The Horror on Taris

[Neology]

She had thought that there would be more pleasure in this, in the violent fruition of half a year's planning. Taris would fall – was falling as she watched, here, on this one battlefield. It felt strangely appropriate that the scars of the past played host to this new drama. All those deaths … She could feel them, in the earth and in the stones, in the Force itself. It set her teeth on edge, filled her mouth with the dry, choking taste of ash. Novus brought her canteen to her lips, draining the lukewarm contents in thirsty gulps.

Activity buzzed around her, colors bleeding at the edges of her vision. As she watched, a droid transport, little more than a cargo container with thrusters, shrieked through the air and fell heavily not twenty meters away, sending up a cascade of mud and rainwater. The soldiers around her pressed forward to assist. She watched their backs, thoughtful as she dwelled on the planet's wealth of unquiet souls. It would be different this time. She had stacked the deck. Now it was time to show her hand.

A combined effort freed the doors and the transport gave up it's contents. Two dozen battle droids climbed out, forming up silently, beetle black carapaces and sensor bundle eyes ... Novus dropped the empty canteen on the camp table and pulled on her coat – thick rancor hide, somewhat at odds with the Imperial uniform beneath. The Sith Lady stepped forward, raising one hand.

“Cover me. Shoot anyone that tries to stop me.” She started off immediately at a jog, struggling to suppress a wave of nausea. The old radio tower stood nearby, a skeletal ladder of durasteel, currently held by a handful of Republic stragglers. Engineers, not soldiers. Novus closed in, lazily diverting their fire with her saber. Her wardroids were quick to follow their orders through, though several of them fell in the undertaking. The survivors took up defensive positions around the tower's base.

Novus took to the scaffolding, trailing her fingers along a vertical slat. No proper ladder, but the bars weren't far apart, a mess of interconnected triangles. Slowly, she heaved herself up onto the fence and then onto the tower itself. The bars were cold and slick, ill shaped, biting uncomfortably into her hands. She climbed as fast as she dared, noting a mutinous trembling in her forearms and shoulders. She hung in place for a moment, fighting down another wave of nausea.

'Climbing with a concussion.' She thought, squeezing her eyes closed. 'Maybe not the best idea I've ever had...' The wind stung her cheeks, carrying the grudging admittance away. Carefully, she began to climb again, slipping back into the rhythm of move that arm, now the opposite leg. Minutes trickled by before she reached the top. Once there, she paused to a loop a line from her belt harness through the bars. Novus drew the 5KR3-MR remote out of her pocket, reached up, and clipped it to the base of the tower's antenna. She hesitated for half a breath, then flipped the switch.

The effect was not immediately obvious. Novus held her breath as she waited. A few seconds for the signal to tune the other devices, scattered across the crater, to the prototype's frequency … The signal itself, a repeated series of tones outside the audible range of most human and near human species. Bestial screams, carried by the wind. The Sith Lady exhaled, unclipped her line, and began the climb down.

As she watched, the beasts, rakghouls, boiled forth from sewer pipes and ruined buildings in greater numbers than she could have ever guessed. They slammed into the Imperial and Republic lines, tearing at Jedi and Sith, soldier and droid alike.

[Fromikeable]

Everything. Hurt. Badly.

He had no idea where he was. No idea what he was. No idea who, or when, or why, or how. All he knew was that consciousness was a slippery slope at the moment, and it was made no easier to grasp by an unbelievable amount of searing, immeasurable pain. Particularly in his face. And bones. His skeleton in general, really. As if someone had torn out and lazily thrown back every bit of calcium in his flesh.

Not to mention it felt like he might’ve stubbed his toe.

But no, try to think. What did he remember… he remembered… sabers… Novus… Master Levin… oh Force, he’d fought Master Levin? What was he, insane? What was Novus, absolutely insane? Granted, she was far stronger than he’d ever be, but still, he should have… should have ran, or put down his saber, or… or…

Ugh. He couldn’t think about this right now. He needed to do immediate things, like remember where he was and how his arms worked.

Feeling his conscious mind flex in and out for a few minutes, the young Human finally summoned enough of it to pry open an eye, if only for an instant. A slow blinking developed, followed by a final ability to actual hold them open. Everything was blurry. Whatever that was in front of him was… blue and brown. More brown, he thought. Another few blinks, and he tried squinting, even that hurting.

It was a person. A Twi’lek, by the looks of it. Their position was funny, like they’d gotten down on their hands and needs to bow and curling into a ball leaning to one side. He was apparently hunched over them. He was sorry about that. He hoped that they didn’t mind…

… or were they dead? No, yeah, they were dead.

With a final heave, Vance found the ability to move, slowly. Something heavy was thrown across his back. As he lifted himself, he learned more of his cushion. A Twi’lek woman, blue as the sky, twice his age probably. Beautiful, by all rights. A lovely face, a shapely body, slender hands… and stone-cold dead, her eyes open in shock, blood across her back oozing from a hole. Managing to sit up, the young ex-Jedi heaved off his burden; a Sith trooper in light armor with a big cross on his right sleeve, a bag of syringes and cotton and vials of liquid tumbling into the rubble as his body shifted.

A trooper with medicine, and a Twi’lek in brown robes. A medic and a Jedi, working together to save someone’s life by any cost. Even if that meant being walking, carrying armor. Selfless generosity expanding across battlelines, and what did they have to show for it? Success in their endeavor, and a cruel, inhumane transfer of life.

As he stood, Vance had to beat down another urge to vomit. It, apparently, would not leave him today.

But a hand gently padded his body. Everything hurt, from his joints to his bones to his muscles, and yet he seemed to live. His skull didn’t seem quite as… caved in as he felt it should have been. To the contrary, aside from half of his face being encrusted in dry blood, matted hair, and a vertical gash across the side of his head the size of a sandwich, his head felt fine.

Aside from the splitting pain, he meant.

But as he managed to focus less on standing and breathing and more on things less immediate, he braced himself for a rocking wave of emotion… only to find a numb, dull sense of shock. Everything was at face value. He was alive. This medic and this beautiful Jedi were dead. He found his saber in his pocket and tested it, and it worked. That was… something. Quite what, he would figure out later.

For now, he needed to know what to do.

Levin. The only Jedi he’d seen that wasn’t dead as a doornail by this point, definitely planetside, and furthermore most likely to still be fighting. If anyone could be… could be something good, something worth seeing in this horrible, terrible, awful world…

… he would find Novus later. He needed to see this with his own two eyes, even if it was the last thing he ever saw. He needed to know, and considering that death seemed to be buzzing his house, he didn’t see much point in trying to lock the doors.

All he could think to do was close the Jedi’s eyes and set out, weakly trying to sense his way through the Force. He chose his direction with the only logic his broken mind could come up with; go toward the shouting, and you’ll see lightsabers. Only the Force itself would determine who held them.

[Apillis]

Days had passed since her confrontation with the so-called special operations unit seeking out Sith activity in order to put it down. They attempted an ambush, but learned quickly traps work both ways. It was Hervor they hunted, or "Darth Allvitende" as some call her, though being called "Allvitende" makes her eyes roll. Finding new names for such titles unnecessary and more than little pretentious. She is who she is, and she did not need a new name or title to exclaim it. Sith of old did not, and neither does she.

What she did exclaim with her power as a Darth, a Dark Lord of the Sith, was regardless of one's tactics--the shear power of the Force can render them irrelevant. In a way, she sneered at other Jedi and Sith alike who relied too heavily with machines and technology--such as blasters and droids and the like. They were obstacles to overcome, not enslave oneself to their use. It was that opposition that she sought to exclaim as she went about breaking those who thought they could be her hunters, til she turned the tables hunting them instead.

But that was days ago, she lost count how many, but it had been awhile by this point in time. Her clothes were dirty and in tatters--half clothing on her torso had even been burned off, her clothes had been reduced to nothing but rags hanging off her, while herself was caked in mud and blood, most the latter was not her own. But stranded on Taris as she was, she had little other option but to head to the staging point of the Sith operations there. And so walk onward she did, facing down the vicious beasts inhabiting the wilds and ruins of Taris, and not but a few times did she find herself facing off with packs of rakghouls.

