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========

>>Farren Gaelle
>Brawn: 2
>Finesse: 3
>Intellect: 2
>Cunning: 2
>Resolve: 3
>Panache: 2

>>Skills:
>Astronavigation 1 (Intellect) – a measure of knowledge about the galaxy’s stellar composition, allowing for the correct plotting of routes and hyperspace jumps.
>Cool 1 (Panache) – a measure of a character’s ability to remain calm under danger. Rolled to resist Charm and Negotiation.
>Coordination 1 (Finesse) – a measure of a character’s nimbleness and flexibility.
>Deception 1 (Cunning) – judges the character’s ability to trick others into believing falsehoods.
>Lore 2 (Intellect) – how much the character knows of the ancient galaxy and its history.
>Mechanics 1 (Intellect) – skill and prowess in working on all things from weapons to droids and ships.
>Melee 2 (Brawn) – a character’s proficiency with melee weapons such as knives and swords.
>Medicine 1 (Intellect) – a skill used to treat wounds as minor as scrapes to life-threatening injuries.
>Perception 2 (Cunning) – a skill used to notice clues, perceive hidden dangers, and all manner of hidden objects or persons.
>Piloting [Space] 1 (Agility) – the ability to pilot starships and other stellar vessels.
>Sith 1 (Intellect) – a measure of a character’s knowledge regarding the Sith and Dark Side of the Force.
>Stealth 1 (Agility) – a measure of how easily a character can hide or appear inconspicuous.
>Vigilance 2 (Resolve) – represents a character’s ability to take notice and react to events happening in their surroundings/peripheral vision.

>>Traits:
>Jedi Shadow [Add +2 to checks made for Deception, Perception, Stealth and Vigilance]
>Makashi Expert [Roll 3d6 when using Form II/Makashi]
>Indistinguishable [You are but a face in the crowd, and add 1d6 to Stealth rolls]

>>Lightsaber Rating: 3
>>Weapons: One yellow-gold, single-blade lightsaber.
>>Lightsaber Forms:
>Form II, Makashi [Finesse]
>Form VI, Niman [Finesse+Cunning]

>>Force Rating: 2 (2d10+Resolve)
>>Force Affinity: Alter (+5 bonus to Alter-type powers)

>>Force Powers:
>Force Fire 2 (Alter) – a pyrokinetic ability that allows the practitioner to manipulate and conjure flames with the Force. Especially deadly against the Children of Jombaral.
>Force Pull/Push 1 (Alter) – The iconic telekinesis of every Jedi, determines lifting limit and push power.
>Force Speed 1 (Alter) – The universe seems to slow around you, and you are react faster as a result of it.
>Force Weapon 3 (Alter) – You imbue a mundane weapon with the Force, increasing its durability and damage. Your lightsaber now does more damage. At fifth rank...?
>Mystic Weapon 1 (Alter). You can imbue a lightsaber with the Force and make it fight remotely at your side. At third rank, you may add an additional lightsaber.
>Sever Force 2 (Alter) – A rare and seldom-taught and used technique by the Jedi of the Old Republic that strips one’s connection with the Force. Leveling this increases duration and potency.

======

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=Misc. Inventory=
>Golden Lightsaber Crystal – one of two lightsaber crystals you had taken from the caves of Illum when you were a Youngling. The lightsaber it had been embedded in had been destroyed by the Herald of Jombaral.
>Holocron of the Betrayer – a Jedi Holocron containing the persona of Kreia, an enigmatic Jedi from the time of Darth Revan.
>Liar’s Blade – the spearhead carried into battle by the Liar Chieftain against the Herald of Jombaral thousands of years ago. Supposedly, it is to be used against the Herald to release the souls it devoured.
>Mandalorian Blaster – a Mandalorian pistol given to you by Nomiana Whrul after a passionate evening on Mylar-3. She gave it to you in the hopes that it would keep you alive in the Unknown Regions.
>Sunspear – an ancient weapon from a forgotten age, when the surface of Kakarit was an endless plain of sand. It is among the finest forms of Kakari technology, using the energy stored within embedded sunstones to manifest a field of energy along its blade. Its prior owner was the Accuser of Pilgrims, Guardian of the Godseye, a gestalt entity comprised of fifty souls strong in the Force.

=Leads from Alleana=
>Arkinnea, a planet in the Expanse Region, where refugees of both Separatist and Republic bent flee.
>Bracca, a planet in the Mid Rim, where the only fortune to be made is from shipbreaking and scrapping.
>Dagobah, a planet in the Outer Rim, a desolate swamp void of any significant or advanced civilization.
>U’haon, a planet in the Tingel Arm, suspected to be the planet you saw in the Revenant’s vision.
>Uliea, a planet in the Outer Rim, homeworld of Alleana and Farren Gaelle largely unknown by the galaxy.

==============

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>19 BBY, approximately one month following Order 66.

>>Kakarit, Behrilia System, Outer Rim
>>Settlement of Nest’s End, The World Beneath

>>Scrapper Squad, survivors of the 57th Elite Corps
>Commander Skipp, Alpha-class ARC Trooper.
>Oann, Field Medic.
>Cooper, Ordinance Specialist.
>Stye, Blaze Trooper.
>Evo, AT-RT Scout Trooper.
>Trykov, Logistics Officer,
>Roppock, Infantry Trooper.

Alpha -034, or Commander Skipp as he’d come to distinguish himself, had come to a quiet revelation about a terrible truth of the galaxy. It was a theory he kept quiet about, and had never shared aloud with anybody, not among his brothers nor the myriad Jedi Generals he’d served alongside with.

Rations, even those produced in the Unknown Regions, tasted just as bad as the ones produced in the known areas of the galaxy. There were a few, of course, that tasted marginally better, but the ones flavored with something remotely palatable were always in short supply.

Still, he wasn’t about to complain. After two months of extreme survival in conditions even the cloners couldn’t have predicted, the flavorless, borderline cardboard was a very welcome distraction. Trykov had cracked more than one joke about eating flies if they had to roast one more lizard-frog, Cooper’s tricks with spice and salt be damned.

He managed a few more chews before swallowing some lump of unidentifiable proteins. The packet said that it was sequenced from ‘grox’ flank, but whatever the hell a grox was didn’t taste all that good. He’d had to flinch two pepper packets and a pinch of sugar to make it at least somewhat palatable.

