The keep is in a sorry state, but with your wealth returned, I would have you rebuild its defenses to serve as an outpost in our deep space reaches. Oversee the security of our ice mining facility, and seek out new prospects to increase trade. Now, collect your kin, arms and armor, and see it done."<br />
<br />
The Panteers rose with a gesture from Aryn, and all at once, were dismissed.<br />
<br />
Aryn concludes the day's court. "Please join us in the great hall. Refreshments, company, and friends. The day is one of Justice and new beginnings. Let us honor the our dead, and celebrate the way forward."<br />
<br />
Glancing toward Ban briefly, then ahead, Aryn says, "Alderaan Endures."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is among the voices who echo, "Alderaan endures."<br />
<br />
Bait glances at Rieve briefly as the Hapan addresses him, "Indeed," is all the droid offers in response to the question. His photoreceptors scan the room for a moment, it is clear that most organic here has strong feelings about the events, and Bait felt best to keep his 'feelings' to himself. Least those here find exception with his being here.<br />
<br />
Turning back to the Queen and Lana, Bait watches as the latter impales herself of the crimson lightsaber. "Interesting," is all bait offers at the scene. He had calculated a 68.795328 percent chance Lana would fight to the last. He would have to adjust his calculations for the future.<br />
<br />
"It is that." The Hapan's words ring out lightly, a brow is lightly arched all the same as he watches the exceptionally swift execution. "It was at least mercifully swift..." Though Rieve's features remain decidedly blank as he scans the crowd, it is as he expected. Alderaan was certainly strengthening itself with the drawing in of the Panteer's from the cold, the wisest move most likely. With the call to honour the dead and celebrate the future, Rieve's hands slip a little deeper into his sleeves, keeping back the chill of witnessing that lightsabre in action.<br />
<br />
Lana falls. Pierced and quickly. <br />
<br />
Bors is riveted in place, fists at his side. Wrapped in his plates with his sister's hand on his shoulder and her words for him alone. Lord Thul's stare is seering through to the body beneath the shroud. Shaking in his armor. <br />
<br />
It's always anti-climatic. When it ends. The stories are never correct.<br />
<br />
<"Alderaan Remembers."> venom in his voice, unable to be masked by the distortion of the vocalizers.<br />
<br />
With a sigh, Ulani rises as well but only after Lana has expired. For all her ire and hardeness over the years, she still cannot bear to watch another die. Even if they're one of the few that truly, truly deserve it. "Alderaan endres," she offers in echoed unison with the crowd around her, but she doesn't go towards the Grand Hall for the aftershock. Instead, she excuses herself very quietly, touches Bors' shoulder, and moves towards the nearest balcony for some air.<br />
<br />
That electric hum, bright with a life force of its own, is mere threads away from snuffing out another. Yari stares...she waits...and at the last possible moment, she balks. <br />
<br />
A slow blink turns her eyes away from the death, and the rest of her body follows shortly thereafter. It's not difficult to discern what the Kijimi thinks of the announcement inviting folks to stay for celebratory drinks. Seeing as how her feet are leading her in the opposite direction of that very great hall. No 'pardon me's or courteous dips of chin to those who don't get out of her way fast enough. They're shouldered through, all the same, blue and brown gaze fixed forward in an unwavering stare on the nearest exit.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=19086Aryn Cortess2023-01-15T06:57:39Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Ar1.png]]<br />
| Title=Doctor, Lady, Princess<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Aldera 3 (T-85 X-Wing)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
The current Princess of Alderaan and heir to the monarchy of her people, Her Royal Highness Aryn Cortess started with humble beginnings. Born the second child to the ancient House Cortess, it was her elder brother that was destined to become the leader of their house. Aryn chose a quieter career in the field of medicine and after graduating, she decided to see the galaxy before her life would inevitably become regimented once her betrothal to a noble Lord was realized. She disappeared on this trip and was stranded on a planet for years. Rescued by a member of the Resistance, Aryn returned to civilization to learn of the First Order's widespread tyranny. It was during this time she met Leia Organa and began to mentor under the General. Confident that their people had a future with Aryn, Leia left it in her will for the young woman to inherit the title of Princess when she passed. Since inheriting this mantle, she has shed her meek persona and become a determined woman known for her intelligence and cunning. Though a great deal of her time is spent trying to unite her people on New Alderaan, Aryn also dedicates her talents to helping treat war refugees on the planet of Chandrila and serving the New Republic.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Noble<br />
|Aryn is asking for help from all Great Houses in an effort to reunite the divided Alderaan people. Do you wish to be a part of this daunting task? Seek her out!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Sera_West&diff=18861Sera West2022-11-12T23:14:36Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><br />
{{retCharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Sera West<br />
| Portrait=[[File: Sera2.gif]]<br />
| Title=Chief<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Engineer<br />
| Occupation=Starship Mechanic, Chief Engineer<br />
| Homeworld=Jelucan<br />
| Organization=Piracy<br />
| Ship=Sunrunner (CEC YT-2400), Big Ring (CEC VCX-350)<br />
}}<br />
=Brief Synopsis=<br />
Sera West is an engineer that once served with the New Republic Navy.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Avishan_Campaign_II&diff=18553Log:Avishan Campaign II2022-08-26T02:47:17Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your log<br />
--><br />
{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=An assault on a hidden outpost.<br />
| Location=[[Avishan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Aldera Squad]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Ejnar Celchu]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=August 25, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Avishan is an icy world not unlike Hoth, with a whispering wind that feels constant and capable of cutting through the thickest clothing and finding some way to bring a chill. The base Aldera Squad has found is hidden by the storm, and it's during the storm they land, disappearing between two jutting ridges and icy walls to look at a structure built into the ice itself. The landscape provides a natural shield against the worst parts of the storm, making it easy to land upon the ice shelf, but they can see the vortex/blizzard above, threatening to lower itself into the crevice where they hide now.<br />
<br />
This ice shelf is an air field of sorts, and at one time hosted a squadron of fighters. Now, it is empty, not because of age; Aldera Squadron had ended the garrisoned squad, thus making the landing area vacant of crafts. However, Panteer snowtroopers are already setting up a hasty defense outside the main hangar, using barricade for cover while firing at the landing crafts.<br />
<br />
Aldera 3 comes in for a rough landing, hitting the ice shelf and sliding upon its skids, but the pilot abandons the confines of the control cabin to leap into the air in a sudden display of acrobatics. Whilst Aryn's craft slides on, her droid taking over the remainder of the landing sequence, Aryn lands upon the ground, having activated her lightsaber mid-jump, she has it available to draw the fire for the rest of the squad.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, comms are not functioning. Ensign Saronno has remained in the storm to jam the area and prevent any Panteer transmission from escaping the base.<br />
<br />
Laser fire pours toward the lone Jedi at the moment, providing much needed 'cover' for the others to land and join in the assault.<br />
<br />
Tapping controls to program in a landing with one hand and handling the stick with the other, Aldera Leader screeches in with all the aplomb one who has been in regular proximity to the Lord Thul might expect. Flying in his cramped armor in preparation for this op, the nobleman's last actions before his canopy seals begin breaking is to send his programmed data to It to complete,<br />
<br />
<"Keep her hot, eh?"> the cockpit hatch slides back beneath the top mounted cannon while the e-wing is still coasting when Bors hits the ground in a crouch to let the wing pass over and then pops up to head towards Aryn's flank, heavy carbine pulled off his back,<br />
<br />
<<"Well, Your Grace, they certainly know how to pick their spots - do they not?"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender brings Aldera 4 into a landing rather more cautiously, resulting in less skidding and a very precise landing given the difficult conditions, but in counterpoint, he is not so swift as Aryn to clear the cockpit, draw his glowing sword, and hasten to join Aryn in shielding the squad from enemy fire on her flank opposite Bors.<br />
<br />
Lord Ejnar Celchu is a damn good pilot but the cross wind coming into the icy landing cliff proved for a bit of extra concentration. The E-Wing Aldera 06 slams down, the hydraulics and supports of the landing feet creaking and scraping as it slides to a stop much like Aryn's. However there is no jump from the canopy as it opens, instead the Human climbs out and hops onto the swooped wing. He slides down and onto his feet, drawing his Songsteel blade.<br />
<br />
Ejnar wears his void armor much like the did on the Cloudship along with a utility belt for a few extra items. He looks towards Bors as he arrives and moves t the other side of Aryn as the advance on the base.<br />
<br />
Aldera Two alights on the planet's surface, jostling and bumping as it goes. Better suited for zero atmosphere or calmer weather, the blustery storms of this world prove difficult under her wings. Yet land she does and a bulkier-than-usual pilot climbs awkwardly out of the cockpit.<br />
<br />
Ulani isn't used to the extra mass of the Void suit, but she was less keen to freeze to death so she will endure the trials. "Pick them, indeed. What a terrible place. Well suited for those who would align themselves with a murderer and usurper."<br />
<br />
The hasty disembark is largely overshadowed by the constant blaster fire coming from the squad holding the line to the hangar. Bolts rain in from this fatal funnel as the storm continues to RAGE high above, showering everyone with glistening crystals of ice that aren't quite large enough to cause damage (because thankfully they were not falling at terminal velocity), but it was enough to make them realize it was dangerous and distracting outside.<br />
<br />
Aryn, who is in the throes of combat, casually bats down a trio of blaster bolts in a graceful flurry of motion, concluding a spin with a final slash that directed another bolt to the ice, pocking the terrain near her feet. "My count is seven!" Aryn cries out over the chaos, and she begins closing the distance of 20m toward the 7 targets hunkered behind cover. With poor visibility, the Panteer forces engage what they can see, two glowing swords moving through the white fog.<br />
<br />
Skittering and slipping on ice, the black and silver katarn armor is pelted by snow and Bors's boots cut jagged divots where the treads try to grip and keep hibm upright. Hustling forward until he is forced by gravity (and probably age) to one knee, skidding to a halt by a hump of humped up ice.<br />
<br />
<"Bugger."> <br />
<br />
Rifle shouldered and sighting along it, Bors takes pot shots at the snowtroopers attempting to hold them back, ducking back slightly when blaster bolts come racing past, <"Hey!"> externals engaging, <"We could still discuss this!"> a small, short lived, geyser erupts from a plasma impact just shy of his shoulder.<br />
<br />
<"Or not! That's fine!"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender voices in answer to Aryn's estimation, "Understood," just before moving smoothly into a run, balanced and swift, but not an outright sprint over the ice. The sword held before him is raised in a brief salute, before the gentleman plants a gloved hand on the barricade and vaults over it. Landing immediately in close quarters, the dragoon cuts down a pair of the defending rifleman, drastically reducing the volume of fire directed outward. He speaks no more words, conserving his breath in the deathly frigid air.<br />
<br />
Ejnar is attempting to run to the next barricade, what ever type of cover that might be, with sword in hand. However, between the wind and the slippery surface he ends up rear first and sliding towards the same lump of ice Bors occupied. He stops himself with his feet and scoots himself upright into a seated position. <<"This is the suck, aye?">><br />
<br />
He moves to his knees to chance a glance towards the enemy front once more and plan his next frog leap ahead.<br />
<br />
The barrage is immediate and if it weren't for the lightsaber-wielding royalty up ahead, they'd all be pinned down rather quickly. By the grace of their wiles and abilities, the group can advance. Well, some of them can. Others are getting caught up in snow and ice. Understandable. "I'll cover you!" Ulani manages to get some traction and advances until she is in respectable range to fire a shot. But the snow and wind does it's damnest to protect the foes beyond it's blizzary curtain. And she's trying to squint throught her augmented reality helmet to keep track of Ban and Aryn who are further ahead.<br />
<br />
Ban is the first to break through the fog and close the distance to the group, and they are frightened by the efficiency of the soldier bearing in on them. His presence effectively appends their fixed position and they begin to fire while moving away. Two fall in the attack, and when Aryn suddenly emerges slipping-and-sliding along the ice, it doesn't seem possible that she can manage an attack, too. Yet, she arrives and slashes one soldier down before turning on another and raising her gloved hand to intercept the blast of a rifle. The bolt disappears into her hand, the force absorbing the energy and cycling it through Aryn's body until the ice cracks beneath her boots from the redirection of that kinetic energy. She looked unharmed, and if it weren't for the helmet, the snowtrooper would have appeared confused by the display.<br />
<br />
Four troopers remain in total, running from the two jedi and into the fog where Lt Celchu, Captain Thul, and Lt Kalgaav are waiting for them. They have no idea the soldiers are there until they're right up on them.<br />
<br />
Beyond the defense of the hangar, the hangar bay is an open, vast space. Much like Hoth's Echo base, the ice has been carved out by laser and metal plating constitutes the flooring. More soldier are moving inside the bay, attempting to set up a laser (machine-gun) nest, while a squad of five pick places behind unused snowspeeders for cover. Seven (7) in total are inside the hangar, and four (4) remain outside, in the vicinity of Ejnar, Bors, and Ulani.<br />
<br />
<"Apt, if course."> Helmeted head bobbing to Ejnar as the t-shaped visor of the old Republic armor flaress, ion wiping away snow and moisture that strike it. Watching Ulani succeed in rushing to position, blaster raising whilst he leans out from behind cover to level it and sight down range, using his suit systems for magnification. <br />
<br />
The first triple burst from the old carbine creates a neat line from belly to neck on one of the troopers, kicking them over as if struck by an I-Beam swaying on hooks, forcing their compatriot to dip to one side before spinning for balance when the next burst takes their shoulder and melts armor over the clavicle. <"I find myself at loss for how to interpret that... The Suck..."> externals clicking up loud again, <"Hey! Hey there! Wouldst thee agree we find ourselves, on both sides, in The Suck, as my compatriot has called it?"><br />
<br />
May as well pool them for answers.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender espies the repeating blaster position being deployed, the nobleman seeks to on e more dash to close quarters. Alas, the metallic flooring is a treacherous surface with snow and ice choking the treads of his boots, and after a distinctly less-than-dignified moment of threatened balance thwarts his advance, Ban recovers himself, draws in a deep breath and extends his hand toward the foe. Green eyes go closed as the breath is let out in a projection of will and power.<br />
<br />
Ejnar glances to Ulani and nods. In a brief moment of respite, the Alderaanian Lord readies himself to sprint, digging his boots into the ice. Then as soon as Bors starts to blast the troopers with his carbine, he takes off. <<"You're thinking too hard on it, Captain!">> He shouts back towards the Squadron commander before merging with the Sentry line. His first act is to cut down the poor soul who just took one of Bors' blaster bolts, ending him in a spectacular violent fashion. He slides to a stop, one leg stretched out before almost 'skating' towards one of the other Sentries. He cuts deep, but sliding forward and swinging requires a good amount of balance... and Ejnar loses his ending up on his rear yet again on the follow up attack. <<"OUCH!">><br />
<br />
Though he starts laughing as he watches the enemy fall in the same fashion he did trying to swipe at him with their rifle stock.<br />
<br />
"The Suck." Ulani ponders over the term but makes no further commentary of it. She gets the context, but the delivery has that quaint Alderaan Nobility charm to it. The kind that knows of a phrase but isn't /quite/ sure how it goes. The light of her rifle brightens up her helmet's screen momentarily; a shot that brings another foeman to their knees yet she is not interested in downing him completely. So long as the threat is neutralized.<br />
<br />
Advancing towards the base, Ulani looks behind her to check in on Bors and Ejnar. They both seem to be doing relatively okay. She does stiffle a ill-timed laugh as the enemy attempts a swing at Celchu and ends up on their rear instead. This planet takes no prisoners.<br />
<br />
Aryn joins Ban, sliding over the metal flooring but somehow managing to preserve her balance. She seems poised to attack but has not arrived in time to cut down the repeating blaster, so it begins to fire at the two of them (though her mainly.) She runs and slides behind cover, the bolts in close pursuit, raining sparks with each connection. The other soldiers, still entrenched behind airspeeder cover, begin to shoot at Ban and Aryn collectively, but they're not having much luck either.<br />
<br />
Outside, the remaining defender attempts to strike Ejnar with the stock of their rifle, but they put too much flair and twist of the hip, resulting in a spectacular wipe out on the ice. Their fall was distinctive, because their armor made that cracking noise like /something/ was broken. They cry out in pain, rotating slowly and wheezing for breath; it seemed that no one had taught this soldier how to fall, thus his wipe out stole the air from his lungs.<br />
<br />
Captain Thul, and the Lieutenants Kalgaav and Celchu can see inside the hangar. More importantly, they can see the functioning laser repeater nest, and the hunkered down soldiers fighting their Jedi companions. Ban is in clear view, but Aryn is laying down on the ground behind a crate while the repeater is laying waste to her cover.<br />
<br />
Standing and moving forward, <"Techie, Mamma's Boy, one of you be so kind?"> blink target bracketing the remaining soldier outside whilst he moves on the bounce. The short rifle in his grip spitting fire through the doors that pelts against the reinforcements in the gunner nest,<br />
<br />
<<"Three, Bang, I am providing fire support.">> they really should get the Princess a proper field name. Three. What is that? More plasma hailstorming and setting the armor of the trooper firing on Aryn alight. Forcing them to huddle and attempt to recover from the shock of the injury before their helmet rocks to one side, dragging their body with it and ending the suppression Her Majesty and Ban alike.<br />
<br />
<<"Clear.">><br />
<br />
Moving closer to getting inside, glad for the space-walk seals keeping him from freezing solid.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is a curious sight, eschewing cover with green sword held upright and unmoving as he walks into the teeth of the entrenched blasterfire, bolts disappearing entirely as they burn out upon the invisible shield he had projected. He nods once- not that Bors can see it- in response to the commander's update, but says nothing, remaining focused upon the shield and his target: the repeater nest blazing away at Aryn's position. Once he draws near enough, the dragoon lapses back into the speed of swordplay, striking down the two gunners with a pair of cuts, and making ruin of their weapon with a third.<br />
<br />
Ejnar doesn't waste much time after laughing at the wheezing hurt Sentry before he getting back to his feet. He carefully makes his way over towards the squirming and wheezing enemy. <<"Sorry, pal. Make better choices in the next life.">><br />
<br />
Aldera 06 then thrusts his blade twice, piercing him through the chest. The wheezing turns to gurgling and the squirming slows to a stop. As Bors calls, Ejnar turns and runs into the hanger, <<"Catching up... sorry about that.">><br />
<br />
The repeater is going to be a problem, though by the time Ulani is even halfway in range, it's made not a problem anymore. Boots skid in the snow, slowing her approach so that she may brace herself to draw up her rifle once more. She visably cringes when one who pokes their helmeted head around the corner suddenly disappears against her shot. "Sorry." And she does mean it, even if they can't or ever will hear it. "Everyone still doing okay?"<br />
<br />
VVVVIIIP!<br />
<br />
A shot breezes right past her, causing the young woman to slide away from it. "I wasn't asking you!"<br />
<br />
"Thanks!" Aryn calls out to the combined support from Captains Thul and Iskender, who ruinate the repeater nest and lay waste to the weapon itself. That does not stop all the fighting, however. She rejoins the fray, finding one of the soldiers in cover and cutting their position in two. They stumble back, away from the blade that obliterated their cover, but Aryn showed now hesitation in her movement to slide the blue into their chest for a succinct killing blow. She withdraws the blade and turns to look for the remaining resistance.<br />
<br />
One soldier mantles cover, firing at Ulani and closing the distance. Another soldier holds their position and fires at Ban, missing. Then, from high up above, on one of the catwalks, a Sniper finds purchase on the Dragoon, planting a bolt and following it up with another shot that sparks off the metal flooring and showers the vicinity with sparks.<br />
<br />
"Sniper!" Aryn calls out, finding a place to plant her back behind cover before turning to see if Ban was ok.<br />
<br />
<"Well enough!"> a blaster bolt explodes against his shoulder cowling, the reinforced plastoid holding and disbursal weaves eliminating kinetic and thermal energy that would have otherwise punched him to the ground. Then his heads up display is giving a fire warning, from a new angle. The bolt launched from on high bracketed and then a trace-line draws his sight to whence it had originated.<br />
<br />
<<"I see him, targeting!">> EE-3 lifting and barking its throaty report, for the sniper their walkway benefits them with defilade from fire, combined with their own reflexes leaving only glowing metal and showering sparks in the wake of his volley, <<"Bit of a pickle striking the blighter.">> <br />
<br />
Hustling for cover. in the meanwhile, should any of the gunners get a clear shot on him while he angles for the sharpshooter.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender easily parries a bolt fired by one of the remaining troopers, before being struck from an unexpected direction: above and beyond. Although the missile's burning energy is absorbed into his body reflexively, the flightsuit now sports a black edged hole at the spot where the knight was struck: squarely above one butt cheek. <<"I am unharmed, the bolt only struck my dignity,">> he relays dryly. Turning and attempting to pull away the sniper's weapon, he finds no luck.<br />
<br />
Ejnar arrives just in time for sniper fire to rain down on the rest of the party. There wasn't anything he could do about that. Though, there was something he could do about the two remaining enemy still inside the main area. He turns his focus to them and charges one. Two strikes, one a sweep of the leg with his blade and the other a piercing stab through the heart.<br />
<br />
The Blade is ripped from the dead enemy, a gloopy trail of blood falling from his sharp and luminescent Songsteel blade. Ejnar turns and stalks towards the next target. He gives a one handed slash across his opponent's back, causing him to reach back at the pain, stagger forwards and turn around abruptly to see the culprit.<br />
<br />
Even the greenest of horns learns quickly that when someone yells 'Sniper!' that you do not bother to look around and see if you can spot them first. The /first/ order of business is to find cover then figure out what to do after that. Having already been running up towards the laser turret, Ulani is now diving behind it and trying to make herself a smaller target. Which is harder to do in medium armour than it is light armour.<br />
<br />
"Horrible place. Horrible people. Eeep!" As she is grumbling gently to herself, Ulani spots the remaining snowtrooper hobbling angrily towards her, the barrel of his gun rising up towards her. Instincts pull her trigger after the squeak and down he goes before his intended shot can go off.<br />
<br />
Turning her gaze above, Aryn sees the spot Bors has tried to shoot but to no avail. Before the sniper can strike again, Aryn seizes him with the Force, raising her hand as the influence simultaneously grips him. He drops his weapon and screams in terror, and for good reason, because the Princess pulled him over the edge of the walkway and allowed gravity to carry him the rest of the way down.<br />
<br />
The fire fight's conclusion is punctuated by a deathly splat, the sniper smashing into one of the speeders below and impaling himself upon one of the relays. He coughs up blood a final time and turns his gaze to look out at the snow one last time.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns in place, looking for other foes and finding none, so she recalls the blue blade in a mournful static hiss sound. Before she can comment on it though, a voice crackles over the intercom.<br />
<br />
<"Alderaanians."> Pause. <"I am Ser Rigel of House Taggart, a bannerman of the one whom you call Usurper. Honor demands I face you in combat. I am committed to it, though perhaps we might strike an accord before I emerge?"><br />
<br />
Another pause. <"I challenge one of your number to a duel. Should I fall, I am subject to the justice you deem necessary, and I honorably relinquish my charge of this facility, and the intelligence it holds to you. However, should I prove victorious against your champion, I kindly ask that I be permitted to leave, peacefully, honor intact. Are these agreeable?"><br />
<br />
Steps slowing at last with his rifle shouldered and his helmeted head tipping at the other's speech, Bors finds himself in a momentary conundrum. "Pity, Lars would have been champing at the bit for this opportunity..." the monocle over his right eye scrolling data not on his helmet display.<br />
<br />
<<"Lord Ban - I do believe you would be optimal as Champion for Her Grace.">> noted quickly before switching back to amplified externals, <"Agreeable. But should thee have hidden accomplice that break the right to challenge then all requests for term or quarter shall be denied out of hand."><br />
<br />
Lord Thul halts and watches, visor flaring as debris is cleaned from it.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender archers a black brow at the transmission from the facility's unseen commander. As to the proposition, he looks toward Bors to voice, with a nod. <<"I should be glad of the opportunity, sir. Weapons shall be matched, I expect,">> he surmises, deactivating his lightsaber with telltale finality.<br />
<br />
As there seems to be an end to the fighting and a single combat challenge being accepted, the rougher noblemen Ejnar moves over towards a crate that's just a little bit taller than himself. He leans up against it, crossing one foot over the other. He reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a foil pack of savory crisps.<br />
<br />
His helmet unclasps with a hiss and he sets it on top of the crate. The foil bag makes that telltale sound as he fiddles with it, opening the pack and fishing for crisps. Pulling a few out he drops them into his mouth and chews loudly.<br />
<br />
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH, GULP.<br />
<br />
Matters of duels and honourable challenges and such have only been touched upon in her noble tutoring, so Ulani decides to remain silent at that unseen yet clearly heard request. There are others present far better suited to answer such things. Instead, she keeps herself tucked up against the base of the base of the now broken laser repeater. Right next to a panel...<br />
<br />
Unable to resist, she seizes this opportunity to pry open the small metal door and take a peek inside. Circuits are sparking and, though she can't smell it through her helmet, she just knows that bite of burning wires. Still. Seems functional enough. She digs out her datapad, trying to keep it as close to her as possible so it doesn't freeze over, and plugs it directly into the port. "Hmmmm."<br />
<br />
<"I agree to your terms, Commander. Rest assured, I am all that remain of this facility's defense."> Assured of an opportunity to fight honorably among the nobles of Alderaan, the door leading to the facility's inner command chamber open, and an armored man emerges absent his helmet. He is nearing mid-forties by the look of his salt and peppered hair, and the heavy beard shows him no favor in hiding his age, either. His armor is ornate, likely handed down through the ages of his House. Wrapped and carried beneath one arm, the Knight has matching swords, and he sets them upon a table nearby, releasing them from the garb they've been wrapped in so the team may see them. "The matched weapons. I invite the Champion to choose, and I will take the remaining."<br />
<br />
The Knight begins to unhook the cape upon his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the deck near his feet. When one sword is chosen, he accepts the other and draws out the naked blade in a near silent rasp of metal to leather. He tests the weight carefully, and takes his position.<br />
<br />
"Sir," Aryn says from one side, having hooked her lightsaber to her hip. "Need you go through with this? Can you not just surrender?"<br />
<br />
The Knight regards Aryn a moment and dips his head in respect. "Alas, we are enemies, and my oath must be carried out. When Knights say words, they must be prepared for the consequences those words bring. This is how it must be." -- Aryn nods, and steps back.<br />
<br />
Ser Rigel comments, taking his stance. "Might I know the name of the champion I face ere we begin?" -- "Father guide the justice found in our swings." And he steps forward after the introduction, prepared to fight.<br />
<br />
The younger swordsman nods once, naming himself, "Captain Ban Iskender, of the Viceroyal Lir Dragoons," favoring his military rank over noble title in the moment." A short dip of the head and shoulders in acknowledgement of propriety rather than deference and he selects a blade, with a word of compliment spared for the condition of the dueling set.<br />
<br />
Standing at ready, despite it being a called duel, locking his stance with carbine held still against his shoulder, Bors watches and waits. Any expression had is masked by the helmet of the intimidating piece of aged hardware encapsulating him. Like some golem out of ancient legends now - holding guard over the proceedings.<br />
<br />
The urge to natter is still there, but years of training in various arenas is keeping his tongue in check.<br />
<br />
The crinkle of Ejnar fishing out some more crisps is the only comment he has on the current situation, his eyes looking on with interest as if he was watching a sporting event.<br />
<br />
The Knight, Ser Rigel, steps into the attack, his blade met with his opponent's each strike. It's not clear in the moment that he's been hit so precisely until there's a pause in their flurry and they're left to circle one another. He cannot put a lot of weight on his right leg as a result, but he shores up his defense in a different stance, prepared for the next attack from the young Dragoon, resolve in his expression.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender raises his borrowed sword in salute, before relaxing a half step backward into a practiced guard. The opening exchange is swift and severe: Ban offers an opening thrust which his experienced foe easily parries, but follows up with with a fierce draw cut placed just above his opponent's right thigh plate. Even with first blood drawn, neither falters again in their defense.<br />
<br />
Those appreciative of the nuances of dueling footwork and swordplay might find great interest in the durasteel exchange, but to the casual eye, it is a lot of small movements too fast and clashing to register. Nothing at all like the holovids. Ban ultimately counters a deep lunge from Rigel with a short, hard parry turned into a ferocious chop that cuts into the elder knight's armored sword arm. The blade falls, Ban's borrowed sword points to the throat, and he bids, "I commend your courage, ser, and request your surrender."<br />
<br />
Led into a lunge, the elder Knight is not prepared for Ban's sharpened swordplay and finds his own grip disabled and the blade he once held clattering on the floor between them. Before he could dip to collect it, the chilly steel of Ban's weapon at his throat stops him in place. He swallows instinctively, at the mercy of the Green Knight in this moment. As a show of mutual respect, Ser Rigel raises his hands. "I yield, sir. You have my thanks."<br />
<br />
Stepping back, Ser Rigel finds Aryn at his side. "If you will, sir, I intend to see to your wound before it becomes something more fatal."<br />
<br />
"I consent, your Grace." Removing the sword at his side, which is kept in its scabbard, he offers it to the team; it is a symbol of his command. "As promised, I relinquish my command of this facility. You will find what you need in there.." Rigel nods toward the command room.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender does not reach to accept the offered sword of the garrison's commander. Rather he steps to one side a d looks to Bors, expecting the squadron leader to formally accept the surrender.<br />
<br />
<"Six, secure Ser Rigel once three has attended."> Bors states as he approaches, removing his helmet to give the other the respect of seeing his face, <br />
<br />
"By the Accords of Nobility maintained by these The Great Houses of Alderaan, in the name of Aryn, Princess Cortess, Successor to Leia, Successor to Bail of House Organa - I Lord Bors of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Thul, Champion of Uypiia place you prisoner and so the Countesses ward." tone and expression most serious as he continues, "Ser Rigel, thee has an opportunity now; for if you become a hand in the march to bring peace to Alderaan and unification." brow raising, <br />
<br />
The fallen blade of the foeman is nodded towards, "The honor of the victory and capture goes to House Iskender, the weapons of the contest his. As much as I know this will prick your heart, good ser. Ere yet there may be chance to redeem and regain them. But for now, until you are comfortable in Gravenheim, you are thus my charge." <br />
<br />
That done his helmet is pulled back on and he speaks to the team, <"I'll send word out, make sure we're secure. This should make an excellent F.O.B. if not a more permanent holding for our needs."><br />
<br />
Serendipity would have it that Ejnar finishes his small bag of crisps just as the final blow is dealt and Ser Rigel yields. He crinkles the foil into a ball and tosses it over towards one of the dead bodies. Then, grabbing his helmet, he pushes off the crate and puts it back on the seal hissing in a high pitched wine as the suit re-pressurizes.<br />
<br />
He sheaths his lightly glowing Songsteel blade and moves towards Ser Rigel. <<"Affirmative.">> In response to Bor's order. He puts a hand on Rigel's shoulder and waits for Aryn to do her thing. <<"Lord Lieutenant Ejnar Celchu... of House Celchu.">> He pauses noticing the redundancy and quietly curses himself. <<"A pleasure to meet you, Ser Rigel.">><br />
<br />
Getting little from the laser turret itself, Ulani has finally gotten up from her huddled position and made her way past where Ser Rigel had emerged. If she concerned at all about the duel? Oh, absolutely not. She has seen Ban at work. It's only a matter of how quickly he will fell his foe and this can be laid to rest.<br />
<br />
So into the now vacated room she mosies. Pausing to look around, she finds herself in some kind of Command center for this outpost. "Ah. Makes sense." Moving further in, she communicates to the rest: <"Might have found something. At least I hope so."> Ever the curious sort when it comes to anything technological, Ulani approaches what seems to be the main console and once again plugs her datapad which is now starting to show frost at the corners of her flickering screen. "Hold it together," she pleads with the device.<br />
<br />
Minutes pass and the armoured tech returns to the main room soon after the Ser's defeat: making her approach just as Rigel points in that same direction. "Indeed I have." The datapad is now away once more and in her thick-gloved hand, Ulani is holding a holocube. To the first cleared, flat surface she finds, it is set down and she waits for the others to join. "I believe I was able to retrieve a final transmission." And to that, she presses the button and allows it to play.<br />
<br />
Aryn begins to attend to Rigel's wounds quietly, using an open satchel to draw out the tools needed. When the sword is accepted, Rigel relaxes into a seat and looks up when Lord Celchu addresses him. "Celchu, you say? I served with your father. He's a good man.."<br />
<br />
In the command room, the stone-faced holo image of Lord-Marshal Ulgo appears. His graveled core-accent voice cuts through the silence as he addresses the other holo-council members attending the recorded command meeting.<br />
<br />
"My daughter has been captured, and this ruse of a rebellion has been eliminated. I am to understand Ser Rigel has a detention facility on Avishan?"<br />
<br />
"That is correct, your Lordship." Rigel answers in the recording.<br />
<br />
"Then I am sending her to you for safe keeping until this.. conflict is done. -- The rest of you, move your garrisons into place, and activate the defense grid. The Grand Duchess wants Leilani locked down and protected from air incursion. Those behind the Cortess banner have come too far. They move no further; is that understood?"<br />
<br />
A small chorus of agreeing lords saying, 'Yes, My Lord' follow before Ulgo concludes the transmission. "Very well. Then we have nothing more to discuss. Orders will be disseminated shortly." The image fades.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Avishan_Campaign_II&diff=18552Log:Avishan Campaign II2022-08-26T02:47:03Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=An assault on a hidden outpost.<br />
| Location=[[Avishan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Aldera Squad]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Ejnar Celchu]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=August 25, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Avishan is an icy world not unlike Hoth, with a whispering wind that feels constant and capable of cutting through the thickest clothing and finding some way to bring a chill. The base Aldera Squad has found is hidden by the storm, and it's during the storm they land, disappearing between two jutting ridges and icy walls to look at a structure built into the ice itself. The landscape provides a natural shield against the worst parts of the storm, making it easy to land upon the ice shelf, but they can see the vortex/blizzard above, threatening to lower itself into the crevice where they hide now.<br />
<br />
This ice shelf is an air field of sorts, and at one time hosted a squadron of fighters. Now, it is empty, not because of age; Aldera Squadron had ended the garrisoned squad, thus making the landing area vacant of crafts. However, Panteer snowtroopers are already setting up a hasty defense outside the main hangar, using barricade for cover while firing at the landing crafts.<br />
<br />
Aldera 3 comes in for a rough landing, hitting the ice shelf and sliding upon its skids, but the pilot abandons the confines of the control cabin to leap into the air in a sudden display of acrobatics. Whilst Aryn's craft slides on, her droid taking over the remainder of the landing sequence, Aryn lands upon the ground, having activated her lightsaber mid-jump, she has it available to draw the fire for the rest of the squad.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, comms are not functioning. Ensign Saronno has remained in the storm to jam the area and prevent any Panteer transmission from escaping the base.<br />
<br />
Laser fire pours toward the lone Jedi at the moment, providing much needed 'cover' for the others to land and join in the assault.<br />
<br />
Tapping controls to program in a landing with one hand and handling the stick with the other, Aldera Leader screeches in with all the aplomb one who has been in regular proximity to the Lord Thul might expect. Flying in his cramped armor in preparation for this op, the nobleman's last actions before his canopy seals begin breaking is to send his programmed data to It to complete,<br />
<br />
<"Keep her hot, eh?"> the cockpit hatch slides back beneath the top mounted cannon while the e-wing is still coasting when Bors hits the ground in a crouch to let the wing pass over and then pops up to head towards Aryn's flank, heavy carbine pulled off his back,<br />
<br />
<<"Well, Your Grace, they certainly know how to pick their spots - do they not?"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender brings Aldera 4 into a landing rather more cautiously, resulting in less skidding and a very precise landing given the difficult conditions, but in counterpoint, he is not so swift as Aryn to clear the cockpit, draw his glowing sword, and hasten to join Aryn in shielding the squad from enemy fire on her flank opposite Bors.<br />
<br />
Lord Ejnar Celchu is a damn good pilot but the cross wind coming into the icy landing cliff proved for a bit of extra concentration. The E-Wing Aldera 06 slams down, the hydraulics and supports of the landing feet creaking and scraping as it slides to a stop much like Aryn's. However there is no jump from the canopy as it opens, instead the Human climbs out and hops onto the swooped wing. He slides down and onto his feet, drawing his Songsteel blade.<br />
<br />
Ejnar wears his void armor much like the did on the Cloudship along with a utility belt for a few extra items. He looks towards Bors as he arrives and moves t the other side of Aryn as the advance on the base.<br />
<br />
Aldera Two alights on the planet's surface, jostling and bumping as it goes. Better suited for zero atmosphere or calmer weather, the blustery storms of this world prove difficult under her wings. Yet land she does and a bulkier-than-usual pilot climbs awkwardly out of the cockpit.<br />
<br />
Ulani isn't used to the extra mass of the Void suit, but she was less keen to freeze to death so she will endure the trials. "Pick them, indeed. What a terrible place. Well suited for those who would align themselves with a murderer and usurper."<br />
<br />
The hasty disembark is largely overshadowed by the constant blaster fire coming from the squad holding the line to the hangar. Bolts rain in from this fatal funnel as the storm continues to RAGE high above, showering everyone with glistening crystals of ice that aren't quite large enough to cause damage (because thankfully they were not falling at terminal velocity), but it was enough to make them realize it was dangerous and distracting outside.<br />
<br />
Aryn, who is in the throes of combat, casually bats down a trio of blaster bolts in a graceful flurry of motion, concluding a spin with a final slash that directed another bolt to the ice, pocking the terrain near her feet. "My count is seven!" Aryn cries out over the chaos, and she begins closing the distance of 20m toward the 7 targets hunkered behind cover. With poor visibility, the Panteer forces engage what they can see, two glowing swords moving through the white fog.<br />
<br />
Skittering and slipping on ice, the black and silver katarn armor is pelted by snow and Bors's boots cut jagged divots where the treads try to grip and keep hibm upright. Hustling forward until he is forced by gravity (and probably age) to one knee, skidding to a halt by a hump of humped up ice.<br />
<br />
<"Bugger."> <br />
<br />
Rifle shouldered and sighting along it, Bors takes pot shots at the snowtroopers attempting to hold them back, ducking back slightly when blaster bolts come racing past, <"Hey!"> externals engaging, <"We could still discuss this!"> a small, short lived, geyser erupts from a plasma impact just shy of his shoulder.<br />
<br />
<"Or not! That's fine!"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender voices in answer to Aryn's estimation, "Understood," just before moving smoothly into a run, balanced and swift, but not an outright sprint over the ice. The sword held before him is raised in a brief salute, before the gentleman plants a gloved hand on the barricade and vaults over it. Landing immediately in close quarters, the dragoon cuts down a pair of the defending rifleman, drastically reducing the volume of fire directed outward. He speaks no more words, conserving his breath in the deathly frigid air.<br />
<br />
Ejnar is attempting to run to the next barricade, what ever type of cover that might be, with sword in hand. However, between the wind and the slippery surface he ends up rear first and sliding towards the same lump of ice Bors occupied. He stops himself with his feet and scoots himself upright into a seated position. <<"This is the suck, aye?">><br />
<br />
He moves to his knees to chance a glance towards the enemy front once more and plan his next frog leap ahead.<br />
<br />
The barrage is immediate and if it weren't for the lightsaber-wielding royalty up ahead, they'd all be pinned down rather quickly. By the grace of their wiles and abilities, the group can advance. Well, some of them can. Others are getting caught up in snow and ice. Understandable. "I'll cover you!" Ulani manages to get some traction and advances until she is in respectable range to fire a shot. But the snow and wind does it's damnest to protect the foes beyond it's blizzary curtain. And she's trying to squint throught her augmented reality helmet to keep track of Ban and Aryn who are further ahead.<br />
<br />
Ban is the first to break through the fog and close the distance to the group, and they are frightened by the efficiency of the soldier bearing in on them. His presence effectively appends their fixed position and they begin to fire while moving away. Two fall in the attack, and when Aryn suddenly emerges slipping-and-sliding along the ice, it doesn't seem possible that she can manage an attack, too. Yet, she arrives and slashes one soldier down before turning on another and raising her gloved hand to intercept the blast of a rifle. The bolt disappears into her hand, the force absorbing the energy and cycling it through Aryn's body until the ice cracks beneath her boots from the redirection of that kinetic energy. She looked unharmed, and if it weren't for the helmet, the snowtrooper would have appeared confused by the display.<br />
<br />
Four troopers remain in total, running from the two jedi and into the fog where Lt Celchu, Captain Thul, and Lt Kalgaav are waiting for them. They have no idea the soldiers are there until they're right up on them.<br />
<br />
Beyond the defense of the hangar, the hangar bay is an open, vast space. Much like Hoth's Echo base, the ice has been carved out by laser and metal plating constitutes the flooring. More soldier are moving inside the bay, attempting to set up a laser (machine-gun) nest, while a squad of five pick places behind unused snowspeeders for cover. Seven (7) in total are inside the hangar, and four (4) remain outside, in the vicinity of Ejnar, Bors, and Ulani.<br />
<br />
<"Apt, if course."> Helmeted head bobbing to Ejnar as the t-shaped visor of the old Republic armor flaress, ion wiping away snow and moisture that strike it. Watching Ulani succeed in rushing to position, blaster raising whilst he leans out from behind cover to level it and sight down range, using his suit systems for magnification. <br />
<br />
=-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-=<br />
=-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-=<br />
=-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-=<br />
<br />
The first triple burst from the old carbine creates a neat line from belly to neck on one of the troopers, kicking them over as if struck by an I-Beam swaying on hooks, forcing their compatriot to dip to one side before spinning for balance when the next burst takes their shoulder and melts armor over the clavicle. <"I find myself at loss for how to interpret that... The Suck..."> externals clicking up loud again, <"Hey! Hey there! Wouldst thee agree we find ourselves, on both sides, in The Suck, as my compatriot has called it?"><br />
<br />
May as well pool them for answers.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender espies the repeating blaster position being deployed, the nobleman seeks to on e more dash to close quarters. Alas, the metallic flooring is a treacherous surface with snow and ice choking the treads of his boots, and after a distinctly less-than-dignified moment of threatened balance thwarts his advance, Ban recovers himself, draws in a deep breath and extends his hand toward the foe. Green eyes go closed as the breath is let out in a projection of will and power.<br />
<br />
Ejnar glances to Ulani and nods. In a brief moment of respite, the Alderaanian Lord readies himself to sprint, digging his boots into the ice. Then as soon as Bors starts to blast the troopers with his carbine, he takes off. <<"You're thinking too hard on it, Captain!">> He shouts back towards the Squadron commander before merging with the Sentry line. His first act is to cut down the poor soul who just took one of Bors' blaster bolts, ending him in a spectacular violent fashion. He slides to a stop, one leg stretched out before almost 'skating' towards one of the other Sentries. He cuts deep, but sliding forward and swinging requires a good amount of balance... and Ejnar loses his ending up on his rear yet again on the follow up attack. <<"OUCH!">><br />
<br />
Though he starts laughing as he watches the enemy fall in the same fashion he did trying to swipe at him with their rifle stock.<br />
<br />
"The Suck." Ulani ponders over the term but makes no further commentary of it. She gets the context, but the delivery has that quaint Alderaan Nobility charm to it. The kind that knows of a phrase but isn't /quite/ sure how it goes. The light of her rifle brightens up her helmet's screen momentarily; a shot that brings another foeman to their knees yet she is not interested in downing him completely. So long as the threat is neutralized.<br />
<br />
Advancing towards the base, Ulani looks behind her to check in on Bors and Ejnar. They both seem to be doing relatively okay. She does stiffle a ill-timed laugh as the enemy attempts a swing at Celchu and ends up on their rear instead. This planet takes no prisoners.<br />
<br />
Aryn joins Ban, sliding over the metal flooring but somehow managing to preserve her balance. She seems poised to attack but has not arrived in time to cut down the repeating blaster, so it begins to fire at the two of them (though her mainly.) She runs and slides behind cover, the bolts in close pursuit, raining sparks with each connection. The other soldiers, still entrenched behind airspeeder cover, begin to shoot at Ban and Aryn collectively, but they're not having much luck either.<br />
<br />
Outside, the remaining defender attempts to strike Ejnar with the stock of their rifle, but they put too much flair and twist of the hip, resulting in a spectacular wipe out on the ice. Their fall was distinctive, because their armor made that cracking noise like /something/ was broken. They cry out in pain, rotating slowly and wheezing for breath; it seemed that no one had taught this soldier how to fall, thus his wipe out stole the air from his lungs.<br />
<br />
Captain Thul, and the Lieutenants Kalgaav and Celchu can see inside the hangar. More importantly, they can see the functioning laser repeater nest, and the hunkered down soldiers fighting their Jedi companions. Ban is in clear view, but Aryn is laying down on the ground behind a crate while the repeater is laying waste to her cover.<br />
<br />
Standing and moving forward, <"Techie, Mamma's Boy, one of you be so kind?"> blink target bracketing the remaining soldier outside whilst he moves on the bounce. The short rifle in his grip spitting fire through the doors that pelts against the reinforcements in the gunner nest,<br />
<br />
<<"Three, Bang, I am providing fire support.">> they really should get the Princess a proper field name. Three. What is that? More plasma hailstorming and setting the armor of the trooper firing on Aryn alight. Forcing them to huddle and attempt to recover from the shock of the injury before their helmet rocks to one side, dragging their body with it and ending the suppression Her Majesty and Ban alike.<br />
<br />
<<"Clear.">><br />
<br />
Moving closer to getting inside, glad for the space-walk seals keeping him from freezing solid.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is a curious sight, eschewing cover with green sword held upright and unmoving as he walks into the teeth of the entrenched blasterfire, bolts disappearing entirely as they burn out upon the invisible shield he had projected. He nods once- not that Bors can see it- in response to the commander's update, but says nothing, remaining focused upon the shield and his target: the repeater nest blazing away at Aryn's position. Once he draws near enough, the dragoon lapses back into the speed of swordplay, striking down the two gunners with a pair of cuts, and making ruin of their weapon with a third.<br />
<br />
Ejnar doesn't waste much time after laughing at the wheezing hurt Sentry before he getting back to his feet. He carefully makes his way over towards the squirming and wheezing enemy. <<"Sorry, pal. Make better choices in the next life.">><br />
<br />
Aldera 06 then thrusts his blade twice, piercing him through the chest. The wheezing turns to gurgling and the squirming slows to a stop. As Bors calls, Ejnar turns and runs into the hanger, <<"Catching up... sorry about that.">><br />
<br />
The repeater is going to be a problem, though by the time Ulani is even halfway in range, it's made not a problem anymore. Boots skid in the snow, slowing her approach so that she may brace herself to draw up her rifle once more. She visably cringes when one who pokes their helmeted head around the corner suddenly disappears against her shot. "Sorry." And she does mean it, even if they can't or ever will hear it. "Everyone still doing okay?"<br />
<br />
VVVVIIIP!<br />
<br />
A shot breezes right past her, causing the young woman to slide away from it. "I wasn't asking you!"<br />
<br />
"Thanks!" Aryn calls out to the combined support from Captains Thul and Iskender, who ruinate the repeater nest and lay waste to the weapon itself. That does not stop all the fighting, however. She rejoins the fray, finding one of the soldiers in cover and cutting their position in two. They stumble back, away from the blade that obliterated their cover, but Aryn showed now hesitation in her movement to slide the blue into their chest for a succinct killing blow. She withdraws the blade and turns to look for the remaining resistance.<br />
<br />
One soldier mantles cover, firing at Ulani and closing the distance. Another soldier holds their position and fires at Ban, missing. Then, from high up above, on one of the catwalks, a Sniper finds purchase on the Dragoon, planting a bolt and following it up with another shot that sparks off the metal flooring and showers the vicinity with sparks.<br />
<br />
"Sniper!" Aryn calls out, finding a place to plant her back behind cover before turning to see if Ban was ok.<br />
<br />
<"Well enough!"> a blaster bolt explodes against his shoulder cowling, the reinforced plastoid holding and disbursal weaves eliminating kinetic and thermal energy that would have otherwise punched him to the ground. Then his heads up display is giving a fire warning, from a new angle. The bolt launched from on high bracketed and then a trace-line draws his sight to whence it had originated.<br />
<br />
<<"I see him, targeting!">> EE-3 lifting and barking its throaty report, for the sniper their walkway benefits them with defilade from fire, combined with their own reflexes leaving only glowing metal and showering sparks in the wake of his volley, <<"Bit of a pickle striking the blighter.">> <br />
<br />
Hustling for cover. in the meanwhile, should any of the gunners get a clear shot on him while he angles for the sharpshooter.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender easily parries a bolt fired by one of the remaining troopers, before being struck from an unexpected direction: above and beyond. Although the missile's burning energy is absorbed into his body reflexively, the flightsuit now sports a black edged hole at the spot where the knight was struck: squarely above one butt cheek. <<"I am unharmed, the bolt only struck my dignity,">> he relays dryly. Turning and attempting to pull away the sniper's weapon, he finds no luck.<br />
<br />
Ejnar arrives just in time for sniper fire to rain down on the rest of the party. There wasn't anything he could do about that. Though, there was something he could do about the two remaining enemy still inside the main area. He turns his focus to them and charges one. Two strikes, one a sweep of the leg with his blade and the other a piercing stab through the heart.<br />
<br />
The Blade is ripped from the dead enemy, a gloopy trail of blood falling from his sharp and luminescent Songsteel blade. Ejnar turns and stalks towards the next target. He gives a one handed slash across his opponent's back, causing him to reach back at the pain, stagger forwards and turn around abruptly to see the culprit.<br />
<br />
Even the greenest of horns learns quickly that when someone yells 'Sniper!' that you do not bother to look around and see if you can spot them first. The /first/ order of business is to find cover then figure out what to do after that. Having already been running up towards the laser turret, Ulani is now diving behind it and trying to make herself a smaller target. Which is harder to do in medium armour than it is light armour.<br />
<br />
"Horrible place. Horrible people. Eeep!" As she is grumbling gently to herself, Ulani spots the remaining snowtrooper hobbling angrily towards her, the barrel of his gun rising up towards her. Instincts pull her trigger after the squeak and down he goes before his intended shot can go off.<br />
<br />
Turning her gaze above, Aryn sees the spot Bors has tried to shoot but to no avail. Before the sniper can strike again, Aryn seizes him with the Force, raising her hand as the influence simultaneously grips him. He drops his weapon and screams in terror, and for good reason, because the Princess pulled him over the edge of the walkway and allowed gravity to carry him the rest of the way down.<br />
<br />
The fire fight's conclusion is punctuated by a deathly splat, the sniper smashing into one of the speeders below and impaling himself upon one of the relays. He coughs up blood a final time and turns his gaze to look out at the snow one last time.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns in place, looking for other foes and finding none, so she recalls the blue blade in a mournful static hiss sound. Before she can comment on it though, a voice crackles over the intercom.<br />
<br />
<"Alderaanians."> Pause. <"I am Ser Rigel of House Taggart, a bannerman of the one whom you call Usurper. Honor demands I face you in combat. I am committed to it, though perhaps we might strike an accord before I emerge?"><br />
<br />
Another pause. <"I challenge one of your number to a duel. Should I fall, I am subject to the justice you deem necessary, and I honorably relinquish my charge of this facility, and the intelligence it holds to you. However, should I prove victorious against your champion, I kindly ask that I be permitted to leave, peacefully, honor intact. Are these agreeable?"><br />
<br />
Steps slowing at last with his rifle shouldered and his helmeted head tipping at the other's speech, Bors finds himself in a momentary conundrum. "Pity, Lars would have been champing at the bit for this opportunity..." the monocle over his right eye scrolling data not on his helmet display.<br />
<br />
<<"Lord Ban - I do believe you would be optimal as Champion for Her Grace.">> noted quickly before switching back to amplified externals, <"Agreeable. But should thee have hidden accomplice that break the right to challenge then all requests for term or quarter shall be denied out of hand."><br />
<br />
Lord Thul halts and watches, visor flaring as debris is cleaned from it.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender archers a black brow at the transmission from the facility's unseen commander. As to the proposition, he looks toward Bors to voice, with a nod. <<"I should be glad of the opportunity, sir. Weapons shall be matched, I expect,">> he surmises, deactivating his lightsaber with telltale finality.<br />
<br />
As there seems to be an end to the fighting and a single combat challenge being accepted, the rougher noblemen Ejnar moves over towards a crate that's just a little bit taller than himself. He leans up against it, crossing one foot over the other. He reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a foil pack of savory crisps.<br />
<br />
His helmet unclasps with a hiss and he sets it on top of the crate. The foil bag makes that telltale sound as he fiddles with it, opening the pack and fishing for crisps. Pulling a few out he drops them into his mouth and chews loudly.<br />
<br />
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH, GULP.<br />
<br />
Matters of duels and honourable challenges and such have only been touched upon in her noble tutoring, so Ulani decides to remain silent at that unseen yet clearly heard request. There are others present far better suited to answer such things. Instead, she keeps herself tucked up against the base of the base of the now broken laser repeater. Right next to a panel...<br />
<br />
Unable to resist, she seizes this opportunity to pry open the small metal door and take a peek inside. Circuits are sparking and, though she can't smell it through her helmet, she just knows that bite of burning wires. Still. Seems functional enough. She digs out her datapad, trying to keep it as close to her as possible so it doesn't freeze over, and plugs it directly into the port. "Hmmmm."<br />
<br />
<"I agree to your terms, Commander. Rest assured, I am all that remain of this facility's defense."> Assured of an opportunity to fight honorably among the nobles of Alderaan, the door leading to the facility's inner command chamber open, and an armored man emerges absent his helmet. He is nearing mid-forties by the look of his salt and peppered hair, and the heavy beard shows him no favor in hiding his age, either. His armor is ornate, likely handed down through the ages of his House. Wrapped and carried beneath one arm, the Knight has matching swords, and he sets them upon a table nearby, releasing them from the garb they've been wrapped in so the team may see them. "The matched weapons. I invite the Champion to choose, and I will take the remaining."<br />
<br />
The Knight begins to unhook the cape upon his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the deck near his feet. When one sword is chosen, he accepts the other and draws out the naked blade in a near silent rasp of metal to leather. He tests the weight carefully, and takes his position.<br />
<br />
"Sir," Aryn says from one side, having hooked her lightsaber to her hip. "Need you go through with this? Can you not just surrender?"<br />
<br />
The Knight regards Aryn a moment and dips his head in respect. "Alas, we are enemies, and my oath must be carried out. When Knights say words, they must be prepared for the consequences those words bring. This is how it must be." -- Aryn nods, and steps back.<br />
<br />
Ser Rigel comments, taking his stance. "Might I know the name of the champion I face ere we begin?" -- "Father guide the justice found in our swings." And he steps forward after the introduction, prepared to fight.<br />
<br />
The younger swordsman nods once, naming himself, "Captain Ban Iskender, of the Viceroyal Lir Dragoons," favoring his military rank over noble title in the moment." A short dip of the head and shoulders in acknowledgement of propriety rather than deference and he selects a blade, with a word of compliment spared for the condition of the dueling set.<br />
<br />
Standing at ready, despite it being a called duel, locking his stance with carbine held still against his shoulder, Bors watches and waits. Any expression had is masked by the helmet of the intimidating piece of aged hardware encapsulating him. Like some golem out of ancient legends now - holding guard over the proceedings.<br />
<br />
The urge to natter is still there, but years of training in various arenas is keeping his tongue in check.<br />
<br />
The crinkle of Ejnar fishing out some more crisps is the only comment he has on the current situation, his eyes looking on with interest as if he was watching a sporting event.<br />
<br />
The Knight, Ser Rigel, steps into the attack, his blade met with his opponent's each strike. It's not clear in the moment that he's been hit so precisely until there's a pause in their flurry and they're left to circle one another. He cannot put a lot of weight on his right leg as a result, but he shores up his defense in a different stance, prepared for the next attack from the young Dragoon, resolve in his expression.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender raises his borrowed sword in salute, before relaxing a half step backward into a practiced guard. The opening exchange is swift and severe: Ban offers an opening thrust which his experienced foe easily parries, but follows up with with a fierce draw cut placed just above his opponent's right thigh plate. Even with first blood drawn, neither falters again in their defense.<br />
<br />
Those appreciative of the nuances of dueling footwork and swordplay might find great interest in the durasteel exchange, but to the casual eye, it is a lot of small movements too fast and clashing to register. Nothing at all like the holovids. Ban ultimately counters a deep lunge from Rigel with a short, hard parry turned into a ferocious chop that cuts into the elder knight's armored sword arm. The blade falls, Ban's borrowed sword points to the throat, and he bids, "I commend your courage, ser, and request your surrender."<br />
<br />
Led into a lunge, the elder Knight is not prepared for Ban's sharpened swordplay and finds his own grip disabled and the blade he once held clattering on the floor between them. Before he could dip to collect it, the chilly steel of Ban's weapon at his throat stops him in place. He swallows instinctively, at the mercy of the Green Knight in this moment. As a show of mutual respect, Ser Rigel raises his hands. "I yield, sir. You have my thanks."<br />
<br />
Stepping back, Ser Rigel finds Aryn at his side. "If you will, sir, I intend to see to your wound before it becomes something more fatal."<br />
<br />
"I consent, your Grace." Removing the sword at his side, which is kept in its scabbard, he offers it to the team; it is a symbol of his command. "As promised, I relinquish my command of this facility. You will find what you need in there.." Rigel nods toward the command room.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender does not reach to accept the offered sword of the garrison's commander. Rather he steps to one side a d looks to Bors, expecting the squadron leader to formally accept the surrender.<br />
<br />
<"Six, secure Ser Rigel once three has attended."> Bors states as he approaches, removing his helmet to give the other the respect of seeing his face, <br />
<br />
"By the Accords of Nobility maintained by these The Great Houses of Alderaan, in the name of Aryn, Princess Cortess, Successor to Leia, Successor to Bail of House Organa - I Lord Bors of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Thul, Champion of Uypiia place you prisoner and so the Countesses ward." tone and expression most serious as he continues, "Ser Rigel, thee has an opportunity now; for if you become a hand in the march to bring peace to Alderaan and unification." brow raising, <br />
<br />
The fallen blade of the foeman is nodded towards, "The honor of the victory and capture goes to House Iskender, the weapons of the contest his. As much as I know this will prick your heart, good ser. Ere yet there may be chance to redeem and regain them. But for now, until you are comfortable in Gravenheim, you are thus my charge." <br />
<br />
That done his helmet is pulled back on and he speaks to the team, <"I'll send word out, make sure we're secure. This should make an excellent F.O.B. if not a more permanent holding for our needs."><br />
<br />
Serendipity would have it that Ejnar finishes his small bag of crisps just as the final blow is dealt and Ser Rigel yields. He crinkles the foil into a ball and tosses it over towards one of the dead bodies. Then, grabbing his helmet, he pushes off the crate and puts it back on the seal hissing in a high pitched wine as the suit re-pressurizes.<br />
<br />
He sheaths his lightly glowing Songsteel blade and moves towards Ser Rigel. <<"Affirmative.">> In response to Bor's order. He puts a hand on Rigel's shoulder and waits for Aryn to do her thing. <<"Lord Lieutenant Ejnar Celchu... of House Celchu.">> He pauses noticing the redundancy and quietly curses himself. <<"A pleasure to meet you, Ser Rigel.">><br />
<br />
Getting little from the laser turret itself, Ulani has finally gotten up from her huddled position and made her way past where Ser Rigel had emerged. If she concerned at all about the duel? Oh, absolutely not. She has seen Ban at work. It's only a matter of how quickly he will fell his foe and this can be laid to rest.<br />
<br />
So into the now vacated room she mosies. Pausing to look around, she finds herself in some kind of Command center for this outpost. "Ah. Makes sense." Moving further in, she communicates to the rest: <"Might have found something. At least I hope so."> Ever the curious sort when it comes to anything technological, Ulani approaches what seems to be the main console and once again plugs her datapad which is now starting to show frost at the corners of her flickering screen. "Hold it together," she pleads with the device.<br />
<br />
Minutes pass and the armoured tech returns to the main room soon after the Ser's defeat: making her approach just as Rigel points in that same direction. "Indeed I have." The datapad is now away once more and in her thick-gloved hand, Ulani is holding a holocube. To the first cleared, flat surface she finds, it is set down and she waits for the others to join. "I believe I was able to retrieve a final transmission." And to that, she presses the button and allows it to play.<br />
<br />
Aryn begins to attend to Rigel's wounds quietly, using an open satchel to draw out the tools needed. When the sword is accepted, Rigel relaxes into a seat and looks up when Lord Celchu addresses him. "Celchu, you say? I served with your father. He's a good man.."<br />
<br />
In the command room, the stone-faced holo image of Lord-Marshal Ulgo appears. His graveled core-accent voice cuts through the silence as he addresses the other holo-council members attending the recorded command meeting.<br />
<br />
"My daughter has been captured, and this ruse of a rebellion has been eliminated. I am to understand Ser Rigel has a detention facility on Avishan?"<br />
<br />
"That is correct, your Lordship." Rigel answers in the recording.<br />
<br />
"Then I am sending her to you for safe keeping until this.. conflict is done. -- The rest of you, move your garrisons into place, and activate the defense grid. The Grand Duchess wants Leilani locked down and protected from air incursion. Those behind the Cortess banner have come too far. They move no further; is that understood?"<br />
<br />
A small chorus of agreeing lords saying, 'Yes, My Lord' follow before Ulgo concludes the transmission. "Very well. Then we have nothing more to discuss. Orders will be disseminated shortly." The image fades.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Avishan_Campaign_II&diff=18551Log:Avishan Campaign II2022-08-26T02:46:50Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=An assault on a hidden outpost. | Location=Avishan | Participants=Aldera Squad, Bors Thul..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=An assault on a hidden outpost.<br />
| Location=[[Avishan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Aldera Squad]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Ejnar Celchu]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=August 25, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Avishan is an icy world not unlike Hoth, with a whispering wind that feels constant and capable of cutting through the thickest clothing and finding some way to bring a chill. The base Aldera Squad has found is hidden by the storm, and it's during the storm they land, disappearing between two jutting ridges and icy walls to look at a structure built into the ice itself. The landscape provides a natural shield against the worst parts of the storm, making it easy to land upon the ice shelf, but they can see the vortex/blizzard above, threatening to lower itself into the crevice where they hide now.<br />
<br />
This ice shelf is an air field of sorts, and at one time hosted a squadron of fighters. Now, it is empty, not because of age; Aldera Squadron had ended the garrisoned squad, thus making the landing area vacant of crafts. However, Panteer snowtroopers are already setting up a hasty defense outside the main hangar, using barricade for cover while firing at the landing crafts.<br />
<br />
Aldera 3 comes in for a rough landing, hitting the ice shelf and sliding upon its skids, but the pilot abandons the confines of the control cabin to leap into the air in a sudden display of acrobatics. Whilst Aryn's craft slides on, her droid taking over the remainder of the landing sequence, Aryn lands upon the ground, having activated her lightsaber mid-jump, she has it available to draw the fire for the rest of the squad.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, comms are not functioning. Ensign Saronno has remained in the storm to jam the area and prevent any Panteer transmission from escaping the base.<br />
<br />
Laser fire pours toward the lone Jedi at the moment, providing much needed 'cover' for the others to land and join in the assault.<br />
<br />
Tapping controls to program in a landing with one hand and handling the stick with the other, Aldera Leader screeches in with all the aplomb one who has been in regular proximity to the Lord Thul might expect. Flying in his cramped armor in preparation for this op, the nobleman's last actions before his canopy seals begin breaking is to send his programmed data to It to complete,<br />
<br />
<"Keep her hot, eh?"> the cockpit hatch slides back beneath the top mounted cannon while the e-wing is still coasting when Bors hits the ground in a crouch to let the wing pass over and then pops up to head towards Aryn's flank, heavy carbine pulled off his back,<br />
<br />
<<"Well, Your Grace, they certainly know how to pick their spots - do they not?"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender brings Aldera 4 into a landing rather more cautiously, resulting in less skidding and a very precise landing given the difficult conditions, but in counterpoint, he is not so swift as Aryn to clear the cockpit, draw his glowing sword, and hasten to join Aryn in shielding the squad from enemy fire on her flank opposite Bors.<br />
<br />
Lord Ejnar Celchu is a damn good pilot but the cross wind coming into the icy landing cliff proved for a bit of extra concentration. The E-Wing Aldera 06 slams down, the hydraulics and supports of the landing feet creaking and scraping as it slides to a stop much like Aryn's. However there is no jump from the canopy as it opens, instead the Human climbs out and hops onto the swooped wing. He slides down and onto his feet, drawing his Songsteel blade.<br />
<br />
Ejnar wears his void armor much like the did on the Cloudship along with a utility belt for a few extra items. He looks towards Bors as he arrives and moves t the other side of Aryn as the advance on the base.<br />
<br />
Aldera Two alights on the planet's surface, jostling and bumping as it goes. Better suited for zero atmosphere or calmer weather, the blustery storms of this world prove difficult under her wings. Yet land she does and a bulkier-than-usual pilot climbs awkwardly out of the cockpit.<br />
<br />
Ulani isn't used to the extra mass of the Void suit, but she was less keen to freeze to death so she will endure the trials. "Pick them, indeed. What a terrible place. Well suited for those who would align themselves with a murderer and usurper."<br />
<br />
The hasty disembark is largely overshadowed by the constant blaster fire coming from the squad holding the line to the hangar. Bolts rain in from this fatal funnel as the storm continues to RAGE high above, showering everyone with glistening crystals of ice that aren't quite large enough to cause damage (because thankfully they were not falling at terminal velocity), but it was enough to make them realize it was dangerous and distracting outside.<br />
<br />
Aryn, who is in the throes of combat, casually bats down a trio of blaster bolts in a graceful flurry of motion, concluding a spin with a final slash that directed another bolt to the ice, pocking the terrain near her feet. "My count is seven!" Aryn cries out over the chaos, and she begins closing the distance of 20m toward the 7 targets hunkered behind cover. With poor visibility, the Panteer forces engage what they can see, two glowing swords moving through the white fog.<br />
<br />
Skittering and slipping on ice, the black and silver katarn armor is pelted by snow and Bors's boots cut jagged divots where the treads try to grip and keep hibm upright. Hustling forward until he is forced by gravity (and probably age) to one knee, skidding to a halt by a hump of humped up ice.<br />
<br />
<"Bugger."> <br />
<br />
Rifle shouldered and sighting along it, Bors takes pot shots at the snowtroopers attempting to hold them back, ducking back slightly when blaster bolts come racing past, <"Hey!"> externals engaging, <"We could still discuss this!"> a small, short lived, geyser erupts from a plasma impact just shy of his shoulder.<br />
<br />
<"Or not! That's fine!"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender voices in answer to Aryn's estimation, "Understood," just before moving smoothly into a run, balanced and swift, but not an outright sprint over the ice. The sword held before him is raised in a brief salute, before the gentleman plants a gloved hand on the barricade and vaults over it. Landing immediately in close quarters, the dragoon cuts down a pair of the defending rifleman, drastically reducing the volume of fire directed outward. He speaks no more words, conserving his breath in the deathly frigid air.<br />
<br />
Ejnar is attempting to run to the next barricade, what ever type of cover that might be, with sword in hand. However, between the wind and the slippery surface he ends up rear first and sliding towards the same lump of ice Bors occupied. He stops himself with his feet and scoots himself upright into a seated position. <<"This is the suck, aye?">><br />
<br />
He moves to his knees to chance a glance towards the enemy front once more and plan his next frog leap ahead.<br />
<br />
The barrage is immediate and if it weren't for the lightsaber-wielding royalty up ahead, they'd all be pinned down rather quickly. By the grace of their wiles and abilities, the group can advance. Well, some of them can. Others are getting caught up in snow and ice. Understandable. "I'll cover you!" Ulani manages to get some traction and advances until she is in respectable range to fire a shot. But the snow and wind does it's damnest to protect the foes beyond it's blizzary curtain. And she's trying to squint throught her augmented reality helmet to keep track of Ban and Aryn who are further ahead.<br />
<br />
Ban is the first to break through the fog and close the distance to the group, and they are frightened by the efficiency of the soldier bearing in on them. His presence effectively appends their fixed position and they begin to fire while moving away. Two fall in the attack, and when Aryn suddenly emerges slipping-and-sliding along the ice, it doesn't seem possible that she can manage an attack, too. Yet, she arrives and slashes one soldier down before turning on another and raising her gloved hand to intercept the blast of a rifle. The bolt disappears into her hand, the force absorbing the energy and cycling it through Aryn's body until the ice cracks beneath her boots from the redirection of that kinetic energy. She looked unharmed, and if it weren't for the helmet, the snowtrooper would have appeared confused by the display.<br />
<br />
Four troopers remain in total, running from the two jedi and into the fog where Lt Celchu, Captain Thul, and Lt Kalgaav are waiting for them. They have no idea the soldiers are there until they're right up on them.<br />
<br />
Beyond the defense of the hangar, the hangar bay is an open, vast space. Much like Hoth's Echo base, the ice has been carved out by laser and metal plating constitutes the flooring. More soldier are moving inside the bay, attempting to set up a laser (machine-gun) nest, while a squad of five pick places behind unused snowspeeders for cover. Seven (7) in total are inside the hangar, and four (4) remain outside, in the vicinity of Ejnar, Bors, and Ulani.<br />
<br />
<"Apt, if course."> Helmeted head bobbing to Ejnar as the t-shaped visor of the old Republic armor flaress, ion wiping away snow and moisture that strike it. Watching Ulani succeed in rushing to position, blaster raising whilst he leans out from behind cover to level it and sight down range, using his suit systems for magnification. <br />
<br />
=-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-=<br />
=-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-=<br />
=-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-= =-=-=-=<br />
<br />
The first triple burst from the old carbine creates a neat line from belly to neck on one of the troopers, kicking them over as if struck by an I-Beam swaying on hooks, forcing their compatriot to dip to one side before spinning for balance when the next burst takes their shoulder and melts armor over the clavicle. <"I find myself at loss for how to interpret that... The Suck..."> externals clicking up loud again, <"Hey! Hey there! Wouldst thee agree we find ourselves, on both sides, in The Suck, as my compatriot has called it?"><br />
<br />
May as well pool them for answers.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender espies the repeating blaster position being deployed, the nobleman seeks to on e more dash to close quarters. Alas, the metallic flooring is a treacherous surface with snow and ice choking the treads of his boots, and after a distinctly less-than-dignified moment of threatened balance thwarts his advance, Ban recovers himself, draws in a deep breath and extends his hand toward the foe. Green eyes go closed as the breath is let out in a projection of will and power.<br />
<br />
Ejnar glances to Ulani and nods. In a brief moment of respite, the Alderaanian Lord readies himself to sprint, digging his boots into the ice. Then as soon as Bors starts to blast the troopers with his carbine, he takes off. <<"You're thinking too hard on it, Captain!">> He shouts back towards the Squadron commander before merging with the Sentry line. His first act is to cut down the poor soul who just took one of Bors' blaster bolts, ending him in a spectacular violent fashion. He slides to a stop, one leg stretched out before almost 'skating' towards one of the other Sentries. He cuts deep, but sliding forward and swinging requires a good amount of balance... and Ejnar loses his ending up on his rear yet again on the follow up attack. <<"OUCH!">><br />
<br />
Though he starts laughing as he watches the enemy fall in the same fashion he did trying to swipe at him with their rifle stock.<br />
<br />
"The Suck." Ulani ponders over the term but makes no further commentary of it. She gets the context, but the delivery has that quaint Alderaan Nobility charm to it. The kind that knows of a phrase but isn't /quite/ sure how it goes. The light of her rifle brightens up her helmet's screen momentarily; a shot that brings another foeman to their knees yet she is not interested in downing him completely. So long as the threat is neutralized.<br />
<br />
Advancing towards the base, Ulani looks behind her to check in on Bors and Ejnar. They both seem to be doing relatively okay. She does stiffle a ill-timed laugh as the enemy attempts a swing at Celchu and ends up on their rear instead. This planet takes no prisoners.<br />
<br />
Aryn joins Ban, sliding over the metal flooring but somehow managing to preserve her balance. She seems poised to attack but has not arrived in time to cut down the repeating blaster, so it begins to fire at the two of them (though her mainly.) She runs and slides behind cover, the bolts in close pursuit, raining sparks with each connection. The other soldiers, still entrenched behind airspeeder cover, begin to shoot at Ban and Aryn collectively, but they're not having much luck either.<br />
<br />
Outside, the remaining defender attempts to strike Ejnar with the stock of their rifle, but they put too much flair and twist of the hip, resulting in a spectacular wipe out on the ice. Their fall was distinctive, because their armor made that cracking noise like /something/ was broken. They cry out in pain, rotating slowly and wheezing for breath; it seemed that no one had taught this soldier how to fall, thus his wipe out stole the air from his lungs.<br />
<br />
Captain Thul, and the Lieutenants Kalgaav and Celchu can see inside the hangar. More importantly, they can see the functioning laser repeater nest, and the hunkered down soldiers fighting their Jedi companions. Ban is in clear view, but Aryn is laying down on the ground behind a crate while the repeater is laying waste to her cover.<br />
<br />
Standing and moving forward, <"Techie, Mamma's Boy, one of you be so kind?"> blink target bracketing the remaining soldier outside whilst he moves on the bounce. The short rifle in his grip spitting fire through the doors that pelts against the reinforcements in the gunner nest,<br />
<br />
<<"Three, Bang, I am providing fire support.">> they really should get the Princess a proper field name. Three. What is that? More plasma hailstorming and setting the armor of the trooper firing on Aryn alight. Forcing them to huddle and attempt to recover from the shock of the injury before their helmet rocks to one side, dragging their body with it and ending the suppression Her Majesty and Ban alike.<br />
<br />
<<"Clear.">><br />
<br />
Moving closer to getting inside, glad for the space-walk seals keeping him from freezing solid.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is a curious sight, eschewing cover with green sword held upright and unmoving as he walks into the teeth of the entrenched blasterfire, bolts disappearing entirely as they burn out upon the invisible shield he had projected. He nods once- not that Bors can see it- in response to the commander's update, but says nothing, remaining focused upon the shield and his target: the repeater nest blazing away at Aryn's position. Once he draws near enough, the dragoon lapses back into the speed of swordplay, striking down the two gunners with a pair of cuts, and making ruin of their weapon with a third.<br />
<br />
Ejnar doesn't waste much time after laughing at the wheezing hurt Sentry before he getting back to his feet. He carefully makes his way over towards the squirming and wheezing enemy. <<"Sorry, pal. Make better choices in the next life.">><br />
<br />
Aldera 06 then thrusts his blade twice, piercing him through the chest. The wheezing turns to gurgling and the squirming slows to a stop. As Bors calls, Ejnar turns and runs into the hanger, <<"Catching up... sorry about that.">><br />
<br />
The repeater is going to be a problem, though by the time Ulani is even halfway in range, it's made not a problem anymore. Boots skid in the snow, slowing her approach so that she may brace herself to draw up her rifle once more. She visably cringes when one who pokes their helmeted head around the corner suddenly disappears against her shot. "Sorry." And she does mean it, even if they can't or ever will hear it. "Everyone still doing okay?"<br />
<br />
VVVVIIIP!<br />
<br />
A shot breezes right past her, causing the young woman to slide away from it. "I wasn't asking you!"<br />
<br />
"Thanks!" Aryn calls out to the combined support from Captains Thul and Iskender, who ruinate the repeater nest and lay waste to the weapon itself. That does not stop all the fighting, however. She rejoins the fray, finding one of the soldiers in cover and cutting their position in two. They stumble back, away from the blade that obliterated their cover, but Aryn showed now hesitation in her movement to slide the blue into their chest for a succinct killing blow. She withdraws the blade and turns to look for the remaining resistance.<br />
<br />
One soldier mantles cover, firing at Ulani and closing the distance. Another soldier holds their position and fires at Ban, missing. Then, from high up above, on one of the catwalks, a Sniper finds purchase on the Dragoon, planting a bolt and following it up with another shot that sparks off the metal flooring and showers the vicinity with sparks.<br />
<br />
"Sniper!" Aryn calls out, finding a place to plant her back behind cover before turning to see if Ban was ok.<br />
<br />
<"Well enough!"> a blaster bolt explodes against his shoulder cowling, the reinforced plastoid holding and disbursal weaves eliminating kinetic and thermal energy that would have otherwise punched him to the ground. Then his heads up display is giving a fire warning, from a new angle. The bolt launched from on high bracketed and then a trace-line draws his sight to whence it had originated.<br />
<br />
<<"I see him, targeting!">> EE-3 lifting and barking its throaty report, for the sniper their walkway benefits them with defilade from fire, combined with their own reflexes leaving only glowing metal and showering sparks in the wake of his volley, <<"Bit of a pickle striking the blighter.">> <br />
<br />
Hustling for cover. in the meanwhile, should any of the gunners get a clear shot on him while he angles for the sharpshooter.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender easily parries a bolt fired by one of the remaining troopers, before being struck from an unexpected direction: above and beyond. Although the missile's burning energy is absorbed into his body reflexively, the flightsuit now sports a black edged hole at the spot where the knight was struck: squarely above one butt cheek. <<"I am unharmed, the bolt only struck my dignity,">> he relays dryly. Turning and attempting to pull away the sniper's weapon, he finds no luck.<br />
<br />
Ejnar arrives just in time for sniper fire to rain down on the rest of the party. There wasn't anything he could do about that. Though, there was something he could do about the two remaining enemy still inside the main area. He turns his focus to them and charges one. Two strikes, one a sweep of the leg with his blade and the other a piercing stab through the heart.<br />
<br />
The Blade is ripped from the dead enemy, a gloopy trail of blood falling from his sharp and luminescent Songsteel blade. Ejnar turns and stalks towards the next target. He gives a one handed slash across his opponent's back, causing him to reach back at the pain, stagger forwards and turn around abruptly to see the culprit.<br />
<br />
Even the greenest of horns learns quickly that when someone yells 'Sniper!' that you do not bother to look around and see if you can spot them first. The /first/ order of business is to find cover then figure out what to do after that. Having already been running up towards the laser turret, Ulani is now diving behind it and trying to make herself a smaller target. Which is harder to do in medium armour than it is light armour.<br />
<br />
"Horrible place. Horrible people. Eeep!" As she is grumbling gently to herself, Ulani spots the remaining snowtrooper hobbling angrily towards her, the barrel of his gun rising up towards her. Instincts pull her trigger after the squeak and down he goes before his intended shot can go off.<br />
<br />
Turning her gaze above, Aryn sees the spot Bors has tried to shoot but to no avail. Before the sniper can strike again, Aryn seizes him with the Force, raising her hand as the influence simultaneously grips him. He drops his weapon and screams in terror, and for good reason, because the Princess pulled him over the edge of the walkway and allowed gravity to carry him the rest of the way down.<br />
<br />
The fire fight's conclusion is punctuated by a deathly splat, the sniper smashing into one of the speeders below and impaling himself upon one of the relays. He coughs up blood a final time and turns his gaze to look out at the snow one last time.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns in place, looking for other foes and finding none, so she recalls the blue blade in a mournful static hiss sound. Before she can comment on it though, a voice crackles over the intercom.<br />
<br />
<"Alderaanians."> Pause. <"I am Ser Rigel of House Taggart, a bannerman of the one whom you call Usurper. Honor demands I face you in combat. I am committed to it, though perhaps we might strike an accord before I emerge?"><br />
<br />
Another pause. <"I challenge one of your number to a duel. Should I fall, I am subject to the justice you deem necessary, and I honorably relinquish my charge of this facility, and the intelligence it holds to you. However, should I prove victorious against your champion, I kindly ask that I be permitted to leave, peacefully, honor intact. Are these agreeable?"><br />
<br />
Steps slowing at last with his rifle shouldered and his helmeted head tipping at the other's speech, Bors finds himself in a momentary conundrum. "Pity, Lars would have been champing at the bit for this opportunity..." the monocle over his right eye scrolling data not on his helmet display.<br />
<br />
<<"Lord Ban - I do believe you would be optimal as Champion for Her Grace.">> noted quickly before switching back to amplified externals, <"Agreeable. But should thee have hidden accomplice that break the right to challenge then all requests for term or quarter shall be denied out of hand."><br />
<br />
Lord Thul halts and watches, visor flaring as debris is cleaned from it.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender archers a black brow at the transmission from the facility's unseen commander. As to the proposition, he looks toward Bors to voice, with a nod. <<"I should be glad of the opportunity, sir. Weapons shall be matched, I expect,">> he surmises, deactivating his lightsaber with telltale finality.<br />
<br />
As there seems to be an end to the fighting and a single combat challenge being accepted, the rougher noblemen Ejnar moves over towards a crate that's just a little bit taller than himself. He leans up against it, crossing one foot over the other. He reaches into his utility belt and pulls out a foil pack of savory crisps.<br />
<br />
His helmet unclasps with a hiss and he sets it on top of the crate. The foil bag makes that telltale sound as he fiddles with it, opening the pack and fishing for crisps. Pulling a few out he drops them into his mouth and chews loudly.<br />
<br />
CRUNCH CRUNCH CRUNCH, GULP.<br />
<br />
Matters of duels and honourable challenges and such have only been touched upon in her noble tutoring, so Ulani decides to remain silent at that unseen yet clearly heard request. There are others present far better suited to answer such things. Instead, she keeps herself tucked up against the base of the base of the now broken laser repeater. Right next to a panel...<br />
<br />
Unable to resist, she seizes this opportunity to pry open the small metal door and take a peek inside. Circuits are sparking and, though she can't smell it through her helmet, she just knows that bite of burning wires. Still. Seems functional enough. She digs out her datapad, trying to keep it as close to her as possible so it doesn't freeze over, and plugs it directly into the port. "Hmmmm."<br />
<br />
<"I agree to your terms, Commander. Rest assured, I am all that remain of this facility's defense."> Assured of an opportunity to fight honorably among the nobles of Alderaan, the door leading to the facility's inner command chamber open, and an armored man emerges absent his helmet. He is nearing mid-forties by the look of his salt and peppered hair, and the heavy beard shows him no favor in hiding his age, either. His armor is ornate, likely handed down through the ages of his House. Wrapped and carried beneath one arm, the Knight has matching swords, and he sets them upon a table nearby, releasing them from the garb they've been wrapped in so the team may see them. "The matched weapons. I invite the Champion to choose, and I will take the remaining."<br />
<br />
The Knight begins to unhook the cape upon his shoulders, allowing it to fall to the deck near his feet. When one sword is chosen, he accepts the other and draws out the naked blade in a near silent rasp of metal to leather. He tests the weight carefully, and takes his position.<br />
<br />
"Sir," Aryn says from one side, having hooked her lightsaber to her hip. "Need you go through with this? Can you not just surrender?"<br />
<br />
The Knight regards Aryn a moment and dips his head in respect. "Alas, we are enemies, and my oath must be carried out. When Knights say words, they must be prepared for the consequences those words bring. This is how it must be." -- Aryn nods, and steps back.<br />
<br />
Ser Rigel comments, taking his stance. "Might I know the name of the champion I face ere we begin?" -- "Father guide the justice found in our swings." And he steps forward after the introduction, prepared to fight.<br />
<br />
The younger swordsman nods once, naming himself, "Captain Ban Iskender, of the Viceroyal Lir Dragoons," favoring his military rank over noble title in the moment." A short dip of the head and shoulders in acknowledgement of propriety rather than deference and he selects a blade, with a word of compliment spared for the condition of the dueling set.<br />
<br />
Standing at ready, despite it being a called duel, locking his stance with carbine held still against his shoulder, Bors watches and waits. Any expression had is masked by the helmet of the intimidating piece of aged hardware encapsulating him. Like some golem out of ancient legends now - holding guard over the proceedings.<br />
<br />
The urge to natter is still there, but years of training in various arenas is keeping his tongue in check.<br />
<br />
The crinkle of Ejnar fishing out some more crisps is the only comment he has on the current situation, his eyes looking on with interest as if he was watching a sporting event.<br />
<br />
The Knight, Ser Rigel, steps into the attack, his blade met with his opponent's each strike. It's not clear in the moment that he's been hit so precisely until there's a pause in their flurry and they're left to circle one another. He cannot put a lot of weight on his right leg as a result, but he shores up his defense in a different stance, prepared for the next attack from the young Dragoon, resolve in his expression.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender raises his borrowed sword in salute, before relaxing a half step backward into a practiced guard. The opening exchange is swift and severe: Ban offers an opening thrust which his experienced foe easily parries, but follows up with with a fierce draw cut placed just above his opponent's right thigh plate. Even with first blood drawn, neither falters again in their defense.<br />
<br />