But she is Laitra, she is Sith, only the strong survive and she made her strength known to that which sought to test it, opposing the will of anything that dared cross her. Such a journey of survival most certainly tested not only her mettle and strength of will, but her physical being as well. And it would be lie to say after so much fighting to survive, living off what little there was upon Taris' surface, did not leave her in worn and ragged state of being. But the pain she felt, the body's deserve to give rather than press onward, they in of themselves were her fuel--her own weaknesses to oppose--to feed off of--feed on that pain--turn it into strength.

The days just blurred one right into the next as she continued pressing on as she walked Taris' ruined surface. But her refusal to be broken by the journey, worn out by the constant travel, defeated by the vile creatures that inhabit the planet's wilds. It was only a matter of time until she reached her destination, and she could finally be done with having to seemingly continuously fight off packs of the bestial creatures, the rakghouls. Their incessant pursuit of her was enraging, but they were desperate to find any sort of meat to feast upon. Unfortunate for them, though, she was a far more dangerous predator than they.

Ahead she could hear the fighting, the clash of Sith and Republic soldiery, and the sense the powers of opposing light of the Jedi against the darkness of the Sith. At last, she was near and not too late to engage the frontlines.

With slight smirk on her visage she emerged from the wilds of Taris in her shabby, ragged state as muddy and bloody as she was, her rags that could not even really be called clothing any more hanging off of her lean, statuesque athletic form. Her lightsaber in hand as she walked passed the Sith soldiery holding the frontlines, she fired the hilt's blazing orange beam. It was at last refreshing to her to finally face something other than damnable rakghouls she felt as she deflected numerous blasts directed at her by Republic forces the second they saw a lightsaber ignite among the Sith.

But her smirk vanished as she paused upon hearing the collective at mass roar of the rakghouls from the depths of the sewer pits below. Her freehand balled into a tense fist, and it was but a trice that the tide of rakghouls came pouring with claw and teeth tearing at Sith and Republic soldiery alike. And she was not exempt in their sought after feast, much like her journey she had believed was finally over.

"I truly hate this planet...", she muttered aloud as a swarm of rakghouls came charging right for her, "I hate this planet...", she repeated with tightly clinched teeth as her rage continued to build, "I...", she uttered with a shaky voice, "Hate... This... Planet...", the second the rakghouls were but feet from her, she let out a deafening bestial roar that reverberated through the swarm of the rakghouls that charged at her--roar that sounded like no human or near-human creature--but something more monstrous and bestial, like a stirred monster from the abyss charging its way out of the depths of the abyss into the light to unleash its wrath upon what dared to awaken it. A roar that was not physical but metaphysical from the Force's darkness itself as it echoed loudly through it. It was such that the rakghouls before froze in stunned confusion and shock, while the enormity of the rampaging rakghouls continued to flood in, Hervor lightsaber in hand she charged right for the ones immediately before her in turn...

[Rugs]

Locke shivered.

It almost felt wrong, that he should be here within the protected, air conditioned walls of the Republic’s fortress while his brothers and countrymen fought and bled and died out in the rain and muck amongst the twisted remains of Taris’ former glory.

And here you are now, Locke thought, casting a rueful glance out of a window of the command center, about to flush those centuries of hard work down the drain. War was a necessary business, at times, but rarely pragmatic.

Still, command was as important as boots on the ground for any war effort, and it couldn’t all come from generals fighting on the front line. And even though he’d not sought the role, his status as a Jedi thrust him into the role of a general — or commandant, as he’d forced several bemused officers to call him. ”Much better ring to it than General Nemsee, if you lot are just hell bent on calling me some silly name,” he’d told them, the boyish smile betraying his deadpan words.

So here Locke was, presently standing with his weight shifted onto his left leg, body bent slightly forward and hands in his coat pockets as he studied the flickering holodisplay before him. It was one of several stances he’d taken throughout the morning as he’d alternated between hunching over the thing as the battle lines twisted and flexed before him, or even standing off to the side, looking out the window to gather his thoughts and clear his head.

The battle was a messy thing, but battles often were, he was learning as the war pressed on. He’d fought at Rhen Var, when the Sith struck seemingly out of a clear blue sky, and he’d paid careful attention to reports from the other battles. But Taris was an urban world — even if a broken one — and urban warfare was a special sort of hellish. Clear lines, where soldiers formed up in groups and exchanged fire like in the battles of old or combat in the open field, were rare, save a few places here and there in the crater. Rather, the fighting had broken into knots of Forces, Sith and Republic alike, pushing in places across a broader front. Up close, Locke assumed it looked like a hellscape of blaster fire and explosions and singing lightsabers. From above, using the displays to monitor troops numbers and positions, a clear front had emerged. The Republic’s line surged in some places as Sith advances were repelled and sagged in others and soldiers were forced to give ground.

Locke produced a round, hard piece of candy from his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth, thinking. The actual generals coordinated the broader effort. Locke worked with small units, sending special forces teams here and there to strike at weaknesses as they emerged or commanding air support to hit Sith advances and relieve pressure on the Republic front. He kept touch with the other generals of course, and Jazen was somewhere in the base running supplies and messages back and forth as needed.

How long will it be, Locke wondered to himself, before you have to take to the field yourself, Nemsee? He was dressed for battle, of course. He wore a bit of light plasteel armor to protect his chest and abdomen, with bracers embedded into his coat’s forearms. A bit more of the armor protected his shins knees, and he’d picked up some sturdy boots from the quartermaster some time ago.

“We’ve reached the rally point, sir,” a voice crackled to him through a comm. One of the men in strike team Epsilon. An unoriginal name, he supposed easy names made for easy tracking. They were taking up residence in an abandoned building little bit away from the fighting. Locke had a special something in mind to block or slow the progress of an advancing thrust from the Sith.

“Good,” he said, checking his map. “Start setting the charges. Quickly as you can. We don’t have much time.”

“Roger.”

The line fell quiet again. Locke leaned fully over his little table, brow knitting as he watched the battle unfold. Too many things to contend with. To many nooks and crannies and waiting traps…

“Uhh, sir,” the line crackled. The soldier sounded slightly panicked. Locke frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“There are…” the voice trembled and broke. Locke heard shooting the background. “I don’t know what those things are, but… Are those rakghouls?!”

The line devolved into a mess of screams and shouting, then went silent.

Locke sighed again. His knuckled tightened to whiteness on the table’s edge and his gut clenched into a knot as Strike Team Episolon’s marker faded from his display.

Rakghouls? That plague was eliminated, I thought.

Apparently not. Best to get the word out. He’d let the generals know, but first, the ones in the front had to be updated.

“Levin, Shatani,” he said, popping another jawbreaker into his mouth as he opened a line to the two Jedi. He wished he had more, but the full jar, stolen from Levin’s office after the Master and dragged him, kicking and screaming, for a long-overdue checkup, was in his quarters aboard High Charity. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but we have a problem. Please, respond.”

[DreadPirateMike]

Ah, there it was. The Sith before him, rattled by one barely deflected lightfoil thrust too many, proved understandably over-eager and thus vulnerable to a quick feint. As the red blade swept close in horizontally across his chest to block a thrust that never came, the green swept in directly behind it, and neatly sliced the lightsaber in two. After leaving a steaming trench carved through the Dark Sider's chest, of course. Jaidan felt for the man, truly, and for reasons beyond the immediately obvious. Soresu had plainly not been his forte; plainly, he had longed for the freedom of unrestricted acrobatics, only to find Ataru of limited utility in a cramped service stairwell. It wasn't entirely clear when such a warrior expected to be bringing his best within the confines of this structure, but perhaps he'd arrogantly assumed he'd nevertheless be more than a match for ordinary soldiers. He wouldn't be the first.

This ancient structure, gutted but standing tall all the same, had been secured by Republic forces during the initial assault this morning, and it had served as a bastion for their efforts ever since. After the ground level entrances had been barricaded and a pair of computer guided mortars placed on the roof, a single well-equipped squad with splendid firing lines had managed to frustrate Sith advances in this sector for hours. That was, until ten minutes ago, when the Sith had thrown two full companies of disposable war droids against it to soak up fire while a pair of actual, breathing Sith snuck up the back way. Unfortunately for them, the Republic troopers had kept a more careful watch than they'd realized, and the flankers had found themselves ambushed in turn by the backup.