There was some comfort in that it at least wasn’t cloner rations. One of the trainers had made a joke about how the Kaminos didn’t waste anything, even ‘defective’ troopers. A whole platoon’s worth of shines had refused to eat for a day following that. Jango Fett had reprimanded the trainer sharply and assured the ARC troopers that, no, they were not eating the re-sequenced and/or recycled proteins of their ‘failed’ brothers.

The overhead light of the Great Sunstone was dim, reflecting a natural sunset as best it could in the confines of the underground. Just a dozen meters from their makeshift outpost, the lights of Nest’s End were similarly diminishing. The bright lights in the houses and along the streets gave way to more solitary sources, either individual, smaller sunstones or the torches carried by the city guard.

Skipp observed a plethora of colors. The patrols seemed to favor softer hues of white, leading credence to the theory that their eyesight was no different than more primitive reptilians. The lower tiers, the districts of the laborers and tradesmen, glowed with a collection of orange and yellows. Further up the social hierarchy, the priests and merchants carried purple and green sunstones. Blue was a rarer hue, reserved only for the likes of the chieftain’s compound.

(cont.)

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“It’s a real pretty sight, isn’t it, sir?” Oann mused from just behind his shoulder.

The commander found himself agreeing. “Aesthetically? It’s quite pleasing. But from a tactical standpoint, it’s an absolute nightmare for the defenders.”

The field medic chortled as he continued his bloody business. “How so?”

“That many lights in this dark of a cavern? Sniper’s wet dream if I ever saw one, so long as they do a good job of hiding their muzzle flare.” Skipp winced as another one of the stitches was pulled out of his cranium. “...don’t be getting too entranced by the pretty lights. I’d like to have all these damned things out before they fester.”

“I’m capable of multitasking,” assured Oann, emphasizing with a series of deft plucks. Setting down his forceps, he dabbed at the latest of angry red lines that went down the commander’s temple. With a quick dispensation of preciously limited bacta spray, the wound was properly dressed and protected from infection. “That was the last pair, actually. How are you feeling, sir?”

His head was slightly throbbing, but it was a welcome pain. The damned things itched terribly. “Better. And embarrassed about taking a bloody rocket to the forehead.”

“It technically exploded a good three feet away from you,” the medic corrected, dropping his equipment in a sanitizing solution. “There wouldn’t be any stitches for me to remove if that actually did happen.”

“First thing in basic they always told us was to watch out for rockets,” he grumbled, standing up from a crate of rations to flex and stretch his muscles. It made for a poor gurney, especially in full Phase II armor sans the helmet. “Wrist-mounted or otherwise. The trainers would’ve given me an endless amount of grief for that.”

They continued speaking as they made their way out of the ramshackle medical ward, more an enclosure of ratty tarp, and into the main body of the camp. It was a pittance compared to Firebase Charlie, less than square ten meters for their salvaged equipment and lonesome vehicles. Beyond the singular AT-RT that Evo guarded like a sacred cow, they had a pair of speeder bikes on loan from the Albatross.

Still, Outpost Scales wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the prior hellhole’s Skipp had endured. Hell, if anything, it was borderline shore leave. With the Jedi’s cargo so close by, and an entire settlement’s worth of civie’s within walking distance, this was the closest place to heaven on this Force-forsaken hellhole of a planet.

Cooper waved the pair over as they approached the center of the camp, all the while laboring over a giant pot set over a roaring fire. Around the pit, the rest of the survivors had assembled. To his side, a sour-looking Roppock threw vegetables and other ingredients into the mix. Evo and Stye were in the middle of an animated discussion, and a dutiful Trykov had just finished arranging bowls and utensils around the cook.

(cont.)

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At the sight of Skipp, Roppock immediately went ramrod straight. “Commander on deck-”

“At ease,” he quickly interjected as he pulled up an empty ration crate for him and Oann. There wasn't even a deck, let alone anything beyond damp mud to stand on. “Won’t have you standing on ceremony.” To Evo and Stye, he offered a sharp nod as they settled in and picked up their utensils. “How was your patrol?”

“Pretty uneventful, all things considered, sir,” answered the driver cheerfully, “Didn’t run into anything too threatening. Some of the Kakari called in for some help to deal with some kind of invertebrate with acidic spit that was terrorizing their grazing herds.”

At the concerned eyebrow, Stye offered a grin, patting the heavy flamethrowers on his wrist. “Turns out they really don’t like getting flamed. They aren’t any larger than a small speeder, but the damned things just happen to hunt in packs. Honestly don’t smell too bad once cooked well-done.”

Trykov laughed dryly as he wheeled in a barrel of fresh water drawn from a nearby spring. Popping open the top, he dropped in a pair of iodine tablets and began to agitate the mix vigorously. “Don’t lie to the commander like that. You came back covered in slime and manure, complaining about the stripped paint and stinking worse than an open grave.”

Skipp opined to let them continue their back-and-forth, quietly observing as Cooper finished preparing dinner for all of them. Morale was up for the first time in what felt like several lifetimes since they’d made planetfall. He wasn’t nearly about to be the stick in the mud that the rookie thought of him.

The commander stared at all of them for a hard, long time, taking in their faces that were nearly identical to his own. Out of three Venators’ worth of Clone Troopers, six thousand troops in total, only six had survived, not including himself. And from further information provided by Ren, of those three capital ships, each with seven thousand crew, only one had managed to escape from both the battle against the Seppies and an insidious, subversive plot by an eons-old tree spirit.

With at least one Venator escaping, 33% of space forces had survived. Not great, not terrible, and depressingly common in some corners of the galaxy against certain Separatist admirals. But less than a percentile of the infantry had survived. A fraction of a percentile, really. 0.1%, to be precise. Somehow worse and complete annihilation.

Oh, he’d heard the stories, of course. Settlements in the Outer Rim, whole cities glassed by turbolaser, populations and the garrison protecting them killed all the way to the last. At the very least, he could understand why an enemy commander might do it. Scorched earth was more than a viable tactic in both denying assets to an enemy, as well as demoralizing or otherwise cowing a populace into fearful submission.

(cont.)

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There was one recent instance that came to mind. A few months ago, he and the 57th stood atop the graves of a thousand dead villagers, firebombed into ash for supplying water to the Republic’s landing forces. Arotta had nearly caused a landslide with her anger and burning desire for justice.

Master Kosa, on the other hand, used the atrocity as a trigger to rally the otherwise placid and neutral natives into aggressively defending their homeworld. The smug look on the enemy commander couldn’t have lasted too long once he’d learned about how his strategy of cowing the natives backfired horrifically.

