Oderis venient in virtute (Toprawa/Closed)

[Ash]

War was never pretty: bodies everywhere, blood coating everything, and the stench of death hanging on everything. This was Toprawa right now: specifically Toprawa City, where a campaign on a grand scale was taking place. The sounds of battle could for miles around, but despite the actions being taken for the by the Sith supporters to secede from the Republic, Republic loyalists were putting up one hell of a fight in the darkness: they were still about 20 minutes from the first caresses of light. There was one problem with the fighting, however.

The only two from the Sith Order on the planet weren’t in the middle of the fighting. Instead, they were off on something else entirely. Lancer, a rather odd name for a Sith, and his ‘creepy sidekick’ Nieraan, also known as Aurelius, were off on something else entirely, which was sneak into the capital building and go on a nice little spree of taking out the Republic Loyalists hiding there.

Lancer and Nieraan were near the capital building now, and at least Lancer was looking at it. He felt Nieraan nearby, but he wasn’t keeping an eye on the other Sith. They were both grown men, and didn’t need to continuously be next to each other, unlike Jedi. A stray thought crossed his mind: maybe there were Jedi here now, somewhere. A small, toothy smile crossed his charismatic face at the thought, and he tapped the base of his spear on the ground lightly. Quiet as a shadow, he made his way to Nieraan.

Ready to make this happen? I’ll fallow your lead.

[Rugs]

So far, things weren’t quite going to plan.

Nieraan, along with Diarmuid, landed on Toprawa a few days ago to help the Empire-loyal secessionists overthrow the border world’s Republic-leaning government. The way they’d planned it, they would slip in, link up with The Movment, as the secessionists called themselves, and eliminate few key players to kickstart the collapse of Toprawa’s central government.

That’d gone well, in the early stages. The world’s chief secretary — whose executive authority was second only to that of planetary governor Lee Vuusen — mysteriously died of asphyxiation during an evening meal in her lakeside manor. More deaths followed as the Sith duo did quick work, culminating in a daring raid that left the world’s defense secretary and military chief of staff dead as their speeder went down in a fiery crash over some mountains.

Everything was going smoothly; better than Nieraan had expected.

Then Torkin Lanith – The Movement’s firebrand of a leader – got greedy. He marshalled The Movment’s forces and launched a withering assault on Toprawa City itself, and only deigned to tell the Sith of his plan about two hours beforehand.

That fact still rankled Nieraan, who snorted into the cool morning air. The Firrerreo didn’t care a whit if Lanith wanted to bathe the capital in blood with his civil war “for liberation” as he called it. But the disrespect, when he could crush the man’s lungs as easily as he’d crushed the secretary’s from afar while she thought herself safe behind her blessed walls…

An armored vehicle rumbled along the street below. This was a loyalist unit, probably ferrying troops to meet The Movement on the siege’s ever-shifting front lines. They were putting up a tenacious defense, Nieraan supposed, but The Movement continued to push lines slowly back.

Toprawa City would fall.

Today, Nieraan and Diarmuid were out to see if they could accelerate the process. Lanith could survive a battle over the planet’s capital city. A bloody, drawn out civil war, however, might delay Toprawa’s admission into the Empire. The longer that took, the more likely Imperial intervention became. The more effort the Empire had to put into Toprawa’s fall, the less likely Lanith was to avoid being replaced by some puppet aristocrat.

“We have to pierce their heart,” Nieraan muttered, using a voice he’d developed over the past few days to mock Lanith’s overbearing ways. “Sweep into the capital, tear Vuusen from them and the siege will be over before nightfall.”

The Sith snorted and pulled his helmet over his face. It locked in place with a mechanical click as he stood. “Anyway, let’s get this shit started.” He didn’t move yet, though, and for a moment it seemed his armor-clad figure hesitated for a few seconds too long.

Nieraan reached ahead, through the Force, senses washing over as much as the capitol as he could make them. Something stood out. Something Light.

“I don’t think we’re alone,” he muttered lowly. He leapt, using the Foce to take him over the street and into the capitol’s shadows. Diarmuid, he trusted, would follow as battle’s thunder boomed in the distance.

[Harukei]

It seemed that war really never changed. This was the thoughts that occurred to him during the tense situation. At first the mission he and Padawan Fenn Soran had taken on the behest of the High Council to resolve the violent situation that had been brewing on the forested world. However such peace talks between the loyalist republic government and the secessionist that attempted to turn this world to the dark maw of the Empire. However, whatever doubts he had after the mission briefing were confirmed upon their landing a couple of days ago.