Those appreciative of the nuances of dueling footwork and swordplay might find great interest in the durasteel exchange, but to the casual eye, it is a lot of small movements too fast and clashing to register. Nothing at all like the holovids. Ban ultimately counters a deep lunge from Rigel with a short, hard parry turned into a ferocious chop that cuts into the elder knight's armored sword arm. The blade falls, Ban's borrowed sword points to the throat, and he bids, "I commend your courage, ser, and request your surrender."<br />
<br />
Led into a lunge, the elder Knight is not prepared for Ban's sharpened swordplay and finds his own grip disabled and the blade he once held clattering on the floor between them. Before he could dip to collect it, the chilly steel of Ban's weapon at his throat stops him in place. He swallows instinctively, at the mercy of the Green Knight in this moment. As a show of mutual respect, Ser Rigel raises his hands. "I yield, sir. You have my thanks."<br />
<br />
Stepping back, Ser Rigel finds Aryn at his side. "If you will, sir, I intend to see to your wound before it becomes something more fatal."<br />
<br />
"I consent, your Grace." Removing the sword at his side, which is kept in its scabbard, he offers it to the team; it is a symbol of his command. "As promised, I relinquish my command of this facility. You will find what you need in there.." Rigel nods toward the command room.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender does not reach to accept the offered sword of the garrison's commander. Rather he steps to one side a d looks to Bors, expecting the squadron leader to formally accept the surrender.<br />
<br />
<"Six, secure Ser Rigel once three has attended."> Bors states as he approaches, removing his helmet to give the other the respect of seeing his face, <br />
<br />
"By the Accords of Nobility maintained by these The Great Houses of Alderaan, in the name of Aryn, Princess Cortess, Successor to Leia, Successor to Bail of House Organa - I Lord Bors of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Thul, Champion of Uypiia place you prisoner and so the Countesses ward." tone and expression most serious as he continues, "Ser Rigel, thee has an opportunity now; for if you become a hand in the march to bring peace to Alderaan and unification." brow raising, <br />
<br />
The fallen blade of the foeman is nodded towards, "The honor of the victory and capture goes to House Iskender, the weapons of the contest his. As much as I know this will prick your heart, good ser. Ere yet there may be chance to redeem and regain them. But for now, until you are comfortable in Gravenheim, you are thus my charge." <br />
<br />
That done his helmet is pulled back on and he speaks to the team, <"I'll send word out, make sure we're secure. This should make an excellent F.O.B. if not a more permanent holding for our needs."><br />
<br />
Serendipity would have it that Ejnar finishes his small bag of crisps just as the final blow is dealt and Ser Rigel yields. He crinkles the foil into a ball and tosses it over towards one of the dead bodies. Then, grabbing his helmet, he pushes off the crate and puts it back on the seal hissing in a high pitched wine as the suit re-pressurizes.<br />
<br />
He sheaths his lightly glowing Songsteel blade and moves towards Ser Rigel. <<"Affirmative.">> In response to Bor's order. He puts a hand on Rigel's shoulder and waits for Aryn to do her thing. <<"Lord Lieutenant Ejnar Celchu... of House Celchu.">> He pauses noticing the redundancy and quietly curses himself. <<"A pleasure to meet you, Ser Rigel.">><br />
<br />
Getting little from the laser turret itself, Ulani has finally gotten up from her huddled position and made her way past where Ser Rigel had emerged. If she concerned at all about the duel? Oh, absolutely not. She has seen Ban at work. It's only a matter of how quickly he will fell his foe and this can be laid to rest.<br />
<br />
So into the now vacated room she mosies. Pausing to look around, she finds herself in some kind of Command center for this outpost. "Ah. Makes sense." Moving further in, she communicates to the rest: <"Might have found something. At least I hope so."> Ever the curious sort when it comes to anything technological, Ulani approaches what seems to be the main console and once again plugs her datapad which is now starting to show frost at the corners of her flickering screen. "Hold it together," she pleads with the device.<br />
<br />
Minutes pass and the armoured tech returns to the main room soon after the Ser's defeat: making her approach just as Rigel points in that same direction. "Indeed I have." The datapad is now away once more and in her thick-gloved hand, Ulani is holding a holocube. To the first cleared, flat surface she finds, it is set down and she waits for the others to join. "I believe I was able to retrieve a final transmission." And to that, she presses the button and allows it to play.<br />
<br />
Aryn begins to attend to Rigel's wounds quietly, using an open satchel to draw out the tools needed. When the sword is accepted, Rigel relaxes into a seat and looks up when Lord Celchu addresses him. "Celchu, you say? I served with your father. He's a good man.."<br />
<br />
In the command room, the stone-faced holo image of Lord-Marshal Ulgo appears. His graveled core-accent voice cuts through the silence as he addresses the other holo-council members attending the recorded command meeting.<br />
<br />
"My daughter has been captured, and this ruse of a rebellion has been eliminated. I am to understand Ser Rigel has a detention facility on Avishan?"<br />
<br />
"That is correct, your Lordship." Rigel answers in the recording.<br />
<br />
"Then I am sending her to you for safe keeping until this.. conflict is done. -- The rest of you, move your garrisons into place, and activate the defense grid. The Grand Duchess wants Leilani locked down and protected from air incursion. Those behind the Cortess banner have come too far. They move no further; is that understood?"<br />
<br />
A small chorus of agreeing lords saying, 'Yes, My Lord' follow before Ulgo concludes the transmission. "Very well. Then we have nothing more to discuss. Orders will be disseminated shortly." The image fades.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Aldera_Squad:_A_Bad_Seed&diff=18483Log:Aldera Squad: A Bad Seed2022-08-04T01:58:39Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Aldera Squad have a tough negotiation with the Hutt Cartel<br />
| Location=[[Ithorian Gardenship 'Dawn of Spring']]<br />
| Participants=[[Aldera Squad]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Ejnar Celchu]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Aryn Cortess]] as GM/Kiko Alde<br />
| OOCDate=August 3, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Tantive IV lands upon the deck of a Gardenship capital ship, the security escorts for the Alderaanian craft were also permitted to land and disembark. Aboard this massive ship, the Alderaanians, and their allies, find a very green and fresh atmosphere that smells inviting and unlike any artificial air arrangement they've encountered. Here, the air is fresh, humid even, and the place is absent any sort of mechanical noise that would otherwise greet them on a vessel of this size. Vines and plants are seen growing from the bulkheads and around the top of this atrium, giving the sense that the ship itself is alive.<br />
<br />
Awaiting the crew at the appropriate distance is an Ithorian welcoming committee. It is comprised of a heavy armed escort, and a well dressed diplomat who, themselves, is Ithorian. Standing an easy 7ft in height, the massive creature steps heavily forward, ushered in part from their enthusiastic guard, to initiate greetings. The Ithorian's mouth begins to move, emitting a bass-heavy language that is promptly translated by a droid that conveys emotions other sentients might come to understand.<br />
<br />
"Greetings, and welcome aboard the Dawn of Spring. We are delighted to have you.." The only one who seems happy to see them is the Ithorian, the guards behind them seem less inclined, and impatient. They are a mixture of species, some wearing helmets, and others not. The one that had been enthusiastic to get the proceedings on track, is a Wroonian, as blue as they come. He holds his weapon at the alert, his finger over the trigger.<br />
<br />
Looking to faces being bracketed and matched to whatever records his armor has been fed in the past, Bors walks with his helmet down and armor on in escort posture. Playing the soldier rather than standing as nobility during the arrival of the Alderaanian delegates. While he has no weapon readily in hand, carbine and rifle are worn slung and sheathed on his person. No droid accompanies him, nor is there even the presence of Kuhlai D'Mahn.<br />
<br />
Doing his level best to keep his head from moving, while his eyes check forward and the compressed 360 sensor view level to his forehead, he resorts to court teachings to speak with fractional bob of his head or shoulders, <<"Appears were are yet to be looked upon joyously for the most part. Or there is something amiss that we've ere spotted yet.">> speaking over private comms, hoping others have ear-pieces in at the very least.<br />
<br />
The moment she stepped on board, Ulani was in love. This ship that is akin to a floating garden. An oasis in space. Stepping off the Alderaanian transport with the others, she takes in a deep breath of the fresh air and looks around at all the vines and plants. "By the Gods," she sighs happily. Near giddy. "What a wonderful place! Oh, I would love to frequent a ship like this every other day if duties would allow me."<br />
<br />
The budding horticulturalist is alight with eagerness, but she manages to reign herself in. This is a mission, not a pleasure trip. Though if someone doesn't keep an eye on her, it might become one. As the Ithorian and their escorts arrive, Ulani offers a bow. "Truly delighted to be here. This place is magnificent. A marvel." She's dressed to be diplomatic: the flightsuit and armour left back on the ship. Finery this day.<br />
Wearing a set of Void Armor absent of the usual yellow and earthy green tones and instead taking on a more appropriate color of Dark Green and Gray, Ejnar Celchu moves long with the boarding party on the opposite side of Bors playing much the same part he is. He wears a dark cape over his suit of armor, as is custom with Alderaanians. His own weapons seem to be just a sword at his hip and... metal rings on the fingers of his armor's gauntlets.<br />
<br />
The Lord Celchu is silent, opting to look over the Woornian with the ready trigger. He tilts his head to the side before looking around, scanning.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus' eyes look past the Ithorian as he speaks. She's regarding the guards with those cool, frosty blue eyes while listening to, well... at least one of their warm welcomes onto the ship. She rests her hand idly on her sword's grip, though her body language is far more relaxed and casual than it is defensive. The pink haired noble woman gives a small tip of her chin up when she hears Bors chime in on their private comms, but doesn't yet speak over them. Instead, she turns to look back towards the Ithorian and offers him that warm Nora Frayus smile. So often at odds with the chill within her eyes.<br />
<br />
"Indeed. Not only of engineering, but of botany as well. I could easily mistake it to be a warm, summer day instead of a space s hip. How positively charming."<br />
<br />
The noble joining them from the Tantive IV is not Aryn, but her proxy, Lady Kiko of House Alde. Kiko is a professional looking woman, wearing a tunic and cape, with tall shined boots. She looks prior military and that's how she conducts herself. Her dark hair is pulled back tight into a /perfect/ bun, and her hands remain concealed within gloves. She is armed with a single pistol, a blaster of unknown make that sits snug in a modest holster on her hip, in view from beneath her cape.<br />
<br />
"My companions compliments are not untrue, this is a marvel. A marriage of beauty and history." It's not clear if Kiko has taken into account the tense nature of the guards escorting their welcoming attendant, but she regards the Ithorian with narrowed eyes. "We have come to negotiate the release of Old Alderaan flora, particularly the cloned seeds your people have preserved for half century. Judging from the presence and.. look of your security, I think our welcome seems ..inconvenient?"<br />
<br />
Hitting the nail on the head, the security 'chief' sighs and lifts his weapon. Before he can pull the trigger, Kiko blasts him three times in the chest. His body smacks the deck with a loud THUD, and ten other security guards fan out among the vast court yard of tall plants and planters.<br />
<br />
The peaceful Ithorian raises their hands, "Please.. please, do not harm me. We are taken hostage.." The pleasant computer voice says.<br />
<br />
When the blasters come up durasteel clears scabbard and instinct takes over for Lord Thul. <br />
<br />
<<"Bugger all.">> Language. Bors.<br />
<br />
Stepping forward to the motley band of belligerent brigands bandying blasters brawnily comes he in black armor banded on its edges in Alderaanian silver. The pommel of the blade catching one in the jaw, their rifle being used to parry the followup in so narrow a swing that hair is clipped and the butt stock of the weapon crashes against the heavy reinforced plastoid shell of the cheek guard.<br />
<br />
<"Drat it all."> externals on this time and blade sings through armor and padding to draw blood and send the 'guard' to the ground clutching at their leg. <"Now then, cessation of this tom foolery is best for you, gentles. I hope thee ask for quarter and lay down arms!"> <br />
<br />
Someday, probability says, that will actually work.<br />
<br />
You can teach a girl to dance, to write, to draw a weapon and fire. You can teach her a great many things that may have otherwise been out of her realm of possibility such as demolitions and weaponry schematics. What you can't combat, however, is obliviousness. The eye to see the body language in a potential enemy. That smell of tension in the air. Such things take years to ingrain and, sadly, training in such things come only in real world scenarios.<br />
<br />
Such as a diplomatic mission going pear-shaped right out of the door.<br />
<br />
Her stomach sinks and Ulani immediately turns towards Ejnar as Bors runs into the fray. "Lord Ejnar. If you would be so kind: my rifle?" When she had asked the nobleman to carry her weapon on him it was with the hope that she was being silly for asking such a thing to begin with. Ulani never minded being overly cautious and even 'silly' if it meant something went smoothly and without harm.<br />
<br />
Today is not one of those days. She unclips her rifle from Ejnar's back with a sad nod of gratitude to him and brings it to bear, the whine of powering on followed by a bolt that neutralizing one of the foemen where they stand. "This isn't necessary," she does plead with them.<br />
<br />
The violence boils over quickly, Kiko's reflexes not at all a rumor and just as deadly as those rumors said they were. There is a pause as the blaster flashes reflect off his armor's visor. He stands there watching the group of 'guards' spread out. At Ulani's request A hand reaches up and unclasps the cape from the front, letting it fall away and revealing an EL-16HFE strapped across his back in a quick access single point strap.<br />
<br />
Once the large weapon is free, Ejnar draws his blade. It's a rather basic but very sharp piece of what could only be described as Songsteel. Which meant it glowed a bit. There is a high frequency ring as it is removed from its sheath. His feet move forward with aggressive momentum. The blade tares into one of the ten, slashing upwards, a trail of blood following behind. He twists and slashes across, twirling a bit with both hand on the hilt. He follows through with a third attack in which misses but only because his target is incapacitated on the ground. He looks over the felled enemy a moment before saying, <<"Don't bring guns to a sword fight.">><br />
<br />
What a funny guy.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus had begun taking a few steps towards the Ithorian. It wasn't him that she was moving close to, no. Rather, it was the guards just behind him. Her body language is warm and welcoming, and oriented entirely towards the Ithorian who gave them their welcome. Her intuition, however, seems in line with Kiko's, though it is the latter that pulls the trigger. That concussive blast of plasma is Nora Frayus' rallying cry, and with one motion she draws the blade at her side and buries beneath the sternum of one of the guards. She spins and pulls, ripping it out and dragging it across the midsection of a second. Her second strike? Parried with a blaster and deflected.<br />
<br />
"Get behind us. We will protect you," Nora says to the hostage Ithorian. And who is going to argue with her, anyway? Half of the terrorists are already dead.<br />
<br />
Kiko guns down another of the terrorists, standing poised in the open and holding her pistol like a duelist. Her marksmanship is superb, spilling her foe across the deck well deceased before his body even made contact with the floor. Four terrorists in the vicinity remain, seeking more ideal ground for which to get a vantage and fire. They move away from the Alderaanians, both intimidated by the fact many of them use swords in place of blasters, almost ensuring the attacks were far more painful and personal.<br />
<br />
"Blast them!" One of the terrorist yell, but the younger of the four (and injured at that) makes a limping retreat toward the path they came. Eager for reinforcements, he begins speaking in Huttese to unseen companions, alerting them of the danger in the landing courtyard.<br />
<br />
A lift nearby lights up, arriving seconds later with four more terrorists, all of which have their blasters ready. This makes eight in total (though only four attack this round).<br />
<br />
Being bunched up in the midst of the enemy has the distinct advantage of making it hard to bring anything more than a pistol to bear. Bodies were pushed off of his armor in the throng and quick, slashing cuts were cutting cloth, sparking armor, or the crossguard would become a punching tool. <br />
<br />
A jaw gives under the ornately crafted grip of Bors's blade, teeth flying and another crack across the face lacerates the forehead, spilling blood in the assailant's eyes and then the pommel snaps their nose. Concussed, blooded and tumbling to the ground, Lord Thul steps over their form and angles to put himself between attackers and the Ithorian regardless of where the hammerhead is standing presently,<br />
<br />
<<"Lady Alde - if they had enough to claim one of these sorts of cruisers, how many do you think we face this day?">><br />
Ulani doesn't speak or understand Huttese, but she knows it when she hears it. Instictively, her thumb toggles her gun from kill to stun, figuring that someone should be left alive to answer questions. That and it's easier for her to swallow firing the wobbly, blue rings. Especially on such a beautiful, green capship. "What in the name of the Gods happened here?" She shouts over to the Ithorian -- wherever he is. "What do these people even want with a gardenship?"<br />
<br />
She doesn't manage to hit anyone, which is a shame. Better to knock them down before the fearsome Alderaanian excorts cut them down. Still, that is up for fate to decide. She's just here to secure some seeds! All the seeds! "However many there are, we clearly will have to deal with them!" Ulani tries to tuck herself behind a low-set planter box for cover. Whatever good that will do.<br />
<br />
Songsteel was rumored to be even resistant to Lightsabers. Well, so were a lot of things, that didn't mean it was true. Either way, it was a reputation that the steel had. Perhaps that's why the poor injured fool Lorde Celchu was stalking was now crawling away from him as he swung. The blade sparked against the deck plating as it came into contact with it. The third strike slashed the Terrorist along the back, likely severing whatever important spinal nervous system their species had. <<"Annoying...">> Ejnar responded either to the swiftness of the enemy he'd just felled or Ulani's comments on why the Terrorists were here. He moved along, twirling his luminous Songsteel blade about his wrists nonchalantly.<br />
<br />
Never bring a blaster to a swordfight.<br />
<br />
What started out as a joke seems to rapidly hold water. Nora Frayus is close to them. Dangerously close. Blaster fire erupts towards her, but she closes the distance far too quickly. The first shot fires just past her ribcage, and the second just over her shoulder. Three whirling strikes cut down two and badly wound another, all while Nora Frayus keeps her body close to the Ithorian she means to defend.<br />
<br />
"Are you alright?" she asks over her shoulder, pulling the blade free from the chest of the terrorist that falls limp to the floor. Her eyes turn to those remaining and she moves to stand in front of them and the one she's defending.<br />
<br />
"What do you -want-?" Nora asks of one of the terrorists that remain standing. "No one else has to die. Lay down your weapons, or we will cut them from your hands."<br />
<br />
Kiko guns down two who shot at her, both in quick succession and with lethal precision. She pauses in the combat to answer Lord Bors, though her gaze is not removed from her foes. "Were I to wager, my Lord, I might say they need only the bridge to demand compliance. Ithorians are not known for their security forces, and the state of their vessel would far outweigh any notion of retribution."<br />
<br />
Kiko steps forward, moving in the direction of the lift where the reinforcements arrived. Her cape gently rustles, and she uses the brief moment to tuck her arm to her lower back while her other holds her blaster out in front of her. "Might I suggest we explore the command deck. Perhaps we can return the agency of this vessel to the Ithorians, and earn some political capital to boot."<br />
<br />
The remaining pair of terrorists cast down their weapons and raise their hands when bid to do so by Lady Nora. One answers, "These plant freaks grow a rare variant of the Marcan Herb, and we had a deal worked out that they would grow a certain amount. The deal was between them.. and a Hutt out of Sneeve. They failed to uphold their end of the bargain, and we came to set right the production!"<br />
<br />
The Ithorian behind Nora answers her first, then comments on the points made by one of the terrorist/Hutt Gangsters, "I am fine. -- He is correct. We were given a bad batch of the herb which spread a virus to our other clones. We were unable to meet their demands and thus incurred the ire of their employer. We invited you (Alderaanians) here hoping you would preserve us from their violence. They are unreasonable and demand much, but we cannot help the results from nature.."<br />
<br />
Popping up from her hiding place behind a fern, Ulani points her barrel to the ground with the same weight as the frown on her face. "You brought us here knowing there there these ruffians aboard in the hopes that we would solve your problem for you? That hardly seems a rational, fair thing to do. What if we had been harmed? We may yet still be!" Incredulous, perhaps. Or more just on edge from her dreams of growing many an Alderaanian plant starting to go up on smoke.<br />
<br />
"Is that even the full truth?" Ulani is a booksmart woman, but streetsmarts might be lacking. Something is niggling at her that this whole situation stinks more than first impressions would let on, but given her inexperience with Ithorians and being completely out of her element, all she has to go on is the dulcet tones of the droid repeating the Ithorian's own words back to them in Basic. And those sound as genuine as a droid is programmed to be.<br />
<br />
<<"Hutts... of course its Hutts. Dirty little...">> Ejnar stops himself sighing, giving a nod to Lady Kiko as she observes the best course of action might be to take the bridge. <<"You there...">> he asks one of the surrendering terrorists, <<"How many of you between here and the bridge?">><br />
<br />
Though the Lord Celchu can't help himself as he looks to the Ithorian, <<"That's what you get for dealing with a Hutt.">><br />
<br />
Nora keeps those cold blue eyes on the terrorist across from her, sword held in his direction, as he speaks. When him and the rest place their weapons down and raise their hands, Nora, points the tip of her sword down towards the ground and applies a bit of weight to it. Her head tips when the Ithorian behind her speaks as well, a visible look of irritation crossing her face that softens when Ulani speaks. It seems Nora had similar thoughts as well.<br />
<br />
A nod is then given to Ejnar, her own distaste for the Hutts being made abundantly clear as a scowl that spreads across her face. "If it is the Hutts you are dealing with, this reprieve may prove to be only temporary. Their funding is vast and their network oppressive. Even in Republic space, you may not be safe," Nora says with a soft sigh.<br />
<br />
"But I agree with Lady Alde. We should head to the bridge. We can count on all of your men to stand down, hmmm?" Nora wonders, peering back towards the terrorist who had caught the Alderaanians up on their current situation.<br />
<br />
"For a people who are inclined towards aggression on a ratio of one thousand to one, if memory serves, summoning such as those who've grown unwilling to be passive such as we makes sense."> Bors comments at last, having listened to the story as given by the Ithorians, walking with the others but keeping his blade with the blunt edge shouldered.<br />
<br />
<"New Republic has red tape, they must muster and dispatch. Mercenaries precarious to summon for the circumstance. Mandalorians would cause too much collateral damage."> Lord Thul's frown coming through the externals loud and clear, <"Their chicanery lends to truth, even if I will be most cross should a triple cross be levied us."> looking then to Ejnar and Nora in the wake of their opinion, <br />
<br />
<"If hutts be the seed of trouble, it shall take much to clear the roots."><br />
<br />
"It is our truth," replies the Ithorian, though they take no offense by Ulani's tone. The gangster pointed at by Ejnar, has wide eyes for a moment, but listens to the Lord's question, then Nora's. "Almost a hundred of us are on board this ship to help with packaging the shipments. We're not violent, but we threaten violence. That's the nature of Hutt business, and no one can dictate to a Hutt."<br />
<br />
Kiko comes to pause, not certain she should lead the crew to the bridge. Her hand comes up to support her chin in a thoughtful rub, and she turns to her companions and sighs. "Do we disrupt the business of Hutts to help Ithorians who have failed to uphold their end of a bargain on the word of the same Ithorians promising us Old World flora? Or, do we back away respectfully, and honor the business agreement between the two and treat this as a misunderstanding?"<br />
<br />
"Some of our men were killed just now. Our Lord will demand recompense for the loss." One terrorist says, not in a threatening way, but a matter of fact. It was the way of a Hutt Lord, afterall. Kiko nods and regards her friends. "Captain, this is your op." She says to Thul. "What should we do?" This addressed to the group.<br />
<br />
It may be for the sheer weight coming down that Bors's helmet remains on. Though his head inclines slightly, caught up in the requirements of rank and duty while facing down the decision put before him.<br />
<br />
<"Help Ithorians break a deal and in turn be made to bring them to Alderaan, or Chandrila, an act that the Hutts would take umbrage towards."> the glowing t-visor that turns his face into a ghostly impression of what is beneath turns to the ithorian, <"You are asking to bring the fury of the Hutts to Alderaan, to pull their gaze from you that made such folly as you had come under."><br />
<br />
The blade taps at the cowling between neck and shoulder pads, helmet turning upward and his gaze studying the ceiling as for answers. "Bugger all" grumbled in his helmet, externals turned off for that moment.<br />
<br />
<"Flee"> told to one of those two Hutt employees, <"You and yours, gather whatever of the shipment is viable and flee. Your numbers shall count for naught, otherwise."> head turning to Kiko and his voice coming to private comms next,<br />
<br />
<<"Lady Kiko, inform Her Grace that House Thul is granting amnesty to a Garden Ship and what repercussions follow shall be on The Most Noble and Ancient Houses's shoulders and not on all of Alderaans.">> sighing once comms are clicked off, most likely committing his dear sister's house to war with a Hutt Lord.<br />
<br />
It isn't an easy decision to make and while Ulani has her opinions on the matter, hers was not asked. So her blue eyes fall to the man in full armour. Unable to see his face, she knows well enough from his body language. By the time a decision is made, Ulani has moved up next to him in a supportive presence. "This is a debt you now owe," she informs the Ithorian seriously. "One that you will be expected to prepay however is seen fit. But your dealings with a criminal syndicate has put more than just your life and livelihood in danger. I do hope you respect the severity of this situation and all you have dragged into it."<br />
<br />
<<"It's entirely possible there are no ancient Alderaanian trees to be had and that the Ithorians here just needed us to be rid of their stupid and clumsy mistake.">> Ejnar says giving a side glance towards the Ithorian present. Though he doesn't stop there, a turn towards the one gangster who'd warned of retaliation for the dead, <<"Only if they wish to bathe in salt.">> Said coldly. Though he steps back as Bors gives his ultimatum. He can only think of the consequences and of a powerful ally Panteer might gain from this or it could be a bluff they called right. Only time would tell.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus watches the decision be made with thin lips and a clenched jaw. The hand on her sheathed-sword stays steady, even as Bors issues his command to the Hutt Soldiers. Her fingertips grasp the grip, and she turns to look towards them, the Ithorian, and then Bors Thul. There is certainly an expression on her face. Her eyes flick back and forth between Ulani and Bors as they invite the weight of conflict with the Hutts onto House Thuul and, potentially, the whole of New Alderaan. She swallows, but remains silent.<br />
<br />
"You heard the man. Enough have died today, would you not agree?"<br />
<br />
Kiko nods, then looks to the gangsters who were told to flee. They do not seem very pleased with the situation, but they're not eager to look a gift nerf in the mouth, either. Nodding, they begin to depart. The one who had spoken for them both a moment ago adds, "Our Lord will be displeased, but you know this already."<br />
<br />
Ejnar and Nora's added response urge the pair off, and they walk away toward the lift and take it to the top. The Ithorian who they dealt with is slowly turning toward Ulani. "We are most appreciative for Alderaan's assistance. Fear not, we have what your nation seeks, and willingly give it as payment for this assistance."<br />
<br />
After several minutes, a bass toned voice sounds off on a comm unit held by the Ithorian, who begins to translate by repeating it so his emitter will voice it for the others. "The Hutt Cartel have departed our vessel with no incident, honoring the agreement."<br />
<br />
Kiko finally holsters her pistol casually and turns toward Bors. "I believe we have solved the crisis. Well done, everyone."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Aldera_Squad:_A_Bad_Seed&diff=18482Log:Aldera Squad: A Bad Seed2022-08-04T01:58:11Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Aldera Squad have a tough negotiation with the Hutt Cartel | Location=Ithorian Gardenship 'Dawn of..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Aldera Squad have a tough negotiation with the Hutt Cartel<br />
| Location=[[Ithorian Gardenship 'Dawn of Spring']]<br />
| Participants=[[Aldera Squad]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Ejnar Celchu]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Aryn Cortess]] as GM/Kiko Alde<br />
| OOCDate=August 3, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Tantive IV lands upon the deck of a Gardenship capital ship, the security escorts for the Alderaanian craft were also permitted to land and disembark. Aboard this massive ship, the Alderaanians, and their allies, find a very green and fresh atmosphere that smells inviting and unlike any artificial air arrangement they've encountered. Here, the air is fresh, humid even, and the place is absent any sort of mechanical noise that would otherwise greet them on a vessel of this size. Vines and plants are seen growing from the bulkheads and around the top of this atrium, giving the sense that the ship itself is alive.<br />
<br />
Awaiting the crew at the appropriate distance is an Ithorian welcoming committee. It is comprised of a heavy armed escort, and a well dressed diplomat who, themselves, is Ithorian. Standing an easy 7ft in height, the massive creature steps heavily forward, ushered in part from their enthusiastic guard, to initiate greetings. The Ithorian's mouth begins to move, emitting a bass-heavy language that is promptly translated by a droid that conveys emotions other sentients might come to understand.<br />
<br />
"Greetings, and welcome aboard the Dawn of Spring. We are delighted to have you.." The only one who seems happy to see them is the Ithorian, the guards behind them seem less inclined, and impatient. They are a mixture of species, some wearing helmets, and others not. The one that had been enthusiastic to get the proceedings on track, is a Wroonian, as blue as they come. He holds his weapon at the alert, his finger over the trigger.<br />
<br />
Looking to faces being bracketed and matched to whatever records his armor has been fed in the past, Bors walks with his helmet down and armor on in escort posture. Playing the soldier rather than standing as nobility during the arrival of the Alderaanian delegates. While he has no weapon readily in hand, carbine and rifle are worn slung and sheathed on his person. No droid accompanies him, nor is there even the presence of Kuhlai D'Mahn.<br />
<br />
Doing his level best to keep his head from moving, while his eyes check forward and the compressed 360 sensor view level to his forehead, he resorts to court teachings to speak with fractional bob of his head or shoulders, <<"Appears were are yet to be looked upon joyously for the most part. Or there is something amiss that we've ere spotted yet.">> speaking over private comms, hoping others have ear-pieces in at the very least.<br />
<br />
The moment she stepped on board, Ulani was in love. This ship that is akin to a floating garden. An oasis in space. Stepping off the Alderaanian transport with the others, she takes in a deep breath of the fresh air and looks around at all the vines and plants. "By the Gods," she sighs happily. Near giddy. "What a wonderful place! Oh, I would love to frequent a ship like this every other day if duties would allow me."<br />
<br />
The budding horticulturalist is alight with eagerness, but she manages to reign herself in. This is a mission, not a pleasure trip. Though if someone doesn't keep an eye on her, it might become one. As the Ithorian and their escorts arrive, Ulani offers a bow. "Truly delighted to be here. This place is magnificent. A marvel." She's dressed to be diplomatic: the flightsuit and armour left back on the ship. Finery this day.<br />
Wearing a set of Void Armor absent of the usual yellow and earthy green tones and instead taking on a more appropriate color of Dark Green and Gray, Ejnar Celchu moves long with the boarding party on the opposite side of Bors playing much the same part he is. He wears a dark cape over his suit of armor, as is custom with Alderaanians. His own weapons seem to be just a sword at his hip and... metal rings on the fingers of his armor's gauntlets.<br />
<br />
The Lord Celchu is silent, opting to look over the Woornian with the ready trigger. He tilts his head to the side before looking around, scanning.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus' eyes look past the Ithorian as he speaks. She's regarding the guards with those cool, frosty blue eyes while listening to, well... at least one of their warm welcomes onto the ship. She rests her hand idly on her sword's grip, though her body language is far more relaxed and casual than it is defensive. The pink haired noble woman gives a small tip of her chin up when she hears Bors chime in on their private comms, but doesn't yet speak over them. Instead, she turns to look back towards the Ithorian and offers him that warm Nora Frayus smile. So often at odds with the chill within her eyes.<br />
<br />
"Indeed. Not only of engineering, but of botany as well. I could easily mistake it to be a warm, summer day instead of a space s hip. How positively charming."<br />
<br />
The noble joining them from the Tantive IV is not Aryn, but her proxy, Lady Kiko of House Alde. Kiko is a professional looking woman, wearing a tunic and cape, with tall shined boots. She looks prior military and that's how she conducts herself. Her dark hair is pulled back tight into a /perfect/ bun, and her hands remain concealed within gloves. She is armed with a single pistol, a blaster of unknown make that sits snug in a modest holster on her hip, in view from beneath her cape.<br />
<br />
"My companions compliments are not untrue, this is a marvel. A marriage of beauty and history." It's not clear if Kiko has taken into account the tense nature of the guards escorting their welcoming attendant, but she regards the Ithorian with narrowed eyes. "We have come to negotiate the release of Old Alderaan flora, particularly the cloned seeds your people have preserved for half century. Judging from the presence and.. look of your security, I think our welcome seems ..inconvenient?"<br />
<br />
Hitting the nail on the head, the security 'chief' sighs and lifts his weapon. Before he can pull the trigger, Kiko blasts him three times in the chest. His body smacks the deck with a loud THUD, and ten other security guards fan out among the vast court yard of tall plants and planters.<br />
<br />
The peaceful Ithorian raises their hands, "Please.. please, do not harm me. We are taken hostage.." The pleasant computer voice says.<br />
<br />
When the blasters come up durasteel clears scabbard and instinct takes over for Lord Thul. <br />
<br />
<<"Bugger all.">> Language. Bors.<br />
<br />
Stepping forward to the motley band of belligerent brigands bandying blasters brawnily comes he in black armor banded on its edges in Alderaanian silver. The pommel of the blade catching one in the jaw, their rifle being used to parry the followup in so narrow a swing that hair is clipped and the butt stock of the weapon crashes against the heavy reinforced plastoid shell of the cheek guard.<br />
<br />
<"Drat it all."> externals on this time and blade sings through armor and padding to draw blood and send the 'guard' to the ground clutching at their leg. <"Now then, cessation of this tom foolery is best for you, gentles. I hope thee ask for quarter and lay down arms!"> <br />
<br />
Someday, probability says, that will actually work.<br />
<br />
You can teach a girl to dance, to write, to draw a weapon and fire. You can teach her a great many things that may have otherwise been out of her realm of possibility such as demolitions and weaponry schematics. What you can't combat, however, is obliviousness. The eye to see the body language in a potential enemy. That smell of tension in the air. Such things take years to ingrain and, sadly, training in such things come only in real world scenarios.<br />
<br />
Such as a diplomatic mission going pear-shaped right out of the door.<br />
<br />
Her stomach sinks and Ulani immediately turns towards Ejnar as Bors runs into the fray. "Lord Ejnar. If you would be so kind: my rifle?" When she had asked the nobleman to carry her weapon on him it was with the hope that she was being silly for asking such a thing to begin with. Ulani never minded being overly cautious and even 'silly' if it meant something went smoothly and without harm.<br />
<br />
Today is not one of those days. She unclips her rifle from Ejnar's back with a sad nod of gratitude to him and brings it to bear, the whine of powering on followed by a bolt that neutralizing one of the foemen where they stand. "This isn't necessary," she does plead with them.<br />
<br />
The violence boils over quickly, Kiko's reflexes not at all a rumor and just as deadly as those rumors said they were. There is a pause as the blaster flashes reflect off his armor's visor. He stands there watching the group of 'guards' spread out. At Ulani's request A hand reaches up and unclasps the cape from the front, letting it fall away and revealing an EL-16HFE strapped across his back in a quick access single point strap.<br />
<br />
Once the large weapon is free, Ejnar draws his blade. It's a rather basic but very sharp piece of what could only be described as Songsteel. Which meant it glowed a bit. There is a high frequency ring as it is removed from its sheath. His feet move forward with aggressive momentum. The blade tares into one of the ten, slashing upwards, a trail of blood following behind. He twists and slashes across, twirling a bit with both hand on the hilt. He follows through with a third attack in which misses but only because his target is incapacitated on the ground. He looks over the felled enemy a moment before saying, <<"Don't bring guns to a sword fight.">><br />
<br />
What a funny guy.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus had begun taking a few steps towards the Ithorian. It wasn't him that she was moving close to, no. Rather, it was the guards just behind him. Her body language is warm and welcoming, and oriented entirely towards the Ithorian who gave them their welcome. Her intuition, however, seems in line with Kiko's, though it is the latter that pulls the trigger. That concussive blast of plasma is Nora Frayus' rallying cry, and with one motion she draws the blade at her side and buries beneath the sternum of one of the guards. She spins and pulls, ripping it out and dragging it across the midsection of a second. Her second strike? Parried with a blaster and deflected.<br />
<br />
"Get behind us. We will protect you," Nora says to the hostage Ithorian. And who is going to argue with her, anyway? Half of the terrorists are already dead.<br />
<br />
Kiko guns down another of the terrorists, standing poised in the open and holding her pistol like a duelist. Her marksmanship is superb, spilling her foe across the deck well deceased before his body even made contact with the floor. Four terrorists in the vicinity remain, seeking more ideal ground for which to get a vantage and fire. They move away from the Alderaanians, both intimidated by the fact many of them use swords in place of blasters, almost ensuring the attacks were far more painful and personal.<br />
<br />
"Blast them!" One of the terrorist yell, but the younger of the four (and injured at that) makes a limping retreat toward the path they came. Eager for reinforcements, he begins speaking in Huttese to unseen companions, alerting them of the danger in the landing courtyard.<br />
<br />
A lift nearby lights up, arriving seconds later with four more terrorists, all of which have their blasters ready. This makes eight in total (though only four attack this round).<br />
<br />
Being bunched up in the midst of the enemy has the distinct advantage of making it hard to bring anything more than a pistol to bear. Bodies were pushed off of his armor in the throng and quick, slashing cuts were cutting cloth, sparking armor, or the crossguard would become a punching tool. <br />
<br />
A jaw gives under the ornately crafted grip of Bors's blade, teeth flying and another crack across the face lacerates the forehead, spilling blood in the assailant's eyes and then the pommel snaps their nose. Concussed, blooded and tumbling to the ground, Lord Thul steps over their form and angles to put himself between attackers and the Ithorian regardless of where the hammerhead is standing presently,<br />
<br />
<<"Lady Alde - if they had enough to claim one of these sorts of cruisers, how many do you think we face this day?">><br />
Ulani doesn't speak or understand Huttese, but she knows it when she hears it. Instictively, her thumb toggles her gun from kill to stun, figuring that someone should be left alive to answer questions. That and it's easier for her to swallow firing the wobbly, blue rings. Especially on such a beautiful, green capship. "What in the name of the Gods happened here?" She shouts over to the Ithorian -- wherever he is. "What do these people even want with a gardenship?"<br />
<br />
She doesn't manage to hit anyone, which is a shame. Better to knock them down before the fearsome Alderaanian excorts cut them down. Still, that is up for fate to decide. She's just here to secure some seeds! All the seeds! "However many there are, we clearly will have to deal with them!" Ulani tries to tuck herself behind a low-set planter box for cover. Whatever good that will do.<br />
<br />
Songsteel was rumored to be even resistant to Lightsabers. Well, so were a lot of things, that didn't mean it was true. Either way, it was a reputation that the steel had. Perhaps that's why the poor injured fool Lorde Celchu was stalking was now crawling away from him as he swung. The blade sparked against the deck plating as it came into contact with it. The third strike slashed the Terrorist along the back, likely severing whatever important spinal nervous system their species had. <<"Annoying...">> Ejnar responded either to the swiftness of the enemy he'd just felled or Ulani's comments on why the Terrorists were here. He moved along, twirling his luminous Songsteel blade about his wrists nonchalantly.<br />
<br />
Never bring a blaster to a swordfight.<br />
<br />
What started out as a joke seems to rapidly hold water. Nora Frayus is close to them. Dangerously close. Blaster fire erupts towards her, but she closes the distance far too quickly. The first shot fires just past her ribcage, and the second just over her shoulder. Three whirling strikes cut down two and badly wound another, all while Nora Frayus keeps her body close to the Ithorian she means to defend.<br />
<br />
"Are you alright?" she asks over her shoulder, pulling the blade free from the chest of the terrorist that falls limp to the floor. Her eyes turn to those remaining and she moves to stand in front of them and the one she's defending.<br />
<br />
"What do you -want-?" Nora asks of one of the terrorists that remain standing. "No one else has to die. Lay down your weapons, or we will cut them from your hands."<br />
<br />
Kiko guns down two who shot at her, both in quick succession and with lethal precision. She pauses in the combat to answer Lord Bors, though her gaze is not removed from her foes. "Were I to wager, my Lord, I might say they need only the bridge to demand compliance. Ithorians are not known for their security forces, and the state of their vessel would far outweigh any notion of retribution."<br />
<br />
Kiko steps forward, moving in the direction of the lift where the reinforcements arrived. Her cape gently rustles, and she uses the brief moment to tuck her arm to her lower back while her other holds her blaster out in front of her. "Might I suggest we explore the command deck. Perhaps we can return the agency of this vessel to the Ithorians, and earn some political capital to boot."<br />
<br />
The remaining pair of terrorists cast down their weapons and raise their hands when bid to do so by Lady Nora. One answers, "These plant freaks grow a rare variant of the Marcan Herb, and we had a deal worked out that they would grow a certain amount. The deal was between them.. and a Hutt out of Sneeve. They failed to uphold their end of the bargain, and we came to set right the production!"<br />
<br />
The Ithorian behind Nora answers her first, then comments on the points made by one of the terrorist/Hutt Gangsters, "I am fine. -- He is correct. We were given a bad batch of the herb which spread a virus to our other clones. We were unable to meet their demands and thus incurred the ire of their employer. We invited you (Alderaanians) here hoping you would preserve us from their violence. They are unreasonable and demand much, but we cannot help the results from nature.."<br />
<br />
Popping up from her hiding place behind a fern, Ulani points her barrel to the ground with the same weight as the frown on her face. "You brought us here knowing there there these ruffians aboard in the hopes that we would solve your problem for you? That hardly seems a rational, fair thing to do. What if we had been harmed? We may yet still be!" Incredulous, perhaps. Or more just on edge from her dreams of growing many an Alderaanian plant starting to go up on smoke.<br />
<br />
"Is that even the full truth?" Ulani is a booksmart woman, but streetsmarts might be lacking. Something is niggling at her that this whole situation stinks more than first impressions would let on, but given her inexperience with Ithorians and being completely out of her element, all she has to go on is the dulcet tones of the droid repeating the Ithorian's own words back to them in Basic. And those sound as genuine as a droid is programmed to be.<br />
<br />
<<"Hutts... of course its Hutts. Dirty little...">> Ejnar stops himself sighing, giving a nod to Lady Kiko as she observes the best course of action might be to take the bridge. <<"You there...">> he asks one of the surrendering terrorists, <<"How many of you between here and the bridge?">><br />
<br />
Though the Lord Celchu can't help himself as he looks to the Ithorian, <<"That's what you get for dealing with a Hutt.">><br />
<br />
Nora keeps those cold blue eyes on the terrorist across from her, sword held in his direction, as he speaks. When him and the rest place their weapons down and raise their hands, Nora, points the tip of her sword down towards the ground and applies a bit of weight to it. Her head tips when the Ithorian behind her speaks as well, a visible look of irritation crossing her face that softens when Ulani speaks. It seems Nora had similar thoughts as well.<br />
<br />
A nod is then given to Ejnar, her own distaste for the Hutts being made abundantly clear as a scowl that spreads across her face. "If it is the Hutts you are dealing with, this reprieve may prove to be only temporary. Their funding is vast and their network oppressive. Even in Republic space, you may not be safe," Nora says with a soft sigh.<br />
<br />
"But I agree with Lady Alde. We should head to the bridge. We can count on all of your men to stand down, hmmm?" Nora wonders, peering back towards the terrorist who had caught the Alderaanians up on their current situation.<br />
<br />
"For a people who are inclined towards aggression on a ratio of one thousand to one, if memory serves, summoning such as those who've grown unwilling to be passive such as we makes sense."> Bors comments at last, having listened to the story as given by the Ithorians, walking with the others but keeping his blade with the blunt edge shouldered.<br />
<br />
<"New Republic has red tape, they must muster and dispatch. Mercenaries precarious to summon for the circumstance. Mandalorians would cause too much collateral damage."> Lord Thul's frown coming through the externals loud and clear, <"Their chicanery lends to truth, even if I will be most cross should a triple cross be levied us."> looking then to Ejnar and Nora in the wake of their opinion, <br />
<br />
<"If hutts be the seed of trouble, it shall take much to clear the roots."><br />
<br />
"It is our truth," replies the Ithorian, though they take no offense by Ulani's tone. The gangster pointed at by Ejnar, has wide eyes for a moment, but listens to the Lord's question, then Nora's. "Almost a hundred of us are on board this ship to help with packaging the shipments. We're not violent, but we threaten violence. That's the nature of Hutt business, and no one can dictate to a Hutt."<br />
<br />
Kiko comes to pause, not certain she should lead the crew to the bridge. Her hand comes up to support her chin in a thoughtful rub, and she turns to her companions and sighs. "Do we disrupt the business of Hutts to help Ithorians who have failed to uphold their end of a bargain on the word of the same Ithorians promising us Old World flora? Or, do we back away respectfully, and honor the business agreement between the two and treat this as a misunderstanding?"<br />
<br />
"Some of our men were killed just now. Our Lord will demand recompense for the loss." One terrorist says, not in a threatening way, but a matter of fact. It was the way of a Hutt Lord, afterall. Kiko nods and regards her friends. "Captain, this is your op." She says to Thul. "What should we do?" This addressed to the group.<br />
<br />
It may be for the sheer weight coming down that Bors's helmet remains on. Though his head inclines slightly, caught up in the requirements of rank and duty while facing down the decision put before him.<br />
<br />
<"Help Ithorians break a deal and in turn be made to bring them to Alderaan, or Chandrila, an act that the Hutts would take umbrage towards."> the glowing t-visor that turns his face into a ghostly impression of what is beneath turns to the ithorian, <"You are asking to bring the fury of the Hutts to Alderaan, to pull their gaze from you that made such folly as you had come under."><br />
<br />
The blade taps at the cowling between neck and shoulder pads, helmet turning upward and his gaze studying the ceiling as for answers. "Bugger all" grumbled in his helmet, externals turned off for that moment.<br />
<br />
<"Flee"> told to one of those two Hutt employees, <"You and yours, gather whatever of the shipment is viable and flee. Your numbers shall count for naught, otherwise."> head turning to Kiko and his voice coming to private comms next,<br />
<br />
<<"Lady Kiko, inform Her Grace that House Thul is granting amnesty to a Garden Ship and what repercussions follow shall be on The Most Noble and Ancient Houses's shoulders and not on all of Alderaans.">> sighing once comms are clicked off, most likely committing his dear sister's house to war with a Hutt Lord.<br />
<br />
It isn't an easy decision to make and while Ulani has her opinions on the matter, hers was not asked. So her blue eyes fall to the man in full armour. Unable to see his face, she knows well enough from his body language. By the time a decision is made, Ulani has moved up next to him in a supportive presence. "This is a debt you now owe," she informs the Ithorian seriously. "One that you will be expected to prepay however is seen fit. But your dealings with a criminal syndicate has put more than just your life and livelihood in danger. I do hope you respect the severity of this situation and all you have dragged into it."<br />
<br />
<<"It's entirely possible there are no ancient Alderaanian trees to be had and that the Ithorians here just needed us to be rid of their stupid and clumsy mistake.">> Ejnar says giving a side glance towards the Ithorian present. Though he doesn't stop there, a turn towards the one gangster who'd warned of retaliation for the dead, <<"Only if they wish to bath is salt.">> Said coldly. Though he steps back as Bors gives his ultimatum. He can only think of the consequences and of a powerful ally Panteer might gain from this or it could be a bluff they called right. Only time would tell.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus watches the decision be made with thin lips and a clenched jaw. The hand on her sheathed-sword stays steady, even as Bors issues his command to the Hutt Soldiers. Her fingertips grasp the grip, and she turns to look towards them, the Ithorian, and then Bors Thul. There is certainly an expression on her face. Her eyes flick back and forth between Ulani and Bors as they invite the weight of conflict with the Hutts onto House Thuul and, potentially, the whole of New Alderaan. She swallows, but remains silent.<br />
<br />
"You heard the man. Enough have died today, would you not agree?"<br />
<br />
Kiko nods, then looks to the gangsters who were told to flee. They do not seem very pleased with the situation, but they're not eager to look a gift nerf in the mouth, either. Nodding, they begin to depart. The one who had spoken for them both a moment ago adds, "Our Lord will be displeased, but you know this already."<br />
<br />
Ejnar and Nora's added response urge the pair off, and they walk away toward the lift and take it to the top. The Ithorian who they dealt with is slowly turning toward Ulani. "We are most appreciative for Alderaan's assistance. Fear not, we have what your nation seeks, and willingly give it as payment for this assistance."<br />
<br />
After several minutes, a bass toned voice sounds off on a comm unit held by the Ithorian, who begins to translate by repeating it so his emitter will voice it for the others. "The Hutt Cartel have departed our vessel with no incident, honoring the agreement."<br />
<br />
Kiko finally holsters her pistol casually and turns toward Bors. "I believe we have solved the crisis. Well done, everyone."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Aldera_Squad:_Avishan_Campaign_I&diff=18474Log:Aldera Squad: Avishan Campaign I2022-07-31T01:52:11Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Aldera Squad goes to the frigid world to investigate claims of Panteer forces. | Location=Avishan A..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Aldera Squad goes to the frigid world to investigate claims of Panteer forces.<br />
| Location=[[Avishan Arctic Skies]]<br />
| Participants=[[Aldera Squad]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ejnar Celchu]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Zacara Saronno]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=July 30, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Avishan is an icy world along the outskirts of the goldilocks sector of Alderaan's system. White from orbit, the snow and ice begin to look blue upon entry. To those veterans who had served on Hoth, it may have been a stark reminder of that landscape, though even more barren save for the ice mining facilities that set up on Avishan to ship fresh water to systems that lacked it.<br />
<br />
Aldera Squad is making their way into orbit, following a trajectory from a recon probe droid that had marked a facility on the surface harboring military assets. The mission was to ascertain the presence of Panteer military forces and destroy them.<br />
<br />
Aryn Cortess, who flies Aldera Three, rocks in place within the cockpit of her T-85 X-Wing. She is wearing a green flight helmet with its visor down, and a tunic, presumably, from the Jedi Order. Her focus is on the sensor readout and flight plan, but her droid is warbling about something concerning cold-weather lubrication being needed for optimal functionality. "I do not know, Cedar. Perhaps you should have mentioned something sooner, we could have scheduled a dip for you.." The droid makes a raspberry noise and it surprises a laugh from Aryn.<br />
<br />
Flipping the live comms over to the VOX channel the squad shared, Aryn voiced, <<"This is Aldera Three, comm-check.">><br />
<br />
<<"Aldera Six here. Five by Five, Three.">> Comes Ejnar's voice over the comms. The Turbulence from entry into the frigid world causes him to rock a bit in the cockpit of his E-Wing, probably a bit more roughly than the X-Wings as it's a lighter craft and the Wind of Atmospheric flight might effect it more. His own droid, R2-5T rests behind his canopy, whistling a question to the pilot. "Yeah keep up the scans. Who knows what visibility is like and with this crosswind any landing is going to be a pain." He looks towards the temp readouts and whistles. He tightens up formation just incase anything were to go wrong.<br />
<br />
<<"Lead, Three. You're coming in clear. Aldera Squadron, chime in.">> <br />
<br />
Bors was eyes on sensors, lips pressed together and keeping his craft close to the others for the time being, shaking in his command couch for the urge to throw throttle to full. <<"Lead, Five, recon work. Full throttle, seek and report. Mamma's Boy, you're my wing. Three and Four are wing.">> throwing out commands while tapping at a display,<br />
<br />
"It, anything?" The droid's response a series of annoyed clattering blats and one mournful lowing that draws a sigh from Lord Thul, adjusting descent and bringing a topographical overlay to sensors. "It's going to get loud if they note our sensor pings. Be careful."<br />
<br />
Another annoyed blat and a roll of Bors's eyes before he edges closer and closer still towards the ice.<br />
<br />
<<Aldera Four, check,>> Ban's steady, polished voice intones. The X-wing he flies is brought onto Aldera 3's wing when instructed, with frequent glances to the nav display to verify his position relative to the rest of the squadron.<br />
<br />
Receiving the command from her Lead, Zacara Saronno reaches forward within the canopy of her A-Wing to key the comms panel. <<"Aldera Five reporting in. Copied, lead. Seek and report.">> She releases the switch, her left hand tightening around the flight stick as she pushes the throttle to max with the other. Golden engines glow above the frozen world as the A-Wing accelerates out of formation and forward of the squad, breaking to starboard to lay out initial reconnaisance.<br />
<br />
The Espirion takes the craft a bit lower than before, flying toward a mountain ridge that pierces the cloud layers. The small craft is nimble, and could even risk flying low between the valleys if she or her commanding officers deemed it necessary. And any A-Wing pilot was certainly crazy enough to take that risk! This one, however, takes it safe for now as she passes over mountainsides that look to be polite enough in their angles to host possible facilities of any kind. A hand reaches to her sensors, twisting a dial to get a quick read of the topography ahead and below.<br />
<br />
Ensign Saronno's interceptor blasts ahead of the pack, emerging from the entry and right into choppy air and the start of an arctic storm. Sensors were going all over the place, rendering an initial negative reading which might be relayed back had she received something more than 'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH' from her equipment. The other fighters begin to experience the same thing, and readouts indicate the the fighters are experiencing fairly cold temperatures that could be dangerous if exposed to these conditions for a long period of time.<br />
<br />
<<"Aldera Three copies all. Flying here is.. rough!">> Aryn sounds strained, although the encrypted channel gives her voice a robotic like sound, she seems to be fighting her flight pattern to try to fly smoothly. It just wasn't possible.<br />
<br />
Nothing on sensors blip, but Captain Thul spots a group of R-41 Starchasers fighting through the storm on an intercept pattern for them, giving the team ample time to adjust their current tactics to respond. The opening joust was upon them though, and if Aldera Squad couldn't get the right vector, the Starchasers, numbering 10 in total, would have the home field advantage!<br />
<br />
"It, see if you can clear this up, divert auxiliary power to life support and crank the temperatures." cringing some when his instruments start giving him fun sounds in his audio receivers that set his teeth on edge and his left eye tries to squint shut.<br />
<br />
<<"Leader, squad, see if you can heat up your fighter before we get chilled on- OH! ZOUNDS!">> Language, Bors, <<"Squad, incoming, ten marks -- Starchasers. Flak spacing and see if we can thin them out!">> twisting his yoke and squeezing hard on the firing stud in the beginning of a spiral of crimson following the whirl of his craft into an aggressive forward spin.<br />
<br />
<<"Wings, pair off, keep eachother's backs. Five, keep up your work or come back for a bit of a scrap, your prefrence!">> meanwhile the lead R-41 banks, five degrees, to their port, dragging them to the right of Bors's otherwise brilliant assault - giving the Lord a bit of gestural diplomacy when they can momentarily see through the other's cockpit bubbles.<br />
<br />
"Rude."<br />
<br />
Ejnar formed up on Bors as requested, the two E-Wing running close in the rough airways with each other. The Alderaanian Lord was getting a work out on the stick, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. Five Tee whistled something about having trouble getting readings. "Must be the weather buddy, keep trying." HE glances down at the gauges, "And get that deicer working properly. We're rated for space, this shouldn't be happening." Then there's the announcement of Starchasers, <<"Received Lead...">><br />
<br />
Ejnar rolls his ship in a wide barrel roll, coming about but slightly further away from Bors. As the R-41 banks, and Bors' scarlet death misses, Ejnar is positioned to follow up. He lets his ordinance fly, his own lancing red death zipping past the craft. "Ah hell..."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender draws and lets out a slow breath as the tally is called. Banking the snubfighter to face the loose formation of R41s head on, shields set down front. The joust comes naturally to him, and Aldera 4's cannons strike one among the enemy squadron twice, bringing down its shields. <<Acknowledged, Lead,>> he notes smoothly, sensing more than seeing Aldera 3's position.<br />
<br />
With a blizzard between Aldera 5 and her squadron, her sensors didn't pick up the advanced warning of the attack. In fact they didn't pick up much at all, except that it was excessively cold. Zacara growls at her systems while she takes the A-Wing in a wide, lateral crescent-loop on a general path back toward her squadron, so that she'll eventually re-join with them. Getting close enough to be in comms range within the storm, however, she hears the calls from Aldera Lead and presses the throttle forward to full, coming out of the crescent turn and flying on a direct path toward the dogfight.<br />
<br />
A golden streak bursts out from the tops of the clouds as Aldera 5's A-Wing swoops in from below, opening fire on the nearest R-41, making a micro-adjustement to compensate for the enemy's trajectory. Perhaps the ailerons were too cold or maybe it was pilot error, but the red laser flares shoot wide, making their journey toward Alderaan space. <<"Came back to check on you,">> comes her comm. <<"Didn't realize it was play time!">> Despite this, what little attention she can give goes to her systems as she attempts to get the scanning sensors back online.<br />
<br />
Aryn's T-85 opens its s-foils and begins to fire, picking a part one of the R-41 Starchasers in the opening joust. The explosion comes quick, her fighter passing by it before the fuel cells expand the destruction and rain down debris. Aryn makes a 'eeek' face, looking back over her shoulder and moment and grimacing, <<"Three, splash One, I have two following me!">> Aryn could sense them there.<br />
<br />
Among the joust, fighters crisscross and open fire. Bors has the leader and another fighter on him, Ejnar has inherited the XO and another fighter, Ban is in a trade-off with his intended target while Zaca and Aryn pick up tails, two fighters on each of them.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, below all the fighting, and where the debris from the destroyed R-41 is falling, rages an arctic storm, making the air choppy. Moisture collects on the wings of the fighters, forming ice-crystals as the jockey for advantageous positions.<br />
<br />
Cutting engines and dropping like a stone to the terror of the R2 unit socketed behind him, Bors's foot stamps on a pedal that puts maneuvering jets on full power, kicking him over to knife-flight when the crossfire begins sweeping his way. Forward thrust returning and making the glide into a sharp bank.<br />
<br />
Still heeling over into inverted flight Aldera Lead 'pulls up' into a half loop to bring him around once more, <<"Lead, squadron - call out if you need help. Mamma's boy, I have your six.>> leaving his own attackers to be tended to or to continue their grim work against him and making his best effort to put cross-hairs ahead before he squeezes again. <br />
<br />
Shields opaque and 'tear' under the barrage, a marching line that runs over the lower hemisphere of shields then streaking past when deflectors are eliminated from the target, <<"They're naked, if anyone is free to dance.">> banking again, seeking to hold his place firmly in the fighters aft quarter, continued bursts of fire being sent to try and hem them in.<br />
<br />
There is a rumble and shakes as a splash from light lasers on the Starchasers strafe across the protective bubble, tapping the shields of Ejnar's E-Wing. "Alright, forget the scanners, We'll locate the base after we deal with these pests. Focus on the shields."<br />
<br />
He notices another starchaser angling in on him, looking to the other side where Bors is maneuvering and noticing the Leader still behind his Wingman. <<"And I got yours.">> He pulls back on the air break, pirouetting the craft into an almost flat spin. The old 'Cometburn' Maneuver he was taught a while ago. The lasers of the R-41 chasing him, slip past him wide as he pushes the throttle forward and comes from above. The starchaser Ace hasn't much of a clue as his heavy canons rip through the shields and hull, sparking a fireball filled with violently billowing black smoke. <<"Aldara Six, Splash One.">><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender evades the opening volley of his foe, allowing it to bank one direction without pursuit as the dragoon-turned-pilot banks the other in a. effort to drive one of the tails off of Alderaan 3. <<At your back, Aldera Three,>> he reports. Off channel, he notes aloud, "I daresay the banter shall take some some time to grow familiar."<br />
<br />
The acrobatics of a dogfight are Aldera 5's favorite part, and against an R-41 she has the definite advantage here. Which is why it's all the more humiliating when R-41 04 gets a hit on her. Growling in frustration for the second time this mission, Zacara throttles down to ten percent, spinning the agile A-Wing around completely, then throttling up to 68 percent to match speed with the R-41. Aldera 5 lines up for a shot, cannon fire hitting both times. The enemy ship's shields flash and fizzle and Zacara does her best to keep in line with the enemy pilot for a follow-up to come.<br />
<br />
Reaching forward, the red-skinned Alder-Espirion keys her comms. <<"Understood, Lead. I'm hit but I'm fine. When there are few enough to handle I'll break and search for that facility.">> The gloved hand releases the comm, moving back to the throttle in case the R-41 tries something fancy.<br />
<br />
Aryn spins starboard to avoid being hit, the G's from the technique testing the tension of her chin strap. When the fighter leveled out and she had succeeded in avoiding harm, she saw on sensors that Ser Ban had taken to pursuing one of her tailing foes, but he had one of his own returning to engage him. She set up a shot hoping to intercept the shieldless craft, but the engaged afterburners the moment her targeting equipment made a tone and she squeezed the trigger. "Rats!" Aryn looks back over her shoulder and grimaces, earning another tail while Ban has managed to pick up one of her old.<br />
<br />
The fight is intense, and another of the Starchaser squadron inherit a loss as their CO is destroyed by Lt Celchu's heavy cannons. The Starchaser stood no chance against the state-of-the-art weapons, or the impacts they made. Shields shimmer and are tested by the Starchaser squadron, but they've had no success against Aldera Squadron yet, who seems to be holding their 'ground'.<br />
<br />
Keeping his pace, though it requires he match the far inferior speed of the preybirds in his sights, slamming the ethereal rudder to kick the E-Wing into a wild looking fishtail that pulls the fighter to one side when more fire angles on him, "I think they're upset." looking with quick flicks of head and eyes to tab on the others. "Oh. Well that's unacceptable." <br />
<br />
His sudden break from prey, and further attention to their status results in another stream of fire screeching just abaft of the fighter engines and bringing him into an unexpected head to head with the foeman still behind Ejnar.<br />
<br />
<<"Lead, Five, acknowledged. Keep dipsy-doodling.">> <br />
<br />
A flick of his thumb changes weapons from cycling to massed fire that puts three bursts of overcharged energy through the midline of the fighter. A single shot that results in the sudden swelling of the craft as heat deforms and pressure builds to climax in the heavy fighter popping like a soap bubble filled with detonating power cells and ordinance.<br />
<br />
<<"Lead, splash one. Mamma's boy you're clear.">><br />
<br />
<<"Dipsy-doodling, Acknowledged...">> Ejnar states as he just barely dodges some return fire, the lancing bolts zipping just past his shields and further into the atmosphere of the frozen wastes just as Bors obliterates them. Instead of getting fancy though, the experienced pilot takes a look around his wide canopy, noticing the Starchaser running after their A-Wing pilot. <<"I'm heading in after Five... they're dancing with one of 'em...">><br />
<br />
Ejnar levels out, gaining some altitude and then as Zacara passed underneath him, he barrels down on-top of the R-41, his heavy canons ripping through and causing the craft to explode in a brilliant bright yellow flash. The remains scatter about in thick black smoking fireballs.<br />
<br />
Five Tee Beeps that shields are back to Max. <<"Six, splash two...">><br />
<br />
The longer the dogfight wheels on above the frozen world, the more Ban's inexperience in a cockpit begins to show. He still instinctively approaches a melee from a two dimensional perspective. The enemy pilot who had peeled off of Aryn attacks him from below, landing a hot to his shields. A mild frown creases his brows as Ban continues firing at Aryn's tail, narrowly missing the Starchaser with a salvo. <<A mild hit, I am hale.>><br />
<br />
Dancing with R-41 04, laser fire from Aldera 06 takes the enemy out of the contest. Zacara gives a quick nod of respect as she twists her A-Wing around, aiming herself toward Aldera 3's pursuers. Coming at one of them from starboard, R-41 03, the opportunity is almost too easy. A quick pair of cannon blasts - don't want to waste energy after all - ends the threat her princess. Reaching forward once more, she keys for comms. <<"Five. Got one off Three's tail. I'm going to try and shake these and get back on recon, before they have time to call their friends.">> Releasing the comm, the gloved hand slams the throttle forward, to '11'. If '11' wasn't on there by factory default, then it's been painted on with a marker.<br />
<br />
Golden engines scream above the frozen storm as the A-Wing enters into a corkscrew-like spinning maneuver in an attempt to shake itself from the R-41's targetting computers. Ending the corkscrew with the ship leaning to port, she pulls up on the stick, bringing the nimble fighter around in a tight crescent-shape before levelling it off and making a break from the dogfight.<br />
<br />
Aryn, again, performs another technique that ensures her craft's shields remain untarnished, and she engages the afterburners to chase after the tail pursuing Ban. <<"I am trying to engage Four's tail, but he is bloody fast!">> Aryn says, calm but not without a touch of excitement. She witnesses the destruction of one of her tailing foes, and comments, <<"Thanks for the help, Four and Five. We seem to be fairing well!">> Aryn takes a shot, misses, and sighs, rotating her craft and view to give chase!<br />
<br />
More and more Starchasers are biting the arctic dust, raining down and disappearing into the white-clouded storm below.<br />
<br />
<<"Lead, six, copy. I'll see if I can help clear the slow-pokes.">> a fusillade aimed to rip down the centerline of Bors's fighter from bow to stern creates a shield proximity alert that raises gooseflesh and pushes his arms forward to drop him out of the firing line. <<"Lead, five, six is your wing.">> <br />
<br />
The X-Wings come into view and Bors continues his drop, threatening to risk skimming the tumultuous clouds below, creating a wailing keen from It behind him. The little droid extending its shock prod, a multi-tool and then a little plasma torch. Thrusting them as if the idea of just stabbing Bors and killing them both is a better fate than this.<br />
<br />
<<"Four, steep climb, bank port.">> trusting on the specifically spectacular instincts of Lord Ban because he is firing already in a quartet of triple-blasts. The first halving shields, the second crushing out the R-41's defensive screen and leaving the way clear for wing to be sheared away and the final blast to drill into engines and turn the aggressor into fireworks and flak.<br />
<br />
<<"Lead, splash two.">><br />
<br />
<<"Haha, slow pokes...">> Ejnar says in response over comms as he gains altitude and looks back down to see who's still following Zacara. One Starchaser has the bravery to continue the assault. So pulling back on the yoke he loops and comes back down in a dive from behind the sun and an clouds.<br />
<br />
He takes his time, lining up his reticale sight. It glows green and he squeezes the trigger. Three red bolts lance out, thicker than the ones expelled from the slow poke X-Wings. They rip through the craft firing on their scout craft and send it into a spiraling stalling burning smoldering smoking grave on the ground of the frozen wastes bellow. <<"This is Six, Splash Three... You should be clear Five.">><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender evades a second torrent of fire from his pursuer, before hearing the instruction from Bors. Promptly, he breaks into a steep climb and banks as bidden. An instant later he sees the R41 go up in short-lived flames under Bors' guns. <<Well struck, Lead,>> he commends, reengaging and concentrating his own fire on Starchaser 7. His cannonade forces an artful evasion from his mark, which once more falls near, but burns past harmlessly.<br />
<br />
Safe from attackers thanks to Aldera 6, and keeping the A-Wing over the clouds, the 'belly' of the interceptor teases the top of the storm while Zacara flies as close to it as she possibly can without being caught in it. She throttles down slightly, enough for Ejnar's E-Wing to keep pace, while keeping her priority attention on her sensors. Something blips and, lacking a droid to command, she taps the spot on the screen, holding the fighter steady with the other hand. Calling for a focused scan, the Espirion reaches for comms.<br />
<br />
<<"Five to Lead. I've got something a dozen or so kilometers out. No visual from up here, but it's a heat source that shouldn't be there.">> She leans forward slightly, twisting a dial to request a secondary reading. <<"It's cooling. I think they've lost power. This has to be them. If we're going to avoid automated defenses, we need to do it before the storm lets their power come back online. Transmitting the flight path. Recommended that we pierce the storm, Lead.">> A few key presses and the coordinates have been transmitted to all of Aldera flight from the A-Wing's state of the art electronics systems.<br />
<br />
Aldera Squad tip their noses to the storm and disappear into the white wall of shifting clouds. The loud noises of ice TINK'ing and TACK'ing against the hull is considerable. Aryn is so unprepared for it, she loses control of the ship momentarily, essentially falling from the sky. As alarms blare in the cockpit, she closes her eyes, calms her nerves, and draws upon the Force to steady the flight path. She is no longer using the mapped flight path but her own perception of those around her through the force. Cedar has ducked his small domed head inside the socket, hiding from the ice.<br />
<br />
Several minutes of flying in this pattern, the squad emerges from the storm to less choppy air. They have visual of the installation. It's built into the side of a icy ledge, hidden if not for Aldera Five's computer scans. They make a hasty approach, capitalizing on the power being down to avoid automated defenses. Next step? Get into the facility and figure out what Panteer is up to!</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Last_Light_and_Dark_Heart&diff=18421Log:Last Light and Dark Heart2022-07-07T02:08:53Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=The Killesa family is saved from their own dungeons | Location=Last Light, Delaya | Participants=..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Killesa family is saved from their own dungeons<br />
| Location=[[Last Light, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[Kohnner]], [[Corto]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]], [[Ty Killesa]] NPC, [[Lars Syrush]] NPC<br />
| OOCDate=July 6, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The seas have calmed, and the storm now rages over the severe looking fortress standing defiant against the waves that bash its sea walls. Forces from the Allied 'Cortess' banner have broken the fleet, the exterior defenses, and have now breached the protective walls to find the keep nearly abandoned. None sat upon the sea-stone throne of Last Light, pirates and mercenaries seemingly abandoned it, but sources revealed that those who remained loyal to the false Grand-Duchess, Lana Panteer, took to the dungeons beneath the fortress to find and execute the Killesa prisoners.<br />
<br />
This must not happen.<br />
<br />
The dungeons of Last Light are a local dark spot on the presumably peaceful veneer of Alderaanian heritage. The dark tales that emerge from such a place are the same stories shared to children; that only the most fowl and evil sort find themselves in the labyrinth that is referenced as the Dark Heart; it was the lost abyss of the sea, a place of utter darkness. Criminals captured by the Killesa are permitted to roam free within its walls, subject to the brutality of other terrible criminals or the limitations of their mind. There is only enough light from the outside to remind the prisoners of a life that is infinitely better, but they will never see such again.<br />
<br />
It's poetic, then, that the Killesa family experience the Dark Heart for themselves, as now they've been its keeper for more than 20,000 years.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty Killesa is at the gate leading into the prison. Thankfully, the doors are shut, but soon they will open. Prisoners likely realized the entrance/exit of the Dark Heart and now await for the inevitable return of their Pirate (Poiret) overlords, eager to prove themselves for a taste of freedom. "It is like they will be waiting for us to open this hatch," Ty warned, spending a moment to bypass the Dark Heart door with a practiced input of code on the holo-keys before urging the typing pad back into its place. "Ready your weapons, I suspect we will have to fight to find a way through. My men will secure this entrance and await our return. We must find my family and remove them from this awful place."<br />
<br />
Aryn Cortess is told to remain by the First Sword, "I must insist, your Grace, this is no place for a Princess. I will attend this matter in your stead." Ser Lars Syrush says, freeing his sword when Ty predicts trouble. Aryn, reluctant to leave her companions to the task quietly yields and nods. "So be it, First Sword. See it done, I will see to the rest of the keep."<br />
<br />
"As you command, your Grace."<br />
<br />
<<"Indeed, They likely are waiting...">> Comments the Space Ronin CHON KOHNNER, fresh off the amphibious assault, blood stained sword still in hand. His white hooded cloak soaked and wrinkled with sea water, mud, and blood. His face however, protected by his well renowned void armor. <<"So we must be quick and crush them.">><br />
<br />
The Katooinian cranes his neck, cracking it. He awaits the order to breach the lower levels.<br />
<br />
Question. What do you do when some mean-old mother hubbard wants to tear you a structurally superfluous new behind? Answer, use a gun. And if that don't work, use more gun.<br />
<br />
There was a primitive sort of beauty in using the art of explosive-propelled metal to do one's bidding. Clumsier and more random than a blaster, it required a lifetime of training and endless patience. For the Drifter, who had surpassed two centuries of life, this was hardly any time at all. And so Corto the Cowboy Feeorin, with spurs on his boots and a flutter to his poncho, came to the fray loaded for Grom. An MWC-pattern revolver that was oversized for the Morellians that forged it, perfect for dinner-plate hands. Two sawn-off shotguns, one lever-action and the other a weird-feeling break-open design, and finally a scoped trapdoor rifle for Big Game Hunting. And then there were the metal knuckles he'd woven into his gloves.<br />
<br />
The Drifter sucked the life dry of his cigarra of the day, stubbing it out in the palm of his marksman gloves and stuffing it in a pocket (don't litter, he'd always say). "Ain't right, stuffin' your unwanted in a place like this," was that thick rumbledrawl. "Happy t' debate the ethics of it later. We'll find your folk, no sweat."<br />
<br />
Headed towards their directive, Bors's carbine is out and held ready to be raised and fired. Checking his HUD reads before his eyes, singing to himself inside all the while - the sound muted to the outside world,<br />
<br />
"And then appeared our Lion, he was roaring let foemen be met! Charging to the mountain with what forces we had left, 'Cause we're as steadfast as Organa, We're as hard as Leia's glare! Go straight to hell with your Panteer yell! We're the Loyal of Alderaan!"<br />
<br />
It's in his shoulders though. And the bob of Lord Thul's head. Even in the spring of his step. Jovial as ever as he prepares to charge into the teeth of the enemy with little more than a knife, his dueling blade and blaster at his side. It wouldn't be surprising if someday he rigged a flag carrier to his belt and backpack, most like.<br />
<br />
Not being a native of Delaya or Alderaan, Ulani was given a crash course in the labyrinthine hell they are about to enter. Normally, she would find such a topic to be intirguing of grotesque. Still, she would have researched it. Read up on the history. Perhaps even discovered some famous -- infamous -- names of those who have been lost to the dark tunnels over twenty thousand years. Like a true crime book or a novel of political intrigue and murder. She'd stay awake an extra hour to read another chapter or two with only the light from her side of the bed to illuminate. Chilling, surely. But it'd be difficult to put down.<br />
<br />
Standing in front of the doors about to navigate the maze itself knowing that evil and death lurk? That rings a bit different. She draws in a steadying breath and checks the charge on her rifle. "Thank the gods for dark vision," she says, gratefully tapping the side of her helet. "Oh. I also have this."<br />
<br />
With a flick, a headlight comes on. "Though I suppose that will only make it easier for them, as well."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender remains clad in the heavy battle armor he had worn through the landing and running battle to reach this point, the dragoon's elegant green half cape already spotted in places where blaster bolts had narrowly missed him. Having reached the gates to the castle's dreaded underground, Ban turns a dry side eye to Bors at mention of Leia. He makes no comment, dwelling in the silence for a long, centering moment before voicing, "Let us begin."<br />
<br />
The doors begin to open, rotating yellow lights coming online to signal the threat of two, heavy-weight blast-proof doors swinging inward. Ty takes on a stone cold expression, drawing his own sword from his side, but not looking so eager to lead them into the abyss of Last Light. It gave the Keep a whole new meaning when they stared into the darkness ahead of them.<br />
<br />
At first, there was no sign of life. A small stair case led down to dirty cavern flooring, and the roar of the sea filled the void like a distant echo. The air here was humid, warm, and carried the scent of death upon it at all times. Ser Lars took the first steps down, clamping his helmet in place and activating the artificial heads up display that used optics to enhance his perception and surroundings. He holds a large sword with both hands, and a dirk for quick access along the small of his back.<br />
<br />
They make it into the main atrium of what seems to be a vast choice of direction. Tunnels lead to unknown locations, and the tunnels in view now number in the twenties. Lars begins to speak, but is not able to finish his sentence when people begin to emerge from the shadows of the tunnels and charge. "Where to begi--"<br />
<br />
"BEHIND THEM IS THE DOOR TO FREEDOM! KILL THEM! AHHHHHHH!"<br />
<br />
Lord Ty steps back in sudden surprise, ironically moving closer to Corto who had voiced some reservation about stowing the criminally insane in such a place. "T'was not my practice or direction, sir, I only bear the name of those who ran it before me.." In typical teenage fashion, Ty stated this could not be his fault!<br />
<br />
"COME ANY CLOSER AND YOU WILL MEET YOUR EN--" Lars warns before being struck by an enthusiastic tackle that takes him backward one step, anchoring him in place and stopping the pitiful attack before it could find traction. Before his opponent could realize that his needless HMMMMMMMMPPPH lifting of the Knight's leg would prove nothing advantageous for him, the sharp edge of a pommel struck their head and dropped them like a heavy sack of rice. "So be it.." Lars said, shoving the man's form aside with ease and preparing for his next swing.<br />
<br />
Eleven crazed prisoners charge from tunnel in the center, wielding weapons they fashioned from the sea stone of this place. These knives are jagged and painful; definitely sharp.<br />
<br />
The great thing about the helmet of the Void Suit Armor was that not only did it provide low light vision with an augmented reality generator to help with combat. It had a powerful headlamp. Now Klatooinians naturally could see in low light but these dark tunnels were void of much. So there was a loud whine as Kohhner turned on that powerful headlamp, illuminating the crazed prisoners. <<"Desperate people are always hard to deal with...">> He says in a low growl.<br />
<br />
They charge and he goes on the offensive, his initial swing missing one before it counters and swipes the leg brutally, taking them out but not killing them. <<"We are not here for you! Back down and you will not be harmed!">><br />
<br />
Helmet back down and looking into the faces of the deranged and armed, Bors's expression dismay concealed from other's view. A quick tap of his thumb changing settings from plasma to charged particles before shouldering the stock,<br />
<br />
<"Quite the pickle..."> keeping his forward movement steady, refusing to yield ground and unleashing the first staccato trio glowing energy rings of sleep crash against the chest of one oncoming madman with a shiv poised for radical facial reconstruction of Lord Thul if his aim not be true.<br />
<br />
Fortunately it isn't. But they keep coming, hollering and raving with arms raised and the old man blinking, <"Oh I don't like this pickle!"> firing again with, thankfully, greater affect when thee raving sot is sent twitching to the ground, skidding to stop at his feet. <"Meant to do that!"><br />
<br />
A flick of her thumb and forefinger deactivates the headlamp attached to her helmet and Ulani switches to the augmented reality. The shield visor in front of her face goes dark as the V.I. system activates. Dark vision takes over where her own would surely fail as they venture into the depths where the Killisea keep all their literal skeletons.<br />
<br />
She stays close to the soft blue glow emitted by Bors' Katarn armour; a beacon of light in a pit of squalor and misery. Those subjected to its darkness are waiting to rush against all odds to make a break for the exit. Ulani helps to fend them off, a stun blast of her rifle enveloping one as they charge forward and sending them falling to the ground limp yet alive.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender carries a measure of green light in with him, radiant sword held advanced like a lantern as their surroundings are gradually revealed. When the prisoners come at them, Ban shouts, "STOP," projecting his will outward, seeking to amplify it through the Force so that they hear: "You don't want to die. You want to hide until the fighting is over, so you can live." His sword is drawn back, poised, his empty hand out thrust toward the crazed eight. No appeal is made to justice or reason: simply seeking to amplify their innate desire for survival, with a commander's authority, and an edge of power coursing through the words that some might feel humming in their chests.<br />
<br />
Lars looks poised to bring the sword down when Captain Iskender's commanding voice issues the order to stop. It works two fold, and the prisoners abandon their crazed pursuit for freedom and look to the Green Knight in a moment of unreal subservience. The display of this sorcery makes the hair on Lars' neck stand on end, and honor nearly compels him to state that these people made their choice; leave their minds to it, but such would condemn them to death. Could a Knight truly stand in the way of life, even if it were for these lowlife criminal scum? Lars remains silent, bringing his sword back to a defensive posture.<br />
<br />
The prisoners repeat the words as Ban says them, "..so we can live." They look subdued, held by some notion of inception.. that this idea Ban has used the Force to imprint on their mind was in fact a decision of their own making. They all step aside, with the last pointing toward the middle tunnel. "The people you seek went that way.."<br />
<br />
Lars seems skeptical to believe this intelligence, but what else had they to go on? Inept, for the moment, and questioning his own command, Lars gives Ban a nod indicative that he should lead them onward. Bringing up the rear of the formation, Lars kept his eyes on the prisoners, just to make sure they didn't get any knives in their back.<br />
<br />
The tunnel the prisoners indicated turned out to be true. It led up, following a decently lit portion of the dark maze, and occasionally washed with fresh waves of the sea bashing the keeps battlements. There is some sort of ruckus ahead in a larger atrium, a group of people are being forced to the center of the room by armed pirates holding blasters. "I WILL NOT DIE ON MY KNEES TO YOU SCUM!" Screams the voice of Lord Killesa, who headbutts one of the pirates, then tackles another to keep them from his wife. The other Killesa members begin to put up a fight as well. Some eight members of the House against twenty pirates. Ty did not call out to his father, knowing the distraction could prove fatal, but he rushes ahead to join his kin in what looked like their final stand.<br />
<br />
Kohnner's blade lowered as he felt the command come from the voice of the Green Knight. It wasn't something that was unexpected. His 'mind meld' with the Jedi he encountered over a year ago left him with a similar feeling. his memories were gone now though that his mission had been completed. Only stark few visions remained from this clearly similar Jedi tactic. <<"Interesting...">> Is all he can comment before the brigade moves on.<br />
<br />
As they near the Atrium and the rousing speech from the Kilessa is given the Canine can't help but feel the urgency and camaraderie in the face of a last stand. <<"Ahah! Finally a challenge!">><br />
<br />
And so his hound like legs take him sprinting towards the lines as they merge, brushing past some of the defending to slam into the attacking line of Pirates, His sharp metal blade swings at the first Poiret he crosses, the air he cuts causing that high pitched swiping noise. He misses.<br />
<br />
Chon redoubles his efforts and quickly pierces his blade through armor before pulling it free and lobbing the head from that particular individual in a rather bloody fashion. He roars, the intimidation factor lowered because of the helmet and Vocorder. Though, he might grab the attention of those around him. While he may not be taller than Corto nor hold a lightsaber, he certainly was taller than that of average humans and clearly not homosapien.<br />
<br />
Corto had come up the rear of the fray, hanging back with young Killesa, and thus got to witness the display from Ban Iskender first-hand. In response, nothing but praise. "That, my boy, is how you use the Force. Well done."<br />
<br />
The journey through the catacombs wasn't exactly the most comfortable for the Drifter, ever-used to wide open prairies and long distant ranges. Too many walls. Not quite claustrophobia, but definitely a sense of unease. He didn't even have the benefit of night vision, relying on the glow lamp of Kalgaav and the still wind of the living to guide him through the darkness. It was when light was introduced to the fray, however, that Corto had to remind himself that not all that was light was good. Sometimes it held pirates.<br />
<br />
The Drifter was always one to pick his battles. Sometimes they could be defused, sometimes you could get away with only the basics, like a slug to the knee. But, when Young Lady Killesa was at the mercy of a man of ill-intent, well, occasionally one had an excuse to go all-out. As the fray began in earnest and the rest of the gang came in swinging, Corto crossed the floor with three huge strides, the still wind fwicking the break-open sawn-off shotgun into his hand.<br />
<br />
/snap-hiss/<br />
<br />
Cold, icy blue burst from the barrel of not-actually-a-slugthrower, filling the space between Miss Killesa and the rogue Panteer Pirate. With a delicate wrist flick (...how, with those hands?!), the faded blade lanced through the torso of the pirate, giving him a practical lesson on the fragmented reproductive method of certain sea-based annelids. Unfortunately, being only human and suited for other ways of doing such, he expired pretty quickly.<br />
<br />
"Pleased to meet'cha, ma'am," the Feeorin rumbledrawled while raising his hat in greeting, the huge roughshod lightsaber positively normal-sized in his massive hands. There was one faint twirl as he turned to face the rest of the fight and raised the weapon above his head, his free arm sticking forward. Olden style, Academy-taught Soresu. This also had the advantage of completely concealing the young lady behind his massive bulk. "Try and stay behind me, we'll keep you safe."<br />
<br />
Following the lead of those called to direct by means of sorcery, Bors is uncharacteristically quiet on their travel deeper and further in. The faint cerulean glow of the katarn's helmet visor the only real way to keep watch of him without optics to enhance light around him. Steady moving even when the bellows of Lord Killsea reach them and the sight of the pirates is before.<br />
<br />
<<"Well, Ula my dear. I'm certainly dressed for imbecility, no?">> head turning briefly towards her before he starts to charge in, rifle raised in a very 'Hey! Look here! I am an interesting thing that can be shot at!' sort of fashion. Complete with his spraying blaster bolts into the thick of where he can see it be Pirates and not Pirates Con Killsea. Some going wide and another pair raking across the chest of one particularly smelly brute.<br />
<br />
<"Surrender now, to find amnesty for your good sense!"><br />
<br />
Because they'll fully understand what you're saying, Bors. Good job.<br />
<br />
Bursting onto the scene, it is havoc but a welcome one. The family, some of them at least, are still alive and fighting for their lives. What else can Ulani do but to join in those efforts? It is exactly why they are here. Her hand goes to her side where she has any number of grenades at the ready, her keen mind calculating how many she could take out in attempt to quickly even the odds.<br />
<br />
But there's too much action. Innocents intermixed with assailants as well as the cavalry now joining the fray. Too many variables. Too much room for error. The hand returns to her rifle with a tight grip, carefully taking aim for the single shot she is able to fire. The burst of blue flies past one pirate and stricks the one behind him. A one-way, all-expenses-paid trip to the ground.<br />
<br />
<<"Hmm?">> Ulani turns towards Bors' voice only to discover him already rushing forward in a full spectacle of Alderaanian glory. She cannot help but grin a little; the levity in such a dire situation helping steel her nerves. More so as he drops another. <<"Do give them a sport chance, darling.">><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender lets out a long slow breath as the prisoners stand aside. He nods once to Corto, swallows against a dry throat and steps as Ser Lars suggests. The gentleman is breathing notably harder than he otherwise might as they hasten through the corridor, a clue that the exertion of affecting so many minds had taxed the Jedi greatly. Still, when they arrive in time to find the Killesas still alive, the swordsman wasted neither time nor breath before striking mercilessly at three of the Panteer pirates, none of whom escape his reach or rise again thereafter.<br />
<br />
The sudden arrival of friends to aid in their survival sees the Killesa clan fighting for its right to live. All members of the family give it their all, but fists and rock knives prove futile against the plasteel of pirate armor. Their allies prove far more resourceful. Ser Lars rescues the Lady Mother of this House by impaling a pirate through their mouth with a very abrupt and cold stab of his sword. He spares the Lady from witnessing the gore of such a deadly strike by kicking the man from the end of his blade rather than tearing it from his cranium. "With me, My Lady."<br />