He’d picked up the scorched remains of a doll, a stuffed plushie in the image and garb of a native girl. And when no one was looking, he buried it atop a hill, facing the setting sun of the local star. Dead was dead. Not to a Jedi, but for the most of the galaxy, it happened to be the case.

Not so much with Jombaral. Not so much with something that offered such a twisted form of love, an inhuman entity that killed as she loved, and still loved after death. The dead would find no peace with the likes of the False Mother, and that was a thought that deeply disturbed him.

The crew of the Albatross had rescued seven clone troopers from the swamp, but there were at least fifty more that had managed to escape Firebase Charlie and resist the entity’s influence. Maybe there had been more. Perhaps they’d gotten waylaid in the jungle, either driven half-raving mad or caught by the Children. He’d never know. The armor left behind told no tales of their owners’ demises, be it by their own hands or the Call of Jombaral.

Suddenly, Cooper was all up in his personal space. Skipp tensed, but there was no threat, and the abrupt tightness in his gut diminished to a low tension as the cook sauntered over with the pot. Flourishing his soup tureen with a playful gesture, he gave the commander the first serving.

“Order up, sir,” groused the clone with a wry grin, oblivious to his inadvertent disturbance. He doled each member of Scrapper Squad a generous double-rations. “Compliments of both the Jedi’s cargo hold and the gifts of our hosts.”

A gentle breeze blew through the underground, and the scent immutably whetted their appetites and brought Skipp out of his reverie. It smelled absolutely wonderful, something earthy and rich with just an undercurrent of exotic gaminess.

Evo probed at the stew with his spork, lifting an unidentifiable mass of meat, roasted mushrooms and rehydrated grains. The driver grimaced as it fell back into his bowl with an obscene splat. “The hell is this?”

“Braised sniztrix beef stew, garnished with wild pachi mushrooms,” the ordinance specialist explained, taking on an exaggerated accent that wouldn’t be out of place in the lofty tiers of the Senate building. He rattled off at least four more ingredients before he was finished. “Old family recipe.”

(cont.)

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Stye barked out a laugh as he dug in. Trapped in his Blaze Trooper armor, the man’s head looked comically small as he struggled to lift the bowl to his mouth. “Family recipe, eh? This come from out of the cloner’s cookbooks or from our newly-made friends?”

“Considering how well he was able to make the lizard-frogs palatable, I’d believe the former,” mused Oann. He scratched at a wayward bandage around his neck, careful not to spill anything. “Never did see something with gills or fins that the Kamino’s didn’t want to eat.”

Cooper hummed at the compliment, nursing his own bowl like one would a drink. Once everyone had gotten a serving, the cook sat back and took a generous gulp. “Did you ever actually see them eat, though? All I ever did see the cloners do was stand behind their consoles and stare at us condescendingly. Maybe talk to a Jedi or one of the trainers, but that’s just about it.”

Variants of “no” echoed from the squad. The commander shook his head, both in wry amusement and weary resignation as he began to dig in. It certainly was good, and he suddenly found himself with a ravenous appetite. He’d managed a handful of bites and at least two-thirds of the bowl before his attention was called.

“Commander Skipp, you were there in the beginning, weren’t you?” asked a curious Evo. All eyes suddenly turned towards the man in question, raising a brow in response to the query. “Out of all of us, you were on Kamino the longest.”

“...yes, I was,” he answered, morbidly curious as to where this line of questioning was going. “My batch and I were among the first clones produced for the Republic.” That of course was following the headache that was the Null-class series of ARC troopers, but he didn’t mention any of that.

The driver grinned eagerly, and inquired: “Did you ever see any of the cloners eat anything?”

Roppock scowled, setting his spoon down with an irritated clang. “This is banal. The commander has other things to be worried about beyond baseless gossip.”

The commander can think for himself and judge what is or isn’t a waste of time, thank you very much, rookie.

But he didn’t say that aloud. Skipp merely finished his bowl of soup, and thought long and hard about Evo’s question. Roppock wasn’t wrong when he said it was banal. It served no obvious purpose beyond elevating morale. And it was certainly high enough already.

Yet the commander wanted to think about something that wouldn’t aggravate his already dour mental state. Theorizing about the diet of the average Kaminoan was a welcome distraction from the chains of command, and migraine that was thinking too long about Jombaral. And what the hell, spitting in the eyes of the Cloners that largely left them to die seemed just about as fitting, now more than ever.

“...long story short, that’s why you don’t set a ten-meter line with bait on the lower cargo platforms-”

(cont.)

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Halfway through his recounting of a particularly infamous “fishing” accident, the shrill whine of a speeder caught their attention. By any and all logic, it was a friendly; the Kakari were barely in the Bronze Age, and the sound of Droid STAP didn’t nearly match the pitch or timbre. But there was a brief moment as the Clones tensed as one, quietly lowering their bowls before the light illuminated Elbawaraak in his entirety.

Skipp didn’t need to give the order. The squad relaxed, easing themselves back into their meals and banter. The commander stood up, gulping the last of his stew before he jogged towards the vehicle depot. The Albatross’ mechanic plucked the goggles out of his eyes, greeting Skipp with a low, undulating howl.

“Evening, Elba,” returned the Clone. “82.”

In spite of the relative indignity of his position in the gunny sack, the head of the HK droid was relatively chipper. “Statement: it is very much a good evening, commander.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way. So what’s it gonna be tonight, business or pleasure?” Skipp gestured back towards the camp. “Cooper just made sniztrix stew.”

Elba’s nostrils flared slightly as he tasted the air. He nodded, seemingly in approval, but tapped at the head of HK-82. Business first, it seemed. Cooper’s pot was certainly large enough for even fifth servings, but the voracious appetites of half-starved Clone Troopers weren’t small things to ignore at.

Still, there wasn’t any reason for them to just stand awkwardly there. Skipp motioned for Elba to follow him. “Walk and talk.”

The wookiee grunted as he walked, then followed up with a series of chiprs. The droid helpfully explained, “Translation: communications have been established with Master Gaelle. It seems his mission to the Heart of Kakarit was a success. Conclusion: the Children have lost their primary spawning grounds and stronghold.”

That was the best damned news Skipp had heard in a very, very long time. He let out a long breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, along with a relieved chuckle. Admittedly not the most professional, but the situation more than warranted it. Beyond their rescue from the desolation, this was their first real victory against the bloody weeds.