Stepping over the still and smoking ruin of his latest opposition, he worked his way upward, soon making his way nearly to the besieged fire base. Happily, it appeared that the troops had managed to thin the metallic herd significantly before things ever came to close quarters, but even so, Jaidan found his allies hard pressed. Peeking around the corner, he discovered the long corridor crowded with heavily armed droids stepping heedlessly past the shredded hulks of their own. At the far end, he could spot a blaster carbine periodically being thrust just past the edge of the doorway and firing away in stubborn opposition. Not their first choice of defense, it seemed. A heavy repeating blaster cannon seemed to have been knocked out of commission, its durasteel gunner's shield holed by repeated blaster hits.

Well, enough of that. Stepping out into the hallway, both foils ignited, he ducked under a Republic blaster bolt, beheaded the pair of droids in melee range, and hurled his weapons down the length of the hallway. He was grateful that no other Jedi was present to see the stunt; time and again in his capacity as an instructor back on Coruscant, he'd advised against throwing a lightsaber unless you had a spare immediately on hand. Too much could go wrong, even factoring in the ability to summon the weapon back with a gesture. But sometimes, it was just that satisfying. Down the hallway they flew, spinning faster and faster like glowing power saw blades, between the two of them taking up nearly the entire width of the hallway. By the time the foils had returned to the hands of the creators, the siege was over for now.

"Hold your fire!" he exhorted out of caution, but despite a moment's surprise on the part of the soldiers at the abrupt change of fortune, the appeal was unnecessary. They'd known that relief was on its way, and by now, they knew well the sound of a lightsaber at work. So, he tried again at something more useful, even as he approached the door and nodded in response to the salutes.

"What's your condition?"

"Brakken's dead, General. Frake took a hit to the arm. Armor took the worst of it, we think."

"See to him. If anything is still incoming, I'll keep it out."

Sadly, he was only able to keep this promise for perhaps two blessedly uneventful minutes before the sounds began to reach them. Some sort of otherworldly screech he momentarily had trouble placing, and soon followed by screams recognized much more easily. And some sort of dull thudding, which took a moment to stand out as definitely not the thunder from the storm. And growing steadily louder. He'd just signaled a pair of troopers to take over his vigil at the door, and called for a pair of macrobinoculars when a familiar voice broke over his comm.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but we have a problem. Please, respond.”

It wasn't his preference, by any means, to let his friend worry. Not with his ability to respond so far from a certainty. But the call still had to be repeated, what he saw through the high power magnification momentarily overwhelming his trained Jedi composure.

"I'm here, Locke. But we have a lot more than ONE."

For a moment, he considered the feasibility of simply staying put. Or at least, ordering that the men and women around him stay put. It might well take that horde some time to notice anyone up here, and even afterward, the bottleneck of these hallways would make the numbers far easier to cope with. But ammunition wouldn't hold out forever, and he had an awful feeling that resources would soon become strained well past the point of summoning a rooftop evac. They had to meet up with the larger body of their troops, and hope that was enough.

"Grab your weapons, and whatever ammunition you can carry." he ordered stuffly. "Nothing more. We need to move. Now."

And then, remembering Locke at what he had to hope was the very secure command center, he made an addendum.

"I suggest you make a tally of our available air assets, Commandant. I don't think they'll go to waste."

[andas009]

To Francisco, Taris seemed like a waste of taxpayers' credits, especially now as most of the newer structures were being devastated by the Sith onslaught. With each step he and his squad took, the mud seemed to get deeper and mushier, slowing them down even more. The awful humidity wasn't helping either, but Francisco was determined to help his fellow comrades by attempting this ambush on a Sith scouting party spotted to the East of the main Republic lines. "Come on men, I'm sure we're almost to the camp!" His men tiredly followed, slowly being worn down by this arduous journey, but a look of sheer determination could be seen strewn across their faces. 

This plan would've worked flawlessly, if Francisco could actually find the camp that the Sith party should have set up somewhere in this area, or even see the party. The swamp was giving off an eerie feeling, even with the sun blasting light down onto the dreary surface and the sounds of blaster fire in the not so far distance. After coming over the crest of a small hill, Francisco ordered his squad to stop as he took in the site that lay before him. They had found the Sith scouting camp, but someone or something had done their job for them it seemed, as the scouts were eliminated but without a trace of blaster fire. 

The surrounding swamp yielded little answers, as Francisco knew of no animal native to Taris large and powerful enough to cause this much damage. As he opened his mouth to give orders, the silence was pierced by an awful, beastly shriek from the squadron's rear. Francisco turned around quickly in shock, and saw a rather strange sight: a pack of Rakghouls charging his rear man, Johan. "Everyone, behind us!" Francisco shouted, raising his rifle to take aim at the charging animals. It was his understanding that Rakghouls were nearly extinct on Taris, but now was not the time to ask questions. 

Most of the squad had already turned around, and the air was soon filled with the tell-tale sound of energy bolts racing towards their targets. Johan had managed to turn around, but the lead beast had caught up to him before he could fire. Attempting to put a resistance in melee was futile, and Johan was dispatched by a swift strike of claws across his chest. Francisco squeezed the trigger on his rifle, striking the lead creature in the shoulder, before another orange-bolt streaked in and dispatched the target by landing square on its forehead. 

The remaining creatures continued their charge, and Francisco's troops kept on firing. A few shrieks from the animals was heard, but only a few dropped dead. A few others broke off and retreated back into the swamp, but others kept on charging. They reached Howard first, who tried to turn and run but was scraped in the back by a claw as he turned around. Letting out a brief scream, he hit the ground hard. Surprisingly, the creatures continued on towards Francisco and his two squadmates in the center.'Blast!' Francisco thought as he ejected a clip and struggled at his belt for another. Without warning, a strong force impacted his body and he was thrust to the ground. His rifle skidded across the muddy surface, as Francisco re-oriented himself and was greeted by the sight of a Rakghoul standing a few feet in front of him. 

The creature hideous up close, something straight out of a nightmare. Saliva dripped down from its jaws, which contained some powerful looking teeth. Francisco tried to reach for his vibroblade, but before he could reach it a whizzing noise screeched overhead and smacked into the Rakghoul's forehead. It dropped dead in-front of Francisco, as one of his squad-mates helped him back to his feet. Before he could rush over to Howard, the remaining squad-members rushed over to him and began to try and stop the bleeding. It was too late for Howard, as the Medic explained the Rakghoul Virus. It was the hardest thing for Francisco to do, but he ordered the Medic to put Howard out of his misery, which was confirmed by a blaster shot a second later. Francisco immediately opened his comm channel to command, and he quickly began to explain his situation. 

"Command, Charlie Squad reporting, we have a problem here. We located the Sith camp, but.....these things.......Rakghouls I think.....they got them before we did. They ambushed us, we held them off but we lost Johan and Howard. You should try and warn the other squads, I wouldn't want them getting a nasty surprise like we did. Returning to base now." 
     

[Chariot]

The absence of that distinct sound of heavy blaster fire warping against shields created an almost deafening silence about the Oracle,Karta propping herself up against the command console in bittersweet victory. They had fought off the hunting Sith ship but it's not like they were out of danger yet. Engineers scuttled back and forth, tweaking and repairing the many sparking wires around the ship. In fact, their shields had taken such a hammering that it had created a power surge and ruined a lot of the sub-systems, including the lights and the oxygen system; good thing they had back-ups.

When the many mini explosions had taken place, Kitty-Bear had been right there, at her console, when it burst in a frenzy of sparks and fire. Karta just hoped her assistant would be alright... Regardless, they had a few moments to breathe and catch themselves, but she could tell the rest of her crew were exhausted, moreso than she herself was. A small tear escaped through her stoic facade, quickly being wiped away like an afterthought in the comparative silence of combat, though she knew that such silence didn't exactly extend to the forces on the ground.