<br />
"The First Sword!" Screams Lady Killesa, who is all too eager to place the large armored man between her and danger.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty defends his cousin, sliding in with a disabling strike using his saber, he swung a second time, but the pirate raised their weapon to block the blade. Ty grinned and used his off hand to draw his blaster, blowing a hole through their center with a muffled shot. "With me, cousin," Ty said, waving the young man closer.<br />
<br />
The pirate number dwindles suddenly, but to their credit, they try their best to respond to the sudden ambush by attacking.<br />
<br />
Kohnner realized he's in the middle of what can only be described as battle chaos. Keeping track of those he is with was important, but as targets were near he dived deeper into the violence. He swung and attack at one of the pirates close by, hitting only air yet again before twisting and striking an arm, slicing through to at least bone. The Pirate retreated as the third swing came, scurrying away from the canine in pain and avoiding any further maiming. <<"You run from battle? Coward!">><br />
<br />
It may not be exactly the case, but the lack of attacks towards him and more so towards those with the laser swords might have had something to do with him still terrorizing the pirate lines without injure.<br />
<br />
At best, Corto was out of practice.<br />
<br />
It was barely even a children's game to block the incoming blasterfire, old saber remaining close in a defensive pattern. But stepping out of it, well, it required a segue into something more offensive. Aside from words about the Republic, the Feeorin was rather lacking in that regard. One of the closer pirates got a stab through the abdomen. Another, slightly further away, was just out of reach, and the Drifter seemed unlikely to move from his spot.<br />
<br />
"Move along the wall there, darlin', right to the exit. You're safe." Calm words of reassurance to the Young Lady behind him cut through the din of battle, her defender stalwart in his mission. As she moved, so too did the Drifter, the implacable wall of defense.<br />
<br />
<"I said better to surrender?"> falling back against stone walls while narrowing his profile, watching blaster bolts hurtle past, scoring rocking and setting it to a threatening rosy glow that could become shattering if cooled to quickly. Forced off of his point and turned into a stumbling comedic sideways stage three step when his armor absorbs shots that careen into his shoulder and arm plates from the wild torrent aimed towards he and the other rescuers.<br />
<br />
<"Bugger"> BORS.<br />
<br />
An attempt to get his footing only serving to tie up his ankles in what would have been a twisting spin that results in a clattering tumble to skid and on his back plate until the rim of his cowling hooks a crack in the stone and he is kicked up. Swinging half-way up to his head before slamming down with an outrush of breath that hot-mics his external comms,<br />
<br />
<"Rotters! Rekk!"> half sitting up, rifle poised and seeing an available target he fires. Flames burning on armor and the poor soul crumpling where he stands and Bors rests back on an elbow, <"Ow."><br />
<br />
She must be getting used to these sorts of encounters by now. Her instincts certainly seem to think so. The incoming volley of fire is expected and dodged with a half-roll to the side that winds Ulani in a crouched position, one knee to the floor and the other up for stability. <<"You're outnumbered and out-manned. Lay down your weapons and---">> A pirate is trying to scrmble to her feet likely so she may attack again. Ulani has no choice.<br />
<br />
<<"This is a mercy, I assure you.">> One blue burst later and said pirate is taking a wonderful, blissfully ignorant nap on the filthy prison-maze floor. <<"Are you all right, love?">> There's an awful lot of High Galactic cursing.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender deflects a pair of shots in a single deceptively smooth parry, striking down the same pair of assailants with a swift step and lunge, followed by a pair of cuts. The Jedi notes when Ty is wounded, but as the young man still looks to be ably continuing the fight, Ban can only envy the scar.<br />
<br />
The fighting comes to a decisive end as members of the Panteer pirate crew become the outnumbered, and those that remain (which are four of them) witness the destruction of those they deemed crew and friend. Ser Lars cleaved a man with a heavy swing of his sword and abandoned the weapon in the man, to fall to one side as another rushed. They find the sting of a dirk in their eye before a heavy gauntlet struck them across the face, carrying them off their feet to collect in a pile of lifeless skin on the ground. In the pause of fighting, the Knight pulls his sword free from the carrion on the ground.<br />
<br />
Ty is shot in the shoulder by a pirate, losing grip of his blaster in response. After rocking back from the blast, the Lord charges forward planting his saber in their stomach, then withdrawing to slice across their face. He screams at the effort, favoring his new wound but holding his ground.<br />
<br />
The Killesas (minus the ones rescued by Corto and Ser Lars) put up a good fight. The father bashes a man's head in with a rock, while his brother is breaking the neck of another.<br />
<br />
Returning to the four survivors, they cast down their weapons and raise their hands in defeat. Two Jedi, and a special forces unit, plus a blood crazed House Killesa eager for revenge? Check please.<br />
<br />
The Killesas are saved!<br />
<br />
As the fighting draws to an end, the Killessa redoubling their efforts in the wake of their powerful backup, Kohnner stands there with blood dripping blade at mid guard, his shoulders rising rapidly. A lower growl can be heard coming from his Vocorder as he watches the last four pirates surrender.<br />
<br />
The Space Ronin flicks his blade, some of the blood and guts splattering out across the dead bodies before he retrieves a cloth and starts to wipe away the dirt, grime, and bodily fluids from his sharpened blade. Once the weapon is returned to its sheath at his hip, he retrieves an ice cream pop from one of his pockets. He peels back the wrapper, and lifting his helmet shoves it into his mouth.<br />
<br />
"Go on, you're safe now," the Drifter encouraged, now that they had made it to the exit of the bright room with the rest of the family.<br />
<br />
With his service as a shield no longer required, Corto stepped closer into the room to survey the damage, holding the faded icy beam aloft as illumination. That sawn-off had been gutted a long time in the past, the firing mechanisms replaced by kyber, emitter, power cell, everything else needed to disguise the weapon of the Jedi from prying eyes. There was even a leather wrap around the barrel and forearm, as an impromptu grip. He regarded the four surrendering pirates with narrowed golden eyes, and from somewhere non-visible came a deep inhale and exhale. A shake of the head set his tendrils swaying.<br />
<br />
Disappointment.<br />
<br />
"Up you get, go on," he... encouraged the four, shutting down his saber and bringing out a long rope he occasionally used for womp rats. "Hands out, the four o' ya. Ain't no funny business now." And so began the process of securing the last bad guys of the tale. This is how it always ended. Turns out, these dank dark caves were a bit closer to home than he'd thought to admit.<br />
<br />
<<"Only pride is tarnished, my dear.">> <br />
<br />
Rolling to his side and climbing to his feet in the wake of sudden calm following the pirate surrender, Bors keeps back from the main gathering. In part to allow the Killseas their time to reunite. Helmet pulled off and hung on his belt before he is humped up against a stone wall. Gloved hand raised to pull hair from his brow.<br />
<br />
The surrendered foemen are watched, though they are tended by others, Lord Thul is fine to let others handle the other matters requiring the attention and accolades. He's more than happy to just take this chance for a breather before new chaos has to come to the fore.<br />
<br />
Back on her feet, Ulani breathes out a huff that only gets stuck in her helmet and blows strands of crimson hair around to tickle her nose. Another huff attempts to the errant annoyance from making her sneeze. Eventually she gives up and removes the helmet enough to brush it aside with a grump.<br />
<br />
The fight wanes and aside from a few that are unconscious on the floor or the four that are surrendering to whatever fate awaits them (maybe to be thrown right back into this maze), the remaining threat lay as the scattered dead across the island. "Lord Killesa, I welcome you back to your home. Afraid there's a bit of... ah..." Mess. There's a lot of mess to clean up. And a usurper to whoop. In due time.<br />
<br />
For now, Ulani just lets the thought go and moves over to join Bors by the wall, helping to brush the hair aside. Briefly. In due time for that, as well. Though with the noble family saved and Delaya territory reclaimed, she does take the nobleman's hand and gives it a happy squeeze in silent celebration.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender deactivates the green sword and returns it to his side, voicing evenly to the Killesas in the aftermath: "My good ladies and lords: if any among you are stricken dire, we may see them tended ere we all withdraw." Discussing a restructuring of penal facilities can wait until later. He regards Ty a long moment, giving the young man a nod to mark the completion of Ban's long ago offered oath to see the Killesa's kin freed.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Jedi_Order:_An_Order_in_Healing&diff=18380Log:Jedi Order: An Order in Healing2022-06-13T01:35:23Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Two Jedi become Knights | Location=Tempes | Participants=Jedi Order, Vhe Tenara, Zandra..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Two Jedi become Knights<br />
| Location=[[Tempes]]<br />
| Participants=[[Jedi Order]], [[Vhe Tenara]], [[Zandra naMuriel]], [[Jax Greystorm]], [[Vega]], [[Yuun]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Rey]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=June 12, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Today's class room has no healing regalia to it, though the topic was over healing the Order; one might safely assume that Aryn, being the academic she was, intended to parallel that with some lesson over physically healing. Her expertise, well before joining the Jedi Order, had been in medicine. So, this topic is near and dear to her heart.<br />
<br />
Aryn stands at the front of the classroom leaning against a desk with her arms crossed and looking at a holo projection of the Jedi Order's emblem slowly rotate above its projector. At the first signs of life, Aryn straightens to her meager height and allows her cape to fall victim to gravity, hanging along the back of her legs and just above the surface of the floor.<br />
<br />
"Everyone, find a place to sit and do leave the central aisle open. I asked Chewie to bring some first aid training sets in; though I think he may be held up a bit.." Aryn glances at her time piece, expectant.<br />
<br />
Vhe is an eager student, arriving at the room with her hair drawn away from her face just in case practical application is used so that it does not become an obstacle. The Ysanna smiles as she watches Aryn straighten, her hand lifting in welcome as she moves to take up a seat. "I am sure he will arrive soon enough, either way, thank you."<br />
<br />
The colorful initiate plops down into a seat and gives a tug at the tunic to loosen it around her neck a bit, the embroidered stitching giving a light brush of her fingers as she idles, turning her head to watch who else files in for the gathering.<br />
<br />
Zandra comes in, offering a nod to those already there. She doesn't move to the front of the room, the violet haired knight instead taking a spot towards the back. It seems she's letting the younger students take precedence for this healing class. "Aryn, Vhe," she greets with a warmth to her voice. "I thought I'd come listen in and learn a bit more. Every bit helps, I think - and certainly my first aid could use some help." She sounds hopeful, at the least.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender chooses a place on the right side of the central aisle, checking visually over his shoulder to be sure he has left sufficient clearance before adjusting the lie of his cape, and settling in for the lesson.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus is situated atop one of the cushions towards the front pedestal. She's got her elbow propped atop a small wooden table she'd found (and dragged noisily across the room) in front of her, and her chin rests in her palm. Straight, pink hair falls lazily around her shoulders, save for the small twist of it that the Alderaanian Noblewoman has captured between her index and middle finger of her free hand. She's turning those strands this way and that, inspecting the ends for splits and damage. The sun on Tatooine and the cold of Tempes are particularly potent at damaging that hair. Say nothing about the dye itself.<br />
<br />
She gives an exasperated sigh as she surveys the damage, and turns her icy blue eyes up towards Aryn when she speaks. A glance is given over her shoulder to the door, half expecting the massive noisy fuzzball to come busting through it at the mention of his name.<br />
<br />
Alas.<br />
<br />
She spies Ban checking the aisle beside him and gives a bit of an impish grin and a drum of her fingertips against that wooden table. Her fingernails tickity tickity tickity in a rhythmic percussion. "You are in the way, My Lord..." she says, trying to keep a straight face.<br />
<br />
Yuun walks into the school building, he's dressed for the weather, but once inside he takes off his cloak. He smiles as he sees his friends and fellow Jedi here. Upon hearing Aryn tell them to have a seat, he nods his head and moves to find a place to sit down. "Hello everyone." he says as he makes sure he's not in the way. He knows basic medical, but nothing more intnese then that.<br />
<br />
Rey is off to one side, already here, and already seated at a small desk. She's got a silver thermos cup beside her on the desk, and a small cup with a little orange fruit inside of it. The fruit is sliced up in to little pieces, and she's raising one of the pieces up to her mouth to bite down on it as she watches other arriving. She shows a smile with her lips closed, om nom nom noming the fruit pieces while everyone settles in.<br />
<br />
Her eyes go forward to where Aryn is, and her free hand goes up to tuck some of her dark brown hair back behind one of her ears, her hair not done up this evening, and just loose about her head.<br />
<br />
Vega has quietly found a seat after making sure the dust and dirt was off of her hands. She pulls her hood up as she sits back to listen to the class that is about to be given. She doesn't sit anywhere near the aisle as she doesn't want to be bumped out of the way if Chewie is moving things. Her pale gaze looks over the others before looking back towards Aryn.<br />
<br />
"All things arrive in time," Aryn replies gently, forgiving Chewbacca for being late with what they needed, yet Aryn didn't seem all that bothered. "I suppose we can begin. -- Today, I thought to set aside some time to discuss the nature of healing. Like all things concerning the Force, healing is a perpetual process. Our bodies are in a constant state of healing; old cells replaced with new, wounds replaced with scars, and old aches to remind us of our past mistakes. Much of same can be said for our Order. The Jedi has been in a constant state of healing for many years now. We bear the scars of our forbearers, the old pains and aches that they experienced for tangling with politics and war, and our cells are constantly replaced with new."<br />
<br />
Aryn walks out to the center of the room, in the place where she said she would like the aisle to remain clear. "To that notion, today's class on healing is more a demonstration. I would ask the Vhe Tenara and Ban Iskender join me here at the center, and we will begin."<br />
<br />
A hand if lifted to great Ban and the others as they arrive, a huffed short laugh given as Nora observes Ban being in the way. She pulls out a datapad, setting it aside for possible use during the instruction. The feathers woven into her hair behind her ear are given a quick tuck back to be sure they stay there so as Aryn speaks the Ysanna listens, a nod given in agreement.<br />
<br />
When she is asked to join Aryn another quick glance is given towards the Lord before she rises. "Instruction by involvement is the best possible route..though I admit I have little to no experience," she says as she walks up the central aisle left as instructed, stepping up beside Aryn as she angles between looking out over everyone and their instructor for the day.<br />
<br />
Zan grins at Chewie being late, quite amused by the scenario. She shrugs a bit, as she watches, secure in her seat at the back of the class. She doesn't even make any sarcastic remarks, just quietly watches. She does nod her head towards Vega and the others, each as they enter, acknowledging their presence. Of course, she can't quite help but comment, "Some of the scars are fresher than others." Her own violet hair may not actually be dyed; at least it never shows any roots.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender regards Nora dryly. "All folk are in the way of something. So long as I am not obstructing a Wookiee, and merely disrupting my lady's jest, I am well content." That answer (joke? was there a joke in there?) given, his attention is returned to Aryn at the front of the classroom as the day's instructor speaks. The metaphor of the Order healing as a body does is considered with a quiet, "Hm," before Aryn asks Vhe and himself to assist. One dark brow rises in brief surprise, but he rises and steps as requested, gloved hands lightly clasped at the small of his back. "Object lessons, perhaps," he quips aside to Vhe.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus smiles slyly in Ban's direction, leaning a bit forward in her desk and opening her mouth to deliver what is likely another little remark to the man across the aisle from her. But then, Aryn has begun to speak. Class does appear to have begun, so Nora Frayus settles back into a more comfortable position and lets her eyes track the woman as she moves about and down the aisle. One foot crosses over the other, and she lets her elbow lift from that small, short table in front of her so that she can prop herself upright with both of her hands planted on the ground behind her.<br />
<br />
A brow quirks when Vhe and Ban are asked to join Aryn, but she makes no further remark. She simply watches with her head tipped curiously to the side.<br />
<br />
Looks in the direction of where people would enter, though he nods his head to Ban in greeting, he waves to Vhe as he saw her. THough when Aryn starts to speak, Yuun goes quiet watching from from the back where he is sitting. "We're still here and going, growing, healing from the past." he says. Looking at those gathered here, he smiles as he watches Nora, and looks over to see Rey and Zan.<br />
<br />
Rey is taking a sip from her thermos when Aryn starts her presentation. She lowers the cup down to set it gently upon her desk, before she caps the small fruit cup with a tin lid. Leaning back in her chair then, Rey wraps her voluminous dark brown robe around her form then, helping to hold back the ever-present chill in the air from this cold world.<br />
<br />
She listens intently, watching the others move toward the head of the class, as she glances to the rest of the onlookers, even smiling faintly toward them before she just rests her arms across her stomach...<br />
<br />
Vega gives a bit of an eyebrow quirk when she hears that there are going to be volunteers. She seems curious by this, but keeps her gaze towards where Aryn and the others are. Her bb-unit warbles gently as he rolls into her legs. He is also watching the goings on. She reaches out to pat the ball droid on the head, "Keep it down, Roundy." she whispers to him softly.<br />
<br />
There are ways to sneak into class late and there are other ways to sneak into class late. After nearly twenty-seven years of sneaking into class late, Jax had it down to an art. So as Zan's holding up in the back of the class and Chewie is causing a bit of scene for being late. Jax simply appears at the back of the class leaning against the wall to watch the class.<br />
<br />
"Healing manifests in many forms, but on this day, it is in the form of Vhe and Ban," Aryn says cryptically. "The days that we began our journey as Jedi, it was a quest of learning and patience. Over time, and throughout our experiences in war, politics, and traversing the galaxy, we have had to learn bravery and courage in the face of adversity, mercy and grace for those who may yet walk another path, and compassion.. not just for the people, but the galaxy as a whole. These tenets are emboldened by the words we say as code of our Order."<br />
<br />
Aryn steps back, tucking her hands beneath her cape and clasping them at the small of her back. "The Jedi Order's healing shows progress, because today, we intend to embolden our Order with two new Jedi Knights. I would ask that our Paragon, Rey, and our Jedi Knights join us."<br />
<br />
Aryn motions to the pair, Vhe and Ban, then grins. "As you have come to know it, I would ask that you recite the Jedi Code, and say it before our Paragon, the Knights, and the members of our Order to hear."<br />
<br />
Ban gets another look from Vhe, "Let's hope it is with tenderness that we are the subjects," she intones. A soft laugh escaping her, though it quickly quiets as she listens to Aryn, a brow arching a bit as the colorful nomad hesitates at hearing this. "Tenderness it is," she murmurs as a faint smile draws across her lips before she clears her throat. "Impromptu speeches," she looks a little nervous, her expression shifting as she draws a deep breath.<br />
<br />
"Thank you..."<br />
<br />
She begisn then, speaking up as adjusts the volume of her voice enough to be heard:<br />
<br />
"There is no emotion, there is peace.<br />
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge,<br />
There is no passion, there is serenity,<br />
There is no chaos, there is harmony,<br />
There is not death, there is the Force."<br />
<br />
Zan flashes a grin over at Jax, who is not too far from her. She gestures with her chin to the front, and then moves to tap Yuun on the shoulder as she moves forward. "Please come with me, Yuun." Her hand reaches for her light saber as she does so, ready for this. She ignites it, one blade, the sound and colour quite obvious in the quiet of the classrom.<br />
<br />
Zan moves to stand to one side of Ban and Vhe, holding that purple crystal up to form half of the light saber bridge that has become a tradition at each of these ceremonies. <br />
<br />
The youngest knights present, creating the bridge for the new ones. <br />
<br />
Zan nods once to Aryn, a note of thanks and agreement, and then glances to see where Rey and Jax are planning to join in. It's time to listen to Ban and Vhe. Zan is quiet at this point, standing her position as a silent sentinel.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender has a naturally formal bearing, raised to court and to military ceremony, straight backed, shoulders square and head already high. Aryn's announcement as to the reason for Vhe and himself to stand forward causes only subtle changes, outwardly. His heels are drawn together from a more casual separation, a dip of his head and shoulders to Aryn and a moment taken to note the Jedi who are summoned forward as witnesses, before a slow breath is drawn and he speaks in time with Vhe: "There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is harmony. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death, there is the Force."<br />
<br />
Nora blinks back and forth, her cold blue eyes flicking between Aryn's visage and the faces of the two soon-to-be Jedi Knights. Ban and Vhe get an inquisitive expression, one that's shared with the rest of the Jedi Order behind her as Nora casts a glance over her shoulder to them as well. It's a sort of 'did I forget to check my e-mails' expression, but one that vanishes a few moments later when intuits that this was, indeed, a surprise. The Lady's posture straightens into something a bit less relaxed and a touch more formal. Her weight shifts so that she is kneeling upon that cushion, feet pointed out behind her and hands gently resting in her lap. She gives a gentle nudge of that table out from in front of her. Its woody groans of protest are masked by the sound of Zandra's lightsaber igniting.<br />
<br />
Yuun listens and he smiles at Aryns words, leaning back against the wall where he sat. THough before that, he looks to Jax, when did he get in here? A puzzled look is on Yuun's face. Though it's at that point that he is tapped on the shoulder by Zan. He sees her and nods, and gets up. A smile showing on his face as he looks to Vhe. He can't help it, then to Ban. Then his face goes stern, he moves over to Jax and taps him and nods to where Zan is. They're going to do this right.<br />
<br />
Standing across from Zan, he unclips his lightsaber and ignites it and crosses the tip to Zans to form the bridge. Another Sentinel who faces Zan as he too awaits the words and upon hearing Vhe's, he doesn't show any hint of emotion for now.<br />
<br />
As the Jedi Code begins to get repeated outloud, Rey stands up from her chair and lets her left hand grip the wrist of her right arm over her lap. She walks softly to the side before stopping again, now just standing there with her robes softly forming to her standing now. She shows a light smile to them as she just quietly watches, her eyes do dart around to the others then, unable to resist catching glimpses of their reactions too, of course.<br />
<br />
Vega gives a look up when it turns out this isn't a healing class. But people getting Knighted. There is a look down to her bb-unit as he makes a noise and she pats him again. She then looks up again to watch folks get Knighted. She gives a soft round of applause and then goes back to being quiet and watching.<br />
<br />
Jax nods briefly to Zandra. He was about to push off the wall when Yuun taps him on the shoulder. He nods briefly at his fellow knight. Then turns to follow Yuun and Zandra. As he takes his position across from Yunn and flanking Zandra. He raises his light saber to join the saber arch. His blue blade humming until it connects with the others.<br />
<br />
"Henceforth, you are both Jedi Knights of this Order. Recall you the tenets of the Code you just recited and take comfort in the words when you are most in need. Congratulations to you both. May this be one more stepping stone toward a greater and brighter future for our Jedi Order." Aryn says, bringing her hands up to clap in a muffle-like gloved clapping of hands.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Delaya:_Cavalry_Skirmish&diff=18299Log:Delaya: Cavalry Skirmish2022-06-05T02:42:55Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=The Royal Dragoons ride to protect an Ulgo ally. | Location=Cortess Lands, Delaya | Participants=..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=The Royal Dragoons ride to protect an Ulgo ally.<br />
| Location=[[Cortess Lands, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]]. [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=June 4, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The contested ground near the borders of House Ulgo's domain are among the most fraught in the unfolding war on Delaya. The strongest ground power among Delayan nobility, the infirm Count Ulgo supports the Pretender, Lana, but faces enough dissent within his family and court that the mighty Ulgo army has yet to directly join the battles.<br />
<br />
It is on one such border near contested territory where Panteer light cavalry have crossed into Cortess lands, supported by erratic artillery fire. It quickly becomes clear that the Pretender's cavalry were in pursuit of an unidentified VIP, and it was judged of high priority to facilitate their escape. Thus, the finest of the fastest of Aryn's armies and allies were deployed: elite speeder bikes and jump troopers with orders to drive off the Pretender's soldiers, without harming the designated VIP.<br />
<br />
The terrain was rough. As ground grew high and rocky in the foothills of the Ulgo borderlands, copses of whisperpine trees grew more scarce, both for unfavorable ground and for having been shattered by recent artillery fire. Holo displays tracked the notable parties: three speeder bikes in blue (two clearly escorting the third), pursued by 18 speeders marked in.. also blue. The hostile speeders were carrying beacons marking them as cavaliers of House Thul. All the swift vehicles are weaving erratically, trying to open or block lanes of fire, while the path ahead is pocked by long range bombardment. Streaks of ruby energy stab out periodically, as the pursuing speeders fire on the unknown trio ahead.<br />
<br />
The riders are fleeing and pursuing from east to west, still several kilometers from the Ulgo border, while our heroes are on an intercept course from the south-west.<br />
<br />
House Thul being used as a means to allow Lana's forces a charade to get close to a potential target. An outrage. That they would use only blue without the noble gold and crimson a TRAVESTY! And for that to be believed A POX UPON THUL'S GOOD NAME! In full armor, helmet on and behind the controls of the geonosian designed bike, Bors is kipping along at a brisk top speed. Over five hundred kilometers per hour.<br />
<br />
Leaned over the control bars, visor of his Katarn class armor glowing argent hued cerulean, Lord Thul keeps twisting the throttle for more speed, and inside his helmet there is vast disappointment for the lack of the speeder adhering to his demands. <br />
<br />
Another outrage.<br />
<br />
<<"I think they should be coming up on sensors, the blithering knaves... Still aboard, Ula dear?">><br />
<br />
Upon the back of one mechanical 'steed' sits a hooded Princess wrapped flush with an armored rider as the traverse the terrain on intercept. Trees whisk by like brief blurs, definitive only by the sound of their passing as whispered huffs. Apart from the noise of passing terrain, the motors of the Dragoon steeds roar as the cavalry ride, and ride hard, for their objective.<br />
<br />
Nearby, a rider dressed in black armor stands up on their bike just before it takes a brief jump. The rider bends their knees, accepting the subsequent impact and urges the vehicle onward with a louder roar of engines.<br />
<br />
<<"Have we longer to go?">> Aryn asks through the comms, the background noise in the mic picking up the motor and passing Delayan vegetation.<br />
<br />
The last time Ulani found herself in this situation, it was a high-speed escape from Kuat with a likely-not-completely-sober pirate at the bars. Instead, she is nestled in front of Bors, tucked between his outstretched arms gripping the controls; the speed of their bike keeps her back pressed against the nobleman. The helmet on her head and her smaller stature keeps her hair from whipping him in the face as she is stooped over a datapad.<br />
<br />
<<"Targets in pursuit are disguising themselves as supporter of Thul. The cads. Marking their signatures.">> Used to Bors' piloting by now, his driving is must the same except he can't do those barrel rolls he loves to do. <<"Still here,">> she does confirm from below his eyeline. <<"They seem to wish our attention.">><br />
<br />
Rough terrain and erratically-weaving speeder bikes aren't really Nora Frayus' speed. She's more of a yacht in still waters sort of girl, and even still, her father won't let her steer the thing. It is some manner of mercy, then, that she is not the one steering the speeder-bike. Instead, she is using her left hand to clutch beneath one of the armor plates of the Black Rider as he steers the pair on the intercept course to their quarry.<br />
<br />
"Goodness, we are going fast. Are you quite sure you will be able to get close enough for me to give them the pointy bit of this?" Nora asks. The pointy bit and 'this' that the young noble is referencing is, of course, the rapier in her right hand. Rather than being tucked into a sheath at her side, it's currently pointed tip-down in front of the speeder's footholes. She doesn't make a point to lift it up and wave it towards him, even if she wants to.<br />
<br />
<<"I certainly hope not.">> she replies to Aryn, and pulls herself a little closer to the Black Rider and tucks her face against between their shoulder blades.<br />
<br />
Riding on a military grade Mobquet Overracer, as are the dozen dragoons with him, Ban Iskender voices evenly over the comms, <<"The trio in front are under fire. All dragoons: arm lances and break the pursuing formation. After the first pass, you may engage at will. For Alderaan and Her Highness: charge.">><br />
<br />
The Black Rider has amusement in his voice when Nora asks whether he can get close enough: "Closer than milady will ever again wish to draw. Don't stiffen your wrist as we ride by: if the blade lodges it will snap or be pulled from your hand unless you roll the wrist and recover as we pass.">> he advises as the line of a dozen dragoons arm force pikes in a crackling skirmish line of raised lances. For his part, rather than a lance, Ban draws and alights his saber. "We are upon them, Highness," he answers Aryn as the mob of Panteer (Thul!) cavalry blade into view at an angled approach.<br />
<br />
He could slew around some of the short rises, brake at dips... But then he'd had to give up the glorious rush of pure unadulterated speed and the sheer joy that comes with it. Hands remaining at his controls to keep the bike steady at ludicrous speeds, Bors's expression a glorious rictus behind his helmet.<br />
<br />
A-Wing pilots are insane.<br />
<br />
A fireball and pinwheeling shape turning to twisted scrap and hurled, broken doll form, drawing Lord Thul's eye, <<"Ere we come upon them therein, Your Grace.">><br />
<br />
As they ride up, closing the distance, Aryn is witness to the destruction of one of their allies and frowns. The Dragoons are closing the distance quick, and Ban has given marching orders on the attack. She watches as the cavalry prepare to joust, and she has her lightsaber in hand but has not activated it yet. Several people have answered her question, and Aryn responds with a hopeful, <<"Be careful everyone. Mother willing, I will see you on the other side of this conflict.">><br />
<br />
Ban's driving is superb and Aryn leans out a bit, pointing at one of the drivers gaining ground on the two remaining allies. "I DARE SAY IT MAY BE HARD TO GAIN GROUND WITHOUT A DRIVER!" Yelled over the noise of Ban's engine. Aryn's hand makes a gesture, /pulling/ from left to right. Those sensitive to the power of the Force felt its ripples stir around Aryn as she used her influence to snatch a rider from his ride and plant him on the ground. He was not dead, but now he was stranded in the middle of a field of warring cavalry.<br />
<br />
His bike, absent its operator, veers off course and collides with a tree, transforming to flames in an instant.<br />
<br />
Ulani looks up from her screen now getting a visual on the knaves that have chosen the wrong damn house to imitate. A frown pressing on her lips, her helmeted head turns tlightly towards Bors as she speaks over her shoulder and in a raised voice: "Bors, dear. I'm afraid I must apply some destructive knowledge gained." Ulani's hand disappears into her bag and seconds later pulls out the familiar cylinder of an ion grenade.<br />
<br />
Waiting for Bors to get them into throwing range, a gloved thumb pressed on the button to activate it. A heave later, the ordiance hits the ground right in front of an enemy speeder, bursting in a shockwave of electricity. A flare of sparks and the speeder shuts down completely, its nose diving into the ground at full speed and exploding on impact.<br />
<br />
Nora grasps onto the Black Rider a little tighter, leaning her head to hear their words reverberate through their armor. A small smile spreads across her face and she perks her chin up to answer a moment or two later. "You just mind the speederbike, hmmmmh?" Nora says. Their approach is rapid, and Nora shifts the grip of her sword in her palm as they get nearer and nearer still. Her first swing is a hard slash forward that she misjudges the range of. The arcing swing misses wide, but when she draws that blade backwards towards herself, the Black Rider's trajectory and the subtle motion of her arm sees that blade catch the side of the opposing rider's arm. A rip of fabric, and then a yelp.<br />
<br />
Nora attempts to finish the rider by plunging the sword into their ribs, but a sudden bump in terrain sees it thrust between the rider and their steering apparatus. Thanks to some quick wrist-work, however, Nora is able to wrench it free and sit her butt back down, face tucked up against the Black Rider's back as they veer off to, ostensibly, engage once again shortly.<br />
<br />
The choice of energy lances on the charge dictated a dangerous and chaotic skirmish. Formal jousting with rails was an elegant sport, but in the open field, without rails, collision is a deadly chance in a headlong charge. The Black Rider knocks a cavalier off their speeder with a stunning hit, another dragoon collides with a Thul rider, and while the others do little to strike their foes, but even in missing, the pursuers are scattered in an instant of panic. Four of the pursuers are felled by force, by blade, or by lance, ten are forced out of formation in a wild tangle of blaster pistols, swords, and mechanical steeds, leaving only four remaining in close pursuit, one of whom fires their cannon and damages the re aiming escort rider. Over comms, the Cortess forces are hailed by a solemn, feminine voice, <<"Cortess cavalry: your assistance is accepted, but you must not cross the Ulgo border. Repeat: do not cross the Ulgo border.">> Said border is growing rapidly closer.<br />
<br />
Ducking and leaning to keep the bike stable while ordinance is hurled by Ulani and powers beyond the ken of mere mortals such as himself are used.<br />
<br />
<<"Comms, my dear. It means thee needn't shout!">> banking away from the ion detonation to keep similar fates from his own and Ulani's person - noting laser, and conventional, swords being swung among the flurry of force pikes being used to wring despair and grant woe to the foemen that are unlucky enough to be both on the wrong side of the conflict, struck by laser swords, sorcery, ion detonations and metal through vital anatomy parts. And this on top of having the gal to wear HIS House Colours.<br />
<br />
Outrage.<br />
<br />
Even more when there are -laser- blasts coming in his, and therefore ULA's position. <<"Bounders.">> Language Bors.<br />
<br />
<<"Absolute rotters and cads!">> BORS. What would your -mother- think!?<br />
<br />
With Ula in front it's easier for him to swing the bike over, putting them at a 45 degree angle and swerving to keep he, she and he bike from being struck - blaster fire hailing all around them and the pilot keeping them as clear as he can.<br />
<br />
<<"Being chased by murderers and they're worried about borders? Blasted foolish that is!">><br />
<br />
Aryn activates her lightsaber, batting away the incoming blasts as riders do their damnedest to bring her down, or blast her off her ride with Ban. However, Aryn is aware that the conflict has grown far more complicated, tying up forces with contending with each other rather than the objective. So she points her sapphire blade ahead, signaling to Ban they should help their companions by disabling their pursuers.<br />
<br />
When they arrive close, Aryn strikes out, cutting away a stabilizer, then a speed motivator on another. The effort is tremendous, and while her third attack yields no definitive damage, sparks fly off its exterior. Two bikes are forced to draw back leaving two.<br />
<br />
<<"Tis not a border dispute, but likely something more.">> Aryn answers back, hazarding a guess. <<"We wish you safe journey to the border!">> Aryn calls out, her lightsaber held low for now and trailing a sapphire blue behind them.<br />
<br />
A click in their ears precedes Ulani's voice, much quieter, talking to Bors directly. <"Forgiveness. These situations; I sometimes forget."> The scenery whipping past them at break-neck speed, Ulani keeps herself safely in that arched nook of Bors' frame as he navigates the rugged terrain and keeps their pursuing foes at a tactical distance. Her weight shifts this way and that as the bike does the same, momentum acting as the best means for her remaining seated where she is.<br />
<br />
Another ion grenade appears from within the depths of her satchel: a pocket specifically rubber-lined because she cannot suffer more charges getting soaked in an inconvenient downpour. <<"Launching another blast!">> A Kuati-accented warning to all of their cavalry to make a path for the /true/ Thul speeder bike among them. The grenade flies towards the nearest foeman who, witnessing the fate of their fallen bretheran, employs the cunning maneuver of quickly steering out of the way; nary missing the burst of electric deadzone. Cunning.<br />
<br />
<<"Ah yes. We will be quite sure to avoid the large line in the earth that says 'Ulgo border'. Thank the Mother it is clearly marked.">> Nora chides with a roll of her eyes over comms. When the Black Rider banks towards the rider she'd wounded before, Nora grips her steel and leans her body sharply to the side. The throw of her body helps tip the speederbike at its hard bank, and also conveniently sees a burst of blasterfire rush up and over her head. When they are within striking range again, Nora doesn't hesitate. The first thrust of her blade pushes through the soft spot in the driver's armor just above his shoulders and clear out the other side. Nearly dead, they seem intent on taking that priceless rapier with them. Nora attempts to rip it forward through the front of their neck, but the shared momentum and lack of a good angle sees it lodged squarely in place.<br />
<br />
It is then that the Black Rider signals with their foot and Nora gives a nod of acknowledgement. A burst of brakes and a rip of that sword backwards sees that edge cut through the central nervous column and spray the back of the speeder with a red mist. Nora cackles and tucks herself back up against the rider. Their enemy's speeder nosedives into the ground, but Nora and the Black Rider are already thousands of feet away.<br />
<br />
Nora turns her head over her shoulder and watches Ulani and Bors narrowly miss the ion blast. She doesn't know, of course, that it was their -own- ion blast. Nobody has to tell her, either.<br />
<br />
Aryn's speculation and Nora's snark are equally given no answer by the rider out in front, no doubt occupied by the destruction of her last escort. Of the 'Thul' 18, 10 remain after another pass of sword, lance, and pistol with the Iskender dragoons.<br />
<br />
Ban follows Aryn's blue beacon, steering the Overracer with his right hand and shifting weight, while the left holds his own green sword out to the left. Once Aryn's blade has struck twice, Ban claims the forward steering vane of a 'Thul' speeder bike, dooming the rider to a loss of control, and crash into the splinters of a whisperpine copse. <br />
<br />
The skirmish is a bloody one, tilting in favor of Cortess, though numbers are near even.<br />
<br />
There is still one Thul cavalier in firing range of the unknown VIP, with nine of his fellows barely a second of full speed behind, intermixed with dragoons and a True Thul.<br />
<br />
<"Unfortunate."> Bors notes as the enemy weave around Ulani's second detonator, ducked low more to assure Ulani's back is armored as much as to reduce profile in the madcap dash on repulsors kicking up fantails of dust and dislodged vegetation in their wake, <"Should have come in fighters, I could have precision fired upon the foemen with ease."> <br />
<br />
Notes for the future.<br />
<br />
<<"Aye, your Grace, we shan't cross at their request - but give hope that the foemen find their match when we must stop or peel off to honor request.">> <br />
<br />
Slewing the bike around again for Ula to get a better position.<br />
<br />
<<"Trust in the Force, my Lord,">> Aryn replies back, making good the word of the Force when she lifts an empty gloved hand and seizes control of the final rider pursuing the Ulgo driver. The sudden motion battles physics, forcing them backward as if they'd been lanced off the bike but in truth, they were just held motionless in the air until Aryn dropped them harmlessles to the ground in time to witness their bike's destruction.<br />
<br />
To the Ulgo ally, Aryn parts with a kind, <<"Your close tail has been disabled, my Lady.">> Aryn wraps her arm about Ban as they break off and prepare for a final attack. In the process of doing so, a series of attacks are warded away with the graceful swing of her lightsaber.<br />
<br />
<"That you would have,"> Ulani agrees with a gentle nudge of her elbow into his armour. He might not feel it through all of that, but the gesture is still there. <"I dare say you may still get your chance. I doubt much that Panteer will give up this fight anytime soon."> But with the border fast approaching, it seems their fight today is going to draw to an early, abrupt close.<br />
<br />
One more ion grenade. One more Hail Mother in the direction of the chasers. One more explosion of electricity that pops like bright blue fireworks but otherwise hits nothing. <<"I fear they're on to my tactics. And too quick out of range now if we are not able to pursue.">> Instead of taking another grenade out, Ulani hooks her hands under Bors' thighs and holds on, knowing that the sudden end of their chase is fast approaching. <<"Mother and Father be with you,">> she offers to the unknown VIP they have done their best to protect.<br />
<br />
Nora's body tips forward when the Black Rider abruptly begins their braking line away from the Ulgo border. Nora turns to look at the rapidly-shrinking form of the speeder they were escorting, as well as the sudden lift-off of the pilot from the final pursuing bike. Her right eye closes and she gives a soft wince when she watches that body ragdoll into the ground, sliding hundreds of feet and likely leaving a nice bit of armor, cloth, skin, muscle, and bone behind.<br />
<br />
She leans with the turn, but keeps her blade drawn in the event that the remaining Panteer pursuers elect (foolishly) to contend with them instead of give chase to the lone speeder.<br />
<br />
The separation of mere seconds is vast when moving at such speeds. Once the foremost of the false Thuls is torn from the saddle, the other nine cavaliers must hit afterburners in a desperate effort to catch up to their escaping quarry. At a signal from Ban, the dragoons decelerate, breaking off the running skirmish at the base of a canyon which affords them a fine view of the Ulgo lady pursued by the Panteer nine. Over the comms, they are given a curious and cold farewell: <<"This is Lady Sydney. Unleash hell.">><br />
<br />
There is a distinct and ominous sound that accompanies the firing or large bore blaster cannons, audible only in the instant before impact. Veterans of war afoot know and dread it. That is the sound which now precedes a dozen artillery blasts in rapid and shocking succession in the canyon ahead of them.<br />
<br />
Amid the blackened and shattered stone ahead are the unrecognizable remains of the last nine False Thuls, swept away in an instant. They had been slowed just enough.<br />
<br />
Hauling back on the 'reigns' such as they are and swinging to a repulsor back-thrust side a handful of meters before the borderline Bors brings the speeder with he and Ulani to a halt with enough inertia to tilt the bike in threat of casting them over and that arrested only by his armored boot hitting ground. Impact sending a hard shake up his body to rattle his teeth and cause the HUD of his helmet to distort and suffer a line of static that warbles up and down before systems stabilize and he instinctively puts an arm around Ulani to shield her from detritus hurled by the voice of the heavy guns with the reinforced plastoid of the now antiquated armor.<br />
<br />
Barely three decades older than him even.<br />
<br />
<"Mother preserve and Father aegis..."> voice subdued while he bears witness.<br />
<br />
Hearing Lady Sydney say the phrase was not enough to prepare Aryn for what followed. Artillery rained in with thunderous applause, and screaming shells impacted the earth with stunning precision, cascading up and out with obstructed explosions that were masked by the dirt. Debris skyrocketed high up like streamers, leaving smokey contrails dotting across the open air to rain down miles away.<br />
<br />
"An ambush." Aryn observes aloud, speaking after the explosions and indirect fire have subsided. "The Ulgos prove their dominance on the field. Spectacularly terrifying." Aryn recalls the blue humming blade to return to its hilt, and the weapon is clipped back to her belt. "I believe we may mark this task as complete. Let us round up the wounded.."<br />
<br />
Their bike comes to a stop at the cusp of territories, the pull of theid deceleration from such obscene speeds yanking Ulani forward despite her grip on Bors. Her stomach taking a brief trip up into her throat before swallowed back down again, the bike tilts and threatens to tip them over before the driver's armoured leg hits the ground to anchor them. Ulani recoils back against Bors with a soft "Ooomph!" which goes silent inside her helmet.<br />
<br />
Then the command comes across the frequencies and the building up an arsenal gathers. Ulani hasn't seen nearly as many battlefields as others here, but she knows that sound. Feels Bors' arm go around her and she turns away from the sight to bury her gaze against him. She doesn't see the decimation of the Thul Pretenders. She doesn't want to. Only when the artilery fades into echoes does she look back to see... nothing. Except deep pock marks where the remaining pursuers once were. <<"By the Gods.">> A solemn breath and a squeeze of Bors' arm. But at least the Lady Ulgo got away the mission a success.<br />
<br />
When the Black Rider slows to a stop and the horrible sound of artillery fire begins to rain hell down on those 9 remaining false Thuls, Nora stands up on the back end of the speeder to bear witness. One of her hands lifts to cover her face and she watches the hot plasma fire lay waste. "Ahahahaha, mmmh," she laughs, the breeze from the displaced air pushing her jedi tunic dress against her legs and lifting that pretty pink hair up and over her shoulders. "Ohhhh, Mother... well. That does make sense, does it not?" she asks down to the Rider, propping her elbow atop their black helmet. "We do make quite the good team, I dare say," Nora says, still leaning and applying a dainty sort of pressure with that elbow. Until they move, of course.<br />
<br />
<<"All jobs well done should end with fireworks,">> she says over comms, failing to read the room entirely.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=18298Aryn Cortess2022-06-04T20:02:32Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Ar1.png]]<br />
| Title=Doctor, Lady, Princess<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Aldera 3 (T-85 X-Wing)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
The current Princess of Alderaan and heir to the monarchy of her people, Her Royal Highness Aryn Cortess started with humble beginnings. Born the second child to the ancient House Cortess, it was her elder brother that was destined to become the leader of their house. Aryn chose a quieter career in the field of medicine and after graduating, she decided to see the galaxy before her life would inevitably become regimented once her betrothal to a noble Lord was realized. She disappeared on this trip and was stranded on a planet for years. Rescued by a member of the Resistance, Aryn returned to civilization to learn of the First Order's widespread tyranny. It was during this time she met Leia Organa and began to mentor under the General. Confident that their people had a future with Aryn, Leia left it in her will for the young woman to inherit the title of Princess when she passed. Since inheriting this mantle, she has shed her meek persona and become a determined woman known for her intelligence and cunning. Though a great deal of her time is spent trying to unite her people on New Alderaan, Aryn also dedicates her talents to helping treat war refugees on the planet of Chandrila and serving the New Republic.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Noble<br />
|Aryn is asking for help from all Great Houses in an effort to reunite the divided Alderaan people. Do you wish to be a part of this daunting task? Seek her out!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===<br />
<br />
----<br />
[[File:Ac3.jpg|250px]]<==Aryn at Leia's Memorial<br />
<br />
[[File:Aryn5.png|250px]]<==Aryn, Graphic scarring effect by Haddles<br />
----<br />
<br />
== Great Houses of Alderaan and their Current Allegiance Flow-Chart ==<br />
<br />
[[File:Alderaanhouses3.PNG|400px]]<br />
<br />
Are you interested in rping a member of one of these families? Let me know and we can work out where you fit!</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=18296Aryn Cortess2022-06-04T18:12:13Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Ar1.png]]<br />
| Title=Doctor, Lady, Princess<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
The current Princess of Alderaan and heir to the monarchy of her people, Her Royal Highness Aryn Cortess started with humble beginnings. Born the second child to the ancient House Cortess, it was her elder brother that was destined to become the leader of their house. Aryn chose a quieter career in the field of medicine and after graduating, she decided to see the galaxy before her life would inevitably become regimented once her betrothal to a noble Lord was realized. She disappeared on this trip and was stranded on a planet for years. Rescued by a member of the Resistance, Aryn returned to civilization to learn of the First Order's widespread tyranny. It was during this time she met Leia Organa and began to mentor under the General. Confident that their people had a future with Aryn, Leia left it in her will for the young woman to inherit the title of Princess when she passed. Since inheriting this mantle, she has shed her meek persona and become a determined woman known for her intelligence and cunning. Though a great deal of her time is spent trying to unite her people on New Alderaan, Aryn also dedicates her talents to helping treat war refugees on the planet of Chandrila and serving the New Republic.<br />
<br />
== RP Hooks ==<br />
<br />
{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Noble<br />
|Aryn is asking for help from all Great Houses in an effort to reunite the divided Alderaan people. Do you wish to be a part of this daunting task? Seek her out!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|}<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===<br />
<br />
----<br />
[[File:Ac3.jpg|250px]]<==Aryn at Leia's Memorial<br />
<br />
[[File:Aryn5.png|250px]]<==Aryn, Graphic scarring effect by Haddles<br />
----<br />
<br />
== Great Houses of Alderaan and their Current Allegiance Flow-Chart ==<br />
<br />
[[File:Alderaanhouses3.PNG|400px]]<br />
<br />
Are you interested in rping a member of one of these families? Let me know and we can work out where you fit!</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Aryn_Cortess&diff=18287Aryn Cortess2022-06-02T03:55:41Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your character (Go ahead and take out any rows not relevant to you)<br />
--><br />
{{CharacterBox<br />
| FullName=Dr. Aryn Cortess<br />
| Portrait=[[File:Ar1.png]]<br />
| Title=Doctor, Lady, Princess<br />
| Race=Human<br />
| Sex=Female<br />
| Profession=Doctor<br />
| Occupation=Healer<br />
| Homeworld=(Born on) Delaya, (Moved to) New Alderaan<br />
| Organization=New Republic, New Alderaan <br />
| Ship=Tantive IV (CR-90 Corvette), Rainstorm (Helix Interceptor), Silver 2 (T-85 X-Wing)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put whatever you want about your character below here --><br />
== Synopsis ==<br />
The current Princess of Alderaan and heir to the monarchy of her people, Her Royal Highness Aryn Cortess started with humble beginnings. Born the second child to the ancient House Cortess, it was her elder brother that was destined to become the leader of their house. Aryn chose a quieter career in the field of medicine and after graduating, she decided to see the galaxy before her life would inevitably become regimented once her betrothal to a noble Lord was realized. She disappeared on this trip and was stranded on a planet for years. Rescued by a member of the Resistance, Aryn returned to civilization to learn of the First Order's widespread tyranny. It was during this time she met Leia Organa and began to mentor under the General. Confident that their people had a future with Aryn, Leia left it in her will for the young woman to inherit the title of Princess when she passed. Since inheriting this mantle, she has shed her meek persona and become a determined woman known for her intelligence and cunning. Though a great deal of her time is spent trying to unite her people on New Alderaan, Aryn also dedicates her talents to helping treat war refugees on the planet of Chandrila and serving the New Republic.<br />
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== RP Hooks ==<br />
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{| class="wikitable" <br />
|-<br />
!Name<br />
|'''RP Blurps'''<br />
|- style="vertical-align: top;"<br />
|Mnngal-Mnngal or 'MM'<br />
|Aryn is the leading researcher on the galactic threat that the MM poses. On more than one occasion, she has set aside her allegiance to form unlikely partnerships to battle the threat head-on and stop the transmission of this awful and dark parasite. If this Hook interests you, please page and we can work out a scene jumping into the chaos.<br />
|-<br />
|Medical Doctor/Surgeon<br />
|Aryn is a very active healer and surgeon. She works at the Hanna City Medical facility and will schedule surgery appointments, check-ups, examinations, etc. If you have medical needs or wish to pursue some sort of science plot/hook/backstory, I am totally game. Please page me and we can work out any details or concerns.<br />
|-<br />
|Life-Long Student<br />
|Aryn is an eager student easily drawn into subjects she can research. She studied anthropology and history and is very learned in topics of culture, nature, and ancient technological languages. If you have a plot where this might align, or you would like to form some sort of history or connection using this option, just let me know!<br />
|-<br />
|Alderaan Noble<br />
|Aryn is asking for help from all Great Houses in an effort to reunite the divided Alderaan people. Do you wish to be a part of this daunting task? Seek her out!<br />
|-<br />
|Eager Martial Arts Student<br />
|Aryn's enthusiasm to learn language and culture extends beyond books. She enjoys the discipline and practice of martial arts and would be willing to learn from experienced soldiers and practitioners. This can be with the use of weapons or hand-to-hand. If this interests you, please let me know!<br />
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|}<br />
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=== '''''<span style="color:#CD5C5">Gallery</span>'''''===<br />
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[[File:Ac3.jpg|250px]]<==Aryn at Leia's Memorial<br />
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[[File:Aryn5.png|250px]]<==Aryn, Graphic scarring effect by Haddles<br />
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== Great Houses of Alderaan and their Current Allegiance Flow-Chart ==<br />
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[[File:Alderaanhouses3.PNG|400px]]<br />
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Are you interested in rping a member of one of these families? Let me know and we can work out where you fit!</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Jedi_Order&diff=18286Jedi Order2022-06-02T03:52:35Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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<div>{| align="center" width="900" class="content" style="background-color: black; border: 16px double #023002;"<br />
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{| width="100%"<br />
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{| <br />
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<center>[[Image:TJOLogo.png|x250px|link=]]</center><br />
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<center><hr width="90%" color=#000000 style="background-color: #000000"></center><br />
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<center>[[Image:JediFlagX003.jpg|x450px|link=]]</center><br />
<center><span class="name2">"May The Force Be With You, Always."</span></center><br />
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<center><span class="hilite">Recruiting:</span></center><br />
<center><span class="hilite2">Yes</span></center><br />
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! class="title" | The Jedi Code.<br />
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<center><span class="hilite2">There is no emotion, there is peace.</span></center><br />
<center><span class="hilite2">There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.</span></center><br />
<center><span class="hilite2">There is no passion, there is serenity.</span></center> <br />
<center><span class="hilite2">There is no chaos, there is harmony.</span></center> <br />
<center><span class="hilite2">There is no death, there is the Force.</span></center><br />
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== <span style="color:#AFFFFF">The New Jedi Order</span> ==<br />
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Words will go here soon.<br />
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|-<br />
! class="title" | Current Members<br />
|-<br />
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{|<br />
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| class="title" | Paragon<br />
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| width=100 | <center>[[Image:ReyBanner.png|x200px|link=Rey]]<br>[[Rey]]<br>Paragon<br>Leader</center><br />
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|-<br />
! class="title" | Knights<br />
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| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=yuun]]<br>[[Yuun]]<br>Knight<br></center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Jax Greystorm.jpg|x75px|link=Jax_Greystorm]]<br>[[Jax Greystorm]]<br>Knight<br></center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Zan_image.png|x75px|link=Zandra naMuriel]]<br>[[Zandra naMuriel]]<br>Knight<br></center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:KasiaHasHadItWithYourNonsense.jpg|x75px|link=Kasia Ashkuri]]<br>[[Kasia Ashkuri]]<br>Knight<br></center><br />
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! class="title" | Padawans<br />
|-<br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:VegaMain.jpg|x75px|link=Vega]]<br>[[Vega]]<br>Padawan<br>Zan's Padawan</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=Ewan Eroh]]<br>[[Ewan Eroh]]<br>Padawan<br>Yuun's Padawan</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=Rune]]<br>[[Rune]]<br>Padawan<br>Kasia's Padawan</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=Chani Tahn]]<br>[[Chani Tahn]]<br>Padawan<br></center><br />
|-<br />
! class="title" | Initiates<br />
|-<br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=Ax]]<br>[[Ax]]<br>Initiates<br></center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Nora.jpeg|x75px|link=Nora Frayus]]<br>[[Nora Frayus]]<br>Initiates<br></center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Vhe1.jpg|x75px|link=Vhe Tenara]]<br>[[Vhe Tenara]]<br>Initiates<br></center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:FinnRes.png|x75px|link=Finn]]<br>[[Finn]]<br>Initiates<br></center><br />
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{|<br />
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! class="title" | Allies<br />
|-<br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Ahsoka1.jpeg|x75px|link=Ahsoka Tano]]<br>[[Ahsoka Tano]]<br>Wanderer<br>Old Guard</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Ben Solo.png|x75px|link=Ben Solo]]<br>[[Ben Solo]]<br>Unknown<br>Guide</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:Bizz.jpeg|x75px|link=Bizz Bliptettjupp]]<br>[[Bizz Bliptettjupp]]<br>Monk<br>Guardians of the Whills</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=Chewbacca]]<br>[[Chewbacca]]<br>Smuggler<br>Best Pilot Ever</center><br />
| width=100 | <center>[[Image:JediX003.png|x75px|link=Corto]]<br>[[Corto]]<br>Unkown<br>Unknown</center><br />
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|-<br />
! class="title" | Getting Invovled<br />
|-<br />
|<br />
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* <span class="hilite">A Thing</span> ~ ''About the thing.''<br />
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* <span class="hilite">A Thing</span> ~ ''About the thing.''<br />
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* <span class="hilite">A Thing</span> ~ ''About the thing.''<br />
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|-<br />
! class="title" | Historical Archives<br />
|-<br />
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{| class="wikitable collapsible collapsed; center"<br />
|- style="vertical-align: center"<br />
|<div class="SWAOACharBoxLogs" style="max-height: 350px; overflow: scroll;">{{#dpl:resultsheader=<hr/>'''Logs'''<br/>|suppresserrors=true|namespace=Log|ordermethod=firstedit|order=descending|linksto={{PAGENAME}}}}</div><br />
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[[Category: Organizations]]</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Thyferra:_One_Simple_Delivery&diff=18176Log:Thyferra: One Simple Delivery2022-05-17T04:07:39Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=A group of rag-tag Samaritans help out the rebellion on Thyferra by delivering guns! | Location=Th..."</p>
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<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your log<br />
--><br />
{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=A group of rag-tag Samaritans help out the rebellion on Thyferra by delivering guns! <br />
| Location=[[Thyferra]]<br />
| Participants=[[Spicerunners]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ektor]], [[Amallia Madine]], [[Kohnner]], [[Black Krrsantan]], [[Khalim]], [[Rune]], [[Tovani Enno]], [[Mister Bones]] NPC, [[Poe Dameron]]<br />
| OOCDate=May 16, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
"ALRIGHT PEOPLE, LOAD UP INTO THE BIG RIG, AND FIND A PLACE TO SHOOT FROM!" Calls out Poe from the assembly area where the speeder and its long trailer have been staged so resistance members on Thyferra could load it with ordnance, weapons, and armor pilfered from the cold dead grasps of the dead. Poe opens the door to the cab, climbing inside with a grunt, and turning the engine over to bring it online and rumbling. He shifts the gear in place and waits for the all clear to head outside the wire and along the route.<br />
<br />
Cranking up the radio and the comms, Poe puts something on blast to get the team in the mood for a fight, because of Resistance intelligence was true, they'd be in for one.<br />
<br />
The trailer that's hooked to the truck is a large and long contraption capable of carrying several tons of gear. Parts of the trailer have been cut open and reinforced with durasteel, adding weight and protection. This was considered, by all accounts, a one way trip. Defendable positions on the trailer included a TURRET on the back, and firing positions on the RIGHT and LEFT of the trailer with cover. It's present weakness was from above, where the people climbing inside had no means to contend with. In theory, someone could land on top if the crew was unlucky.<br />
<br />
<<"This is Commander Dameron, give me comms check on all, and someone remind Santo we're leaving. He said he'd kill me if I left him behind... again.">><br />
<br />
Among the things needed to get on board last minute were two load lifters which required people to (roll) drive them up the ramp and secure them inside the trailer. In order to drop gear at the drop points, they would have to make use of the loadlifters to offload when they hit each location.<br />
<br />
<<"BE ADVISED, --pretty girl--, THIS UNITS combat protocols have been activated. SETTING PREJUDICE TO MAXIMUM. ALLOW THE MURDERING TO COMMENCE..">> Communicates the skinny blue and red, bone covered B1 Battledroid (Mister Bones) wearing a portion of a spine for a mohawk over its beak-like head. The droid draws out a sniper rifle, priming the receiver to generate a high-pitched WHINE. The droid hoists itself into the back of the trailer and takes a position on the right, scanning for hostiles /vigilantly/.<br />
<br />
After escaping Kuat and ending up on Chandrila, Ulani had planned to surrender herself to the New Republic. As a defector of the First Order, in a way, it was the only thing she could think of doing to right the wrongs she had helped create. Instead, she had come across another option: join the efforts. And thus she had.<br />
<br />
When Corellia was in need, Ulani went; barely competent in anything beyond computer work and wholly ignorant of the worlds beyond Kuat. When Naboo made a call, she followed to do as she could. And when her squadron dissolved and her mates scattered to the corners of the galaxy, Ulani continued her efforts on New Alderaan whom she had grown to cherish as her true home.<br />
<br />
And now with Thyferra begging for help and the New Republic caught up in politics, Ulani felt that call again. To go and help. Thus she joins an old friend and Black Leader Poe on the one-way convoy, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder before he goes to his station and she climbs up into the vehicle and heads towards the back where the turret is mounted. A quick look around to check if anyone else had called dibs then she pops herself into the seat and belts herself in. <<"Techie manning the turret, Pretty Boy. Just try to drive straighter than usual.">><br />
<br />
Mounting up in one of the right hand firing positions, boot mag-locks engaging to help keep him steady, Lord Thul's helmet is on and the cerulean glowing visor is glowing steadily as he bites a tab, <<"Copy you, Commander. A Thul is among thee." checking his blaster charge and moving off broad comms, not paying attention to the fact he's mic-ing what he'd been doing before the call for comms check went out,<br />
<br />
<"We reefed the sails and slowed the ship, to fish that barrel out! The old ship sailed to the distance, and we saw her come about. The captain watched through a spy-glass, and we heard him catch his breath, and we saw the storm a-brewing, had become a wall of death!"> Dock songs, star sailor shanties of his years with the NRSFU... and Black Squadron, and Aldera Squadron... Really it's a pretty constant habit of his, singing these things.<br />
<br />
<"Turn this ship around me boys! Turn around and run! That storm it wants a battle, and it's sure that were outgunned! What of the ship that's out there, do we leave her to the gale? She's called the Hungry Barabel, and it's rage that fills her sails!"> head bobbing as he belts it out, with at least some practice to his singing voice.<br />
<br />
"Boney, Boney, Boney.. easy on the prejudice, yeah? You can murder a stack of Hutt-suckers without being such a Human about drek, yeah?" Ektor scolds the psychotic droid with a crooked grin from above the driver's cab to offer another pilfered piece of loot lifted off the dead to Poe: a bottle of whiskey. <br />
<br />
In typical Ektor form, it's empty. His newly freed gunhand draws an old Civil War era Imperial blaster, rebuilt and remodified many times over. <<"Buh-Bors, I said it before I'll say it again: there ain't no spot in the Galaxy where people talk like you." A chuckle follows.<br />
<br />
One of those load lifters is being guided up and into place on the back of the trailer by plucky renegade Amallia Madine! She seems familiar enough with the operation of the heavy machinery, guiding it into place up that ramp and deftly maneuvering it into place. When it's aboard and secure, she hops off and makes sure the mag-locks are in place and holding it to the trailer. Safe and sound.<br />
<br />
She takes a position on the RIGHT side of that trailer, her back pressed up against the reinforced cover. By habit, Mollie's checking on the focusing crystal and ionizing-aperture of her Caelli-Merced III by snapping it forward at its breakaway point and twisting all the various tension dials into place. When she snaps it back up, the entire weapon shudders within her hands, its red light shining through on all sides as it comes alive. She toggles from stun to kill, kill to stun, and then stun to kill by habit as well. A bit of a compulsive thing. She likes the way the different settings feel in her palm.<br />
<br />
<<"Mollie Madine, reading you loud and clear Commander Dameron. And might I say you are sounding quite radiant today. Are we blossoming in the Thyferran heat?">> Mollie snaps that Caelli-Merced towards the ground out the side of the trailer but, before it hits the ground, makes a slow press of her thumb towards her palm. This activates the magnetic recall and snaps that weapon back up into her hand with a loud -smack-.<br />
<br />
"Alright then."<br />
<br />
Kohnner stared at the speeder and it's large trailer, his Canine eyes squinting in accompaniment with his under-bite pushed up just a bit to express what could likely only be described as dumbfounded. The Klatooinian wasn't the smartest bulb out there and he really hadn't figured out what was going on despite all the information he likely had been given.<br />
<br />
He didn't have a single ranged weapon on him. So his hawkish perception went to find the likely choke points if they were at all landed, or points in which he could board another speeder with a jump or crawl. Either way, he sauntered hi large frame onto the speeder, He stopped just short of boarding, sniffing and turning to notice Ektor. There was a low growl from the Canine before he continued along and found himself a good defensible position from a boarding party where close combat might come in play. He winced, working out his arm, where there was still blaster damage to his civilian market low end light armor. Looking around at the others, he didn't say a word, just grunted an affirmative that he was in position.<br />
<br />
Turning his head towards Bors, he stared at the Alderaanian, remembering him from the last mission he had accepted. Then he hung his head.<br />
<br />
It was going to be a long ride.<br />
<br />
No fear, Poe. Santos is here! A huge black haired Wookiee arrives carrying his long gun and of course can pound things up close hand to hand. He slings the rifle over his shoulder by the strap and starts to climb up towards the turret, clealy intending to take that position. Even though he's a very good climber, Krrsantan has barely started up than he hears Ulani has already belted in up there.<br />
<br />
A disgruntled wuff and he decides instead to take up one of the side positions that afford a little cover. Not that he really needs any cover as he's just too big for it. Somebody else could use the cover and he'll move around as needed - but it's a place to start.<br />
<br />
Over their shared coms, the Wook rumbles and yowls low, <<"In position, starboard side. Tell me if you need me elsewhere at any point.">><br />
<br />
The long gun is unshouldered and checked one last time. Santos looks ready to roll. [Language: Shyriiwook]<br />
<br />
To Khalimn, the galaxy had become, over time, a web of loosely connected aquaintances. Favors, earned and owed. Friendships, seemingly few of which did not in some way incur debt or obligation. It was difficult to say where the strongest assocations were here; to exactly whom the mirialan felt some degree of connection.<br />
<br />
A look to the teal-hued wroonian beside him prompts a lightly quirked smile. He sniffs, grates a low, "Smells like trouble," and taps Tovani's gauntleted hand with his own. Then he's up, climbing behind one of those bits of jury-rigged armor plating, pistol withdrawn and quietly humming through its power-cycle.<br />
<br />
It's a bit like getting the band back together, a number of members of Black Squadron having taken up the call at Poe's request. Thus it is that Rune finds himself among the motley crew, the Jedi in his black and brown robes standing out just as much as the others do for their various wear. A smile finds each of the crew as he boards the trailer, hazel eyes looking critically at the defenses they have present on the contraption.<br />
<br />
"That is the truth, Ektor. I do not believe I have heard a single 'shanty' outside of missions with Bors." Rune states as he fishes a black metal cylinder from his belt, positioning himself in the middle of the trailer ready to repel boarders and other unwelcome guests to their party. "This looks to be an interesting journey made only more fun with those present." he adds, a nod and a widening grin given to those he hasn't had the pleasure of battling alongside... yet.<br />
<br />
Tovani is not ment to gun things down, direct focused action is what one would expect from the Wroonian but for the moment her skills are used in guiding the loader lifters, giving oof a delighte 'WOOP' when it starts to shift. It takes her a moment to gain control and the feel for it but the woman is eventually following Amalia up aboard the transport.<br />
<br />
She sits inside for a second as she settles it into place and then begins to unbuckle herself from within. A few moments later and she is sliding down and out of the machinery, the smasher armor given a tug as shea djusts it.<br />
<br />
She crosses the distance to settle near Khalim, giving those who are armed a look bnefore her gauntlet is tapped. A grin with a flash of teeth follows. "Trouble...everywhere. Hard to not fall right into it." She sniffs around him and then the air. "Not bad enough yet," she teases and then is shifting, taking up a position, ready to move where she is needed and guard the occupants who are going to be hitting their marks. "Going to need to learn how to shoot it seems....you up for that?" This called over to Khalim.<br />
<br />
Poe slaps down a series of switches on the dash, bringing the vehicle to life beneath him with a defiant growl of motor and engineering. <<"That's a good copy on ALL traffic. Tourists, be advised our craft will be going into motion. COMBAT SEATING, you know your places. BONES.. have fun, buddy, and SANTO.. I don't feel safe telling you to do anything, pal. You're just.. too big! Haha! HANG ON PEOPLE, WE'RE OFF!">><br />
<br />
The back hatch to the trailer is a ramp that draws up and stores itself beneath, leaving the turret to be manned by Ulani Kalgaav. Positions within the trailer afford EXCELLENT shooting positions on the LEFT and RIGHT, and there's an access closer toward the cab with a ladder that goes UP to the roof, should it ever be needed.<br />
<br />
When Poe goes into motion, there's no /gradual/ about it. He shoves the gear forward, GRINDING IT OUT LOUD FOR A SOLID FIVE SECONDS, then seats it before taking them off, /jerking/ the whole ride as he turns the BIG wheel to bring them around and toward the highway.<br />
<br />
Almost immediately, the crew is set upon by smaller speeder trucks with gunmen. One is driving up directly behind the Resistance truck, another to the left, and another to the right. Each truck holds five Mercenaries, and they look eager for action. The one on the driver side rides up next to the cab, one of the guys on the back screaming, "PULL OVER!"<br />
<br />
Poe rolls down the window and sticks his hand out in diplomatic communication. "PULL THAT OVER! HAAAAHAHA!"<br />
<br />
Tucked in the back row, Ulani has a nice backwards view of their forward progress. Though she cannot see how the tanker truck is doing in terms of maneuverability, her body can certainly /feel/ every jerk and turn. White-knuckling her handles as her knees lock tighter onto her chair, she grunts with effort to keep herself in the bucket. This is why you always use your seatbelts, kids.<br />
<br />
Immediately they are set upon by... well. Ulani doesn't know who they are. They could be agents of the Sith Empire. They could be mercencaries hired by the First Order to maintain control of these here parts. Whoever they are, they've only attacked with words so far so Ulani swivels her turret around and takes aim at the truck screaming up behind them and makes a point of visually activating the turret; it's barrel glowing a warning of blue. <<"Come on. Don't make me do it.">> She says to the mercs who definitely cannot hear her.<br />
<br />
<<"Alderaan, Mr. Ektor, bring thee hence to the House of Thul and thou shalt be bathed in fine liquor, delightful liqueur, fine spirits and the most refined and grandest form of High Galactic ever experienced.">> helmet turning towards the Tionese's direction, sightable or no, one hand clutching an Oh-Drek stanchion above him and his legs stay firm with the magnetics keeping him fixed to the deck. Like the missions had never stopped.<br />
<br />
<"The thunder growled like demons, and the lightning stabbed the waves, and the Barabel she leapt towards us! Riding fury from the graves, our captain, he stayed at the wheel, the crew they manned the lines and still that ship and storm were quickly closing in behind!"> lifting a hand to wave at some of the others, including the canid-humanoid hanging his head - singing stopping for a moment, <"Be not at ill humor if thou feel thine singing voice is lame or rough! Take up and know that thou art striding forth for good and glory!"><br />
<br />
Oncoming, would be, harriers are looked upon and his rifle is brought up and sighted down towards potential enemies, <"Really wish I could have used my fighter for escort, eh?"> waggling the barrel of the carbine for the fellow to see, one hand up to offer the start of a polite wave that quickly becomes a gesture that might make Alderaanian court members GASP.<br />
<br />
Such cheek.<br />
<br />
Such nerve!<br />
<br />
Ektor sways and cackles like Poe's driving is a source of grand amusement to the relapsed resistance fighter. Breezily, he draws to Rune, "You ever get the feeling you're doing the same drek you've done before? Know what I mean?" A lazy shrug, and Ektor casually blasts the driver of the speeder truck hugging close to their left. He continues rambling as the stricken driver loses control a d the mercenaries jump off before being Ng consumed in a spectacular crash. "Like, destiny is drek and all, I ain't saying destiny - rekk that, yeah? But it's like I always end up doing this drek, again. Know what I mean?" Another shrug, and he draws to Bors, between more blaster shots. <<"Can I drink the good booze and get bathed by pretty girls? Cause that sounds a lot better than bathing in booze, yeah? I already smell like the stuff-">> Heroes of the Galaxy, ladies and gentlemen.<br />
<br />
Mollie presses up against the right side bit of cover, spying one of the incoming trucks slowly closing in on their location. One last switch of kill to stun. One last switch of stuun to kill. She exhales, looking out towards the others in the trailer alongside her. Those mercenaries get closer, and closer, and closer still, and it just so happens that the rightmost truck is taking the perfect angle to be on the receiving end of a bolt of Caelli-Merced charged plasma. The captain of the Heliost isn't known to be short on words, but she's quiet when she levels that blaster and squeezes the trigger.<br />
<br />
__KROW__<br />
<br />
__KROW__<br />
<br />
The first bolt shatters the windshield and the second punches it in, spraying hot plasma and sparks in on the driver, who pulls his car roughly to the side and begins to lose control. She watches as the first makes an attempt at leaping off and finds themselves pancaked beneath durasteel and more than a fair share of wheels.<br />
<br />
"Ahhh, rough go, mate," she says.<br />
<br />
<<"We've bot boarders! I saw four, climbin' on top!">><br />
<br />
As apposed to his mission on Deyla previously, Kohnner was very used to ridding in a vehicle and getting tossed around. He knew where to hold and how to shift his body so he didn't get tossed around in the rig like others might have. It also helped he was large and hard a big center of mass to keep him stead with impeccable balance. He wasn't too sure what was going on with all the comm chatter, a lot of it went over the Klatooinian's head, but what he did understand was Ektor's blaster shot and then the thud and crash of a vehicle... and the impact of bodies along the roof of the Speeder.<br />
<br />
Kohnner had a prejudice against the Tionese... but at least this one gave him prey with his impulsive behavior. He could look past the putrid smell for now.<br />
<br />
"Heading up top." He announced, making his way to the ladder and starting to climb as quickly as he could, not yet drawing any weapons.<br />
<br />
Pretty Boy puts the rig into motion with some painful grinding of gears and a sudden hard jerk. Krrsantan was holding on, sure he was! But his hand slips and he falls right on his arse and almost right off of the trailer! There's a snarl of annoyance. Slapping a huge hairy hand back up there, he pulls himself back up, looking ready to rip somebody's head off. Possibly Poe's.<br />
<br />
Then they are moving. Nostrels flare, long gun is brought to bear as the drivers start to come out to haras them.<br />
<br />
No diplomacy effort here. The massive Wookie bounty hunter lifts his rifle and aims to give the driver on the left side a personal welcome. The Kashyyyk long gun BOOMS and the windshield and the driver both are obliterated! The second shot probably hits the engine block as the truck starts to swerve.<br />
<br />
Santos ROARS at his miss as the truck starts to swerve away, "COWARDS, COME BACK!"<br />
<br />
[Language: Shyriiwook]<br />
<br />
Tovani receives a side-long glance from the mirialan at her question of a little shooty-shooty instruction. Khalim nods, a slight upcurl to that smile betraying his approval at the prospects. "I think that's something I could be up for," he says, looking about to say more when Poe mashes the accelerator. A gauntleted hand grasps wildly for the edge of the armored plate he stands behind, body swaying hard with the sudden force of movement but Khalim manages - somehow - to remain standing though a grunt of surprised exertion does manage to escape.<br />
<br />
There's a swerve, and a flurry of blaster bolts that begin transforming the tactical dimensions of this situation. Upon the left side of the trailer as he is, Khalim is suddenly faced with a quartet of thugs climbing up its side. There's a lean-out, a quick-sighting and a rapid double tap that sends a pair of golden bolts screaming into the ether. The vehicle's sway, that must have been the spoiler to a sight picture that had seemed pretty sure fire! KEEP IT STEADY POE! (Couldn't have been Khalim's over-quick trigger-pulls, right?!)<br />
<br />
Any thought of a smooth ride went out the window when Poe gunned the truck forward, the trailer being mercilessly yanked along behind it and sending all its occupants scrambling. Rune stutter steps a few feet before recovering, his free hand snapping out for some sort of support before he manages to regain balance naturally albeit a bit clumsily. "That was certainly a snappy start."<br />
<br />
Just as the crew is recovering from the harsh moment of acceleration they are overtaken by the gunmen looking to stop the Resistance and their mission. If Poe's well timed and expertly executed diplomatic gesture wasn't enough to set them to arms, the trailer bristling with weaponry probably did the trick.<br />
<br />
The Padawan depresses the button on the metallic hilt prompting a emerald beam to extend from the tip, the weapon of the Jedi announcing its readiness with a twirled hum. Rune stands alert, ready to step up and deflect a shot sent into the trailer, defending his companions from a lucky warrior's attack.<br />
<br />
Instead, the fight comes to them... after they disable a number of trucks that is, and the Thugs leap from the faltering vehicle to the trailer armament. The clatter of a number of feet on the sides, with only one cry in dismay, announces a number of uninvited guests. Summoning the Force, Rune focuses on a pair of feet he can view through one of the blaster holes in the side of the trailer... and yanks them backward off the side, pulling the unlucky owner of said legs with them. He releases his grip on the individual, watching as they flail wildly against the side of the trailer, fighting to get their other hand firmly gripped to the speeding vehicle. Rune mutters something about luck and turns his attention skyward where the others would be entering soon.<br />
<br />
There is a faint clatter THUMP as Tovi struggles to grab the central ladder she is standing near when the vehicle lurches forward. An explicative in her colorful native tongue is murmured and lost within the shuffle of gun fire and the turret that leaves a sort of echoing sensation in her ears.<br />
<br />
"It's just all sorts of loud in her!" She calls back to Khalim and is getting a better footing when she hears the collision of bodies to the outside of their mode of transportation.<br />
<br />
The cries of people moving up top are enough to get her to nod. "Heading up!" Not that Khalim could stop her if he wanted as she holds to the sword and climbs a few of the rungs. Then with a jump and arch of her back she slides out of the opening, low atop the truck as she remains there a moment, feeling the shift of the air like an unwanted presence. It is even louder up here! The mauve of her hair violently whips around her face from the ponytail. She pffffts trying to get hair out of her mouth as she remains upon a knee and puts a booted foot down. She looks to Kohnner, giving him at thumbs up.<br />
<br />
Poe is rolling his window back up about the time his crew opens fire on hostiles. He glances into the mirror on the left in time to see Xer's shot shatter the driver's window and hit them, before Santo's shot transformed the driver to paste, allowing the vehicle to veer off course and take a dive right off the highway to explode below. Whistling to the tune of the song, the truck continues forward, Poe shifting the gears as needed until he makes it to the final gear; he accidentally shifts down, throwing the truck forward as the engine GOVERNS WITH EXTREME DISPLEASURE the speed down. "Whoops!" They can hear the grinding of gears from the back as Poe yells over comms, <<"I CAN FIX THIS, HANG ON!">> GRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIND!<br />
<br />
The truck behind the group is riding up close and gunmen on the back ignore the fact there's a tail gunner on Poe's truck. They fire into the trailer, trying to hit the occupants while also keeping speed. It becomes clear Poe is taking an exit ramp, they're about to arrive at their first drop off point.<br />
<br />
Enemy riders who have managed to hang onto the sides of the truck begin to hoist themselves up. Of the seven (7) that remain, one slips off and COLLIDES with the tailing speeder behind them, showering the windshield and gunners with misty blood. Poe dies laughing.<br />
<br />
Mister Bones has managed to shoot one of the boarders with a precise shot to the knee, removing the appendage with extreme prejudice. "THIS UNIT INFORMS THE ENEMY THAT THEY HAVE DISCARDED A MISSION CRITICAL PART!" The legless man falls off the side. "THIS UNIT OBSERVES THEY ARE EAGER TO COLLECT AND BEGIN MAINTENANCE!"<br />
<br />
Six (6) boarders make it to the rooftop, one (1) truck, with one (1) driver and five (5) gunmen still tail Poe's speeder truck, and all hell is breaking loose.<br />
<br />
<<"Point Aurek, this is Commander Dameron.. be advised we're coming to your POS with some tagalongs. You guys in a good spot to receive some gear and drek? Over.">><br />
<br />
Static returns until a voice cuts over. <<"Commander, we're pinned down by a machine gun position near our location. Could use an assist, over.">><br />
<br />
<<"UUUUuhhhhh ROGER.. we'll see if we can help. Be there.. in uhhh.. shortly, I think.">><br />
<br />
She had suspected the new arrivals were going to persist in their plan to board and conquer, but Ulani had to give them that chance to rethink their life decisions. To turn around. Choose the peaceful life of some grain farmer, maybe. Take up horticulture. Macrame. Basket weaving. Anything except barrel straight towards a turret that is light up and ready to fire.<br />
<br />
<<"Sorry.">> Both thumbs hit the triggers simultaneously, overriding the safety in doing so and sending that heartfelt apology raining out towards the truck with a spray of red-coloured streaks of ionized atmosphere. The driver, it would seem, at least took her visual warning to heart because he immediately and expertly weaves into a serpentine pattern trying to duck the automatic fire.<br />
<br />
<"It's quite a possibility, Ektor - scars are well received at court - mayhap thou shalt draw upon thine self a river of fawning ladies hands a flutter to fan themselves for the mysterious rogue in their midst."> frowning, and talking, despite the shooting and leaping of thuggery now going on about him. <br />
<br />
<"Really. Just hopping about like kowakian monkey-lizards."> leaning through the opening with his carbine pointed, looking up at the sound of rooftop borders before he heaves himself halfway out, re-fixing his boots while his most recently battered backside is born upon the edge of the opening, <br />
<br />
<"Stop chasing us!"> his first shot bouncing off of a quarter panel and singing into the distance, <"It would go much better for you to not!"> the second shot faring worse and sizzling well wide of the target now, <<"Pretty Boy, yonder ruffians and knaves have been apt study of the Five D's, it would appear!">><br />
<br />
Ektor leans out one firing port far enough to stick his gunhand out and get an angle on one of the boarders climbing up. Three wild shots result in one mercenary tumbling off with a scream. <<"Annnnd the mysterious rogue is me, yeah?">> He was struggling to follow Bors' speech. <<"Or was you calling me a monkey-lizard? Even odds, really.">> He raises his voice to holler at Poe, probably in vain: "DID HE SAY HE'S STUDYING LIVE 'D'?" Hey, it's loud, and he has a bad ear.<br />
<br />
Amallia pushes up towards the back of the truck, wobbling a little bit on her journey forward, but finding her footing and letting that forward stumble carry her the rest of the way behind Ulani and Bohrs. She braces herself against the back of Ulani's turret seat and levels her blaster over the woman's shoulder, following the line she carves with that swiveling chair and watching as dust and dirt kicks up from the ground. She can't see the driver, but she squeezes a few shots off into its trajectory with her blaster. Hot red plasma screams through the air, sizzling as it goes, but fails to make meaningful damage. Burns the hell out of the front of that vehicle, though.<br />
<br />
<<"No way he's still up,">> she starts to say over comms, just as the truck BURSTS through the dust kicked up and continues its swerving, dangerous approach. <<"Hahaha! All my days, look at him go! He's dodgin', drivin', d... ahh, I don't know the other three, do I?!">> Mollie calls out, clearly impressed. She turns to look up and over her shoulder at the fighting going on above them. The numbers look favorable for now -- even more favorable, given that she's seen the sparking ignition of a green lightsaber.<br />
<br />
<<"We should just throw 'im at the truck.">><br />
<br />
It wasn't far up top but a few quick seconds in combat felt like a lifetime. As Kohnner reached the hatch a popped it open he thumped his large self up onto the roofing of the speeder. Looking around he caught the sight of the female with blue skin and purple like hair. There was a bit of recognition, perhaps seeing her previously not too long ago. If the Canine could grimace, he would. Instead he let out a tired grunt in responce and made it to his feet. Eyes jutted around, gathering the numbers before them. Blasters shot out and took care of a couple of the enemy as he pressed forward, lumbering with loud thuds against the metal roof as his Canine feet carried him with increasing momentum towards his chosen target.<br />
<br />
One hand on the sheath and the other on the handle, Kohnner drew his sword and raised it. A loud roar came as he brought it down towards the boarder. The enemy dodged, more specifically rolled out of the way. The blade sparked against deck plating. Kohnner swung wildly towards the retreating merc, missing entirely and only catching the high pitched swoosh of metal against air. Though, the Enemy came up upon the side railing which gave the rabid Klatooinian the opportunity to stab him through the shoulder. They shouted in pain as metal pierced deeply into flesh, blood bubbling around the entry wound.<br />
<br />
Nope, can't see too well on this side now the last truck is /behind/ their rig. And Khalim's fat head is in his way. Santos grumbles but refrains from grabbing Khalim and tossing him off the side and out of his way, tempting as that may be. Instead, he snarls and pushes past the little green guy to head aft.<br />
<br />
Wookiee incoming, Ulani! One hand to keep hold of the rig in case Poe's driving continues to suck sour puckernuts, Krrsantan moves on back and takes up a new position next to their turret gunner.<br />
<br />
Up comes the Kashyyyk long gun, the bronzium orb igniter energizing the blaster gas to fire with another resounding BOOM! Feet braced, Santos doesn't hesitate to fire again, a double thunder clap of two green bolts that flash into the cab of the tailing truck.<br />
<br />
The driver is gone. No more upper body but the lower body below has a weighty foot. "That's the spirit! Keep coming!"<br />
<br />
[Language: Shyriiwook]<br />
<br />
'Heading up!' Tovani is shot a look as she prepares to vault herself up that ladder. It says /be careful/ in a language more expressive than verbal. This was an all-hands job, blasters and blades going where they were needed, and his attention quickly returns to those thugs clambering up the trailer's side. They make a racket as they're doing so, and Khalim can hear the scraped and clangs of boots - some of them armored - rising higher.<br />
<br />
The mirialan darts a quick look out beyond that reinforced armor plate, helmet swiveling to and fro, and then... up. Up and /REBOUND/ as a tower of black fur shovels its way past him in the direction of the trailer's rear. Krrsantan doesn't bodily hurl the mirialan out into the air, it's true, thank goodness, but Khalim is smooshed against a jury-rigged durasteel plate as the monstrous wookiee makes his way. OOF. That's all that escapes, because as he darts a look at the departing mess of hair and muscle and more hair he realizes the lack of wisdom in saying more.<br />
<br />
Rising higher. The mental image snaps back, and Khalim realizes those up top are in the process of being engaged by superior numbers. <"Coming up,"> he comms, and as he climbs out a quick trigger-pull sends a lance of gold into the torso of the nearest thug.<br />
<br />
It sounds like the situation is well in hand down here and thus Rune's attention is needed on the roof. He glances up at the feet that disappear out of the portal, clearly missing the truck careening out of control behind them and speeding up like it's going to collide. Instead he crouches for a moment and leaps up and out of the hole in the ceiling, planting his feet on the roof near Khalim and appraising the situation quickly.<br />
<br />
In a millisecond the flashing lightsaber spins around his body as Rune twists and engages the boarding party. The first swing blazes past a Thug that recoils away from the humming madness, only to backtrack into one of their fellows as the Jedi advances. Fortunately this allows the Padawan to take advantage of a little 'two for one', his next swing passing easily through the collided bodies and sending both off the trailer onto the street below. He turns and holds the verdant column aloft, eyes narrowed and preparing to engage more if they come. "I would like to say we have them on the run?" Rune says with a hopeful smile.<br />
<br />
Tovani is just getting to her feet when the entire truck rocks and she throws out her arms to keep her balance, more hair getting caught by her mouth as she slams back dow2n against her knee and nearly starts to slide a little closer to the edge. Kohnner is busy slicing some foes as she is busy getting that jarring sensation to end in her knee cap, her teeth clicking as the hit bumps and weave about.<br />
<br />
"Need a kriffing better driver..and shocks." She growls and is crossing the distance to engage when one goes down by blaster shot and others fall to the heat of a green sword.<br />
<br />
She balls her hands into fists as she misses the first two strikes on the thug that comes up upon Kohnner while he's engaged. She spins about and the third lands HARD. Its not the most poised strike but it ends with him falling back...and then summarily off the truck and onto the road.<br />
<br />
She winces at the thought of the impact. On the what?! No this is not FUN!" The roaring wind, engines, firefighting causes Tovani to misinterpret Rune's words.<br />
<br />
<br />