“No kriff, really?” replied Skipp with a grin and shake of his head. “Guess that’s a Jedi for you.” He paused as another thought surfaced to the forefront of his mind. “What about Padawan Bashur? I remember hearing that she disappear towards the Heart.”

The droid continued, “Reassurance: Padawan Arotta Bashur has been recovered and is currently undergoing medical treatment.”

Confusion dampened his joy. "With whom?”

“Helpful Answer: Commodore Octavia Pullo Mercantor of the ISS Globus. Addendum: the Globus and Separatist Remnant have since relocated from the western side of the Apatorex and have established an F.O.B. in the ruins of the Heart.”

(cont.)

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His eyes narrowed. Separatists. Ren could give him all the assurances of the commodore’s promises and goodwill, but he’d have to see it for himself. His eyes flicked towards Elba, who picked up the question and shrugged in response. The wookiee didn’t seem to care so long as they were friendly and lacked bark as an epidermis.

And hadn’t there been talks about evacuating the Kakari? Certainly, even the core ship of a Lucrehulk-class battleship would comfortably accommodate the thousand souls within Nest’s End. The main problem? With how Evo and Stye gave their report after their patrol, evacuation seemed to be the last thing on the Kakari’s minds.

Not his pay grade. That was for the likes of Ren and Master Kosa, if she were here...

When they reached the center of the camp, Cooper already had a steaming bowl waiting for Elba. At his firm reassurance that the grains came only from ration packs, the wookiee’s nervousness was sedated. Removing the bag containing HK-82, he took a seat besides Stye and began to tear into his dinner.

Skipp gave the troops an abridged version of the report as he took his second serving for the evening. They reacted much as he’d have expected: obvious relief, reassured smirks and taunting jeers at the reversal of fortune. Even Roppock managed to crack a smile, small as it was.

“And Ren’s back on his way now, right?” asked Evo. “Because we need some new orders! I’m gonna put on some weight if we keep eating like this.”

“You’re already fat enough as it is,” grunted Oann, “Hopping around on that AT-RT instead of walking like a true Clone Trooper.”

“C’mon,” Stye countered, sloshing the contents of his bowl around, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind eating like this for a few more weeks?”

Elba grunted in agreement, belching as he handed his bowl to Cooper for another double...triple serving. All the while, HK-82 blinked among the groans and jeers of the rest of Scrapper Squad, minus the commander and the hungry wookiee. “Sardonic conformation: yes. He is seeing to some final talks with the commodore-”

thoom

Skipp looked up from his meal, eyes narrowing into a deep frown. “...did you hear that?”
The severity of his voice, like a harsh whippet that cracked the cool underground air, doused their jovial mood like a bucket of water. All of them, including the disembodied droid and wookiee, were suddenly alert and scanning for what the commander had heard.

Roppock frowned. “Hear what, sir?”

“Wrrah...” Elba’s eyes closed in concentration.

Thoom

“No, I definitely heard that,” interjected Stye, standing up abruptly. “I definitely heard it that time.”

Evo looked nervously around the outpost. “What the hell is that noise? I know that the worms make a hell of a racket, but unless it’s some sort of migration...”

THOOM

CRACK

(cont.)

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There was a terrible noise as the earth seemed to tremble, disturbing the dust and dirt beneath their feet. From the ceiling, moisture from the overhanging stalactites were shaken off their surfaces, dusting over the camp and city in a mimicry of rainfall. The ground beneath their feet seemed to shake for a few more moments before coming to a standstill...

“...earthquake?” offered Trykov hesitantly.

“Everyone, shut up. Erm, no offense, sir...” Cooper frowned, closing his eyes and concentrating on the sound. His brow visibly twitched, and they could see the gears turning in his head as he ran through the mental database of possible battlefield noises. “...sounds like...”

sssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhweeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEE

His eyes snapped open. “...artillery fire!”

There was a great explosion of dirt stone just a few dozen meters away from the outpost. In an instant, the damp, cool air of the cavern was befouled by the sharp tang of smoke and burnt accelerant as a secondary explosion erupted from the site. It was shortly followed by at least a dozen more similar noises that rained down from the ceiling.

Mere heartbeats after the first shell had fallen, Skipp leapt into action. Dinner was all but a distant memory as his entire being shifted into combat mode. “Helmets on!” he roared to Scrapper Squad in a voice that demanded nothing short of utter obedience, “Helmets on, right kriffing now!”

There was a noise as the pot overturned and soup bowls went flying. The men of Scrapper Squad abandon their seats, scrambling for their firearms and equipment with all due haste. Elba simply upended the entirety of his bowl into his mouth, grabbing the burlap sack with HK-82 as well as the blaster rifle at his back.

The peaceful image of the settlement, with their soft lights and myriad colors, was quickly roused into action just as they were. Overhead, the Great Sunstone flared to an almost painful degree as the artificial sun illuminated the entirety of the underground. Not unlike a searchlight, its magnificence seemed to focus, narrowing into a pillar of light that scanned the vast expanse of the Underground World.

Skipp tracked the path it’s light carved, along the distant underground lake, through the mushroom forests, up along the maze of stalactites and stalagmites, the obsidian ceiling of the Firmament-

“Oh fuck.”

When the rest of Scrapper Squad turned to where the commander was staring at, they cut loose in their own way: strings of virulent curses, noises of disbelief...all equally fearful.

It was a sight from out of a nightmare. From a large crack in the ceiling three klicks away, the Children of Jombaral streamed out of the crevice like demons out of hell itself. Holding open the crack in the Kakarit’s sacred Firmament was a monstrous series of roots, literally prying stone and earth apart to allow the horde entry...and in the darkness, a set of luminescent eyes glowed with evil intent.

(cont.)

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This...this was supposed to be impossible. He could see it on all of their faces. Some of them were shaking. All were frozen to the spot. Nest’s End was supposed to be the one place on this godforsaken planet that the Children weren’t able to enter. Even at its thinnest layer, the Firmament was supposed to be at least a kilometer thick.

What the hell had changed?

But the answer to his question wasn’t about to come anytime soon. Basic training kicked in. Skipp allowed himself one breath, exhaling his doubts and fears, and inhaling renewed purpose and vigor. And with the loudest voice he could muster, he shouted: “Contact, contact! X-Rays three klicks out, enemy count unknown! Move, dammit!"