Through the comms she had heard nothing but curses, explosions and blaster fire, sometimes even the distinctive hiss of a lightsaber cutting through flesh and plasteel. So many lost lives to hold a disgusting, ruined swamp of a planet filled with dangerous creatures and an even more dangerous water supply... frankly it reminded her of the stories her father used to tell her of old Telos.

She patched through to General Nemsee, or Commandant or whatever he wanted to be called, speaking in a low, shaky voice. "I'm detecting a strange signal coming from somewhere on the battlefield. Some of my sub-systems are fried so I can't tell exactly where it's coming from, but tell your men to look out for any sort of device or something that could be giving out that weird signal." And with that, she ended the conversation, not even allowing Locke to respond. With a sigh, she filled her hands with her head, trying to focus herself without Kitty-Bear there to keep her on track.

The sensory system gave a loud screech as it suddenly detected a large amount of biomass flowing through the sewer pipes and ruination of Taris. Karta's first thought was Sith reinforcements but there was no signature identifying them as being linked to any sort of comm relay. Natives? Her eyes widened in shock as she realized just how native this mass of squirming bodies was. She slammed on the comms button, almost destroying the thing, broadcasting to Sith, Republic and independent comms systems alike, she didn't care. "For the love of the Force, get the hell out of there! Thousands of Rakghouls!"

Her hand immediately gripped her hair, trying to stop the overflow of tears as she watched the wave of biomass begin devouring troops from both sides, responses through her comms becoming garbled screams and wails, unnatural noises that no sentient being should ever be forced to make. She fell back into her chair, gritting her teeth as she let the tears flow like a waterfall. A voice sounded behind her, timid and fragile, possibly only a young cadet. "Sir Admiral, what's happened?" She hesitated before responding, letting out a loud sob. "Start the evacuation procedures, make sure we have enough beds for... for how many Republic troops make it out of there alive... I-... I fear Taris is lost..."

[Danee]

The muffled sound of rain tapping against the durasteel armor, Jasper thought the rain was never going to stop. It seemed like the planet was trying to wash them off of it, to cleanse itself from the presence of the Republic and the Sith forces that currently both were present on the planet. Jasper had just returned from a recon run where he hadn't found anything of importance when he walked into the Republic fortress where most of the higher ups were sitting, not out in the field like real soldiers, but, he'd have time to complain about that later.

He walked through doors of the fort and listened to the heavy thuds of his boots against the floor, leaving mud on the floor with each step as he walked through the corridor towards somewhere. But after a minute of walking he stopped briefly to remove his helmet and take a deep breath of the clear air of the fortress. Sighing he continued to walk on into the fortress, looking for someone to assign him to something, he wanted to help some how and going on Recon runs wasn't going to win the battle against the Sith.

With each step the rifle on his back bobbed slightly, reminding him that his squad wasn't with him this time, no, he was here alone. The rest of the squad was on a Dreadnought while he had been assigned to Taris. Walking along the halls he encountered various men and women of differing ranks as well as positions, but, he didn't stop to chit-chat now, instead he continued to walk forward. He felt, thirsty and made a note to head by somewhere to get something to quench his thirst before he went out on his next assignment.

After walking up a set of stairs Jasper looked around, considering his options as he glanced down the hallways, through one of the doors he could see one of the Jedi Generals standing over a holodisplay while talking to someone. From what Jasper could hear it sounded like he was troubled by something, probably regarding the frontline, maybe he had something that Jasper could do that didn't involve reconnaissance and instead had proper military work, not boy-scout work. The Spec-op solider decided to see what was going on and started to walk towards the Jedi, passing even more people moving in and out of the rooms as they hurried to bring new information to others.

Heavy steps brought Jasper closer, leaving a trail of mud behind him as he walked through the hall to the Jedi, he stopped for a second before taking a short breath. With a heavy hand he knocked on the door frame before walking into the room.

"General." Jasper spoke and walked in closer towards the Jedi. "Special Operations, Jasper Chro." He added and raised his hand to his forehead briefly.

[Ash]

Lancer was alone, for the moment at least: separated from his Apprentice and his Knights: the Sith Troopers he worked with when working with the Sith Army. The morning had been nothing but a brawl, lightsabers whirling, blasters going off, and the smell of death permeating the air.

Diarmuid knelt down in the rain, a few clicks away from Fort Bennick: Closer here than back where he began at the Sith encampment. He didn't dare move; two Jedi walked about 10 meters away, probably on a simple scouting mission. They wouldn't be able to report back.

Lancer rushed forward like he was shot out of a gun, taking the younger jedi unaware. He had his chest cavity cleaved open by the red spear held in Lancers right hand. The older one managed to catch the lightsaber spear held in Diarmuid'd left hand.

Even before the young Jedi's body hit the ground, Lancer worked the offensive, using swings of both spears. Lancer struck high with Gae Buidhe, the yellow blade being deflected by the Jedi's green. He kept the pressure up on that, ready to cleave off the Jedi's head, extended his grip with Gae Dearg, and swung low. Lancer felt fear coming from the Jedi as he was left in the open, and lost a leg, over his head. The Pain made the other flinch, and Lancer dispatched him. He took their lightsabers, a way of honoring his once comrades, as well as a radio the older Jedi had. It would be good to keep up with the Jedi and Republic's plans.

Done with the short fight, Lancer caught his breath after retreating to a fallen structure, and sipped a little bit of water. He reached out to his Apprentice again, letting her know where he was at.

He nearly flinched as a series of high pitched tones went off, coming from the radio tower that didn't seem too far away. He blocked it out, but couldn't block out the rumbling from the ground. Working fast, he moved to the top of the building some few dozen meters up. Once there, he couldn't believe his eyes: Rakghouls were spewing out of the ground. They should have been eliminated hundreds of years ago. He listened to an exchange between Jedi, one of them he recognized at least. The second not at all.

So, from the sound of this radio chatter, seemed like the Jedi weren't prepared for this attack, but the amount of the pale creatures... this wasn't in the plan: not this many of the fiends. For now, he staid where he was: out of the way and listened to comm traffic from both Sith and Republic, biding his time. He would let the rakghouls do their work before he moved in himself.

[Neology]

One hand after another, Novus climbed down, sneaking peeks at the base of the tower when she could afford to do so. Rakghouls climbed the stony escarpment in small packs, howling viciously as her war droids pelted them with blaster bolts. An impossible battle, so far as she could tell. For each pale body that fell heavily in the mud, more were drawn by the light and noise and smell of charred flesh.

Three minutes and her droids would be wiped out. Less, and she knew firsthand that as awkward as rakghouls looked, they were good climbers.

“Command, this is Novus. I need backup at my position.” She spoke into her headset. Dead air. Interference from the tower? Her lips tightened into a bloodless frown.

With several stories left to go, Novus pushed off from the tower, fell for a second and a half, and landed on the durasteel catwalk, knees bent, already rolling forward. The impact was enough to rattle her teeth, even with the Force ensuring that her legs and spine remained intact. Standing, she braced herself against the railing with one hand and drew a small device from her coat's interior pocket with the other.

The spring-loaded autoinjector looked very unassuming in her hand, gray plastic over a glass ampoule of viscous green fluid. The rakghoul serum, specifically tailored to this generation of monster – next to useless in a year or two. Expensive to procure, and more so to do in secret. How many would die from the lack of such a thing? Novus flicked off the plastic cap and jammed the needle into her thigh. No use pretending she'd make it through this unscathed.

At the base of the steps, one particularly massive beast set upon the single remaining droid, sheering through its shoulder. Novus drew her sabers, bringing the ruby blades to life with a thought. Launching herself forward, the Sith lady returned the favor, severing the creature's right arm at the elbow. A second slash opened its throat.

[Fromikeable]

Explosions had turned everything alien. Nothing made sense. There were no landmarks, no streets or street signs, no speeder lanes, no city blocks, hell, even some of the walkways were out; an important problem in a city planet. Vance had absolutely no idea where he was going, no idea where he had been, and as dust, smoke, and the sharp taste of iron seemed to permeate the world around him, certainly less idea of where he was going.

Alas, he went.