Poe has exited the freeway and is buried deep in the warzone and behind enemy lines. This is the most critical point of the fighting, and where their supplies come in handy. Poe has to shift down, adjusting their path to follow the streets while a speeder that's been tailing them veers off the road and flips, exploding a second later. Bodies are being cast off the trailer from above, and those INSIDE the trailer can hear the stomping and fighting happening UP THERE, down below. One such remaining fighter attacks Kohnner and fails, thanks to Poe's driving. He dances off balance to one side, wobbling his arms for balance.<br />
<br />
<<"Point Aurek, we're approaching from the uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh east, looks like. Arriving now!!">><br />
<br />
Poe pulls right through the center of a fire fight, resistance fighters are pinned down around a crumbling gated community, firing toward an adjacent street where opposing forces make use of old office buildings. Burst laser fire pours in from above, and some twenty-nine (29) infantry rush the gated position of the resistance in a final push to overwhelm the position. Poe brings the truck behind friendly lines, but still in danger.<br />
<br />
<<"HEY TEAM, PRETTY BOY HERE.. GIVE ME TWO DRIVERS ON THE REKKING.. LOAD LIFTERS AND GET THIS GEAR OFF THE TRUCK!.. REST OF YOU, JOIN THE PERIMETER DEFENSE AND REPEL THE ASSAULT. LET'S GO!">><br />
<br />
Poe opens the door to the cab, slipping outside and landing. Blaster fire rains in at random, but he's casually walking over to the other commander of the position, carrying on a tactical conversation and pointing out positions. Poe doesn't seem too concerned about being shot, just about getting people where they need them.<br />
<br />
Screeching into the dropoff point like no one but Poe could -- since he's the one driving -- Ulani takes quick stock of the situation and makes a snap decision to stay in in her seat. "Oh, hello!" She says to the unfamiliar yet enthusiastic Wookiee. "They do have an awful lot of spirit, don't they? It's a shame." Wait, she understood all the RAAAAWRs and OOOOORLs? That she did, yet she's not quite as eager to return the enemy's enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
Thus is the dichotomy of the Alderaanian and the Wookiee.<br />
<br />
<<"Pretty Boy, I'll provide suppressive cover. Try to keep these guys from rushing you all too quickly.">> The turret spins around to the furthest angle it can and starts spreading the ionized love across the battlefield in the enemy's direction, forcing many of them to take cover against the sudden volley of automatic blasts.<br />
<br />
<<"You of course to be the rogue, you're of a much too grand a physicality to be as a monkey-lizard!">> Did Bors just call Ektor fat?!<br />
<br />
Watching the driver become half the sentient they used to be and making an 'eesh' face behind his faceplate, head ducking when the whole truck goes out of control and ... well it's not good for the passengers, really. <<"Glowstick, I feel it more apt to decree we have them on the horrifying rolling crash and explode. Running seems an impossibility...">> <br />
<br />
And then as they pass within the base perimeter, the sight of the oncoming infantry causes him to slump his shoulders, <"Did they not just see what befell those who dared before?"> shaking his head and raising his external volume whilst clambering out the window, <"KNAVES! DID THEE NOT SEE AS BEFEL THOSE WHO DARED BEFORE!?"><br />
<br />
Looking up and back into the truck, <"Ektor! I think they are remiss in that they do not acknowledge as what befell that who came before!"> then firing at one of those onrushing fiends, blasting the sot backwards out of their boots and beneath the second shot that sends Bors tumbling from where he sits to land on his back in the dirt, legs up and heels resting against the trailer.<br />
<br />
<"A clever ploy, that being mine! Truly!"> bite-tabbing his mic offline, "Ugh... my back."<br />
<br />
Ektor piles out of the trailer as the speeder rattle-lurches to a stop, he hollers back to Bors, as he sprint-limps for the loadlifter exoskeleton: "YEAH, THEY SURE MISS WHAT BE FALLIN FOR, AND DREK. YEAH?" Idly, as he begins the unloading, Ektor wonders of he can spare a hand to shoot while driving.<br />
<br />
Amallia Madine wobbles forward and backward again when she the truck and trailer come to that sudden stop. She turns towards the loaders to climb within, but when her path is blocked, quickly descends the ramp of the loader and points her blaster pistol out towards those charging. She doesn't look where she's shooting, in typical Amallia fashion. She just squeezes the trigger in the general direction of those sith-hired mercenaries while walking around towards where the loaders have begun to do the work.<br />
<br />
"Oi!" she yells, slapping the side of Ektor's loader. "Swap with me, mate. I'll offload the shavit, you kill these sithspit," she says.<br />
<br />
There is a glance towards Tovani as Kohnner pulls his blade from the collapsing body of his enemy. He stares are her a moment with intense and seasoned blue eyes, searching a moment. "Your form is impressive." Said in a deep and low growl as would be expected from a Canine like himself. He glances towards the Jedi who arrives and dispatches two of the boarders. There is a moment, as the speeder sways along the path where the Klatooinian seems to recognize Rune. A moment of dysphoria as eyes gloss over and then a shake of the head. His words stutter as they find their ground, "I wouldn't be so naive, Jeedai.." In that time a blaster bolt zips past him, causing him not to jar away but to turn towards the direction it came from. He twirls his blade around and then whips it to the lower guard at his side, letting the blood fly from the edge and onto the deck plating. He stares at the last one on the roof, saying to Rune; "Perhaps you best convince that one to give up" He says to Rune before turning away.<br />
<br />
As they come upon the checkpoint, the comm chatter is heard and the fight from the roof can likely be seen. "As I said..." His blade points towards the on going assault. He looks to Tovani and up nods his head towards the battle before moving to disembark the speeder and head into the protracted combat.<br />
<br />
He roars as he runs into the offensive line, his sword crashing down onto one of the enemy and burying deep into their shoulder and neck area. He attempts two more swings but the Mercenary is reeling away, engaged in full flight mode away from the large Canine. He doesn't stick around to see the fate of the one enemy left up top.<br />
<br />
Now the rig Poe's driving heads right into a battle zone and things are suddenly heating up, Krrsantan lowers his long gun and shoulders the slings the rifle over his shoulder. He's reaching back to pull a grenade when he hears Ulani talking to himself as if she understood what he'd yelled at the truck. She gets a toothy grin with sharp teeth.<br />
<br />
Who knows? Maybe Santos has a new friend! But first? Grenade.<br />
<br />
No warning people that a frag is out. The big Wookiee eyes the attackers rushing the reistance fighters and pin points their thickest point. The grenade is armed, cooked off a couple of seconds, and then thrown with a powerful arm - and excellent accuracy. It arcs through the air and lands at the feet of the on rushing attackers.<br />
<br />
Suddenly a flash and uprushing dust and debris with a CRACK! Five bodies are thrust up into the air or thrown aside with force - some body parts as well, which inevitably rain back down to earth.<br />
<br />
Santos looks pleased with himself as he leaps off of the back of the rig, hairy feet to hit the ground.<br />
<br />
<"You sure you need blaster lessons?"> Khalim grins behind the opacity of his visor, as he witnesses Tovani's fisticuff blur and the pummeling of that final topside thug. Between that and Kohnner's slicing and dicing of a thug a few steps away it's become something of a spectacle. "Worth the price of admission," he says, purely to himself. The mirialan is on his knees, just beyond the hatch leading below, pistol still out. It's a necessary position thanks to the hazard that is Poe's attempt to bring the truck and trailer combo to a screeching halt.<br />
<br />
That last thug up top is still recovering, briefly driven away from his cornering by Tovi and Rune. It lends a suddenly very pretty picture, a clear shot and an opportunity to free the others to shift to new tasks. Khalim shifts in place, the trailer having heaved to a stop, and holds his heavy pistol forward. His target is lined up, taking perhaps an extra half-moment to stabilize his sight picture, before a golden bolt spears the thug, sending him toppling over the trailer's side.<br />
<br />
But that was not the end of this situation, simply the closing of its first half. A mob surges against friendly lines just beyond the truck and a quick shot is unleashed within. It misses, delivering a divot to earth and a small fountain of dirt but nothing else.<br />
<br />
Rune's eyebrow lifts at Tovani's words, the engine noise and the rush of air making it equally difficult to hear what she says in kind. "Hang on a moment, on the Hutt there are guns?" There's no time to really suss out what she means when the vehicle takes a sharp turn to veer toward their first objective. The Padawan lowers to the roof as Khalim ceases the final foe's freeloading, his blaster barking out to make short work of the off-balance target. "Apparently that was not necessary, Khalim convinced him to lay down his arms in a completely different fashion." the Force user remarks in a reply to Kohnner.<br />
<br />
When Bors' voice comes over the comms Rune can't help but chuckle and nod, descending to the pavement to engage the rest of those pressing the attack. "You are correct, a better turn of the phrase as usual, Bors." and then Rune is among the enemy, fearlessly spinning the emerald blade as he attempts to thin the ranks that harry the facility.<br />
<br />
It seems the baddies have gotten a little wary of the spinning light of death, the first slash swinging wide of the Thugs before the second takes the legs from beneath one. Finally he turns and thrusts, narrowly missing the closest aggressor as he darts just out of reach. "It would make this much easier if there was less dodging." Rune remarks fairly seriously.<br />
<br />
So much noise and Bors is heard as well from within the truck at first and then his presence just continues outside and Tovi manages to keep her feet as they make that sudden stop. Kohnner is given a grin and a glance to his sword. "Good job," she says and is turning about, looking to the other three atop the truck. "I can't THROW my punch across the distance!" But the call to action is there, the Wroonian in all her blue skinned glory catches her breath and nods. "Thats my cue....I am not sure what you said!" She declares at Rune but is quickly grabbing at Khalim's arm and with his help is lowering down to the ground from the side of the truck with the last few feet causing her to lower to take the landing.<br />
<br />
Rising up she is booking it for the back, glancing at Ulani as she boards, giving her a wave before she is climbing into the other suit. Strapping in she feels it rumble to life with her insistent hand. "Come on, come on, come on," she says to the non-verbal piece of equipment.<br />
<br />
Easing off after Ektor, she grasps at the first crates, managing to get one and artfully tetrising another top with her second loader arm. She is clumping her way to the side, trying to keep herself and the supplies out of the direct line of fire. They are set down with a thump and loud sound as they scrape against each other before she is turning the suit back around.<br />
<br />
The assault is absolutely insane. Resistance warfighters are moving at all angles doing their best to provide covering fire, but many get shot. Poe's crew stay defiant, defending their vehicle despite the onslaught, and they do a damned good job causing a dent in their numbers. Turret fire from Ulani goes a long way, keeping them pinned for a good bit of their advance, which slows them down considerably. A grenade goes off, as well, toppling the enemy burst-laser nest.<br />
<br />
Poe joins Captain Madine, stepping by her casually and drawing fire in the effort. "Pardon me..." He punctuates this with a pair of blaster shots, LOUD as is custom with the DL-44 series. "Get shot at often?" He asks Madine, a crooked handsome grin on his face.<br />
<br />
Seven crates remain on the truck, and the weapons and ammo are being divvied out quickly, bolstering the Resistance capabilities to fight (they will attack this round).<br />
<br />
It's a sheet of blaster fire from both directions. A warzone opening up across the fields and jungles of Thyferra. Steeling herself from the brunt of the violence, Ulani compartmenalizes it all to be sorted later over a hand-shaking cup of tea and a view of a sunset. For now, though, her eyes blue as Kuat cornflowers dart this way and that, looking for openings in the enemy's defenses that need to be hammered.<br />
<br />
Her search is interrupted as a concussive force hits her hard in the sternum, slamming her against the back of the turret's chair; her mic picking up the distinctive <<"Hnnph!">> of the blow. She looks down, seeing the hole burned into her armour; flickers of red-hot cinder glowing around the edges. Quickly, she pats them out the best she can with a gloved hand, neverminding the iron-tasting wheeze in her throat.<br />
<br />
<<"I'm... on it.">> She confirms to her ragtag team. The turret, having ceased firing the moment she was hit, resumes its onslaught; pocking the ground in burst of dirt and pebbles and bouncing off the various modes of cover the opposing forces have taken.<br />
<br />
<"Oh!"> blasterfire headed his way, Bors does the best he can do from his position, laid out by the truck. Legs flung and rolling with clods of dirt being thrust into earthen geysers behind him. <"Bad form! Bad! Form!"> scrabbling beneath the trailer itself, grunting at the sensation of the stabilizer repulsors pushing on the Alderaanian whilst he continues to roll until he has made it to the other side,<br />
<br />
<"I'm getting too old for this."> rising up and leaning out to sight on the enemy that continues to pursue them, firing wildly into their midst will little real affect, slapping the side of his helmet - making his HUD frazzle out and back in, <"Blast it all."> shaking his head and sighting again.<br />
<br />
<"I'm getting Corellia flashbacks here, truth be told."> swapping to comms <<"Mr. Bones! You should unleash hell with maximum... ahhh... Killocity?">> he never knows how the damned robot works.<br />
<br />
Ektor gets the first crate unloaded when some tattooed blonde wants to swap. "Arright, this works too honest for me anyhow, yeah?" The operater harness is popped open, the Tionese pirate (with several much lower quality tattoos indicative of much more dubious judgement) pulls his blaster and makes a jaunty sweep of one arm, "All yours." He activates the personal shield and steps up next to Poe to open fire. "Just like old times, yeah?"<br />
<br />
Mollie laughs and grabs Ektor's hand when he steps out of the loader. It's both to help him down and to help her up, and she slides her butt into place within 'cockpit' as it slides into place. "Ahhh, y'kept it warm for me," she chirps out, and arches her back up halfway with a little wrinkle of her nose. "And sweaty."<br />
<br />
Amallia swivels in that loader to pick up the first crate from the trailer, guiding it into place where the rest of the cargo is to be offloaded. She returns to fetch another, but the shape is uneven. The little claw graspers gets one side, but she struggles to find a proper placeholder and leverage for the second. After a moment or two more of struggling, she slides the mechanical arm beneath a spot that, when lifted, seems to catch the way she wants to.<br />
<br />
<<"Halfway there!">> she says, hoisting the fifth crate up and into her loader's grasp.<br />
<br />
Something is mentioned about Corellia from Bors, whether heard over the comms or via Kohnner's sensitive Canine ears... is causes him to pause a moment. The world around him backs away and he dissociates from himself. There's a flash of something in his memory, from in the past... but it's not him. And then there is a voice that's not his, 'Pay attention.' It whispers just before a blaster zaps across his upper shoulder barely missing, bringing the Klatoonian back to reality. He twists and rolls, reorienting himself finally, and pressing forwards. There is an injured one before him whom he slices the throat of. He trudges forwards through the heat and humidity of the swampy jungle he isn't at all used to. Another target, this one he swings down on with his sharp blade, carving in two, bifurcating along shoulder to opposite hip. Death from instant shock was likely the culprit. A third he runs through the chest, pressing them back as he runs them through. They scream in agony as he does so. He roars, staring down his pray.<br />
<br />
<br />
There is chaos. Ulani's firing away with the turret to lay suppression fire like a pro! She gets hit and Santos hesitates but she starts up firing again. The huge Wookiee looks for more targets of opportunity that might meet with a frag.<br />
<br />
Oooh, yes! Krrsantan sees some of the Sith Empire attackers using cover to shoot from. The Wook moves closer to get a better angle and then hefts another grenade. Again, no warning shout - nothing! It arcs up through the air and lands in among them behind their cover. Special delivery!<br />
<br />
KABOOM!!! Debris rains down and there are two less shooters. Santos bares his teeth in a grin and smacks his bronzium spiked knuckles together with an electric crackle.<br />
<br />
So far Poe's 'buddy' seems to be enjoying his work. Little Kohn gets a look for all that roaring.<br />
<br />
For a few long moments Khalim is sprawled atop the trailer, assisting Tovani's clamber down its side. As her boots finally meet ground, he looks down, hand still outstretched but no longer holding anything. <"Be careful,"> he says, rather than emotes this time. As she dashes off towards one of the waiting power-loaders, the mirialan shifts back in the direction of that mass of Sith-aligned soldiery pressing resistance lines.<br />
<br />
Khalim finds himself sprawled in the prone, just below the turret that keeps spitting a torrent of fire into that - fortunately reducing - sea of hostiles. It's all he can do, at this point, to simply try and further thin the herd. That chonky yet surprisingly sleek heavy pistol of his barks bright gold, one bolt felling a heavy rifle toting mercenary, the other harmless splashing against more distant duracrete.<br />
<br />
He had been paying too much attention to what was in front of him and not so much to the sides. A blaster bolt finds its way past his defenses, such defense.... standing there with a glowing blade that might as well scream 'please shoot at me', and sears his leg. A wince flashes across Rune's face and he turns in the direction of the attack. "Who did that?" He asks, the verdant cylinder being swung to face them.<br />
<br />
Regardless of the foe that presses forward, he maintains his defensive line, working on thinning the forces around the loaders and protecting them as they offload the cargo. In service of this he steps forward and menaces the lot nearby, his lightsaber swung wildly in efforts to push them back. One thug gets a little too close and provides little resistance as the glowing blade passes through his form, dropping the unlucky fellow just a few feet beyond where he started the charge.<br />
<br />
"Best stay back!" Rune claims as he lifts the blade in defense, ready to parry or send a gift from the masses back to their lot if needed.<br />
<br />
Trundle. Trundle. The suit moves with her, rocking back and forth with every step and then begins to even out when she finds a better pace to set herself at. Coming back around to watch as Amalia is dealing with the cargo, she waits the second it takes for her to begin her leg back. <"We got this...keep moving, don't get shot...easier said than done."<br />
<br />
Big kriffing targets with all the supplies the resistance needs.<br />
<br />
One crate is loaded into the arm and pressed agianst the side of truck's interior as she strains the motors on the lifter, hearing the gears screech and complain as she manages to lift another crate so that they are poised together.<br />
<br />
She heads down the ramp and back towards the drop area. "This isn't heavy...for me but..." she is starting to sweat, droplets catching at her brow before trickling down her nose. Stress is a multi-faceted state of being.<br />
<br />
<br />
The last of the crates number four in total, and the waning attack against the Resistance has stopped being an assault, and is simply a bunch of men pinned down by constant turret fire (thanks Ulani). This has allowed the Resistance to join and bolster the ranks of Poe's group, helping the team pick off people left and right as they learn that being pinned is not a good place to be.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," Poe comments to Xer, smirking, "Just like old times.--" He rises up and mantles his cover, moving after Santo to help cover the massive Wookiee. "LET'S GO.. PUSH THEM OUT AND FINISH THEM OFF!"<br />
<br />
Nearby, Mister Bones engages in close quarters, casually aiming its rifle to blast off the leg of a lunging enemy. "ORGANICS FIND IT DIFFICULT TO FUNCTION WITH MISSING PARTS!" It declares, stepping over the screaming man, simultaneously avoiding three blasts! "MORE ORGANICS REQUIRE TERMINATION, JOIN PRETTY GIRL! (He means Poe)."<br />
<br />
The Resistance find it in them to charge, and emerge from cover to finish off the attack. Twelve (12) Mercs remains.<br />
<br />
She can feel it; that unmistakable surge of energy building. Of proverbial tides beginning to turn. To the rallying call of Commander Dameron and the cavalry that has arrived in the nick of time to help them, the Thyferran Resistance muster, call, and charge.<br />
<br />
This boost of energy is not lost on Ulani, either. Though not a seasoned veteran like her squadmates and these other fighters on the field, she's no stranger now to the violent ebbs and flows of battle. Drawing in a breath, the young woman gains a bit of tunnel vision and hammers her turret fire into where she knows what remains of the opposition is holed up.<br />
<br />
A blaster bolt singing past his head, Bors cant help but follow in the wake of the shot, <"Knew I shouldn't have stopped singing."> his rhythm is off. Leaning out his first shot turns one of the attackers with the bolt burning into armor plating on their shoulder to a triumphant "Ha-HA!" of the Lord Thul that comes far too soon when another shot aimed for him splashes against his chest plate, melting plastoid and overloading reinforcements beneath.<br />
<br />
Knocked upon his backside, the only option quick to mind is to fall to his side with a grunt and the heavy 'thunk' of his helmet hitting ground and crossing his eyes for a breath. <br />
<br />
<"Ow..."> blaster lifted, sighting by his HUD feed to the monocle that is still, expertly, pinched before his eye Bors allows a moment to draw a bead on the figure he'd struck before, kicking their head backwards with a plasma bolt, grimacing with the way they fall like a marionette with strings cut.<br />
<br />
<"Come to Thyferra they said. It'd be like the Black Squadron days."> looking in Poe's direction, <"Well it CERTAINLY FEELS LIKE THE BLACK SQUADRON DAYS!"> ugh... at least it hasn't hit the leg.<br />
<br />
"HEY, IT AIN'T MY FAULT -" Ektor starts to holler back at Bors, before realizing the A-wing jockey was complaining to Poe, next to Ektor. "Oh- you was yelling at him? ..I thought- sorry, force of habit. Go ahead." Blam blam blam.<br />
<br />
<<"Keep it up, keep it up,">> Mollie says to Tovani over comms, hearing the other woman's labored breathing coming through her own earpiece. She's beginning to sweat too, the exertion of steering the loader beginning to take its toll, as well as the breakneck pace at which the two continue to operate. That crate is unloaded, and then another is loaded on. She continues to move, swerving and pivoting and -stalking- towards the crates where resistance soldiers begin to pour out. A little laugh bubbles out of her lips as she sees them, sweat dripping from her face as they level their blasters and start to fire.<br />
<br />
Of course, she can't see that most of them miss. But there's something to be said about suppressive fire. The turret Ulani pilots continues to lay down an impressive suppression as well, and Mollie turns back around just in time to see the surge of resistance fighters pressing into the mercenaries that have begun to crack.<br />
<br />
"Kill those karking sithspit!" she yells out, making for another crate of weapons or supplies urgently needed by some of the very people that have just joined the fight. "Let's go, Madine. Just a few more. Just a few more," she says. Her eyes turn to Rune as the Jedi steps in front of her and is rewarded with a blaster bolt to his chest for his heroism.<br />
<br />
"Just a few more... just a few more."<br />
<br />
Santo's gets a side eye back as Kohnner stands before the bodies he's sent to the afterlife. There are no words that come from the Klatooinian, only a low canine growl, some type of brotherly animalistic understanding before his eyes face forwards once again. He flicks his blade and turns towards where he can still hear movement and gunfire ahead of the assault lines in the dense jungle. As he comes upon the first entrenched unit, covering from the heavy fire of the turret, Kohnner jumps down into the divot and slices some dirt as those there back away surprised by the 'large' (compared to most others) Canine. A team of two in what could only be described as a fox hole shoot at the beast, missing in their panic.<br />
<br />
Kohnner is quick to correct himself, slicing one and then the other across the chest and opening their cavities and organs to the elements only to die of shock and blood loss later. He trudges onward.<br />
<br />
With the Resistance rallying to attack, and Ulani doing a bang up job of laying down turret fire, and even Pretty Boy moving up to watch his six, Santos stops throwing grenades and wades in with his hairy fists! Bronzium spikes fused to the bones of his knukcles crackle with electricity as he starts laying into the Sith Empire fighters, doing what the big black Wookiee does best!<br />
<br />
SMASHING! Skulls are like crushed melons when Santos slugs first one poor bastard, and then turns to slam another one. Down they go, one after another. They didn't have a chance.<br />
<br />
Makes you feel kind of bad for 'm.<br />
<br />
Krrsantan bares his teeth ferally, dark eyes alight as he wrecks destruction. You surely aren't a nice guy if you enjoy killing so much.<br />
<br />
That sense that the tide is turning settles upon Khalim as well, and that sense very quickly becomes reality as Sith numbers continue to be whittled down. Little by little becomes swath by swath. That turret's torrent of charged-particle death is accompanied by the whirling of blades and the pot-shots taken by ones like that mirialan, still sprawled in the prone atop the trailer.<br />
<br />
'Push them out and finish them off' had been the rallying call, and Poe's words energize Khalim anew. His legs swing around, in a dangle over the trailer's side and he slips down. Lowering himself over the edge, the mirialan quickly finds himself in a dead hang and then... lets go. Feet meet ground in a rush, though Khalim remains stabilized by his armored back as it maintains contact with the trailer's flank.<br />
<br />
He's now at ground level, pistol again held to fore as he stalks forward. <"You doing alright, Samar'ii?"> A quick side-long glance is sent in the direction of the power-loaders making quick work of those crates.<br />
<br />
Out of the corner of his eye, Rune sees the red of a blaster shot coming, the angle of attack seeming to be heading for Mollie. As quick as he can the lightsaber wielder steps in front of the attack, swinging at it with his blade. Unfortunately the bolt finds its way to Rune's person, bypassing the defense to hit him in the chest. However, fortunately enough, the plasma itself did little more damage than singeing his vest. The Jedi spins to position the lightsaber between himself and where these shifts seem to be coming from, ready as he ever will be for the next.<br />
<br />
What with all the people having all the blasters, it's difficult to determine who was the culprit of the attack... not that it matters, they're all trying to attack someone else regardless. With that in mind the Ysannan Padawan shifts into battle once more, the green glow dancing between the foes and diving among their persons.<br />
<br />
One in the midst feels the bite of his blade, the fellow tossing up a bisected blaster before crumbling to the ground. The rest shy back and away from the whirling dervish of light, his saber blade passing harmlessly by as they shift out of the way.<br />
<br />
With the two loaders working simultaneously the crates are disappearing more quickly. <<"I need a nice long spa day after this, pretty sure there is sweat places I don't care...to....*GRUNT* mention.">> She heaves out another breath as she sets one crate down and then the next, the weight of the burden gone her loader is moving with a little more ease after the last two crates are set down, securing their drop point is done by unloading but also the skill of those keepign the sith at bay.<br />
<br />
<<"Done. Crates unloaded. Lets get back aboard">> This said to Mollie as she is turning back around, bringing up the rear of this two lift loader foray into military service. <<"This is a first for me...not used to live war zones.">> She proclaims and directs their lifter back into the truck, guiding the shell of metal and gears into place, the right arm of it feeling a little less responsive after giving it what for.<br />
<br />
The call from a familiar voice as she is unstrapping herself, feeling the heat rising off her body and the smell that likely comes with it. <"All is well, Samar'i. I am perfectly fine...I hope you can say the same."> Can he? No. Poor Khalim.<br />
<br />
She lands down on the inside of the truck with a thunk, giving a shake of her arms.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Poe holds the assault back as the Resistance gives chase, gunning down the rest in due haste. Afterward, there's a loud cheer, and Poe smirks as he turns in place to look. A small victory in a suicide mission, and a valuable checkpoint now has supplies. A mechanic from the friendly position comes out yelling, "COMMANDER.. COMMANDER DAMERON!"<br />
<br />
After reaching Poe, they take a moment to collect their thoughts and find their breath. "Sir, we have a tank.. and Point Besh is in need of support. The route between the checkpoint is littered with infantry and light armor. Do you.. do you think you can get that tank out there to help them? Point Besh has a flight line.. with fighters.. maybe you can use those to help more?"<br />
<br />
Poe rubs his bearded jaw in thought, wincing a bit. "A tank you say?"<br />
<br />
"WHO IS UP FOR ANOTHER MISSION?!" Poe's answer, as he holsters his blaster and walks toward the garage, and a big rekking tank.<br />
<br />
The enemy routed and Ulani immediately stops firing. Her barrel is hot and so is the bruise forming on her chest under damaged armour. Her hands release the handles, the safety clicks back on immediately. She doesn't get out of her seat. Instead, she kind of slouches there trying not to move too much and think through the fog of a sweaty helmet.<br />
<br />
<<"Giving you another tank? I think that's how we met, Pretty Boy.">> It isn't, but it's pretty damn close. <<"I'm in. You running gun again, Tion? I can target better than Corellia. Buh-Bors, you still with us?">> A pause. <<"I think I need a medic.">><br />
<br />
"Techie, are you- drek, I didn't turn the comm on-" Ektor mutters a d corrects the oversight. <<Techie are you really asking ME if I wanna blow drek up? Come on, you're supposed to be the smart one, yeah?>> The crooked grin is audible in his voice as the pirate lazily checks the charges left in his gun, decides he can squeeze another shootout in before reloading and pulls out another bottle. "Drek. Empty."<br />
<br />
The work done and the Sith Mercenaries routed, Mollie steers that loader up onto the trailer and pushes up the brace that secures her in place. She drops onto her feet, tanktop sticking to her chest as she attempts to peel it off her belly. Panting for breath, she laughs a little in Tovani's direction and shakes her head. "Thyferran heat. I swear it's gonna kill me some day," she says, and flops backwards onto her butt. She's not there to see the or hear the conversation between Poe and the mechanic. All she can hear is the end result, which is Commander Dameron yelling out about another mission.<br />
<br />
"Rekking..." Mollie says, and pushes herself up onto her feet. She descends the ramp to join the others while tucking away her blaster pistol back into the holster on her right thigh.<br />
<br />
Out of the corner of his eye, Rune sees the red of a blaster shot coming, the angle of attack seeming to be heading for Mollie. As quick as he can the lightsaber wielder steps in front of the attack, swinging at it with his blade. Unfortunately the bolt finds its way to Rune's person, bypassing the defense to hit him in the chest. However, fortunately enough, the plasma itself did little more damage than singeing his vest. The Jedi spins to position the lightsaber between himself and where these shots seem to be coming from, ready as he ever will be for the next.<br />
<br />
What with all the people having all the blasters, it's difficult to determine who was the culprit of the attack... not that it matters, they're all trying to attack someone else regardless. With that in mind the Ysannan Padawan shifts into battle once more, the green glow dancing between the foes and diving among their persons.<br />
<br />
One in the midst feels the bite of his blade, the fellow tossing up a bisected blaster before crumbling to the ground. The rest shy back and away from the whirling dervish of light, his saber blade passing harmlessly by as they shift out of the way.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Last_Light_of_Killesa_II&diff=18158Log:Last Light of Killesa II2022-05-13T03:04:27Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Friendly forces storm the port village and surrounding beach of Last Light to disable AA guns. | Loca..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Friendly forces storm the port village and surrounding beach of Last Light to disable AA guns.<br />
| Location=[[Last Light, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Corto]], [[Sorin Endesea]], [[Kohnner]], [[Aubrei]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Yuun]], [[Rune]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Aryn Cortess]], [[Lars Syrush]] NPC, [[Kiko Alde]] NPC<br />
| OOCDate=November 6, 2015 (Optional)<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Vigilance, a ship Captained by the young Lord Ty Killesa has made it through the pirate fleet on stormy seas, achieving a feat few sailors could claim in a lifetime. Arguably, it was the most difficult part of the mission, or so the crew thought, but when the stormy haze parted and the tall, flaming tower of Last Light loomed before them (the ancestral fortress of House Killesa), it felt as if the true mission was only getting started.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty throws the helm-wheel of the ship to direct it into faster waters, making the vessel rock violently toward a path that was intended to bring them to port. Forces occupying the fortress had already sallied out from the walls to post a hasty defense on the piers and along the fishing village that constituted the outer perimeter of the fortress island. Additionally, Anti-Air turrets were brought online to prevent an aerial assault, or reinforcements to any ground unit ambitious enough to try to land and take back the island.<br />
<br />
Naturally, the mission of the Vigilance, and her crew, was to take out those AA cannons and defeat the forces around the port, then breach the walls to reach the fortress proper. Inside the fortress of Last Light, the Killesa family is presumably held in captivity within their own dungeons, a wrong that the youngest scion of House Killesa intended to right.<br />
<br />
"BRACE AND MAKE READY FOR LAND!" Lord Ty cries out to the crew, whose blades were freshly blooded and warm from the heated combat during the fleet action. Ty had no intention of using indirect cannon fire to assault the port or surrounding village, too many innocent lives could be lost during the engagement. This was to be personal, and every inch of this island would require its payment in blood to claim back.<br />
<br />
The ship experience is entirely new for Aubrei and the seas throwing them around give Aubrei reason to hold on and keep her stomach held at bay. The brine in the air is filtered but there is a tang when she breathes.<br />
<br />
She reaches out to grasp for support and keep hereslf at ready when they are brought about<br />
<br />
Having just finished getting quickly patched up from one of the many field medics amongst the crew, Ulani gives a grateful nod and a sinscere, "Thank you kindly." Now she does, indeed, brace and make ready for land as the dock is fast approaching with the fishing village just beyond.<br />
<br />
But she's not looking for long. Instead, she has out her datapad and is quickly typing in a sequence into her locked screen, waking it up and pulling up a rough map of the area. "Lord Ty, if I can get to the cannons, I can rig up some explosives and detonate on command." She's already got a good load-out of booms in a bag hanging from her shoulder. "I will need cover, though. Afraid I can't rely on my marksmanship to carry me there. Especially if running."<br />
<br />
Landfall.<br />
<br />
Not a term common amongst those that walk the land by nature. The sea was something to see, but never really to journey. And in this age of science fantasy and spaceships and cheap intergalactic travel, actually crossing it was something of an unnecessary diversion.<br />
<br />
But revenge is first and foremost an act of style. Forever will the history books remember a dramatic rescue amongst wooden ships and iron men over the practical and yet simple approach of dropships and soldiers. When there was a message to be sent, the best way to send it was with overwhelming dramatic effect.<br />
<br />
It was perhaps for this reason that the Drifter, the second-act guest star party member, was upon the prow of the vessel with a dinner-plate hand clamped upon his hat and his poncho whipping in the wind. "Civilians out of harm's way first!" he roar-drawled above the din of waves and crew. "A home is built on its people and we ain't gonna prove 'em wrong today!"<br />
<br />
There hadn't been time to do much more than lean on a railing and catch a bit of the fleeting calm that had fallen after the final route of that marine assault. Sorin was tired, the sort of tired armor servos could not keep fully at bay, and the sort of tired a soldier came to knew as a constant companion. It was a weariness that spoke of twisting fortunes and exertion, blood and fear and a heavy dash of hope. As that tower looms, he looks to it. Their prize.<br />
<br />
That calm extends, in some ethereal way, to the shores and piers they near. Two sides, preparing once again. Just as the Alderaanian Lordling Knight's gaze slips down to his own armor, and the crystalline blade hanging again at his side, so too are distant eyes slipping from the sight of that rapidly approaching warship down to blasters, and radios, and the grim faces of those to their left and right.<br />
<br />
The storm is here.<br />
<br />
While they were 'bracing' and 'making ready to land' A certain Klatooinine was arched over the side of this particular landing vessel and heaving all he could ho. You see, despite all the Hutt's put him through, the large bipedal Canine was not a friend of uneasy seas. It took a moment before he pushed off the edge and headed back into position, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. A grunt given in acknowledgment and a nod before spitting on the deck plating what ever vile taste was left in his mouth. At this point he didn't care if he got shot to death, as long as it was on land.<br />
<br />
Odd for someone who was usually a Cargo Trader... then again there wasn't as much 'motion in the ocean' in the blackness of space.<br />
<br />
Quietly he put his right hand on the hilt of the blade that rested at his left hip, preparing to cross draw when the need arises. The hired combatant, a Trader only known by one name and over very few words, carried only close combat bladed weapons in him, including a Vibro Ax across his back. His jaw set stern and he readied himself for whatever came next.<br />
<br />
He groaned as his stomach growled and churned once more.<br />
<br />
The ship experience is entirely new for Aubrei and the seas throwing them around give Aubrei reason to hold on and keep her stomach held at bay. The brine in the air is filtered but there is a tang when she breathes.<br />
<br />
She reaches out to grasp for support and keep hereslf at ready when they are brought about. She reaches to her side and draws the S-5 at her side. She glances to the others, the visor flecked with water obscuring the expression upon her face which might relay the actual distress in riding on a ship.<br />
<br />
<"My lord, I am ready for this. House Endesea," the Dame proclaims to Sorin, shifting over to join him, doing her best to hold back the bile that has begun to creep up the back of her throat.<br />
<br />
<"A poor gungan came ridin' by, an' we say so, an we know so, Oh a poor gungan came riding by, Oh poor gungan!"> singing still while he makes to one of the masts to brace on for the ships stop - especially if Ty is intent on scraping the keel to make land. Opting for the blade on his hip.<br />
<br />
<"Says I, gungan yo'r Eopie will die! And we says so! And we know so! An if he dies, we'll tan 'is hide!"> giving the sword a single swipe before his boot mags engage to hold him in place. <"Oh poor gungan! An if he don' I'll ride 'em again! And we says so! And we know so!"> just belting it out as if he were on a dockside some where, and not just recently cleared of a naval engagement with explosions and cannon fire.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender had kept a firm hold with his right hand as the youngest Killsea brought their large vessel into an abrupt mooring with urgency. His left held the still-lit green blade. As the waterlogged dragoon- half-cape hanging lank at one shoulder for fog and sea spray of their voyage so far- sees mercenary defenders hurrying to cover the guns and waterfront, Ban voices evenly, "Whilst the less combat capable crew secure the vessel, let us carry the docks and provide the demolitions escort unto their marks. Shall we?" With the rhetorical question offered, he disembarks by vaulting over the rails and onto the surface of the docks, emerald sword swept up in a swift, sharp salute to the oncoming foe.<br />
<br />
The loud clanks of an anchor begin to set way as commands along the vessel, echoed from its Captain, bid the crew make ready for landfall. Marines high up in the ropes and along the sides of the ship are already hard at work, displaying fine marksmanship despite the unsteady waters and picking off gunners who would otherwise lay waste to the disembarking crew. "Follow the Knights to the cannonades!" Ty replies to Ulani, his voice briefly droned out by a harsh splash to the side of the ship. "They will see you through! I will join once the pier is ours.. the ship and her safety belongs to me."<br />
<br />
"BRRAAAACCCE!" Yelled the first mate as the ship suddenly lurched forward, her anchor snagged along the bottom. Throwing the wheel one way, Ty brought the bow of the ship forward, providing cover from incoming fire, and allowing his marksman to lay a path ahead. Spilling forth like Myrmidons, many of the crew landed behind the Green Knight of Alderaan (Lord Ban) to follow him into combat. Blaster bolts rained in from every angle as smoke grenades were cast out to give the disembarking crew some concealment in their approach. Aside from the stark green presence of a lightsaber, the forms of those who were 'friendly' disappeared in the fog of war as bright flashes of red and blue crisscrossed.<br />
<br />
Those leaving the ship were faced with combat near immediately, pirate scum occupying Last Light and its island were not willing to give the land, and their power, up!<br />
<br />
They wield swords, vibroblade, blasters, or bare hands to repel the assault, and just beyond the end of the pier, where land met dock, one (of three) AA cannons loom high above the fighting, scanning the air for drop ships and fighters that could bolster the assault with reinforcements.<br />
<br />
"Aye, aye, my Lord," comes the small red-heaed's reply to Ty's commands. Follow the Knights. That's a no-brainer by now and it helps that Ban carries the biggest green glowstick. Makes him easy to pick out from a crowd. "Lord Ban! To your mark!" She might be getting used to this kinda stuff. Maybe.<br />
<br />
She does look quickly around her; to the left and the right trying to spot the second-easiest glowing object to discern in this madness. The Katarn armour and the man inside of it. "Lord Bors! I request your aegis once more!" Maybe she doesn't need to ask, but tis only polite to do so.<br />
<br />
Everyone is on the move now and Ulani is following up; rifle in both hands and her bag weighing heavy on her shoulder as she goes. She doesn't rush to the frontlines, no. That's not where she belongs for a lot of reasons. Instead, she stays a bit back from Ban but close enough to keep up to him. From the left comes a blur of a pirate defending the dock and Ulani twists and fires out of instinct. She doesn't stop to check if he's down for good or just stunned. She doesn't want to know.<br />
<br />
Corto's time pontificating was up. With the ship docked, he turned and headed towards the gangplank. Now in this scenario he wasn't about to make do with just his giant meatfists. Handy they would be, but sometimes you had to reach out and touch someone.<br />
<br />
There was a curious weapon in the Drifter's holster. In his hands, it was the size of a large pistol, but to a normal sized human it definitely needed two hands to wield. The modified Scattergun was yeeted out of its sheath, and with a flick forward of his hand it fell backward. Now, most scatterguns have an impractical side-mounted pump, which Corto never understood as it buggered up his aim. This one was lever action, and letting it fall backward caused the weapon to fling around his cigarra-sized fingers in that large loop and snap back into his hand, having cocked a round.<br />
<br />
Everything could be an act of style if you believed in yourself.<br />
<br />
It sounded more like an explosion when fired, as it was once Corto strode purposefully towards the fray. A twelve-bore slug was a big chunk of metal that gave one poor repositioning pirate a lead suppository. Who says you need lightsabers?<br />
<br />
Sorin's dark brown gaze, though hidden behind the opaque silver of his helmet's visor, shifts to Aubrei as she joins him. Her readiness matches his own, and her words draw a nod out of the man. A hand rises to rest at the Mandalorian Dame's armored pauldron. <"For Alderaan, and Endesea,"> he answers, voice lightly vocoded but still unmistakeably Sorin. Grim of tone. Tired. Yet ready to continue.<br />
<br />
Those final moments before that anchor catches and the warship's prow makes contact are moments of adrenalized recharge. That curved cerulean blade of Endesea, crystalline and shining under the sun, is redrawn. Orders are bellowed, and Sorin looks to Aubrei once more. <"Fight well, my Lady."><br />
<br />
Exertion. Sorin finds himself amid the first wave charging Last Light's defenders. A lightly armored marine rises to meet his charge, vibro-ax humming with deadly energy. A slash is parried, but the next meets plasteel and cuts through a weak joint. With a shocked exclamation the man crumples, falling to the ground, no longer a threat as he begins to bleed himself into the sands.<br />
<br />
The fight is joined.<br />
<br />
Kohnner glanced towards the flash of Green Light as Lord Ban let loose his indignant blade emerald green. The Klatooinine flinched a bit, almost stepping back back but that might have just been the large bipedal Canine loosing a bit of footing as the anchor dropped and started to slow. He was slightly stunned, as if caught up in a moment of deja vu. A flash of that blade he'd seen before somewhere or at least a flash someone who had influenced him had seen before. He shook his head of these thoughts and refocused himself. The ramp drops and the smoke is dropped. The Canine shot forth, not yet drawing his blade as the gray fog surrounded him. Canine legs clawing against the deck plating and then finally into water and shore. It wasn't long until the taller beast came upon one of the enemy. He was indiscriminate as he draw and slashed upwards bifurcating some young dumb fool into death.<br />
<br />
Reangling his blade he paused and sniffed, searching out another enemy. Turning, he rank and slashed at another Poiret, yet this one was faster and more agile than the last and perhaps the smoke was starting o thin, giving an advantage to the enemy. This did not bother the Klatooinine.. In fact, he might have smiled if he could. To the cheers of for Alderaan... he hadn't any responce. He was focused on his job... and that was killing soft fleshy people.<br />
<br />
The ship is suddenly pitching and Aubrei's eyes go wide, the shock on her face just a mask of armor to everyone else as she slides across the deck, trying to get her footing. There is no time to respond to the Lord of Endesea as she uses that forward momentum and her lack of traction to throw herself into the air. The rocket burns hard and takes over, the brief dip of her form the only indication that she did not have complete control.<br />
<br />
The Dame of Endesea angles herself and before she lands is taking aim at the foes below, the green bolts slam wide, nearly hitting one but finding no target that she can claim. She lands then, skidding across the ground as she comes about, the pistol lifted as she watches the others cut into the group.<br />
<br />
Casting himself to solid ground with the others, Bors hits with the heavy CLUD of plastoid plates and heavy boots that blend into the hail footfalls, blade raised in high guard. Vibroblade matching to his forcing a juke to one side and a raise of his offhand to let it skitter along the plates hardened against such assault. To parry with his blade would be to invite its destruction.<br />
<br />
<"Of course, m'lady!"> A broad swipe disarming one at the elbow and providing him the opening needed to duck and charge past the falling rodian, exposing their partner to a downward thrust into the thigh of a shistavenian followed up with an elbow strike to put them on the ground.<br />
<br />
<"A THUL! A THUL among thee!"> skidding to a stop next to Ula and giving her the mobile cover she has requested of him.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is hardly attired as one might expect a Jedi to be. Dressed in heavy dragoon's armor beneath his decorative half cape, it is only the lightsaber that sets the swordsman apart from any other reckless officer as he leads a drive for the first artillery emplacement. Emerald blade turns aside a long range shot as the blasts of several allies fly past him to strike down several of the horde ahead. Soon enough his dash has brought the duelist to close quarters, striking down a first foe, then a second. The third enemy to pass within his reach is wise enough not to attempt a party, instead leaping backward out of Ban's reach. The nobleman does not pursue him, instead choosing to continue their drive for the guns. Apart from his salute, the gentleman shouted no invocations, challenges, or mottos, focused wholly on moving and striking with professional haste.<br />
<br />
Yuun met with the group he was going to be fighting with, it was good to be here to help Aryn, one of his longest knowing friends. His clothing slightly baggy but it is Jedi'esque. The dark skinned Jedi held his lightsaber lightly in his hand, and he moves with the group going against the pirates. Out of his first set of attacks he was only able to take down two pirates, which he does quickly not wanting to cause any lasting pain to his enemies. He glances around to see where the most resistance.<br />
<br />
Emerging from below decks is the young Ysannan Padawan, his face a pale shade of green. He had dashed there after the previous combat in an attempt to steady his stomach... probably the worst idea he could have had, no sight of the ocean simply made the movement of the waves much worse. Thus Rune appears, clutching the railing and holding in what remains of his dignity and lunch, both of which were mostly gone by this point. The ship is not done with him yet though, one final lurch before the crew departed heaving his stomach up into his ribs, and the Jedi made haste to the railing.<br />
<br />
Rune activates his saber as he all but falls from the side of the boat, the novice Force user landing in the water with a heavy splash. He struggles to his feet just in time to meet the charge of a poiret scum. Unfortunately for the foe, he met a quick end when Rune counters the attack with his own blade, the lightsaber easily slicing through the sword brought to bear, as well as the wielder themselves.<br />
<br />
As both pieces of the attacker fall to the wayside a second aggressor appears, this one slashing about in the concealing smoke with a vibroblade, the electricity sparking noticeably in the night. The blades clash together in a hail of sparks, Rune's first blow deflected harmlessly to the side. It was the backswing that found the pirate unprepared, the adversary's flashing blade going dark before it dropped into the ocean that swells around them.<br />
<br />
"Thank the Force for land." Rune breathes as he slogs his way toward the shore, his verdant blade gleaming in the hazy air.<br />
<br />
The force that rushed out to meet the Killesa supporters had not anticipated such a concerted and deadly force. In the chaos of the smoke and crossfire of blasters, countless pirates met their match and were cast back in a surprising interaction of combat. As the Killesa group emerged from the smoke, they were met with more combatants, but many of those who had stationed themselves to hold the line and repel the assault on the pier were falling back, fearful of the tenacity of those charging. Those with the gumption to stand their ground, open fire, or charge recklessly, hoping to end the assault with heroic slashes of their sword.<br />
<br />
Ser Lars Syrush, the First Sword, is among the main body of assaulters as they land on the docks, wading into the hazy smoke and unknown. "KEEP PUSHING FORWARD," The Knight screams. "DO NOT STOP UNTIL WE HAVE MADE IT TO THE CANNON! PUT THESE PIRATES TO THE SWORD!" As if on cue, the Knight crosses blades with one, batting their weapon down and splitting their neck with a decisive slash. His follow on attack is blocked yet it does little to deter the seasoned warrior as he plunges forward with an offhand strike, sinking his dirk into his opponent's eye and shocking them with the sudden death. He abandons the dirk to carry on with his sword, pausing long enough to observe their forces moving.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance has settled in the background, and Marines hold the ship, picking off distant targets with crack marksmanship. Blaster bolts pass the Killesa charging force overhead, occasionally picking off opponents before they can reach their intended combatant. Lord Ty observes from the command deck of his ship, hands locked at the small of his back as the remaining crew draw back the anchor and cast ropes to the dock to moor them to the cleats.<br />
<br />
Only a small platoon remain between the charging Killesas and the first cannon, fifteen (15) in total while the bulk of the enemy forces fell back to a position on land.<br />
<br />
Ulani barely has a chance to realize Bors is next to her when suddenly he is in front of her and redirectly a hit that would have certainly hit her. And worse... could have hit the bag she's hoisting. Then they'd all be in the shite. Exhaling a nervous breath, Ulani gets eyes on their first target beyond the gaggle of pirates. "I'm going in," is heard from her small, Kuati-accented voice and in a flash, she is gone.<br />
<br />
Ducking low to minimize her visibility, Ulani focuses on running through, around, past the front lines of pirates that would love nothing more than to cut one of these Cortess-supporting invaders down. A shift of her weight and she dips past a flailing grapping of a large woman who nearly snatches her, but Ulani makes it past them and scurries up the base of the cannon.<br />
<br />
<<"I'm at the first one. Just need to find.... ah ha!">> There it is. The pivot point; a shaft connecting the cannon itself to the base. Break that and one breaks the gun. Hopefully. A dart of her eyes over her shoulder -- a quick check that she's not about to be pounced -- and Ulani is making her way over to it.<br />
<br />
Killin' was a no-good thing. A no-good low-down dirty thing that Corto took no pleasure in. Even the mercy kill earlier this week was still weighing on his mind, and being thrust back into combat so soon had thrown him off his serene game. He wasn't paying attention, and that's why he took a blaster round to the arm.<br />
<br />
A distinctly un-Corto but very Feeorin roar of pain emerged from the big blue bloke. His shotgun was already pointed towards one pirate, but his arm whipping back from the impact threw off his balance. The boomstick sent its boom wide, into a nearby unfortunately-placed pile of dirt.<br />
<br />
The brightly whirling blades to left and right give the fog an eerie quality, but it's the sounds of the dying that mark this place as the sacrificial ground it truly is. Stalking through those murky tendrils, Sorin advances, avatar of some Corellian powersuit deity - apologies to the Mother and the Father who look down upon all Alderaanians.<br />
<br />
Stalking forth, the Lordling Knight finds himself atop a sunken trenchline, at the head of which a light repeating blaster may be seen. An operator and his assistant look up, both fumbling for the weapons hanging at their sides. Sorin drops within, practically atop the nearest, who is body-checked into the trench's earthen wall. There's a thrust of cerulean blade, ending the man, and a turn to the emplacement's gunner. "No no no," he shouts, pistol half out of a holster that had taken a moment too long to unfasten. Sorin's blade halts those protestations, with a clean hack from above. The knight pauses, considering whether he should destroy the weapon as well.<br />
<br />
Suddenly a bolt lances in from Sorin's right, an unseen sharpshooter had had enough time to steady his sight upon the temporarily still man and taken the shot. There's a brightly sparked impact of focused charged particles against durasteel that leaves a divot, and a clearly - though by first impression not greviously - wounded knight.<br />
<br />
The SCUM Kohnner had been swinging at and bearing down, ends up on the ground crawling backwards away from him in a frantic sort of scurry. An ugly Monstrous alien like a Klatooinine wasn't likely expected with this party. That fight or flight instinct gave Kohnner's prey the uncanny ability to draw quicker, meaning the pulled out a blaster at a sword fight and took a shot at the hulking bipedal Canine.<br />
<br />
Kohnner howled loudly like a some wild Vornskr in the deep woods of Myrkr. He reeled back and clasped the upper part of his left arm where a burnt hole now fused with the bits of armor the bolt had blasted through. Anger now glowed in the pale blue eyes of the young killer. He growled, showing sharp teeth. He rushed then towards the collection of defending bodies around the canon, his blade lashing out at those near him. The reeled back, not wanting to get struck by the maddened Canine. He roared as he swung, letting those primal sort of instincts flow through him. He missed his targets but perhaps he could as least distract from those who were placing explosives.<br />
<br />
As they are attacked in return, Aubrei watches as a few of her fellows are injured, the thought of attacking stowed as she rushes over towards the nearest she can get to as Kohnner and Sorin engage with othres in melee. Her words are quickened by the draw of her breath as she slides in beside the Feeorin. <"Hold still, going to field dress as best I can, keep them off of us."> The feminine voice hails the unknown figure - though obviously friendly given who he is shooting at.<br />
<br />
She pulls out the spray first, cleaning the area as effectively as she can - a sting likely causing some irritation for Corto.<br />
<br />
The patch she pulls free next is firmly slapped over the wound, pressed and sealed in that moment to help support the process of knitting the flesh back together and keeping it from getting infected. <"Best I can do given the circumstances."> The weihg tof her motions bring her around, pistol drawn from the ground as she rises, discarding the remnants of the patch to the wind and the rush of boots.<br />
<br />
Curling his left arm up to bring the side of his fist against where his ear would be a blaster bolt thuds into armor, making plastoid momentarily soften while thermo-kinetic weave dissipates the force of the plasma bolt. A moment spared to check surroundings and wheel to interpose his blade to catch that of one of the pirate filth, <"HA! Knaves! Match met!"> thoroughly enjoying himself, for certain, until...<br />
<br />
When Ula takes off, Bors can only give a bit of a chuckle that is also a bit of a sigh, chinning his externals off before, "Of course nary a moment spent in consideration to set thee forth in wild sprint after I had but only come through morass of foul face and forest of blade and fire to get to thy side..."<br />
<br />
Leaning into the run, Bors sprints - keeping to Ulani's side like Corto sticks to the big and tall section of the clothiers he visits. Because he's titanic. A swing meant to remove the hand of a savage intent on stopping the kuati woman parried and gaining an exasperated, <"Ex-CUSE me!?"> from the Lord who pivots then stutters into a pirouette that puts him off balance but with enough force that the figures head remains in place, though her eyes flicker wide a split second before she drops, body tumbling forward and behind Bors while her head rolls after.<br />
<br />
<"Ula, darling! Forewarning next time?!"> another charging figure catches four feet of hand wrought durasteel between the ribs and thrusting out of their back, dragging over sternum and into open air while they're poleaxed backwards, <"I've been made to look silly! I prefer to look foppish, not foolish!"><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender continues the momentum of the attackers' swift advance, narrowly catching a blade that had struck low for his leg, cutting the durasteel in two, leaving both ends glowing for a molten moment, before quickly cooling to red and black. Armored boots bear him on toward the squad of scoundrels standing sentry at the anti aircraft. Once again, his sword is swept up vertically before him in salute, rising in respect before descending in destruction.<br />
<br />
Yuun quickly dispatches two of his opponents, a small frown shows on his face, he didn't like killing but again his opponents are one with the force. Yuun reflects a shot that was aimed at him, he angles his blade down sending the blaster bolt into the ground. He sees another group of pirates nearing him. Dipping his right shoulder and moving past one of the pirates to strike his friend, he quickly attempts a back stab towards the pirate that got past him, Yuun misses. Spinning to his right, he sees a pirate aiming a shot at one of his allies and down goes the pirate as Yuun slashes across his waist.<br />
<br />
The grunts and shouts of his wounded squad register over the din of battle and Rune finds his direction changing to match. The messy haired and soppy Jedi finds himself in the presence of Corto and Kohnner, the latter being nearly immediately guarded by the other green blade wielding Jedi. With a smile, Rune nods to Lord Ban and sets to guard the injured Corto, lest another blaster bolt find its way toward them. What a sight that is, the smaller Force user standing in defense of the hulking blue man, his face set in grim determination regardless of the hilarity of the picture.<br />
<br />
In the meantime another dastardly duo rushes the lightsaber wielding Ossus native and he is forced to once again defend himself with an offensive action. The first pirate's screamed charge gurgles out as his body falls limp to the sand. Prior to the tumble, his back sprouted a glowing green column of light, the other end of which was clutched by Rune's hand. The second fellow was far luckier since the Padawan suddenly found himself with a manner of dead weight pressing down on his weapon. Up comes the humming blade to meet an attack, the wild swing after simply driving the pirate back a hair to where the adversaries can square off with narrowed eyes.<br />
<br />
Of the fifteen foes who stood their ground, all but three fell. This allowed Ulani Kalgaav to attain a favorable position near one of their objectives to begin assessing the build of the turret and how best to destroy it. Meanwhile, members of the crew who had ventured forth do not halt their momentum and carry on toward the next cannon.<br />
<br />
To reach that, they come off the port docks and onto land proper, following a small hill down toward the village but staying closer to the beach than the village itself. There, on the beach, another tall turret is defended by an entrenched foe, firing long range shots at the charging Killesa forces, and those occupying the first cannon objective. The distance make the shots a bit wild and inaccurate; given it's a target rich environment for the defending pirates, it's hard to choose distant targets vs those charging.<br />
<br />
Ser Lars cuts down three men, the last knocked from the pier and into the war. He's out of breath, shoulders rising and falling heavily now and stalking forward to join the main assault. "LET'S GO!" He calls out, and returns to jogging after the others, eager to see the next gun cleared out.<br />
<br />
<<"Killesa forces, this is Commander Alde. Her Highness inquires about the anti-air defenses and how close you are to destroying them? We have reinforcements ready to cross the bay, over.">><br />
<br />
Up on the cannon's base now, Ulani looks back towards Bors with a curious tilt of her head. "Mmm? Oh! Indeed, forgiveness, my love. I felt the need to hurry here with haste. But you are right. I need to stay close to you. Certainly not an unattractive prospect, I must admit."<br />
<br />
Ulani is working as quickly as she can getting the explosive device attached to the weak spot she has settled upon. It isn't easy, though, to concentrate on the connections and setting the detonation device with the sound of battle behind her. But Bors playfully scolding her -- though he might be half-actually scolding her, too -- does strangely help her focus as she works.<br />
<br />
"Besides, you do not look silly at all, Bors." In that particular way her accent says his name, 'Beau-oars' "You look quite dashing." And to his benefit, Ulani does not run off again just as she promised. But she's also not making the progress she would like. There are small grunts of frustration now as blaster fire wizz past her a few feet away on either side. Not enough to be a danger, but enough to make her hands shake.<br />
<br />
<<"Working on it! Some of the charges got wet in the storm on the way here! I need a little more time!">><br />
<br />
With one free hand, the Drifter made a flicking motion on his shotgun, cocking the lever at the same time he rotated it around his fingers. The hiss of main from blaster searing was replaced by a different hiss of paint from some sort of disinfectant. Then the patch was slapped on.<br />
<br />
"Mighty kind of you, Doctor," was the half-gritted rumbledrawl from the recovering Falleen. "Behind!" he barked, too late to stop the poiret from shooting, but with just enough time for reflexitive return fire of his own. The boom from the shotgun was yet another boom lost in the concerto of booms that was warfare, but the slug made its mark ripping through the nasty man's torso. Another life lost, another quiet curse.<br />
Climbing back ouf of that, really, pretty well dug-in weapons emplacement, Sorin sees some of their party advancing towards that second anti-aircraft turret. But here, between himself and the nearest turret? Two defenders, one armed with a vibro-pike, the other a meaty looking pistol.<br />
<br />
The Alderaanian knight advances upon the pair, one hitting the ground following a servo-assisted hack that cleaves straight through a tightly strapped blast vest. Just as that crystalline blade is drawn back, an opposing vibro-pike unready to parry, a heavy impact strikes Sorin in the flank. A blaster bolt, accurately flung in from afar, punches a small hole through durasteel. It's enough to abort that second strike, and the Lord of Endesea is even forced to drive a knee into the ground to keep from falling any further.<br />
<br />
As the enemies drop to the Force Users and High Skilled military type, Kohnner focused in on one of the last remaining defendants of the first canon. His lower teeth jutted out in an underbite as he growled and chopped at the enemy. His blade cut deep. He swung again, missing twice as his blade scrapped against defelade and scrap metal used as cover. The enemy was crawling away as he stalked forwards, never once giving up on his goal to kill.<br />
<br />
Though that was likely until Ban and Aubrei showed up as he crept forward. A look to Lord Ban as he saved him from another blast to his body, blue eyes narrowing in what could only be desciped a hard concentration. "He knew you..." He says in a rather rough and deep voice expected of a Canine of his size and species.<br />
<br />
He took a moment and looked over towards the next cannon and sighed, "Another one, huh?" What a day.<br />
<br />
Even as she is readying to rejoin the fray, her attention on the Feeorin when he address her, <"Doing what I...HUNGH.."> its a strange sound from the armored female as a bolt slams into her backside and she is left stumbling from the resulting pain and surprise. She gasps still, panting at the seering pain from her back end. There is NO WAY she is reaching the wound while in her armor, turning her body to try to get a look gives her a view of the battlefield a few of the others she had noted took wounds before. Sorin seems to be functioning fine as Kohnner thus becomes her focus.<br />
<br />
<"Watch yourself,"> she nearly pants out at Corto as she lifts off, the thrust of the rocket at her back carrying her the distance needed, landing in a run that favors her left side. She rumbles behind her helmet, sweating now through the pain as she does as she did for her first patient. Spray to clean the area nd then a field bacta patch is pressed down over the wound. <"A moment, do not move..."> she instructs as she sets to placing. <"Just a field dressing, get it seen to."> She expresses in a strained tone.<br />
<br />
<"Rubberized carry all, darling!"> The demolition expert with wet charges. There's a wish to remove her helmet and give the stare that only he can, through his monocle, close lipped. But then anything can happen - like that sot who has wandered to close and found the Lord Thul on a razor edge, thrusting and silencing them once and for all. Behind the faceplate and the glowing T visor styled after the Mandalorian instructors of the GAR's commando corps, the man frowns - regretful for finishing off the wounded foe.<br />
<br />
But too often had the wish for mercy come at allied expense. <br />
<br />
<"You're clear for now, Ula dear. Alert when thou shalt be on the move again."> left hand lifting instinctively to toggle comms that a bite tab switches on the same instinct,<br />
<br />
<<"Lord Killsea, we are progressing. We can laze targets for strike if thou so feel it be safe to do?">><br />
<br />
Ban Iskender adds over the comms with a sharp glance about. A well placed shot strikes him, causing the gentleman to stagger a moment with the force of the blast. Straightening his shoulders, and literally brushing off the carbon scored spot on his spaulder. <<Commander Alde: we have secured the first artillery position. Moving to secure the second now.>> That said, the gentleman takes off at a run for the second anti aircraft emplacement. Once, twice, and thrice he strikes down one of the usurper's catspaws, fully prepared to charge alone, though with a tight, short lived smile he notes the others who moved with him.<br />
<br />
Yuun moves with Ban, "I will keep you company as we move up." he says as he doesn't lose stride as he moves up towards the enemy combatants. <<May the Force be with us.>> he says and he flanks right his blue blade flashing as he attacks. Moving true, Yuun cleaves through one of the pirates weapon, then into him. He has to hop back as he was about mis-step but he was able to regain his balance and cleave through another pirate. But as he tries to go for another pirate who was rushing him, he misses. "Kriff!"<br />
<br />
The pirate Rune faced off with was determined to score a hit, only his deft dodging saved him from the sword that pierced the air where he had stood. His adversary was not so lucky this time around as a well timed attack from the side caught them off-guard and put them squarely into the wet sand. Rune lifted a hand in thanks to whomever relieved him of his dancing partner... and then a blaster bolt intended for Corto found its way out of the smoke and into Rune's vest.<br />
<br />
He slides backward with the impact but comes away unscathed, hazel eyes wide as he pokes at the hole created by the bolt of plasma, the skin beneath uncharred. Impact examined, the Ysannan Jedi lifts his head to locate the direction from which that blaster attack came. Baddies discovered, eyes narrowed, the Padawan sprints across the sand alongside Lord Ban and toward the encampment of ranged foes. Just before he arrives, the determined lightsaber wielder leaps through the air to land among them, said lightsaber flashing and thrumming as it makes quick work of three with rifles. After the quick attack, all three blasters clatter to the ground, the hands that gripped them no longer able to function in an aggressive manner... or any manner for that fact.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus has been here the whole time! Honest! She's right behind Ban, see?! Charging up to the second artillery position and drawing her sword the moment she engages. The pirate scum are a litany of villainy, but they are deft with their blade! Three strikes clang, saber clashing against rapier, each deflection drawing the tip of Nora's blade closer to the vital organs she seeks to skewer. She laughs when she sees the Pirate's cocky smile and pushes off, taking two... three steps to the right and holding her blade, tip down towards the floor.<br />
<br />
"Shall we dance, lover?" she murmurs from behind long lashes and a predatory, cat-like smile. She gives her wrist a slow flick in anticipation of their advance.<br />
<br />
The charge continues on despite a hangup with the demolitions on cannon one. With Killesa forces pouring into the entrenched position at cannon two, it's a matter of minutes before the forces defending the second cannon begin to abandon their trenches and retreat for the last position, and cannon further down the beach and near the rear of the island. Ten (10) foemen remain at the second cannon in a show of defiance as the crew presses onward, eager to cut down those fleeing for the final and third cannon.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty responds to Lord Thul, <<"The targets are too small and to too close range. Even indirect fire would be a gamble, sir. Alas, this must be done on foot should we preserve the confidence of my good village folk. No innocent lives need be lost this day; carry on, my Lord.">><br />
<br />
Commander Kiko Alde responds to Lord Ban, <<"Understood, Captain. Alderaan endures. Commander Alde out.">><br />
<br />
"Yes, dear," Ulani says back to Bors, her voice a little tense with nerves as she stuffs the dud back into her bag and digs around for another. "We'll go shopping just as soon as we're done here, mmm?" That actually does sound quite lovely. A little brunch, some window shopping, maybe catch a holo on the big screen...<br />
<br />
That happy place it taken away as a barrage of fire opens up and Ulani hunkers over her work, setting her charge and connecting the detonation to her datapad. A green light blinks rapidly then turns red. "Set!" She jumps off of the base close to Bors and gestures to the second gun. "On your charge to the next!"<br />
<br />
"Nora, we're fighting, ain't time for jokes," chided the Drifter. The wound to his arm was nothing now, a mere irritation compared to the internal struggle he was facing. Maybe that's why his next shot missed, the slug flying wide and Corto's attempts to will it in the intended direction falling a-flat.<br />
<br />
That first weapons tower is left to whatever explosive fate it has in store, as Sorin recognizes no remaining pirates between himself and that second turret. He runs, servos taking much of the exertion upon themselves but the man within that powered armor is reaching a new level of weariness.<br />
<br />
There are no time-outs, however, no calls for rest and as he reaches that loose string of pirate defenders he's engaged. The melee that ensues doesn't allow either to claim victory, rings of crystal and many-times folded durasteel singing out as that blade of endesea parries, and then is parried by the meter length of a well worn combat sword.<br />
<br />
<<"Copy Lord Killsea, conventional destruction it is.">> nodding to himself, turning to one side, then the other to make sure of the present location was clear enough. Nothing within close range, quiet for just the moment. <"I may need to utilize the blaster it seems."> checking his HUD readouts on his weapon charge, <"Right!"><br />
<br />
Then there is blaster fire coming in their direction and Bors does what Bors do. Putting his plates between the incoming fire, taking shots on the shoulder and reinforced back plates, trusting the armor to do it's job while keeping Ulani out of harm's way. <br />
<br />
<"Right. Let's get to the ne-HEEEOOAAA!"> behind the hip, but not quite the plate that actually covers his posterior, in the joint and burning his cheek, <"MmmmMMMMMOOOTHER FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-FORGIVE THEM!"> shot, right in the rumpus.<br />
<br />
Kohner is a bit scurried as the Jetpack riding Aubrei lands next to him, wild eyes studying her. There is a moment as he seems to hesitate in the shell shock of battle as to whether she is friendly or not, his attack intensity and natural predatory inclination getting the best of him. Though as she starts to take care of his wounds he seems to calm a bit. There is a nod of thanks and a calming sort of grunt and growl from the bipedal Canine. "It'll have to wait, but thank you." His voice as expected of such a creature, deep and growling.<br />
<br />
As soon as the patch is applied, Kohner hypes himself up, jumping a bit in place before running off down he defilade towards the next cannon. Long range blaster fire erupts around him until he reaches the defilade along the other cannon. As he went up the next mound though, he found himself slipping, his arm still sore and having trouble pulling up his body weight. Once he got on top though, a couple of the enemy stared at him. He stared back, then swung at the once, causing them to reel but not catching a single one with the weapon's sharp edge. Of course this sets up the others for any kills, scarry ugle canine and everything.<br />
<br />
Eyes glance towards the pink haired one from Tatooine, blue eyes narrowing a bit in confusion at her tactics.<br />
<br />
Backside still stings 'check'. There is a figure suddenly before her, the other woman getting a look from a visor. A nod is given to Nora before coming about after the exchange of fire. A shift of the forces towards the second gun she has space to clear, hitting the rocket once more that blossoms to life and spews her across the field and above those running in but she does not need to get right up on them, the S-5 brandished in mid air, her first shot taking one down, even as the next two green bolts fan out and find the earth and the side of the gun without much harm being done.<br />
<br />
Step, lean step, step, leanstep, in quick sucession as she can not quite put full weight on her left leg. She hurries forward, trying to help open the gap in the field for their specialist.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is kept at the second artillery emplacement, walking down foes who are doing their level best to stay out of his reach. Still, attacks are turned aside methodically, and the dragoon ripostes with deadly alacrity three more times. A short glance aside to gauge the progress of his fellow combatants, and the position of their demolitionist. Brows draw in a slight frown. This is taking too long. <<"Second position secured, charges en route. Commencing advance on the final artillery position.">><br />
<br />
Yuun intercepts a shot with the blade of his lightsaber, sending it into the ground. His eyes quickly tracking enemies as they continue to fight around the second emplacement. Yuun doesn't allow his focus to slip, he steps in towards a group of pirates, he was hoping some would back off, they were losing ground but no they weren't. As blasters fire, Yuun weaves through the bolts in a fast graceful motion, his strike he delivers cuts down an enemy until another three bodies lay on the ground. "Go with the Force." he says as he looks over to Ban. "Let's go." he says as he follows Ban.<br />
<br />
Further into the fray they all go, swords slashing, blasters blasting, lightsabers lightsabing? Whatever the correct term for what a lightsaber does, it is happening and with great efficiency among the Jedi there. Rune pushes past the falling bodies of the pirates to engage more around the second gun encampment, the sounds of battle dimming as the group makes short work of their opposition.<br />
<br />
Blade lifted, targets spotted, and Rune goes to work with his emerald blade deftly and expertly cutting the air around one solo pirate, the column of light thrumming mercilessly as it connects against nothing with immensely deadly force.<br />
<br />
Once all slashes have been given and Rune pulls back defensively, the two stare at each other over the short expanse, both sidelong glancing at the humming cylinder of light that extends from the hilt in Rune's hand. The Padawan can simply offer up a shrug to the pirate, a moment of levity within a grueling affair.<br />
<br />
Nora's cold blue eyes remain glued to the pirate across from her, laughing a little when they take their advance and swing twice at her. She parries one, and then reroutes the other, letting her blade sliiiiiide down the curve of that saber and bring the point of her saber through their throat and out the back. "Ahhh, missed a step," she says, and gives their body a push to pull her blade out from their throat and let them collapse in a heap on the ground. Her eyes narrow and her nostrils flare with a little huff of irritation when Corto chides her. She watches the blast of a shotgun rip through the air and miss its target entirely, a brow quirked and a soft little laugh bubbling from her lips. "Quite," is all she says. Searching for a new target, her eyes find Kohnner and she, too, tips her head in confusion. Not because he's being sexy with one of the pirates, but because... well. It's a small galaxy. She turns to engage with the pirate Corto had shot at. Her advance is swift and aggressive, pushing them onto their heels as she swings once. Twice. Clang. Clang.<br />
<br />
"It is not too late to surrender, you know. Throw down your blade," clang, "Bend the knee...!" Clang. <br />
<br />
"If not, mind your feet."<br />
<br />
The third gun is pursued by the Vigilance crew, charging and gunning down the remaining pirates on the beach. <<"We have made it to the third gun,">> Yells one of the crew members. <<"Placing charges no--static,">> A sudden explosion rocks the beach at the third gun as a demolitions charge goes off prematurely. Everyone, including the crew fighting at the third gun, is consumed by the sudden blast, kinetic concussion, and tower of black smoke. The turret is gone, but at a cost.<br />
<br />
Ser Lars cuts down the final two at Gun two just in time to witness the destruction of the third gun with a look of horror. "Oh no!" He calls out, <<"The crew set upon the last cannon has fallen. There is nothing to do but search the aftermath to find those fortunate enough to have survived.">><br />
<br />
Debris from the final gun begins to fall from the sky as streamers of black smoke span far and wide.. some setting down in the sea, while others collide with the battlements of Last Light.<br />
<br />
A mournful cry of a loud beast calls from the misty sea as the large shapes of Thranta burst through the cloud cover and circle overhead. One lands upon the beach near the second gun as the crew disables the second turret. It seems that riders are upon the Thranta, and the one that landed had Kiko Alde, who uses the beast to walk upon the beach. "REINFORCEMENTS ARRIVE.. WE ARE FOR THE BATTLEMENTS NOW. RALLY YOUR MEN!"<br />
<br />
Bursting through the cloudy mists now are a number of ships, and they begin to land upon the beach, dropping their cargo ramps to allow men to pour out. On one of the U-Wings flying overhead, Aryn watches from the open hatch on the starboard side as Alderaanians and allies form up on the beach and begin to charge the distant gates to the Last Light keep. Lady Kiko urges her Thranta airborne again, joining the other Knights as they clear the ramparts guarding the gates. The next phase of the attack was to begin.. now to save House Killesa! To VICTORY, FOR ALDERAAN!<br />
<br />
Oh, she knows that particular curse well. As they run, Ulani turns towards Bors with a strike of panic. "Are you---" Silly question. He's not okay, but he's still moving so that will have to do. She swallows her panic and makes herself keep running. "We're almost there. Almost done. Just a little---"<br />
<br />
BOOOM! Down the beach, the third turret goes up with a flash and kinetic push of uncontrolled detonation. Ulani instinctively ducks behind the second gun's base, shielding herself from the aftershocks of the blast with a worried frown. There but for the grace of the Gods go her.<br />
<br />
Shaking the thought from her mind, she scurries up the second gun and lays the next charge. Without the pressure of encroaching assailants, it gets a bit better and in moment, the next explosive is set and she hops back down. "Clear the way! Clear the way!" She yells it as loud as she possibly can while --- you guessed it -- clearing the way.<br />
<br />
When all are a safe distance away, Ulani activates both charges remotely and in a burst of pyrotechnics, the other two guns go down allowing reinforcements to fly in at their leisure.<br />
<br />
Every other step is absolutely a nightmare. Step, step <"MMmmMmmm."> lunge step, drag. Lung step, drag. <"Well this is quite the brine soaked gourd, isn't it?"> biting down and shifting his pins to get moving and follow Ula about with a considerable limp and a quiet grumbling about how he is beginning to miss his right leg taking the brunt of his injuries.<br />
<br />
It's unconscionable. <br />
<br />
It's inconceivable.<br />
<br />
It's a Thranta?<br />
<br />
<"Mother deliver us..."> staring up and following the majestic movements while explosions and blaster fire go all around. <"Wonders never cease..."> shifting his weight some to keep pressure off a particular part of his body, <"Ula dear, can you spray some of that numbing agent on my backside? I expect it's going to get... hectic."></div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Jedi_Order:_Revisiting_the_Ash_Worlds&diff=18092Log:Jedi Order: Revisiting the Ash Worlds2022-05-09T16:13:52Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Ban and Aryn revisit Belleau-a-Kiirium. | Location=Ash Worlds | Participants=Ban Iskender, ..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Ban and Aryn revisit Belleau-a-Kiirium.<br />
| Location=[[Ash Worlds]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=May 7, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
<br />
Landing in a hidden hangar, the Echo goes through its routine of systemic shutdown. Bouts of steam spout from the ship's belly, heralding the ramp as it began to lower to allow the occupants an exit. Aryn steps down the ramp slowly, the shift of her cape moving with each step until the ground beneath her feet began to level and the garment dragged behind her a bit. She looks around their immediate surroundings, finding nothing of threat, yet. <br />
<br />
Their setting was eerie and quiet, power long abandoning the hangar beneath the palace thanks to some surgical bombardment years ago. "It has been years, has it not?" Aryn asked, not recognizing her voice in all the grave silence. The light on her wrist casts an LED cone, its purview of illumination emphasizing the presence of swirling dust.<br />
<br />
Years? "So it has, my Lady," Ban agrees. He is attired once again in his dragoon's armor, the overracer primed and maintained, but not yet brought off the freighter as the gentleman walks down the ramp with Aryn. "I daresay the lack of crass greeting-" anti aircraft fire, "upon descent from orbit lends a measure of.." He can't bring himself to say optimism. <br />
<br />
"The power core will be long detonated. The central computer razed upon withdrawal to deny the enemy. Truly there can be little left." All while he considers the dark hangar, knowing even without light where the doors like. "Would her Highness first favor the path into the remains of the palace, or into the open air?"<br />
<br />
"There is plenty enough left," Aryn argues lightly from her spot. "..a choice still to be made." Aryn abandons her brief look outside the hangar bay. The sudden drop off, whispering winds, and a lunar view of the desolate sea of endless dusty terrain is all that greet them. As Ban said, not even the anti-air cannons sought to acknowledge them.<br />
<br />
Returning to Ban's side, (handing slightly behind him) she raises her light to make out the door Ban has located from memory. "Do you think sentinels still patrol the corridors? It is so silent here I think I could hear a pen drop from half a world away."<br />
<br />
"Perhaps. Mother be merciful and Father forfend, but if fortune is with us, what sentinels we find will be naught more than statues, inert and powerless." <br />
<br />
For all the time that has passed, the new achievements and new home of his family and people, Cophrigin IV still has the feel of an open wound in the dragoon captain's mind. He felt pained and solemn to the edge of being grim as he beheld the landscape he had so long missed.<br />
<br />
Aryn shares a look with Ban a moment, her gloved hand coming up to touch his arm in a show of solidarity. She did not truly know the pain he felt, but she could sense the grim scenery all around them. Moving forward, ever forward, Aryn left his side and waved her hand at the door separating them from the corridor that leads inside.<br />
<br />
Drawing on her influence of the Force, Aryn willed the doors to part. The action saw that the doors opened against their will, damaging the hydraulic mechanisms that kept the closed to begin with. The way it opened was dark until Aryn shined her light inside. Eerie silence followed the sudden noise, and Aryn's light revealed vigilant figures standing motionless, caked with a layer of dust. They did not respond to the noise of the door, so Aryn felt it was safe to speak.<br />
<br />
"What would your mother bid we bring back to her? More importantly, what would you like to bring back?"<br />
<br />
Ban looks from the landscape to Aryn at his side when she touched his arm. That bit of outside contact grants the soldier a way out of his circling thoughts, and a small nod is given as they turn toward the corridor and the Princess' power opens the doors.<br />
<br />
The unmoving machines are noted for position and stance: had they expired at posted guard, or in motion? Idle curiosities aside, he senses no immediate danger and walks hith a measured and dignified gait toward in the direction of the palace lower levels.<br />
<br />
"In this, I daresay Her Excellency and I are in accord: the most valuable items which might survive would be within the deep vaults. The Ash Worlds were once- in distant antiquity- part of the Empire of Xim the Despot." a small sniff of dry amusement. "In the construction of our deep bunkers and vaults, inspiration was borrowed for that ancient tyrant's cunning. Have you read of the discovery of Xim's treasure vaults, Aryn?"<br />
<br />
I'm discussing his home, the gentleman has begun a slight shift from stiff and formal to almost casual form of conversation.<br />
<br />
"I have not," Aryn notes quietly, allowing Ban to lead their direction and efforts. "What importance did the Ash Worlds hold for Xim?" Aryn slips her hands to the small of her back and interlocks her fingers; with her cape still trailing behind her, the entire motion is hidden beneath its confines.<br />
<br />
The corridor turns, allowing passage into a deeper corridor that angles down further. They pass a set of inoperable lifts and eventually arrive at a set of secure doors. These are not tall doors, but they belonged to the undercroft and were large enough to allow maintenance crews and equipment to go below. Aryn wonders if the vaults were there, or if they resided even further down.<br />
<br />
"They we're not yet the Ash Worlds in the time," Ban notes. "But as the Kiirium Reaches were counted among the richest of the tyrant emperor's prizes. One of his Throne Worlds was near to this system, forming a frontier against Hutt Space. After Xim's downfall, the Hutts sought to exterminate humanity in this sector, reducing the Kiirium Reaches to ash with nuclear detonations that scoured all life and poisoned air and soil for a thousand generations. This is why no native flora or fauna existed upon this world when my people first took refuge among the ashes."<br />
<br />
His baritone voice echoes slightly in the dusty corridor. "But legends of the Despot's lost treasure ship, containing wealth beyond imagination endured for millennia afterward, as such legends oft do. The ship was lost en route to the great treasure vaults on Dellalt. Or so it was believed. For although the treasure vaults had long been plundered, less than a century ago, the truth was learned: The treasure ship had arrived. The cunning tyrant had built in secret a great vault hidden beneath the standing vaults, which had hidden the wealth of an Empire beneath the very noses of those who followed to rob him." A small shrug. <br />
<br />
"By then the treasure was worthless, except as a historic curiosity. Outdated military technologies, crystals, beam tubes, early war droids and so forth. The hidden Iskender vaults are similarly lacking in practical wealth, but vue to us. The larger surviving relics of Old Alderaan, humble though they are, were hidden beneath, sealed against all but those of my mother's blood," the soldier considers.<br />
<br />
"It is entirely possible that- absent any power signatures, the vaults may have remained undetected. It is equally possible the invaders simply destroyed them out of hand. But we shall see."<br />
<br />
"You may be correct. Despite the damage attained through the initial invasion, structures of the city yet remain. I theorize the campaign of the machines was not the destruction of civilization, but of life. To what purpose remains to be seen, but if those sentries back there hold any truth to their occupation, it is that a lack of energy to sustain themselves has begun to take their toll." Aryn walks up to the door from Ban's side and places her hand upon it. Dust caked onto the surface falls off, clouding the air where her light beam manages to capture it.<br />
<br />
Aryn draws upon the Force once more to prompt the doors apart. It takes a concerted effort to move them back down their tracks, but it opens wide enough so the two of them may pass. The path leads further down. The darkness adds to the odd foreboding silence, but Aryn tries not to allow their setting to increase her anxiety. They were both well trained Jedi and could handle themselves!<br />
<br />
"I recall our last visit within the throne room. It was all preserved despite the active occupation. I do not think these treasures were the reason for the invasion. That said, are there defenses against those not of your bloodline that prevent entry into the Iskender vaults?"<br />
<br />
"They came not for wealth," Ban agrees. "They came for hatred of Alderaan, as the Empire and its Remnants came twice before." The gentleman sought to lend a measure of aid to Aryn in forcing the door open, but if his efforts produce any effect, he cannot tell when compared against Aryn's more significant labors. "They cannot rest safe from justice, whilst any son or daughter of Alderaan lives."<br />
<br />
As to defenses, "Naught that need concern us, with the power core gone. The locks will open at a drop of my blood. It was.. perhaps petty of Her Excellency, but if she and her children were no more, my mother had no wish to let any other possess what she had kept." His armored shoulders turn sideways as he passes narrowly through the forced door. "One day, perhaps.. if there is need, and there were warrant to see this fief restored, the banners might fly again. But that day is yet far from this, if ever it dawns." Green eyes turn about them again, a steadying hand on his sword hilt.<br />
<br />
Aryn pauses on the other side, allowing time enough for Ban to catch up to her by passing between the threshold. She nods to his sentiment, and turns to regard him when the mention of his mother comes up. "Do you feel safe in moving these things from the vault now?"<br />
<br />
Their path takes them to the lowest point of the palace, well below the ground and nearer to the foundations itself. Rather than pleasant wall coverings and shined floor paneling, their setting has changed to metal grated floors and walls with their support beams revealed. No sentry occupies this space as none reached this far. It tied into the fact that the droids operated on a signal which conveyed commands for their missions. No such commands could be transmitted or received at this depth.<br />
<br />
Thus they arrive within the vault location. It is not marked traditionally as a vault, but set up like a network of storage containers. There is a central lift, likely where these containers were raised and lowered, then installed into the wall for safe keeping. Aryn walks about in the darkness, shining her light to each locked spot on the wall. <br />
<br />
"Was it a hidden vault?"<br />
<br />
A hidden vault? "It was. Beneath our feet, at present. Accessed by a separate lift, so that no slicer or maintenance technician could physically reach it or know of its existence through the depth of the main turbolift column." As for removing them now, "We will require a clear path to the ship. Many of the relics are statuary, and art pieces which were not on display in the palace above, and which were of too great a size and weight to evacuate when ships were so limited and lives were at immediate risk."<br />
<br />
The evacuation of the colony had been a close-run thing, and even then some citizens had been left behind, only to be rescued later. While speaking, he is walking toward a place on the adjacent wall, seeking out something in the smooth metal by memory and feel.<br />
<br />
"The Echo's cargo stores should prove useful in transporting a good number of artifacts, then. Fortuitous it is outfitted appropriately." Aryn comments, returning to Ban and shining her light along the wall to watch him quietly. "I always found the concept of biometric locks fascinating. Requiring a sample of blood, the uniqueness of an eye, or a lock of hair; my family never used such measures to hide treasure. Come to think of it, I know very little of the Cortess vaults or the secrets of my family."<br />
<br />
Aryn has brought herself to a thoughtful silence as her mind travels to a distant place involving the stories her mother spoke on, and her cousin Lumira Cortess. Though her light is originally focused on Ban, she ends up standing in place and staring ahead in the lost sea of thoughts.<br />
<br />
Their surroundings are silent still, save for the sounds of their breathing and interactions with the immediate setting. Dust swirls through the beam of the light, stirred up by their presence.<br />
<br />