Instinct overrode any and all of their fears. Scrapper Squad resumed their actions of suiting up and scrambling for their equipment. The wookiee took one look at Skipp, gestured in the direction of the Albatross before roaring and sprinting away.

“Translation!” shouted HK-82, struggling to remain audible as Elba ran further away, “He’s going back to the ship to provide air support and call for Master Farren!”

“Much obliged!” Skipp flinched as another barrage of shells was launched. “Dammit, I need eyes on enemy artillery, and I need it yesterday!”

Either by cosmic miracle or accident, none of the shells had landed atop of them. Most of them splashed harmlessly a hundred meters away from the outermost gate of Nest’s End. That relief quickly turned to alarm when the shells, bulbous, sinewy-things that looked more like living tumors began to expel a thick, muggy gas.

“Chemical weapon!” shouted Cooper in a panic. “Hard seal, now!”

As one, they all slapped their gauntlets, triggering the immediate activation of their Phase II armor. A timer immediately appeared on Skipp’s HUD, counting down the time for how much oxygen he had left in his backpack. He had three hours, maybe four if he pushed the recycler to its absolute limit.

Evening twilight had quickly become day; the lights of Nest’s End were now in full illumination, and alarm bells were sounding from the lowest to highest tiers of the city. Someone had begun to blow a horn, sounding one, two, three sonorous blasts in a clarion call to rouse the sleepy inhabitants.

Skipp cursed. He hadn’t thought to leave a liaison with the locals. He’d have to rectify that as soon as he could. But that was one out of dozens of thoughts as he pocketed ammunition clips and thermal detonators, all the while shouting orders at the rest of the squad:

“Grab only what you need! Prioritize ammunition and whatever miscellaneous items you need for specialized equipment! Fall back to Alpha Trench and man your respective battle stations!"

“And the rest, sir?” shouted Oann, stuffing his pack to the brim with bandages and other medical supplies.
"What do we do about them?"

(cont.)

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For a moment, he was tempted to leave everything behind as is. It wasn’t like the trees were smart enough to operate a blaster rifle or thermal detonator...and then he suddenly remembered the fate of his corps, and the disturbing thought of infected troopers using weapons other than their claws and inhuman strength.

“Rig it to blow,” he said through clenched teeth, “Remote detonation. Cooper?”

“Already on it, sir” answered the clone in question. He tossed Skipp the handheld detonator, and fished out half a dozen explosive charges from his backpack. “They’ll be ready to blow in thirty seconds, slave-linked to your master switch, sir.”

All of the noise both Outpost Scales and Nest’s End made did nothing to mask or dampen the chanting of the Children. “Jombaral,” they hissed as they advanced upon the city, setting roots deep into the cavern ground. It was no louder than a whisper, barely a light gust of wind behind the ear, but they heard it just as easily as their numbers swelled and bloated. “Jombaral...”

The shared HUD of Scrapper’s battle-net struggled to put firing solutions on the approaching horde. Tall Walkers descended from sinuous timbers as thick as starships, each holding a platoon’s worth of Infected in their arms in a grotesque parody of affection. They set them down at their makeshift LZ, climbing back up to bolster their numbers over and over again.

(He quickly snagged the coordinates for a future bombing run.)

There were at least twenty of the monstrosities, each bringing down even more creatures in their wake: canine quadrupeds, hunchbacked things with too many faces and mouths, monsters he’d never seen before in the long months since their deployment and subsequent marooning...

Among the infantry were several poor souls Skipp recognized as Kakari scouts, twisted and deformed by the corruption. But an overwhelming number bore the shattered remnants of Phase II Clone Trooper Armor. Not all of them displayed the worst of the infection, but there was no hope for any of them beyond a blaster bolt between the eyes.

For a moment, he could have sworn that one of them looked back at him. Its face was half-obscured by the transmutation of skin to wood, but its eyes held just the barest amount of cognition within them. And staring into that twisted reflection of himself and the rest of Scrapper Squad...Skipp felt a cold chill run down and up the length of his spine.

The sound of a starship’s engines firing up broke him out of his thoughts. Just a bit a ways away by the gate, Ren’s crew had started the Albatross. There wasn’t nearly enough time.

“Trykov, take one speeder and into the Albatross!” ordered Skipp, “They’re gonna need your help with air support!”

The clone actually looked insulted, protesting, “I can fight on the front line, sir, no differently than anyone else in the squad! If you’re gonna send someone up into the air, at least have the rookie-!”

(cont.)

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He wasn’t having this. Even as Roppock gave voice to his own protest, Skipp marched towards Trykov, grabbing him harshly by the shoulders and screamed, “There isn’t anyone else here besides Evo who knows the insides of a starship better than you! And I need him as our liaison to the Kakari, do you understand?!”

The requisitions officer had the good sense to not argue any further. He snapped a quick, if somewhat shaky salute and “YES, SIR!”. But aforementioned AT-RT driver’s posture all but spelled confusion at the order.

“Integrate yourself with the highest echelons of their authority,” demanded Skipp of the driver. “I don’t care what you have to do. Pull the Jedi’s name if need be. They’ll listen to that, at the very least. Look for locals with blue scales and hides.”

The commander gazed at them all, the six out of six thousand that had come to the system, the six out of fifty that had survived the Desolation of Moloch. This was, without a doubt, going to be the battle of their lives. They knew it, and he knew they knew. There wasn’t any mistaking their posture or candor.

After all, were they not brothers, if not exactly the same? He felt their fear, their nervousness...morale had boomeranged back-and-forth. Was he scared? It had been bred out of him. But he'd be lying if he didn't have the jitters in his stomach that he hadn't felt since basic training.

Grand speeches were never his strong suit. He left that up to the diplomats and the Jedi in charge of them. Why spend time with so many flowery words? Efficiency had been all but hardwired into his brain even when he was a fetus in a mechanical womb.

Still...there was no greater time than the present to rally the flagging morale of Scrapper Squad. He'd seen Master Kosa do it before.

“...we don’t need to hold them off forever,” he dryly demurred, slamming a fresh magazine into his weapon. The high-pitched whine of his WESTAR-M5 confirmed a full magazine, and he slotted in a grenade into the under-barrel launcher. “Just until the Jedi comes back. But until then...”

>>How did Commander Skipp inspire the clones of Scrapper Squad?
>Grimly remaining them to sell their lives dearly against Jombaral. If they fall, then the galaxy is doomed.
>He invoked a war chant in guttural Mando’a, learned from his training with Jango Fett. Kote, Vode An!
>With the boisterous, gung-ho bravado typical of a seasoned veteran. The only easy day was yesterday!