What he clung to was less his physical senses and more the Force. Thousands of wisps of life scattered the landscape, some zooming by in ships barely long enough for him to make them out, others hunkered in buildings blocks over or up the street, scurrying about like ants. Still others… well, if he wasn’t so shell-shocked, he would’ve shivered. He would never forget what a rakghoul felt like, that… dark, daft, lifeless hunger that seemed to contaminate the Force it gave off like a virus seeping through an organism.

He’d also never forget their bites, and he had the scars to prove it.

He stumbled through blocks, falling behind rubble and doors whenever someone crossed his path; easy, considering he was half-dead. He traveled from sense to sense, avoiding the Force-sensitive ones that didn’t feel like Levin, like that unmistakable beacon of… goodness? No, more like…

… righteous purity. Exuberant confidence. Iron will. Probably all three in one very hard-to-miss blend.

And to his amazement, he found it. While waiting for a Sith patrol to pass him, he felt that wisp of Force far ahead. Stumbling forward with a purpose, he sought it, chasing it like a dog would a car. He needed to catch it, needed to… to do something when that happened. He needed to apologize, or beg for forgiveness, or… even just fight it again, to let it know that he wasn’t just a slave to a pale woman and her schemes.

Someone had to know he hadn’t just left. That it hadn’t been his choice.

The presence seemed to stop moving, and he crawled after it with fervor, sensing it blocks ahead. His hands and knees shaky from riding what must have been his fourth or fifth wind by now, he clambered over every fallen building, snaked around every wall, and even made a few risky leaps over destroyed paths.

He followed the yellow-brick road, but rather than find the wizard, he found only his wand.

The saber was definitely Levin’s. Shoto, for sure, and more than that, so imbued with his presence, it felt more like a beacon than a tool. Dirty, blood hands were lowered by weak, painful knees as Vance bent down to pick it up, absent-mindedly wiping it off on his sleeve and doing what little he could to bring back its shine. Had it lead him here? Was it the Force guiding them all today? Or was he just someone twice-over dead who was inviting the reaper again by searching out someone who could kill him with a thought for an uncertain purpose?

… well, either way, the last one was highly probable. He simply found that he didn’t care at the moment.

Standing atop a taller piece of rubble, the young ex-padawan squinted as hard as his exhausted eyes would allow, focusing as hard as he could on the surrounding area and the presences that mingled in it. His voice could only join the effort after a few hoarse coughs, followed by a tone that definitely accented his necessity.

“Master Caelum!” He waited a few seconds of shallow breath before trying once more, what logic still operated in his mind not sure of what it was expecting to hear back.

[Apillis]

The flash of blazing orange beam of light parting the flesh of rakghouls as they flooded, Hervor's fiery irises flaring just as intensely as the blade of her weapon as they contrast the black hue that surrounded them. Her presence amongst the chaos was unmistakable as drew heavily upon the dark side around her, feeding of the aggression, violence, desperation, fear, and death of her surroundings to empower herself to push herself ever forward. However, even for her there are some tides too great, and with what she had already been through--as much as she opposed the flood of rakghouls coming in, she was but a small island among the ocean of the beasts, for most others had begun falling back to safer positions.

The idea these mindless beasts would push her back however, left her incensed, even with all her might and prowess within the dark side--in the end only numbers mattered now, and that is what the blighted creatures had in their favor unquestionably. Albeit, whether it was exhaustion or being disoriented from all the chaos, though truly more a combination of both--as Hervor fell back, it was not to a Sith position as she initially thought she was doing. It was to a Republic hold out trench.

The second a Republic soldier saw her within their trench, he drew his blaster on her, which in turn only gave opening for a rakghoul to pounce on top of him and begin its feast. She spared a trice with an amused faint smile watching the creature begin eating him alive, listening to his chorus of agonized screams and blood induced gurgles as it tore at his flesh. Ever the reminder mankind are nothing more than just matter of flesh and bone when stripped of all else.

Albeit, she had to press on, move to where the Sith had positioned themselves. The moment her back was turned the rakghoul who had killed and begun feasting on Republic soldier lunged right for her. A swift flourish of orange beam of plasma severed its clawed hands that were out-stretched before it as it sought to grab her with them. The creature with a heavy crash upon the dirty floor of the Republic trench at her feet, Hervor looked down at the creature like one would look down upon a ingrate, before stomping upon the crown of its skull with her left foot, crushing it like a melon.

She leaped to the top of the trench, to get a better view of the chaotic field of battle, which only caused her to gain the notice of a number rakghouls among the immense hordes coming in. With an extended left hand the bolts of lightning burst from finger tips at astounding enormity ripping through and blowing back numerous amounts of the beasts within the proximity she stood. Bodies of the rakghouls flew through the air from the power that struck them--a few of those even closest to her were reduced to ashes while others severely scorched.

But a dizziness suddenly came over her--she staggered and stumbled a couple steps before managing to regain her composure. In her depleted condition after the long journey she had made, such an exertion of power was the last thing she should be doing. Yet even the idea she had been pushed to such a desperate extent severed as yet more fuel to her fury. In her mind, she refused to yield to her weakened state, she will either will herself through it and become the stronger for it, or it will kill her and thereby deserved to die for her weakness--to brought to such a lowly state by mere beasts...

[Valcor]

    Demyan's focus was intense, not a single falling rock slipped past his vigilant watch.  It had been hours since the earlier morning's conflict, and what remained of the of the marines found themselves hold up in in the ruins of a once shining apartment building.  Being cut off from the main force was Navy Marine standard procedure, but that did not mean the men felt comfortable with it.  The ambush of the Sith camp had started well, but the Marines had been too aggressive, too careless.  Demyan silently ran over the events in his head, the silence of the surrounding city giving him the perfect quiet he needed to think.  With the lieutenant gone and all other commanding officers out of commission, Demyan was the only remaining leadership the battered soldiers had left.  Demyan was no stranger to the role of command, but he only ever had a single squad to lead, these men numbered almost quadruple that.

    In the distance artillery boomed as the conflict once again began to escalate.  Demyan only sighed; he knew the peace of the late morning would only last so long.  Turning to the men hunkered down behind him, Demyan righted himself, puffing his chest out and lifting his helmet from the rubble next to him.  "Marines!" He barked in his thick Rendillian accented voice, the men he addressed, turning to him from their various tasks.  "The Sith have begun their assault, ve are going to out flank them.  They think us defeated... Let's show them how wrong they are!"  Demyan was never one for speeches, but he had always despised the Sith, so talking bad about them to his battle brothers came as easy as talking to his own blood.  "I know you're tired... I am too... But our job is not done until this world is safe." With that Demyan dawned his helmet, his troops following suit before quickly packing up whatever cooking or cleaning equipment they had pulled out.  In moments the rag tag pair of companies, no longer having the numbers to justify separate operating groups, moved forward together, following the sounds of battle towards the growing conflict between the two armies.

    In no time, Demyan was within coms range of command, and quickly made contact, pressing the small button on the side of his helm.  "Command? Command, this is Sargent Mikhail of the Undaunted Justice's 1st Company marines.  Does anyone copy?"  The link was weak, but Demyan hoped his message got through.  His marines were in position and ready to support the struggling republic forces, but he would not risk friendly fire.  No soldier deserved to die by his brother's blaster.  However, before Demyan got a response, a nearby door to the undercity began to rumble with growls and the gnashing of teeth.  Every soldier went silent, only the sounds of the all too near battle muffling the growing animalistic sounds.  Demyan slowly turned his own weapon towards the door, silently encouraging his men to follow suit.  No republic forces dared venture into the undercity, so whatever those sounds were... they weren't friendly.

    Before the Sargent could speak another word, metal burst open, revealing a mass of flesh and teeth.  No soldier needed the command from Demyan to open up, treating the beasts with a hail of blaster fire.  "Rakghouls!" One soldier screamed over the coms as the marines backed up slowly over the hill they had previously been using to hide themselves from the conflict.  The men lacked any other alternative however, for they knew these beasts posed a much greater threat than any unaware sith soldier.  Demyan's mind raced and his heart pounded in his ears, deafening any transmission from the republic or his own troopers.