"It is only with the perspective of distance that I note aught unusual of my mother's precautions," Ban admits, while running a gloved palm along the smooth metal of the wall. "The notion that a great house would not take similar precautions would have been.. incomprehensible to me, not long past. I daresay it some measure of power, menace, and isolation which combine to drive such deep wariness. A common key might be lost or stolen, a combination deduced or sliced. It was ever a maxim: only blood may be trusted." He finds what he had searched for, and draws a knife, and cuts into a smooth expanse of duty metal. The wall beneath is durasteel, but this particular stretch was faced with a sheet of softer lead. As Ban cuts and peels it away, a closed hatch is revealed, perhaps two meters square. Without hinges or portruding handles, it had lain fully flush beneath the seamless lead. Even once the veneer is cut and peeled away, it does not resemble a doorway. "Light, if my lady would be so kind?" Ban asks, for aid in feeling out a pressure plate at the lower center. Once depressed, a handle plate releases and rotates. Once grasped and turned, there is a heavy metallic clunk as unseen bolts within the panel retract from the surrounding durasteel. Then, the square hatch can be removed. Within is a small, two meter square room. Unlit and without feature, except for a niche in the back wall, where some cultures might place the graven image of a saint, or household god. Within it is a small dish. <br />
<br />
"Her Excellency installed this vault after the Second Imperial Invasion, after Liren and I returned. After our father had died. I have wondered whether she would have placed such a lock, had he lived. Whether she would have trusted him, or any others. Or whether that loss is what required her to build this vault, at all." <br />
<br />
Idly as he steps inside, Ban draws off his right glove, looking to Aryn, as he poses such unknowable questions aloud.<br />
<br />
Aryn reacts by being surprised she drifted off and adjusts to shine the light where he bids. She is quiet, listening to him recount what he knew of other vault arrangements, and his mother. Hearing of Ban's father dying, and this vault following that, makes Aryn's brow crease in further thought.<br />
<br />
"Your mother is an unyielding woman yet I notice she has not remarried or sought companionship following your father's passing. I can only assume she still, much as she had before, loves him. Maybe the vault is a representation of her.. all that is dear hidden even from plain sight, only those of her blood have an avenue to her heart or her vulnerabilities. Grief is a terrible thing."<br />
<br />
Aryn follows Ban, noticing that he has pulled his glove off. Her curious gaze settles on the only other feature in an otherwise featureless room.<br />
<br />
"An eloquent and artful assumption," Ban opines. "She had no further need of marriage, a ruler in her own right, with two heirs. There were many suitors at first, before she dueled one for a perceived slight, and wounded him." A short sniff and small, brief smile at the recollection. "Whether a symbolic representation, a lack of trust in those around her, or the dire hand of grief, my lady is correct beyond doubt in this much: only those of her blood have a path." <br />
<br />
Ban pricks the pad of his thumb with the point of the knife and holds it to drip above the bowl within its niche. Five drops in rapid succession, before the rate of dripping blood slows, and is absorbed into what had seemed to be a dull metallic bowl. Several moments pass and Ban looks around, curious to see if it has succeeded or failed. "I must confess, my Lady, I have never before been this-" An abrupt grinding of unseen gears, and long idle fittings rumbles through the vault, as the small two-meter chamber begins lowering into the ground; a lift shaft concealed by cunning engineering and expert design. Ban's interrupted apology breaks off with a brief smile. "It would appear to function, after all." The rate of descent is slow enough that the dragoon relates with an edge of admiration, "She did not trust any other with knowledge of the design, or care of the schematics. All were devised, designed, and drawn by her own hand."<br />
<br />
Deeper they go, past several meters of durasteel, before opening into a dark chamber, in which the air smells stale and aged. The deeper vault is smaller than the chambers above, but packed quite full with varied objects under dust cloths and in crates.<br />
<br />
"A woman of many talents and endless strength, I admire her passion. Few make it passed the relentless weight of grief, but she seems to bear all or make it cower with but a look. I can only imagine what wisdom may pass to our children when the day comes that she will teach them." <br />
<br />
Aryn grows silent as Ban goes through the ritual of pricking his thumb and yielding blood to the bowl. When it appears that the device is not going to work, and Ban apologizes, Aryn giggles when the door interrupts. Dust is unsettled by the movement, and Aryn raises her arm to shield her nose from inhaling it and spawning coughs.<br />
<br />
"I would be interested to learn of your mother's colleges. Though, I suppose, being that she is of Old Alderaan, then it is there she learned such trades. What was your father like, or was his passing before your memory as a child?" Aryn tries to recall whether Ban has spoken of the departed Lord, but draws a blank. It had been many years since, and they'd fought two wars in that time.<br />
<br />
"She is formidable in every way," Ban agrees plainly. "Father adored her. Looking back, it was more than I suspect she was comfortable with, but.." A shake of his head, as Aryn asks, and Ban speaks of his father. "I knew him. He was a soldier. He had a talent for smiling; whenever I think of him, it was with a great warm smile. Those who knew him spoke of him with great fondness. The called him brave and loyal. Always loyal." Ban draws a slow breath of the stale air and recalls, "Always smiling, except at court. He could so stern then, but if ever he noticed me looking at him, he would.. give a small wink, and somehow I knew he was smiling ever when stone faced. <br />
<br />
"He would try to get mother to laugh. She so rarely did, but there were many times we could tell she wanted to, despite the frown. There was a certain narrowing of her eyes," Ban relates with recalled amusement. "He was not a pilot, but spoke them highly- no pun intended, I assure you. Every year, he was certain he would convince mother to secure a hover tank for the army. He so badly wanted a tank, but she never gave in. Too expensive, too impractical, too slow, not strong enough on the defense in solitude. So often did I hear it, that even now I recall the myriad ways a hover tank would have been a vain waste of resources against a corp of Imperial walkers, and how we would be better served further investing in towers, trenches, and infantry." A small shake of his head. "Yet every year, he sounded so sure that would be the one, no matter how many times before he'd failed." Ban smiles, wanly.<br />
<br />
"I was terribly fond of him. He loved openly, in ways mother could not. We did not need to.. earn his warmth. She was endlessly annoyed with him, but mother trusted him. And with his death, she could trust no other, so."<br />
<br />
"I am envious of you," Aryn says with a bit of warmth. "I have always wondered what a father's love felt like. Mine, and my mother, were both fond of Kier and not so me. In later years, that has changed, of course, but to hear your telling of your father I can see now I know nothing of that sort. I would have liked to meet him. I am certain he would be proud of the man you have become, though he may have made you more apt to smiling. You wear your mother's bearing."<br />
<br />
Aryn steps beyond Ban to explore the room with her light. She isn't so unkind or unthoughtful as to pull the sheets from the treasures. She recognized this was not her place, so she offered the quiet room more reverence and yielded to Ban's direction by turning back to regard him. "Among those treasures deemed most important, which should make the trip back to the ship first, Ban? You have many choices here.. do any speak to you?"<br />
<br />
"My Lady would hardly recognize me," Ban quips deadpan to the notion of smiling more. Aryn's courtesy in not pulling off canvas is pardoned when Ban responds, *I have never been within the chamber, a d there more here than I can readily inspect. I pray you assist me in the search a d see what lies before us."<br />
<br />
I'm n the course of his searching, Ban speaks on. "Your brother was given what he did not deserve. I suppose all parents struggle to see past what they expect of their children." As to wearing his mother's bearing, he dips his head. "My thanks."<br />
<br />
He reminsces shortly after, "Father had a uniform made for me, to match his. Down to the miniature medals, and wooden sword. I wore it only once. The palace guards saluted me and I salutes back." A slowly drawn breath. "Mother was livid. 'The uniform of Alderaan is worn by men and women prepared to lay down their lives. It is not a costume for a dim little boy'."<br />
<br />
He draws a cloth from a large, irregular piece of masonry. It appears to be a section of statuary. Other pieces in the chamber consist of travel chests, paintings in the classical Alderaanian style. A landscape of Belleau-a-Lir on Old Alderaan, and so forth. Toward the back are sectional pieces of masonry and chromium, carefully disassembled. Perhaps an ancient fountain, relocated.<br />
<br />
Aryn nods when given leave to help, and she does just that by tugging a sheet off one of the piles. Dust swirls and it makes her cough, waving her hand slightly to clear the air and raising her other hand to shine the light over all the trinkets. <br />
<br />
Ban's story is listened to quietly, her own thoughts imagining a young Ban wearing the uniform his father wore and saluting the guards in passing. It was cute to consider. "Thus the seeds of duty were planted from a young age. To be a soldier like your father, and to have the respect of the men when they salute you back. T'was a feeling you experienced one time and it must have carried you through to the present. A Captain of the Dragoons, a veteran of the great war and that of New Alderaan, now."<br />
<br />
She coughs again. "It warms my heart to know you had a father fond of you. In that way, his influence resonates more." Aryn opens a small trunk with a wave of her gloved hand, then shines her light to see its contents. "Your mother was not wrong about the uniform, but you are not some dim little boy."<br />
<br />
"Mayhap it were her expectation, mayhap it were mine own dread, or mayhap one drove the other, but I always felt that she thought me that dim little boy, chasing after the fate of his dim Father." A slow drawn breath, and a more mild cough for the dust. "Liren was always favored as the clever one, between us. In a twist of irony of which I am quite aware, we two have that commonality, Aryn." <br />
<br />
Her kind words give him a moment's pause. "Another trait we share, I suspect, is the sense that for all we have done.. all we have borne. It does not feel enough."<br />
<br />
A glance back toward the lady, concern rising for her lungs in the enclosed space of the deep vault. "I suspect this fountain shall serve us well. I recall the image from holograms, it was removed from Belleau-a-Lir. My family on the Old World dwelt on an island renowned for such fountains. I daresay she could not have wasted the water in so arid a clime as Cophrigin Four, but the sea city of Belleau-a-Reyn seems fit. I can prepare the loadlifter, if the air is too thick," he offers.<br />
<br />
Within the chest Aryn had opened was an unusual assortment of personal belongings, seeming out of place among the other large works of art or timeworn relics of a dead world. The items within are more humble: a braid of cut black hair, a jewelry box that played music when opened, a case containing datarods, marked in sockets by their date, most between twenty and thirty years old, some older. A holographic marble within the case of a crystal castle. Until placed on a projector, the contents are unknown. A leather case trimmed in chromium and blazoned with a tower. <br />
<br />
And among the other odds and ends, toward the bottom of the trunk are a small girl's dancing shoes, a miniature crown, a small wooden sword, and a tiny folded uniform.<br />
<br />
"I think this trunk belongs to your mother, perhaps," Aryn says without tarnishing her honor by rummaging through it. She keeps the light aimed at its contents though, picking out what she can see. "Looks to be some personal effects and things close to the heart. Perhaps these carry some meaning to you as well?"<br />
<br />
Aryn brushes her cape aside and triggers the call for the load lifting droids on their ship, but remembers shortly after doing so that the signal was made useless at this depth. She sighs, and turns off the pager to look around the room for dormant load lifters around them. She uses what light casts off the walls to create shadows to discern what may be around them.<br />
<br />
"I may need help with the load lifter, but not right away. Perhaps we might catalog what should be exhumed first, then move it in such order," Says the doctor and 'list person'.<br />
<br />
There are two load lifters within the vault, but both will require new power cells. <br />
<br />
Catalog? "A fine notion. That would be the most sensible point to begin." He does step toward the trunk Aryn describes, and glances within for a long moment. "I.. daresay you are correct. both now, and in speech before: it would appear Her Excellency put aside her old self in more than a purely figurative manner." A breath drawn and let out through the nose as Ban regards Aryn, half glimpsed in the darkness and spotty light. Only belatedly is her earlier touch returned as Ban rests a hand at Aryn's cheek, eyes holding, even if only half seen. He is struck immediately and powerfully by a compulsion to speak. <br />
<br />
"I have been troubled in returning here, Aryn. Yet never let there be a melancholy so deep that I fail to recall that I endure.. my people and my family endure.. because a magnificent woman sectors away heard me in my moment of greatest despair, accepted an impossible request, and delivered me from doom. Whomever might feel pride in the man I become, the gratitude for my life is owed you, my Lady. My Princess. And my love."<br />
<br />
The compulsion strikes an emotional chord within Aryn that makes her eyes water. Ban, in this moment, feels vulnerable as bits of his guarded past are made bare beneath her light and scrutiny. She bears no judgement for it because he has witnessed her in equally vulnerable places in her life. A single tear trickles down from her eye, finding the valley of the scar carved into her face, and over his thumb where it resides on her cheek.<br />
<br />
"Yes, well, I could not marry a dead man, could I?" Said in low humor, as if that had been the only reason she answered back then. Aryn manages a smile and raises a hand up to touch his, cupping her fingers over it. "We fought together, and we won. On that day, I felt you. Not when we rode your steed to battle, or when we met upon the battlefield. I felt you sectors away and knew what must be done."<br />
<br />
"Come now, let us see what memories your mother holds dear. You once beheld these things with your eyes, but now you know a far deeper perception. What of these things calls to you?" Aryn's hand moves from Ban's to rest against his back, lightly rubbing up and down to show solidarity again.<br />
<br />
Ban bends his neck to touch a kiss to the tear-streaked scar beneath Aryn's eye. Touching his forehead to hers for a moment, the gentleman answers with matching low humor: "I admire your Highness's devotion to the spirit of Her contracts." A deep, steadying breath is drawn through the nose before he draws back to his full height, considering the room afresh, and letting eyes go closed. Calm is aided by Aryn's touch at his back, but clarity through his deeper senses remains elusive after a long moment. Brows drawing in a mild frown as green eyes open again, he must rely on his more mundane senses and judgements. "The trunk, for a certainty. Though mother would curse me for a horrid sentimentalist is I returned with naught else." There is a dry sniff of amusement. "Let us begin here," he gestures to the right. "I daresay it shall take some time."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Jedi_Order:_True_Defense&diff=18024Log:Jedi Order: True Defense2022-05-05T01:39:12Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Ban, Nora, and Aryn train to defend against their own kind. | Location=Deep Space | Participants=..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Ban, Nora, and Aryn train to defend against their own kind.<br />
| Location=[[Deep Space]]<br />
| Participants=[[Nora Frayus]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=May 4, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Echo is in hyperspace, carrying the nobles of Alderaan toward another mission of state. There's time between jumps, lending to the opportunity of training, one which all seem keen on. Aryn is seated upon a luxurious bench seat wrapped in a blanket and watching the large recreation area that's been cleared out to allow room for training. With her feet resting on an ottoman, legs crossed, and gaze affixed to the two, she speaks up to voice what's on the menu for today's training.<br />
<br />
"Lady Nora, today you hold a true lightsaber and square off against Lord Ban in combat. This will be more than a demonstration of your prowess. A Jedi's strength flows with the Force, and to combat an opponent of equal skill and ability, your mind must be prepared to face the gauntlet of skills another Force sensitive may conjure. Here, you may use my weapon." Aryn offers the curved silver hilt for Nora to take."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender inclines his head to Aryn's declaration, ordering his thoughts for the chosen subject, and rising to his feet. The gentleman does not doff his half cape nor swordbelt, as he typically fights with such trappings worn. He detaches the elaborate swept hilt of his lightsabe from the counterbalancing scabbard, but does not ignite the weapon before Nora has had a moment to familiarize herself with the curved handle of Aryn's favored weapon.<br />
<br />
Nora's done some soul searching. Getting angry at a no-name Alderaanian royal guard member for throwing water on her was a... humbling experience to say the least. There were valuable lessons in that. It's all the usual things of 'mind your temper' and 'be one with the force', sure, but the most potent meditation Lady Nora was left with was the meaning of failure.<br />
<br />
Failure.<br />
<br />
It's been a potent word since she was a child, and it's become a recurring motif around her biggest fears. Failure of her House. Failure as a daughter. Failure as a fighter. Failure as a Jedi. Failure as an Alderaanian. Failure as a person.<br />
<br />
And so, when she's handed the curved hilt of a true lightsaber, Nora peers down at it with a moment of hesitation. It's more than a split second that she hesitates, but she reaches out to take that hilt soon enough. Her hands get acquainted with the weight of it and the feel of its various housings within her palm. Different than the grip of her family blade, but more similar than the blunt, awkward stunsaber she obtained for practice within the order.<br />
<br />
She presses down on the button to spark that blade ablaze, pupils dilating and nostrils flaring. A little rush of thrill and a breath pulled in through her teeth.<br />
<br />
Just like the stunsaber, that blade is weightless. Except, as she moves it about in her palm, it's with the understanding of the weight of weightlessness. She understands its lethality.<br />
<br />
"A touch more thrilling than hitting one another with wooden sticks," she says towards Ban.<br />
<br />
"Ban will test your defenses. Spend this time communing with the Force, much like you had when experiencing the Living force. Your settings around you ought to feel like an extension of yourself." Aryn says, relaxing back against the cushion to watch. Lightsabers come to life a moment later, and the idle humming and luminescence capture her gaze as she observes each.<br />
<br />
After a few moments, Aryn nods to Ban, "I yield this class to you, Ban. Teach her what she must know."<br />
<br />
More thrilling than sticks? "So it is, my lady," Ban agrees, igniting his own emerald blade and drawing it vertically, the metallic crossguard (useless for stopping a lightsaber, but useful in the gentleman's handling and maniuplation of leverage) just below eye level, before being swept toward the ground in the salute Ban offers every opponent, in earnest or in practice. Sword held in the left hand, his left foot is forward, in line with the heel of his back foot. It is a familiar courtly dueling stance. A dip of his head and shoulder is offered to Aryn, with green eyes still holding upon Nora. "Very well, Highness. My Lady," Nora, "Once you have centered yourself, I pray you take your favored stance."<br />
<br />
Center yourself. Center yourself. Nora tips her head to the side, pink hair spilling around her soft cheeks and slender jaw. She can't escape the thrill of holding a weapon like this. But she also knows that great care must be exercised while wielding it. Ban might be a dour, stoic, grumpy(?) young man, but Nora's come to enjoy him. It would be rather tragic if she cut her best friend's betrothed's arm off, too. Because, of course, she isn't worried about herself.<br />
<br />
Ego.<br />
<br />
But she does center herself. Something about the crystal in the sword and the vibration and resonance through its lattice is... thrilling. She can feel it and, in some way, hear the song that is Aryn's soul sing in the back of her skull. Her blue eyes lift to Ban when he instructs her to take her favored stance, and so she does.<br />
<br />
She begins to advance towards him, eyes wide, chin down. Her wrist at the outside of her thigh, palm slightly turned out with that humming blue blade pointed towards the floor. A touch of wickedness to her smile.<br />
<br />
"Do be gentle with me, Ban. I am learning," she says, and draws her blade suddenly up and towards him though, perhaps, with a touch of hesitation. Pulling her punches.<br />
<br />
Aryn has a moment where, for an instant, she recalls another memory of Ban training Chani in the art of swordsmanship. She sees the fundamentals he had spoken aloud demonstrated in his stance now, elegant form and and stance aligned with some unseen tight-rope he intended to walk. Nora, of course, mirrors this in a different way, testament of her own training beneath the Frayus household.<br />
<br />
The melee begins and Aryn observes Lady Frayus' confident approach, much as she always was, with a spoken phrase of deception that may have lured her foes into believing she was anything but dangerous.<br />
<br />
Bringing a steaming mug of broth to her mouth, Aryn sips loudly as the first electrical sounding collision of blades filled the chambers, displacing the ships thunderous humming ambiance.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender brings his green sword up into a one-handed duelist's guard, his second hand composed at the small of his back, and shoulders turned sideways to reduce his profile. When Nora teases and advances, pulling her punches with due caution, Ban deflects the blue saber with a small, sharp snap of his hips adding power intot he small motion that bats Nora's saber aside, off the center line, and leaving his own glowing sword leveled at the lady's chin. Go easy on her? "No." <br />
<br />
Drawing a step back and resetting his stance. "Though they are weightless, lightsaber blades to not strike and slide as steel blades do. The stick and hold. Although the maneuver is weightless, you must put the strength of legs, hips and shoulders into each strike and parry." Her illustrates the motions and he describes the difference between swordsmanship in light and steel. "Until Her Highness bids us stop, you are to maintain your guard and defense. If this is understood, I pray you advance upon me once you are prepared."<br />
<br />
Nora laughs with giddy anticipation when her lightsaber is batted away, turning her chin up when that saber is presented to her chin. It's strange -- it doesn't feel hot at all. She tips her head towards it, giving some chase as Ban withdraws the 'blade' before she straightens her posture and takes a few steps back to square her body. She listens with some interest when the man speaks to her, considering the blade in her hand and turning her wrist one way and then the other. It isn't until Ban mentions defense that Nora groans a response.<br />
<br />
Indeed, Lady Frayus' form and style places a significant more weight on offense and attacking. Her movements and instincts are not to guard and riposte, but to simply end the fight with swift and lethal precision. Perhaps if this were a regular blade with regular weight... no. No excuses. Never excuses.<br />
<br />
"If Her Highness does insist," Nora says, adapting a more traditional and defensive posture. Textbook stuff, you know. Boring.<br />
<br />
And, after a moment, she advances.<br />
<br />
Aryn remains quiet, still, watching the tone being set to the training. Ban's propensity for seriousness when the topic of soldiering is at hand is par for the course with him. He was raised to take every fight serious, and that is how Aryn has seen him react, even when sparring her. There was little she could teach him on this topic.<br />
<br />
Nora's change in demeanor and adaptation of defense earns an approving nod from Aryn, then the fight progresses. The weightless blades move with precision, each intending harm to the other only to be intercepted and moved toward an altered course. At times, sword fights look choreographed, but then someone finds a defense hole and capitalizes on it, and the mortality of combat is suddenly emphasized. Lightsabers certainly exaggerated those consequences, but Jedi Knights were well known for their swordsmanship and finite brutality.<br />
<br />
She sips her broth again and lowers the large mug, using both hands to hold it over her lap. "Stay with it." Aryn encourages Nora.<br />
<br />
The second pass is much more competetive. Nora draws near to landing a hit, and the one time amid the flurry of strikes, parries, and evasions in which Ban could have landed a telling hit was a narrow thing, which Nora had nearly escaped, caught only by the dragoon's reach as he took a deep lunging step after her, before returning tot he defense, himself. "Apt," he observes simply. Perhaps sensing her disillusionment with precise and orthodox methods of dueling, he pauses a moment, sword still high. He draws a deep breath and holds Nora's clear eyes with him own. "My lady. *You may lower your guard*."<br />
<br />
Nora's form, even in a more defensive and traditional stance, is technically sound. Like a pianist playing the work of another composure, her fingers glide along the keys, pressing notes and chords exactly as written. But it lacks the passion and grace and... penache of her usual fighting style. Elegant, but uninspired. "Quite," she says in agreement between blows, catching one of those strikes sent in her direction and narrowly twirling to avoid it. Doubtless it would have struck her, would Ban not have pulled up at just the right moment. She exhales and begins to press forward again, just in time to catch Ban's gentle motioning with his hand and the way he snaps towards and attempts to hold her gaze.<br />
<br />
Her head tips and, for a moment, she feels something brush against the inside of her skull. His words do more than trickle in through the channels of her ears, but rather push into her mind. But Lady Frayus' presence of mind in the moment is clear, and her guard does not falter. <br />
<br />
"Mmmmmh, I may... But I will not," she responds. She laughs, steps, and attacks again.<br />
<br />
Ban allows a tight smile as Nora recognizes and resists his underhanded ploy, a small laugh stirring in his chest as he defends against Nora's lightsaber refusal. "Excellent. And here I had thought I was so persuasive." His expression settles back in a solemn neutrality, even as the duelist banters with Lady Frayus. As Nora begins putting more power into her strikes, at one point Ban is able to drop his sword level below hers, leading to a clean miss. In the instant before Nora recovers, he would have been able to take advantage of the over-comittment to land a touch, but his other cuts and thrusts are turned away. A small nod of approval. "Is moving as a highly skilled combatant, and defending herself with grace. Yet a Jedi can exceed such standards: I pray you, dwell wholly on striking at me with all thy alacrity. Strike faster."<br />
<br />
"If you wish to lower my guard, perhaps try complimenting my appearance. I should have thought Her Highness would've," Nora starts to say, enduring Ban's onslaught of blows once more and giving a soft, old Alderaanian curse beneath her breath when she feels the rush of one of them. Another lethal hit, were it not for the swordsman's quick reflexes. There is a twinge of frustration, but one that is quelled the moment it bubbles to the surface. Failure. She has been meditating upon it, and yet, in the context of life and death, it feels somehow more difficult to swallow. A punishment most severe.<br />
<br />
"I have seen the way the Jedi move in combat. Miss Ashkuri is... unnaturally quick. I learned a great deal of humility," she begins, and then steps towards Ban, concentrating on her movements and swings without concentrating -too- much. Natural. Effortless. "In hitting her with a wooden stick!"<br />
<br />
"With a lightsaber in your hand, there is not but one soul in a thousand thousands who could give you pause, at your current skill," Ban notes evenly. "Yet it is for at last soul we must prepare." As his sharp, precise parries flow together in an elegant exchange of expertise, "I say this not because I think you ignorant of it, but to put the scope of thy challenge in perspective, Lady." As for complimenting appearance, he says nothing. Business-first-Ban, how boring. He draws a long step back after a further exchange of blows, and draws his sword upright. With his eyes kept still upon his opponent, he voices to Aryn, "If Her Highness is satisfied with the exercise thus far?"<br />
<br />
"An adequate showing, yes.." Aryn intones, rotating herself from her seat to set bare feet to the warmed panels of the ship's decking. The blanket falls to one side revealing that Aryn is dressed in her Jedi's tunic, though missing components like its cape and boots. "You witnessed a few things used against you, but I daresay," Aryn's voice trails off and she has simply vanished, disappearing into the shadows of the room, only to suddenly appear beside Nora, "..it is not all you might experience."<br />
<br />
Aryn manages a small smile, adding a moment after when she opened her tunic top to reveal much of her torso (minus what was concealed beneath her modesty coverings. A nasty scar marks her ribs, abdomen, and hip.. the mark clearly lightsaber in origin. "One does not come to appreciate the lethality of a lightsaber, or the mastery of the one wielding it, until they have been struck down. This weapon, these skills, and our purpose as Jedi are defined by how we use these things, but more importantly... all of it is meaningless if you cannot defend yourself. When you fight a Sith Lord, or a Knight of Ren, you are not fighting a conventional opponent."<br />
<br />
"It is in these crucial moments of interaction that you are tested. Fear, doubt, ego, and frustration constitutes the shape of the battle to come. Never forget that you are something more."<br />
<br />
Nora takes a step back and away from Ban when he turns to address Aryn. Her heart rate is up, adrenaline coursing through her skull, but she's able to turn off that kill instinct when the lesson has ended. She turns to look over her shoulder to Aryn when the woman speaks, eyes tracking her across the room as she moves towards the shadows. Nora's finger depresses that button on the lightsaber's cylinder, the blade retracting back within the hilt with a static -hissss- and snap. When Aryn appears beside her, Nora jumps, surprised at the sudden appearance and giving out an audible gasp that's followed by a little laugh.<br />
<br />
Aryn startled her.<br />
<br />
Still, it is not enough to prompt Nora to any sort of defensive action. Not in this place. She flips the lightsaber hilt around in her hand and offers it to Aryn when the woman speaks. Her eyes do wander across that newly-opened robe. She'd seen the scar before, and she remembers a time when Aryn would have hidden it away from her. Now, she sees it in a different sort of light.<br />
<br />
"Mmmmh," Nora says, her sound one of agreement, though insecurity and uncertainty are written across her expression. She certainly doesn't feel like something more. Failure. But new perspectives aren't gained, nor old habits broken, in an instant. Working on the self takes time.<br />
<br />
"I will do my best to remember your words. Thank you Aryn, and you Ban," she says, nodding towards Ban now. A small smile touches her face. "There is so much to learn, is there not? Ever forward."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender deactivates his saber and clicks the hilt back into the sheath belted at his side. As Aryn steps through space and shadow, his head turns to see the princess emerge beside Nora, and the startled laugh drawn. He adds nothing to the words spoken, dipping his head and shoulders to Nora at the offered thanks. "As you say: ever forward."<br />
<br />
"You did well, my Lady, truly. When next we draw swords, you will do even better." Aryn accepts the hilt and clips it back to her belt. The ship suddenly vibrates, and a stifled alarm sounds from the helm, alerting the trio that they've arrived in system. The intercom conveys the incoming transmissions from planet declaring a challenge that they check in and share their purpose. So begins their other business. Aryn passes Nora by with a subtle pat and squeeze of her arm, then she's looking toward Ban with an appreciative nod! Closing her tunic, she quietly steps away to see to their approach.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Jedi_Order:_The_Living_Force&diff=17959Log:Jedi Order: The Living Force2022-04-29T23:23:00Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Aryn teaches Jedi about the Living Force. | Location=Droalder Bay, New Alderaan | Participants=..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Aryn teaches Jedi about the Living Force.<br />
| Location=[[Droalder Bay, New Alderaan]]<br />
| Participants=[[Ban Iskender]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=April 27, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Droalder bay of New Alderaan is a wonderous place during the day. Its rich blue water stand stark against the light brown of the mountains and the snow-white capped tops of the ridge. It is a mixture of seasons here with tall pointy pines and fir trees that rattle with each chilly breeze, yet down in the valley spring has taken root. Warmth can be found upon the ground and along the shorelines, warding off the chill with a more perpetual, humid heat that's generous and kind to those who prefer that warmer climate. It's on the shore that Lady Nora, Lord Ban, and Aryn find themselves, far from Bastion and immersed in the wilderness of the bay.<br />
<br />
Occasionally ships leaving the port will pass by on the glittering waters to find the fresh water sea beyond, but for the most part, silence reigns with the ambience of nature. This camping trip was intended for the purpose of learning more about the living force, and about becoming one with it. Aryn tugs one boot free from her foot then switches legs to tug on the other. Nearby, a fire gently crackles yet with the Aldera sun bearing down on them, the flames look more like heat waves than traditional orange. Embers glow a bright grey with hints of orange, and a half burned log lightly sizzles.<br />
<br />
"When I speak of the living force, what comes to mind for either of you?"<br />
<br />
Aryn asks, pointing her bare feet and wiggling painted toes. She starts to roll her pant legs up, revealing more pale skin from her calves.<br />
<br />
What comes to mind when speaking of the Living Force? "Redundancy," Ban muses aloud. "I do not think of any aspects of the Force as *dead*, thus there is only the Force. Even those shades whose lives have ended live on through it." While he considers the question posed and offers his answer, the gentleman's green eyes are sweeping slowly over the landscape. His attention dwells less on the towering mountains, and more on the expanses of water, and stands of trees. "I have yet to tire of this sight," he voices, quietly. "Gods grant that I never do."<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus has already pulled off the off-the-shoulder sweater that she'd arrived here in. Beneath it, the straps of her triangle-top bikini had been on display, tied at the root of her neck and keeping the garment suspended. Now that it's tugged off, the rest it is revealed, as well as the landscape of her slender-but-athletic torso. High waisted jean shorts and simple hiking sandals have completed the look thus far, but the call of the cool water just past the fire and beach is beginning to become irresistible. Especially beneath the warm rays of the sun.<br />
<br />
Lady Frayus is never absent a blade, however. Even out here on a pleasant stroll to the beach, a dagger sits on her right thigh. Belted in place, it's grip obscured somewhat by her shorts, it's obvious that its presence is more of a thing for comfort than practicality. This changes, however, when the belts are undone and that thigh-sheath is left to rest against a bit of wood she'd dragged from the nearby forests to sit at beside the fire.<br />
<br />
"Mmmmmh?" Nora asks, one finger tucked at the button of her shorts in an effort to begin popping them open when Aryn asks the question. She purses her lips and pauses, looking over her shoulder towards the flat water of the bay with a quiet, contemplative expression.<br />
<br />
Ban goes first, and Nora considers his answer, eloquent in its brevity.<br />
<br />
"I suppose I think of connection. A thread that weaves through past and present. We see one perspective, living in a moment as we are. The tip of a knife, and yet," she pauses. A soft breath escapes her and she shakes her head. This sort of talk often evades her.<br />
<br />
"Perhaps we struggle to see the whole. With the force, though. The picture becomes clearer. Maybe that sounds terribly silly," she says.<br />
<br />
"Gods willing, this sight will greet us for the rest of our days."<br />
<br />
Aryn rises up from her seat and slowly makes her way for the water. She steps in that way someone has tender feet, anxious about stepping on something sharp thus walking cautious with arms wide. This anxiety fades when she steps into the chilled sea and wades ahead. "Neither interpretations are wrong, but each is only a perspective of the picture." Aryn has made it to the point the water has reached mid thigh, thus she turns to face them.<br />
<br />
"The living Force means /the now/, what you see.. what you can hear, feel or touch. Understanding the Force begins on the inside.. here.." She lightly taps her chest. "Some believe that this gift is something you find, but in truth, it has always been there. It is as inherent to you as taste or smell. The difference between someone who is force sensitive and someone who has trained to use it? The trained user knows how to distinguish its current where as the one with no training is ignorant to its manifestations."<br />
<br />
Aryn gestures out to the sea around her. "The first technique in the Force one should learn to master is how to become one with the Force. This saying is often synonymous with passing on to the afterlife, but in this instruction I use the phrase to mean.. become immersed by the Force. As with all techniques in the Force, it begins with meditation. I ask that you join me in this exercise, and I will explain the process of learning to understand the living Force."<br />
<br />
For the rest of their days? "Quite so," Ban agrees. He begins to draw off his boots once Aryn's object becomes clear, also doffing his half-cape and swordbelt, in turn. As a result he is slower than the ladies to enter the water. The gentleman faces a choice when Aryn continues deeper, and elects to remove gloves, doublet, and fitted trousers, as well. Too close fitting to roll up, and he detests the notion of walking back in sodden pants. Thus, Ban is rather bare, save for black fitted shorts once he steps into the bracing water. "As your Highness wills," he nods to the invitation, drawing a deep breath, and letting his eyes go closed, but the gentleman's mind is not so sedate beneath diplomatic appearances.<br />
<br />
Ban won't be alone in his bareness. Lady Nora, as is accustomed, had only half-read (or listened to) the invitation to this particular event and had dressed half-accordingly. Thankfully, this proves to be a boon rather than a curse, and she's able to unbutton the shorts and pull them down to reveal the second half of her bikini. It's mismatched -- the sapphire blue bikini top and a floral pink and white set of bottoms. Still, they look as if they could be a matched pair, particularly when considering the woman's pink-painted fingernails with the single blue ring finger painted a rich, oceanic sapphire.<br />
<br />
"The living force is here and now," Nora murmurs, as if committing the phrase to memory. She dips her finger into the cool water, and then a second. And then her hand. She moves deeper than Aryn does, electing to submerge herself all the way up past her hips so that the cool water laps at her waist and belly button from the wake of her own movements. She exhales, visible chills lifting up onto her arms from the temperature.<br />
<br />
She turns to look over her shoulder at the two behind her, that wet hand lifting from the water to tie her hair back into a quick ponytail from a tie she retrieved off the same wrist. "I will do my best, Your Grace," she says, and closes her eyes. Inhales. Exhales. Lets the sound of it start to creep past her filters and press into her skull. The goosebumps on her arm begin to settle, and that music begins to form a tune. At least, as best as she can describe it.<br />
<br />
Aryn watches each enter the water; her gaze resting heavily to Lady Nora tracking her with ease and turning to observe her go a bit deeper. There is a pleased smile that accompanies her look, though she grimaces when Nora begins to suffer from chills. When Ban follows, she turns back to watch him wading toward her a bit, blinking slowly and nodding when he's settled into a place he finds comfortable. "Thank you," she starts, then walks to one side to watch them both.<br />
<br />
"Instead of forcibly clearing your minds, focus outwards upon the sounds we are presently immersed. Listen to the trees as they shift in the breeze whispering with chilly winds from the mountains bullying those warmer and nearer the sea. Think on the sounds of the birds as the chirp, near and far. Then think of the water you have waded into, and the gentle current that beckons you to enter the channel."<br />
<br />
"Immerse yourself in your surroundings while drawing upon the influence of the Force. Imagine forging a bubble that originates deep in your core, and in this bubble, you will to feel everything as if it were an extension of you. Draw out the sound of your heart beat, the noise of air as it feels your lungs. Now, expand that bubble outward, beyond you and extend it to encompass the sounds you heard before; the trees, the wind, the birds, the water."<br />
<br />
"In doing so, your surroundings become more than just objects you perceive from one perspective. They become a part of you. In this state, you can track the winds through open air, you can feel the shift in flight of a flock of birds as they pass high above, and you can detect the subtle, instinctive curiosity of fish that have paddled from the channel to explore your presence by the shore."<br />
<br />
"This feeling of immersion.. is the true symbiotic relationship one may achieve with the Force. It is the foundation of the 'now'.. of the living force. Ponder this consciousness, and tell me what you feel now as your mind learns to perceive your surroundings not as objects, but as an extension to yourselves.."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender's breathing slows as he works toward a steadier calm, the subtle held tensions bleeding into the slow ebbs and flows of the water around his legs. Ban lowers his hands to let fingers drift through the lake, and it is the palpable feel of moving water and his place within it that draws his senses futher afield. "I feel your two lives most strongly. Pulsing among the waters. beneath that, the pulse of the lake. Waters flowing forth and back akin to a great heartbeat. After several more moments, the lesser lives carried and grown within it; I sense that if I were mo move an arm, I could follow the ripple into the mountains."<br />
<br />
Whatever chill Nora felt from the water seems to gradually subside the longer she acclimates to it. Or, perhaps, it's in reaching out to the Force that she finds some semblance of comfort within the discomfort. Indeed, she's learned that most metaphors for these exercises don't quite apply to her own perception. But she's learned to make them work for her. Where some perceive a bubble, Nora perceives a sound-stage. In a lot of ways, to find focus, she needs to filter out the noise. To hear her heartbeat.<br />
<br />
Good suggestion, Princess.<br />
<br />
To hear her heartbeat. She tips her head and thins her lips a moment, and then steadies her breathing again. For that brief moment of interruption, goosebumps lift up on her arms once again. But then, she reaches in. Finds the heartbeat. And those goosebumps fade away. The heartbeat and then... the water. Rippling. She feels it as sound. An instrument in an orchestra. A bit wider now. Ripples. Ban. Aryn. Trees. The organic muck squished beneath her toes. The tiny little single-celled plants that exist by the whim of sunlight and undercurrents alone.<br />
<br />
She exhales.<br />
<br />
"I hear them more clearly now. The parts they play. It's a..." she tips her head, ponytail slipping from her shoulder. Normally, she might be embarrassed by her perception being so... strange. Different. But when she's concentrating like this, she sees with some semblance of clarity.<br />
<br />
"Melody, but... they harmonize. I can hear your parts too," she says, and smiles, "And they sound so lovely."<br />
<br />
"The state you find yourselves in is the one I referenced before. This connection with the living Force is but one step in making it, what the Jedi commonly say, your ally. You have achieved harmony with it, and the next step is surrendering to it. You are but a conduit of its manifestation, a part of its song that stands out like a rock jutting from a sea with strong currents. To give yourself to the Force is to silence the thoughts of self by becoming one." Aryn walks around them dragging her hands across the water.<br />
<br />
"One might say it is a matter of trust, but the Force transcends primitive notions of such. It simply is, and so shall it ever be. It exists, and has existed before you and will persist long after you."<br />
<br />
"The Jedi believe that reaching this level of consciousness and symbiotic harmony with the Force is the source of a Jedi's power. With a clear mind absent the sounds of our own insecurities, you become an instrument driven by the power of the Force itself. You become faster, more perceptive, focused, and undistracted. It is why things like attachment and emotions are so dangerous. We are not immune to that venom, and when it is present in our blood stream our vision becomes clouded. No longer do we act on the will of the Force, it is instead the fallible grasp of insecurity and selfish notions that grant us a superficial lie that encourages us to believe we are in control."<br />
<br />
"You see it now, however, how everything flows with purpose right down to the smallest molecule and atom. We are not in control. There is a current that flows regardless of our perception and awareness on where it takes us."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender draws a slow breath in, eyes remaining closed, and senses open. Subtle tics and motions of brows and mouth betray moments in Aryn's oration where he grapples with a concept as it is spoken, though the steady breaths remain. The cold of the water remains a comfort to him, a familiar chill from a more desolate world. For an instant, Ban must steer his mind back to the here and now, the Living Force rather than its echo, as Aryn's passage stirs mild currents of the water around him.<br />
<br />
Nora listens along to Aryn as she speaks, her mind attempting to weave the narrative tapestry that the Princess describes while also focusing in on the sounds she hears within her head. The tune that both Aryn and Ban play can be teased out one by one, but together, with the backdrop of this place, they make up a sound that is somehow more elegant than the sum of its parts. Nora giggles a little, feeling a bit of water splash past her as Aryn disturbs the glassy surface and passes a wake through her core.<br />
<br />
"Mmmmmh," the young woman says thoughtfully, feeling that chill starting to rise back up in her arm again. Aryn's words become increasingly difficult for her to follow and, a moment or two later, Nora's eyes drift thoughtfully back open. "And how are we to be certain that the will of the force is always righteous and just? Is that a matter of faith alone? I can think of no shortage of atrocities committed by those who would surrender choice to some higher power," she asks. It is not a debate, but a simple question. That internal conflict and the splash of water has stirred her from her meditation. Though she can still hear the sounds around her, they're all out of sync and discordant. Until she puts up those filters -- walls she's erected since she was but a child.<br />
<br />
"Surrender to it, hmmm," she murmurs thoughtfully and then, without warning, the noble takes in a breath and sinks below the top of her head into the frigid water, only to emerge a moment or two later with her pink hair matted to her skull and laughing almost reflexively at the sudden cold that had claimed her head and torso.<br />
<br />
"That is where we arrive at the crux of an age-long debate. Is it us who has assigned an agenda to the Force, or are we simply projecting? What is righteous and just? Is it something the Force portrays, or is it something relative to us?" Aryn tucks her hands to her back, wading out a little further. "And what of faith? Faith is believing in something despite evidence against its existence, where you are unsure of its presence at all. Can you say, now, that you do not believe in the Force despite witnessing its influence all around us here and now?"<br />
<br />
Aryn adopts a gentle treading of the water, smiling. "This is why children were the targets of the old Jedi Order. These concepts were more easily incorporated, and children more willing to accept them. As an adult, presumably ones who understand our own agendas and have our own beliefs, inherit a certain doubt when faced with something of this magnitude."<br />
<br />
Aryn sighs, "The purpose of the lesson is not to convert you into thinking this way, but to understand the Jedi philosophy abought the living force. It is but one of four aspects of the Force a Jedi must come to understand."<br />
<br />
"I daresay that even the children rised within the Jedi Order imposed their own perceptions and learned judgements upon the Force; the Jedi Code seems to have been one of the better methods of minimizing that ..corruption of sight, not removing it altogether, else-" Ban's philosophical musing is interrupted when Nora giggles, ducks under water, and re-emerges talking of surrender to the force. A green eye cracks open, and the dark brow above it lifts curiously. He notes Aryn smiling as well, though the subtle warmth in her voice had been a clue. "I see that I am alone in solemnity. My apologies," he offers in wry jest.<br />
<br />
Nora is treading water as well now. Slow, but consistent, pumps of her legs in almost half circles to create enough of a whirlpool beneath her to keep her afloat. Her arms, too. A bit wider, pushing down on the water in concert. Big blue eyes peer at Ban's peeking eye and she guiltily pulls her lips into her mouth. She lifts her chin up, tipping her lips out of the water so that, when she speaks, it's briefly from behind a little sheet of cold water that rolls from her upper lip to her chin.<br />
<br />
"Of course not, My Lord. We are all quite solemn here. The lessons of the Jedi Order are not to be taken lightly," she says. "It is me who owes an apology. I am paying attention, Your Grace," she says. A splash of water accompanies her words as she lifts her left arm to break the surface tension and wiggle a pinky in Aryn's direction. Scout's honor. Pinky swear. Such a gesture is truly universal.<br />
<br />
"You have the right of it, Ban. The Jedi may use such extreme measures because of consequence. Any object, no matter how benign, can become a weapon in the hands of one with enough knowledge, skill, and murderous intent."<br />
<br />
"Daresay, Father once instructed me the best way to take a life using a book, of all things. And the Force is considerably more potent than Ruminations on Lost Alderaanian Artifacts, Third Edition'," Nora says, slowly transitioning from treading water upright to a more on-her-back position. "Now who is being macabre? Do you have any other insights for us, Aryn? Please, right our course. Lord Iskender and I have escaped our pens and are in need of our shepherd."<br />
<br />
"It comes down to choice. What you elect to portray. I personally believe that Jedi intended to study the Force and maintain a harmony with it unmolested with the agenda of politics and matters of state. Alas, history shares many tales of that failure. I believe that, as Ban said before we began, there is only the Force. Any interpretation beyond that statement is projection at best."<br />
<br />
Aryn voice is kind, with an encouraging tone that's simultaneously thoughtful and skeptical. "Our purpose in this Order, now, is understanding the Force. We can voice the flaws of philosophies the Jedi and Sith had, but we must acknowledge that both sides sought to complete an agenda. The Jedi Code is an excellent example of that."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender steps into deeper water, and lets the lake bear up his weight, arms sculling easily as the water rises up to his shoulders and neck. Never having known a lake before seeking refuge on New Alderaan, swimming has been an active and recent study for the nobleman. Nora is answers with a faint smile, "Yes, terribly solemn, I was wrong to doubt your dread severity, lady." On the weightier subject voiced by Aryn, he nods. "It is a curious dilemma: we must honor the flawed codes of the past in order to avoid falling prey to the pitfalls which necessitated their creation, but not follow them so fully that we share their follies. Small wonder the question has never been fully given a single solution.<br />
<br />
"Let it be a lesson to you, My Lord. Though I suppose wielding that dusty tome as a blunt object would be more amusing than reading it for the ten thousandth time," Nora muses with a little giggle. She continues to tread water where she is, though the cold water's becoming a factor. The chill of it has crept into her muscles and bones, making her a touch more sluggish. She begins to sink, oh so subtly, until she kicks her legs to propel herself breifly back towards not-quite-solid ground. Her toes squish into the sand and she takes a few steps from the water. Past her torso and just below her hips, the ties of her bikini bottoms poking out from the water where she stands now.<br />
<br />
At first, the air is almost colder than the water was, but soon enough the sunlight cuts through evaporation's chill and warms her skin. Her arms unfold from her torso and she observes both Aryn and Ban still swimming about in the water.<br />
<br />
"You are right, of course. We only know what we know, after all. And I know that I am not content to sit idly by while there is such suffering in this galaxy. Not when we have been given this gift," she says. She dips her left hand into the water and then lifts it up again. When that water begins to spill through the cracks in her fingers, Nora concentrates and, for just a few moments, the little droplets of water are suspended in air. The young woman half smiles, and they fall back into Droaldr bay's glassy surface with a soft splash.<br />
<br />
"I believe the solution would go against our nature. We are the problem." Not Ban, Nora, or Aryn, but their species and others like them. "We are the factor with self awareness capable of bucking. Therefore, it will always be an open unknown without solution till the day we bridge the space from this consciousness to something higher." Which, arguably, could be the destination of Force Ghosts!<br />
<br />
"Where the heart leads, a person must follow," Aryn says in response to Nora's declaration. She smiles, watching fondly as the Lady demonstrated her own influence of the Force.<br />
<br />
"I believe the solution would go against our nature. We are the problem." Not Ban, Nora, or Aryn, but their species and others like them. "We are the factor with self awareness capable of bucking. Therefore, it will always be an open unknown without solution till the day we bridge the space from this consciousness to something higher." Which, arguably, could be the destination of Force Ghosts!<br />
<br />
"Where the heart leads, a person must follow," Aryn says in response to Nora's declaration. She smiles, watching fondly as the Lady demonstrated her own influence of the Force.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is a soldier and a duelist, well versed in the cruel realities of politics. Aryn's observation on the self awareness of humanity is met with a slow breath out, and an edge of regret to his words: "All too true, Highness." A brief shadow passes over his mood like a cloud before the sun on a clear day, but it passes soon enough. Nora's fine manipulation of the Force to artfully shed water draws a slight tilt of curiosity to his head. "Hm." A glance aside to Aryn. "Does my lady wish to linger, or is the lake done with us?"</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Delaya:_Last_Light_of_Killesa&diff=17875Log:Delaya: Last Light of Killesa2022-04-07T04:53:29Z<p>Aryn: </p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Lord Ty Killesa captains the Vigilance and leads allies into a fierce naval battle.<br />
| Location=[[Grand Bay, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[New Alderaan]], [[Ty Killesa]] NPC, [[Lars Syrush]] NPC, [[Bors Thul]], [[Rune]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Sorin Endesea]]. [[Ban Iskender]], [[Corto]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GMing/NPCing<br />
| OOCDate=April 6, 2022<br />
}}<br />
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It's said that House Killesa's blood line began with the sea. Whether it be some notion of pride, or the fact their family has manned the seas of Delaya for thousands of years, there is some truth to it. Aboard the VIGILANCE, a seafaring vessel and skiff of magnificent make and build, those championing Lord Ty Killesa's call for help follow Alderaan's 'Green Knight', Lord Ban Iskender, into conflict.<br />
<br />
The foe is a lawless band of mercenary pirates serving the Usurper, Lana Panteer, who has fashioned herself the Grand Duchess of Delaya and an enemy to the crown. House Killesa renounced Lana, and they were punished for it. Their punishment was to spend their days in the dungeons of their own keep watching as pirates and mercenaries ruined their home, violated their rule, and ravaged the seas of commerce and peace they spent generations preserving.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance is the last vessel of a fleet that was keenly stolen by Ty Killesa, the last free scion of the Great House Killesa. He sails it out into the Grand Bay of Delaya, toward the stormy seas and mists. Their goal? To reach Last Light, the seat of House Killesa and fortress that has served as the first line of defense against all domestic enemies who would prey upon the good folk of the sea. Last Light is a beacon in the storm, and even though its stone is profaned by the presence of lesser men and women, its foundation was built upon the salt and blood of a family who knows the sea like nothing else. Ty Killesa is at the helm of the vigilance, wearing an ornate set of armor bearing the sigil of his House, and a saber at his side. A long rifle sits on a rack before him, aside from the large wheel he mans, and a fine blaster pistol is holstered on his leg. From his position, he can see the large deck of his ship, and the laser cannons. There are two other decks with cannons, too, all of them manned by true, loyal people. Those with Lord Ban? They serve as Marines for this last ditch effort to reclaim Last Light, and begin to feel the cold sting of rain as a storm wades in from above, and ship begins to toss more violently.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty had seemed not so confident when he met Ban. Now, on the sea, the young Captain laughed as he tossed the wheel in one direction and called out over the crew of Marines and sailors. "HEAR YE, HEAR YE.. THIS STORM IS THE BEST CHANCE WE HAVE TO APPROACH LAST LIGHT. FIVE GREAT SHIPS WERE STOLEN FROM MY KIN, AND FIVE GREAT SHIPS SHALL FIND THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA THIS DAY. THESE BRIGANDS BELIEVE THEY KNOW THE WATERS, KNOW THE STORMS, AND SPREAD TERROR! HAHAHA.. TODAY, THEY LEARN WHAT TERROR IS. BRACE YOURSELVES, WE GO TO THE HEART OF THE STORM TO DECIDE THIS CONTEST! TO VICTORY.. OR DEATH. FOR ALDERAAN! HOIST THE COLORS!"<br />
<br />
Commands are yelled down the line of crewmen as the youngest of their bunch emerges from the cabin carrying the Killesa streamer. It's attached and raised, the men and women cheer.<br />
<br />
Then, the mists ahead give way to the shadows of the grand ships he had mentioned. A small fleet of five approach, lumbering in poor formation, but formidable all the same. Those cheering grow silent as rain begins to sheet across the deck and tall waves hit the side of their vessel. Lord Ty Killesa tosses the wheel one direction again, taking them toward 'faster waters', and points their starboard guns toward the fleet in a defiant first volley. "PREPARE TO FIIIIIRE!" Screams the Gunnery Chiefs as they walk the cannon lines.<br />
<br />
<She's LOVELY on the foreyard, an' she's lovely down BELOW boys!"> He's been singing for a while now, dock songs again - the sort of music that the nobility of Alderaan might well blanch at at court - the workers song at the loading docks of space ports and the dingier taverns where they go to spend their shore-leave pay. Or aboard seafaring craft, timing their work to the beat; like a marching cadence.<br />
<br />
<"Roll Boys! Roll boys roll! She's lovely 'cause she loves me, that's all I WANT TO know boys!"> a fist pump with his free hand and a bit of a kick-step to Bors's walk and even a little spin on his feet, crossing past the main sail and looking out from the deck <"Way HIGH, Miss Sha'vi Grone!"><br />
<br />
Carbine raised, helmet on, rain sizzles when the ion-wipe sweeps across the T-shaped visor of the old republic commando armor, the scope of the EE-3 feeds his HUD information, overlaying the zoomed information into a quarter of his vision.<br />
<br />
<"She's LOVELY on the foreyard, an' she's lovely down BELOW boys!"> He's been singing for a while now, dock songs again - the sort of music that the nobility of Alderaan might well blanch at at court - the workers song at the loading docks of space ports and the dingier taverns where they go to spend their shore-leave pay. Or aboard seafaring craft, timing their work to the beat; like a marching cadence.<br />
<br />
<"Roll Boys! Roll boys roll! She's lovely 'cause she loves me, that's all I WANT TO know boys!"> a fist pump with his free hand and a bit of a kick-step to Bors's walk and even a little spin on his feet, crossing past the main sail and looking out from the deck <"Way HIGH, Miss Sha'vi Grone!"><br />
<br />
Carbine raised, helmet on, rain sizzles when the ion-wipe sweeps across the T-shaped visor of the old republic commando armor, the scope of the EE-3 feeds his HUD information, overlaying the zoomed information into a quarter of his vision.<br />
<br />
Ever since he first set foot on a boat, Rune has not been good with water faring vessels, the tossing and tumbling of the Vigilance constantly reminding him of that fact. While others move to and fro in assistance with the ship, the Ysannan is found at the edge, clinging for dear life to the railing, and relieving himself of all his lunch over the side. Every so often the green face of the Padawan comes up for air, looking very sickly as the ship rolls over the waves, then it's back to business with a heave over the side.<br />
<br />
He has no idea how the others do it, the yelling Captain at the wheel, the folk standing heroically on the deck, and he's clutching to the side wishing for the world just to stop for a moment. Fortunately, the mists they venture through part and their destination is laid bare, the ships they meet in battle revealed. With wobbly legs, Rune moves into position, wiping the back of his sleeve across his lips, the green tint of his flesh fading to look somewhat more hale than before.<br />
<br />
The last time Ulani can recall being on any kind of water-faring vessal, it was on Naboo. Specifically beneath the waters in the realm and kingdom of the Gungans. Even more specifically, there was an underwater drilling facility filled with corpses and a terror of the deep swimming in the murky depths. That place exploded -- mostly because of her and wholly intentional -- and they were chased back towards the surface by a squid. Or was it a whale? Or an octopus?<br />
<br />
Back on the sea and Ulani is looking a little green around the gills. While it usually helps, Bors' singing to the rhythm of choppy waters only seems to make her more queasy. Clinging to the railing, she looks out over the mists towards the storm they sail into and the enemies beyond, rifle on her back and lunch threatening to hit the deck.<br />
<br />
So this is what war looks like.<br />
<br />
Much of Nora Frayus' life has been spent in luxury, wealth, excess, and safety. While battles raged, they did so far away from Castle Frayus. She had the privilege of hearing their stories -- of valor, heroism, and noble deeds -- from a distance. Action and violence were things to be practiced, to be certain. A dagger through the soft palate in the dark. A sword through the stomach in a duel. But war like this? On this scale? This was certainly never a part of her father's careful machinations.<br />
<br />
But that's just how plans go, isn't it?<br />
<br />
She stands near the canon line, arms folded and pretty face formed into a severe sort of scowl. She's opted for some more practical attire -- the robes of the Jedi Order. Though not anything immediately identifiable, they're far from high-class Alderaan fashion. Comfortable, breathable linens. A tunic skirt and thigh high boots. Sashes and scarves, poppy red. When that ship swings around, Nora leans forward to catch herself on the railing at the sudden shift of motion. She inhales softly and exhales nice and slow, trying to listen to the sound of the waves and the rain hitting the hull. The beginnings of a melody that waits for the percussion of canon fire.<br />
<br />
Leaned into a section of durasteel upper-deck railing, another of a lineage born of the sea scans the nearing mists, hand to brow. Sorin, of and by Endesea, last of his own mariner line, has not but a dour look to share with the forms of those great ships that emerge from gloom in their shoddy yet still-dangerous formation. Saltwater spray has dampened the man's hair, and a sheen of this sea remains upon his face as he looks back to Lord Ty. It was time then. Time to fight, whether live or die follows remains - as always - to be seen.<br />
<br />
There's a push-off from durasteel as the Knight takes what final moments of simple travel remain. The vessel beneath his feet cuts through waves, and the feel is right. "If we remain as true as this vessel's keel, you'll have your keep back by evening, Lord Ty." Sorin's words come grimly, but there's a glint to hazel suggesting he savors the prospect. At his side, that crystalline blade hangs ready. It, in contrast, looks almost eager to be withdrawn. And perhaps it calls to the man, for a hand slips pommel, gauntleted fingers curling around it before sliding further down to test that grip.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender had inquired where aboard a ship on the sea boarding parties are best posted, and been told to seek the forward deck for attack, and the aft castle for defense. For all his experience at war, Ban Iskender's homeworld was an arid one, and this will mark his first battle aboard a surface ship. The gentleman cuts an impressive figure in elaborate heavy armor and his ever present emerald half-cape, though his bearing is slightly more stiff as he grows accustomed to the notion of the deck underfoot. Serene and stoic, for the moment, his sword remains dark.<br />
<br />
Often, natural forces are used as metaphor. To encompass an inexorable force backed by the power of Mother Nature herself. Though fire was the usual topic, water was just as glorious, and just as dangerous. The sea was a fickle beast, giving respect only to those who had earned it and swallowing those it did not. For it is said in the annals of the before times that as one gazes into a watery abyss, those that call it home are always gazing back.<br />
<br />
It was for this reason that we come to the vagabond of our tale, far from the hero of the gathered Alderaanians and merely in the right place at the right time, as he was prone to do. For he had not earned the respect of the sea and thus he treated it with care, standing at the prow of the vessel and holding his wide-brimmed hat to his head. Corto the Drifter was nothing more than driftwood in the current of time and even now he looked out of place, his hat better suited for endless sands, rough-woven poncho to protect from the sun, and a seven-foot-five frame better suited for being tied to the deck as some sort of ballast.<br />
<br />
Forward, he gazed. Ever forward. There was no point looking back.<br />
<br />
The Captain points his hand and drops it, screaming, his voice cracking and betraying his age, but none could doubt the courage in his heart. "FIIIIIRE!" The command is repeated, and the side of the Vigilance alights with a valiant spray of red as cannons are engaged with heavy yield volleys. The sea parts slightly from the kinetic force of the discharges, the flash-heat of tibanna misting along the side of the ship as contrails of their payloads travel the distance toward the fleet of five intercepting them.<br />
<br />
The dark mists and shadows looming part and retreat to the crimson of laser cannons, and the response from impacts sees some massive damage from the get go. On the sea, there were no shields. On the sea, there is no mercy.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance has spent her turn firing and has to angle for another position. Lord Ty answers Ser Sorin even as he's handling the wheel. "She shall see us through our darkest day. The Last Light, true in name.. and is mission. Good fortune, sir."<br />
<br />
As they hit a large wave, the Vigilance tilts to the side then mantles over, the direction risky and brave all at once. POWERFUL waves smack the side of the ship showering those eager for boarding operations. "STAY AHEAD OF THEM, MY LORD.." Screams the First Mate from the side, peering thru a set of macros.<br />
<br />
"WORKING ON IT," Ty yelled back, his confidence high, still. One of the five ships hit flounders and lists, having taken a sizeable hole to the front of the vessel and taking on water because of it. The ship has a sudden stop, bringing her stern high and throwing much of her crew. Ty laughs out loud, the odds leveling, yet. Four ships sustained their course, and another damaged vessel looms near. Rather than swing from ropes to board the vigilance, some fifteen (15) boards use rocket packs to cross the distance, their jets seen in the grim lighting through the rain. They land on the deck of the Vigilance and one immediately slays a gunnery chief. "WE ARE BOARDED, TO ARMS!"<br />
<br />
And thus the battle begins. Ty moves the Vigilance to stay ahead of the ship closest to them, managing it for the moment and giving them some breathing room to deal with their new guests.<br />
<br />
Ser Lars Syrush, the First Sword, joins the Marines from the bottom deck and draws his sword upon seeing the marauders. Drenched by rain and sea, he holds defends the only way to the below decks, immediately locking swords with a foe.<br />
<br />
Singing drowned out by the blast of the heavy guns and the roar of the jetpack assaults, Bors's maglocks are shifted to quarter strength with a blink at an icon on his HUD and he is charging towards one of those landing upon the craft, <<"Buhbors Engaging">>. Slipping into old habits when his shoulder bounces off of one, sending them stutter stepping back and the Lord Thul is knocked off balance by a shot leaving a glowing circle on his shoulder pad.<br />
<br />
His first volley goes wide, the periodicity of its report warbling in the new sounds of combat joined, creating a contrail of steam in the rain before disappearing into the mist. The barrel raises and his aim is true the second go - the figure that'd damaged the plastoid shell hurled back and overboard when the rapidfire stream of the weapons burst of fire lifting and carrying them out of sight and memory.<br />
<br />
<<"Target down.">><br />
<br />
The red of the volley bathes all watching in a deep crimson, the light fading rapidly once each shot strikes true. Rune slides a decent measure when the ship mantles a large wave, the Jedi having left the safety of the rail and moved toward the center of the deck. He's definitely having trouble keeping his feet and, when the rocket packs ignite and the foes land on the deck, an even harder time focusing on the fight at hand.<br />
<br />
Still the black metal cylinder at his waist leaps into his hand and, with a quick press of the ignition button, a verdant blade extends from the emitter. The first pirate engaged by the Padawan is fortunate through one swing, the attack extending far too wide to the left causing the Force User to stumble beyond his engagement. However, he's not so lucky on the return swing, the very thing that caused Rune to miss helping to bisect the pirate on the backhand. The humming column is reset in a defensive pose, lashing out to catch a second pirate in a thrust before they too drop to the deck bereft of life.<br />
<br />
Given the moment of pause in attack, the other boarders rushing the remainder of the crew, Rune takes the opportunity to heave into a nearby barrel, his pale skin reflecting the unease he feels. "Why are there no hover lifts? Would it not be easier to traverse the.... *BLERGH* ...traverse the sea when flying ab... *HURK* ...above it?" the novice complains, the green blade of his saber spun about to be held before him, warding away any attacker that might decide he an easy target.<br />
<br />
Still clutching to that railing, Ulani has an excellent view of the battle's beginning shots. Cannon fire rips across the tides into the stolen fleet: ships to meet the bottom of the bay before being left in the unworthy hands of the enemy. Ships, afterall, can be rebuilt. Pride and honour? A bit trickier.<br />
<br />
Rather than approaching on boarding like proper pirates, they take to the air on jetpacks. "I have to admit... that is certainly more effective." If begrudgingly. Forced to release the railing to pull up her rifle, she rifles into the air hoping to hit one of at least a dozen enemies heading their way. And manages to hit none because she's a damn landlubber but learned experience with the firearm does mean the ionized bolt rips unnervingly close between two approaching foes, singing clothing and soiling pantaloons<br />
<br />
But maybe not that last part.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus takes several steps back and away from the cannons shortly before they begin to report. The booming cannons begin to provide a sort of strange percussion to the otherworldly sounds in her skull. It's as if the sea is singing and those canons are merely driving it to some terrible, murderous beat. Frenzied. Try as she might to wrestle with it, to gain control of it, she cannot make sense of the song. Even if her soul seems to understand it.<br />
<br />
She begins to move towards Ser Lars Syrush as he emerges from below deck, but her path to her fellow Alderaanian is briefly impeded by one of the rocket-packing marauders that lands on the deck in front of her.<br />
<br />
His steel already drawn, he tips his head to the side and steps aggressively towards Lady Nora, briefly thumbing his bottom lip as he sizes her up.<br />
<br />
"Bit far from land, pretty bird," he murmurs, "Shouldn't you b--"<br />
<br />
A sing of steel through the air cuts through rain and flesh alike as she draws it from its sheath in a back-hand motion across his chest. He staggers back and blocks her second blow with his sword, but Nora's twisting fencing flourish draws her tip in a circle towards -- and though the back of -- his throat. She pulls it away without a word and continues on her path towards Ser Lars, though her eyes remain scanning the battlefield for any opportunity to put down a foe or protect an ally.<br />
<br />
But moments before those tibana-assisted volleys are concussed forth, Sorin's helmet had been swung over and brought down. Tracking data is immediately displayed for the outward blasts, the system designed foremost to triangulate fire. [PLOTTED] appears again and again, in rapid succession with outbound trajectory data superimposed as those shots begin impacting.<br />
<br />
But then something new, contrails streaking through the sky, in opposing and very much downwards trajectory. That boarding is accomplished with more tactical acumen than the pace-keeping of those hostile ships and battle is joined with an immediate chorus of shouts, discharges of blasters, plasma-hum of lazer swords, and in Sorin's case, the hard-clang of that blade of Endesea cutting into the armored pauldron of one hostile marine before he'd had time to rebalance himself. A second swing cuts into the lines of a wooden deck plank, giving it character!<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender's green regard is narrowed on the distant marks as he observes the effects of Vigilance's cannonade, then turned to the mist shrouded sky as boarders rocket toward them. His sword goes from darkness to light, an emerald glow radiating in the mist as he sweeps the blade into a salute. Bracing against the crested wave, he moves over the pitching deck with uncanny balance to meet the incoming foe. Once, twice, and thrice he strikes. The first attacker is cut down before they even set boots to deck, the second sees their weapon and torso split by the same cut, and the third is impaled with a lunging thrust. "Bring not thy callow cutthroats against Alderaan."<br />
<br />
Enter Corto, stage left, dynamically.<br />
<br />
That spear tackle would go down in the history books as less of a takedown and more like a meteor strike. The hulking alien had flown through the air as though hurled from a ballista, shoulder ramming into the man who had just had the misfortune of coming up against a sword-wielding power-armoured figure. It was hard to tell which was worse, but the man now pinned for a five-count wasn't conscious enough to appreciate it.<br />
<br />
"There's merit in the simple things, young Rune!" bellowed Corto, his rumbledrawl evolving into full blown rockslide-roar. "Enjoy the experience while it lasts!"<br />
<br />
The Marines aboard the Vigilance can hear the Pirate yells from the enemy ship that looms closer, mantling the wave and setting heavily down upon the stormy sea to give chase. They cheer at the sight of their boarders closing the distance and landing among the smaller Vigilance and the crew. They cheer when they see the chaos that erupts from their arrival, blaster bolts and swords, the scattered fighting.<br />
<br />
Then, they stop cheering at the defiant sight of lightsabers responding. Dread fills their heart when the chaos they sought to sow is righted with efficiency, and definitive blows. This foe does not bow. And that resonates among the pirates as they realize they fight kin who were once Lords of the Sea.<br />
<br />
"THEY SIGHT US, SIR. PULL HER HARD, PULL HER HARD!" Yells the First Mate, while crew scream over the chaos of battle, "BRACE!"<br />
<br />
The ship chasing them has achieved a broadside despite Lord Killesa's effort, and he throws the wheel in one direction last second just as the port side of their enemy's ship alights the grim, stormy stretch and releases a terrible volley in response. MASSIVE laser cannon shots impact the sea as Lord Ty coasts the Vigilance down off a wave, using the sea to protect them in a stunning display of sailoring, miraculously leaving the Vigilance unmarked by fire. "THEY OVER SHOT US!"<br />
<br />
"STARBOARD.. PREPARE TO FIRE!" Screams Ty over the rain and sound of thunderous waves. The command is repeated despite the battle. "LINE READY, SIR!"<br />
<br />
"FIRE!"<br />
<br />
The tune has changed, he's getting his rhythm and Bors is singing again, unconsciously, though it's shifted to another song of the sea - the words already on his lips while he pirouettes around Sorin, from his left, behind and then stopping on his right while the ship bucks and his mag-boots keep him from sliding and skidding outside of the intended movements he is making.<br />
<br />
<"Well the first mate is platin' the Captain aboard!"> throwing himself towards a rail and hard locking his boots when the broadside comes, yallering all the while <"Row me bully boys ROW!"> somehow fortunate enough for the boarders to miss him in the melee while his carbine is leveled once more, <"He looks like a Fanplume with pistols and swo-ord!"> consistent as always his duck behind another of the masts to evade fire costs him his shot by centimeters, heating up clothes and armor <"And it's row me bully boys! We're in a hurry boys! We got a long way to go!"> <br />
<br />
An arc of crimson energy darts precedes his roll out of defilade, carbine held low and using the crook of his arm to absorb the recoil of the plasma bursts that stitch a line across the foeman's midsection, <"An' we'll sing, an we'll dance, an' bid farewal t'Fr'ienz! And it's row me bully boys row!"><br />
<br />
Ugh he wants to buy a boat now.<br />
<br />
Ulani he's buying a boat.<br />
<br />
It's happening.<br />
<br />
Boat purchase. Boat parties. Boat everything.<br />
<br />
There was no argument to be found against the simple things having merit, but after the last wave of seasickness claimed his body, Rune would be finding the enjoyment portion a little hard to grasp. Still, the dark haired man managed a chuckle and a nod to the huge man, afterward, resuming his scan of the fight and any targets that need be marked.<br />
<br />
Miraculously he begins to feel better after that last bit of weakness, the swaying of the deck not seeming so treacherous and debilitating. Not that it matters much, the pirates that rise up to attack all deftly maneuver around each of Rune's slashes, the glowing blade nipping at nothing but the air it sizzles through.<br />
<br />
Now in top of the sway of the water and the blasting of cannons, there are enemies on the deck and rain pelting down. Ideal battlefield terrain for her this is not. But Ulani is not lacking in spirit and, if nothing else, she is one more distraction. And that's the best she can hope to be right now: a distraction. A potential threat who hasn't quite made it there yet. Another shot goes wide, missing the forms shifting in the rain around her. The only ones she can make out with any kind of certainty are the Jedi with their sabers and Bors whose armour lights up like a Life Day tree.<br />
<br />
"I don't think--- wagh---" The boat takes a hard turn and bobs in the rough waters, sending her back into the railing again with an oomph. "---I'm much cut out for the water!"<br />
<br />
No boat purchase! Flying with Bors already puts her heart in her throat. Imagining him as a captain of a ship could give her gray hair early!<br />
<br />
Lady Nora continues her slow and deliberate movements towards Ser Lars Syrush and the rest of the marines. The way she moves is airy and effortless, one foot placed in front of the other as she moves across deck of the ship, splashing rain and blood in her wake. Though there's sound of laser canon fire, screaming, cheering, and Lord Bors' singing, she's blessed enough to only hear the sound of what she's come to know as the Force echoing in her brain. Strangely enough, it's all of those things. It's the rain and the waves, the yells and the fire. It's Bors singing and the sound of bootsteps on the floor. It's the thread that connects the man that charges towards her and the swing of his sword. Swish swish, step step.<br />
<br />
Nora moves this way and that way, reaching roughly backwards and driving the pommel of her sword into the back of his skull. He staggers forward and twists around to attack again, but her second hit impacts his cheek with the flat of her blade in a back-hand motion towards the floor.<br />
<br />
Crack.<br />
<br />
He slumps onto his side, still breathing, but badly hurt.<br />
<br />
Nora continues to walk until she's closed the rest of the distance with the marines. Pink hair matted to her face, she peers at the man with those cold blue eyes shortly before turning to stand at his side and the rest of those fighting for House Killesa.<br />
<br />
"Ser Lars," she says.<br />
<br />
The injured marine standing before Sorin but a half second earlier is now quite uncomfortably pinned to the ship's deck, unconscious yet still immobilized beneath the weight of a brute of a Feeorin. It takes a moment for Sorin's mind to catch up with that captured blur, for that's all it had been behind the man's widened hazel gaze. Corto receives a tilted helmet in reply, distinctly a nod.<br />
<br />
That's the split second reprieve the Alderaanian is afforded before a vibro-axe wielding Panteer-allied marine charges, ruining the moment. With servo-assisted quickness Sorin avoids - however narrowly - the vibro-hum of that brutal weapon, though his twin replies, grunted ripostes in the form of cerulean side-slashes, do little but clang off hardened plasteel plate.<br />
<br />
It's at that moment the last scion of Endesea looks to his left, and sees the maw of an RH8 laser cannon emplacement but a dozen meters away and aimed directly at him. 'Endesea Dies', is his first and only thought, and there's a moment of peace, and tired acceptance. Endesea's mission of rescue has concluded. Suddenly a hard shift to rudder and the Vengeance heaves opposite under the frantic hand of the Lord Ty.. Just as that cannon's barrel shifts, shifts up and away, it discharges. Sorin feels the static wash of the bolt's energy, just far enough off trajectory to lance harmlessly into the clouds.<br />
<br />
He breathes.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender braces when called to by the crew, grasping a shroud cable with one gauntleted hand as the sudden maneuver of the ship beneath him and changing angle of the winds send his sodden cloak flying out sharply from his shoulder like a green pennant. Returning to the melee with a swift advance, the knight defects one attack with a deft parry, slaying the attacker with an immediate riposte. A second boarder is slain in as many moments, but the third fires their jetpack in a short backward hop and skillfully evades Ban's third cut.<br />
<br />
When you find yourself locked in a fistfight with a man that is bigger, stronger, and faster than you, you had damn well better find a way to be crafty. Engaged in a battle royale where he was far from the most dangerous participant, however, and you had best hope you got time to prepare your funerary rites. Though perhaps it'd be best if the Drifter catches you, for he is much more forgiving than the Alderaanians, Jedi, and still adheres to an old code of honour forgotten centuries ago.<br />
<br />
There is of course some leeway, because after all, being unable to continue fighting doesn't mean it won't /hurt/.<br />
<br />
Amidst the rain and the flashes of lightsabers, a long blue arm reached out and a dinner-plate hand reached out and clamped the scruff of the neck of a certain nameless pirate. Strikes and blows bounced impotently off a forearm made of durasteel-strength sinew and the weight of the man even in armour did nothing to stop the Feeorin's inexorable march towards port side. The pirate's feet kicked uselessly as he found himself lifted like a sack of lothtubers and held aloft above the dark blue. "Gerrof! Lemme go!" the marauder ordered the budget knockoff of a talkie Tatooine holofilm.<br />
<br />
Poor choice of words.<br />
<br />
"Hokey dokey. Hope you can swim," was the inaudible declaration amongst the chaotic din that was warfare, rain, and waves, and Corto did just that.<br />
<br />
With a splash, the abyss swallowed the man whole.<br />
<br />
Cannons firing from the Vigilance's starboard light up the grim stormy air, drowning out sound just from the concussion of the blasts. The ship groans, wood and craft getting a taste of gravity and the sheer force of nature as the sea lifted them up and set them back down. At close quarters, the vessel they attacked is obliterated. Splintering bits of craft penetrate along her port as three levels of cannonade rip the pirate vessel to shreds in a single pass. Mother nature did the rest, splitting the ship in two with a thunderous crack.<br />
<br />
Men and women screamed in terror as the sea began to swallow them up. There was no fighting the waves, the current, or the saltwater abyss, only death in the peaceful silence of the depths below.<br />
<br />
Ty ducks a shot intended for him, the blaster bolt splintering a bit of his wheel as he tosses it in another direction to lead them from the devastation they just wrought to set up another pass on the remaining three ships. His technique fails, and the pirates show a decent mastery of helms work as they set up a pass from two vessels at once.<br />
<br />
"BRACE!" Yells Lord Ty, the command repeated down the line as they stare down the barrels of cannons from two warships. Showing inherent skill at sea, once more, Lord Ty throws his ship toward the embrace of the sea, taking a high wave just as the pirates fire in quick succession.<br />
<br />
The loud cracking noise of cannon fire reveals the contrails of large lances closing in at the Vigilance, but the sea sustained the blow again, and Ty laughs as he walks the wheel hand over hand back down after they crest a massive wave and angle back DOWN toward the sea.<br />
<br />
Set to fire again, the young Lord cries out for cannons to prepare, and he orients the ship to broadside, only having to wait for the waves to pass once more to reveal their foe.<br />
<br />
The moment he sees the first ship, Lord Ty screams fire, and the crew responds. The third ship makes its presence known in that moment, though it poorly judges the sea and current, missing what would have been a devastating ram against the Vigilance. They instead, get caught in the current and have to wait for another opportunity.<br />
<br />
Pirates from this ramming vessel begin to jetpack over though, and like before, they cheer and scream, landing aboard the Vigilance to fight. Ten (10) join the remaining four (4), making a hearty fourteen (14) to stir chaos on the top deck.<br />
<br />
As Lady Nora makes it to Ser Lars, the Knight has dispatched two foes in quick succession. He kicks one off the edge of his sword and takes a guard stance, "Lady Frayus," Said, breathing heavy from his ailments but holding true form, "Ever the deadly flower." He compliments, before locking back up with a foe and yelling out as swords clang against one another.<br />
<br />
He's gonna find a way to strap thrusters to it when the sails aren't enough. Reinforced keel, strengthened hull. Just you wait, Ula. He's going to sail all over the place and you will absolutely -love- it. For real.<br />
<br />
Not yet, though, as the rocking of the ship from fire and sea cast Bors to one side and he's unable to compensate for the movement that slams him back against another rail, driving the wind and song from him and his blaster shots run skyward like an inverse meteor storm. He's yet to take a single shot to the leg, or really any blow whatsoever, but that doesn't seem necessary.<br />
<br />
<"ZOUNDS!"> Language.<br />
<br />
Another heave of the craft and weapons fire surging all around and the hope to regain his tempo is lost when a pirate cadaver hits his legs and would have upended him if not for maglocks,<br />
<br />
<"CODSWALLOP!"> LANGUAGE. BORS.<br />
<br />
The deck near his feet looking particularly scored up by carbon now!<br />
<br />
"Neither am I, Technie.... neither am I." Rune would reply to the offhanded comment by Ulani, heard over the din of combat. Having kept foot on nothing but solid land for nearly the entirely of his life, Rune wonders if he would ever get used to the rolling of a deck beneath his feet. It's hard enough in space when the pilot takes a hard turn and he had found himself in the corridors or not firmly strapped in a seat. But evil and injustice doesn't wait to pick easy ground, it charges where ever it can try to find a hold and it is the mission of justice to meet it where ever that may be.<br />
<br />
As if called on command, more pirates rise up and board the ship, pouring over the railing to get at the crew and the defenders of the Vigilance. Rune's overhanded swing removes the arm of one fellow, his blaster clattering to the deck to slide away while the previous owner falls among the rapidly piling bodies around them. It seems that first attack caused a bit of a pause, his next two chops meeting nothing but the space between the Jedi and his foes, the pair that he harried having dodged back a pack to stay out of reach of his thrumming blade.<br />
<br />
Brace! BRACE!<br />
<br />
An order Ulani can follow with gusto. She hunkers down as close to the deck as she can get without laying upon it and grips hard onto the railing. The impact never comes and while she is grateful, it does take Ulani a bit longer then it should to come to that realization. She staggers -- legit staggers -- to her feet and wobbles at the verticality of it all.<br />
<br />
Oh, dear. Bors is swearing. That must mean things might be going pear-shaped. Littled does she know the sea-bound escapades he is planning in the back of his ever-busy mind. Oh, that realization will come later. Should she not end up overboard and a permanent fixutre to the bay.<br />
<br />
She raises her rifle... then topples backwards as a wave lifts the ship up into the air, saving herself from an undignified fall but contributing little else to the efforts. Except maybe some physical comedy. "F-Forgive me, Lord Killesea. The spirit is willing but--- whoop!" She catches the railing again.<br />
<br />
"Ever the flatterer," Nora says to Ser Lars. Her toe slides in a circular motion across the deck of the ship, slicking rain in its curved line just as Lars locks blades with his foe. Another pirate staggers towards Nora now, her head cocked at an angle, lips and face scarred from a lifetime of hardship at sea. Each scar's a memory of a conflict that she'd won. A triumph she'd fought for and earned. It matters not. The first hit sees her reeling, backwards. She's never fought anybody like Lady Frayus before.<br />
<br />
She is relentless.<br />
<br />
The pirate is able to lift her sword to parry Nora's second strike, but again, it seems that strike was meant to open her up. And opened up she is. Nora's blade thrusts through her belly at an upward angle, through her heart, and out her back. The young woman pushes her off her blade and she tumbles off the ship and into the dark, churning waters of the sea. Nora flings her head back, wet hair sticking to her face in ribbons now. The ship is driving down the back-side of a massive wave, and her whole perspective is upended. The muscles of her hip engage to keep her steady at this new angle, but she finds herself sliding a few feet down and towards the helm. The pirate ship meant to ram sails past and Nora's eyes narrow in its direction.<br />
<br />
Not unlike how a cat looks at an especially tall ledge that it wants to jump to.<br />
<br />
Everyone and everything seems to be in proper melee. The boarders. Their reinforcements. The ships that surround them. The sea is awash in geysers of errant blaster and cannon bolts, and the sweeping wakes of ships maneuvering for even the smallest bit of advantage. It's madness, and within that madness this pack of Alderaanians continues to savage Lana's dogs.<br />
<br />
That vibro-axe wielding marine still standing before Sorin shouts a chorus of obscenities. It's answered with a bash of upright blade and power-suit vambrace, which sets the man off-balance. Not quite enough to easily take the first of Sorin's thrusts that follow, for it's battered aside, but the second finds a kink in the join of plasteel at his armpit and that cerulean blade, that brightly sun-catching crystal sword meets flesh. Sorin urges it through with total exertion, servo-assisted and brutal. The marine's obscenities becoming a panicked cry, then a moment of pleading, and then, with a catch of fresh crimson, a gargle that's spit up, to wash down chin, then neck, then upon that hardened topdeck planking itself.<br />
<br />
With a clawing at his own armor that lasts perhaps another ten seconds, Lana's dog is put down.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender turns an eye aside to note the blast aimed at their ship's master and pilot. When the young Lord gives the pirate a mortal answer, Ban nods in curt approval and returns to the business of battle. The nobleman's saber work is firmly rooted in the traditions of steel blades, moreso than the grand sweeps more typical of Jedi duelists, but the effects are pronounced as another pair of attacking mercenaries are felled. Another sharp glance as the swordsman expands his senses to take measure of his fellows, finding further cause for approval.<br />
<br />
The most dangerous thing to do to an enemy is turn your back on them. But in a melee such as this, there's often no choice. This is perhaps why the pirate could only sigh with resignation when Corto the Drifter's arms wrapped around him from behind and boldly suplexed him into the deckplates.<br />
<br />
Another ship is hit by the Vigilance, and by chance, they struck something vital at its core. A huge explosion expands out in a shift of kinetic force, casting rain and seawater outward before the sea simply swallowed the vessel up in a terrible wave. More screams from the mercenaries caught in the open sea and the abyss.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty plants his heavy boot into one of the helm's ruts on the wheel to hold their course while he drew his blaster from his side and shot a man twice in the chest before they could reach him. The effort seemed effortless, but Ty was scared for his life, using every skill he'd ever been taught growing up. Jerking his head to one side to rid his view free of the dark wet hair hanging over his face, he pulls his boot back, letting the sea take the wheel just long enough for him to holster his weapon. He latches on with a gloved hand, then reaches out to the throttle to give them more speed by locking it forward. "FULL BORE AND INTO THE STORM! READY CANNONS.. BOTH SIDES!"<br />
<br />
The commands are echoed through the crew as Lord Ty orients their vessel to fire from both sides toward two ships at either side; one coming about from poor helmsmanship, and the other rounding the devastation of its sister ship now freshly sinking.<br />
<br />
More pirates land to join what's left of the four (4), making fifteen (15) in total. The fighting continues as the Killesa scion raises a hand to signal fire. When it drops, all hell breaks loose from both sides of the Vigilance.<br />
<br />
Maglock boots have their noted disadvantages. <br />
<br />
Past the body that had slammed into his legs, around the main scrum of hand to hand and hand weapon fighting - there's little cover on the main deck of a warship that is intent on going into battle. Never believe the holovids. Lashed down barrels and crates are fantasy or a sign of being caught unexpecting of the enemy.<br />
<br />
The wake of the explosion is light and thunder swallowing the enemy ship and Bors is looking one way or another <<"Ula?">> right arm extending to his side firing just as a rifle bolt slams into his chest plate, rocking him backwards and his quartet of plasma darts poleaxing the aggressor. <br />
<br />
More bolts rain in again and he is still locked in, feet refusing to move and lord Thul is kicked over - feeling his knees protest when he keels over backwards - bending there and slamming armored head and shoulders into the deck. Conscious yet, but unconscious of his next shot skipping across the metal plating and into rail of the ship just shy of the fo'castle.<br />
<br />
<"Bollocks..."> hissed out more than spoken or groaned.<br />
<br />
Chaos in battle is like no other... shouts, clashes of weaponry, explosions, screams of the dying, triumphant voices of the victors, all stacked a top one another like some terrible orchestra all playing different parts of the same piece. Amid that, the low hum of lightsabers could be heard backing the entire selection. One of those backing instruments darted among the challengers as Rune waded through the oppression. It seems the rough waters of the sea were forgotten and his mind had latched onto the need for clarity in a situation of survival.<br />
<br />