Mysterious deaths followed each other in a pattern that could by only the worse streak of luck or something executed by experienced assassins. And truthfully, he didn't believe in blind luck. If the intrusion of a third party by the secessionist movement was the case, there was a plan from the so called Movement, to truly topple the planetary government in a most violent way. Yet something was amiss. Their last move, the marching to the capital in such a evident manner seemed to counteract the relative finesse they had employed on the initial strikes against the government. 

The march unto the capitol felt as it was amateurish at best and it would seem to cause more harm than good on the long run. Given what he knew of the planetary security forces, at least those loyal to the Republic, it was to be a costly and bloody affair. Under normal circumstances he might as well have joined the front troops to repel the attacks that were soon to happen. Yet something bothered him and he didn't know what.

A nagging feeling as he closed his eyes in meditation, and aside of ignoring the momentary nervous rants of the governor, he was examining the situation very closely. But all he could gather, aside of the senseless violence the was to come, was cold and darkness, seemingly muted, yet still present. The Jedi Master opened his eyes, the office of the governor slowly returning to his sight as he began to gather his thoughts. It wasn't out of the question that Sith could be involved. In fact it seemed to be something quite possible. Giving a weary sigh, he would turn to the young Bothan Jedi.

"Ready yourself, Fenn." He said considering his words. "There might be necessity to fight soon."

[lion]

There was a marked difference between a doctor and a medic, Fenn had come to find out, as the mission to Topwara had fallen from prevention to treatment of the political turmoil that threatened to sweep over the planetary government. Much like biology, the infection had started small; manageable, according to the Jedi Council, with the proscribed intervention. But now? Talk of rebellion, of a regime change in favour of the 'Movement', had spread; the body of Topwara was having to fend off the mass spread of sedition and rebellion the likes of which were few and far between.

The patient was dying fast, and it seemed even with everything Fenn had, it could only get worse.

The civil war that had sprung up had proven a true test of willpower for the young Bothan; the twenty two year old finding himself flung into the role not of a defender of the peace, but that of a bedside nurse. Rather than ensuring the safety of the governing body, as the Zabrak Fal had assumed those duties, Fenn instead found himself assisting in the medical efforts; to keep the Republic loyalist fighters in the shape necessary to repel the rebellious insurgents, and civilians caught in the crossfire quickly became part of the bunch.

Though, with a grim smile, Fenn could only acknowledge the futility of the task. More died than lived; the wounds were grievous to the point that even the Force itself seemed to serve less as a saving grace and more of a comforter in their final moments. Over the short few days since being given the mission, Fenn couldn't count how many times he'd watched the final flicker of life fade from a bloody, battered, charred body before him; scored with blaster fire but somehow just barely hanging onto life for long enough to let go of it right in front of him.

Death was common, there were some patients you just couldn't pull back sometimes, but there was no shield with which to hide from the bitter reality of things. The lack of experience in Fenn, the Bothan's youth, played against him; he hadn't the wisdom to not blame himself, nor the experience to thicken his skin to the losses. The whispers for help, bloody hands gripping at his robes, begging eyes imploring for just that bit more painkiller, or some magic trick to wish away the wounds that silenced them, bit into Fenn harder than perhaps anything he'd ever felt in his life.

The boy was tired, and as his slow reaction to Fal's gentle warning suggested, it was hard not to see. Everything about him seemed laboured; sagged shoulders, sunken and defeated eyes, frazzled fur messed and slicked with dirt and mingled body fluids. The signs not just of physical but mental fatigue were wearing in deeply, and had the Bothan apprentice the wear-with-all to diagnose himself, battle-fatigue would have been high on the list. 

"Of course we do. When don't we?" Muttered Fenn under his breath, quietly, as the boy's tapered ears twitched against the air. Bitterness and sarcasm dribbled from the boy, both in his words and through the Force, and with a slow breath through his nose, effort to quell it became obvious, as his hand descended for the lightsaber at his hip. "Sorry."

[Ash]

Unlike Nieraan, Lancer didn't wear a mask, or anything special for field work. He rubbed his cortosis bracer, fingering the hidden saberstaff hidden there. It was always a nice surprise in a fight. Considering his formfitting outfit and relative lack of anything considering pockets, he made use of any extra space in his few pieces of actual armor. He motioned with the tip of his spear to Nieraan when the man put his helmet on.

Its a good look. Maybe you can make an actual friend.

Lancer jested, falling back to his old ways before Taris. It was no secret he wasn't the same after the battle for that planet. So far, he had been fine, but anything could set him off once again. Hopefully not for a while. He wondered if Nieraan was watching him for anything wrong. He snorted lightly at the thought and turned his mind to the battle ahead when Nieraan mentioned they could have company, then he dove off their little watch area, leaving Lancer.