    These monsters were grotesque, Demyan had never seen anything like them.  They appeared humanoid but only in the most loose use of the term.  They had arms and legs, but what might have been human once, was such no more.  Their arms were pale and twisted, bearing masses of scars and patches of hair that seemed to have no uniformity between members.  Their bodies were squat, posture abysmal and legs bowed, leading Demyan to wonder how they moved with such speed.  The heavy weapons seemed to keep them at bay for the moment, but blaster rifle fire only seemed to anger them.  Where ever these came from, Demyan did not care, they were threatening his men right now, and he needed them to move.  "Into the building! Now!" He barked, taking a step forward letting them know to run while he had the monsers' attention, his rotary blaster cannon keeping the beast suppressed for the moment.  At his order the marines made their way slowly for the nearest standing building, which unfortunately stood on the sith side of the battle field.  Once Demyan himself turned to make for the building, he realized how little the building's placement mattered, for the Rakghouls were tearing apart any and all on the field, Republic and Sith alike.  This was not how Demyan expected his day to go in the slightest, but he feared the worse was still ahead of him.

[Rugs]

The first response came from Levin’s comm. Locke wasn’t sure what the Master was doing at present, actually—he’d heard chatter that Levin got caught in some pretty intense fighting earlier—but the sounds that came back were most definitely not him. The line crackled and popped first, like an old radio struggling to find a signal. A few indistinct grunts and growls made it through the static, but little else.

Locke frowned. He turned a nob on the table side to boost his signal to Levin. “Levin…” he echoed, voice dropping expectantly. The strange noises answered him again, but Levin did not.

That’s troubling, he thought. He folded his arms and shifted his weight for what felt like the millionth time. It was possible — and not at all unlikely — that Levin had lost his comm in the battlefield chaos. It was also possible that something was wrong. One the one hand, Locke hadn’t felt anything, no lancing pain through the Force to let him know his friend was gone, but on the other, the chaos beyond the fortress made it hard to feel much of anything with any useful degree of clarity.

Keep tabs on it, he mulled. No need to put anyone into a panic. He’d only put out an alert for Levin — or the Candyman, as he’d decided the Councilor’s call sign would be — if dire need arose.

Then again, with new arrivals spilling onto the battlefield…

"I'm here, Locke. But we have a lot more than ONE."

Ah, yes, Jaidan, coming through on his own encrypted line. Static distorted the Echani’s voice, but Locke still heard the distress, loud and clear.

Distress, from the normally rock-steady Jaidan Shatani. That’s discomforting.

“I’m aware, Snowflake,” he said, leaning forward to let his weight settle over table as he reviewed the battlefield. The lines were shifting, morphing as something came crashing into them.

"I suggest you make a tally of our available air assets, Commandant,” Jaidan said. “I don't think they'll go to waste."

“Noted,” Locke answered. The corner of his lip turned up in rueful half-smile at Jaidan’s inclusion of his self-demanded rank. A floating panel sprang to life at the tap of a button , and a few swipes of his fingers had Jaidan’s location entered and a command for an airstrike sent off t command. “Hang tight, if you can. I’ll be bringing the fury to your location.”

Another line broke through before he could say more. Charlie squad, reporting in from the field. Two men lost in an ambush. And that word again: Rakghouls. They were eliminated, Locke told himself again, as if thinking it enough would stop the wave that was apparently sweeping onto the battlefield.

“Roger, Charlie,” he said. “Come on home. Keep me posted on your progress.” He paused a moment, then added, “How Rakghouls, you say? How many have you seen?”

Another beep, another switch an encrypted line. Admiral La Vie, this time, updating from her ship in orbit.

Locke’s jaw tightened. Thousands of Rakghouls. Perhaps something the Republic could handle on its own, but certainly not while in the middle of a pitched fight against the Sith. Still, sounding the evacuation alarm so early? Things had taken a turn for the worst, but Locke wasn’t so ready to call it quits.

“Notify command,” he said. “It may be prudent to pull our forces to a defensive position, but I can’t make that call, Admiral. The Rakghouls’ arrival is troubling, but we’re not out of this yet.”

He paused for a long moment, wondering how to phrase what he’d next say. “Stay strong, Admiral. We’ve made it through worse, surely.”

An alert suddenly pinged up on his console. An attack wing had launched, inbound on JAidan’s location.

“Package heading your way, Snowflake,” he said, switching back to Jaidan’s line. “Bunker down.”

Finally, everything seemed to slow down, for a moment. The comm chatter—at least to him—leveled off, though he still listened to the general chatter as the battle shifted. He heard the footsteps approaching before he felt the man than made them.

"General,” the man said, "Special Operations, Jasper Chro."

Locke looked over his shoulder to see a salute. He answered with a nod and half-smile. “Commandant, if you would. I appreciate the introduction, Chro, but I’m not sure that I have what you’re looking for. It’s a mess out there.” He spared another glance for the man, eyebrow slightly raised. “If you’re looking for anything at all, I suppose. Why here, and not out there?”

Locke's comm crackled abruptly.

"Command? Command, this is Sargent Mikhail of the Undaunted Justice's 1st Company marines. Does anyone copy?"

The signal wasn't strong. The sergeant's voice faded in and out as he spoke, but Locke could make the words out.

"Yes, Sergeant, I read you," he said. "What's your situation?"

[DreadPirateMike]

Oddly enough, hearing Locke's voice over the comm really DID make him feel a bit better. And it wasn't the promise of an air strike, so much; that would be encouragement coming from anyone. Rather, it was the ridiculous insistence on fancy code names, almost as though they were playing at being fighter jocks. As the smile erupted across his face of its own volition, he found he simply couldn't bring himself to remind his fellow Knight either that their line was encrypted, not that they'd both already used the other's actual name. In its own way, Locke Nemsee's irreverent sense of humor was as reassuring as Levin's shining strength, or the walls of the fortress on Seraphim, a reminder that in spite of the grotesque flood washing over everything in its path, the world was not ending.

"That Nar Shadaa wit has never left you, Shooter." he replied with a shake of the head. "Hold it ever dear."

Taking the calm moment that Locke had afforded him, Jaidan thought on the updated situation a moment, and nodded to himself before turning back to the squad, loaded up as ordered and tensely awaiting further instruction.

"Command has seen fit to organize some proper covering fire for us. Proceed down the main stairwell, and pause a few stories up, just in case of any stray ordnance. Double time it as soon as you hear the first explosion, and I'll meet you outside. I hope you lot haven't skimped on your cardio."

Command certainly wasn't sitting on their hands. He didn't have long to wait before his sharp eyes picked up the thick, clean edged contrails of high flying atmospheric interceptors zooming past. The sonic boom reached him, as expected, a moment later. There was more, the high pitched, burgeoining hum of powerful repulsorlift engines, the sign of a lower flying second wave. The real show, however, was further up ahead. He hadn't seen the bombs themselves, but he knew how they worked well enough to visualize it, breaking up once safely clear of their planes into what seemed a chaotic rain of smaller packages, their powerful thermobaric charges in reality precisely guided to targets deliberately chosen by sophisticated targeting software. In theory, this targeting solution took into account telemetry from the encrypted locator beacons worn by Republic troops, thereby minimizing the likelyhood of friendly fire casualties. Jaidan could only pray that theory and reality were on good terms today, for in every other respect, the strike was doing its job. Nothing would survive immersion in that sea of cleansing fire.

Time to go. A running dive sent him clear of the open window, and as soon as he was pointed straight down at the ground, he summoned a layer of forgiving resistance into being partway down. It acted like water, sans surface tension, not only slowing his descent, but allowing him to flip and get his feet pointed at the ground. He landed in a crouch, and by the time the Republic troopers came spilling out of the door behind him, his lightfoil was already ignited, the main hand weapon pointing out the course of their mad dash to salvation: straight through the lingering blaze.

Durasteel and ferrocrete, luckily, made for improbable firewood to say the least. The main thing that kept on burning was, in fact, the airstrike's primary target, and by the time they'd entered the blast zone on foot, further periodic and judicious gusts of telekinetic force were enough to forge a path through that didn't require running directly into an open flame. Even so, the Echani would not have made it through the intense heat and choking fumes without the protection of the Force, or the squad without their armor and the rebreathers in their helmets. The Rakghouls, lacking any such protection save for a bestial disregard for their own well-being, would be kept at bay until their intended lunch had moved on. Breaking free at last into open air and momentarily enemy free soil, he paused to ensure he'd left nobody behind. All of them doubled over the moment they could afford to, and most ripped off their helmets to more readily suck the air back into their lungs, but all were presently accounted for.