No sooner had the pirates bolstered their numbers than the Padawan slew three, the vibrant blade slashing through one's midsection to carry through a second. Both topple to the floor as he's spinning to fell a third, a portion of the blade going dark for the briefest of moments as it passed through armor and flesh. All clatters to the deck and Rune is stepping back with saber raised, his eyes darting about for any that need assistance be it in defense or support.<br />
<br />
Things are exploding and it isn't the Vigilance. Through the expert captaining of Lord Ty Killesea, they are still full and fighting! Huzzahs are in order! Maybe later. If they're still not dead.<br />
<br />
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than, through the chaos, Ulani's senses picks up something approaching fast. A stomping of heavy boots on wet decking turns her around just in time to see the barrel, a flash of red light, and a smirking sneer behind it. The power of the hit registers first, nailing her in the center of her armoured chest and throwing her backwards. Flailing, she ends up sliding on her butt a few inches backwards and connects with the railing. Again. Always this damnable railing.<br />
<br />
The burning sensation comes next, the taste of iron in her throat and her cloudy breaths in the rain wheezing. The foe that took her down lumbers up, bringing her gun to bear once more. Surely something snarky was about to escape the formidable woman's lips, but she is rendered forever speechless when Ulani instinctively returns fire and drops the pirate woman where she stands.<br />
<br />
Ulani stares at the body in front of her for longer than she should but doesn't freak out. Instead, she manages a pained "I'm hit." while trying to find something sturdy to grab onto. She's completely lost track of where everyone is.<br />
<br />
Nora's center of gravity raises up as the ship levels out, and her fingertips slick across the rainy deck as she lifts to her feet. He eyes turn towards the the Thuls when that first bolt strikes Bors' chest and sends him backwards. Those pale blue eyes turn to see Ulani struck as well. Though her feet had already begun to carry her in their direction, they move at a quicker pace to close the rest of the distance between them. When she arrives, she turns her backs to both Bors and Ulani as they collect themselves, a sword raised and pointed to any remaining pirates that might think it a good idea to follow up their attacks.<br />
<br />
Rain and blood create an effect that's near to watercolour on the steel of her sword darkened by those ominous clouds above. And yet it's Nora's eyes -- those cold, frosty things that somehow manage to pierce through the veil of grey all around -- that are the most ominous.<br />
<br />
"Come near them again and not even the sound of the sea will drown the sounds that I will tear from your lungs," she says.<br />
<br />
Amid that cacophony of tibana-charged heavy cannons, this melee becomes further entrenched madness. There's no front line, just a deep zone of conflict increasingly strewn with the bodies of the fallen and the smears of their fluids. Within this madness, Sorin has been pulled deep within a battle haze. No vocalizations beyond increasingly winded grunts as that sword of cerulean crystal - NOT METH YOU HEATHEN - swings, meets armor, meets flesh, cuts through, and then again. A body falls while another stumbles, and they are but still-shot moments within that rage of screams and yet more thunderous cannon discharges. His helmet compensates for those concussions by briefly cutting auditory sensors, and he fights in those moments in tinnitus-tinged silence.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender remains stoic in the swirling melee and slashing rain. As the latest wave of assailants descends upon them, Ban steps to meet them, a profound calm resonating through his voice as the broadsides erupt with righteous fury. Between steps and thrusts, counters and further slaughter, Ban recites with poetic measure, "Now loosed the fires of liberty, to burn down stolen might that noble blood endure to see the wicked put to flight. Now may thy ruin a beacon be, our guide unto Last Light."<br />
<br />
Stand. Turn. Pivot. Grab.<br />
<br />
In a brawl like this, with reinforcements coming in to meet the metaphorical blender of lightsabers at every turn, it was the far more prudent choice to just punch people in the head. One hit, down, clean efficient, move on to the next. But grappling was an act of style, and when you have the frame of a dunkball player and the width of an average outhouse, you use it to your advantage.<br />
<br />
Like the proverbial puny god, an armoured pirate was ripped from his standing position by a huge meatfist wrapped around his ankle. With a mighty roar, the blue-skinned Drifter pulled back and swung.<br />
<br />
/Non, je ne regrette rien/ metaphorically punctuated the slow-motion overhead swing of a pirate screaming his lungs out many feet above Corto unable to do anything to arrest his momentum. It was a terrifying and comical sight, almost unmissable. Time resumed with a horrible crumpling noise. The pirate's momentum abruptly ceased as he came into sudden, inexorable contact with a wounded comrade. Gravity took hold and the deckplates welcomed their shattered forms.<br />
<br />
Cannons from starboard and port sides of the Vigilance erupt in righteous, thunderous fury, releasing a wave from both sides of crimson contrails that strike enemy ships simultaneously. The Vigilance crests another wave, water cascading over her bow to shower the melee. Devastation is yielded from the attack as the ship upon the starboard side is hit thrice and explodes. The mushroom shape of the smoke is swallowed up by the mists as the concussion of the blast sweeps rain and seawater wide before the ruin of the vessel is taken to the abyss below.<br />
<br />
The port side ship fairs better, her Captain angling the ship just right to sustain a blow, but Lord Ty is entrenched in battle at the helm, having to, again, draw his pistol while holding the wheel and gun down two, the third killed by the First Mate who tackles them away from the young Lord. Unable to focus on battle and piloting, the Vigilance has fallen into the sights of their foe. They fire, and Ty throws the wheel, cresting another wave /just/ in time for the cannonade to impact the sea instead of the Vigilance hull.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance groans and creaks as Ty brings it over the wave and walks the wheel down, fighting physics but aligning another shot against their foe. "Master Yates!" Ty calls out to his First Mate, who returns to his post, answering, "Yes sir?!"<br />
<br />
"Fire! SEND THEM TO THE ABYSS!"<br />
<br />
"Aye sir.. PORT CANNONS.. FIRE!"<br />
<br />
The command is echoed through the ship as the two vessels enter into a deadly dance, circling death. The Vigilance fires first, and all three decks tear into the enemy vessel, splitting her hull and triggering an explosion that lights up the sky.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty throws the wheel back on heading, setting them on course for Last Light. "THE FLEET MET TERROR, AND OUR FOE AWAIT IN WHAT ONCE WAS HOME. SO SHALL IT BE AGAIN WHEN THIS FILTH IS WASHED AWAY BY THE SEA!" Yells Lord Ty Killesa, defiant and filled with vigor. "THEY CLAIMED THE SEA, BUT THE CURRENT BETRAYS THEM, BECAUSE THE SEA BELONGS TO KILLESA! FOR ALDERAAN!"<br />
<br />
Up ahead, Last Light looms, its towering battlements a tall shadow in the storm, yet.. its fire, burning eternal, can be seen with no issue. One spark of courage ignites the fire of hope.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty, thankful for the rain, cries, his gloved hands gripping the wheel. "Hold on, dad.. I will be there soon."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Delaya:_Last_Light_of_Killesa&diff=17874Log:Delaya: Last Light of Killesa2022-04-07T04:52:32Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Lord Ty Killesa captains the Vigilance and leads allies into a fierce naval battle. | Location=Gran..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Lord Ty Killesa captains the Vigilance and leads allies into a fierce naval battle.<br />
| Location=[[Grand Bay, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[New Alderaan]], [[Ty Killesa]] NPC, [[Lars Syrush]] NPC, [[Bors Thul]], [[Rune]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Sorin Endesea]]. [[Ban Iskender]], [[Corto]], [[Aryn Cortess]] GMing/NPCing<br />
| OOCDate=April 6, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
It's said that House Killesa's blood line began with the sea. Whether it be some notion of pride, or the fact their family has manned the seas of Delaya for thousands of years, there is some truth to it. Aboard the VIGILANCE, a seafaring vessel and skiff of magnificent make and build, those championing Lord Ty Killesa's call for help follow Alderaan's 'Green Knight', Lord Ban Iskender, into conflict.<br />
<br />
The foe is a lawless band of mercenary pirates serving the Usurper, Lana Panteer, who has fashioned herself the Grand Duchess of Delaya and an enemy to the crown. House Killesa renounced Lana, and they were punished for it. Their punishment was to spend their days in the dungeons of their own keep watching as pirates and mercenaries ruined their home, violated their rule, and ravaged the seas of commerce and peace they spent generations preserving.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance is the last vessel of a fleet that was keenly stolen by Ty Killesa, the last free scion of the Great House Killesa. He sails it out into the Grand Bay of Delaya, toward the stormy seas and mists. Their goal? To reach Last Light, the seat of House Killesa and fortress that has served as the first line of defense against all domestic enemies who would prey upon the good folk of the sea. Last Light is a beacon in the storm, and even though its stone is profaned by the presence of lesser men and women, its foundation was built upon the salt and blood of a family who knows the sea like nothing else. Ty Killesa is at the helm of the vigilance, wearing an ornate set of armor bearing the sigil of his House, and a saber at his side. A long rifle sits on a rack before him, aside from the large wheel he mans, and a fine blaster pistol is holstered on his leg. From his position, he can see the large deck of his ship, and the laser cannons. There are two other decks with cannons, too, all of them manned by true, loyal people. Those with Lord Ban? They serve as Marines for this last ditch effort to reclaim Last Light, and begin to feel the cold sting of rain as a storm wades in from above, and ship begins to toss more violently.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty had seemed not so confident when he met Ban. Now, on the sea, the young Captain laughed as he tossed the wheel in one direction and called out over the crew of Marines and sailors. "HEAR YE, HEAR YE.. THIS STORM IS THE BEST CHANCE WE HAVE TO APPROACH LAST LIGHT. FIVE GREAT SHIPS WERE STOLEN FROM MY KIN, AND FIVE GREAT SHIPS SHALL FIND THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA THIS DAY. THESE BRIGANDS BELIEVE THEY KNOW THE WATERS, KNOW THE STORMS, AND SPREAD TERROR! HAHAHA.. TODAY, THEY LEARN WHAT TERROR IS. BRACE YOURSELVES, WE GO TO THE HEART OF THE STORM TO DECIDE THIS CONTEST! TO VICTORY.. OR DEATH. FOR ALDERAAN! HOIST THE COLORS!"<br />
<br />
Commands are yelled down the line of crewmen as the youngest of their bunch emerges from the cabin carrying the Killesa streamer. It's attached and raised, the men and women cheer.<br />
<br />
Then, the mists ahead give way to the shadows of the grand ships he had mentioned. A small fleet of five approach, lumbering in poor formation, but formidable all the same. Those cheering grow silent as rain begins to sheet across the deck and tall waves hit the side of their vessel. Lord Ty Killesa tosses the wheel one direction again, taking them toward 'faster waters', and points their starboard guns toward the fleet in a defiant first volley. "PREPARE TO FIIIIIRE!" Screams the Gunnery Chiefs as they walk the cannon lines.<br />
<br />
<She's LOVELY on the foreyard, an' she's lovely down BELOW boys!"> He's been singing for a while now, dock songs again - the sort of music that the nobility of Alderaan might well blanch at at court - the workers song at the loading docks of space ports and the dingier taverns where they go to spend their shore-leave pay. Or aboard seafaring craft, timing their work to the beat; like a marching cadence.<br />
<br />
<"Roll Boys! Roll boys roll! She's lovely 'cause she loves me, that's all I WANT TO know boys!"> a fist pump with his free hand and a bit of a kick-step to Bors's walk and even a little spin on his feet, crossing past the main sail and looking out from the deck <"Way HIGH, Miss Sha'vi Grone!"><br />
<br />
Carbine raised, helmet on, rain sizzles when the ion-wipe sweeps across the T-shaped visor of the old republic commando armor, the scope of the EE-3 feeds his HUD information, overlaying the zoomed information into a quarter of his vision.<br />
<br />
<"She's LOVELY on the foreyard, an' she's lovely down BELOW boys!"> He's been singing for a while now, dock songs again - the sort of music that the nobility of Alderaan might well blanch at at court - the workers song at the loading docks of space ports and the dingier taverns where they go to spend their shore-leave pay. Or aboard seafaring craft, timing their work to the beat; like a marching cadence.<br />
<br />
<"Roll Boys! Roll boys roll! She's lovely 'cause she loves me, that's all I WANT TO know boys!"> a fist pump with his free hand and a bit of a kick-step to Bors's walk and even a little spin on his feet, crossing past the main sail and looking out from the deck <"Way HIGH, Miss Sha'vi Grone!"><br />
<br />
Carbine raised, helmet on, rain sizzles when the ion-wipe sweeps across the T-shaped visor of the old republic commando armor, the scope of the EE-3 feeds his HUD information, overlaying the zoomed information into a quarter of his vision.<br />
<br />
Ever since he first set foot on a boat, Rune has not been good with water faring vessels, the tossing and tumbling of the Vigilance constantly reminding him of that fact. While others move to and fro in assistance with the ship, the Ysannan is found at the edge, clinging for dear life to the railing, and relieving himself of all his lunch over the side. Every so often the green face of the Padawan comes up for air, looking very sickly as the ship rolls over the waves, then it's back to business with a heave over the side.<br />
<br />
He has no idea how the others do it, the yelling Captain at the wheel, the folk standing heroically on the deck, and he's clutching to the side wishing for the world just to stop for a moment. Fortunately, the mists they venture through part and their destination is laid bare, the ships they meet in battle revealed. With wobbly legs, Rune moves into position, wiping the back of his sleeve across his lips, the green tint of his flesh fading to look somewhat more hale than before.<br />
<br />
The last time Ulani can recall being on any kind of water-faring vessal, it was on Naboo. Specifically beneath the waters in the realm and kingdom of the Gungans. Even more specifically, there was an underwater drilling facility filled with corpses and a terror of the deep swimming in the murky depths. That place exploded -- mostly because of her and wholly intentional -- and they were chased back towards the surface by a squid. Or was it a whale? Or an octopus?<br />
<br />
Back on the sea and Ulani is looking a little green around the gills. While it usually helps, Bors' singing to the rhythm of choppy waters only seems to make her more queasy. Clinging to the railing, she looks out over the mists towards the storm they sail into and the enemies beyond, rifle on her back and lunch threatening to hit the deck.<br />
<br />
So this is what war looks like.<br />
<br />
Much of Nora Frayus' life has been spent in luxury, wealth, excess, and safety. While battles raged, they did so far away from Castle Frayus. She had the privilege of hearing their stories -- of valor, heroism, and noble deeds -- from a distance. Action and violence were things to be practiced, to be certain. A dagger through the soft palate in the dark. A sword through the stomach in a duel. But war like this? On this scale? This was certainly never a part of her father's careful machinations.<br />
<br />
But that's just how plans go, isn't it?<br />
<br />
She stands near the canon line, arms folded and pretty face formed into a severe sort of scowl. She's opted for some more practical attire -- the robes of the Jedi Order. Though not anything immediately identifiable, they're far from high-class Alderaan fashion. Comfortable, breathable linens. A tunic skirt and thigh high boots. Sashes and scarves, poppy red. When that ship swings around, Nora leans forward to catch herself on the railing at the sudden shift of motion. She inhales softly and exhales nice and slow, trying to listen to the sound of the waves and the rain hitting the hull. The beginnings of a melody that waits for the percussion of canon fire.<br />
<br />
Leaned into a section of durasteel upper-deck railing, another of a lineage born of the sea scans the nearing mists, hand to brow. Sorin, of and by Endesea, last of his own mariner line, has not but a dour look to share with the forms of those great ships that emerge from gloom in their shoddy yet still-dangerous formation. Saltwater spray has dampened the man's hair, and a sheen of this sea remains upon his face as he looks back to Lord Ty. It was time then. Time to fight, whether live or die follows remains - as always - to be seen.<br />
<br />
There's a push-off from durasteel as the Knight takes what final moments of simple travel remain. The vessel beneath his feet cuts through waves, and the feel is right. "If we remain as true as this vessel's keel, you'll have your keep back by evening, Lord Ty." Sorin's words come grimly, but there's a glint to hazel suggesting he savors the prospect. At his side, that crystalline blade hangs ready. It, in contrast, looks almost eager to be withdrawn. And perhaps it calls to the man, for a hand slips pommel, gauntleted fingers curling around it before sliding further down to test that grip.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender had inquired where aboard a ship on the sea boarding parties are best posted, and been told to seek the forward deck for attack, and the aft castle for defense. For all his experience at war, Ban Iskender's homeworld was an arid one, and this will mark his first battle aboard a surface ship. The gentleman cuts an impressive figure in elaborate heavy armor and his ever present emerald half-cape, though his bearing is slightly more stiff as he grows accustomed to the notion of the deck underfoot. Serene and stoic, for the moment, his sword remains dark.<br />
<br />
Often, natural forces are used as metaphor. To encompass an inexorable force backed by the power of Mother Nature herself. Though fire was the usual topic, water was just as glorious, and just as dangerous. The sea was a fickle beast, giving respect only to those who had earned it and swallowing those it did not. For it is said in the annals of the before times that as one gazes into a watery abyss, those that call it home are always gazing back.<br />
<br />
It was for this reason that we come to the vagabond of our tale, far from the hero of the gathered Alderaanians and merely in the right place at the right time, as he was prone to do. For he had not earned the respect of the sea and thus he treated it with care, standing at the prow of the vessel and holding his wide-brimmed hat to his head. Corto the Drifter was nothing more than driftwood in the current of time and even now he looked out of place, his hat better suited for endless sands, rough-woven poncho to protect from the sun, and a seven-foot-five frame better suited for being tied to the deck as some sort of ballast.<br />
<br />
Forward, he gazed. Ever forward. There was no point looking back.<br />
<br />
The Captain points his hand and drops it, screaming, his voice cracking and betraying his age, but none could doubt the courage in his heart. "FIIIIIRE!" The command is repeated, and the side of the Vigilance alights with a valiant spray of red as cannons are engaged with heavy yield volleys. The sea parts slightly from the kinetic force of the discharges, the flash-heat of tibanna misting along the side of the ship as contrails of their payloads travel the distance toward the fleet of five intercepting them.<br />
<br />
The dark mists and shadows looming part and retreat to the crimson of laser cannons, and the response from impacts sees some massive damage from the get go. On the sea, there were no shields. On the sea, there is no mercy.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance has spent her turn firing and has to angle for another position. Lord Ty answers Ser Sorin even as he's handling the wheel. "She shall see us through our darkest day. The Last Light, true in name.. and is mission. Good fortune, sir."<br />
<br />
As they hit a large wave, the Vigilance tilts to the side then mantles over, the direction risky and brave all at once. POWERFUL waves smack the side of the ship showering those eager for boarding operations. "STAY AHEAD OF THEM, MY LORD.." Screams the First Mate from the side, peering thru a set of macros.<br />
<br />
"WORKING ON IT," Ty yelled back, his confidence high, still. One of the five ships hit flounders and lists, having taken a sizeable hole to the front of the vessel and taking on water because of it. The ship has a sudden stop, bringing her stern high and throwing much of her crew. Ty laughs out loud, the odds leveling, yet. Four ships sustained their course, and another damaged vessel looms near. Rather than swing from ropes to board the vigilance, some fifteen (15) boards use rocket packs to cross the distance, their jets seen in the grim lighting through the rain. They land on the deck of the Vigilance and one immediately slays a gunnery chief. "WE ARE BOARDED, TO ARMS!"<br />
<br />
And thus the battle begins. Ty moves the Vigilance to stay ahead of the ship closest to them, managing it for the moment and giving them some breathing room to deal with their new guests.<br />
<br />
Ser Lars Syrush, the First Sword, joins the Marines from the bottom deck and draws his sword upon seeing the marauders. Drenched by rain and sea, he holds defends the only way to the below decks, immediately locking swords with a foe.<br />
<br />
Singing drowned out by the blast of the heavy guns and the roar of the jetpack assaults, Bors's maglocks are shifted to quarter strength with a blink at an icon on his HUD and he is charging towards one of those landing upon the craft, <<"Buhbors Engaging">>. Slipping into old habits when his shoulder bounces off of one, sending them stutter stepping back and the Lord Thul is knocked off balance by a shot leaving a glowing circle on his shoulder pad.<br />
<br />
His first volley goes wide, the periodicity of its report warbling in the new sounds of combat joined, creating a contrail of steam in the rain before disappearing into the mist. The barrel raises and his aim is true the second go - the figure that'd damaged the plastoid shell hurled back and overboard when the rapidfire stream of the weapons burst of fire lifting and carrying them out of sight and memory.<br />
<br />
<<"Target down.">><br />
<br />
The red of the volley bathes all watching in a deep crimson, the light fading rapidly once each shot strikes true. Rune slides a decent measure when the ship mantles a large wave, the Jedi having left the safety of the rail and moved toward the center of the deck. He's definitely having trouble keeping his feet and, when the rocket packs ignite and the foes land on the deck, an even harder time focusing on the fight at hand.<br />
<br />
Still the black metal cylinder at his waist leaps into his hand and, with a quick press of the ignition button, a verdant blade extends from the emitter. The first pirate engaged by the Padawan is fortunate through one swing, the attack extending far too wide to the left causing the Force User to stumble beyond his engagement. However, he's not so lucky on the return swing, the very thing that caused Rune to miss helping to bisect the pirate on the backhand. The humming column is reset in a defensive pose, lashing out to catch a second pirate in a thrust before they too drop to the deck bereft of life.<br />
<br />
Given the moment of pause in attack, the other boarders rushing the remainder of the crew, Rune takes the opportunity to heave into a nearby barrel, his pale skin reflecting the unease he feels. "Why are there no hover lifts? Would it not be easier to traverse the.... *BLERGH* ...traverse the sea when flying ab... *HURK* ...above it?" the novice complains, the green blade of his saber spun about to be held before him, warding away any attacker that might decide he an easy target.<br />
<br />
Still clutching to that railing, Ulani has an excellent view of the battle's beginning shots. Cannon fire rips across the tides into the stolen fleet: ships to meet the bottom of the bay before being left in the unworthy hands of the enemy. Ships, afterall, can be rebuilt. Pride and honour? A bit trickier.<br />
<br />
Rather than approaching on boarding like proper pirates, they take to the air on jetpacks. "I have to admit... that is certainly more effective." If begrudgingly. Forced to release the railing to pull up her rifle, she rifles into the air hoping to hit one of at least a dozen enemies heading their way. And manages to hit none because she's a damn landlubber but learned experience with the firearm does mean the ionized bolt rips unnervingly close between two approaching foes, singing clothing and soiling pantaloons<br />
<br />
But maybe not that last part.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus takes several steps back and away from the cannons shortly before they begin to report. The booming cannons begin to provide a sort of strange percussion to the otherworldly sounds in her skull. It's as if the sea is singing and those canons are merely driving it to some terrible, murderous beat. Frenzied. Try as she might to wrestle with it, to gain control of it, she cannot make sense of the song. Even if her soul seems to understand it.<br />
<br />
She begins to move towards Ser Lars Syrush as he emerges from below deck, but her path to her fellow Alderaanian is briefly impeded by one of the rocket-packing marauders that lands on the deck in front of her.<br />
<br />
His steel already drawn, he tips his head to the side and steps aggressively towards Lady Nora, briefly thumbing his bottom lip as he sizes her up.<br />
<br />
"Bit far from land, pretty bird," he murmurs, "Shouldn't you b--"<br />
<br />
A sing of steel through the air cuts through rain and flesh alike as she draws it from its sheath in a back-hand motion across his chest. He staggers back and blocks her second blow with his sword, but Nora's twisting fencing flourish draws her tip in a circle towards -- and though the back of -- his throat. She pulls it away without a word and continues on her path towards Ser Lars, though her eyes remain scanning the battlefield for any opportunity to put down a foe or protect an ally.<br />
<br />
But moments before those tibana-assisted volleys are concussed forth, Sorin's helmet had been swung over and brought down. Tracking data is immediately displayed for the outward blasts, the system designed foremost to triangulate fire. [PLOTTED] appears again and again, in rapid succession with outbound trajectory data superimposed as those shots begin impacting.<br />
<br />
But then something new, contrails streaking through the sky, in opposing and very much downwards trajectory. That boarding is accomplished with more tactical acumen than the pace-keeping of those hostile ships and battle is joined with an immediate chorus of shouts, discharges of blasters, plasma-hum of lazer swords, and in Sorin's case, the hard-clang of that blade of Endesea cutting into the armored pauldron of one hostile marine before he'd had time to rebalance himself. A second swing cuts into the lines of a wooden deck plank, giving it character!<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender's green regard is narrowed on the distant marks as he observes the effects of Vigilance's cannonade, then turned to the mist shrouded sky as boarders rocket toward them. His sword goes from darkness to light, an emerald glow radiating in the mist as he sweeps the blade into a salute. Bracing against the crested wave, he moves over the pitching deck with uncanny balance to meet the incoming foe. Once, twice, and thrice he strikes. The first attacker is cut down before they even set boots to deck, the second sees their weapon and torso split by the same cut, and the third is impaled with a lunging thrust. "Bring not thy callow cutthroats against Alderaan."<br />
<br />
Enter Corto, stage left, dynamically.<br />
<br />
That spear tackle would go down in the history books as less of a takedown and more like a meteor strike. The hulking alien had flown through the air as though hurled from a ballista, shoulder ramming into the man who had just had the misfortune of coming up against a sword-wielding power-armoured figure. It was hard to tell which was worse, but the man now pinned for a five-count wasn't conscious enough to appreciate it.<br />
<br />
"There's merit in the simple things, young Rune!" bellowed Corto, his rumbledrawl evolving into full blown rockslide-roar. "Enjoy the experience while it lasts!"<br />
<br />
The Marines aboard the Vigilance can hear the Pirate yells from the enemy ship that looms closer, mantling the wave and setting heavily down upon the stormy sea to give chase. They cheer at the sight of their boarders closing the distance and landing among the smaller Vigilance and the crew. They cheer when they see the chaos that erupts from their arrival, blaster bolts and swords, the scattered fighting.<br />
<br />
Then, they stop cheering at the defiant sight of lightsabers responding. Dread fills their heart when the chaos they sought to sow is righted with efficiency, and definitive blows. This foe does not bow. And that resonates among the pirates as they realize they fight kin who were once Lords of the Sea.<br />
<br />
"THEY SIGHT US, SIR. PULL HER HARD, PULL HER HARD!" Yells the First Mate, while crew scream over the chaos of battle, "BRACE!"<br />
<br />
The ship chasing them has achieved a broadside despite Lord Killesa's effort, and he throws the wheel in one direction last second just as the port side of their enemy's ship alights the grim, stormy stretch and releases a terrible volley in response. MASSIVE laser cannon shots impact the sea as Lord Ty coasts the Vigilance down off a wave, using the sea to protect them in a stunning display of sailoring, miraculously leaving the Vigilance unmarked by fire. "THEY OVER SHOT US!"<br />
<br />
"STARBOARD.. PREPARE TO FIRE!" Screams Ty over the rain and sound of thunderous waves. The command is repeated despite the battle. "LINE READY, SIR!"<br />
<br />
"FIRE!"<br />
<br />
The tune has changed, he's getting his rhythm and Bors is singing again, unconsciously, though it's shifted to another song of the sea - the words already on his lips while he pirouettes around Sorin, from his left, behind and then stopping on his right while the ship bucks and his mag-boots keep him from sliding and skidding outside of the intended movements he is making.<br />
<br />
<"Well the first mate is platin' the Captain aboard!"> throwing himself towards a rail and hard locking his boots when the broadside comes, yallering all the while <"Row me bully boys ROW!"> somehow fortunate enough for the boarders to miss him in the melee while his carbine is leveled once more, <"He looks like a Fanplume with pistols and swo-ord!"> consistent as always his duck behind another of the masts to evade fire costs him his shot by centimeters, heating up clothes and armor <"And it's row me bully boys! We're in a hurry boys! We got a long way to go!"> <br />
<br />
An arc of crimson energy darts precedes his roll out of defilade, carbine held low and using the crook of his arm to absorb the recoil of the plasma bursts that stitch a line across the foeman's midsection, <"An' we'll sing, an we'll dance, an' bid farewal t'Fr'ienz! And it's row me bully boys row!"><br />
<br />
Ugh he wants to buy a boat now.<br />
<br />
Ulani he's buying a boat.<br />
<br />
It's happening.<br />
<br />
Boat purchase. Boat parties. Boat everything.<br />
<br />
There was no argument to be found against the simple things having merit, but after the last wave of seasickness claimed his body, Rune would be finding the enjoyment portion a little hard to grasp. Still, the dark haired man managed a chuckle and a nod to the huge man, afterward, resuming his scan of the fight and any targets that need be marked.<br />
<br />
Miraculously he begins to feel better after that last bit of weakness, the swaying of the deck not seeming so treacherous and debilitating. Not that it matters much, the pirates that rise up to attack all deftly maneuver around each of Rune's slashes, the glowing blade nipping at nothing but the air it sizzles through.<br />
<br />
Now in top of the sway of the water and the blasting of cannons, there are enemies on the deck and rain pelting down. Ideal battlefield terrain for her this is not. But Ulani is not lacking in spirit and, if nothing else, she is one more distraction. And that's the best she can hope to be right now: a distraction. A potential threat who hasn't quite made it there yet. Another shot goes wide, missing the forms shifting in the rain around her. The only ones she can make out with any kind of certainty are the Jedi with their sabers and Bors whose armour lights up like a Life Day tree.<br />
<br />
"I don't think--- wagh---" The boat takes a hard turn and bobs in the rough waters, sending her back into the railing again with an oomph. "---I'm much cut out for the water!"<br />
<br />
No boat purchase! Flying with Bors already puts her heart in her throat. Imagining him as a captain of a ship could give her gray hair early!<br />
<br />
Lady Nora continues her slow and deliberate movements towards Ser Lars Syrush and the rest of the marines. The way she moves is airy and effortless, one foot placed in front of the other as she moves across deck of the ship, splashing rain and blood in her wake. Though there's sound of laser canon fire, screaming, cheering, and Lord Bors' singing, she's blessed enough to only hear the sound of what she's come to know as the Force echoing in her brain. Strangely enough, it's all of those things. It's the rain and the waves, the yells and the fire. It's Bors singing and the sound of bootsteps on the floor. It's the thread that connects the man that charges towards her and the swing of his sword. Swish swish, step step.<br />
<br />
Nora moves this way and that way, reaching roughly backwards and driving the pommel of her sword into the back of his skull. He staggers forward and twists around to attack again, but her second hit impacts his cheek with the flat of her blade in a back-hand motion towards the floor.<br />
<br />
Crack.<br />
<br />
He slumps onto his side, still breathing, but badly hurt.<br />
<br />
Nora continues to walk until she's closed the rest of the distance with the marines. Pink hair matted to her face, she peers at the man with those cold blue eyes shortly before turning to stand at his side and the rest of those fighting for House Killesa.<br />
<br />
"Ser Lars," she says.<br />
<br />
The injured marine standing before Sorin but a half second earlier is now quite uncomfortably pinned to the ship's deck, unconscious yet still immobilized beneath the weight of a brute of a Feeorin. It takes a moment for Sorin's mind to catch up with that captured blur, for that's all it had been behind the man's widened hazel gaze. Corto receives a tilted helmet in reply, distinctly a nod.<br />
<br />
That's the split second reprieve the Alderaanian is afforded before a vibro-axe wielding Panteer-allied marine charges, ruining the moment. With servo-assisted quickness Sorin avoids - however narrowly - the vibro-hum of that brutal weapon, though his twin replies, grunted ripostes in the form of cerulean side-slashes, do little but clang off hardened plasteel plate.<br />
<br />
It's at that moment the last scion of Endesea looks to his left, and sees the maw of an RH8 laser cannon emplacement but a dozen meters away and aimed directly at him. 'Endesea Dies', is his first and only thought, and there's a moment of peace, and tired acceptance. Endesea's mission of rescue has concluded. Suddenly a hard shift to rudder and the Vengeance heaves opposite under the frantic hand of the Lord Ty.. Just as that cannon's barrel shifts, shifts up and away, it discharges. Sorin feels the static wash of the bolt's energy, just far enough off trajectory to lance harmlessly into the clouds.<br />
<br />
He breathes.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender braces when called to by the crew, grasping a shroud cable with one gauntleted hand as the sudden maneuver of the ship beneath him and changing angle of the winds send his sodden cloak flying out sharply from his shoulder like a green pennant. Returning to the melee with a swift advance, the knight defects one attack with a deft parry, slaying the attacker with an immediate riposte. A second boarder is slain in as many moments, but the third fires their jetpack in a short backward hop and skillfully evades Ban's third cut.<br />
<br />
When you find yourself locked in a fistfight with a man that is bigger, stronger, and faster than you, you had damn well better find a way to be crafty. Engaged in a battle royale where he was far from the most dangerous participant, however, and you had best hope you got time to prepare your funerary rites. Though perhaps it'd be best if the Drifter catches you, for he is much more forgiving than the Alderaanians, Jedi, and still adheres to an old code of honour forgotten centuries ago.<br />
<br />
There is of course some leeway, because after all, being unable to continue fighting doesn't mean it won't /hurt/.<br />
<br />
Amidst the rain and the flashes of lightsabers, a long blue arm reached out and a dinner-plate hand reached out and clamped the scruff of the neck of a certain nameless pirate. Strikes and blows bounced impotently off a forearm made of durasteel-strength sinew and the weight of the man even in armour did nothing to stop the Feeorin's inexorable march towards port side. The pirate's feet kicked uselessly as he found himself lifted like a sack of lothtubers and held aloft above the dark blue. "Gerrof! Lemme go!" the marauder ordered the budget knockoff of a talkie Tatooine holofilm.<br />
<br />
Poor choice of words.<br />
<br />
"Hokey dokey. Hope you can swim," was the inaudible declaration amongst the chaotic din that was warfare, rain, and waves, and Corto did just that.<br />
<br />
With a splash, the abyss swallowed the man whole.<br />
<br />
Cannons firing from the Vigilance's starboard light up the grim stormy air, drowning out sound just from the concussion of the blasts. The ship groans, wood and craft getting a taste of gravity and the sheer force of nature as the sea lifted them up and set them back down. At close quarters, the vessel they attacked is obliterated. Splintering bits of craft penetrate along her port as three levels of cannonade rip the pirate vessel to shreds in a single pass. Mother nature did the rest, splitting the ship in two with a thunderous crack.<br />
<br />
Men and women screamed in terror as the sea began to swallow them up. There was no fighting the waves, the current, or the saltwater abyss, only death in the peaceful silence of the depths below.<br />
<br />
Ty ducks a shot intended for him, the blaster bolt splintering a bit of his wheel as he tosses it in another direction to lead them from the devastation they just wrought to set up another pass on the remaining three ships. His technique fails, and the pirates show a decent mastery of helms work as they set up a pass from two vessels at once.<br />
<br />
"BRACE!" Yells Lord Ty, the command repeated down the line as they stare down the barrels of cannons from two warships. Showing inherent skill at sea, once more, Lord Ty throws his ship toward the embrace of the sea, taking a high wave just as the pirates fire in quick succession.<br />
<br />
The loud cracking noise of cannon fire reveals the contrails of large lances closing in at the Vigilance, but the sea sustained the blow again, and Ty laughs as he walks the wheel hand over hand back down after they crest a massive wave and angle back DOWN toward the sea.<br />
<br />
Set to fire again, the young Lord cries out for cannons to prepare, and he orients the ship to broadside, only having to wait for the waves to pass once more to reveal their foe.<br />
<br />
The moment he sees the first ship, Lord Ty screams fire, and the crew responds. The third ship makes its presence known in that moment, though it poorly judges the sea and current, missing what would have been a devastating ram against the Vigilance. They instead, get caught in the current and have to wait for another opportunity.<br />
<br />
Pirates from this ramming vessel begin to jetpack over though, and like before, they cheer and scream, landing aboard the Vigilance to fight. Ten (10) join the remaining four (4), making a hearty fourteen (14) to stir chaos on the top deck.<br />
<br />
As Lady Nora makes it to Ser Lars, the Knight has dispatched two foes in quick succession. He kicks one off the edge of his sword and takes a guard stance, "Lady Frayus," Said, breathing heavy from his ailments but holding true form, "Ever the deadly flower." He compliments, before locking back up with a foe and yelling out as swords clang against one another.<br />
<br />
He's gonna find a way to strap thrusters to it when the sails aren't enough. Reinforced keel, strengthened hull. Just you wait, Ula. He's going to sail all over the place and you will absolutely -love- it. For real.<br />
<br />
Not yet, though, as the rocking of the ship from fire and sea cast Bors to one side and he's unable to compensate for the movement that slams him back against another rail, driving the wind and song from him and his blaster shots run skyward like an inverse meteor storm. He's yet to take a single shot to the leg, or really any blow whatsoever, but that doesn't seem necessary.<br />
<br />
<"ZOUNDS!"> Language.<br />
<br />
Another heave of the craft and weapons fire surging all around and the hope to regain his tempo is lost when a pirate cadaver hits his legs and would have upended him if not for maglocks,<br />
<br />
<"CODSWALLOP!"> LANGUAGE. BORS.<br />
<br />
The deck near his feet looking particularly scored up by carbon now!<br />
<br />
"Neither am I, Technie.... neither am I." Rune would reply to the offhanded comment by Ulani, heard over the din of combat. Having kept foot on nothing but solid land for nearly the entirely of his life, Rune wonders if he would ever get used to the rolling of a deck beneath his feet. It's hard enough in space when the pilot takes a hard turn and he had found himself in the corridors or not firmly strapped in a seat. But evil and injustice doesn't wait to pick easy ground, it charges where ever it can try to find a hold and it is the mission of justice to meet it where ever that may be.<br />
<br />
As if called on command, more pirates rise up and board the ship, pouring over the railing to get at the crew and the defenders of the Vigilance. Rune's overhanded swing removes the arm of one fellow, his blaster clattering to the deck to slide away while the previous owner falls among the rapidly piling bodies around them. It seems that first attack caused a bit of a pause, his next two chops meeting nothing but the space between the Jedi and his foes, the pair that he harried having dodged back a pack to stay out of reach of his thrumming blade.<br />
<br />
Brace! BRACE!<br />
<br />
An order Ulani can follow with gusto. She hunkers down as close to the deck as she can get without laying upon it and grips hard onto the railing. The impact never comes and while she is grateful, it does take Ulani a bit longer then it should to come to that realization. She staggers -- legit staggers -- to her feet and wobbles at the verticality of it all.<br />
<br />
Oh, dear. Bors is swearing. That must mean things might be going pear-shaped. Littled does she know the sea-bound escapades he is planning in the back of his ever-busy mind. Oh, that realization will come later. Should she not end up overboard and a permanent fixutre to the bay.<br />
<br />
She raises her rifle... then topples backwards as a wave lifts the ship up into the air, saving herself from an undignified fall but contributing little else to the efforts. Except maybe some physical comedy. "F-Forgive me, Lord Killesea. The spirit is willing but--- whoop!" She catches the railing again.<br />
<br />
"Ever the flatterer," Nora says to Ser Lars. Her toe slides in a circular motion across the deck of the ship, slicking rain in its curved line just as Lars locks blades with his foe. Another pirate staggers towards Nora now, her head cocked at an angle, lips and face scarred from a lifetime of hardship at sea. Each scar's a memory of a conflict that she'd won. A triumph she'd fought for and earned. It matters not. The first hit sees her reeling, backwards. She's never fought anybody like Lady Frayus before.<br />
<br />
She is relentless.<br />
<br />
The pirate is able to lift her sword to parry Nora's second strike, but again, it seems that strike was meant to open her up. And opened up she is. Nora's blade thrusts through her belly at an upward angle, through her heart, and out her back. The young woman pushes her off her blade and she tumbles off the ship and into the dark, churning waters of the sea. Nora flings her head back, wet hair sticking to her face in ribbons now. The ship is driving down the back-side of a massive wave, and her whole perspective is upended. The muscles of her hip engage to keep her steady at this new angle, but she finds herself sliding a few feet down and towards the helm. The pirate ship meant to ram sails past and Nora's eyes narrow in its direction.<br />
<br />
Not unlike how a cat looks at an especially tall ledge that it wants to jump to.<br />
<br />
Everyone and everything seems to be in proper melee. The boarders. Their reinforcements. The ships that surround them. The sea is awash in geysers of errant blaster and cannon bolts, and the sweeping wakes of ships maneuvering for even the smallest bit of advantage. It's madness, and within that madness this pack of Alderaanians continues to savage Lana's dogs.<br />
<br />
That vibro-axe wielding marine still standing before Sorin shouts a chorus of obscenities. It's answered with a bash of upright blade and power-suit vambrace, which sets the man off-balance. Not quite enough to easily take the first of Sorin's thrusts that follow, for it's battered aside, but the second finds a kink in the join of plasteel at his armpit and that cerulean blade, that brightly sun-catching crystal sword meets flesh. Sorin urges it through with total exertion, servo-assisted and brutal. The marine's obscenities becoming a panicked cry, then a moment of pleading, and then, with a catch of fresh crimson, a gargle that's spit up, to wash down chin, then neck, then upon that hardened topdeck planking itself.<br />
<br />
With a clawing at his own armor that lasts perhaps another ten seconds, Lana's dog is put down.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender turns an eye aside to note the blast aimed at their ship's master and pilot. When the young Lord gives the pirate a mortal answer, Ban nods in curt approval and returns to the business of battle. The nobleman's saber work is firmly rooted in the traditions of steel blades, moreso than the grand sweeps more typical of Jedi duelists, but the effects are pronounced as another pair of attacking mercenaries are felled. Another sharp glance as the swordsman expands his senses to take measure of his fellows, finding further cause for approval.<br />
<br />
The most dangerous thing to do to an enemy is turn your back on them. But in a melee such as this, there's often no choice. This is perhaps why the pirate could only sigh with resignation when Corto the Drifter's arms wrapped around him from behind and boldly suplexed him into the deckplates.<br />
<br />
Another ship is hit by the Vigilance, and by chance, they struck something vital at its core. A huge explosion expands out in a shift of kinetic force, casting rain and seawater outward before the sea simply swallowed the vessel up in a terrible wave. More screams from the mercenaries caught in the open sea and the abyss.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty plants his heavy boot into one of the helm's ruts on the wheel to hold their course while he drew his blaster from his side and shot a man twice in the chest before they could reach him. The effort seemed effortless, but Ty was scared for his life, using every skill he'd ever been taught growing up. Jerking his head to one side to rid his view free of the dark wet hair hanging over his face, he pulls his boot back, letting the sea take the wheel just long enough for him to holster his weapon. He latches on with a gloved hand, then reaches out to the throttle to give them more speed by locking it forward. "FULL BORE AND INTO THE STORM! READY CANNONS.. BOTH SIDES!"<br />
<br />
The commands are echoed through the crew as Lord Ty orients their vessel to fire from both sides toward two ships at either side; one coming about from poor helmsmanship, and the other rounding the devastation of its sister ship now freshly sinking.<br />
<br />
More pirates land to join what's left of the four (4), making fifteen (15) in total. The fighting continues as the Killesa scion raises a hand to signal fire. When it drops, all hell breaks loose from both sides of the Vigilance.<br />
<br />
Maglock boots have their noted disadvantages. <br />
<br />
Past the body that had slammed into his legs, around the main scrum of hand to hand and hand weapon fighting - there's little cover on the main deck of a warship that is intent on going into battle. Never believe the holovids. Lashed down barrels and crates are fantasy or a sign of being caught unexpecting of the enemy.<br />
<br />
The wake of the explosion is light and thunder swallowing the enemy ship and Bors is looking one way or another <<"Ula?">> right arm extending to his side firing just as a rifle bolt slams into his chest plate, rocking him backwards and his quartet of plasma darts poleaxing the aggressor. <br />
<br />
More bolts rain in again and he is still locked in, feet refusing to move and lord Thul is kicked over - feeling his knees protest when he keels over backwards - bending there and slamming armored head and shoulders into the deck. Conscious yet, but unconscious of his next shot skipping across the metal plating and into rail of the ship just shy of the fo'castle.<br />
<br />
<"Bollocks..."> hissed out more than spoken or groaned.<br />
<br />
Chaos in battle is like no other... shouts, clashes of weaponry, explosions, screams of the dying, triumphant voices of the victors, all stacked a top one another like some terrible orchestra all playing different parts of the same piece. Amid that, the low hum of lightsabers could be heard backing the entire selection. One of those backing instruments darted among the challengers as Rune waded through the oppression. It seems the rough waters of the sea were forgotten and his mind had latched onto the need for clarity in a situation of survival.<br />
<br />
No sooner had the pirates bolstered their numbers than the Padawan slew three, the vibrant blade slashing through one's midsection to carry through a second. Both topple to the floor as he's spinning to fell a third, a portion of the blade going dark for the briefest of moments as it passed through armor and flesh. All clatters to the deck and Rune is stepping back with saber raised, his eyes darting about for any that need assistance be it in defense or support.<br />
<br />
Things are exploding and it isn't the Vigilance. Through the expert captaining of Lord Ty Killesea, they are still full and fighting! Huzzahs are in order! Maybe later. If they're still not dead.<br />
<br />
No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than, through the chaos, Ulani's senses picks up something approaching fast. A stomping of heavy boots on wet decking turns her around just in time to see the barrel, a flash of red light, and a smirking sneer behind it. The power of the hit registers first, nailing her in the center of her armoured chest and throwing her backwards. Flailing, she ends up sliding on her butt a few inches backwards and connects with the railing. Again. Always this damnable railing.<br />
<br />
The burning sensation comes next, the taste of iron in her throat and her cloudy breaths in the rain wheezing. The foe that took her down lumbers up, bringing her gun to bear once more. Surely something snarky was about to escape the formidable woman's lips, but she is rendered forever speechless when Ulani instinctively returns fire and drops the pirate woman where she stands.<br />
<br />
Ulani stares at the body in front of her for longer than she should but doesn't freak out. Instead, she manages a pained "I'm hit." while trying to find something sturdy to grab onto. She's completely lost track of where everyone is.<br />
<br />
Nora's center of gravity raises up as the ship levels out, and her fingertips slick across the rainy deck as she lifts to her feet. He eyes turn towards the the Thuls when that first bolt strikes Bors' chest and sends him backwards. Those pale blue eyes turn to see Ulani struck as well. Though her feet had already begun to carry her in their direction, they move at a quicker pace to close the rest of the distance between them. When she arrives, she turns her backs to both Bors and Ulani as they collect themselves, a sword raised and pointed to any remaining pirates that might think it a good idea to follow up their attacks.<br />
<br />
Rain and blood create an effect that's near to watercolour on the steel of her sword darkened by those ominous clouds above. And yet it's Nora's eyes -- those cold, frosty things that somehow manage to pierce through the veil of grey all around -- that are the most ominous.<br />
<br />
"Come near them again and not even the sound of the sea will drown the sounds that I will tear from your lungs," she says.<br />
<br />
Amid that cacophony of tibana-charged heavy cannons, this melee becomes further entrenched madness. There's no front line, just a deep zone of conflict increasingly strewn with the bodies of the fallen and the smears of their fluids. Within this madness, Sorin has been pulled deep within a battle haze. No vocalizations beyond increasingly winded grunts as that sword of cerulean crystal - NOT METH YOU HEATHEN - swings, meets armor, meets flesh, cuts through, and then again. A body falls while another stumbles, and they are but still-shot moments within that rage of screams and yet more thunderous cannon discharges. His helmet compensates for those concussions by briefly cutting auditory sensors, and he fights in those moments in tinnitus-tinged silence.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender remains stoic in the swirling melee and slashing rain. As the latest wave of assailants descends upon them, Ban steps to meet them, a profound calm resonating through his voice as the broadsides erupt with righteous fury. Between steps and thrusts, counters and further slaughter, Ban recites with poetic measure, "Now loosed the fires of liberty, to burn down stolen might that noble blood endure to see the wicked put to flight. Now may thy ruin a beacon be, our guide unto Last Light."<br />
<br />
Stand. Turn. Pivot. Grab.<br />
<br />
In a brawl like this, with reinforcements coming in to meet the metaphorical blender of lightsabers at every turn, it was the far more prudent choice to just punch people in the head. One hit, down, clean efficient, move on to the next. But grappling was an act of style, and when you have the frame of a dunkball player and the width of an average outhouse, you use it to your advantage.<br />
<br />
Like the proverbial puny god, an armoured pirate was ripped from his standing position by a huge meatfist wrapped around his ankle. With a mighty roar, the blue-skinned Drifter pulled back and swung.<br />
<br />
/Non, je ne regrette rien/ metaphorically punctuated the slow-motion overhead swing of a pirate screaming his lungs out many feet above Corto unable to do anything to arrest his momentum. It was a terrifying and comical sight, almost unmissable. Time resumed with a horrible crumpling noise. The pirate's momentum abruptly ceased as he came into sudden, inexorable contact with a wounded comrade. Gravity took hold and the deckplates welcomed their shattered forms.<br />
<br />
Cannons from starboard and port sides of the Vigilance erupt in righteous, thunderous fury, releasing a wave from both sides of crimson contrails that strike enemy ships simultaneously. The Vigilance crests another wave, water cascading over her bow to shower the melee. Devastation is yielded from the attack as the ship upon the starboard side is hit thrice and explodes. The mushroom shape of the smoke is swallowed up by the mists as the concussion of the blast sweeps rain and seawater wide before the ruin of the vessel is taken to the abyss below.<br />
<br />
The port side ship fairs better, her Captain angling the ship just right to sustain a blow, but Lord Ty is entrenched in battle at the helm, having to, again, draw his pistol while holding the wheel and gun down two, the third killed by the First Mate who tackles them away from the young Lord. Unable to focus on battle and piloting, the Vigilance has fallen into the sights of their foe. They fire, and Ty throws the wheel, cresting another wave /just/ in time for the cannonade to impact the sea instead of the Vigilance hull.<br />
<br />
The Vigilance groans and creaks as Ty brings it over the wave and walks the wheel down, fighting physics but aligning another shot against their foe. "Master Yates!" Ty calls out to his First Mate, who returns to his post, answering, "Yes sir?!"<br />
<br />
"Fire! SEND THEM TO THE ABYSS!"<br />
<br />
"Aye sir.. PORT CANNONS.. FIRE!"<br />
<br />
The command is echoed through the ship as the two vessels enter into a deadly dance, circling death. The Vigilance fires first, and all three decks tear into the enemy vessel, splitting her hull and triggering an explosion that lights up the sky.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty throws the wheel back on heading, setting them on course for Last Light. "THE FLEET MET TERROR, AND OUR FOE AWAIT IN WHAT ONCE WAS HOME. SO SHALL IT BE AGAIN WHEN THIS FILTH IS WASHED AWAY BY THE SEA!" Yells Lord Ty Killesa, defiant and filled with vigor. "THEY CLAIMED THE SEA, BUT THE CURRENT BETRAYS THEM, BECAUSE THE SEA BELONGS TO KILLESA! FOR ALDERAAN!"<br />
<br />
Up ahead, Last Light looms, its towering battlements a tall shadow in the storm, yet.. its fire, burning eternal, can be seen with no issue. One spark of courage ignites the fire of hope.<br />
<br />
Lord Ty, thankful for the rain, cries, his gloved hands gripping the wheel. "Hold on, dad.. I will be there soon."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:Jedi_Order:_Devils_in_the_Details&diff=17861Log:Jedi Order: Devils in the Details2022-04-01T04:07:07Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Jedi negotiate with local government officials on Devaron to release Jedi relics back to the Order. |..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Jedi negotiate with local government officials on Devaron to release Jedi relics back to the Order.<br />
| Location=[[Devaron]]<br />
| Participants=[[Jedi Order]], [[Yuun]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Finn]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=March 31, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The formal inquiry sent by Ban to the Devaronian government had been answered: the government had agreed to meet with an embassy of the Jedi, so long as the Republic's edicts were upheld: no exiles, no religious ceremonies to take place during their stay, and the visit was not to last longer than one local month. That last being a formality, as Devaronians consider a full moon's turn to establish residence.<br />
<br />
The vessel carrying the Jedi was greeted with all formality upon arrival, and given an honor guard of two X-wings to accompany them to a landing pad at a tall tower in the planetary capital of Montellian Serat. A female voice over comms welcomed them to the Bank of Devaron as the ship powered down.<br />
<br />
With welcomes already issued, Aryn reports to the back ramp and adjusts her cape, having to lean slightly on the Analysis droid she always brought along to help with administration and legal proceedings; it had been a gift from Lord Jensa, her legal advisor back on New Alderaan.<br />
<br />
"Provided we are all ready, I will lower the ramp.." Aryn says, her posh accent a touch tense given the gravity of the mission they were on. The relics they intended to retrieve were priceless, and belonged in a place where its people could appreciate their true worth, and protect them.<br />
<br />
As the ship steers in for a landing, Nora Frayus' eyes are turned out one of the viewports oriented towards where the former Jedi temple on Devaron can be seen standing atop the clearing in the dense jungles surrounding it. It looks rather peaceful from up here. And so small. Those trees that stretch up above her head and seem like they could touch the sky are put into perspective when one is truly in the sky. There's a ghost of her own reflection in that tempered, space-faring glass. When that voice chimes and welcomes them to the bank of Devaron, her eyes focus on that reflection, bringing what was out of focus into focus, and what was in focus out.<br />
<br />
"Never in my life would I have thought myself a frequenter of this planet. Still, it is not without its charms, hmmmh? I confess at times to missing it. Particularly those rainy days within the temple," she says, and laughs. "Listen to me, so sentimental," she says.<br />
<br />
She steps towards the still-closed ramp with her left hand on the grip of her sword and her right hand resting delicately on her hip.<br />
<br />
"I am ready, Your Grace," she says, and looks towards the others within the ship. Her head tips and she offers them both a smile. "Shall we, then?" she asks.<br />
<br />
The ramp is lowered and, unsurprisingly, it's Lady Frayus taking the first strides down the ramp and into the sunshine that makes it through the clouds and onto the streets of Montellian Serat.<br />
<br />
"It's not a terrible place. Maybe a little bit extra on the weirdly lit skies, but I think we're doing fine. But maybe the rain will be twice as relaxing?" Finn tries to comfort Nora in her remembrance. Finn exits the shuttle towards the rear. He didn't know what to expect. <br />
<br />
Diplomacy and hostility are interchangeable. <br />
<br />
"Best behaviors, everyone."<br />
<br />
Yuun sat quietly during the trip, he isn't good with diplomacy but he volunteered for this mission as like many he's spent a lot of time here on Devaron and he saw it as another home. Still now with their situation, he just wanted to make sure those who came for this meeting were safe and for him to learn more of the arts of diplomacy.<br />
<br />
Standing up from his seat, he bows his head to Aryn, "I'm Ready Knight Cortess." he says using Aryn's Jedi title. He looks to each person here and he smiles, he's in good company, "Always." he chuckles.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender inclines his head to the inquiry. "Quite so," he voices evenly in regard to preparation. Head high, shoulders squared and emerald green half cape arranged dashingly over one shoulder, the gentleman steps out with the others into the Devaronian sunset.<br />
<br />
The New Republic Bank of Devaron is a relatively tall, new transparisteel building among the lower structures of the old city, with an impressive view of the eldritch jungles and Blue Mountains surrounding the metropolis. The two towers of the Eedit Jedi Temple are visible on the horizon, from the landing pad. Even in the evening hours, with fasting light in the sky, the air is warm and windy, whipping at ropes and cloaks The band are greeted by a protocol droid and ushered inside to a sizable meeting room. The temperature control inside is warmer than most humans might find comfortable, but it smells sharply of pleasant native spices.<br />
<br />
The most prominent feature of the room is a long table, finely carved of exotic wood. Together with old style hangings and sculptures along the transparisteel walls, they are traditional, rustic touches in an otherwise extremely modern setting.<br />
<br />
Those Jedi with roots in the Resistance might recognize the Devaronian woman who rises from her chair to greet them as a longtime engineer aboard the rebel fleet in recent years. Tall and slim, at a hand's breadth over six feet, with long, dark brown hair and orange fur so short and fine it looks like skin at a distance, she bares sharp teeth in a smile. Her husky voice manages to put more nuanced inflection into each word than most Humans are used to hearing as she greets, "Welcome back to Devaron, one and all, for as long as you remain: drink and be welcome. I am administrator Erika Joduson, and I'm told you wish to discuss a matter of the Eedit Temple?" The Devaronian's fangs add a slight hiss to certain words.<br />
<br />
As they come to the room, Aryn gestures lazily to the droid that waddles behind her to find a place nearby. It's not a dismissive gesture, just one born of perpetually showing up for legal discussions. They're greeted, and though it might have been customary to bow, Aryn just dips her head slightly, "Good day, Administrator. This is a long way from the Resistance," She adds on the last with a slight smile. "We are, Administrator. You have the pleasure of meeting Jedi Knight Yuun, General Finn, Lord Ban Iskender, and Lady Nora Frayus. Our goal is to achieve friendly negotiations for the release of the artifacts found within the Eedit Temple. May we sit?" She gestures to the table and chairs.<br />
<br />
Outside of the ship, Lady Frayus waits to be joined by the rest of the party and moves alongside them to where they are to meet their contact. Diplomacy is a thing of subtlety, and thankfully, Lady Frayus is more than well equipped for the task. When she's introduced to Erika Joduson, Nora gives a slight bow of her head -- somewhere that splits the difference between formal and casual. "It is a pleasure, Ms. Joduson. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us," she says. When the seats at the table are gestured to, Nora takes it upon herself to pull her own chair out enough to sit. Before she does, she lifts the leather strap of her sheath from her delicate, cream white shoulders. That sword is set aside, and she pins the skirt of her dress to the back of her thighs as she sits. Her right leg crosses over her left, and her fingertips come to rest in her lap, watching the others settle down upon their seats as negotiations begin!<br />
<br />
Finn was out of place. He wasn't so good with his words that he could be too useful. The formal etiquette was somewhat lost on him. He was a soldier, not nobility. Now he's a Jedi - one in training - but a Jedi all the same. It's all part of he training. <br />
<br />
He looks at Erika Joduson and finds a hint of recognition there. General Finn is a good ring to it and he stands a little taller as he's introduced, a slight bow of his head given in greeting. <br />
<br />
“Hey." Finn takes his seat, hands in his lap.<br />
<br />
Yuun follows along with the others and as he does he's quiet yet again. As they make their way to their destination, Yuun takes this time to look around at the city and once they meet their Host, he doesn't know her, he's not met her before but the name does ring a bell. He's heard of her, when his name is called as he's introduced he steps forward and bows his head, "Hello and thank you for sharing some of your time with us." he says and then he steps back with the others. Once at the table and permission is given, Yuun takes a seat next to Nora .<br />
<br />
Joduson makes eye contact with each guest as they are introduced, but only after quipping with a brief smile to Aryn, "A long way, indeed. Fortunate for me the war ended as it did, else I'd not have a job." That dry jest delivered, she nods once to the question of sitting. "Please. Ask what drinks you wish, the service has been calibrated for offworlders." Devaronians have multiple livers, and their alcohol tends to promptly flatten other species. Erika adds to Nora, rich with inflection in her usual manner, "The pleasure is all mine, Lady." As to the artifacts, "I have been empowered to negotiate with you on behalf of the planetary bank, who holds the former assets of your Order on this world in trust for my people. I'll say that we have no intention of violating the New Republic decree. With that said.. where does your Order wish to begin negotiations?"<br />
<br />
Aryn accepts the offer of beverage by saying in the most posh manner, "Oh, wonderful, I am just famished.." And sees to the droid that's been programmed to provide them refreshment. She selects a particular label of wine and waits patiently for it to be served. Meanwhile, the negotiations have begun behind her. A slow sip from the glass and Aryn looks toward a window in contemplation before finally nodding. She turns, orients toward a seat and takes it, assuming a casual position with one leg crossing her other so her booted foot bounces idly. She keeps the wine glass in one hand and off to her side, turning her scarred gaze toward those who speak up to answer the Administrator's question.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus turns towards Erika Joduson the second time that she offers drinks. Whether or not that insistence is one born out of some sort of unknown cultural etiquette is irrelevant -- Nora decides in the moment that two insistences is enough. "Wine sounds lovely. An excellent idea, Your Grace," she says towards Aryn, smiling as she tips her hips back and forth, shimmying her bottom of that seat from side to side. When it comes time to proceed with negotiations, Nora's fingertips briefly pinch a bit of that silky white fabric of her dress between her thumb and forefinger. It's a small, nervous tick that Nora doesn't often have. Regardless, her face betrays nothing. There's just that polite and pleasant smile -- practiced, like everything, through repetition.<br />
<br />
"Ms. Joduson, I'd like to begin simply by extending our sincerest gratitude for you and those you are negotiating on behalf of. We know that great care and respect has been given to them. I suppose that I -personally- am most interested in discussing the temple, though I suppose my concern extends beyond that to our assets as a whole," she says. When the wine is delivered, she smiles and gives a thankful nod of appreciation. She raises it to her lips and takes a sip before turning back towards those that have joined her.<br />
<br />
"And what of you three?" to Ban, Yuun, and Finn.<br />
<br />
"Wine sounds delicious, thank you." Finn waits for a beverage to arrive to him as he samples the drink with the smallest of sips. "To honor my esteemed colleagues wishes-" Finn gestures to Nora. "Let's talk of the Temple and its condition. While, despite public opinions, we are a peaceable Order who will try not to bring you trouble." <br />
<br />
"So, what is your preferences, your worries and concerns for us returning and taking up residence in the Temple? No doubt you have your own opinions. Let us begin with the temple itself and your wishes as representative."<br />
<br />
Sitting there, Yuun thinks what he could bring to this meeting, quiet and deliberating, he's never been one to drink alcohol so he passes, "I would take water please." he says as he looks to Ms. Joduson. He says and as he sits back in his seat, his eyes scanning the area as he listens. Upon hearing Nora then Finn's preferences on where to start, that would be the right recourse.<br />
<br />
Yuun does remember their most recent mission and he contemplates, gathering his thoughts for the time being. He brings his right hand up and rubs his chin lightly as he sits there.<br />
<br />
Joduson answers Nora with a wry curl to her lips and a raised eyebrow. "The Temple," she echoes. "It will remain here, and by Republic decree, your Order cannot reside in it. Even were it possible to be shipped off world brick by brick, we could not allow it; the temple is a historic site, and it belongs to my people. Presently, among the possibilities it to make it a museum." In turn, Finn is met with her hazel brown eyes. "Computer, play back the most recent Republic edict on Jedi, subsection two."<br />
<br />
From the center of the old fashioned, finely carved table, a projector emerges, displaying in detail a portion of the verdict against Rey and the Jedi: "The Jedi Order, is here-by banned from conducting any training, or hold any official residence as a religious home for Force sensitive individuals within Republic space. Its current members, however, are not banned from Republic space. Its current temples, and places of worship, are to be closed immediately, and its holdings are to be seized by Republic banks. Like with the old Republic, the Jedi Order is an outdated practice, and has been declared to be against the future benefits of the New Republic."<br />
<br />
Joduson grimaces slightly. "Harsh phrasing, but clear, General: your Order cannot occupy the temple, nor reside there. It is no longer yours. My greatest concerns are these: that the Republic will think we flaunt its laws and leave our world unprotected, and that my people will be swindled of their heritage. That temple has been a relic of my people far longer than it has belonged to your honorable Order, lords and ladies." She does seem subtly more at ease when the guests drink, even if it's only water.<br />
<br />
Ban draws a slow breath, after having observed the exga get to this point in dignified silence. "The Temple is of Devaron, as it has long been, administrator. I ask you: what of the movable relics within; the artifacts and library which we all searched out transported to your world. By law, they belong now to this bank. I would ask if there exists the chance to compromise on those items. Surely my compatriots would be willing to see to it that your people are not robbed, though and suspect it is not purely a measure of credits in your estimation?"<br />
<br />
Joduson eyes Ban critically, drinking. "Perhaps. Though an empty museum is.. much less impressive."<br />
<br />
"I would like to begin with the laws of eminent domain, Administrator. Whilst the charges for Rey supersede compensation for her, they would not the rest of the Order. We were charged of nothing, and may fall beneath the clause that appropriations be made to compensate our group. To that tune, I propose an exchange of the aforementioned artifacts to settle the debt, as to the spirit of the law." Aryn comments after a brief word with the droid that waddled up behind her and warbled a gentle message. Aryn sips her wine after her delivery and settles back in her seat, relaxed.<br />
<br />
Joduson's raised brow and curled lips don't startle Nora. She's familiar with nuances of negotiation -- feigned indignance and surprise. It's all a game, really. The young woman tips her head to the side and laughs softly in assurance that the Jedi do not mean to remove the temple brick-by-brick. "My concern for the Temple is entirely personal, Ms. Joduson. My companions can attest to the fact that I quite... miss it. The views from atop its tall tower. The smell of the jungle lifted up upon the rain. There were those flowers -- I'm sure you know them -- the blue ones that could grow between the cracks in the walls. I was so fond of them," she says, and smiles. Then, Lady Frayus gives a soft sigh. "But the New Republic's decree was remarkably, mmhh, specific. We would not compromise your world's standing, either," she says. She huffs softly into her glass and takes a sip, nodding along with Ban and the others as the discussion moves away from the temple and towards discussion of the relics themselves. It's Fae's turn to lift a brow and quirk a wry smile at the mention of an empty museum, but she refrains from speaking further on that particular point.<br />
<br />
For now.<br />
<br />
She turns to look towards Aryn and nods along in agreement, though she does turn back towards the Devaronian woman with a slight cant of her head and a smile.<br />
<br />
"The temple itself is a triumph of architecture. It is breathtaking. Relic or no relic, it could certainly make a lovely historical site. Or, perhaps, a shelter. A home. As it was for us. I believe that would delight me so."<br />
<br />
<br />
Yuun watches from his seat, first to their host Joduson as she speaks to them, her tone and mannerisms. He then looks to Aryn, he's seen her work in many diplomatic situations before, he sighs inwardly alittle, some have strengths and weaknesses in things. For him this is one of them, but it doesn't stop him from watching and learning. He looks to Nora next as she spoke, taking in her words, he watches her as he did their host and Aryn, hell even Finn is watched. He can do this, maybe anyways.<br />
<br />
As he thinks about trying, he's scolded through memory. 'Do or Do Not! There is no Try!' a smile shows on his lips as he remembers the small green alien, the very wise Jedi Grandmaster Yoda. Taking his time to continue to his thought process for now.<br />
<br />
The Devaronian begins to draw a breath when Aryn mentions eminent domain, but the Princess' next observation gives her a moment's pause as she considers. A spoken command aloud, "Legal: verify," and she drinks again. "I know all too well how fickle law can be, honorable guests.. Had the war gone differently I would be on the far side of a harsh verdict. But I wonder, in a purely off the record question: did you *know* that he was Kylo Ren? I can't understand sheltering that man." A cleared throat, as she amends, "My apologies, that question is unrelated to the present legal matter. You need not answer it." A look to Nora, next. "Modry blossoms, yes. They grow up the trees and the blood hawks weave nests with their vines. The Temple towers somehow feel older than the rest of the world, though they are millennia younger." She considers when Norah speaks of a historical site without relics. "Would your Order consider duplicates?" She glances to the men present to include them- a habit from her years off world, but for Devaronians it can be automatic to look to the women for major decisions.<br />
<br />
"I would delight discussing the matter privately, Administrator, but not during negotiations. I mean that respectfully, of course. I would also like to mention that there has been some contention about holding artifacts tied to the Jedi or Sith Orders. I am sure you are aware of the galactic bounty that exists for such things, my concern is that without the Jedi Knights protecting these relics, bounty hunters may come to deface the historical site and steal these things for profit."<br />
<br />
Aryn continues, "Or worse, enemies of the state learn of these things and seek to launch a campaign to retrieve them. Recall you the siege of Naboo when rumor of the Queen had aided the Jedi Order and the Resistance, and the First Order attacked regardless of the presence of Republic war ships in orbit. I do not intend a slippery slope by saying if this happens, this could follow, but there are substantial security risks which were mitigated when the Order maintained control of these relics. I dare say even duplicates could place unnecessary risks upon the bank, and those who maintain these historic facilities. I hope you understand my concerns.."<br />
<br />
"Modry blossoms... hmmh. I confess to not particularly caring for flowers, but something about the color of them mixed with the rainy skies... we do not quite have anything so vibrant against the gray on Devaron," Nora says. But then she waves a hand dismissively. They are not here to have her prattle on about flowers, after all. She takes another sip of her wine while Aryn speaks. The princess is adept at playing hardball. At debate and logic, wielding them as deftly as she wields a surgical scalpel. And just as subtle.<br />
<br />
Nora swallows and sets down her glass of wine, folding her hands into her lap and turning to look at Aryn, now. Ever on the same team.<br />
<br />
"Though she does have a point. A museum is not much of a museum if it is barren. Perhaps some risk could be mitigated if it was public knowledge that the museum held fabrications? Could we not work with the curators to craft artifacts that -looked- the part but were known to be... mmmh... prints?" she suggests. "It is not uncommon for works of art to be duplicated. A painting is still a painting, after all. And in some cases, a restored work of art can be closer to the artist's original intent."<br />
<br />
Nora turns to look back at the Devaronian again. This talk of Ben Solo and Kylo Ren... well. Aryn assured her that they could speak in private. Nora presses no further.<br />
<br />
"We do understand your concerns, but as your temple is Devaronian, those relics are -Jedi-, yes?"<br />
<br />
Yuun is a bit lost in thought, he continues to listen to the conversation and as Joduson speaks to them and go off tangent about Ben, he shakes his head and he goes to take his glass for water and he knocks it over. "Kriff....sorry, sorry." he says as he quickly picks up his glass and he grabs a napkin and starts to clean up the water. He shakes his head annoyed at himself.<br />
<br />
A discreet audible chime from the table near the Devaronian's seat, and a panel in the wooden surface illuminates to rapidly scroll the results of Erika's legal inquiry. She looks up a moment later, answering Aryn: "I'm not ignorant of the dangers.. which is why we must avoid angering the Republic, all the moreso. But your point is well made and your concerns understood. At the very least.. if all members of your Order are willing to formally waive any future claims of compensation- legal formalities, you understand- then Lady Norah's suggestion would be agreeable: work with our historians to produce holographic duplicates, while obeying the Republic ban on ceremonies- no offense meant, Lord Ban -" she adds in a cheeky moment, answered with a droll, "None taken, madam." Joduson looks back to the others, "And once duplicates are in place I think the interests of my people, my employers, and your Order will be satisfied in permitting the withdrawal of the books and relics the Jedi brought here." There's a moment after which Yuun spills his water over the table in which the former Resistance engineer just exhales slowly. She puts on a smile. "Don't worry, we wouldn't serve drinks on it if a spot of water would ruin things." *Men*, amirite ladies?<br />
<br />
"I believe these terms are agreeable. We have a historian who may prove useful to work with, he is a Guardian of the Whills, and can provide valuable insight on the holo-representations of the relics the Bank would possess so your people might pass down the histories of their use." Aryn sips her wine again, then holds her glass out to the side. "Provided we get all the relics, to which we can supply the bank with an inventory list, I see no issue in waiving monetary compensatory methodologies to fulfill the spirit of the law."<br />
<br />
Nora looks towards Yuun when he knocks over his glass and gives the man an encouraging little smile. Everybody knocks over glasses sometimes! That's what that smile says. Not with words, really, but with -expression-. She turns now to look towards the Devaronian and then to Aryn. It is as if lady Nora herself is simply here to ignore all these -details- and come to an arrangement that everyone is pleased with. That is, of course, a calculated projection. A position she's found herself in that feels natural, but one that does appear, at least for now, to be working.<br />
<br />
"Oh, how wonderful! It brings me such joy to see the legacy of the Jedi's time at your Temple living on. Its histories taught, but moreover, the -building- preserved. And it is such a lovely structure," she says.<br />
<br />
"Shall we make a toast, then? To legacies and friendships preserved? And, if you might indulge me, the Modry Blossom. I do so love that flower," she says, and lifts what remains of her wine up and into the air, towards those gathered around the table.<br />
<br />
Yuun spilled his drink. Could've been worse, could've lit the table on fire. Finn rests, the spill cleaned with no chance of stain. It's just water, really. Finn doesn't hide approval from the wise administrator for being so casual about the spill and just as forgiving. They are here in peaceable assembly, it wouldn't do at all to lose temper or face at something so small. <br />
<br />
Finn gives Yuun a friendly, supportive touch on the shoulder should the Knight not deny such support. To the congregation of those assembled, Finn smiles. "Let us drink to our agreements, to this season of cooperation and success for both sides of this negotiation. We will work with the historians and curators and they shall with us. The Jedi will find friends in you and you is. The law appears satisfied and let's all be merry for it." <br />
<br />
"To agreements old and new."<br />
<br />
Having quickly cleaned the water up, there is a little water left in his glass. He sees the look from Nora and he offers a nervous grin back to her and a nod to Finn. He's a little embarrased, he was too into his head when he didn't need to be. He sits back down and he toasts as well, there is still water in the glass. "Cheers." he says and he looks back to the Devaronian and offers a bow of his head to her, showing he's embarrassed but still in good spirits.<br />
<br />
Joduson nods to Aryn, "Once a holographic duplicate is produced, the original will be released to your Order." The Devaronian lifts her own glass at the offered toast. "I'll drink to that." After doing so, and before the Jedi go on their way, she adds to Finn, on the subject of merriment and flowers: "Oh, and General? Give Rose my best."</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:New_Alderaan:_The_Red_Summit&diff=17791Log:New Alderaan: The Red Summit2022-03-23T03:38:57Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Lana's Big Betrayal | Location=Grand Bay, Delaya | Participants=New Alderaan, [[Ban Iskender]..."</p>
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Lana's Big Betrayal<br />
| Location=[[Grand Bay, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[New Alderaan]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Merek]], [[Sorin Endesea]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Orren Rist]], [[Ariel Teral]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Lumira Cortess]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=March 22, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
The Peace Summit has lasted more than a week now, and in all the politics and debates, neither side had come to a compromise to find peace. The talks have been taxing, but the food has been wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Tonight's dinner had been the best so far, drawing inspiration from the sea, the group was led to an estate far from the Leilani capital where they could see the Grand Bay, and in the distance, Last Light, the seat of House Killesa. Last Light sat on the ocean, like a looming shadow in the mists with only one feature that made it stand out, especially during an evening such as this; it ever-lit torch, lit at the top of the tallest tower and burning eternally to mark the way in for all sailors navigating the misty seas.<br />
<br />
Views and good food aside, the festivities for the evening have drawn to a close. Entourages from both 'sides' have gone their separate ways, navigating the 'Mirror Gardens' cleverly named for the matching hedge maze grown as a college experiment and art study. The hedges stood roughly 10ft tall, and were arranged in a clever maze pattern separating the group from their quarters for the evening.<br />
<br />
It was to be the first time they navigated the maze, but it poetically symbolized navigating the obstacles toward peace, and was written into the itinerary for the final event this night.<br />
<br />
A protective detail escorted the nobles forward, bearing banners for each lesser House which served for the Summit as a means to endorse the pursuit of peace between all the Great Houses. These Knights were Delayan born, quiet and somber, and dressed in full decorative plate wearing green capes and bearing swords and other armaments.<br />
<br />
Princess Aryn Cortess takes up the center of the group, quietly walking with her hands clasped at the small of her back, beneath the confirnes of her cape. "I feel a chill in the evening air. I do hope this maze is not long. I long for a warm, crackling fire to warm my bones for the evening. Such would be a comfort of my mind and the spirit, I think."<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender is also dressed in ornate, burnished armor, with a green half cape bound over one shoulder by a length of gold cord. If not for the subtly different style of his armor and ornament, the noble Jedi might be mistaken for one of the Delayan knights. His green eyes had lingered a long moment on the distant tower of Last Light and prior promises, before he'd looked back toward the land and hedge ahead at Aryn's comment. "Such sounds fair indeed, Highness," he comments evenly, moving with steady, measured steps to proceed toward the evening's end.<br />
<br />
It's not often that one finds Merek at these things, that said he is a noble, and it's time for him to get back into politics. Listening has been interesting, though he seems to be content to walk along with the escort and takes his time to check his computer. He wears armor that is white-black, and he keeps an F-11D along his shoulder with the strap. He watches from the faceplate of the helmet, and takes a drink from the flask with him. There's nothing like a little bit of whiskey for the tired man which needs to keep his mind upon things. "I've never understood the noble fascination with these things."<br />
<br />
A late arrival, missing the majority of the negotiations, Sorin is newly present and represents Endesea and those pledged to its colors, past, and future as he walks among those present. A handful of paces behind the Princess, the Lordling Knight - for he is, in his own mind, the latter before the former - easily fits within Aryn's retinue. The duralloy plate of his powered armor has never looked cleaner, polished to the point of battlefield impracticality. The green and blue of Endesea shines, trim that seems to welcome what light remains this evening. That familiar crystalline sword hangs at his side. "They're seldom used like this, I think," Sorin adds to Aryn's observation. "But the intent is clear enough, and if reflection helps bring peace, I'll walk it alongside each of you."<br />
<br />
The talks have been taxing. The food exquisite, the outfits exotic, and the -intrigue- abundant. Despite their heir-apparent's clear fondness for Aryn Cortess, House Frayus itself has straddled the line of these particular peace talks. With one foot in support for House Panteer, and the other in support of Cortess, Corwen himself had made many claims to be well and truly a supporter of -Alderaan- throughout. And yet, while Aryn has Nora's ear, it would seem to many observers that Lana herself had Corwen's. Would the total amount of time been tallied between the two, House Frayus' Count would have been seen with Lana a considerable amount more.<br />
<br />
And, were a scholar to analyze the language, siding with her too. Diplomatically, of course. But there were always commitments in Count Corwen's ambiguity.<br />
<br />
Tonight, however, Nora is alone. At least, she is alone in her representation of House Frayus. Aryn's mention of the chill upon the air sees the young woman lift her chin and turn towards a hedge wall that was nearest to the sea. Her nose wrinkles a moment at the mention of a fire, and her upper lip curls over her top row of teeth in a way that typically warns of a sing-songed little jab at the Princess' expense. It never quite makes it, however, as one of their party members comments on the hedge maze.<br />
<br />
"Ah, it is our obsession with absolute frivolity. The maze is a metaphor, you see. A metaphor and an exercise, though I have not yet figured the 'of what' out of either part," Nora says. She giggles a bit at her own assessment of the maze, her left hand dropping playfully to her left hip where an ornate, durasteel rapier casts a bit of light off its reflective surface.<br />
<br />
"It is wretched, no matter the answer. I detest mazes. And puzzles. And riddles," she muses, probably rattling off a few more things she hates as she moves, high heels tapping in perfect rhythm with her steps.<br />
<br />
Orren Rist has been quiet for most of the night, not atypical for the laconic Rist Lord who has openly declared his allegiance to the Cortess in contrast to the rest of his House. He's dressed as formally as one *can* dress while wearing Specialist armor, an ornamental overcoat in green and black covering the durasteel plates when his arms are at his sides, separating to reveal it when he reaches for something or moves quickly. He'd eaten dinner at Lumira Cortess' side, his presence there intended more as a statement more than a reason for him to be an active participant. He had a single glass of wine, and when he ate it was only sparingly, and only after seeing others eat. In short, he's been kind of a paranoid stick in the mud the entire evening. Who invited him anyway?<br />
<br />
He lingers in the back of the group of nobles, remaining out of the conversation entirely, allowing others to navigate the maze without his brooding guidance.<br />
<br />
Ariel had been talked into wearing her armor by Herol and Hiroku. Because her bodyguards were over protective at this point and given they were in the home stretch of things they didn't want to let their guards down and end up with a dead Senator. That would look bad on a resume really. So the woman is in her armor and walking in between the two men who she's entrusted her well being to. "If you'd worn your gown you'd have caught a chill for sure, my Lady Senator." Herol tells her quietly. She just gives a shake of her head at her guards and continues to walk with them quietly.<br />
<br />
"I'm surprised you get time to shower with how long it must take to shell you out of that and then tuck you back in." Countess Uypiia has Bors to her left while her husband Vanko is on her right - the Champion of Thul and the brother to her walking with the sixty year old armor encasing him, save for the helmet clipped to his belt behind where his sword is hangared and below the heavy carbine slung while he is on official guard detail.<br />
<br />
"It's easy when you know what you're doing."<br />
"So you must take hours." Kohl lined eyes and a dress intended for making her statement, a fan of blade like petals formed in a half corona behind her, alternating gold and silver before a halo of sheer red cloth casts a crimson reflection on her cheeks and dark hair. Truly, the siblings are distinctly different in appearance. He the taller by bare inches, she dark and he fair. She armored for court and he for battle. But they match perfectly to their clan.<br />
<br />
A sweep of silvered blacks, midnight blue and ruby gems, cloaks and capes, dark suits, bright accents and a closeness that feels secretive despite their boisterous manner. Sidewise glances, half grins and murmurs to one another not helping the association of House Thul for 'snakes in the reeds' despite their allegiance to the Princess.<br />
<br />
"Kuhlai helps me."<br />
"Cheating."<br />
"Ulani helps me?"<br />
"Scandalous."<br />
"L7 helps me?"<br />
"It takes all kinds."<br />
"You're a brat."<br />
"Yes, I am. That's why Vanko loves me." a ripple of chuckles running through the Thuls at that.<br />
<br />
Since the first night, Ulani has been on edge, eyes often looking around and shoulders tense. She's had little to say and has remained close to the Thul clan. A heavy cloak over her shoulders does well enough to keep out the chill which she hugs closer to herself as they stand in front of the maze's entrance. It's almost over. Or so she is telling herself. Just a little longer and they can return home; to security. This planet... does not feel secure at all.<br />
<br />
The Thul siblings bickering nearby, though? That brings a measure of security. If they're quipping away, then things are okay. But still... Ulani does pass one more look over her shoulder into relative darkness and unfamiliar territory. She will be glad to leave when this is all done.<br />
<br />
Lumira Cortess is here as well. Despite a bit of friction with the senior Rist Lord on their first night in Delaya -- which resulted in a nigh hysterical holo-call to Orren that allowed her to systematically list every creepy thing about his family -- she has attended each public function with confident posture and a *delightful* persona. She is a social butterfly and it shows, the noble lady working her way around the functions and summits to inspire smiles and laughter between friends and foes alike. That is her intention here -- to remind those who have forgotten what peace and kinship looks like. With mixed results, of course.<br />
<br />
Tonight, Lumira is swanning around in a brilliant white gown that has been painted with some sort of bioluminescent paint that makes the entire thing glow with a soft light. She strolls with the rest of the party, enjoying the mirror garden -- and her fetching reflection within it -- with a cheerfulness that is only a bit forced. In truth, she has been ill at ease since she received the threat of being made a widow, which no doubt inspires her ever to loom with delicate insistence by Orren as they walk.<br />
<br />
"A fire would be nice," Lumira muses to Aryn, her hands neatly clasped behind her back as she saunters along. "No doubt the great hall will be a welcome respite after this stroll. Even if the current banners give me monstrous indigestion." She turns a glance over her shoulder, playfully fluttering her lashes at Nora and Aryn before reaching over to amicably *poke* Orren with her elbow. This is her preferred means of reminding him to smile at her pithy wit.<br />
<br />
"A noble sentiment, Ser Sorin. Peace is worth it, in the end." What's left unsaid is what honor truly demanded: Justice. The only Great House missing the festivities at all was the victim and the entire reason for the war. House Teraan's sole heir remained in the safety of Countess Belleau-a-Reyn's charge, and far from the snakes who led Delaya with chains.<br />
<br />
"It is hardly a riddle, Lady Nora. Though it would not surprise me if your Lord Father was behind this. It seems he enjoys stepping aside to cause you discomfort. Such is the task of fathers." Aryn laughs, but not at Nora's expense. Her thoughts linger on her own father for the moment. Ban's agreement by calling her earlier idea fair earns the Green Knight a crooked grin.<br />
<br />
The group goes into the path now, and their escort stops at the entrance, leaving them to sort out which way to go. "Hmph, fitting," Ser Lars intones under his breath. "Leave the hard part to the rest of us. I say we cut our way through.. nothing like forcing peace and cutting to the chase, I say." Which earns a few laughs as it's obviously said in jest. The tall Knight takes the lead, being the 'First Sword' in metaphoric and literal sense.<br />
<br />
Ten minutes in, the maze proves more complex than it originally seemed. Ser Lars is a little annoyed by the inconvenience, and a few of the others in attendance start to air their discomforts as well. That's when the braziers and lanterns around the maze park cut out, and there's a silence that falls over the crowd.<br />
<br />
In the distance, they can hear screams of terror from the 'other side' of the mirror maze and it seems clear what this has transformed into. Lana had painted targets on those who did not public support her, and now they were paying the price. The same fate arrived for this group too, when two bolts sprang out of nothing in an instant, whistling until they hit two people near the front right in the chest.<br />
<br />
The sudden kills prompted Lars to draw steel in a defiant rasp of metal, then screamed, "TO ARMS.. AMBUSCADE!"<br />
<br />
Whispering forms etch out of the darkness like ghastly wraiths of death, Rist assassins! Too many to count and moving with quick purpose to silence the party. Ser Lars defends a trio of young Ladies, engaging two assassins using his sword, then a dirk from his back, which he pulled after locking blades with one to stab them in the eye in a cheap, yet effective, technique he would no longer be able to repeat.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns in place, not immediately concerned with the Rist but by another presence that was nearby. "..Lana.. she is near," Aryn says, brushing her cape to one side. "See our group from this maze of horrors.. if Lana intends our death, she will have to earn it by the cut of her sword. I will seek her out..--LANA!" One moment, Aryn is there, then the next, she's vanished with only the rustle of a cape to announce her departure.<br />
<br />