VOTE OPEN FOR FIVE HOURS

>>4399528
>He invoked a war chant in guttural Mando’a, learned from his training with Jango Fett. Kote, Vode An!
That's heavy.

>>4399528
>He invoked a war chant in guttural Mando’a, learned from his training with Jango Fett. Kote, Vode An!
If we die, we die as ourselves.

>>4399528
>He invoked a war chant in guttural Mando’a, learned from his training with Jango Fett. Kote, Vode An!
Glad to have you back and for signs you're recovering.

>>4399528
>>He invoked a war chant in guttural Mando’a, learned from his training with Jango Fett. Kote, Vode An!

Would it be odd to adopt a sort of honor suicide stance, given death is a preferable to the alternative in this scenario?

>>4399662
No, not at all. That wouldn't be inordinately out of character.

Writing...

>>4399831
Kept us waiting, huh?

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>>4399558
>>4399584
>>4399616
>>4399636
>>At the same time...

There is a hiss of air as the medical capsule closes, sealing the comatose form of Arotta Bashur within a sterile environment. Within seconds, the embedded droid brain finishes a scan of its latest patient, and her bio-signs appear on the interface. All nominal, reading relatively normal for a togruta with her injuries. Sedatives have been administered, and what little bacta the Separatists have has already begun flooding her systems.

It’s almost like a sick joke. For someone who prided herself on appearing strong, Arotta had never looked this vulnerable. And in spite of the mask affixed around her head, the pinched, tight expression seems to indicate that she’s well aware of her own situation. Angry about it, too.
You pull your fingers away from the glass with a weary breath. To think, you’d gone and practiced whatever speeches and words necessary, and ran through a million scenarios as to how to deliver them. But none of those practiced words are able to be recounted.

Octavia remains silent as the capsule levitates away from you, nestled between her honor guard. It travels up along the ramp and into the depths of a Sheathipede-class transport shuttle. Together, against the backdrop of the setting star, Jedi and Separatist officer quietly watch the sight of the shuttle and its precious cargo take flight into the air, returning back to the ISS Globus with little in the way of fanfare.

You are the first to break the silence. “Thank you. I truly mean it.”

She accepts your words with a curt nod. “I’m merely upholding my end of the deal, but your words are accepted. I can’t claim to know how you Jedi function, but I’m not blind to the bonds of brotherhood and camaraderie. Especially now, in a galaxy gone wrong.”

That’s quite possibly the most bare-bone explanation of your relationship. Not quite wrong when applied to the Jedi as a wider whole, but still insufficient to describe Farren Gaelle and Arotta Bashur. And truth be told, you aren’t quite sure yourself how to put it into words.

Octavia merely shrugs at your look, displaying great mobility in the confines of her bulky enviro-suit. “Between the admiral and myself, we’ve more than plenty supplies for your friend. On my honor, she’ll receive a full battery of treatment.”

Considering how they were the only two remaining organics of the Separatists, that made more than enough sense. Curiously, you inquire, “How’s your husband, by the way?”

“...doing better, actually.” In rare form, the severe, thin line of her mouth softens into something gentler. “His fever’s gone down, and the latest MRI confirmed that the hyperactivity in his brain is returning to normal function.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” And you mean it. Privately, you chuckle inwardly at the thought of giving well-wishes to someone who was your enemy a month ago. “When do you think he’ll be awake?”

(cont.)

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“Soon, hopefully. The diagnosis was either as early as today, or sometime within the week.” She pauses, casting a weary look towards the bisected, mutilated corpse of an Infected Clone Trooper. “...are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“...Jedi business.”

She arches a dubious eyebrow, a dryly repeats, “Jedi business.”

“Jedi business,” you answer back, but elaborate, “But it won’t be of any immediate concern to you. I’ve just got one more Jedi to rescue...” At the flat look that all but conveys the dissatisfaction with your answer, you relent, continuing, “...all the way in what I suspect to be the core of the planet.”

Octavia barks out a derisive laugh. “You Jedi don’t really do anything by the half-measure, do you?”

No, you honestly don’t.

But before you could return to pensive silence or further banter, the comm-link in your ear goes off with a shrill series of electronic beeps. The blood in your veins freezes as the person on the other end, which only could have been the Albatross, is transmitting an emergency, high-priority signal at maximum power.

You deftly answer, depressing the little bud. “Gaelle here. Report-”

“Boss!” Suzel’s voice comes over the comm. He’s...well, panic from the Nagai isn’t anything new, even if he does do his job damned well. In any other situation, you’d chalk it up to his easily excitable nature, but there’s not an undercurrent as much as a torrent of dread interwoven within his voice. “Boss, you gotta get back here, now! We’ve got a big, fuckin' problem!”

Wincing at the loudness of his voice, you sharply answer, “Suzel, what the hell-”

His next words cause the blood in your veins to freeze. “They’ve breached the Firmament! I repeat, the Children have breached the bloody Firmament! They’re coming out of the goddamned ceiling and marching on Nest’s End!”

The abrupt change in your posture and tone isn’t lost on Octavia or her escort. But what the actual hell?! “How the hell did that happen?” you demand, “Troxl told me that the Firmament and Ancestor’s Teeth-”

“Earthquake of some sort, I honestly don’t know or really care all that much,” the nagai blithely answers, “But we need you down here, boss! The clones and I are of the same mind that a Jedi’s presence is sorely needed!”

You run the math in your head. The journey atop Brighthorn had taken the better part of the afternoon. Four hours, at the latest? A walk in the park for a light scouting mission, but an absolute lifetime for a battle on the level of a siege.

Shit! There's not enough time-

Octavia pulls you out of your thoughts with a tight grip on your shoulder, and a sharp nod towards her shuttle. “Into the Sheathipede, Jedi! She’s sluggish, but still faster than an organic mount by leagues. All I need is a flight plan to the settlement and any TRP data your ship can provide.”

(cont.)

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>>4399894
Well, since she was so polite in offering...

“If you weren’t a married woman, I’d be sorely tempted to kiss you right now,” you call as you sprint up the ramp, hot on the heels of the commodore and her B2 escort.

That elicits an uproarious laugh from the cockpit. “You’d have to get past the glass of this helmet before that, Jedi!”

Rolling your eyes, you sit in an unoccupied chair and radio back Suzel, “The Seppies are offering me a ride back. Give advance warning to the clones that any or all CIS ships are not to be fired on.”