It was as he stood there, keeping watch while the soldiers recovered and listening to the report of multiple rapid fire blaster turrets accompanied with the repulsorlift whine - Gunships, he realized belatedly. Hoping to mop up whatever the initial strike had missed, no doubt. - that he felt it. A presence in the Force, and not far to the east. Within half a mile, likely close enough to have felt that blast. It took him a moment to realize why it had grabbed his attention so; he'd been sensing any number of other Force users, light and dark both, all day long. But he recognized this one...the contrast must have been what jumped out at him. An active warzone wasn't the sort of place you expected to find someone you'd previously found skulking around high rise board rooms.

Well, as hostile takeover attempts went, this was probably the most aggressive he'd ever seen. Even so, something gnawed at him. Something not right, though he wasn't entirely certain whether the impression originated in the Force, or his own mind. Either way, whatever SHE was doing here, she hadn't come to offer her services as a mere skirmisher. Making up his mind, he withdrew a holo-imager from within the folds of his robe, and summoned the most current battlefield map available.

"The nearest intact Republic fortification is ten blocks north of this position." he explained as soon as the soldiers were in a condition to heed his words. "They'll need your firepower. Intel suggests the approach is manageable, for now. Stay alert, move fast, and you'll make it."

"What about you, General?" came the slightly muffled voice of the Mirialan Lieutenant to whom command would once again fall, his helmet newly donned.

"My path leads elsewhere. If I am so blessed, it shall intersect with yours again. Now, on your way."

"May the Force be with you, General." The traditional farewell began with the Sergeant, but was soon picked up in rapid succession by the rest. Fine characters, all. He prayed their deserved good fortune might not be snatched from them this day.

"With us all. But watch your blaster charge!"

With that, he was off eastward. He kept to the smaller side paths where he could, at times even cut through the gutted megastructures, intent on avoiding the major concentrations of these beasts. It was as he proceeded in this way that he finally noticed something to suggest he wasn't simply following a hunch. The movement of these creatures was not, as it had seemed, just some random dash for wherever the smell of warm meat was coming from. Their numbers were, for the moment, majorly thinned by the efforts in this immediate vicinity by the efforts of the Republic fliers, but there were still enough that there could be no mistake. They were moving as one, with a purpose. East.

"Shooter. Thanks for the assistance. Any chance of an encore? I need you to keep someone on standby. I don't care what they're flying, so long as it's armed. Just have them keep tabs on my position, and ready to move in if I give the signal."

This precaution - he hoped - in place in the event he was on his way to go poke the hornet's nest, he continued on his way. And there she was. She'd traded in the business suit for something more practical, and this time, she'd not QUITE avoided a couple hairs out of place. And she was hard pressed, the shredded remains of her entourage lying silently around her, and her attackers seeming to care not one whit for how many got cut down. More than ever, he was convinced something big was going on here. Someone that smart, and that cautious, caught out in the open? And in a place of no obvious significance, for that matter, the signal tower the only feature of note in the area. She KNEW something. And he'd know it too.

Stepping out into the open, he brought his blaster to bear, and opened up on the crowding beasts. Nothing fancy; he just aimed at the mass of grey, and kept pulling the trigger until the power cell died. It certainly didn't end the threat - He was beginning to doubt whether there were enough power cells on the planet for that. - but it would give Novus a bit of breathing room. Whether her immediate prospects had improved, however, remained to be seen. Tossing the spent blaster aside, he exchanged it for his shoto, and advanced slowly on the Sith, dispatching a pair of Rakghouls dismissively along the way.

"What did you do?" he demanded, his voice carrying clearly over the carnage.

[Chariot]

Her breathing grew heavier at the frequent bursts of noise that came through the comm channels, heart in a boxing match with her chest cavity. They had just barely escaped the Sith fleet, only in time to be utterly useless except to bring people back from the surface and flee with their tails between their legs. She was not fit to be an admiral, not in the slightest. Why did her father have faith in her?

Mashing her palm against her eye to try and stop the tears, Karta sat forward in her chair, looking in desperation to find some use for herself, some way she could help. The encouraging words of the Jedi on the surface giving her something besides her own thoughts to focus on, with even the constant clanking and shouting going on behind her as sparking wires would replaced, consoles were brought back online. And the distinct sigh of relief from the medical officer when the equipment began beeping once more.

She'd be considered a deserter to flee now. A coward. No better than the Sith that they fought. But she wanted to, more than anything in the world. Deep in her soul she was desperate to depart the battlefield, set a course for Wild Space and just keep running.

But she didn't speak only for herself. She spoke for every person on this ship. Every man and woman who had served her without question despite her unprofessional antics, had confidence in her abilities as a leader, a guide. Still feeling shaky, she pressed her finger to the comm system of the ship, speaking in a low but powerful voice.

"Get the guns operational. Any ones that aren't burned out should be manned by their respective personnel. Any who are absent or injured will be replaced by the back-up gunners. We'll turn this planet into a pile of space dust if we have to."

And for the first time in a long while, the ship went silent. Just for a moment. Before the thrum of activity burst to life again, much more frantic but at the same time controlled. An organized chaos as men and women who had spent their life taking orders finally had genuine orders to take.

With a small sigh, she patched herself through to Locke, responding at last to his encouraging words.

"Tell your men to keep away from any ruined pipework, we're going to use our turbolasers to try and curb the Rakghoul tide. Might buy you an hour or two while they look for a new exit but I can't guarantee the safety of anyone sitting with their thumb up their backside next to the connecting pipelines."

The message was direct and grim. And frankly she didn't care if he agreed with her plan or not, it was what she was going to do. The only thing she could think to do to help the desperate situation below.

[andas009]

"I'm not exactly sure command, but it was a decently large group. I doubt this is an isolated incident, so I would warn the other squa-" Francisco gave up on a reply after a small group of interceptors zoomed overhead at low altitude, obviously on a bombing run. Assuming that the situation to where the craft were heading was desperate, Francisco and his squad immediately headed towards the target location of the craft. 

Luckily it wasn't too far away, as Francisco witnessed them jettison their bombs only about a click or two away. After a quick run through some underbrush and a small trek up a hill, an impressive sight awaited his squad. A large scorched crater, strewn with the bodies of charred Rakghouls, lay in front of Francisco. He glanced around for any sign of soldiers, but could not find any. "Private Hereick, do you have any idea of where they might have gone?" The eager young soldier wasted no time to reply, telling Francisco of a Republic fortification about 10 or so blocks north of this position. At first Francisco doubted this knowledge a little, but the distant sound of blaster fire erased that doubt. "OK, let's get moving!"

After moving through what was left of the devastated city, the sound of blaster fire drowned out all remaining noise from the swamp. Running around a street corner, Francisco saw a battered old Republic fortification under heavy siege by Sith forces, and of course what looked like another stampede of Rakghouls coming from behind the Sith forces. Before Francisco could issue proper orders, a bolt landed just in front of him, causing him to drop to the ground and crawl up to the makeshift barricade. 

Francisco was relieved when the rest of his squad joined him on the barricade, unloading round after round into the seemingly endless stream of Rakghouls. After burning through a few clips, Francisco began to realize that sooner or later, they were going to run out of ammo. Not wanting to waste any time, he crawled over to one of the nearby defenders and questioned who was in charge. The defender pointed to a Mirialan on the far right side of the barricade, and Francisco crawled over to him as a streak of Sith blaster bolts whizzed overhead. 

"Sir! I hear you are the one in charge? I'm Lieutenant Afflaen of the 1st Frontier Regiment, we're here to help!" Just as the Mirialan opened his mouth, a thunderous noise could be heard overhead as a Hammerhead class cruiser delivered a devastating bombardment on what seemed to be the entrance to a pipe that emptied out in front of the barricade. The Mirialan nodded, and Francisco prepared to explain to him the benefits of an organized retreat, but they were interrupted by a defender on the far left shouting and charging forward off the barricade. Thinking the soldier was suicidal, Francisco peeked above the barricade to see the soldier's final fate, but instead the soldier moved behind some cover and continued firing against the Sith. Francisco waited for the Rakghouls to arrive, but they never arrived. It seemed that the pipe had blocked them off.....for now. The remaining Sith soldiers began to pull back, and Francisco opened his comm channel to command. 