In the dark, and in chaos, the Rists are joined by loyalists wearing the darkened sea-themed sigil of Killesa, who also draw steel and blasters, eager to kill any and all.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender comments with sharp solemnity to Sorin's words, "Alas, sir, that such an exercise cannot be more than metaphor." He has been dreadfully serious and consistent throughout the fruitless show of negotiations. Even his choice of wearing armor rather than his dress uniform was a deliberate reflection of House Iskender's publicly stated position. When the all-too-familiar flush of foreboding rises in his senses and Ban's gauntleted hand is moved to his sword hilt, the gentleman sniffs with disdain, "The Pretender is utterly shameless." His sword hilt is drawn clear of the empty scabbard, and ignites with an emerald screech. Any answer he might offer to the Cortess Princess stepping through shadows to hazard all in a duel with her own Usurper must wait until later.. if it goes well. Unable to follow her, even if he wished to, Ban calls aloud in a commander's voice, "Warriors to the fore, all others to the center!" The captain of dragoon's struggles to spot the oncoming Rist, but he has clashed with their ilk before; he replies on his sense of their malice and their pursuit of the easy kills. Once, twice, and thrice an assassin seeks to take him from the side, or to strike at one behind him, and each time a dead body lands on the garden grass.<br />
<br />
Orren did, in fact, smile when Lumira poked him with her elbow, the look he gives her is fond but distracted, his own arm lifting to gently nudge her back. The distant screams, however, seems to be what Orren has been waiting for this whole night. The suddenness of the bolts causes Orren's arms to lift, shrugging his cloak off lest he be taken for one of the assailants in the melee. He's by far the most familiar with the Rist tactics, having trained to be one of their infamous assassins in his youth, and it leaves him ready to react with a quickness. He lifts something from beneath his cloak, a soft *snkt* audible as it extends into a battle staff, Orren stepping up between Lumira and the onslaught to swing out at the closest of the assassins, "Lumi, get down now." barked out. It might well be the longest sentence he's said all night. And with a sudden whack-whack-whack combination, Orren's staff flashes out to send the man to the ground where he lays unmoving.<br />
<br />
Merek does not know what it is that seems to be happening, but he takes the time to lift up his rifle, with a cock of the weapon. "Alright, well it looks like we will need to deal with this." The man takes the time to aim his weapon while he considers what to do to get people away from the place.<br />
<br />
Hiroku and Herol both give a grunt as they go to try to scoot Ariel behind them, but the Lady Senator has her riot control baton out and electrified, "I've wanted to bust someones face since we got here." she breathes out. The short lady finds one of the Killsea to take out her frustrations on...then a second...and a third. It's a shocking revelation for them probably.<br />
<br />
Sorin's gaze is mostly fixed upon the the hedge walls that loom ahead, and there's a subdued apprehension behind hazel. He was not unaware of the betrayal and death that underwrote their being here to begin with. Aryn receives a glance, punctuated by a little nod and the subtle upcurl of a smile though it's unlikely she can see it given the lack of eyes upon the back of her head.<br />
<br />
But then the lights quite literally go out, and that silence descends. Those hedges now rise in shadow, lending a sense of claustrophobia the Lordling of Endesea reacts to with a held breath. To hear. There had been an odd sound just then, that---<br />
<br />
The first scream that penetrates that gloom is ice down Sorin's back, but the second is a galvanizing sound for the man. That emerald sword, crystalline and deadly sharp, rings as it is withdrawn from its scabbard. Rist assassins are not known for the sounds they make; they are known for the sounds their victims make. Thus it is not the knight's ears that direct him but the disturbance of a hedge as an assassin vault's it.<br />
<br />
Sorin's armor whines as servos accelerate the swings of that crystalline blade. The Rist is fast, but the knight is - at least in this moment - faster and the weapon is sheathed fully within the now collapsing body of the enemy combatant. The assassin ends up a ruined mess upon the floor as Sorin turns. No Aryn. "The Princess!" he calls out, fearing the worst.<br />
<br />
Nora's pupils dilate and her nostrils flare moments before bolts rip through the air and into the chests of two of the party. When she exhales, her eyes turn towards a shimmer of something in the air near to her. The hand on her blade is already drawing steel in an opening cut that sings through the air, catching nothing but crisp night air and, perhaps, a few bits of the hedge maze wall. The second strike catches whatever body stalks through the shadows, and the final sees her blade clash briefly with armor as she brings her face closer towards the foe that stalks in the shadows.<br />
<br />
"I see you," she says, biting her bottom lip before pushing off of them and taking a few steps backwards. She adopts a defensive dueling posture, blade pointed out and slowly tracking that shimmer through the dark.<br />
<br />
Her eyes flick towards where Ban has begun to carve through assassins with his saber, a soft smirk touching the young woman's pretty lips.<br />
<br />
"Do you see that, darling? I would be a bit quicker, were I you," she says with a giggle.<br />
<br />
Ambuscade. <br />
<br />
Bors's reaction is immediate; sword drawn from his hip with one hand and his helmet with the other, rammed down over his head a click before the hissing whine of seals engaging and the distinct T shaped visor blazing to glowing white-blue. Moving to the fore while Uypiia and Vanko are pulled into a circle of the Thul Family with blades and blasters being drawn from within corsets, weskits, cloaks and at least one flaring skirt. <br />
<br />
<"Ula, dear - did you bring a blaster? Knife? Pointy rock? Coarse language?"> voice emitted from the helmet with a hollow tone that yet fails to lose the jovial tone that seems to grow more excited with the few quick sweeping loops before a spark shoots off of a shoulder pad and a figure moving like glass in water attempts to slip past. <br />
<br />
<"Bad form!"> whirling in the opposite direction, to come around with his blade going between an assassin's ribs, leaning to bring himself close, <"Assassination, kidnapping, and general mayhem was scheduled for two days ago."> twisting his wrist and drawing back to send the would be killer to the ground with a small, benedictory hand gesture, speaking into his helmet and not to his vocalizer mic, "Mother grant you the forgiveness for the crimes we commit and Father the strength of will to recognize why we must beg forgiveness."<br />
<br />
Nope. Nope, this maze is definitely not feeling like they are navigating towards peace. All it feels like is getting lost on a planet of hostiles. The longer it takes, the more unnerved she gets. The closer she draws in to the others wih a frown as her thoughts wander. The message they had received at the Summit's beginning was a dire one, indeed. And the tension in the air never subsided. So what can be done if--<br />
<br />
Thoughts interrupted by the lights dying, shouts of horror, and the cries of the dying. It's a flurry of voices around them, some giving orders and others calling out to their adversaries. And she without a weapon. Ulani is skilled in a great many feats, but in terms of offensive, if it's not a rifle, attached to a starfighter, or explode on a timer: yeah... it's not happenin'.<br />
<br />
"I'm afraid not," she answers to Bors with a higher pitch in her voice. "I've not taken up the sword yet and the carbine wouldn't fit up my skirt." So she does what comes natural to her. Ulani steps back from those who are fighting and nears the center, intent on protecting those in the center should any harm come their way.<br />
<br />
On the party wanders. Five minutes. Then ten. To be sure, Lumira has chattered for most of this duration, attempting to keep spirits buoyed while also distracting herself from just how tense this entire summit has felt. There has been little progress in terms of peacemaking, and it is distinctly disheartening to see their old enemies walking around so cavalierly.<br />
<br />
Lumira stops when the lights go out, her eyes giving an owlish blink-blink. She starts to turn, not *yet* afraid but certainly concerned. "Oh dear..." she says, her glass half-raised to take a nervous chug from the fizzy beverage. But that's when the screaming begins and two bolts *thuwmp!* into their marks. Lumira gasps, her body pressing against the maze wall. Orren yells at her to get down and she yells back, "My cousin! Orren, protect Aryn! She--"<br />
<br />
Oh. She just disappeared. Huh.<br />
<br />
Orren is beating one of the assassins to death right in front of her, making Lumira stare with horror. She's frozen until hearing Nora battling and ridiculing one of the other fiends; seeing her friend 'in danger' inspires the delicate Alderaanian noble woman to 'help' by letting out a flustered scream and limp-wrist THROWING her glass at the downed assassin.<br />
<br />
"TAKE THAT YOU COWARD!" she shrilly intones, just as the beverage splatters all over his face and person.<br />
<br />
Distant screams are overshadowed by the ones nearby, as those incapable of defending themselves scramble to the center at Captain Ban's call. Ser Lars is locked in a duel with two, putting himself between the three women he is safeguarding, and the assassins intending them harm. He kills one outright, cutting them down, but then loses his dirk in the trade off with the other, crying out at the pain in his arm from a previous wound.<br />
<br />
The Assassins do not relent, and the Killesa's lock blades and fire into the crowds as they can, those loyal knights helping defend the group using their bodies and armor to absorb the blows where possible.<br />
<br />
In a different section of the maze, a sudden lightshow gives way to an immense display of energy. Something of purple hue with the crackle of electricity follows the sound of a shrill scream, then a loud hiss and bright sapphire blue sound follows, its humming distinct, halting the advance of the purple crackling energy.<br />
<br />
Suddenly another shrill scream and a tower of flames sweeps across one side of the gardens, igniting one side completely, yet once it reached a certain point, the energy was swept to one side and harmlessly directed toward the sea. The fight, between whoever wielded such destruction, was out of view but heard and seen partially, only through the speckled spots of the hedges.<br />
<br />
With fire spreading through the maze, the need to move and escape was apparent. Lars screams, "We must cut our way through. Those armored souls with me now.. NOW.. WITH ME!" And he throws himself through a hedge to open a path. Several of the Knights with the group follow, shouldering past Killesa and Rist alike to do the same and open the path to the next area. The fighting continues!<br />
<br />
As Lars barrels forward, blazing the burning trail toward safety, Ban lingers long enough to cut down two more of the craven attackers who had beset the noble company. "Forward!* he shouts, indicating the intended path with his glowing sword as a beacon. The gentleman pauses amid the screams and smoke, sensing something great and terrible, unseen. He is stirred from the brief reverie by the most vulnerable nearest him, and stands ready to ward off further injury.<br />
<br />
Merek aims his weapon to one of the loyalists, though it's difficult to navigate that maze. The shot which he takes manages to strike into a hedge, though it might manage to distract them. He motions to the party, "If you can't fight then try and get along to safety!" The man checks the cell to that weapon, then he cycles the energy, while he begins to maneuver with the fighters at the front lines, supporting them.<br />
<br />
There's little to do but move forward, the hedges preventing any sort of real choice in the matter. It would require a tractor of some sort - or perhaps a tank - to simply roll through the thick native growth. Or perhaps that dervish-wielded blade of ionized green held by Ban. With enough whacks.<br />
<br />
Sorin meets Ser Lars commanding instruction, forming upon the man's left. The haze of a cloaked Rist draws that hazel gaze to the side. The stealth-shimmer is but a pace away, the heat-like warble of space likely a dagger-wielding arm as it prepares to thrust into the Senator of New Alderaan. There's little time to properly engage the Rist, Sorin choosing instead to bodily interfere in the suddenly-there form of a power-armor shaped obstacle. The Rist grunts at the meeting of bodies (you all be quiet) and is forced off his feet, though that dagger scores a durasteel leg plate, finding a kink within the join of a poleyn, within which to draw blood. Sorin's own reply, a simple hack of his crystalline blade, isn't anywhere near coordinated or strong enough to catch, let alone bite.<br />
<br />
Sorin stumbles back after a moment, collecting himself and dropping a hand to that injured leg. Ariel receives a quick side-long glance, to ensure she's still standing. Then it's through that cut in the maze, orange glow of that nearby blaze beginning to cast evil colors upon the fleeing party.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora's head tips to the side as something skitters up the back of her spine and into her skull. She steps back an extra two steps just as Lumira's glass sails over her left shoulder and splashes across the Rist Assassin's garb. Her lips form into a pout and she steps away from him while he swings. "So clumsy, darling. I warned you against that second helping. But you never do listen--," she steps back again with a little laugh. Another swing sees Nora step to the man this time and drive the blade through his belly, careful to stay well enough away from him to keep her dress pristine -- free of red. Blood or wine.<br />
<br />
"To bed now," she says, and pulls it out of his side before swinging towards one of the attackers who has advanced towards Orren and Lumira. She steps in front of the two, high heels on cobblestones moving as naturally as a cat stalking through shadows. Some of that glinting steel is dimmed by a smear of red across its blade, but, for now, Nora lets it drip towards the ground.<br />
<br />
"Legendary Rist assassins," she says, biting her bottom lip while she advances. "Storied for their -prowess- in battle. Forgive me for saying, I did not think gutting you dogs would be quite so easy," she cackles.<br />
<br />
And there is that feeling, too. Somewhere off in the distance. That same feeling that taps at the back of Ban's skull taps at Nora's. She turns briefly to look towards its source, as if called to it, but then quickly looks back towards the assassin as she continues to press her advance.<br />
<br />
"Step with me now. We both know this dance by now."<br />
<br />
Lady Nora's head tips to the side as something skitters up the back of her spine and into her skull. She steps back an extra two steps just as Lumira's glass sails over her left shoulder and splashes across the Rist Assassin's garb. Her lips form into a pout and she steps away from him while he swings. "So clumsy, darling. I warned you against that second helping. But you never do listen--," she steps back again with a little laugh. Another swing sees Nora step to the man this time and drive the blade through his belly, careful to stay well enough away from him to keep her dress pristine -- free of red. Blood or wine.<br />
<br />
"To bed now," she says, and pulls it out of his side before swinging towards one of the attackers who has advanced towards Orren and Lumira. She steps in front of the two, high heels on cobblestones moving as naturally as a cat stalking through shadows. Some of that glinting steel is dimmed by a smear of red across its blade, but, for now, Nora lets it drip towards the ground.<br />
<br />
"Legendary Rist assassins," she says, biting her bottom lip while she advances. "Storied for their -prowess- in battle. Forgive me for saying, I did not think gutting you dogs would be quite so easy," she cackles.<br />
<br />
And there is that feeling, too. Somewhere off in the distance. That same feeling that taps at the back of Ban's skull taps at Nora's. She turns briefly to look towards its source, as if called to it, but then quickly looks back towards the assassin as she continues to press her advance.<br />
<br />
"Step with me now. We both know this dance, don't we?"<br />
<br />
Orren glances at Lumi's drink-throwing as the assassin in front of him goes down, clearly amused at (and proud of?) the defiant gesture. Then the others step in to answer for the disrespectful gesture, both Orren and Nora moving in to defend Lumira. Orren is struck twice, once in the chest, causing him to grunt and shift, the second strike slashing down into the meat of his left thigh, leaving a narrow slice that seeps red to stain his armor.<br />
<br />
In response Orren's staff comes up, striking the first assailant across the chest, but he stumbles back, sweeping the staff broadly to fend off further attacks as he shifts his weight to his right leg, face twisting into an infuriated snarl.<br />
<br />
Ariel's continuing her beating back of the Rist and Killsea's. She was raised on Tatooine and honestly you just had to grow a thicker skin to surive thre. She gives a look towards her guards as they go about trying to make sure she doesn't get shot. When Sorin blocks one of the shots she gives him a bit of head shake, "Focus on those who don't have guards, Sir Sorin!" she calls to him. Then she's back to cattle prodding the dickens out of these poor 'assassins'.<br />
<br />
Lars is calling to sally and Bors is turning in place with a maelstrom of blades surrounding. Half swording to parry, catching a blade along the flat of his and another against the guard of the vacuum proofed shell girding his forearm. <"Sister dear?"> Another cut that might have unarmed him skidding along the black painted shell before Lord Thul's pommel strikes away the arm and he is forced into a backpedal.<br />
<br />
"Go! Vanko and Kima have me!" called even while Uypiia is firing a holdout blaster over the shoulder of a Thul House guard and Kuhlai D'Mahn is trying to shepherd Ulani into the defenses of the house's defensive circle, doing his best to try and keep out of her way while trying to get her to safety<br />
<br />
<"Yes, My Countess!"> anything further said arrested when a short blade is put to the side of his thigh guard and bites in, drawing blood from the leg that has seen far better days than the other. Perhaps soon to become a matching set! His response is specific - the figure's face already bleedig from the pommel strike, his blade comes down broad across the shoulder of the one who'd cut him, dragged along the bone to their neck and leaving them to tumble to the ground while he limps to get his balance.<br />
<br />
<"Blast it all..."> stumble. Hop-step. <"I sure love coming to the stab party... Bors, would you like to go to the stab party? Oh! Would I? I can't think of a better way to spend a week. Stuffy, Snobbery, Dash of Angry Brother in Law sending ominous boxes I won't open. Some light stabbing. It's a fantastic time on Delaya, absolutely glorious"> the edge of a blade is turned and clatters against the rounded crown of his helmet, rattling his teeth, <br />
<br />
<"FINE. Thou hath acquired tickets to the Stab Party! FINE! I shall stab at thee!"><br />
<br />
It's a tactic known to every surviving herd animal on every planet: those with horns form the perimeter while the defenseless huddle in the center. This maneuver, perfected by eons of evolution, proves just as effective now as it does with the nerf, falthiers, and bantha. The pack of assassins attempt to close in; try to break through the line of horns to get at the weakest, easiest targets. But the horns stop them steadfast.<br />
<br />
Ulani has placed herself at the smaller perimeter of the center cluster of people, watching the frenzied action with a trained eye. 'Head on a swivel.' A flash of firelight in the distance and then it's gone. Lars calling for the group to barrel forward.<br />
<br />
And a flash of illuminated blue as Bors steps in the path of two Rist blades coming for her. "You're Gods-sent, my love," she manages to say until a Rist breaks past the line and rushes towards the Thuls. With a surprised yelp, there is a blur of a cloak and the Rist is doing their best/worst rendition of a spooky ghost in the finest silver and black fabric. Then then, to the urgent ushering of Kuhlai, Ulani is whisked away into the Thul throng.<br />
<br />
Lumira is thoroughly out of her element as she stands amdist the fighting in her glowing ballgown like some sort of thematically adjacent jellyfish ( https://tinyurl.com/2tabp8n4 ). She fretfully watches as Nora deals with the wine-soaked man on the ground, both of her lilied hands clasped fretfully over her mouth. She scrunches one eye shut, insisting on watching the carnage even if the violence makes her stomach flip-flop. With her vision thus impaired, she might completely miss the four armed men cutting toward her if not for both Orren and Nora's deft interference. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, the fires blaze all around. Lumira knows that she ought to run, but she stands frozen with fear and concern as both the Frayus lady and the *one* Rist lord she actually likes battle against the assassins. When Nora cuts one of the men down, Lumi heaves a sigh of relief, but that is when she sees Orren being attacked so viciously that a spray of blood bursts from his torso. Lumira stiffens immediately, her eyes going wide with horror.<br />
<br />
"ORREN!" she screams, and thoughtlessly runs at the masked assassin who raises his blade to attack Orren once again. <br />
<br />
Lumira jumps at him with a delicate *hop*, intending to grab his neck or shoulders or whatever part of him she can wrestle into distraction, her voluminous white dress billowing with majestic effect. Only...the assassin deftly steps aside, his arm extending to snag her around the waist and spin her around with the grace of a skilled dance partner. A moment later, his other hand comes up to grip to her hair and force her head back, his knife pressed against the tender stretch of her throat. <br />
<br />
Lumi's eyes go wide, her mouth open and gasping.<br />
<br />
With the noblelady secured in his grip, the assassin lifts his arm to push up his mask and reveal his identity: Vidar Rist, none other than Orren Rist's cousin. <br />
<br />
"Well, well, well," Vidar sneers, his dark eyes leveled on Orren. "We meet again, cousin. What do you say? A duel -- one that comes with high stakes." A pause his eyes slinking to the other Rist's wounds with a smirk. "Supposing the fight is still in you, of course."<br />
<br />
The feeling those sensitive to Force experience is one of creeping dread. There is something powerful drawing on the energy of the Force, something that uses malice to create the ripples they feel. It manifests like a sickening feeling, turning stomachs and creating an ominous feeling. The source is Lana, who battles Aryn who uses the same energy to redirect her sorceress attacks. The two battered women square off, and a thunderous noise follows, another shrill scream but it's sent away somehow. This thunderous wave grows more powerful a second later, and a harsh kinetic wind sweeps over the gardens rattling the trees and hedges.<br />
<br />
The fight with the Rists, and the Killesas, have begun to wane. Their number sees its limit, but the party is still pursued. Ser Lars cuts down two in preparation for the next hedge wall. He shares an appreciative look with Sorin, nodding his head. "AGAIN! WITH ME NOW!" Lars cries out, clearly out of breath but barreling forward and hurling himself into the hedge to bowl it over and make a path. With the help of the other Knights, the path is large enough for the group to traverse.<br />
<br />
The smoke now has grown thick, black, and the flames create ash that rains down from the heavens. The battle is NOT over, and they must survive to get out of the maze, but the fire is spreading quickly enough that it could trap them! It's obvious enough at first glance.<br />
<br />
Lord Vidar casts Lumi to a pair of Rist Assassins away from the group who begin to drag her away. Freeing the Lord of Rist to draw his poisoned blade and square off with Orren Rist in a duel. "Come along, cousin.. recall you all your failures.. you are about to relive them again.."<br />
<br />
Merek lifts up the weapon while he takes the time to aim at one of the people that are trying to kill the nobles. "Alright, well I guess that this will have to do." With that, he pulls on the trigger and a lance of crimson blasts along into one of the targets, taking them down. He then walks with the party to keep guarding them, while he takes the time to sweep.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender finds himself briefly in an island of calm amidst the smoke and slaughter, as the remaining Rist (nom Orren division) have wisely kept away from the green swordsman. His eye is drawn up anew as the palpable wickedness of the Pretender further darkens the night sky. Ban begins to muster his energies, reaching out through the Force.. until green eyes narrow at the sight of bolts flying up toward Aryn. In an instant, the dragoon is hewing through the hedge to waylay those who had fired upon Princess Cortess. Two are dead in a single breath, one by a thrust through the core that cuts free into a sidelong slash that strikes down the second. Continuing his dash another turning step, Ban impales the third, letting the would be assassin fall back toward the ground. <br />
<br />
A pulling gesture with his free hand draws the dead man back to his feet, only so that a second smash may strike off his head. Thou shalt not shoot the Princess.<br />
<br />
The sounds of murder continue to surround Sorin as he pushes forward at the side of Ser Lars. <"We have,"> /hack hack hack/, <"to get through this faster."> The words come with all the stress death and a raging inferno seem likely to convey upon the man, and if his face could be seen beneath his helmet a wild light would be easily seen behind that luster of hazel.<br />
<br />
Punching through to the other side, that tell-tale shimmer announces the presence of an assassin darting forward to intercept. Sorin's blade is held askew, at the low ready, blade out. An invitation. The Rist sees an opportunity to cut close, perhaps shiv within an armpit, but at the last moment the Alderaanian Lordling Knight steps forward, not around, and that blade becomes a lance. The Rist is impaled, the stealth field stuttering into nonexistence. If there once was a light behind those goggles, they die as the assassin stumbles to his knees, then falls backwards, quite dead.<br />
<br />
Sorin steps over the body and hurries to reform that shield wall alongside Ser Lars.<br />
<br />
Nora Frayus can have tunnel vision. When she gets like this, head tipped to the side, eyes focused on the kill, it's easy to miss the things going on around her. Lumira being apprehended. The face reveal of bizarr-orren. It doesn't help that there's something else, too. Something horrible and dreadful that feeds those whispers in her skull. That draws fingertips so elegantly across strings in a way that almost, for just a moment, resembles something more than discord and sound. She's not playing any more. Something about the sound of it flips a switch in the young woman and she steps towards the retreating assassin she'd been toying with. She roughly rips the flat of her blade across his cheek with a loud -crack- as his neck snaps to the side and he crumples.<br />
<br />
She turns towards another attacker nearby -- this a Killesean. She draws that blade across their chest wildly and follows it up with a second swing that nearly connects.<br />
<br />
Wordless, now, she stalks towards them, the tip of her blade dragging on the ground in an unsettling, metallic screech.<br />
<br />
Orren's infuriated snarl breaks into an expression of surprise as Lumi shifts forward, "No-!" exclaimed as she goes in and.. misses. She's grabbed, Orren's right hand coming off his staff to reach out toward her, attempting to grasp at the diaphanous glow of Lumira's gown as she's whisked away, his earlier shock suddenly falling away to leave Orren's expression completely flat with fury. His eyes lock onto his cousin as he brings the staff up to bear, hissing out "Unhand my betrothed, you sniveling cowards." as Lumira is tossed back to the men behind Vidar.<br />
<br />
Vidar's arm snakes out as he issues the challenge, slashing forward with a dulled metal knife and Orren swings his staff up to knock the blade away with a sharp clang of durasteel on durasteel, "You always liked to run your mouth Vidar, let's see if you can succeed where my brother failed!" spat back in the man's face as Orren's staff swings up in a rapid flurry of blows, cracking the man across the ribs with the first hit then driving the staff down into his wrist, sending the knife tumbling from his grip. The final strike slams into the man's nose with a sudden crunch and a spray of red. Orren's style, similar to the assassins themselves, is direct and brutal.<br />
<br />
As the man falls, Orren steps forward to plant his foot on the man's chest as he faces off with Lumira's captors. <br />
<br />
"Two failed attempts now." said with a 'tsk' "You should thank me now for returning honor to the family name." his words a declaration of purpose as well as a challenge.<br />
<br />
Sipon, Herol and Hiroku are getting a bit of a refresher course in trying to guard Ariel. Which is harder to do when she's one of the ones wailing on people. Sipon, a rather heavily armored Duros, sprints after her, catching a shot that was meant for the Senator. This causes her to turn, her green gaze a bit wide as she lines up a new target. She gets a running start and then brings the riot baton down on some heads. Bzzzzzt!<br />
<br />
The grinding sound of metal on metal, slipping between the cuirass and the belly plates of his armor is the herald for the sensation of pressure and then pain, a gurgling sensation that tells him that part of his esophagus has been cut met soon after by the copper taste that proves the 'theory'.<br />
<br />
<"Four on one, I suppose you'd need numbers."> still biting out little remarks while the wrap-around display above his forehead allows him a compressed view of figures charging to where Ulani can be seen among the Thul line, <"Sister, they seem upset with my betrothed!"> grinding out the words while deflecting another blow with his blade and putting the pommel of the blade into the brow of one of those assailants - sending the foeman to the ground while he continues his advance.<br />
<br />
Durasteel wire reinforced plasteel shell erupting in a white spray when vibroblade cuts and churns the material - hitting bone and cutting a long groove along it while another plants a triangle bladed knife into his arm, just at the thin gap between rebracer and lower bicep. <"MOTHERFFFFFFF-ORGIVE YOU... FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUU-AAATHER DEFEND..."> he's so close. <"BOUNDERS!"> GASP! <"JACKANAPES!"> Language, BORS! <"Bollocks!"> BORS! Your mother is here! <br />
<br />
"Why don't you fall down?" one of them hisses at him, twisting her blade to the jocular, if pained, response of, <br />
<br />
<"Well I would but I have to be over there. Otherwise a kip would be toppers..."> throwing an elbow into her gut, Bors continues his path to keep harm from Ulani.<br />
<br />
With her heart in her throat and pounding like mad, Ulani is operating on adrenaline as she watches the Rist assassin struggle momentarily in the mess of her cloak then literally slice his way out of it. Oh. Oh, yeah. That's a good plan. Crafty Rists.<br />
<br />
The push to barrel through the hedges commence and a bulk of the survivors make for that direction. Ulani starts that journey, as well, looking back in time to see Bors protecting their flank and suffering for it. With the kind of cursing only Bors can provide. <br />
<br />
A breath catches and she's moving without thought. Bursting into a full run -- which is impressive in this dress, believe it -- a blur of red hair and silver silk rushes past and rams under a Rist's center of gravity. Strength is not on her side, but momentum and surprise defintiely are. 'Be unpredictable, yeah?' She hears the formerly reformed pirate's advice in her head...<br />
<br />
... as she and the Rist attacker fall hard to the ground. Hey, it's one less on the creatively swearing nobleman.<br />
<br />
Lumira is whisked back by the two men, the small blonde writhing and kicking the entire way. Her hair, once elegantly styled, has come unfastened due to Vidal's rough-handling, giving her an uncharateristically wild appearance as she kicks and struggles. "You fiends!" she curses, her voice uppity and superior even now, "Unhand me! You-You-You TRAITOROUS THUGS!" The insult rings out amidst the metallic clank of sword meeting sword and the ongoing screaming from the retreating party.<br />
<br />
Lumira frantically looks around, her wide blue eyes witnessing Nora snap a man's neck -- the sight making her stiffen and surprise. Is this the same noble lady she grew up with? Partied with? Gossiped with? She has barely come to accept that the Frayus lady is a Jedi, and now here she is, killing someone with dispassionate deftness. <br />
<br />
As one of her captors jerks her backward, Lumira is forced to remember the direness of her situation. She kicks her feet out hard enough that one of her high heels comes free, its fashionable silhouette lost on the ground. Her head jerks to the side, teeth bared as she tries to *BITE* the assassin's hand as he tries to put it over her mouth. Unfortunately, his gauntlets are thick enough that she could spend all night gnawing and would hardly put a dent in them.<br />
<br />
As she's dragged along, Lumi looks back to Orren, watching with worried intensity as he squares off against Vidal. Some of her struggling die down, not out of a lack of fear but because she is so absorbed in the duel. Her eyes dart back and forth between the Rists, a soft mewl of concern muffled against her captor's hand. When Orren inevitably strikes him down, she all but sags with relief, her eyes closing and nostrils flaring with a deep breath.<br />
<br />
A moment later, Lumira is back to writhing and kicking like an angry loth-cat in a sack.<br />
<br />
Lord Ban saw but a glimpse of Aryn through the smoke as harm intended her misses outright. In his assault, the Princess melted away with the creeping smoke, event he glow of her sapphire blade fading to the dark night entirely. Her presence was not gone, but she could not be seen, lending to the success of Ban's surprise attack in cutting three warriors down in quick succession. He was left with three other swordsmen, though, who lost sight of Aryn and had to settle for the Green Knight.<br />
<br />
Whilst Lumi is dragged, she is forced to watch her friends grow further away in the fire-lit dark chaos. The Rist are cruel in their handling of her, ensuring compliance by way of painful grips that will undoubtedly leave marks. It seems helpless when suddenly a figure steps from the smoke in front of her and the space between them fills with a humming blue. It is cousin Aryn, and she cuts both assassins down in a single pass of her blade, rendering the pair dead, her blade's passage leaving only embers from eradicated armor to drift from where her lightsaber touched.<br />
<br />
Offering a free hand, Aryn intends to pull her cousin free, and in the other, she throws her Lightsaber toward a running foe, only for them to duck, sliding beneath it, then double back and away. Aryn recalls the weapon to her hand with only her mind the culprit behind the unseen action. "Stay near, cousin. I will protect you." Aryn says, turning her scarred visage toward the other blonde a moment, that side of her face illuminated by the blue of her humming weapon.<br />
<br />
Ser Sorin's help allows Ser Lars and the other Knights to break free of the maze, finally. Ironically enough, they have arrived back at their starting point where they encounter the survivors from the 'other side' all tending their wounded and mourning their dead. House Serren, House Frayus, House Ulgo, and many of the lesser Houses are all present (non threatening) and suddenly allied in solidarity. What remain of the Killesa mercenaries pursue the (our) group, but suddenly find Delayan swords eager to cut them down. Even Lord Ban is joined by Lady Ulgo and her brave Knight, and they quickly dispatch the three intending him harm.<br />
<br />
"Lana has played her last hand of betrayal!" Bellows Count Serrus from one end of the group. "I will tear that palace down myself, stone for stone if it means her rule comes to an end! I swear it! I SWEAR IT!"<br />
<br />
Nora takes a few more steps towards the retreating assassin she's stepping towards, watching as they slowly continue to back away and find themselves met with Delayan steel. Her cold blue eyes flick up to their face and then briefly away as her hand guides her sword back into the sheath at her hips and waist. Whatever switch seemed to snap in her slowly subsides, but it's Aryn and Lumira who are met with that last little remnants of it. The call of something strange, dark, and powerful. She shakes her head and briefly closes her eyes, attempting to chase the sound of it away... but it doesn't flicker away. It continues to ring, and she knows well enough that she cannot ignore its call forever. When her eyes open, she exhales and turns to look towards the others just when Count Serrus cries out. Nora stoops low to shut the eyes of two fallen nobles. Struck with bolts through their sternums. A fatal blow, one a piece, directly to the heart.<br />
<br />
They were a young couple she'd seen at tonight's dinner. She wishes she'd introduced herself.<br />
<br />
"Mother and Father guide these souls from the dark and into the light. See them home to fields of wildflowers," she murmurs quietly as she rises.<br />
<br />
"So that they never know cold again."<br />
<br />
Orren had given chase to the assassins leaving with Lumira, lagging behind a bit due to the wound on his leg and, of course, the delay caused by having to beat his cousin to death with a battle staff. He rushes through the smoke, staff tucked horizontally against his side, only slowing to a stop as Aryn steps out of the shadows and cuts the two men down. Orren moves forward to join Aryn and Lumira, traveling with them back toward the rest of their group, joining up with the 'other' group, staff still at his side, his other arm looping around Lumi to pull her close (and, gently, lean on her to make up for his wounds) if she allows. It likely ruins her dress which, for Lumi, might be the most distressing event of the night.<br />
<br />
Orren lifts his eyes to the roar from Serrus, straightening a little bit on his right leg to stand proudly in defiance of the attack. And only when it's clear that things are at an end, does Orren tuck his staff away and turn down to Lumi, his voice quiet, "Lumira." he says, "Are you alright?" almost crouching before his left leg starts to betray him, forcing him to straigthen back up once more. "I'm going to kill every last person responsible for this." he says, his bright blue eyes sparkling with outrage, ignoring his own wounds for the time being to make that promise to her.<br />
<br />
Serrus shouting in a fashion that seems to be that he has swayed towards the side of the conflict that Bors had endorsed to him so vehemently at the start of all of this - the assassins whom had been doing a fair job of doing terrible thing to his anatomy have been battered away, by Ulani, maybe Sorin? Maybe Lars? It's hard to tell, but he knows for sure it was someone! Vision is darkening and there's that all too familiar sensation of adrenaline rush fading away with the the lack of all his blood to properly carry it through his veins.<br />
<br />
Was it Ban and Ula that saved him!? <br />
<br />
<"Why can't I see?"> still able to run his ceaseless gob, it seems, face down with his helmeted face in the stomach of a felled Killsea. It's a conundrum to how he got here. He remembers swording. He remembers parrying, stepping, riposte. The enemy had been backed off him and he had taken several thrusts and now he was pulling himself up onto his hands and knees - realizing, <"I found out why I couldn't see."> an 'errk' face inside his helmet that blends into the pained gasp when he feels his guts tighten and not all of them are properly connected. Still he reaches up to close the open eyes of the person whom he had fallen upon in his moment of pain and bloodloss induced tumble,<br />
<br />
<"Mother carry you to your rest and let you know that despite oppositions thou art still Alderaanian. Father grant thee peace in knowing that your cause was to your own and regardless if it were right or wrong, you were Alderaanian and acted with the conviction of your people."> a gentle pat to the cheek of the fallen while he uses his sword to help lever him up.<br />
<br />
<"We won, correct? Medic? Swift killing blow otherwise? I'm not meant for prison, or brainwashing..."> dropping back down to one knee. <"Mother I hope we won."><br />
<br />
"Quit trying to get all the attention baby brother." Uypiia there with house guards to help Lord Thul to his feet and to where he can be rendered aid.<br />
<br />
This is about as close to a Rist as Ulani cares to ever, ever be. The stabby ones, at least. Though she saw him from afar, it is rumoured that Lord Orren is one of the good once. And so broody and mysterious. Who doesn't love that? Wait, what were we talking about? Oh, yes.<br />
<br />
Wrestling now for her life against a foe who is quicker to recover. The element of surprise gone. It is a good thing Ulani gets help disengaging or she was certainly about to take a poison blade to the throat or something. Kima, that blessed goddess of a warrior, quickly dispatches the Rist fighting with Ulani while the elder Lord Thul separates from the group to help her to her feet.<br />
<br />
"Thank you," she breaths shakily to the older nobleman and then makes her way over to Bors, giving him all the attention his deeds have merited, h. "Come. Let's leave this dreadful place."<br />
<br />
Lumira is dragged far enough from the group that true fear finally pierces her optimism. For the first time this evening, she is well and truly scared, and with no one left to fret over, that fear is completely centered on her own livelihood. As she is dragged so roughly backward, her slaps and kicks land with no more menace than a kitten's swipes, the Alderaanian noblelady loses her last shoe -- and then she loses her composure. Tears prickle in her eyes, angry and hot, brought on more from the intensity of her emotions than actual grief, and it's *just* as she attempts one last *lunge* away from her Rist captor that she is suddenly enveloped in that buzz of electric blue.<br />
<br />
Lumira stares at her cousin with wide-eyed wonder, having never witnessed her kinswoman actually battle with a lightsaber before.<br />
<br />
A moment later, both men are down, and Lumira finds herself blessedly free. As she trots after Aryn, she says, "Am I the only one in this Court who isn't Force sensitive? I am starting to feel genetically robbed..."<br />
<br />
Lumira does her best to keep her eyes straight ahead and focused on the path rather than the raging flames or the unsettling tang of blood in the air. In truth, she's trembling like a leaf, even if she is rather good at putting on a brave face now that she's certain she won't be dragged off for unspeakable torture at the hands of those damnable Rists. When Orren stumbles through the smoke to join them, her lower lip gives the smallest wobble -- and then steadies. "Orren," she murmurs with relief, her arms enfolding him. There's no time to linger, though. They push on through the carnage, weaving through smaller fires and dead bodies, her bare feet moving soundlessly over the earth.<br />
<br />
When they finally emerge at the starting point of the maze, the disheveled lady looks straight-backed and calm -- though the perceptive might notice a certain glassiness that denotes shock. That's how she watches Nora perform the funeral rites for the slewn couple -- with a faraway sadness and too-slow blinks.<br />
<br />
Orren turns to her, asking if she's alright, and she automatically flashes him a pretty smile. "Of course," she starts to say...<br />
<br />
...And then promptly bursts into tears. This was NOT the fun evening they were promised. Refund, please.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:New_Alderaan:_Delayan_Peace_Summit&diff=17708Log:New Alderaan: Delayan Peace Summit2022-03-06T04:54:32Z<p>Aryn: </p>
<hr />
<div><!--<br />
Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Opening Gala for Peace talks.<br />
| Location=[[Leilani City, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[Lumira Cortess]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Ariel Teral]], [[Dyna Selenis]], [[Noemie Lenoir]], [[New Alderaan]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=March 5, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Like all things with Alderaan and its aristocracy, the affair is large. Delaya, a shadow of the Old Alderaan, holds much of the same architecture of pomp the culture used to sport. From tall buildings with massive towers and shining building exteriors, the only thing that kept the splendor in check was the presence of industry. The Ducal Palace, home of the Duchy that ruled Delaya was massive. It loomed center stage above Leilani city, with an extraordinary view of the city that spanned in every west, south, and east nearly as far as the eye could see.<br />
<br />
Not all of Delaya was city, though. Much of its rich lands were green, with more than 80 percent of the world covered in misty seas said to be ruled by the mysterious House Killesa from their keep Last Light, a fortress on the sea with an eternal flame lit lighthouse to mark the inlet of the continent to warfaring ships. Other Houses were much more prominent on Delaya than any other diaspora of Alderaan, Houses Ulgo, Frayus, Killesa, Panteer, and of course House Rist.<br />
<br />
Our group has arrived by way of the Tantive IV, a capital ship marked for diplomatic missions with an exterior hull that spoke of decades of war. Like all Alderaanians, it bore its scars for all to see. Princess Aryn descends the ramp wearing a vibrant cape and richly colored tunic with tall boots cuffed in shined leather. Aryn wears a white-gold tiara which keeps her bright blonde hair from falling over her youthful face; a face which has its own scar over her eye that not even make up can keep from view. Intrigue!<br />
<br />
A honor guard awaits the diplomatic party, bearing the House colors of all major players on this world: Ulgo, Panteer, Frayus, Killesa, Qel-Nosh, Serrus, and Rist. A Knight, fashioned the new First Sword of Delaya addresses them with a pompous bow, "Your Grace, my name is Ser Lathan Qel-Nosh. I am honored to serve as your party's escort for as long as you have need of my service."<br />
<br />
"One moment, sir, while those of my group take the measure of the evening and gather themselves from the flight." Aryn replies, tugging her gloves on. The Knight nods, and stands at parade rest. Aside from the general hum of a city surrounding them, the wind blows making the banners of those prominent houses flap idly. Before them, the massive palace awaits.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora Frayus did not arrive on Delaya by way of the Tantive IV, but rather the Voidlight Anvil a few moments before. She is not alone, either. Standing with her near the honor guard that greets the diplomatic party is Count Corwen Frayus, Countess Aldi Frayus, and Lady Luci Frayus, Nora's younger sister. House Frayus' colors are dominated entirely by black and a deep, dark purple. For her father and mother, this comes through purple trim woven into their ornate pantsuits and capes. For Nora, the purple is marked in eye makeup, fingernails, and from a little gemstone that hangs from a thin silver chain around her neck. Black dress. Purple heels. There is a visible tension between the representatives from House Frayus, and Corwen seems particularly irritated that he has been made to wait to be escorted until the diplomatic party from Tantive IV has departed.<br />
<br />
Nora's eyes roll and she folds her arms over her stomach. She turns to look over her slender shoulder at Aryn Cortess from across a void of space between them. She seldom looks this severe, but whatever tension seems to wind tightly around all four members of House Frayus appears to be effecting her more than the others. Besides her father's blustering, her mother fusses with Luci's hair. Luci, in turn, has her eyes on her older sister. A small frown touches on the younger sister's lips, but she doesn't speak.<br />
<br />
"Your Grace," Nora says when Aryn approaches. A bow of her head is given to her friend and Princess.<br />
<br />
"Ah, yes, Princess Cortess," Corwen says, adjusting his collar for a moment before bowing low, as do the rest of the members of House Frayus. Besides their elegant attire, all of them are armed with ornate rapiers at their hip. All of them, save Aldi Frayus.<br />
<br />
Uypiia and Vanko's descent from the transport is flanked by house guards, the Mistress at Arms Kima on Vanko's shoulder and the House Champion Bors at his sisters - the lot of those associated to House Thul all a song of black and silver with the periodic rush of blue and blood red crimson. A cluster of smiling, but closed, expressions - bright to contrast the dark attire.<br />
<br />
"How poorly do you expect, brother dear?" the countess asides to her younger brother while they take in the sights.<br />
"Oh I am hoping it goes swimmingly, but I brought my sword and knife just in case."<br />
"And a blaster?"<br />
"Also a blaster."<br />
"Also Ulani?"<br />
"Of course, Ulani..." the siblings share a momentary side-eye, trying their best to feign irritation before putting attention forward once again.<br />
<br />
Bors's armor hues of black save for silvery trim that seems focused on the thicker points of his armor - tactical filigree, as it were, and the undeniably T-Visored helmet hooked to his belt and within easy reach. Lord Thul, a Mandalorian? No. Perish the thought. But the armor he has was clearly inspired by the warrior culture; as he wears a relic of the Clone Wars. The sandy haired man adjusting how his monocle rests, pinched before his eye and the butler droid that is in the mix with him casually spritzing a smudge on his armor before buffing it out with a rag.<br />
<br />
Lumira arrives a respectful ways behind Aryn, her expression relatively somber for the moment. Delaya is her homeworld, the place where she grew up and the current residence of her lord father and mother, Lord Dario and Lady Alessia -- the former being Aryn's uncle. For the time being, Lord Dario serves as the overseer of the Cortess Duchy on Delaya, a position that has kept him exceptionally busy with all of the recent unrest. Both he and Alessia will be at tonight's summit, though the two are currently out of sight, likely already gathered in the great hall or designated meeting place.<br />
<br />
Lumira is dressed in Cortess colors, her golden blonde hair worn half-up in a braided circlet with the rest of her long locks worn in a romantic tumble down her back. Her gown is white and trimmed with gold, her cape dashingly clasped to one shoulder with a gemmed brooch. She has applied metallic gold shadow around her eyes, the same gilded cosmetic pressed to her fetching lips and neatly manicured fingernails. When the Knight approaches, she will offer him a slim smile, her eyes immediately raking over his person as she politely returns, "Good evening, sir."<br />
<br />
Princess Aryn is the one in charge so Lumira will follow her lead. She will, however, look to Nora where she stands with her family and flash her a subdued smile. Well, it would be subdued if her lips weren't so brilliantly highlighted.<br />
<br />
Ulani is dressed for the occassion. A long, silver and black gown hugs tight at the bodice and flares outwards and down, trailing in her wake just barely grazing the ground as she moves. Coppery red hair is done up with intricate braids along her crown and large, spiralling ringlets falling down the plunge of her neck and onto her shoulders. No cape for her, though. Not yet. Certain things must be earned. Instead she has a long strip of sheer silver fabric embroidered in black hooked at both elbows and flowing in a gentle arch at the small of her back.<br />
<br />
She is walking just behind the main Thul entourage with a bit of unmistakable tension. Recalling the way her late father would speak of 'peace talks' -- and how much the Panteers remind her of him -- she has a healthy distrust that this is anything of the sort. Still, the young woman carries herself with a noble air that has been successfully trained into her. Mostly. She doesn't have the walk /quite/ right and when she hears her name being spoken just slightly ahead of her, the guarded expression breaks for curiousity to take over. "Pardon?"<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender descends the ramp among the other nobility, attired in the elegant dress uniform of a dragoon officer, ornamented with all the appropriate gold braid and emerald green half-cloak. Straight backed and austere, the gentleman is unarmored but not unarmed, a sheathed sword at his side as a sign of rank and status. The gentleman's manner throughout the niceties is stern and solemn.<br />
<br />
Ariel's entourage is trailing behind given there's been a bit of a message that Ariel needed to take. The Senator has been in a bad mood since the Senate trial, but she's painted on a practiced smile for those that she comes across as they enter with the delegation. She was entering the lions den with familiar faces at least. Thank the gods.<br />
<br />
Dyna had joined in the group heading to Delaya for the peace summit aboard the Tantive IV, dressed in her usual business attire consisting of a purple, v-neck sleeveless blouse that she's tuked in to a matching pair of slacks. As she steps off the ship, she's straightening out the black blazer she's wearing over it. Politics were a bit outside her element and she had never been on a warship before, but she had decided to join the group as a show of support for Princess Cortess. "So this is Delaya," she muses with a quick glance around as she steps off the ship before turning to her travel companion. "Have you ever been here before Noemie?" she asks her. She could tell there were quite a few nobels gathered around them from the attire on display and lets out a small chuckle. "Perhaps I should have worn a dress for this."<br />
<br />
Having never ridden on a corvette before, Noemie Lenoir is a bit wide-eyed as she steps off the boarding ramp to the historic CR-90 - though part of that wide-eyed expression indicates that she's aware of the ship's historical significance. Not being Alderaanian herself, nor her companion, the two descend to the ground at the very end of the pack.<br />
<br />
Noemie is a very short woman, pale skinned with dark features - short black hair barely brushing against her shoulders. She's not dressed quite as elegantly as the rest, giving hint to her lack of a background in nobility. Her outfit is, however, hand-tailored by none other than herself. In two pieces, this fashionable blue dress consists of a wide-sleeved top that secures around her chest by wrapping in on itself, exposing a tiny bit of navel before the second part of the outfit takes over, a long, floor-length skirt tied together in the front by a bright, gem-encrusted clasp. Though they can't be seen below the long skirts, heeled pumps click and clack as the Naboo steps closer to the Alderaanians.<br />
<br />
"I haven't been here, no!" She responds to Dyna as the two walk closely side-by-side. With a fond smile, she adds, "you could have, but I think what you have on is fine! It's you, and that's important. Anyway," a hazel eye winks, "you wear it well!" Like Dyna, Noemie had come along in support of her Guild member. Nearly the entire Guild were here, in fact, Noemie realizes as she stops to offer a polite smile at Ulani as well.<br />
<br />
"Count Corwen, my Ladies.." Aryn addresses Nora's father, then the Ladies Frayus all at once, returning the gesture of respect with a slow nod of her head. "Would you join us? I believe we are all ready to head inside now." Aryn turns briefly, sweeping her arm toward the party that's joined her in this mission. They have support of House Iskender, Thul, Cortess, Teral, Syrush, Alde, and even the Artisan Guild's co-founders Dyna of the Hapes Cluster, and Noemie of Naboo.<br />
<br />
"Sir Lathan, you may lead on, my Lord." Aryn addresses the Knight serving as their escort who responds with a quiet nod, bow, and step toward the Palace that looms ahead of them.<br />
<br />
As they move, Aryn drifts back into the heart of the group, presumably out of ear shot of the honor guards bearing their House banners (which lead the entourage inside). "When last I was here, the palace was razed, Teraan banners burning, and the dead lay every where. Seeing Panteer banners here has done nothing to brighten this once extraordinary place. This place has dark shadows filled with ghosts of all those murdered protecting it. Even breathing the air makes me ill," Aryn says as they pass the battlements where a Panteer banner dominates their view.<br />
<br />
Large doors are pulled open ahead of them, bringing the group to the great hall where a Herald stands ready to announce each member of the party. The Great Hall is filled with people ranging from staff who have cooked a grand arrangement of refreshments, to those nobles just relaxing and talking throughout the large room and out on the balconies. Lana Panteer, who has fashioned herself the Grand Duchess of Delaya, is not seen just yet.<br />
<br />
"MAY I PRESENT, HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, PRINCESS ARYN CORTESS OF ALDERAAN."<br />
<br />
"SER LARS SYRUSH, LORD FROM HOUSE SYRUSH, LADY KIKO ALDE, OF HOUSE ALDE!" And the announcements go on as each person files inside and heads down the grand staircase. Marble flooring has been shined to perfection, and the stairs are adorned in a carpet matching House Panteer's colors scarlet and gold.<br />
<br />
As the group makes their way down, members of other Houses turn to regard them and the chatter grows quiet. Enemies see enemies for the first time under the same roof and the tension is thick. Music cuts through it though as the band is made to resume their music once the announcements have been made.<br />
<br />
"COUNT CORWEN FRAYUS. COUNTESS ADNI FRAYUS. LADIES NORA AND LUCI FRAYUS," the Herald yells out. Corwen and Adni enter the tense gala arm in arm, as do Nora and Luci just behind them. There are hushed whispers and murmurs, stifled laughs and averted gaze. Indeed, news does travel fast. Corwen's public letter denouncing Nora's testimony before the senate as a fabrication has doubtless been one of the many talks of gossip amongst the crowd tonight. Various nobility laugh as they turn to look at Nora, who simply stares straight ahead, cold blue eyes searing hot into the back of Corwen's head.<br />
<br />
Corwen is as aloof as ever.<br />
<br />
House Frayus has enjoyed a position of relative neutrality throughout the conflict, but the tension between their own members adds to that of the gala entirely. Count and Countess move towards a gathering of close allies, and the group's arms unlink to greet one another. Kisses pressed to cheeks, small jokes meant to ease tension. An older woman is talking to Nora and giving her a knowing, compassionate smile.<br />
<br />
"As lovely as ever, darling," she says, her voice a low and gravely contralto worn and softened by age. Like leather, really. Beautiful in its own right. Nora smiles to her and presses a soft kiss to either cheek.<br />
<br />
"And you, My Lady. It is good to see you," Nora says with a soft smile.<br />
<br />
Lady Luci approaches from behind Nora and, unlike her older sister, hardly stands on ceremony with the older woman. She slips against her and wraps both arms around her in a big hug.<br />
<br />
"And youuuu," the woman says, laughing a little as she returns the embrace in kind. "Am I growing senile, or have you gotten taller? Perhaps it is the shoes," she muses, and then smiles to Nora, "Or perhaps it is both."<br />
<br />
Announced as, "Lord Ban Iskender, Captain of the Vice-royal Lir Dragoons," the gentleman keeps a parade ground bearing as he surveys the assembly within the hall. Any trace of his usual charm is well buried beneath a stoic face. His green eyes never rest long enough on the Panteer banners that he might be compelled to notice and thus comment upon them. The walls may as well be bare for the attention he pays them.<br />
<br />
"We were acknowledging you were here. Why are you back there? You are betrothed to a Lord of Thul - up up up; where you belong." Uypiia playfully chiding while the Thuls converge to flank the Royal Entourage, hanging back momentarily for one of the Countesses runners to inform the announcer to state<br />
<br />
"THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF THUL ATTENDS" <br />
<br />
Unified, no individual placed above the other - even if the Countess is clearly given the literal and figurative center-stage position of their darkly dressed assembly. It is as she crosses the threshold that Uypiaa's collar fans out, like the mating plumage of some exotic bird, creating a halo behind her head of woven black and silver, laced with rubies and threaded with deep blue that gives a deep water shimmer behind her short cut, but clearly Nora coifed hair.<br />
<br />
"Don't put your helmet on." murmured to Bors and he gives his sister a wounded look, <br />
"But why, sister mine?"<br />
"So you can't make faces and get away with it." rolling her eyes while the Champion of Thul's expression maintains its demeanor save the barest flick of the corner of his mouth which is all but screaming 'How dare, you're absolutely correct that I would be, but how dare? Indeed!' a twitch of his eyebrow conveying a barristers 'Hrububublblblblblblb!'<br />
<br />
Lumira turns to look at the palace, her blue eyes flitting over its grand towers and domes. Her gaze moves toward the scarlet flags that wave so proudly in the breeze -- their banner a subtle indication of the change in power -- and the sight makes her gilded lips twitch into a frown. A moment later, the entourage is moving foward and the Cortess lady falls into step just behind her cousin.<br />
<br />
Lumira hesitates *just* a moment before entering the Great Hall, but it is only to pause and fluff at her hair, ensuring it is in perfect shape before making her arrival. "LADY LUMIRA OF HOUSE CORTESS," the Herald announces.<br />
<br />
Lumira hovers in the doorway or atop the stairs -- wherever the announcements are being made -- and flashes a resplendent smile. The Herald turns, preparing to announce the next guest, but Lumira is still there -- hogging a bit of the spotlight with her chin thrust up and her body draped in a fetching fashion -- before she picks up the front of her elegant gown and sashays forward.<br />
<br />
Lord Dario and Lady Alessia are already present, as are her brood of siblings: Lord Dario II, the second-eldest at fourteen, then Lord Theodoro, age 11. Given the importance of the evening, the three youngest have been left at home, ensuring the summit doesn't devolve into any more whining and fisticuffs than one can already expect from the gathered adults.<br />
<br />
"Lumi, darling," Alessia says, moving to sweep her blonde-haired daughter up into a warm embrace. "Lumira," her father returns more stoically, but with a fond smile. She embraces each of her parents and receives their kisses, though her two younger brothers do little more than lift their heads in acknowledgement. "It's rather surreal," Lumira says to them, turning to gently straighten Theodoro's coat despite his eye rolls, "To be back in the palace. The banners..."<br />
<br />
Lumira stops when her father gives her a look. Shrugging her shoulder, the lady breezily turns and clasps her hands behind her back, her expression mindfully neutral -- as much as an expressive creature like Lumi can manage. And then, when Dario II pipes up to say, "Did you hear about Nora being a Jedi?" it will be Lumira's turn to fix him with a *look* that silences any further questions.<br />
<br />
Ariel is being escorted by Hiroku and Herol this evening. Her other bodyguard is hardly ever seen, but the man is dressed for the occasion and in all black and Herol is looking spiffier than usual as well.<br />
<br />
"THE LADY SENATOR ARIEL TERAL OF NEW ALDERAAN!" is the sound of the Herald introducing her and she jumps, squeezing Hiroku's arm as he is guiding her. He gives her a look, "You're fine. None of them will bite." he tells the young woman quietly before he leads her in. Herol just has an unamused look on his face. Ariel does cast a 'this bitch' look in the direction of Count Corwen when she hears his voice in the distance. His letter about his daughter not being her favorite thing.<br />
<br />
A blink. Two. "Oh!" To Uypiia's urgings, Ulani doublesteps up to join Bors' arm before the family cross the threshold and into the grand cavern of the main room. It is an entrance that the Thuls did not practice -- not that Ulani had ever seen. Yet they move in unison. A coordinated effort she attempts to follow with poise and a charming smile. And a gentle squeeze of the Champion Thul's arm to back up the Countess' words. He absolutely would make all the faces.<br />
<br />
Aryn's explanation is caught, drawing Ulani's eyes up to the Panteer colours that hang oppressively all around. Heavy and looming. More like blades than banners. Her brows knit together gentle then is quickly reigned back into a neutral expression. "I do hope this goes better than you think it will," she says under her breath to Bors as the family moves together.<br />
<br />
"Senator Teral, my Lady.." Says Ser Lathan, a man on the slightly shorter side. He bows when regarding Lady Ariel, then smiles. "How goes your new station in Senate. What with the recent drama, you must be at odds with her Grace. An Order of sorcerors banished from New Republic space, intriguing." The knight offers Ariel his hand to help her down the stairs if she accepts the gentleman's gesture. "It is said a Senator wields enormous power on the galactic stage. In theory, you could end this war between Delaya and New Alderaan with but a few words and vote."<br />
<br />
"All the same, one of these days I should really get you to design a dress for me," Dyna comments with a small smile as she looks over Noemie's attire. "You really are quite talented. Though perhaps something with a more Hapan flair?"<br />
<br />
Dyna would fall into line behind the princess alongside Noemie as they make their way toward the palace in the distance, the Hapan woman remaining silent for a moment with her gaze fixated on the palace as Aryn speaks. It was hard to imagine the place having once been a warzone, at least in its current state, but a solemn nod is given in understanding. Hearing the names called out loudly one, a small smirk forms on Dyna's lips. "This is quite the entrance. Suppose I should expect nothing less." Dyna herself lacked any sort of proper title and so was content to just be part of the entourage, though she takes note of the names being announced to familiarize herself with those present she hadn't already met. She happens to catch the word 'Jedi' being mentioned and quirks a brow.<br />
<br />
"You only pretend to be senile so nobody looks twice at you. I am familiar with your games, grandmother," Nora says. The is still embracing Luci, who seems hesitant to let go now. Fingernails stroke through the girl's soft blonde hair, and her grandmother looks up over the top of the young woman's head to Nora with a smile. She doesn't respond. Simply taps the side of her nose with an index finger and opens her mouth to speak. It's then that another member of the group chimes up, a tone of amusement in his voice.<br />
<br />
"That was some stunt at the Senate, Nora. Dare I say, it may have been your most scandalous yet. I had thought, perhaps, that you could not top dancing on the tables at the Autumn Gala, but you have bested my assumptions once again," he says with a chuckle. The woman he's with gives him a swat across his chest with the back of her hand. Count Corwen's eyes narrow not in the man's direction, but in Nora's.<br />
<br />
"Mmmmmh, yes," another says, this a young woman with raven black hair and piercing green eyes. "But who could have ever believed you as a Jedi? Not only hysterical, but a masterful work of fancy and fiction. You have outdone yourself."<br />
<br />
Nora smiles, thin-lipped.<br />
<br />
"Yes, well. You do know how much I love to cause a stir. That Senate Hearing was positively -dreadful- with all that talk of war and politics," Nora says, bristling. "And I simply could not resist," she says. Corwen exhales and turns his eyes away, while Nora's grandmother and mother exchange looks with one another. The party speaking with Nora laugh and turn to one another to gossip, and Nora is moving on to speak with others. Pageantry. How she loathes it. Pity she's so gifted with it.<br />
<br />
She spies Lady Ulgo glancing in her direction and folds her hands over her midsection. Her fingertips rest upon her upturned palm and she takes a few strides towards the Lady with a smile.<br />
<br />
"Lord Ulgo. Lady Ulgo. How pleasing it is to see you both well. Father is likely fetching himself some brandy to drink, or he would have greeted you both with haste," she says.<br />
<br />
Lord Ban's stoic approach is disrupted when a young Lord bumps into him. The culprit is a teenager, well dressed, yet a bit frightened by the man he ran into if only for reputation alone. He steps back, bowing to the Captain Dragoon, "My Lord.. apologies. Truly, I did not see you approach. Might I have a word, sir? Perhaps.. somewhere private?" The last part of his question is spoken lower.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora's address of Lady Ulgo earns her a small bow, and a soft "My lady," but when she straightened, her look was more dire. The man she named Lord Ulgo shakes his head, "The Count Ulgo is not well, my Lady. I am the Lady's escort for the evening, Ser Thom (Tom) Serrus."<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo speaks then, "Lady Nora.. is it true then? What you said at the Senate.. you are a Jedi Knight?"<br />
<br />
"I would be happy to," Noemie smiles to Dyna and squeezes her arm gently as the two step in to the chamber after everybody has been announced. Content to be part of the entourage herself, Noemie waits until those being announced have been announced before stepping in behind all of them, her heels echoing loudly on the polished marble flooring. Unlike Dyna, Noemie didn't catch the talk of the Jedi, though coming from a world that has largely been disconnected from galactic politics for the most part, the word means less to her than it may to others. "Every time we come to one of these, it's more and more of a spectacle. I'm in love with this!" The Naboo enthuses to her Hapan friend.<br />
<br />
The political back-and-forth and the intricacies of nobility cold wars are completely lost on the naive girl, but what is certainly not lost on the young artist are the color palettes on display. The red and gold of house Panteer strike her the hardest, though would likely do so less strongly if she knew the significance of the house's hostility toward her friend's own house. Both red and gold are royal colors on Naboo, and not something that Noemie herself is qualified to wear.<br />
<br />
"Your pardon, sir," an unamused Ban returns to the young man who bumps into him. "I may grant words in discretion, but not privacy," he notes, offering a quiet conversation, but not being willing to stray far from the princess. "I must remain near unto Her Highness in such.. august company, but may step a short distance if that shall suffice. Else, I must bid you good eve. Sir."<br />
<br />
Ser Lars Syrush, the First Sword of New Alderaan, is a tall man. He stands out in a crowd, literally, and wears armor that rattles with subtlety after each step he takes. He's oddly pale when he approaches Dyna and Noemie together, bowing slightly. "Good evening, ladies. My name is Ser Lars. Her Highness has bid me stay near you both out of.. protection. You may not know it, but this room is full of people who hate each other. War has seen each house killing one another.. a river of blood that leads to that seat up there.." He points toward the jeweled throne at the top of the dais, where stained glass depicting the image of the Mother and the Father (deities of Alderaan) shine bright from the evening setting sun. "I must ask your permission to remain near you. I promise not to be a bother."<br />
<br />
Hiroku doesn't move away from his charge. The man staring at Ser Lathan as he approaches. The sharks were appearing and starting to circle. Ariel offers a smile, "My new station in the Senate is going well, Ser Lathan and I thank you for asking." she tells him. "My guards are guiding me just fine this evening, though I appreciate the offer." she comments to him. "If this was a Senate matter then yes, maybe my words would help. Given this matter has not been given to the Senate then I am but a humble and diplomatic guest to help the people of New Alderaan." she tells the man.<br />
<br />
A very gentle disengaging of his arm from Ula's when she takes it, the barest shake of his head and a whispered, "Not when I might have need at moment's notice." giving her a wink, Bors manages to keep his court face while adding, "And that's why I'm armored and not in court attire." <br />
<br />
Uypiia's passing by Count Corwen is done so with a slight flourish of her fingers towards the man with a cat's narrow eyed smile, turning so that the floor length dress that clings until her calves sweeps like shadowy water and the gems in her halo-collar flash with intention of glare striking the man's eye,<br />
<br />
"Count Frayus, how lovely to see you here and about; Vanko and I were saying just earlier, with my brother about how your daughter cast such a bright light upon your... 'impressive' demesne and how we felt that House Frayus should be aggrandized for having produced such a steadfast, useful, and contributive member to Court and Alderaan as a whole. We do hope you do naught to try and shade that glimmer, it might make a man of questionable worth out of one whose character might already be tentative?" she pauses, a flicker of teeth that Bors mimics, the Thul Sibling's trademark Thousand Watt Smile allowed only at a quarter of its dazzling brilliance, "Oh, I'm sorry. Tenuous is more like it?"<br />
<br />
The Thuls continue to move as one, with eerie uniformity to their movements, threat, seduction and obfuscating of their motives all in one.<br />
<br />
"My apologies, Ser Serrus. I suppose I only assumed Lady Ulgo's husband would be so handsome," Nora says with a soft smile. If she's embarrassed by her misidentification of the man, she doesn't appear to dwell upon it for long. Lady Frayus' attention turns briefly back to Lady Ulgo and her jaw muscles work her teeth together for a brief moment. Nora's gaze is an oppressive thing. Those cold blue eyes wander briefly over the other woman's features -- her eyes, nose, lips and chin, and then snap back up. Nora smiles.<br />
<br />
"A tall work of fiction, and I must say it must have been a -excellent- one to have you convinced. I do believe that it has added several years onto my Father's life. You should have seen the vein in his forehead as he wrote that letter. I was half convinced it was going to start crawling about his face like a little worm. How ghastly," Nora says with a laugh.<br />
<br />
Count Corwen has arrived with Countess Adni and Lady Luci. As Nora suggested, both he and his wife are holding snifters of brandy. "Lady Ulgo," he says, voice rough as he looms ominously over Nora's shoulder. Corwen's eyes briefly turn in Ariel's direction, catching his 'this mans' look. It earns the senator a stern laugh and a raise of his snifter. Politics, my dear.<br />
<br />
"I do hope Lady Nora's prattling hasn't offended you. I feel she has spoken a month's worth in the matter of days," he says, and sips his brandy.<br />
<br />
"Yes, well, some of us should do actual talking instead of skulking about and growling at everyone," Nora says and plucks the glass of brandy from her mother's fingers.<br />
<br />
"Nora," her mother chides, but Nora's just shrugging and taking a drink.<br />
<br />
The young Lord Killesa nods his head and steps as Lord Ban directs. "I shall not take up much of your time, Lord Iskender. -- I am told you are fashioned the Green Knight of Alderaan, a man of honor. I am in need of such a man's help. All is not what it appears here, sir. The solidarity you see is strained, forced in some aspects. My family is one such case, sir. Those hoisting our banner, the colors of /my/ House are thugs, sir. Pirates. Killesa is not here, sir. They rot in a prison in our own keep. We refused Lana and have paid for our 'treachery'. Sir if you are the Knight they claim you to be, please.. help me. I have risked everything to be here tonight in the hopes of finding a champion to free my family. It is said the Iskenders have an affinity for the sea. I offer such.. if Last Light is returned to us, and these talks prove pointless.. then we can help each other.."<br />
<br />
Lumira's little brother, Theodoro, is still looking over in Nora's direction with a sense of wonder. "But we *know her*," he continues to say, despite both parents looking mildly disconcerted by the topic. "We knew about Cousin Aryn--"<br />
<br />
"...Her *Grace*," Lady Alessia gently corrects.<br />
<br />
"...Yes," Theodoro says, "Her Grace. We knew about her. But Lady Frayus?" he sounds both thrilled and mildly horrified. To be affiliated with the Order is rather ~tawdry~ after all, and it's a remarkable surprise to hear it about a fellow noble who is thus far known for dancing on tables rather than regimented lessons on the Force.<br />
<br />
Lumira simply wags her finger at her little brother, causing the boy to look and then scowl when she uses that finger to *boop* him on the nose. "Leave the gossip to me," Lumi tells him, smiling beatifically, "I think there is more than enough to worry about without wagging our tongues about a subject that means very little to why we're here. Hm?" She casts a sideways glance across the hall, noting Lord Corwen's aristocratic stance. And then, bouncing one shoulder, Lumira will drift away from her family to approach one of the wandering servants.<br />
<br />
Lumi's hand deftly reaches for a fizzy refreshment as it passes by on a tray. She sips at her beverage, looking around for their host, Lana, or anyone else of interest. It is indeed strange to be back amongst her peers -- people she grew up with and dined with in this very hall -- half of whom were once considered friends but now ally themselves with her family's enemies. When a small gaggle of noble ladies approach, Lumira will bounce her brows and offer a smile before bowing her head to whisper something.<br />
<br />
"You mistake me, Lady Senator." Lathan says, turning instead to walk with her. His hands lock at the small of his back as he adopts a casual gait. "It is not this war which need be brough to the Senate. Her Highness was marked as a Jedi. Much like the treacherous company she kept with this Palpatine and Solo.. she too could be exiled from the New Republic space.. this very space here, my Lady. Think of the lives you might save with just words, Senator."<br />
<br />
Noemie's comment earns a light laugh from Dyna. "Enjoying all the fancy dresses are you?" she asks the Naboo woman in a slightly teasing tone. As Ser Lars approaches the two of them, Dyna stops for a moment to eye the man curiously, taking note of his armor. "So I've gathered. Well, hopefully nothing comes of it then. But I suppose it wouldn't be politics without a bit of bloodshed." There's a wry smirk at that comment. Where Dyna came from, assassinations among royalty by those looking to attain more power were not uncommon. "I suppose that would be for the best then," she notes with a small nod in agreement. "Anything else we should know about this Panteer woman then, given the circumstances?"<br />
<br />
"Lord Bors Thul.." Says the smooth-toned voice of Count Serrus. "Of the /ancient/ House Thul, mm, yes. I would have a word, sir. Maybe some wine if you the inclination to walk with me. Oh? And who is this lovely creature? Your betrothed? And from what House do you come from?" Count Serrus asks Ulani.<br />
<br />
Corwen is a tall, imposing man. Like his daughter, there is a certain gravity that comes with his gaze. Frosted and blue, intense and intelligent. It settles on Uypiia as the woman speaks. He gives a lazy swirl of his brandy and strokes his free hand through his well-manicured, dark beard. It's those blue eyes and that black hair that contribute such a contrast. Beneath that beard is a strong jaw, and above it, the same nose as Nora. "I need not shade my daughter's glimmer, My Lady. She is quite apt at it herself," he says, and raises his snifter to his lips to take a sip. His eyes turn to Lady Uypiia's hair and he sucks a bit of air through his teeth as he swallows. "She does such fine work. I can always spot it from across the room. You look beautiful, Lady Thuul," he rumbles.<br />
<br />
She cannot help but look a little confused as her arm is untwined. The explanation clears theings up but only adds to the tension that Ulani isn't exactly able to hide. Nor does she have the first clue on what to do with herself. The only weapon she knows how to use is a carbine and let me tell you, hiding that up a skirt is awkward and had to be quickly abandoned. Don't ask.<br />
<br />
So she allows herself a half-step distance from Bors, leaving him the space to react should he need it. All around her, she is catching little bits and pieces of the multi-court gossip. A lot of rumblings about Jedi and the recent Senate meeting. Other hushed conversations under breaths where words are missed but tone is clear. Along with a few side-eyes she has noticed.<br />
<br />
Caught looking off to the side, the approach of Count Serrus snaps her blue eyes forward and find the grinning face of a refined man in his fifties. "Ah--" Caught not knowing who /exactly/ this person is, Ulani defaults to a respectful bow. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm..."<br />
<br />
Noemie's head cants as Ser Lars explains some of the goings-on to she and Dyna. Eyes narrowed in slight confusion, she nods her agreement, vocalizing it as, "sure, you can tag along with us! But we're not going to be as exciting as everyone else!" It's a playful warning, but not entirely incorrect. "Is there something that we can do to help Princess Cortess?" A glance at her Hapan date. "Maybe - distract some jerk for her, or cause a scene somewhere?" A mischevious grin plays across her lips. The daughter of a handmaiden, Noemie knows the right buttons to push to distract any number of posh royals.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender leans subtly nearer to the young Killsea as the desperate Delayan relates his family's plight. "Mother and Father bless their honor, sir, and your courage in sharing such. Your kin shall have my sword on their behalf, be assured," he relates quietly. "I do not doubt some treachery awaits us, here. Your charge is to survive it, and retake your family's keep in my company, is that understood?"<br />
<br />
"A shame, I thought to have you impart your wisdom about an esoteric concern of mine. Were it true you were of the Order.. well, it might have answered a prayer. Alas," Lady Ulgo says, looking defeated and sharing a look with Ser Serrus. The Knight with Ulgo seemed grim, but Nora had managed to get a smile from him.<br />
<br />
Count Frayus arriving with his wife and daughter draws his attention.<br />
<br />
"Your Lordship," Lady Ulgo says, "You and yours seem in good health. The Lady, Nora has done nothing to accost me, sir. I was just commenting upon her lovely hair. My brother sends his regards. The sword forged for him has served him well in his new duty as Marshal to the Grand Duchess. I am told it was used in his first duel."<br />
<br />
Count Serrus gains a raised brow from Bors who nods "I might walk short distances, but I will remain within proximity to my Sister the Countess, per my duties. Sadly I can imbibe none in current presences, for those same reasons but thine offer is graciously appreciated in kind with your attentive notice of my betrothed." inclining his head towards Ulani, "Lady Ulani is from one of the Great Houses of Kuat, ancient nobility - though a tad misguided. I had to... make the case rather emphatically that her wish to leave Kuat to join Alderaanian nobility was greatly accepted by my Sister the Countess." Head tilting and turning ever so slightly to fix the count under the gaze of his monocle with a polite, if pointed, challenge against trying to make any but polite response to her<br />
<br />
<br />
The Thuls have stopped, to encompass the Frayus more aptly and Uypiia's smile blossoms, "She is an artist in many respects, Corwen." a pointed lack of title used with polite tone and courtly inflection, "I cannot see any talent at self-denigration in Lady Nora, either. If anything it looks to be that if the descendancy of House Frayus has not been properly appointed it would be a fantastic comedy of tragic error; which I am most certain that your lordship would be fully impossible of committing." the khol lined eyes of Uypiia home in on Corwen, as if sizing up where to sink her teeth into his throat,<br />
<br />
"Truly!" announced so suddenly and with volume to draw attention, "Corwen Frayus would clearly be a man worthy of his blood and title insofar as to announce the PRIDE that Lady Nora brings to House Corwen! A champion for good and an example for Alderaan's youths to look upon as example?" <br />
<br />
Suddenly all Thul eyes, save two pair, are on Corwen, expectant.<br />
<br />
"My Lord.. I-I .. words fail me, sir. Truly. Pirates hold my family's seat, they captain our ships, and they prey on those who would do honest work upon the seas ruining my good family's name. For fifteen thousand years we have served this world and guarded its seas. Now.. " The young Lord Killesa laments, on the verge of tears. "May the Father guide your sword to justice, sir. I must depart before I am spotted. I ran from university upon hearing of my family's plight.. Lana does not know my face." He says to Ban, turning from the Green Knight to look over this den of serpents.<br />
<br />
Lumira is certainly in her element as she whispers amidst a cluster of young nobles. Whatever she says must be amusing, because the entourage appears fairly fixated. One of the Girard nobles actually places a hand to his mouth, eyes widening, until a neighboring young lady gently pulls it down with a laugh. When pretty Lumi lifts her head up, signaling the end of her story, there is a titter of accompanying laughter. For her part, Lumira seems completely absorbed in the act of socializing, not realizing that she has garnered attention from Lord Rist.<br />
<br />
Ariel gives a look to Ser Lathan as he speaks, letting him finish his bit. Then she gives a soft inner mantra of 'please don't punch him...' to herself. "Herol, could you pull up the Chancellor's missive about the Jedi and his decision." she asks him sweetly. Herol gets to it, holding up the datapad to read from, "I will point out this, Ser Lathan, 'The Jedi Order, is here-by banned from conducting any training, or hold any official residence as a religious home for Force sensitive individuals within Republic space. Its current members, however, are not banned from Republic space.' she quotes from it and then gives a smile to her older bodyguard. She then looks back to Ser Lathan, her green gaze cool, but cordial, "Is there something else that you would be keen on discussing, Ser Lathan? Were you present when Bastion was attacked and the Jedi Order shed their blood their to protect us?" she asks him quietly.<br />
<br />
Lady Lumi may get the sense someone is watching her when she turns about, or maybe it's the solemn figure in her periphery. A pale faced man wearing the colors of House Rist, watches her with sunken eyes and grim expression. He holds a wine goblet in a jeweled decorated hand, and seems content to glare until the time to interject presents itself. The Rist is still polite..<br />
<br />
Lady Nora's eyes return to Lady Ulgo when the woman speaks, and she takes a slow and thoughtful sip of her mother's brandy before she's handing it back. Like her father, the bite of alcohol causes Nora to take a little inhale of air through her teeth just after swallowing. The knight with Lady Ulgo gets a smile in turn, and Nora quiets herself long enough to let the exchange play out between her father and Lady Ulgo herself.<br />
<br />
"This pleases me to hear," Count Frayus says, regarding the sword forged her brother. "That was Lady Luci's handiwork," he says, and gestures to the young woman standing beside Aldi who wilts at the attention. A wallflower, her cheeks flush pink at the sudden looks of attention. "It was," she says quietly. "I am pleased to hear that he... that he liked it," she says.<br />
<br />
"Quite," Corwen says with a smile.<br />
<br />
As the two speak, Nora is moving a little closer to Lady Ulgo. She's waiting, really. Quietly waiting, like a crocodile just beneath the water's edge, waiting for a gazelle to take a drink.<br />
<br />
When Uypiia and the rest of House Thul's eyes turn to Corwen, Lady Nora sees her opportunity.<br />
<br />
"Lady Ulgo. Perhaps you could tell me of this... esoteric concern. I have met many a member of the Jedi Order in my travels with Her Grace. Surely some of the wisdom that has been imposed upon me has stuck," Nora says with a soft smile and a laugh.<br />
<br />
Corwen's distracted enough by Uypiia's outburst to furrow his brow and turn his body back towards the woman. Irritation on his face, he watches the woman speak and gesture with a slow and deliberate sip of his brandy. Other members of House Frayus turn to look at him as well, save for Nora, who still converses with Lady Ulgo.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender gives a short nod to the young Lord after a long moment spent in regard of the junior Killsea. As if taking a report from an underlying. He adds quietly, "Then do not linger here. Present yourself to the Tantive Four. You are unknown to the guards so they will not admit you, bid them contact me, and I shall see you admitted. Once you are there, we do not risk exposing you with com signals. Do you understand," he asks in the same controlled, level tone of authority.<br />
<br />
Corwen's eyes remain on Uypiia for a few moments later and he remains silent. And then he chuckles, and raises that brandy snifter up into the air in the universal gesture of a 'toast'. "To my daughter, then. Is there anything so undoing?" he asks. Lady Adni lifts her brandy snifter up and smiles, joined by Luci with her glass of grape juice that looks a good deal line wine. She smiles over towards Nora, but sees her elder sister still speaking with Lady Ulgo. That smile briefly fades from Luci's face, but re-warms as she turns to look forward.<br />
<br />
"To Nora," she say softly.<br />
<br />
"Since the great war and loss of Old Alderaan, our culture has seen a shift." Ser Lars explains to the two ladies. "Once we thrived on being a society of peace. Pacifism served us to some degree, but affiliations can be just as damning as the actual acts. When Alderaan was lost because of rumors of Rebel Alliance collusion, it ignited a change in our culture. Over night, we became a people for service, for war. Though not war for the sake of it. We grew to appreciate scars, re-adopted dueling, and intrigue in our court switched from diplomacy as a primary to service. The result is that which you see here, ladies. Two ruling factions demanding service of the Houses. On one side, Her Highness has the support of many noble Houses, but on the other.. Lana Panteer keeps a litany of her own supporters. Assassination, like what you reference of the Hapes Cluster and Queen Mother's court, is sadly common place here. T'was the bones of children and murdered nobles that allowed Lana to take this seat as her own. She wiped out a dynasty that has stood the test of time for twenty thousand years." Lars seems grim in his delivery of this history to the pair. "Maybe someone can get a dancing contest going, or something? The tension here is thick.." Lars mentions in reference to Noemie's suggestion.<br />
<br />
"Charmed, my Lady," Count Serrus says to Ulani whilst listening to Lord Thul. "Ahh, yes, the Countess.." He waves to Lady Thul in a diplomatic and genteel sort of fashion. "I was curious on your take concerning our.. conflict. As a member of another ancient House who has resided on Delaya for quite some time, surely you take offense to these.. outsiders who wish to rule us." Count Serrus is referring to Lana AND Aryn.<br />
<br />
"Yes sir," Lord Killesa says to the Green Knight, Lord Ban. "I will do as you say. Mother guide me.. Father protect you, sir." The young man gives the room one final look before finally moving away from Ban and heading up the stairs to exit. The guards do not seem interested in stopping him, so the kid makes it outside. When he's clear of the palace, he all but runs to the Tantive IV.<br />
<br />
Ulani comes out of her bow and extends her hand out to Count Serrus; palm down, fingers relaxed, and wrist slightly bend. A full expectation of it being taken in some kind of courtly way. All the while Bors provides a better introduction than she could in the mere seconds she was trying to take to stall for time. An ancient noble house of Kuat? It's certainly possible. She doesn't really know much about her mother---<br />
<br />
The Count's questions posed earns a tilt up of Ulani's chin. She's not quite sure if she should speak when the question was posed to Bors and not her, but she does seem to take some offense to the word 'outsiders.' Though it is far from surprising for her to hear it.<br />
<br />
"I was more pursuing representation that ALL of those sensitive be banished, Lady Senator. It is your duty to represent us all, is it not?" Ser Lathan intones, his genteel poise not threatened by the redirection Ariel uses in referencing New Alderaan. "I was upon New Alderaan, yes. The forces deployed there were intended to serve an ill mission. I am ashamed to have drawn steel, but duty binds me to the service of the Grand Duchess. I do what I must." Ser Lathan says, genuine shame showing on his features. "It is bloodshed which I wish to stop. Your words could have delivered such.. by removing these.. factors which draw us to more conflict."<br />
<br />
Noemie's face contorts to various expressions as Ser Lars gives she and Dyna a brief history of recent Alderaanian culture. From fascination to confusion to shock and back around again. "That's pretty complicated," she says with a glance to Dyna, another one who's culture seems complicated to her. "Suppose it's easier when you only have to focus on one government type," she concedes, referencing her home world. "We have an elective monarchy in our human population and the Gungans work more like a large number of various monarchies - elective, hereditatry, militaristic, depending on the sect. But we all come together to form a single, ultimately unified, culture," she concludes with a soft smile.<br />
<br />
Gazing about the room, Noemie takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, considering the proposal of a dance contest. "I'd need to know how to dance if I'm to get a contest going!" She giggles girlishly. "And to be fair, a contest might be the last thing this room needs! It'll give people more of a reason to fight.. hmm..." Hazel eyes narrow as she retreats to her thoughts, scheming while the Alderaanians fight a battle of culture all around her.<br />
<br />
Lumira may not know how to wield a blade or blaster, but she certainly knows how to work a room. To an outsider, the effervescent blonde is merely gossiping with her peers, but those who know the ins and outs of courtly life realize that the ability to change public opinion often rests with those who are, well, popular! And Lumira certainly seems to be that, what with the way she confidently flits from one conversation to the next. Gracious hellos are followed with gracious goodbyes, the noble lady never lingering for very long.<br />
<br />
As she makes her circuit around the room, Lumira inevitably feels *someone* staring at her. She turns to look over her shoulder, her blue eyes flitting to and fro, but it still takes a moment for her to spy the darkly-clad Rist Lord where he stands. Seeing him renders the lady briefly immobile, her mouth falling open before pressing into an enigmatic smile. And then, looking right at him, she will toss her blonde hair over her shoulder with a dramatic *SWISH*. She does not turn away from him, her body remaining half-twisted in his direction, but it seems the Rist lord can approach *her* if he'd like to chat and not the other way around.<br />
<br />
Still, as Lumira takes a sip of her fizzy beverage, she stares daggers his way. Thankfully, her daggers are the sort loaded with *judgement* and *shade* as opposed to actual poison as the Rists are known for.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo smiles at Lady Luci, her reaction priceless. "He won the duel, of course. Your steel drew its first blood, a duel of honor it was. I am thankful you made it with such expert balance. You have my thanks, my Lady. Your Lordship." Lady Ulgo bids the Count, Countess, and Lady farewell before being intercepted by lady Nora once more. "My Lady, I am confused now. Are you implying you keep the company of Jedi Knights? Or that you are affiliated?" This time, Lady Ulgo is quieter about it. Ser Serrus steps nearer to her.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender doesn't look after the Killsea when the young man steps away, looking to all appearances as though his only concern were meeting the expectations of his rank and lineage while keeping an eye on the Princess. The dragoon will wait steely and silent for the expected communique from the guards on the Tantive IV, only now beginning to catch up on the conversations that have grown around him.<br />
<br />
Dyna turns to look at Noemie, brow raised. "I never took you for a troublemaker, but you sound like you're looking forward to this." She lets out a chuckle and shakes her head. "Well, that being said, if there is any way we can assist with the proceedings, we will. Though for now, at least, that doesn't seem to be of much concern," she notes, noting all the chatter about them. She slips her hands into the pockets of her blazer as she looks around for a moment, quietly listening to the others. As Ser Lars goes on to explain the current diplomatic situation with Alderaan she nods slowly, furrowing her brow a bit. "Mm... seems there's little chance things will remain so civil then." Dyna takes a breath and looks toward Aryn for a moment. Given the precedence set, she could imagine an attempt being made on the Princess' life while they were there in particular.<br />
<br />
Lars suggestion of a dance contest gets a raised eyebrow from Dyna. She glances back, looking between Noemie and Lars for a moment before chuckling and shaking her head. "Would feel a little out of place anyway I think, and I'm certainly no dancer either. I'd say an archery contest might be more the style of those gathered, but we -certainly- wouldn't want to be giving anyone here weapons!"<br />
<br />
"Every lie has a bit of truth to it, does it not? I have been in the company of some, indeed," Lady Nora says simply to the Lady Ulgo. With her father distracted by Uypiia, Nora is momentarily free to sink the teeth of inquiry into this particular conversation. She too is speaking a bit quieter now, and her tone is dissonant with the words themselves. It's light, airy, and playful. As if she were talking about trivial, trifling things. "And I must admit that you have piqued my curiosity. If you would prefer not to speak of it, however," she says, and turns to look towards Ser Serrus as he steps a little closer.<br />
<br />
"I shall not press the matter," Nora adds.<br />
<br />
"To Nora." Uypiia and the Thuls with her declare, voice warm but the look for Corwen one that could frost a garden before she raises her hand to be taken by Vanko who places a kiss on her knuckles and only helps the next sweep of the Thuls, turning their attention next to the Rists, to whom a former member of the house is now aunt to the Countess.<br />
<br />
"My Lord Serrus, Princess Organa herself named Aryn her heir. Princess Aryn is no usurper, no outsider. She is our Sovereign." gaze now seemingly to only hold the count, though that could be a bluff - combat trained as he is. Bors's head tilts to one side before he continues, "Thul backs house Cortess, I personally back the Princess. She has sacrificed, risked, bled and shed tears for Alderaan. Sir." left hand lifting to cup his chin between thumb and forefinger, watching the Count like a hawk.<br />
<br />
"House Thul was from the Homeworld, remember. Our home stolen barely half a year hence my birth. It was House Cortess that restored. House Cortess that strode forth when Panteer roused her rebellion. Princess Cortess who fought alongside us when a child was threatened for her birthright." head lifting some, looking down his nose a touch, "So. Count Serrus; I am curious on your take, concerning where you align yourself? With a murderer? Or with one who places life above her own?"<br />
<br />
Even Uypiia hears that, head turning to give lofted browed look towards her brother dear.<br />
<br />