“Understood...” transmits the nagai before he thoughtfully adds, “Say boss...you think you could convince your friends to loan us a few of their droids? Because, uh...” There’s a lull in the transmission before it continues, “Battle-net’s putting firing solutions on at least three thousand hostiles. Not including artillery, Tall Walkers, and something I swear that looks like my sleep paralysis demon.”

You try not to blanche. Emphasis on ‘try’. “Confirm again...three thousand?”

“Aye, at last count...although that number’s gonna keep on going up. Boss, I don’t know what the hell happened in the Heart, but it looks like you really kicked the hornet’s nest.”

You should have taken my offer, Jedi...

Violently quashing that train of thought before it can metastasize into something worse, you shout up to Octavia, “Did you get all that?”

“I did and more,” comes the reply, with only the slightest hint of strain.

“...I don’t suppose I could impose on you reinforcements, among other support?”

The ship lurches as the drive spins to life, hovering into the air before flying away from the temple. Octavia descends from the cockpit, popping the top of her helmet off. Out the window, you can detect the auto-pilot taking a course back towards the Globus.

“Impose?” jokes the commodore, “No, you wouldn’t be imposing. Although I have to say, it really does sometimes feel like I’m carrying most of the weight in this relationship, Jedi.”

...it’s not as much an inability to argue as much as a want to argue. “Believe whatever you want, Mercantor.” Then, more seriously, “...how many can you spare?”

Likewise, she sobers up to match the grave expression on your face. “I have eight hundred motley assortments of B1 and B2s. But numbers won’t win us anything if we can’t get our shuttles underground.”

Recalling the circumstances of the Albatross’ escape, you hurriedly explain, “...there’s a temple a few klicks south, acting like a manhole for one of the Kakari’s passageways. One of the shamen was able to manipulated the stonework to allow my ship entry.”

One quick transmission to Suzel, and the nagai confirms that the temple will be open upon your arrival. Returning your attention back to Octavia, you ask, “So of those eight hundred...”

(cont.)

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“Honestly? I’d send all of them if I had the transports,” she remarks blithely, “Even if I did, I don’t think that your hole is gonna nearly be big enough for a C-9979.” Her eyes flick upwards towards the ceiling of the shuttle. “That said...I’ve got a plethora of Type-B sheathipedes. They haul cargo, but they can more than easily haul the likes of battle droids.”

She pauses, glancing out the window and down below the trees. And a borderline predatory smile breaks out across her lips. “I almost forgot that the weeds don’t have any kind of formalized air support...”

>>Octavia will commit the following forces to battle:
>300 B1 Battle Droids.
>100 B2 Superbattle Droids.
>36 Commando Droids.
>18 Vulture Droids
>5 Droidekas
>3 HMP Droid Gunships

It’s an odd thing to be not only relieved at droid reinforcements, but leading them into battle. Even though she isn’t sending her whole compliment (on both a practical grounds and citing a need for security), that many droids would do wonders for the defense of Nest’s End.

But it’s once she’s finished making the necessary requisitions and barking orders back to the Globus does she catch you completely off-guard.

“I’m coming with you,” she bluntly declares.

“What?”

She gives you a dry look before ordering her escort to make way. They part, allowing her access to the rear of the shuttle, towards a pair of locked doors and an enclosed space. An armory, of some sort, is your best guess. But...but surely she isn't thinking of...

“You don’t intend to fight alongside your droids?” you query disbelievingly. “Commodore, there is a very fine line between bravery and recklessness-”

“Only should they overrun our position.” With a fluid motion, she shucks off the rest of the envirosuit, stepping out of it in nothing but a skintight flight suit. She marches to the armory, and opens the door to reveal a small arsenal of handheld blasters and laser carbines, hanging alongside several pieces of body armor. “Which I would most certainly not look forward to, but am more than prepared should the worst happen."

Oh, Sithspit. She's one of those types of commanders. "But what about the Globus-"

“The first rule of leadership, Jedi,” she continues, all the while suiting up for battle and uncaring of any wayward gaze, “Is not to order your troops to do something that you can’t or otherwise aren’t willing to do yourself. And you’ll find that all the quantum-entanglement in the galaxy won’t make up for the commander being present on the field to oversee her troops and respond to changing threats in real time.”

>>What will you do?
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.
>Firmly refuse her. Any tactical advantage gained isn’t worth risking the life of the Separatist officer.

[VOTE OPEN FOR FIVE HOURS]

>>4399942
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.
Just not too close to the front lines.

>>4399942
>>Firmly refuse her. Any tactical advantage gained isn’t worth risking the life of the Separatist officer.

>inb4 her husband wakes up and blames us for her death

>>4399942
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.
Who dares, wins.

>>4399942
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.

>>4399942
>>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.

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>>4399942
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.
IT’S BACK

>>4399942
>>Firmly refuse her. Any tactical advantage gained isn’t worth risking the life of the Separatist officer.

>If the enemy has any brains they'll be hitting here next.


Also yay kaz is not dead!

>>4399942
>>Firmly refuse her. Any tactical advantage gained isn’t worth risking the life of the Separatist officer.

>>4399942
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.

>>4400190
I don’t really think they actually have any brains, I think they’re panicking and lashing out

>>4400371
The herald is with them. He is VERY intelligent. and is force sensitive to boot. Remember he took our arm. Underestimate them at our peril.

>>4399942
>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.
welcome back boss

>>4399942
Good to have you back, boss. Between the plague and that surgery shit, I was worrying you'd gone the way of Crusty Jones, peace be upon him.
>>Permit her to come. Direct oversight of the battle in real-time is well-worth the risk of her exposure.
Lets hope the dice gods are kind this day.

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>>4399963
>>4399966
>>4399972
>>4400037
>>4400039
>>4400066
>>4400190
>>4400333
>>4400342
>>4400406
>>4400520
Octavia gives a self-assured smirk at your resigned agreement, slapping the final seal of her body armor shut. “Trust me, Jedi, you won’t have anything to regret.” She affectionately pats the heavy pistol at her side. “I’m more than just a pencil pusher, but let’s hope I don’t have to prove myself otherwise today.”

If her performance so far is anything to be measured, then you truly won’t. Considering how she nearly blew your head off upon your first meeting, or casually mentioned the execution of her infected wardroom staff.

Lucky man, her husband must be.

>>You gained influence with Octavia Mercantor.