"Command, this is Charlie Squad. We're currently a little delayed on returning to base, we diverted to help a small fortification on the frontline. Whatever that Hammerhead is doing to the pipes, it seems to be stalling the Rakghouls. We will most likely remain here for now, but give that Hammerhead our thanks!" 

[Neology]

Momentum carried her along, the world seeming to shrink down to just the tower and the ridge it stood on. Dodge, strike, recover. The rakghouls had strength and reach but no mind, an animal's sense of self preservation if not less. Efficiency was key, buying her more time against the numberless horde.

Time for what? The thought lingered unanswered, like something dreadful just out of frame. No radio meant no reinforcements. If anyone found her, it would be through the Force.

Fire streamed down on the horizon. Novus stole glances, watching as thin bright lines rushed toward the earth, blooming on impact into luminous puffs of flame and oily black smoke. She paid for her inattention, gasping as claws raked her left forearm. Pulling that arm close to her body, offhand saber flashing off, the Dark Lady lopped the beast's head from its shoulders with the other.

There were too many of them. They pushed her back to the tower's base, funneled into smaller groups by the stairs. Novus kept them at arm's length, finding breath to swear at the monsters between gulps of air.

What a very stupid way to die …

Blaster fire drew her regard. The white haired Jedi from Empress Teta, somewhat the worse for wear. Stranger still, he seemed to be set on helping her. She laughed - a high, mirthless sound, and rejoined the fray, matching the Jedi's bloody work cut for cut until there was nothing else living on that ridge. A stay of execution, all too brief. There would always be more.

“They've been here hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Starving, but I don't think they can die that way.” She extinguished her blades, licked cracked lips. “Czerka learned how to draw them out, even made a device for it.” Her gaze turned briefly skyward, fixing on the Boomslang's armored belly.

“We stole the device. Made more of them. Couldn't test them, of course, not without coming here.” She shrugged one shoulder, a fey smile tugging up the corner of her lips.

“I thought I was clever but Czerka played me. I see that now.”

[Fromikeable]

The ex-padawan’s brow knit more and more as his calls became less and less heartened, his voice already sore from his exploits and not feeling much better yelling for seemingly nothing at all. What had he been expecting, really? Levin to just waltz down the street, receive his saber, and have a lovely chat about the weather?

Maybe he did lose it then. It was hardly a crazy idea, what with the crater being an utter warzone these days. Vance had nearly lost his own saber a dozen times today, and he’d only been fighting for a few minutes. Considering that a Blade as staunch as Levin would probably be pushing the frontlines like a sculptor to his clay, he could’ve been anywhere, fought anyone, lost his saber at any time, and been going anywhere else.

Damnit. That hardly narrowed things down. Vance knew that he was in no shape to go crossing the crater, least of all while already feeling half-dead. He’d gotten lucky so far not getting spotted. If the Sith found him, he’d undoubtedly get carted off to some medical tent (unless the unthinkable happened and he had a repeat of the last soldiers… he pushed that thought faaaaaaaaaar away). If the Republic found him, provided they didn’t just shoot him dead, he’d be a prisoner of war. At face value, going back to the Republic was at least a little appealing, but the same could still happen, and if he made it…

.. well, he pushed those thoughts away as well. He had to focus.

His only real option was to put that Force training to use. He’d always tried to be good at sensing, always focused on it in his training. He hoped it would pay off as he closed his eyes, trying to temporarily zero out all of the noise, all of the lights and flashes, all of the impending senses of doom…

… there were… well, there were burning figures of hate swarming the land. There were smaller figures of fear, of rage, of terror, all squirming, all rushing left and right, bouncing off each other and the hateful surges. All were being zapped from existence left and right, leaving only their traces.

Vance shivered. Levin, just Levin… He scanned far and wide, finding little of that beacon. All that filled the crater was death. Shaking his head and biting his dry tongue, he began to withdraw his presence back into himself, trying to ignore the newfound sensation of morbidity he found welling within himself, trying to think of a plan, trying to…

And then he found it. Just about a meter below him.

Vance looked down, squinting. The small mound he stood on was more than just rubble and broken pieces of structures. Stepping to the side, weak hands would grasp on to the edge of one of the larger pieces, trying in vain to move it. Weak hands would then abandon it, being held lightly in the air as he squinted harder, the Force being shakily summoned to lift the debris instead, flinging it down the mound.

All he found were bodies. Sith, Republic, and untold numbers of rakghouls. But the presence was there, below them. Shivering hard this time, Vance couldn’t help but call out again as he called upon the Force again and again, his arms growing more exhausted as his mind strained to focus. His voice wavered this time, a third uncertain, a third hopeful, and a third frightened.

“... Master Caelum?” Another removed body revealed an armored hand.

“... Master Cael?” Another revealed a torso in blasted armor and a pale white neck with a bleeding stab wound.

“... Lev!” Vance finally dropped to his knees, shoving aside the last few carcasses and flipping the body over. There lay the legendary, infamous Jedi Master Levin Caelum, unconscious and blood-covered, grimy as the planet’s non-existent soil and bright as its hidden sun.

The sky above thundered. The rain began to pick up once again.

“... Master, c’mon.” Vance stared at the man with wide eyes, his battered mind finding itself besieged by emotion for the umpteenth time that day. “... C-C’mon, c’mon, wake up.” His hand, shaking and now soaked, lightly slapped the man’s cheeks, looking for some sign, any sign that he might come to, that he might… might save him or punish him or speak to him or kill him or…

… do something, damnit!

He refused to give up. Not after all of this. There had to be some kind of payoff, some kind of resolution. As his breath becoming utterly unstable from a cocktail of panic, emotion, and shock, the ex-padawan thoughtless began to move, pulling at the resting body. Calling on the Force in short, sporadic bursts, he finally managed to land the man on his back, his body straining at every sinew and tendon as he taxed it far beyond his capacity. His knees shook. His breathing was a trembling pant. His eyes both teared and squinted. His teeth grit.

“Something, do something!...” His voice as weak as his vessel, the battered soul within began to step down the mound with its passenger in tow, demanding to weather the storm again.

[DreadPirateMike]

Czerka. Of course that blasted nightmare factory would be involved in all this somehow.

"A textbook cautionary tale if ever I heard one." Jaidan dryly commiserated as he approached the tower. Half his attention was momentarily devoted to a downed Rakhoul, showing not only signs of life, but of impertinently attempting to rise and continue its attempted carnage in spite of a missing paw and a smoking gash across its stomach. Jaidan quickly put a stop to such nonsense with a contemptuous swipe of his foil that took off the top the monster's head. He took another step forward before pausing to reconsider, then took the rest of the head as well.  Best to be certain. 

After that, he went as far as extinguishing his blades to match the Arkanian's gesture, but the foils themselves remained right where they were. His advance paused at the base of the steps, that distance judged adequately outside Novus' personal space to indicate he was beset by no burning need to resume hostilities, not to mention enough space to work with if that occurred anyway. It was close enough, however, to study her properly, and not for typical reason she was perhaps accustomed to such scrutiny. He was no stranger to the stress of battle, and the imminent likelihood of one's own demise could be jarring for anyone. Yet even given all that, she just seemed not quite all there. There was stoic, and there was ambivalent. After a moment, he believed he'd found his explanation in the form of a slight difference in size between her two pupils.

"Hey!" he shouted, drawing upon his moderate skill in telekinesis to project the word directly into her mind as well in hopes of securing her full attention. "A bit of focus seems called for. You've struck me as fairly agreeable, as your sort goes. And at any other time, I would quite honestly be thrilled to hear your insights on ancient history, xenobiology, and yes, even the pitfalls of corporate espionage. But right now, it doesn't sound like anyone's getting much benefit from Czerka's toys. So let's shut them off!"