After sighing lightly, he fallowed, doing a flip in midair before landing lightly, and using that momentum to rocket forward to the capital building. Using the force once again, he opened a door on the ground floor, and ran through. On the other side were two very surprised guards. He held one by the force, choking the life from him as he ran his spear through the others throat. He made sure they were standing while they died, and let them down gently. He tapped the small earpiece he was wearing and spoke quietly.

Entrance clear. Shall we 'pierce the heart?'

As he mocked Lanith as Nieraan did, he spun his spear quickly, flinging an arch of blood off the red spear, though it was hard to notice. Hopefully his partner was ready to move as fast as Lancer was: In and out before anyone noticed.

[Rugs]

[Sorry for taking so long. Been super busy. Not much but it'll get the thread going again]

The infiltration was a simple affair. Diarmuid slipped in first, using the Force to force a door open before dealing with the two guards waiting within. Nieraan followed, a lone blade held unignited in his hand. While his partner swept the blood from his weapon, the Firrerreo again stretched his senses out, searching out the life that filled the sprawling building around them.

One stood out above all the others, shining with the intensity of a bonfire burning in the darkest depths of any Korriban tomb. Another light flickered, but it was dimmer. Weaker.

Nieraan’s nose wrinkled as he snarled within his mask. “Yes, we will,” he said, motioning Diarumuid to follow him out of the main corridor they were in to a service door a few yards along. “Stay on guard. It stinks of Jedi in here.”

The plan was simple. The sort of service route ran through the heart of the capitol building, to let janitors, technicians and other similar staff move about as needed, unseen to the pubic eye. The Sith would infiltrate it, find the governor, kill him and move out.

Simple. If the Jedi didn’t complicate things. Jedi always complicate things, he thought as he silently shut the door behind them.

[Harukei]

"It's ok." The Zabrak said, placing a hand over his shoulder to reassure him. "A Duel or a Battle are never easy things." Indeed they weren't, specially when gauging the enemies that would most likely be their foes. As the sound of battle intensified on the outside he couldn't say he knew which said was winning. At this point and with just so many deaths felt through the Force, he had to consider the stalemate was a cover. 

With a sigh of resignation, he knew that there would need to be a duel, as he doubted the darksiders that were making their way through the innards of the edifice would come for a friendly chat and some tea. Given the position that the Governor of Toprawa had to endure during the last months as more and more of his people joined the 'revolutionary' group. He had to consider that there was a escape tunnel. Or at least a panic room for him to hold while his soldiers and in this case, both Jedi endured the battle.

The Jedi Master closed his eyes and breathed deeply, tapping into the Force, it's cooling aura releasing him from the strain of feeling so much violence and death all around the government building. His senses widened and stretched beyond the confines of his flesh unto the room. Sensing the unease that the guards and the governor were experiencing. But also he could sense something more. As through the peering darkness, two shadowy figures stood out. "Sith..." He muttered. 

Raising his sight, he pondered to whether reveal the information or not. Deciding that reading the governor and his guard was for the best at the moment he did so. "Governor, assassins are on the way." He said in a firm tone. "If there is any escape passage or secret route towards your transport, I suggest you take it now." His hand fell to the hilt of his lightsaber, unclasping it from his belt as he turned to Fenn. "We will contain them here." 

[lion]

The slightest foundation of a smile was all that Fenn allowed himself, as the hand of the elder Jedi pressed to his shoulder, but it was less an expression of genuine comfort so much as it was a guess of the anticipated response. There was truth in what Tolvus had to say, of course, but it wasn't in the fighting that Fenn had found the unease that gnawed at him; that would have been too easy.

No, it was in the lack of fighting that truly the grief dwelt. Fights could be won or lost, but the bitter pang of defeat was somewhat blunted with the knowledge that you at least made the effort. It was when it was clear there was no fight, no rallying from loss despite the effort raised, that had embittered the Padawan so. Too many times already had furred, clawed hands gone through the motions simply for the sake of putting the patient beneath their care at ease; mere platitudes to comfort those too far gone for even the Force to pull them back.

Those same hands now reached not for the scalpel, but the lightsaber.

"We contain them here? And let the governor roam unescorted? I must protest, Tolvus, it's too much a risk." Fenn piped up in response, the Bothan's voice carrying the doubt openly, if perhaps a little warbled under its weight. Nevertheless did the younger jedi's weapon find the hand it was made for, though; the simple metallic cylinder held steadfast and at the ready. "Who knows if this is simply a ploy to get him out in the open?"