The Rist does approach Lumi Cortess, stopping before her to give the Lady a once over before scowling. "I suppose you would admit to knowing little or nothing about the where abouts of our missing scion, hm? The one which, against our better judgement, is betrothed to you?" Rist seems unfazed by the dagger stare Lumi offers. In fact, he rudely takes a drink from his wine. "Should you see him though, inform him we are watching. Always. Watching. He would do well to avoid his.. arrangement with your family. The Rist do not support this Cortess claim. We do not support you either. Though, I suppose widow has a certain ring to it."<br />
<br />
"I admire your loyalty, Lord Thul," Count Serrus remarks whilst taking the man's bethrothed's hand in his to press a genteel kiss to her knuckles. He straightens and releases her hand, then regards Thul anew, "You mistake me. I support neither. Your family were among those who stood with us here in Delaya. A number of others, too. Why is it we must follow the rule of an outsider.. Lana.. or Aryn. Neither shared in our grief and struggle upon this world. Why can we not just restore the Teraan Duchess and carry on like we were?"<br />
<br />
Lord Ban's commlink is given a jingle. "Captain Iskender, this is the Black Rider. A young gentlemen bids we contact you to admit him aboard the ship. With your permission, my Lord?"<br />
<br />
Catching more and more words now, Ulani is looking around her. Face to face to face. It isn't just tensions that are rising. Voices are, as well. Veiled, backhanded compliments turn into to terse words. Stiff upper lips to grimaces and scowls. Her hand released touches briefly to Bors' arm then away again; a wordless gesture of wariness to their surroundings.<br />
<br />
One voice in particular not only grabs Ulani's attention, but makes her do a full-body turn in the direction of the Rist Lord and Lumi Cortess. The hair on the back of Ulani's neck stands up and without thinking, she is withdrawing from Thul protection and moving over to join Lumi's side. "Lady Cortess! I do not think we have met!" Ulani is a terrible liar, but she almost -- ALMOST -- is able to mask the slight waver in her voice. Perhaps to most, she would sound confident, but to those trained in reading their political opponents, or in this case enemies, it's clear the young woman is on edge. Blue eyes lock onto the Lord Rist, a dared tilt of her head.<br />
<br />
Ariel gives a bit of a look to Lathan, letting him speak. She does have her etiquette down. Hiroku has released her arm, allowing her free range of motion. He and Herol are staring at Ser Lathan from over her gorgeous head of red hair though. "Ser Lathan, we do not know who all are sensitive in the ways of the force." she tells him. "If we did put on the table that vote and we forced everyone that had a shred of power out of the New Republic it could be dire. We could force children away from their families and vice versa. Not all force users lead extravagant lives and can afford to rehome themselves. Some hide their powers to avoid persecution already. What if we did that and it came out that you had a force sensitive family member that would have to be forced out?" she poses the question to him.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo nods her head to Lady Nora, "I see. Well, the news I bear is grave, My Lady. I hope I can keep my bearing in saying it." Lady Ulgo is given a tissue by the Knight with her. She clutches it before beginning, "My Lord Father is ill, but it is not an illness which medicine can treat. It is one of the mind.. something plagues him. His Lordship was once a fit man in his older years, not quite twilight in age and still able bodied to lift a sword. Now, he sits his throne, growing old, demanding war, demanding service to Lana with such.. fervor. It is not my father."<br />
<br />
"I have gone against his wishes by speaking against his decree. He intends to deploy Ulgo troops in lieu of this war. Because of my participation, I have been exiled from my home. So I ride from hold to hold, speaking with our bannermen to convince them not to join this cause. But I fear for my father. There is something.. something wrong with him. With his mind." She steps closer to Nora and whispers. "It is said Lana is a witch. A sorceress in her own right capable of such magics of the mind.."<br />
<br />
Lumira's heart might be pounding in her chest, but the lady maintains a cool facade as the Rist approaches. She merely sips her champagne, watching him with glittering eyes as he draws near. Finally, when he addresses her, the lady lowers her glass and greets him with a charming smile. "Good evening, my lord," she says, appearing thoroughly unfazed by by his words, "It is such a lovely evening -- even if the circumstances are rather dour. I admit, it warms my heart to once more see your cheery face..." Lumira takes a moment to sip her champagne, the obvious sarcasm leveled with delicate overture "...Of course," she resumes, "I wish we were speaking under happier auspices. I have been engaged to your son since I was a small child, after all, and have long since accepted you as my father in law."<br />
<br />
Lumira lowers her glass, her eyes now fixed on the scowling nobleman. "Alas, I cannot say where Orren is at the moment, but I am certain that he is also keen to see you again. You -- and the rest of his family." And here her voice takes on a note of steel as she adds, "As for being a widow, I might say the same to your--"<br />
<br />
But Lumira is interrupted by Ulani's approach. She pivots to look at the approaching lady, appearing initially baffled before a gentle smile rises. "Good evening, Lady..." Hrm. She can't recall, so she merely side-steps to make room.<br />
<br />
"A shame, that," laments Lars about the dancing contest. "Alas, dancing would take everyone's mind off the murders that transpired here, or that may transpire, I dare say. These halls are darker than I remember," Grim but still charming, Ser Lars looks away from Noemie and Dyna a moment to look about. "So I am to learn more of this Artisan's Guild the two of you run. Has Her Highness some notion to bring your guild to our lands? What trades carry your sigil?"<br />
<br />
"Because Delaya does not stand alone anymore, My Lord. This is the Alderaan System, not the Delaya system. Alderaan was ripped from us and has been restored. We stand better united." Bors lips thin a moment, seeking words, "Alderaan, Delaya, the Ash Worlds; it is one realm, not a scattered collection of states - it was on Aryn's request I came personally to house Teraan's aid when they were threatened. It was Princess Aryn herself who aided in the fight to keep the Duchess in her throne." <br />
<br />
Left hand moving, while right remains at set angle, as if to be in a splay handed stance, Bors's posture is as though he were taking in half the room for the direction he stands now with his gesture, "My Lord; we're not squabbling Correlians in their corporate ruled council putting up some puppet Diktat to tug the strings of for the next two decades! Nor are we the muddled Spire-Dwelling aristocracy of Coruscant always angling to knife the other and collect the wealth expected to pour out." tone a little firmer,<br />
<br />
"My Lord Count, I do not support an Outsider. I do not support a usurper, a fake a sham or a shadow governor who seeks to strip away the freedoms. I support one who felt our grief cleave deep into her heart, twist and bleed her hollow for the long, walking, death that was for many of us following the Death Star. I support Alderaan. You are Alderaan, I am Alderaan, my beloved Ula is Alderaan... Delayans are Alderaan, Cophriginians -ARE- Alderaan. PRINCESS Aryn puts you above her, Count Serrus. Princess Aryn puts House Rist, Qel-Nosh, Ulgo, Iskender, Frayus, all of us above her. Because she wants ALL of us to prosper." the left hand sweeps to rest on Serrus's shoulder and the monocle wearing noble looks imploringly to the count.<br />
<br />
"Alderaan endures, my Lord Count - but it suffers when we are so divisive."<br />
<br />
"You have no right to stand in this hall, Rist," Says Lady Kiko Alde, the scion of the eldest House of all of Alderaan. "Your very presence here wilts the stone. Were it not a summit of peace, I would have brandished steel and slapped the very taste of wine from your mouth. Its taste is wasted on one with a forked tongue. Say another threat upon the House Cortess, and we will make a spectacle and duel.. here and now, sir." Kiko puts herself betweeen Lumi and Ulani.<br />
<br />
"Spare me the bravado, Alde. Recall you the vigor which prompted your brother to pass upon our blades? So eager to join him in the ground? Or was he burned? I have a hard time recalling what Alde's do with their deceased ever since they left Delaya and became outsiders."<br />
<br />
Kiko's nose flairs and she sets her gloved hand upon the hilt of her sword.<br />
<br />
"Yes, enlighten us Alde.. brandish your sword and be the brute the Cortess have made you. Once the Alde's were revered for their knowledge of history. Now? Barbarism." He sneers.<br />
<br />
"We still have command of history, my Lord. Alas, Rist will find no place in it once I am through with you and your traitorous house."<br />
<br />
"It's come up, to be sure!" Noemie smiles proudly at the notion of the Artisans Guild expanding. "Our Headquarters is on Empress Teta but she's proposed a branch outlet here in this system," the Naboo explains, waving a hand about the chamber as though to show off the entire Alderaan system with the single gesture. "We're currently involved in the industries of fashion, droids, medicine, starship design, arms modification, and a number of trade deals: fine spirits, textiles, supplies, and that's just for now! As we grow, each member brings something new to us and branches us further in to the economy, enabling us to further support our other members in turn," she explains with a small nod as the Alderaanians practically prepare for battle in every direction around her, unknowing to herself. "We're accepting of anybody that's lawful! If you have an artisian craft of some kind, or run a store, or spend any significant amount of time among the trade lanes." Her head cants, a question aimed at Ser Lars by the gesture.<br />
<br />
That question answered, Noemie starts to look about the chamber, desperate for some kind of escape to take the man's attention away from herself. It's now that she starts to read the room. She's not doing a great deal of eavesdropping, but one thing becomes clear to her after a brief focus: body language. Almost everybody looks tense with very few appearing to be relaxed. Scowls and grimaces are common among the faces, and some that display smiles can easily be interpreted to be snarky smiles, those of a noble that just got one over another in a verbal jest. To Dyna, the Naboo says in a low voice, "I get the sense things might be a little.. tense.." Hazels look in to Dyna's greens as the Naboo adjusts her posture, her wide sleeves helping to obscure some of her own body language as she holds one of her hands to the opposite forearm.<br />
<br />
The look Ulani gives Lumira is nothing short of apologetic. This is /not/ how she had envisioned her introductions to the Princess' cousin yet here they are all the same. "Ulani," she replies, omitting her last name purposefully. Especially in the presence of the Rist nobleman who seems capable of flaying skin from bone from twenty paces. "Please, forgive my intrusion but I would be remiss if I did not take this opportunity to introduce myself. I.... hope I am not interrupting anything." Liar. She absolutely hopes she is interrupting.<br />
<br />
Kiko steps in between them and Ulani steps back, given Kiko the space she may need. "I had hoped that Lord Orren and yourself would grace the Thul residence with your company when our duties find us free." She gestures towards the Thul entourage currently filleting a Count.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Bors, a servant approaches the man and stands just off to the side waiting to be addressed.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender speaks into his comlink, "By my permission, sir, see it done with courtesy." It is then that Kiki's exchange with the Rist reaches his ear and the gentleman turns his booted steps toward the incensed lady and those who insult her, lest a mess be made. "Every memory has worth, Lady," he opines, evenly. "Even if only as an example. History.. has a long memory."<br />
<br />
"You levy a good point, Lady Senator. I had not considered this. Hmm," Ser Lathan looks poised to comment, but the situation between the Rist Lord and Alde Lady draw his attention. "My Lord.. My Lady.. this is a summit of peace. If you are to duel, do it on your own time."<br />
<br />
"Not worth my time, anyhow," Lord Rist intones.<br />
<br />
Lady Kiko sneers, but does not move from Lumi and Ulani's side. "So it does, Lord Ban." Kiko's hackles appear to be calming though, and her gloved hand strays from the pommel of her sword. She watches Rist retreat.<br />
<br />
As Lady Nora listens to Lady Ulgo speak, that smile she'd been wearing as naturally as her dress begins to slowly fade. She turns her body so that her back is turned towards Corwen, who has been cornered into a conversation between the Thuuls and the Frayuses. Judging by the severe expression on his face, he's particularly nonplussed about it. Instead of speaking, he simply lets his eyes wander towards Nora and Lady Ulgo, just as the woman is handed the tissue. Though he cannot see Nora's face, he can certainly read Lady Ulgo's.<br />
<br />
"Hmmmh, you'll excuse me," he says to present company.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora continues to listen to the woman speak and, when she's finished, Nora leans forward and gives the woman an encouraging touch on the forearm, just beneath where that hand clutches that tissue tight. "You were right to bring this to my attention. Though I cannot myself say for certain what manner of magics is at work, I will take your story to those who can. Stay brave, Lady Ulgo. And chin up," Nora says.<br />
<br />
"Dearest Daughter," Corwen booms from over Nora's left shoulder. Though he speaks to her, his eyes have settled on Lady Ulgo now. There is a grimness to his visage as well as his tone of voice.<br />
<br />
"Hello, Father," Nora says, and steps back, opening the circle for Corwen to step into should he elect to. He does not. "We were just discussing Lady Ulgo's Lord Father. I have extended our House's wishes of continued prosperity," she says, and turns her eyes in the direction of the situation developing between Lady Kiko, Lumira, and the Rist Lord.<br />
<br />
"But I have taken enough of your time this evening, Lady Ulgo," Nora says, and offers the woman one last squeeze on the forearm as well as the Knight she's with a nod. "Farewell," Nora says.<br />
<br />
She approaches the tense conversation between the rist lord, Lumira, and Lady Kiko moments later. While she might appear oblivious to the tension between them, that is deliberate. Her fingers run across the Lord's chest and up towards his collarbone, and she flashes him the whites of her teeth from beneath pretty, dark-painted red lips.<br />
<br />
"If not a duel, then perhaps a dance, My Lord?" Nora asks the Rist.<br />
<br />
Lumira places a hand upon Kiko's shoulder, her touch delicate and calming.<br />
<br />
"Lady Kiko," Lumira murmurs, her voice gentle despite the hard look she gives the Rist, "As you say, were we not in a summit of peace..." she lets her words meaningfully trail "...Alas, that is where we are. Don't let this coward bait you into action when we both know that his days are numbered. House Cortess shall soon set things right, and when it does, we shall remember the Lord Rist's due comeuppance. And besides..."<br />
<br />
Lumira's hand falls away, a cold smile rising at her gold-hued lips, "We must not wish ruin on *all* of House Rist -- not if my betrothed is to one day reclaim it for House Cortess. So..." Lumira gently bounces one shoulder, her gaze returning to the Rist lord with cat-like mischief from beneath the flutter of her lashes, "...If I *do* see your son, I will be sure to send him your regards. I expect he'll offer much the same in return."<br />
<br />
The lady looks over to Ulani, flashing her a reassuring smile as she turns away from the dour gentleman. "Thank you, Lady Ulani. What a lovely offer. I would very much enjoy an excuse to converse."<br />
<br />
Hearing Ulani speak of Lord Orren, the Rist Lord's gaze shifts to her a moment, then he's gone. One moment he was walking through the crowd, and when someone passes behind him blocking him from view, he's gone by the time they move.<br />
<br />
<<"It will be done, my Lord.">> Responds the Tantive IV to Lord Ban.<br />
<br />
"The finest of spirits," Dyna adds with a smirk to Noemie's comment on their guild's activities. "Though there's other crafts I intend to get involved in myself, I've made quite a bit of business distributing Zadarian Brandy outside the Hapes Cluster. As for the guild itself my personal hope is for it to someday serve as a means of helping other business-minded individuals get a start in the galaxy by providing some basic utilities they may need." Noting the atmosphere around them, Dyna takes a step closer to Noemie and nods to her in agreement. "To be expected. It's politics, after all," she comments with a wry smirk. "Let's just hope they keep all the jabs verbal. It's far too early yet for this to turn violent." Lifting an arm, she gently places it around the woman's shoulder, pulling her close.<br />
<br />
Ariel gives a dip of her head to Ser Lathan, "I just want people to see it from all sides." she tells him. Then the situation with Kiko and the Rist Lord is happening and Hiroku and Herol both reach out to draw the Senator back towards them. "This has grown delightful." Hiroku whispers to Herol. The older man just gives a shake of his head, "Not the time for jokes, Hiroku." he points out softly.<br />
<br />
Aryn Cortess and Lana Panteer meet before the steps leading to the dais. Lana catches Aryn looking at the throne and approaches, "Charming, is it not?" She asks.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns from the throne to look upon Lana. The Duchess is taller than Aryn, far more elegant and poised. "Our definitions differ as to what passes for charming. In truth, I was imagining what Avlin might look like to sit upon it? Though, I suppose this one will be melted down." Aryn says, then looks away from Lana.<br />
<br />
Lana smiles, "I did not take you to be a student of fantasy tales, Lady Aryn. The girl has lost all claim to this seat, to these people."<br />
<br />
Aryn looks back to Lana, "I did not take you to be a student of fantasy tales, /Lana/."<br />
<br />
Count Serrus regards Lord Thul as he explains the reason for his vehement support, nodding his head. "The thing is, Lord Thul, I just have my doubts. Princess Organa, Gods rest her soul, was ever vacant, too. She selects an heir, a bookish second born girl who, admittedly was born here, but moved away. Now she presumes to lead a people far more complex and divided than she thinks. Then, matters are made more obscure by the fact murder has ruined the true line of succession. There are evils on both sides, but the way before all this, the way we were.. it harmed no one. We lived in peace." The Count takes a drink and sighs.<br />
<br />
"Alas, we Alderaanians are all lost in the past. I appreciate you sharing your views with me, My Lord. Truly, and thank you for hearing mine." The Count bows to Lord Thul respectfully, and quietly withdraws.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo nods her head, looking relieved to hear she had done something right. "Oh, thank you! Please, anything to help my--" The arrival of Count Corwen ends Lady Ulgo's sentence. She dips slightly to the Count. "Your Lordship, your Lady daughter is so kind. Walk with Mother's grace."<br />
<br />
Lumira watches the Rist leave with a soft frown, her hand having crept up to gently rub against her glittering necklace. Then, a soft shiver, just the smallest rustle of her gown, and then the Alderaanian noble turns her back upon the departing gentleman. She smiles at Ulani, saying, "Blended families are difficult enough without one side identifying as traitorous assassins, am I right?" She delicately winks, erasing all signs of worry from her face as she loops her arm with the other woman. <br />
<br />
The Cortess lady pivots to watch the back and forth between Lana and Aryn, that smile dampening a touch. "I will be glad when this whole affair is over." One might take her to mean the peace summit -- or more likely the usurper's war.<br />
<br />
"Is she now?" Corwen says, disbelief in his tone. He turns to look at his daughter slinking off to accost somebody's father and lets out an exasperated sigh. He tips back the rest of his brandy -- a sizable volume -- and swallows it with a nod to Lady Ulgo. "With the Mother's grace, My Lady," he returns.<br />
<br />
Lady Luci's eyes are on Aryn and Lana, a touch of color drained from her face. Though young, she's certainly privy enough to know the gravity of that particular sight -- both Aryn and Lana discussing a throne. She wraps her arm around her mother's, who simply gives her daughter a light pat on the back of the head while she speaks to a few others, exchanging pleasantries and sipping brandy.<br />
<br />
"Finish your juice, my heart," she says down to Luci, who simply nods and turns her attention away from Aryn and Lana to focus on her big sister.<br />
<br />
Nora turns to look at Luci, and beckons her over. Luci's nose wrinkles, and she shakes her head back and forth. Shy, she hides her face in her mother's arm and Lady Nora just laughs.<br />
<br />
Ulani releases a held breath and nods gently to Lumira as the noblewoman makes retreat. "Indeed it is. My own family does not quite get along with my new one. Lord Bors and my father had a... ah... confrontation. You know, I won't bore you on the details, but know I understand. And yes. I, too, will be glad when this is over. A pleasure, Lady Cortess."<br />
<br />
Returning to Bors' side, Ulani gives another touch to his arm then lets her hand fall to her side. Then curiously glances to a servant who appears to be lingering nearby.</div>Arynhttp://www.swaoa-mush.com/index.php?title=Log:New_Alderaan:_Delayan_Peace_Summit&diff=17707Log:New Alderaan: Delayan Peace Summit2022-03-06T04:53:36Z<p>Aryn: Created page with "<!-- Fill this in with information about your log --> {{LogBox | LogTitle=Opening Gala for Peace talks. | Location=Leilani City, Delaya | Participants=Lumira Cortess,..."</p>
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Fill this in with information about your log<br />
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{{LogBox<br />
| LogTitle=Opening Gala for Peace talks.<br />
| Location=[[Leilani City, Delaya]]<br />
| Participants=[[Lumira Cortess]], [[Nora Frayus]], [[Bors Thul]], [[Ulani Kalgaav]], [[Ban Iskender]], [[Ariel Teral]], [[Dyna Selenis]], [[Noemie Lenoir]], [[New Alderaan]], [[Aryn Cortess]]<br />
| OOCDate=March 5, 2022<br />
}}<br />
<!-- Put the text of your log below here --><br />
Like all things with Alderaan and its aristocracy, the affair is large. Delaya, a shadow of the Old Alderaan, holds much of the same architecture of pomp the culture used to sport. From tall buildings with massive towers and shining building exteriors, the only thing that kept the splendor in check was the presence of industry. The Ducal Palace, home of the Duchy that ruled Delaya was massive. It loomed center stage above Leilani city, with an extraordinary view of the city that spanned in every west, south, and east nearly as far as the eye could see.<br />
<br />
Not all of Delaya was city, though. Much of its rich lands were green, with more than 80 percent of the world covered in misty seas said to be ruled by the mysterious House Killesa from their keep Last Light, a fortress on the sea with an eternal flame lit lighthouse to mark the inlet of the continent to warfaring ships. Other Houses were much more prominent on Delaya than any other diaspora of Alderaan, Houses Ulgo, Frayus, Killesa, Panteer, and of course House Rist.<br />
<br />
Our group has arrived by way of the Tantive IV, a capital ship marked for diplomatic missions with an exterior hull that spoke of decades of war. Like all Alderaanians, it bore its scars for all to see. Princess Aryn descends the ramp wearing a vibrant cape and richly colored tunic with tall boots cuffed in shined leather. Aryn wears a white-gold tiara which keeps her bright blonde hair from falling over her youthful face; a face which has its own scar over her eye that not even make up can keep from view. Intrigue!<br />
<br />
A honor guard awaits the diplomatic party, bearing the House colors of all major players on this world: Ulgo, Panteer, Frayus, Killesa, Qel-Nosh, Serrus, and Rist. A Knight, fashioned the new First Sword of Delaya addresses them with a pompous bow, "Your Grace, my name is Ser Lathan Qel-Nosh. I am honored to serve as your party's escort for as long as you have need of my service."<br />
<br />
"One moment, sir, while those of my group take the measure of the evening and gather themselves from the flight." Aryn replies, tugging her gloves on. The Knight nods, and stands at parade rest. Aside from the general hum of a city surrounding them, the wind blows making the banners of those prominent houses flap idly. Before them, the massive palace awaits.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora Frayus did not arrive on Delaya by way of the Tantive IV, but rather the Voidlight Anvil a few moments before. She is not alone, either. Standing with her near the honor guard that greets the diplomatic party is Count Corwen Frayus, Countess Aldi Frayus, and Lady Luci Frayus, Nora's younger sister. House Frayus' colors are dominated entirely by black and a deep, dark purple. For her father and mother, this comes through purple trim woven into their ornate pantsuits and capes. For Nora, the purple is marked in eye makeup, fingernails, and from a little gemstone that hangs from a thin silver chain around her neck. Black dress. Purple heels. There is a visible tension between the representatives from House Frayus, and Corwen seems particularly irritated that he has been made to wait to be escorted until the diplomatic party from Tantive IV has departed.<br />
<br />
Nora's eyes roll and she folds her arms over her stomach. She turns to look over her slender shoulder at Aryn Cortess from across a void of space between them. She seldom looks this severe, but whatever tension seems to wind tightly around all four members of House Frayus appears to be effecting her more than the others. Besides her father's blustering, her mother fusses with Luci's hair. Luci, in turn, has her eyes on her older sister. A small frown touches on the younger sister's lips, but she doesn't speak.<br />
<br />
"Your Grace," Nora says when Aryn approaches. A bow of her head is given to her friend and Princess.<br />
<br />
"Ah, yes, Princess Cortess," Corwen says, adjusting his collar for a moment before bowing low, as do the rest of the members of House Frayus. Besides their elegant attire, all of them are armed with ornate rapiers at their hip. All of them, save Aldi Frayus.<br />
<br />
Uypiia and Vanko's descent from the transport is flanked by house guards, the Mistress at Arms Kima on Vanko's shoulder and the House Champion Bors at his sisters - the lot of those associated to House Thul all a song of black and silver with the periodic rush of blue and blood red crimson. A cluster of smiling, but closed, expressions - bright to contrast the dark attire.<br />
<br />
"How poorly do you expect, brother dear?" the countess asides to her younger brother while they take in the sights.<br />
"Oh I am hoping it goes swimmingly, but I brought my sword and knife just in case."<br />
"And a blaster?"<br />
"Also a blaster."<br />
"Also Ulani?"<br />
"Of course, Ulani..." the siblings share a momentary side-eye, trying their best to feign irritation before putting attention forward once again.<br />
<br />
Bors's armor hues of black save for silvery trim that seems focused on the thicker points of his armor - tactical filigree, as it were, and the undeniably T-Visored helmet hooked to his belt and within easy reach. Lord Thul, a Mandalorian? No. Perish the thought. But the armor he has was clearly inspired by the warrior culture; as he wears a relic of the Clone Wars. The sandy haired man adjusting how his monocle rests, pinched before his eye and the butler droid that is in the mix with him casually spritzing a smudge on his armor before buffing it out with a rag.<br />
<br />
Lumira arrives a respectful ways behind Aryn, her expression relatively somber for the moment. Delaya is her homeworld, the place where she grew up and the current residence of her lord father and mother, Lord Dario and Lady Alessia -- the former being Aryn's uncle. For the time being, Lord Dario serves as the overseer of the Cortess Duchy on Delaya, a position that has kept him exceptionally busy with all of the recent unrest. Both he and Alessia will be at tonight's summit, though the two are currently out of sight, likely already gathered in the great hall or designated meeting place.<br />
<br />
Lumira is dressed in Cortess colors, her golden blonde hair worn half-up in a braided circlet with the rest of her long locks worn in a romantic tumble down her back. Her gown is white and trimmed with gold, her cape dashingly clasped to one shoulder with a gemmed brooch. She has applied metallic gold shadow around her eyes, the same gilded cosmetic pressed to her fetching lips and neatly manicured fingernails. When the Knight approaches, she will offer him a slim smile, her eyes immediately raking over his person as she politely returns, "Good evening, sir."<br />
<br />
Princess Aryn is the one in charge so Lumira will follow her lead. She will, however, look to Nora where she stands with her family and flash her a subdued smile. Well, it would be subdued if her lips weren't so brilliantly highlighted.<br />
<br />
Ulani is dressed for the occassion. A long, silver and black gown hugs tight at the bodice and flares outwards and down, trailing in her wake just barely grazing the ground as she moves. Coppery red hair is done up with intricate braids along her crown and large, spiralling ringlets falling down the plunge of her neck and onto her shoulders. No cape for her, though. Not yet. Certain things must be earned. Instead she has a long strip of sheer silver fabric embroidered in black hooked at both elbows and flowing in a gentle arch at the small of her back.<br />
<br />
She is walking just behind the main Thul entourage with a bit of unmistakable tension. Recalling the way her late father would speak of 'peace talks' -- and how much the Panteers remind her of him -- she has a healthy distrust that this is anything of the sort. Still, the young woman carries herself with a noble air that has been successfully trained into her. Mostly. She doesn't have the walk /quite/ right and when she hears her name being spoken just slightly ahead of her, the guarded expression breaks for curiousity to take over. "Pardon?"<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender descends the ramp among the other nobility, attired in the elegant dress uniform of a dragoon officer, ornamented with all the appropriate gold braid and emerald green half-cloak. Straight backed and austere, the gentleman is unarmored but not unarmed, a sheathed sword at his side as a sign of rank and status. The gentleman's manner throughout the niceties is stern and solemn.<br />
<br />
Ariel's entourage is trailing behind given there's been a bit of a message that Ariel needed to take. The Senator has been in a bad mood since the Senate trial, but she's painted on a practiced smile for those that she comes across as they enter with the delegation. She was entering the lions den with familiar faces at least. Thank the gods.<br />
<br />
Dyna had joined in the group heading to Delaya for the peace summit aboard the Tantive IV, dressed in her usual business attire consisting of a purple, v-neck sleeveless blouse that she's tuked in to a matching pair of slacks. As she steps off the ship, she's straightening out the black blazer she's wearing over it. Politics were a bit outside her element and she had never been on a warship before, but she had decided to join the group as a show of support for Princess Cortess. "So this is Delaya," she muses with a quick glance around as she steps off the ship before turning to her travel companion. "Have you ever been here before Noemie?" she asks her. She could tell there were quite a few nobels gathered around them from the attire on display and lets out a small chuckle. "Perhaps I should have worn a dress for this."<br />
<br />
Having never ridden on a corvette before, Noemie Lenoir is a bit wide-eyed as she steps off the boarding ramp to the historic CR-90 - though part of that wide-eyed expression indicates that she's aware of the ship's historical significance. Not being Alderaanian herself, nor her companion, the two descend to the ground at the very end of the pack.<br />
<br />
Noemie is a very short woman, pale skinned with dark features - short black hair barely brushing against her shoulders. She's not dressed quite as elegantly as the rest, giving hint to her lack of a background in nobility. Her outfit is, however, hand-tailored by none other than herself. In two pieces, this fashionable blue dress consists of a wide-sleeved top that secures around her chest by wrapping in on itself, exposing a tiny bit of navel before the second part of the outfit takes over, a long, floor-length skirt tied together in the front by a bright, gem-encrusted clasp. Though they can't be seen below the long skirts, heeled pumps click and clack as the Naboo steps closer to the Alderaanians.<br />
<br />
"I haven't been here, no!" She responds to Dyna as the two walk closely side-by-side. With a fond smile, she adds, "you could have, but I think what you have on is fine! It's you, and that's important. Anyway," a hazel eye winks, "you wear it well!" Like Dyna, Noemie had come along in support of her Guild member. Nearly the entire Guild were here, in fact, Noemie realizes as she stops to offer a polite smile at Ulani as well.<br />
<br />
"Count Corwen, my Ladies.." Aryn addresses Nora's father, then the Ladies Frayus all at once, returning the gesture of respect with a slow nod of her head. "Would you join us? I believe we are all ready to head inside now." Aryn turns briefly, sweeping her arm toward the party that's joined her in this mission. They have support of House Iskender, Thul, Cortess, Teral, Syrush, Alde, and even the Artisan Guild's co-founders Dyna of the Hapes Cluster, and Noemie of Naboo.<br />
<br />
"Sir Lathan, you may lead on, my Lord." Aryn addresses the Knight serving as their escort who responds with a quiet nod, bow, and step toward the Palace that looms ahead of them.<br />
<br />
As they move, Aryn drifts back into the heart of the group, presumably out of ear shot of the honor guards bearing their House banners (which lead the entourage inside). "When last I was here, the palace was razed, Teraan banners burning, and the dead lay every where. Seeing Panteer banners here has done nothing to brighten this once extraordinary place. This place has dark shadows filled with ghosts of all those murdered protecting it. Even breathing the air makes me ill," Aryn says as they pass the battlements where a Panteer banner dominates their view.<br />
<br />
Large doors are pulled open ahead of them, bringing the group to the great hall where a Herald stands ready to announce each member of the party. The Great Hall is filled with people ranging from staff who have cooked a grand arrangement of refreshments, to those nobles just relaxing and talking throughout the large room and out on the balconies. Lana Panteer, who has fashioned herself the Grand Duchess of Delaya, is not seen just yet.<br />
<br />
"MAY I PRESENT, HER ROYAL HIGHNESS, PRINCESS ARYN CORTESS OF ALDERAAN."<br />
<br />
"SER LARS SYRUSH, LORD FROM HOUSE SYRUSH, LADY KIKO ALDE, OF HOUSE ALDE!" And the announcements go on as each person files inside and heads down the grand staircase. Marble flooring has been shined to perfection, and the stairs are adorned in a carpet matching House Panteer's colors scarlet and gold.<br />
<br />
As the group makes their way down, members of other Houses turn to regard them and the chatter grows quiet. Enemies see enemies for the first time under the same roof and the tension is thick. Music cuts through it though as the band is made to resume their music once the announcements have been made.<br />
<br />
"COUNT CORWEN FRAYUS. COUNTESS ADNI FRAYUS. LADIES NORA AND LUCI FRAYUS," the Herald yells out. Corwen and Adni enter the tense gala arm in arm, as do Nora and Luci just behind them. There are hushed whispers and murmurs, stifled laughs and averted gaze. Indeed, news does travel fast. Corwen's public letter denouncing Nora's testimony before the senate as a fabrication has doubtless been one of the many talks of gossip amongst the crowd tonight. Various nobility laugh as they turn to look at Nora, who simply stares straight ahead, cold blue eyes searing hot into the back of Corwen's head.<br />
<br />
Corwen is as aloof as ever.<br />
<br />
House Frayus has enjoyed a position of relative neutrality throughout the conflict, but the tension between their own members adds to that of the gala entirely. Count and Countess move towards a gathering of close allies, and the group's arms unlink to greet one another. Kisses pressed to cheeks, small jokes meant to ease tension. An older woman is talking to Nora and giving her a knowing, compassionate smile.<br />
<br />
"As lovely as ever, darling," she says, her voice a low and gravely contralto worn and softened by age. Like leather, really. Beautiful in its own right. Nora smiles to her and presses a soft kiss to either cheek.<br />
<br />
"And you, My Lady. It is good to see you," Nora says with a soft smile.<br />
<br />
Lady Luci approaches from behind Nora and, unlike her older sister, hardly stands on ceremony with the older woman. She slips against her and wraps both arms around her in a big hug.<br />
<br />
"And youuuu," the woman says, laughing a little as she returns the embrace in kind. "Am I growing senile, or have you gotten taller? Perhaps it is the shoes," she muses, and then smiles to Nora, "Or perhaps it is both."<br />
<br />
Announced as, "Lord Ban Iskender, Captain of the Vice-royal Lir Dragoons," the gentleman keeps a parade ground bearing as he surveys the assembly within the hall. Any trace of his usual charm is well buried beneath a stoic face. His green eyes never rest long enough on the Panteer banners that he might be compelled to notice and thus comment upon them. The walls may as well be bare for the attention he pays them.<br />
<br />
"We were acknowledging you were here. Why are you back there? You are betrothed to a Lord of Thul - up up up; where you belong." Uypiia playfully chiding while the Thuls converge to flank the Royal Entourage, hanging back momentarily for one of the Countesses runners to inform the announcer to state<br />
<br />
"THE ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF THUL ATTENDS" <br />
<br />
Unified, no individual placed above the other - even if the Countess is clearly given the literal and figurative center-stage position of their darkly dressed assembly. It is as she crosses the threshold that Uypiaa's collar fans out, like the mating plumage of some exotic bird, creating a halo behind her head of woven black and silver, laced with rubies and threaded with deep blue that gives a deep water shimmer behind her short cut, but clearly Nora coifed hair.<br />
<br />
"Don't put your helmet on." murmured to Bors and he gives his sister a wounded look, <br />
"But why, sister mine?"<br />
"So you can't make faces and get away with it." rolling her eyes while the Champion of Thul's expression maintains its demeanor save the barest flick of the corner of his mouth which is all but screaming 'How dare, you're absolutely correct that I would be, but how dare? Indeed!' a twitch of his eyebrow conveying a barristers 'Hrububublblblblblblb!'<br />
<br />
Lumira turns to look at the palace, her blue eyes flitting over its grand towers and domes. Her gaze moves toward the scarlet flags that wave so proudly in the breeze -- their banner a subtle indication of the change in power -- and the sight makes her gilded lips twitch into a frown. A moment later, the entourage is moving foward and the Cortess lady falls into step just behind her cousin.<br />
<br />
Lumira hesitates *just* a moment before entering the Great Hall, but it is only to pause and fluff at her hair, ensuring it is in perfect shape before making her arrival. "LADY LUMIRA OF HOUSE CORTESS," the Herald announces.<br />
<br />
Lumira hovers in the doorway or atop the stairs -- wherever the announcements are being made -- and flashes a resplendent smile. The Herald turns, preparing to announce the next guest, but Lumira is still there -- hogging a bit of the spotlight with her chin thrust up and her body draped in a fetching fashion -- before she picks up the front of her elegant gown and sashays forward.<br />
<br />
Lord Dario and Lady Alessia are already present, as are her brood of siblings: Lord Dario II, the second-eldest at fourteen, then Lord Theodoro, age 11. Given the importance of the evening, the three youngest have been left at home, ensuring the summit doesn't devolve into any more whining and fisticuffs than one can already expect from the gathered adults.<br />
<br />
"Lumi, darling," Alessia says, moving to sweep her blonde-haired daughter up into a warm embrace. "Lumira," her father returns more stoically, but with a fond smile. She embraces each of her parents and receives their kisses, though her two younger brothers do little more than lift their heads in acknowledgement. "It's rather surreal," Lumira says to them, turning to gently straighten Theodoro's coat despite his eye rolls, "To be back in the palace. The banners..."<br />
<br />
Lumira stops when her father gives her a look. Shrugging her shoulder, the lady breezily turns and clasps her hands behind her back, her expression mindfully neutral -- as much as an expressive creature like Lumi can manage. And then, when Dario II pipes up to say, "Did you hear about Nora being a Jedi?" it will be Lumira's turn to fix him with a *look* that silences any further questions.<br />
<br />
Ariel is being escorted by Hiroku (https://i.imgur.com/YsjwZSw.jpg) and Herol (https://i.imgur.com/FKBPATr.jpg) this evening. Her other bodyguard is hardly ever seen, but the man is dressed for the occasion and in all black and Herol is looking spiffier than usual as well.<br />
<br />
"THE LADY SENATOR ARIEL TERAL OF NEW ALDERAAN!" is the sound of the Herald introducing her and she jumps, squeezing Hiroku's arm as he is guiding her. He gives her a look, "You're fine. None of them will bite." he tells the young woman quietly before he leads her in. Herol just has an unamused look on his face. Ariel does cast a 'this bitch' look in the direction of Count Corwen when she hears his voice in the distance. His letter about his daughter not being her favorite thing.<br />
<br />
A blink. Two. "Oh!" To Uypiia's urgings, Ulani doublesteps up to join Bors' arm before the family cross the threshold and into the grand cavern of the main room. It is an entrance that the Thuls did not practice -- not that Ulani had ever seen. Yet they move in unison. A coordinated effort she attempts to follow with poise and a charming smile. And a gentle squeeze of the Champion Thul's arm to back up the Countess' words. He absolutely would make all the faces.<br />
<br />
Aryn's explanation is caught, drawing Ulani's eyes up to the Panteer colours that hang oppressively all around. Heavy and looming. More like blades than banners. Her brows knit together gentle then is quickly reigned back into a neutral expression. "I do hope this goes better than you think it will," she says under her breath to Bors as the family moves together.<br />
<br />
"Senator Teral, my Lady.." Says Ser Lathan, a man on the slightly shorter side. He bows when regarding Lady Ariel, then smiles. "How goes your new station in Senate. What with the recent drama, you must be at odds with her Grace. An Order of sorcerors banished from New Republic space, intriguing." The knight offers Ariel his hand to help her down the stairs if she accepts the gentleman's gesture. "It is said a Senator wields enormous power on the galactic stage. In theory, you could end this war between Delaya and New Alderaan with but a few words and vote."<br />
<br />
"All the same, one of these days I should really get you to design a dress for me," Dyna comments with a small smile as she looks over Noemie's attire. "You really are quite talented. Though perhaps something with a more Hapan flair?"<br />
<br />
Dyna would fall into line behind the princess alongside Noemie as they make their way toward the palace in the distance, the Hapan woman remaining silent for a moment with her gaze fixated on the palace as Aryn speaks. It was hard to imagine the place having once been a warzone, at least in its current state, but a solemn nod is given in understanding. Hearing the names called out loudly one, a small smirk forms on Dyna's lips. "This is quite the entrance. Suppose I should expect nothing less." Dyna herself lacked any sort of proper title and so was content to just be part of the entourage, though she takes note of the names being announced to familiarize herself with those present she hadn't already met. She happens to catch the word 'Jedi' being mentioned and quirks a brow.<br />
<br />
"You only pretend to be senile so nobody looks twice at you. I am familiar with your games, grandmother," Nora says. The is still embracing Luci, who seems hesitant to let go now. Fingernails stroke through the girl's soft blonde hair, and her grandmother looks up over the top of the young woman's head to Nora with a smile. She doesn't respond. Simply taps the side of her nose with an index finger and opens her mouth to speak. It's then that another member of the group chimes up, a tone of amusement in his voice.<br />
<br />
"That was some stunt at the Senate, Nora. Dare I say, it may have been your most scandalous yet. I had thought, perhaps, that you could not top dancing on the tables at the Autumn Gala, but you have bested my assumptions once again," he says with a chuckle. The woman he's with gives him a swat across his chest with the back of her hand. Count Corwen's eyes narrow not in the man's direction, but in Nora's.<br />
<br />
"Mmmmmh, yes," another says, this a young woman with raven black hair and piercing green eyes. "But who could have ever believed you as a Jedi? Not only hysterical, but a masterful work of fancy and fiction. You have outdone yourself."<br />
<br />
Nora smiles, thin-lipped.<br />
<br />
"Yes, well. You do know how much I love to cause a stir. That Senate Hearing was positively -dreadful- with all that talk of war and politics," Nora says, bristling. "And I simply could not resist," she says. Corwen exhales and turns his eyes away, while Nora's grandmother and mother exchange looks with one another. The party speaking with Nora laugh and turn to one another to gossip, and Nora is moving on to speak with others. Pageantry. How she loathes it. Pity she's so gifted with it.<br />
<br />
She spies Lady Ulgo glancing in her direction and folds her hands over her midsection. Her fingertips rest upon her upturned palm and she takes a few strides towards the Lady with a smile.<br />
<br />
"Lord Ulgo. Lady Ulgo. How pleasing it is to see you both well. Father is likely fetching himself some brandy to drink, or he would have greeted you both with haste," she says.<br />
<br />
Lord Ban's stoic approach is disrupted when a young Lord bumps into him. The culprit is a teenager, well dressed, yet a bit frightened by the man he ran into if only for reputation alone. He steps back, bowing to the Captain Dragoon, "My Lord.. apologies. Truly, I did not see you approach. Might I have a word, sir? Perhaps.. somewhere private?" The last part of his question is spoken lower.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora's address of Lady Ulgo earns her a small bow, and a soft "My lady," but when she straightened, her look was more dire. The man she named Lord Ulgo shakes his head, "The Count Ulgo is not well, my Lady. I am the Lady's escort for the evening, Ser Thom (Tom) Serrus."<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo speaks then, "Lady Nora.. is it true then? What you said at the Senate.. you are a Jedi Knight?"<br />
<br />
"I would be happy to," Noemie smiles to Dyna and squeezes her arm gently as the two step in to the chamber after everybody has been announced. Content to be part of the entourage herself, Noemie waits until those being announced have been announced before stepping in behind all of them, her heels echoing loudly on the polished marble flooring. Unlike Dyna, Noemie didn't catch the talk of the Jedi, though coming from a world that has largely been disconnected from galactic politics for the most part, the word means less to her than it may to others. "Every time we come to one of these, it's more and more of a spectacle. I'm in love with this!" The Naboo enthuses to her Hapan friend.<br />
<br />
The political back-and-forth and the intricacies of nobility cold wars are completely lost on the naive girl, but what is certainly not lost on the young artist are the color palettes on display. The red and gold of house Panteer strike her the hardest, though would likely do so less strongly if she knew the significance of the house's hostility toward her friend's own house. Both red and gold are royal colors on Naboo, and not something that Noemie herself is qualified to wear.<br />
<br />
"Your pardon, sir," an unamused Ban returns to the young man who bumps into him. "I may grant words in discretion, but not privacy," he notes, offering a quiet conversation, but not being willing to stray far from the princess. "I must remain near unto Her Highness in such.. august company, but may step a short distance if that shall suffice. Else, I must bid you good eve. Sir."<br />
<br />
Ser Lars Syrush, the First Sword of New Alderaan, is a tall man. He stands out in a crowd, literally, and wears armor that rattles with subtlety after each step he takes. He's oddly pale when he approaches Dyna and Noemie together, bowing slightly. "Good evening, ladies. My name is Ser Lars. Her Highness has bid me stay near you both out of.. protection. You may not know it, but this room is full of people who hate each other. War has seen each house killing one another.. a river of blood that leads to that seat up there.." He points toward the jeweled throne at the top of the dais, where stained glass depicting the image of the Mother and the Father (deities of Alderaan) shine bright from the evening setting sun. "I must ask your permission to remain near you. I promise not to be a bother."<br />
<br />
Hiroku doesn't move away from his charge. The man staring at Ser Lathan as he approaches. The sharks were appearing and starting to circle. Ariel offers a smile, "My new station in the Senate is going well, Ser Lathan and I thank you for asking." she tells him. "My guards are guiding me just fine this evening, though I appreciate the offer." she comments to him. "If this was a Senate matter then yes, maybe my words would help. Given this matter has not been given to the Senate then I am but a humble and diplomatic guest to help the people of New Alderaan." she tells the man.<br />
<br />
A very gentle disengaging of his arm from Ula's when she takes it, the barest shake of his head and a whispered, "Not when I might have need at moment's notice." giving her a wink, Bors manages to keep his court face while adding, "And that's why I'm armored and not in court attire." <br />
<br />
Uypiia's passing by Count Corwen is done so with a slight flourish of her fingers towards the man with a cat's narrow eyed smile, turning so that the floor length dress that clings until her calves sweeps like shadowy water and the gems in her halo-collar flash with intention of glare striking the man's eye,<br />
<br />
"Count Frayus, how lovely to see you here and about; Vanko and I were saying just earlier, with my brother about how your daughter cast such a bright light upon your... 'impressive' demesne and how we felt that House Frayus should be aggrandized for having produced such a steadfast, useful, and contributive member to Court and Alderaan as a whole. We do hope you do naught to try and shade that glimmer, it might make a man of questionable worth out of one whose character might already be tentative?" she pauses, a flicker of teeth that Bors mimics, the Thul Sibling's trademark Thousand Watt Smile allowed only at a quarter of its dazzling brilliance, "Oh, I'm sorry. Tenuous is more like it?"<br />
<br />
The Thuls continue to move as one, with eerie uniformity to their movements, threat, seduction and obfuscating of their motives all in one.<br />
<br />
"My apologies, Ser Serrus. I suppose I only assumed Lady Ulgo's husband would be so handsome," Nora says with a soft smile. If she's embarrassed by her misidentification of the man, she doesn't appear to dwell upon it for long. Lady Frayus' attention turns briefly back to Lady Ulgo and her jaw muscles work her teeth together for a brief moment. Nora's gaze is an oppressive thing. Those cold blue eyes wander briefly over the other woman's features -- her eyes, nose, lips and chin, and then snap back up. Nora smiles.<br />
<br />
"A tall work of fiction, and I must say it must have been a -excellent- one to have you convinced. I do believe that it has added several years onto my Father's life. You should have seen the vein in his forehead as he wrote that letter. I was half convinced it was going to start crawling about his face like a little worm. How ghastly," Nora says with a laugh.<br />
<br />
Count Corwen has arrived with Countess Adni and Lady Luci. As Nora suggested, both he and his wife are holding snifters of brandy. "Lady Ulgo," he says, voice rough as he looms ominously over Nora's shoulder. Corwen's eyes briefly turn in Ariel's direction, catching his 'this mans' look. It earns the senator a stern laugh and a raise of his snifter. Politics, my dear.<br />
<br />
"I do hope Lady Nora's prattling hasn't offended you. I feel she has spoken a month's worth in the matter of days," he says, and sips his brandy.<br />
<br />
"Yes, well, some of us should do actual talking instead of skulking about and growling at everyone," Nora says and plucks the glass of brandy from her mother's fingers.<br />
<br />
"Nora," her mother chides, but Nora's just shrugging and taking a drink.<br />
<br />
The young Lord Killesa nods his head and steps as Lord Ban directs. "I shall not take up much of your time, Lord Iskender. -- I am told you are fashioned the Green Knight of Alderaan, a man of honor. I am in need of such a man's help. All is not what it appears here, sir. The solidarity you see is strained, forced in some aspects. My family is one such case, sir. Those hoisting our banner, the colors of /my/ House are thugs, sir. Pirates. Killesa is not here, sir. They rot in a prison in our own keep. We refused Lana and have paid for our 'treachery'. Sir if you are the Knight they claim you to be, please.. help me. I have risked everything to be here tonight in the hopes of finding a champion to free my family. It is said the Iskenders have an affinity for the sea. I offer such.. if Last Light is returned to us, and these talks prove pointless.. then we can help each other.."<br />
<br />
Lumira's little brother, Theodoro, is still looking over in Nora's direction with a sense of wonder. "But we *know her*," he continues to say, despite both parents looking mildly disconcerted by the topic. "We knew about Cousin Aryn--"<br />
<br />
"...Her *Grace*," Lady Alessia gently corrects.<br />
<br />
"...Yes," Theodoro says, "Her Grace. We knew about her. But Lady Frayus?" he sounds both thrilled and mildly horrified. To be affiliated with the Order is rather ~tawdry~ after all, and it's a remarkable surprise to hear it about a fellow noble who is thus far known for dancing on tables rather than regimented lessons on the Force.<br />
<br />
Lumira simply wags her finger at her little brother, causing the boy to look and then scowl when she uses that finger to *boop* him on the nose. "Leave the gossip to me," Lumi tells him, smiling beatifically, "I think there is more than enough to worry about without wagging our tongues about a subject that means very little to why we're here. Hm?" She casts a sideways glance across the hall, noting Lord Corwen's aristocratic stance. And then, bouncing one shoulder, Lumira will drift away from her family to approach one of the wandering servants.<br />
<br />
Lumi's hand deftly reaches for a fizzy refreshment as it passes by on a tray. She sips at her beverage, looking around for their host, Lana, or anyone else of interest. It is indeed strange to be back amongst her peers -- people she grew up with and dined with in this very hall -- half of whom were once considered friends but now ally themselves with her family's enemies. When a small gaggle of noble ladies approach, Lumira will bounce her brows and offer a smile before bowing her head to whisper something.<br />
<br />
"You mistake me, Lady Senator." Lathan says, turning instead to walk with her. His hands lock at the small of his back as he adopts a casual gait. "It is not this war which need be brough to the Senate. Her Highness was marked as a Jedi. Much like the treacherous company she kept with this Palpatine and Solo.. she too could be exiled from the New Republic space.. this very space here, my Lady. Think of the lives you might save with just words, Senator."<br />
<br />
Noemie's comment earns a light laugh from Dyna. "Enjoying all the fancy dresses are you?" she asks the Naboo woman in a slightly teasing tone. As Ser Lars approaches the two of them, Dyna stops for a moment to eye the man curiously, taking note of his armor. "So I've gathered. Well, hopefully nothing comes of it then. But I suppose it wouldn't be politics without a bit of bloodshed." There's a wry smirk at that comment. Where Dyna came from, assassinations among royalty by those looking to attain more power were not uncommon. "I suppose that would be for the best then," she notes with a small nod in agreement. "Anything else we should know about this Panteer woman then, given the circumstances?"<br />
<br />
"Lord Bors Thul.." Says the smooth-toned voice of Count Serrus. "Of the /ancient/ House Thul, mm, yes. I would have a word, sir. Maybe some wine if you the inclination to walk with me. Oh? And who is this lovely creature? Your betrothed? And from what House do you come from?" Count Serrus asks Ulani.<br />
<br />
Corwen is a tall, imposing man. Like his daughter, there is a certain gravity that comes with his gaze. Frosted and blue, intense and intelligent. It settles on Uypiia as the woman speaks. He gives a lazy swirl of his brandy and strokes his free hand through his well-manicured, dark beard. It's those blue eyes and that black hair that contribute such a contrast. Beneath that beard is a strong jaw, and above it, the same nose as Nora. "I need not shade my daughter's glimmer, My Lady. She is quite apt at it herself," he says, and raises his snifter to his lips to take a sip. His eyes turn to Lady Uypiia's hair and he sucks a bit of air through his teeth as he swallows. "She does such fine work. I can always spot it from across the room. You look beautiful, Lady Thuul," he rumbles.<br />
<br />
She cannot help but look a little confused as her arm is untwined. The explanation clears theings up but only adds to the tension that Ulani isn't exactly able to hide. Nor does she have the first clue on what to do with herself. The only weapon she knows how to use is a carbine and let me tell you, hiding that up a skirt is awkward and had to be quickly abandoned. Don't ask.<br />
<br />
So she allows herself a half-step distance from Bors, leaving him the space to react should he need it. All around her, she is catching little bits and pieces of the multi-court gossip. A lot of rumblings about Jedi and the recent Senate meeting. Other hushed conversations under breaths where words are missed but tone is clear. Along with a few side-eyes she has noticed.<br />
<br />
Caught looking off to the side, the approach of Count Serrus snaps her blue eyes forward and find the grinning face of a refined man in his fifties. "Ah--" Caught not knowing who /exactly/ this person is, Ulani defaults to a respectful bow. "A pleasure to meet you. I'm..."<br />
<br />
Noemie's head cants as Ser Lars explains some of the goings-on to she and Dyna. Eyes narrowed in slight confusion, she nods her agreement, vocalizing it as, "sure, you can tag along with us! But we're not going to be as exciting as everyone else!" It's a playful warning, but not entirely incorrect. "Is there something that we can do to help Princess Cortess?" A glance at her Hapan date. "Maybe - distract some jerk for her, or cause a scene somewhere?" A mischevious grin plays across her lips. The daughter of a handmaiden, Noemie knows the right buttons to push to distract any number of posh royals.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender leans subtly nearer to the young Killsea as the desperate Delayan relates his family's plight. "Mother and Father bless their honor, sir, and your courage in sharing such. Your kin shall have my sword on their behalf, be assured," he relates quietly. "I do not doubt some treachery awaits us, here. Your charge is to survive it, and retake your family's keep in my company, is that understood?"<br />
<br />
"A shame, I thought to have you impart your wisdom about an esoteric concern of mine. Were it true you were of the Order.. well, it might have answered a prayer. Alas," Lady Ulgo says, looking defeated and sharing a look with Ser Serrus. The Knight with Ulgo seemed grim, but Nora had managed to get a smile from him.<br />
<br />
Count Frayus arriving with his wife and daughter draws his attention.<br />
<br />
"Your Lordship," Lady Ulgo says, "You and yours seem in good health. The Lady, Nora has done nothing to accost me, sir. I was just commenting upon her lovely hair. My brother sends his regards. The sword forged for him has served him well in his new duty as Marshal to the Grand Duchess. I am told it was used in his first duel."<br />
<br />
Count Serrus gains a raised brow from Bors who nods "I might walk short distances, but I will remain within proximity to my Sister the Countess, per my duties. Sadly I can imbibe none in current presences, for those same reasons but thine offer is graciously appreciated in kind with your attentive notice of my betrothed." inclining his head towards Ulani, "Lady Ulani is from one of the Great Houses of Kuat, ancient nobility - though a tad misguided. I had to... make the case rather emphatically that her wish to leave Kuat to join Alderaanian nobility was greatly accepted by my Sister the Countess." Head tilting and turning ever so slightly to fix the count under the gaze of his monocle with a polite, if pointed, challenge against trying to make any but polite response to her<br />
<br />
<br />
The Thuls have stopped, to encompass the Frayus more aptly and Uypiia's smile blossoms, "She is an artist in many respects, Corwen." a pointed lack of title used with polite tone and courtly inflection, "I cannot see any talent at self-denigration in Lady Nora, either. If anything it looks to be that if the descendancy of House Frayus has not been properly appointed it would be a fantastic comedy of tragic error; which I am most certain that your lordship would be fully impossible of committing." the khol lined eyes of Uypiia home in on Corwen, as if sizing up where to sink her teeth into his throat,<br />
<br />
"Truly!" announced so suddenly and with volume to draw attention, "Corwen Frayus would clearly be a man worthy of his blood and title insofar as to announce the PRIDE that Lady Nora brings to House Corwen! A champion for good and an example for Alderaan's youths to look upon as example?" <br />
<br />
Suddenly all Thul eyes, save two pair, are on Corwen, expectant.<br />
<br />
"My Lord.. I-I .. words fail me, sir. Truly. Pirates hold my family's seat, they captain our ships, and they prey on those who would do honest work upon the seas ruining my good family's name. For fifteen thousand years we have served this world and guarded its seas. Now.. " The young Lord Killesa laments, on the verge of tears. "May the Father guide your sword to justice, sir. I must depart before I am spotted. I ran from university upon hearing of my family's plight.. Lana does not know my face." He says to Ban, turning from the Green Knight to look over this den of serpents.<br />
<br />
Lumira is certainly in her element as she whispers amidst a cluster of young nobles. Whatever she says must be amusing, because the entourage appears fairly fixated. One of the Girard nobles actually places a hand to his mouth, eyes widening, until a neighboring young lady gently pulls it down with a laugh. When pretty Lumi lifts her head up, signaling the end of her story, there is a titter of accompanying laughter. For her part, Lumira seems completely absorbed in the act of socializing, not realizing that she has garnered attention from Lord Rist.<br />
<br />
Ariel gives a look to Ser Lathan as he speaks, letting him finish his bit. Then she gives a soft inner mantra of 'please don't punch him...' to herself. "Herol, could you pull up the Chancellor's missive about the Jedi and his decision." she asks him sweetly. Herol gets to it, holding up the datapad to read from, "I will point out this, Ser Lathan, 'The Jedi Order, is here-by banned from conducting any training, or hold any official residence as a religious home for Force sensitive individuals within Republic space. Its current members, however, are not banned from Republic space.' she quotes from it and then gives a smile to her older bodyguard. She then looks back to Ser Lathan, her green gaze cool, but cordial, "Is there something else that you would be keen on discussing, Ser Lathan? Were you present when Bastion was attacked and the Jedi Order shed their blood their to protect us?" she asks him quietly.<br />
<br />
Lady Lumi may get the sense someone is watching her when she turns about, or maybe it's the solemn figure in her periphery. A pale faced man wearing the colors of House Rist, watches her with sunken eyes and grim expression. He holds a wine goblet in a jeweled decorated hand, and seems content to glare until the time to interject presents itself. The Rist is still polite..<br />
<br />
Lady Nora's eyes return to Lady Ulgo when the woman speaks, and she takes a slow and thoughtful sip of her mother's brandy before she's handing it back. Like her father, the bite of alcohol causes Nora to take a little inhale of air through her teeth just after swallowing. The knight with Lady Ulgo gets a smile in turn, and Nora quiets herself long enough to let the exchange play out between her father and Lady Ulgo herself.<br />
<br />
"This pleases me to hear," Count Frayus says, regarding the sword forged her brother. "That was Lady Luci's handiwork," he says, and gestures to the young woman standing beside Aldi who wilts at the attention. A wallflower, her cheeks flush pink at the sudden looks of attention. "It was," she says quietly. "I am pleased to hear that he... that he liked it," she says.<br />
<br />
"Quite," Corwen says with a smile.<br />
<br />
As the two speak, Nora is moving a little closer to Lady Ulgo. She's waiting, really. Quietly waiting, like a crocodile just beneath the water's edge, waiting for a gazelle to take a drink.<br />
<br />
When Uypiia and the rest of House Thul's eyes turn to Corwen, Lady Nora sees her opportunity.<br />
<br />
"Lady Ulgo. Perhaps you could tell me of this... esoteric concern. I have met many a member of the Jedi Order in my travels with Her Grace. Surely some of the wisdom that has been imposed upon me has stuck," Nora says with a soft smile and a laugh.<br />
<br />
Corwen's distracted enough by Uypiia's outburst to furrow his brow and turn his body back towards the woman. Irritation on his face, he watches the woman speak and gesture with a slow and deliberate sip of his brandy. Other members of House Frayus turn to look at him as well, save for Nora, who still converses with Lady Ulgo.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender gives a short nod to the young Lord after a long moment spent in regard of the junior Killsea. As if taking a report from an underlying. He adds quietly, "Then do not linger here. Present yourself to the Tantive Four. You are unknown to the guards so they will not admit you, bid them contact me, and I shall see you admitted. Once you are there, we do not risk exposing you with com signals. Do you understand," he asks in the same controlled, level tone of authority.<br />
<br />
Corwen's eyes remain on Uypiia for a few moments later and he remains silent. And then he chuckles, and raises that brandy snifter up into the air in the universal gesture of a 'toast'. "To my daughter, then. Is there anything so undoing?" he asks. Lady Adni lifts her brandy snifter up and smiles, joined by Luci with her glass of grape juice that looks a good deal line wine. She smiles over towards Nora, but sees her elder sister still speaking with Lady Ulgo. That smile briefly fades from Luci's face, but re-warms as she turns to look forward.<br />
<br />
"To Nora," she say softly.<br />
<br />
"Since the great war and loss of Old Alderaan, our culture has seen a shift." Ser Lars explains to the two ladies. "Once we thrived on being a society of peace. Pacifism served us to some degree, but affiliations can be just as damning as the actual acts. When Alderaan was lost because of rumors of Rebel Alliance collusion, it ignited a change in our culture. Over night, we became a people for service, for war. Though not war for the sake of it. We grew to appreciate scars, re-adopted dueling, and intrigue in our court switched from diplomacy as a primary to service. The result is that which you see here, ladies. Two ruling factions demanding service of the Houses. On one side, Her Highness has the support of many noble Houses, but on the other.. Lana Panteer keeps a litany of her own supporters. Assassination, like what you reference of the Hapes Cluster and Queen Mother's court, is sadly common place here. T'was the bones of children and murdered nobles that allowed Lana to take this seat as her own. She wiped out a dynasty that has stood the test of time for twenty thousand years." Lars seems grim in his delivery of this history to the pair. "Maybe someone can get a dancing contest going, or something? The tension here is thick.." Lars mentions in reference to Noemie's suggestion.<br />
<br />
"Charmed, my Lady," Count Serrus says to Ulani whilst listening to Lord Thul. "Ahh, yes, the Countess.." He waves to Lady Thul in a diplomatic and genteel sort of fashion. "I was curious on your take concerning our.. conflict. As a member of another ancient House who has resided on Delaya for quite some time, surely you take offense to these.. outsiders who wish to rule us." Count Serrus is referring to Lana AND Aryn.<br />
<br />
"Yes sir," Lord Killesa says to the Green Knight, Lord Ban. "I will do as you say. Mother guide me.. Father protect you, sir." The young man gives the room one final look before finally moving away from Ban and heading up the stairs to exit. The guards do not seem interested in stopping him, so the kid makes it outside. When he's clear of the palace, he all but runs to the Tantive IV.<br />
<br />
Ulani comes out of her bow and extends her hand out to Count Serrus; palm down, fingers relaxed, and wrist slightly bend. A full expectation of it being taken in some kind of courtly way. All the while Bors provides a better introduction than she could in the mere seconds she was trying to take to stall for time. An ancient noble house of Kuat? It's certainly possible. She doesn't really know much about her mother---<br />
<br />
The Count's questions posed earns a tilt up of Ulani's chin. She's not quite sure if she should speak when the question was posed to Bors and not her, but she does seem to take some offense to the word 'outsiders.' Though it is far from surprising for her to hear it.<br />
<br />
"I was more pursuing representation that ALL of those sensitive be banished, Lady Senator. It is your duty to represent us all, is it not?" Ser Lathan intones, his genteel poise not threatened by the redirection Ariel uses in referencing New Alderaan. "I was upon New Alderaan, yes. The forces deployed there were intended to serve an ill mission. I am ashamed to have drawn steel, but duty binds me to the service of the Grand Duchess. I do what I must." Ser Lathan says, genuine shame showing on his features. "It is bloodshed which I wish to stop. Your words could have delivered such.. by removing these.. factors which draw us to more conflict."<br />
<br />
Noemie's face contorts to various expressions as Ser Lars gives she and Dyna a brief history of recent Alderaanian culture. From fascination to confusion to shock and back around again. "That's pretty complicated," she says with a glance to Dyna, another one who's culture seems complicated to her. "Suppose it's easier when you only have to focus on one government type," she concedes, referencing her home world. "We have an elective monarchy in our human population and the Gungans work more like a large number of various monarchies - elective, hereditatry, militaristic, depending on the sect. But we all come together to form a single, ultimately unified, culture," she concludes with a soft smile.<br />
<br />
Gazing about the room, Noemie takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, considering the proposal of a dance contest. "I'd need to know how to dance if I'm to get a contest going!" She giggles girlishly. "And to be fair, a contest might be the last thing this room needs! It'll give people more of a reason to fight.. hmm..." Hazel eyes narrow as she retreats to her thoughts, scheming while the Alderaanians fight a battle of culture all around her.<br />
<br />
Lumira may not know how to wield a blade or blaster, but she certainly knows how to work a room. To an outsider, the effervescent blonde is merely gossiping with her peers, but those who know the ins and outs of courtly life realize that the ability to change public opinion often rests with those who are, well, popular! And Lumira certainly seems to be that, what with the way she confidently flits from one conversation to the next. Gracious hellos are followed with gracious goodbyes, the noble lady never lingering for very long.<br />
<br />
As she makes her circuit around the room, Lumira inevitably feels *someone* staring at her. She turns to look over her shoulder, her blue eyes flitting to and fro, but it still takes a moment for her to spy the darkly-clad Rist Lord where he stands. Seeing him renders the lady briefly immobile, her mouth falling open before pressing into an enigmatic smile. And then, looking right at him, she will toss her blonde hair over her shoulder with a dramatic *SWISH*. She does not turn away from him, her body remaining half-twisted in his direction, but it seems the Rist lord can approach *her* if he'd like to chat and not the other way around.<br />
<br />
Still, as Lumira takes a sip of her fizzy beverage, she stares daggers his way. Thankfully, her daggers are the sort loaded with *judgement* and *shade* as opposed to actual poison as the Rists are known for.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo smiles at Lady Luci, her reaction priceless. "He won the duel, of course. Your steel drew its first blood, a duel of honor it was. I am thankful you made it with such expert balance. You have my thanks, my Lady. Your Lordship." Lady Ulgo bids the Count, Countess, and Lady farewell before being intercepted by lady Nora once more. "My Lady, I am confused now. Are you implying you keep the company of Jedi Knights? Or that you are affiliated?" This time, Lady Ulgo is quieter about it. Ser Serrus steps nearer to her.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender doesn't look after the Killsea when the young man steps away, looking to all appearances as though his only concern were meeting the expectations of his rank and lineage while keeping an eye on the Princess. The dragoon will wait steely and silent for the expected communique from the guards on the Tantive IV, only now beginning to catch up on the conversations that have grown around him.<br />
<br />
Dyna turns to look at Noemie, brow raised. "I never took you for a troublemaker, but you sound like you're looking forward to this." She lets out a chuckle and shakes her head. "Well, that being said, if there is any way we can assist with the proceedings, we will. Though for now, at least, that doesn't seem to be of much concern," she notes, noting all the chatter about them. She slips her hands into the pockets of her blazer as she looks around for a moment, quietly listening to the others. As Ser Lars goes on to explain the current diplomatic situation with Alderaan she nods slowly, furrowing her brow a bit. "Mm... seems there's little chance things will remain so civil then." Dyna takes a breath and looks toward Aryn for a moment. Given the precedence set, she could imagine an attempt being made on the Princess' life while they were there in particular.<br />
<br />
Lars suggestion of a dance contest gets a raised eyebrow from Dyna. She glances back, looking between Noemie and Lars for a moment before chuckling and shaking her head. "Would feel a little out of place anyway I think, and I'm certainly no dancer either. I'd say an archery contest might be more the style of those gathered, but we -certainly- wouldn't want to be giving anyone here weapons!"<br />
<br />
"Every lie has a bit of truth to it, does it not? I have been in the company of some, indeed," Lady Nora says simply to the Lady Ulgo. With her father distracted by Uypiia, Nora is momentarily free to sink the teeth of inquiry into this particular conversation. She too is speaking a bit quieter now, and her tone is dissonant with the words themselves. It's light, airy, and playful. As if she were talking about trivial, trifling things. "And I must admit that you have piqued my curiosity. If you would prefer not to speak of it, however," she says, and turns to look towards Ser Serrus as he steps a little closer.<br />
<br />
"I shall not press the matter," Nora adds.<br />
<br />
"To Nora." Uypiia and the Thuls with her declare, voice warm but the look for Corwen one that could frost a garden before she raises her hand to be taken by Vanko who places a kiss on her knuckles and only helps the next sweep of the Thuls, turning their attention next to the Rists, to whom a former member of the house is now aunt to the Countess.<br />
<br />
"My Lord Serrus, Princess Organa herself named Aryn her heir. Princess Aryn is no usurper, no outsider. She is our Sovereign." gaze now seemingly to only hold the count, though that could be a bluff - combat trained as he is. Bors's head tilts to one side before he continues, "Thul backs house Cortess, I personally back the Princess. She has sacrificed, risked, bled and shed tears for Alderaan. Sir." left hand lifting to cup his chin between thumb and forefinger, watching the Count like a hawk.<br />
<br />
"House Thul was from the Homeworld, remember. Our home stolen barely half a year hence my birth. It was House Cortess that restored. House Cortess that strode forth when Panteer roused her rebellion. Princess Cortess who fought alongside us when a child was threatened for her birthright." head lifting some, looking down his nose a touch, "So. Count Serrus; I am curious on your take, concerning where you align yourself? With a murderer? Or with one who places life above her own?"<br />
<br />
Even Uypiia hears that, head turning to give lofted browed look towards her brother dear.<br />
<br />
The Rist does approach Lumi Cortess, stopping before her to give the Lady a once over before scowling. "I suppose you would admit to knowing little or nothing about the where abouts of our missing scion, hm? The one which, against our better judgement, is betrothed to you?" Rist seems unfazed by the dagger stare Lumi offers. In fact, he rudely takes a drink from his wine. "Should you see him though, inform him we are watching. Always. Watching. He would do well to avoid his.. arrangement with your family. The Rist do not support this Cortess claim. We do not support you either. Though, I suppose widow has a certain ring to it."<br />
<br />
"I admire your loyalty, Lord Thul," Count Serrus remarks whilst taking the man's bethrothed's hand in his to press a genteel kiss to her knuckles. He straightens and releases her hand, then regards Thul anew, "You mistake me. I support neither. Your family were among those who stood with us here in Delaya. A number of others, too. Why is it we must follow the rule of an outsider.. Lana.. or Aryn. Neither shared in our grief and struggle upon this world. Why can we not just restore the Teraan Duchess and carry on like we were?"<br />
<br />
Lord Ban's commlink is given a jingle. "Captain Iskender, this is the Black Rider. A young gentlemen bids we contact you to admit him aboard the ship. With your permission, my Lord?"<br />
<br />
Catching more and more words now, Ulani is looking around her. Face to face to face. It isn't just tensions that are rising. Voices are, as well. Veiled, backhanded compliments turn into to terse words. Stiff upper lips to grimaces and scowls. Her hand released touches briefly to Bors' arm then away again; a wordless gesture of wariness to their surroundings.<br />
<br />
One voice in particular not only grabs Ulani's attention, but makes her do a full-body turn in the direction of the Rist Lord and Lumi Cortess. The hair on the back of Ulani's neck stands up and without thinking, she is withdrawing from Thul protection and moving over to join Lumi's side. "Lady Cortess! I do not think we have met!" Ulani is a terrible liar, but she almost -- ALMOST -- is able to mask the slight waver in her voice. Perhaps to most, she would sound confident, but to those trained in reading their political opponents, or in this case enemies, it's clear the young woman is on edge. Blue eyes lock onto the Lord Rist, a dared tilt of her head.<br />
<br />
Ariel gives a bit of a look to Lathan, letting him speak. She does have her etiquette down. Hiroku has released her arm, allowing her free range of motion. He and Herol are staring at Ser Lathan from over her gorgeous head of red hair though. "Ser Lathan, we do not know who all are sensitive in the ways of the force." she tells him. "If we did put on the table that vote and we forced everyone that had a shred of power out of the New Republic it could be dire. We could force children away from their families and vice versa. Not all force users lead extravagant lives and can afford to rehome themselves. Some hide their powers to avoid persecution already. What if we did that and it came out that you had a force sensitive family member that would have to be forced out?" she poses the question to him.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo nods her head to Lady Nora, "I see. Well, the news I bear is grave, My Lady. I hope I can keep my bearing in saying it." Lady Ulgo is given a tissue by the Knight with her. She clutches it before beginning, "My Lord Father is ill, but it is not an illness which medicine can treat. It is one of the mind.. something plagues him. His Lordship was once a fit man in his older years, not quite twilight in age and still able bodied to lift a sword. Now, he sits his throne, growing old, demanding war, demanding service to Lana with such.. fervor. It is not my father."<br />
<br />
"I have gone against his wishes by speaking against his decree. He intends to deploy Ulgo troops in lieu of this war. Because of my participation, I have been exiled from my home. So I ride from hold to hold, speaking with our bannermen to convince them not to join this cause. But I fear for my father. There is something.. something wrong with him. With his mind." She steps closer to Nora and whispers. "It is said Lana is a witch. A sorceress in her own right capable of such magics of the mind.."<br />
<br />
Lumira's heart might be pounding in her chest, but the lady maintains a cool facade as the Rist approaches. She merely sips her champagne, watching him with glittering eyes as he draws near. Finally, when he addresses her, the lady lowers her glass and greets him with a charming smile. "Good evening, my lord," she says, appearing thoroughly unfazed by by his words, "It is such a lovely evening -- even if the circumstances are rather dour. I admit, it warms my heart to once more see your cheery face..." Lumira takes a moment to sip her champagne, the obvious sarcasm leveled with delicate overture "...Of course," she resumes, "I wish we were speaking under happier auspices. I have been engaged to your son since I was a small child, after all, and have long since accepted you as my father in law."<br />
<br />
Lumira lowers her glass, her eyes now fixed on the scowling nobleman. "Alas, I cannot say where Orren is at the moment, but I am certain that he is also keen to see you again. You -- and the rest of his family." And here her voice takes on a note of steel as she adds, "As for being a widow, I might say the same to your--"<br />
<br />
But Lumira is interrupted by Ulani's approach. She pivots to look at the approaching lady, appearing initially baffled before a gentle smile rises. "Good evening, Lady..." Hrm. She can't recall, so she merely side-steps to make room.<br />
<br />
"A shame, that," laments Lars about the dancing contest. "Alas, dancing would take everyone's mind off the murders that transpired here, or that may transpire, I dare say. These halls are darker than I remember," Grim but still charming, Ser Lars looks away from Noemie and Dyna a moment to look about. "So I am to learn more of this Artisan's Guild the two of you run. Has Her Highness some notion to bring your guild to our lands? What trades carry your sigil?"<br />
<br />
"Because Delaya does not stand alone anymore, My Lord. This is the Alderaan System, not the Delaya system. Alderaan was ripped from us and has been restored. We stand better united." Bors lips thin a moment, seeking words, "Alderaan, Delaya, the Ash Worlds; it is one realm, not a scattered collection of states - it was on Aryn's request I came personally to house Teraan's aid when they were threatened. It was Princess Aryn herself who aided in the fight to keep the Duchess in her throne." <br />
<br />
Left hand moving, while right remains at set angle, as if to be in a splay handed stance, Bors's posture is as though he were taking in half the room for the direction he stands now with his gesture, "My Lord; we're not squabbling Correlians in their corporate ruled council putting up some puppet Diktat to tug the strings of for the next two decades! Nor are we the muddled Spire-Dwelling aristocracy of Coruscant always angling to knife the other and collect the wealth expected to pour out." tone a little firmer,<br />
<br />
"My Lord Count, I do not support an Outsider. I do not support a usurper, a fake a sham or a shadow governor who seeks to strip away the freedoms. I support one who felt our grief cleave deep into her heart, twist and bleed her hollow for the long, walking, death that was for many of us following the Death Star. I support Alderaan. You are Alderaan, I am Alderaan, my beloved Ula is Alderaan... Delayans are Alderaan, Cophriginians -ARE- Alderaan. PRINCESS Aryn puts you above her, Count Serrus. Princess Aryn puts House Rist, Qel-Nosh, Ulgo, Iskender, Frayus, all of us above her. Because she wants ALL of us to prosper." the left hand sweeps to rest on Serrus's shoulder and the monocle wearing noble looks imploringly to the count.<br />
<br />
"Alderaan endures, my Lord Count - but it suffers when we are so divisive."<br />
<br />
"You have no right to stand in this hall, Rist," Says Lady Kiko Alde, the scion of the eldest House of all of Alderaan. "Your very presence here wilts the stone. Were it not a summit of peace, I would have brandished steel and slapped the very taste of wine from your mouth. Its taste is wasted on one with a forked tongue. Say another threat upon the House Cortess, and we will make a spectacle and duel.. here and now, sir." Kiko puts herself betweeen Lumi and Ulani.<br />
<br />
"Spare me the bravado, Alde. Recall you the vigor which prompted your brother to pass upon our blades? So eager to join him in the ground? Or was he burned? I have a hard time recalling what Alde's do with their deceased ever since they left Delaya and became outsiders."<br />
<br />
Kiko's nose flairs and she sets her gloved hand upon the hilt of her sword.<br />
<br />
"Yes, enlighten us Alde.. brandish your sword and be the brute the Cortess have made you. Once the Alde's were revered for their knowledge of history. Now? Barbarism." He sneers.<br />
<br />
"We still have command of history, my Lord. Alas, Rist will find no place in it once I am through with you and your traitorous house."<br />
<br />
"It's come up, to be sure!" Noemie smiles proudly at the notion of the Artisans Guild expanding. "Our Headquarters is on Empress Teta but she's proposed a branch outlet here in this system," the Naboo explains, waving a hand about the chamber as though to show off the entire Alderaan system with the single gesture. "We're currently involved in the industries of fashion, droids, medicine, starship design, arms modification, and a number of trade deals: fine spirits, textiles, supplies, and that's just for now! As we grow, each member brings something new to us and branches us further in to the economy, enabling us to further support our other members in turn," she explains with a small nod as the Alderaanians practically prepare for battle in every direction around her, unknowing to herself. "We're accepting of anybody that's lawful! If you have an artisian craft of some kind, or run a store, or spend any significant amount of time among the trade lanes." Her head cants, a question aimed at Ser Lars by the gesture.<br />
<br />
That question answered, Noemie starts to look about the chamber, desperate for some kind of escape to take the man's attention away from herself. It's now that she starts to read the room. She's not doing a great deal of eavesdropping, but one thing becomes clear to her after a brief focus: body language. Almost everybody looks tense with very few appearing to be relaxed. Scowls and grimaces are common among the faces, and some that display smiles can easily be interpreted to be snarky smiles, those of a noble that just got one over another in a verbal jest. To Dyna, the Naboo says in a low voice, "I get the sense things might be a little.. tense.." Hazels look in to Dyna's greens as the Naboo adjusts her posture, her wide sleeves helping to obscure some of her own body language as she holds one of her hands to the opposite forearm.<br />
<br />
The look Ulani gives Lumira is nothing short of apologetic. This is /not/ how she had envisioned her introductions to the Princess' cousin yet here they are all the same. "Ulani," she replies, omitting her last name purposefully. Especially in the presence of the Rist nobleman who seems capable of flaying skin from bone from twenty paces. "Please, forgive my intrusion but I would be remiss if I did not take this opportunity to introduce myself. I.... hope I am not interrupting anything." Liar. She absolutely hopes she is interrupting.<br />
<br />
Kiko steps in between them and Ulani steps back, given Kiko the space she may need. "I had hoped that Lord Orren and yourself would grace the Thul residence with your company when our duties find us free." She gestures towards the Thul entourage currently filleting a Count.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Bors, a servant approaches the man and stands just off to the side waiting to be addressed.<br />
<br />
Ban Iskender speaks into his comlink, "By my permission, sir, see it done with courtesy." It is then that Kiki's exchange with the Rist reaches his ear and the gentleman turns his booted steps toward the incensed lady and those who insult her, lest a mess be made. "Every memory has worth, Lady," he opines, evenly. "Even if only as an example. History.. has a long memory."<br />
<br />
"You levy a good point, Lady Senator. I had not considered this. Hmm," Ser Lathan looks poised to comment, but the situation between the Rist Lord and Alde Lady draw his attention. "My Lord.. My Lady.. this is a summit of peace. If you are to duel, do it on your own time."<br />
<br />
"Not worth my time, anyhow," Lord Rist intones.<br />
<br />
Lady Kiko sneers, but does not move from Lumi and Ulani's side. "So it does, Lord Ban." Kiko's hackles appear to be calming though, and her gloved hand strays from the pommel of her sword. She watches Rist retreat.<br />
<br />
As Lady Nora listens to Lady Ulgo speak, that smile she'd been wearing as naturally as her dress begins to slowly fade. She turns her body so that her back is turned towards Corwen, who has been cornered into a conversation between the Thuuls and the Frayuses. Judging by the severe expression on his face, he's particularly nonplussed about it. Instead of speaking, he simply lets his eyes wander towards Nora and Lady Ulgo, just as the woman is handed the tissue. Though he cannot see Nora's face, he can certainly read Lady Ulgo's.<br />
<br />
"Hmmmh, you'll excuse me," he says to present company.<br />
<br />
Lady Nora continues to listen to the woman speak and, when she's finished, Nora leans forward and gives the woman an encouraging touch on the forearm, just beneath where that hand clutches that tissue tight. "You were right to bring this to my attention. Though I cannot myself say for certain what manner of magics is at work, I will take your story to those who can. Stay brave, Lady Ulgo. And chin up," Nora says.<br />
<br />
"Dearest Daughter," Corwen booms from over Nora's left shoulder. Though he speaks to her, his eyes have settled on Lady Ulgo now. There is a grimness to his visage as well as his tone of voice.<br />
<br />
"Hello, Father," Nora says, and steps back, opening the circle for Corwen to step into should he elect to. He does not. "We were just discussing Lady Ulgo's Lord Father. I have extended our House's wishes of continued prosperity," she says, and turns her eyes in the direction of the situation developing between Lady Kiko, Lumira, and the Rist Lord.<br />
<br />
"But I have taken enough of your time this evening, Lady Ulgo," Nora says, and offers the woman one last squeeze on the forearm as well as the Knight she's with a nod. "Farewell," Nora says.<br />
<br />
She approaches the tense conversation between the rist lord, Lumira, and Lady Kiko moments later. While she might appear oblivious to the tension between them, that is deliberate. Her fingers run across the Lord's chest and up towards his collarbone, and she flashes him the whites of her teeth from beneath pretty, dark-painted red lips.<br />
<br />
"If not a duel, then perhaps a dance, My Lord?" Nora asks the Rist.<br />
<br />
Lumira places a hand upon Kiko's shoulder, her touch delicate and calming.<br />
<br />
"Lady Kiko," Lumira murmurs, her voice gentle despite the hard look she gives the Rist, "As you say, were we not in a summit of peace..." she lets her words meaningfully trail "...Alas, that is where we are. Don't let this coward bait you into action when we both know that his days are numbered. House Cortess shall soon set things right, and when it does, we shall remember the Lord Rist's due comeuppance. And besides..."<br />
<br />
Lumira's hand falls away, a cold smile rising at her gold-hued lips, "We must not wish ruin on *all* of House Rist -- not if my betrothed is to one day reclaim it for House Cortess. So..." Lumira gently bounces one shoulder, her gaze returning to the Rist lord with cat-like mischief from beneath the flutter of her lashes, "...If I *do* see your son, I will be sure to send him your regards. I expect he'll offer much the same in return."<br />
<br />
The lady looks over to Ulani, flashing her a reassuring smile as she turns away from the dour gentleman. "Thank you, Lady Ulani. What a lovely offer. I would very much enjoy an excuse to converse."<br />
<br />
Hearing Ulani speak of Lord Orren, the Rist Lord's gaze shifts to her a moment, then he's gone. One moment he was walking through the crowd, and when someone passes behind him blocking him from view, he's gone by the time they move.<br />
<br />
<<"It will be done, my Lord.">> Responds the Tantive IV to Lord Ban.<br />
<br />
"The finest of spirits," Dyna adds with a smirk to Noemie's comment on their guild's activities. "Though there's other crafts I intend to get involved in myself, I've made quite a bit of business distributing Zadarian Brandy outside the Hapes Cluster. As for the guild itself my personal hope is for it to someday serve as a means of helping other business-minded individuals get a start in the galaxy by providing some basic utilities they may need." Noting the atmosphere around them, Dyna takes a step closer to Noemie and nods to her in agreement. "To be expected. It's politics, after all," she comments with a wry smirk. "Let's just hope they keep all the jabs verbal. It's far too early yet for this to turn violent." Lifting an arm, she gently places it around the woman's shoulder, pulling her close.<br />
<br />
Ariel gives a dip of her head to Ser Lathan, "I just want people to see it from all sides." she tells him. Then the situation with Kiko and the Rist Lord is happening and Hiroku and Herol both reach out to draw the Senator back towards them. "This has grown delightful." Hiroku whispers to Herol. The older man just gives a shake of his head, "Not the time for jokes, Hiroku." he points out softly.<br />
<br />
Aryn Cortess and Lana Panteer meet before the steps leading to the dais. Lana catches Aryn looking at the throne and approaches, "Charming, is it not?" She asks.<br />
<br />
Aryn turns from the throne to look upon Lana. The Duchess is taller than Aryn, far more elegant and poised. "Our definitions differ as to what passes for charming. In truth, I was imagining what Avlin might look like to sit upon it? Though, I suppose this one will be melted down." Aryn says, then looks away from Lana.<br />
<br />
Lana smiles, "I did not take you to be a student of fantasy tales, Lady Aryn. The girl has lost all claim to this seat, to these people."<br />
<br />
Aryn looks back to Lana, "I did not take you to be a student of fantasy tales, /Lana/."<br />
<br />
Count Serrus regards Lord Thul as he explains the reason for his vehement support, nodding his head. "The thing is, Lord Thul, I just have my doubts. Princess Organa, Gods rest her soul, was ever vacant, too. She selects an heir, a bookish second born girl who, admittedly was born here, but moved away. Now she presumes to lead a people far more complex and divided than she thinks. Then, matters are made more obscure by the fact murder has ruined the true line of succession. There are evils on both sides, but the way before all this, the way we were.. it harmed no one. We lived in peace." The Count takes a drink and sighs.<br />
<br />
"Alas, we Alderaanians are all lost in the past. I appreciate you sharing your views with me, My Lord. Truly, and thank you for hearing mine." The Count bows to Lord Thul respectfully, and quietly withdraws.<br />
<br />
Lady Ulgo nods her head, looking relieved to hear she had done something right. "Oh, thank you! Please, anything to help my--" The arrival of Count Corwen ends Lady Ulgo's sentence. She dips slightly to the Count. "Your Lordship, your Lady daughter is so kind. Walk with Mother's grace."<br />
<br />
Lumira watches the Rist leave with a soft frown, her hand having crept up to gently rub against her glittering necklace. Then, a soft shiver, just the smallest rustle of her gown, and then the Alderaanian noble turns her back upon the departing gentleman. She smiles at Ulani, saying, "Blended families are difficult enough without one side identifying as traitorous assassins, am I right?" She delicately winks, erasing all signs of worry from her face as she loops her arm with the other woman. <br />
<br />
The Cortess lady pivots to watch the back and forth between Lana and Aryn, that smile dampening a touch. "I will be glad when this whole affair is over." One might take her to mean the peace summit -- or more likely the usurper's war.<br />
<br />
"Is she now?" Corwen says, disbelief in his tone. He turns to look at his daughter slinking off to accost somebody's father and lets out an exasperated sigh. He tips back the rest of his brandy -- a sizable volume -- and swallows it with a nod to Lady Ulgo. "With the Mother's grace, My Lady," he returns.<br />
<br />
Lady Luci's eyes are on Aryn and Lana, a touch of color drained from her face. Though young, she's certainly privy enough to know the gravity of that particular sight -- both Aryn and Lana discussing a throne. She wraps her arm around her mother's, who simply gives her daughter a light pat on the back of the head while she speaks to a few others, exchanging pleasantries and sipping brandy.<br />
<br />
"Finish your juice, my heart," she says down to Luci, who simply nods and turns her attention away from Aryn and Lana to focus on her big sister.<br />
<br />
Nora turns to look at Luci, and beckons her over. Luci's nose wrinkles, and she shakes her head back and forth. Shy, she hides her face in her mother's arm and Lady Nora just laughs.<br />
<br />
Ulani releases a held breath and nods gently to Lumira as the noblewoman makes retreat. "Indeed it is. My own family does not quite get along with my new one. Lord Bors and my father had a... ah... confrontation. You know, I won't bore you on the details, but know I understand. And yes. I, too, will be glad when this is over. A pleasure, Lady Cortess."<br />
<br />
Returning to Bors' side, Ulani gives another touch to his arm then lets her hand fall to her side. Then curiously glances to a servant who appears to be lingering nearby.</div>Aryn