For the first time in thousands of years, the Heart of Kakarit is a frenzy of activity. Air traffic around the Globus can best be described as an organized chaos. Between maintenance platforms that zip from one damaged array to the next, a veritable swarm of Sheathipede shuttles hum and buzz around the core ship.

It is a testament to Octavia’s skills not only as a tactician, but expert logician that the droid expedition is ready within a handful of minutes. Against the setting sun, the droids are quite nearly enough to cast a shadow over the entire city of the Heart. They hold their formation, hovering low and ominously as the lead shuttle is piloted towards the massive crystal of the Godseye.

Even as it pulsates a warm, benevolent light to maintain the shield, just standing close to it is enough to make your teeth hurt. Squinting at the bright light, you reach out a hand and extend with the Force. You issue not a command, but a desire of abatement, a quiet lull in the storm before you would see it return to full strength.

And the crystal responds. At the highest point of the Heart, the protective shield flickers briefly, opening a hole no larger than a corvette between the masks of the Kakari Gods. To Octavia, you radio, “We’ve got our opening!”

“Acknowledged.” Then, to the droids, she shouts, “First wave, go! Second and third waves, don’t waste any time once they clear the barrier!”

The first ones out are the HMP gunships, rumbling up and out of the Heart each carrying two squads of commando droids. Next to follow are the improvised troop transports, nearly two dozen in all carrying the main bulk of the reinforcements. Last to follow are the commodore’s shuttle, pulling out away from the Godseye as you break contact with the crystal.

“Goose it!” you shout, falling into the arms of a B2 as Octavia guns the throttle and rockets towards the hole. Although hadn’t been any need to hurry; the gap in the shield had closed at least a full minute after you broke through. And the glowing eyes of the stone masks seem to laugh privately at your assumed need for haste.

(cont.)

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The commodore orders you into the co-pilot seat, motioning for you to take up a commlink. The interface is familiar enough, if not efficiently intuitive, and you quickly settle in. Her eyes remain firmly on the flight plan displayed on the HUD, leading the pack of droids towards the temple.

“Do we have eyes on the ground?” she asks.

You nod, fiddling with your comm. “That can be arranged.”

It’s no easy task to get your Republic-issued equipment to talk or interface with Separatist communication network. Still, you do the best you can, and manage to jury-rig as best a radio protocol as dictated by SOP. The last bit of hesitation in working together quickly falls by the wayside as you punch in the crypto-keys for the G.A.R. radio communications.

In your left ear, you listen to the dulcet tone of Octavia barking orders to her droids.

“Override IFF program, command code ‘Uncle Julius’; designate Kakari life-forms and embattled Clone Troopers as friendly. Any clones embedded deep within the enemy are assumed to be hostile and are to be taken down with extreme prejudice.”

In your right, you have transmissions wired from the Albatross and Commander Skipp. Idly, you flip the switch on the alternative channel, drawling, “This is Farren Gaelle, coming at you guys at the head of reinforcements. ETA to Nest’s End, approximately ten minutes. Can I get a status, over?”

Skipp doesn’t answer, which troubles you greatly. But at the very least, Suzel replies, “Reading you loud and clear, boss! Glad to hear that you’re on your way-” There’s a brief lull as the nagai transmits a very unprofessional swear. “Erm, sorry about that. Damned Tall Walkers are throwing boulders at the ship. Over.”

“Don’t go smashing my Albatross, you hear?” you warn only somewhat seriously, “But digressing, do you have eyes on Commander Skipp or Scrapper Squad? I wasn’t able to raise the commander.”

“I got one of the clones manning a turret with Elba. Evo's been attached to Prince Troxl as a liaison from us to the Kakari. There might’ve been something about him mentioning that it was something you wanted...”

You can guess as to why they might’ve said that. “They’ve got my full permission to act accordingly with the commander’s discretion.” Pausing, you take a shallow breath before you continue, “And what about the rest of them?”

The remaining five Clones, as it happened, took up an entrenched position three hundred meters in front of the main gate. Three repurposed Z-6 rotary cannons had been put to good use, sending a hail of blue laser bolts down a mess of dips and curves, mud flatlands and intertwining waterways, slowing the advance of the horde. Skipp and his field medic had sprinted off to evacuate civilians from the farms outside the city walls.

(cont.)

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It isn’t a surprise to discover that the Children of Jombaral have units and other creatures that you’d never heard of before. But what’s disturbing is the fact of how well-equipped they are for besieging something as large as Nest’s End.

“It’s something really bad, Jedi,” transmits Evo via the Albatross, “The shaman had to dig up some ancient texts to figure out what the hell the damned weeds were fielding. There’s something really, really godawful to look at what they call a Harvester...large as a Walker, but twice as wide with too many tentacles, carrying some sort of bulbous, fleshy cage on its back.”

You don’t need to ponder too hard about what a creature with that kind of name would mean for Jombaral. “...how many?”

There’s a pained grimace in the Clone’s voice. “Before the commander was able to reach the farms, the Harvesters already snatched a whole lot of them. At least...a hundred iterant workers. Far as anyone knows, they’re still alive in the cage, but there isn’t anything in the texts suggesting how to get them out.”

Filing that away, you continue, “...what about this fungal artillery? We received reports about a possible chemical weapon.”

“The gas makes you go mad, Jedi,” interjects Skipp without any warning. His breath comes labored, as if sustaining not only a sprint but a heavy burden in his arms, “It isn’t pleasant to watch, either. Doesn’t appear to mess with any bodily functions, no chemical burns or any lethal effect. It leaves the victims hysterical and more easily susceptible to be scooped up by the Harvesters.”

Non-leathal? You take your hand off the ‘talk’ button, quickly considering. Ignoring the rocks thrown up at the Albatross, the Children don’t seem to be fighting a campaign of extermination. Subjugation is the most logical casus beli, and it more than fits with your vision of the Mother and her twisted form of love. Much like how she nearly ensorcelled Arotta, the agents of Jombaral would first apply the carrot before the stick.

But that’s neither here nor there. All that Jombaral offers is a fate worse than death. And though she’s recently departed the planet, you’d be damned if you aren’t going to spit in the face of their twisted ‘mercy’.

You issue one last command to Suzel, before you turn back to Octavia. “Receiving TRP data from the Albatross. It’ll be on screen in a handful of moments.”

True to form, it does. But the information displayed, of the allied and enemy forces as well as their respective movements, paints a very dim picture for the defenders of Nest’s End.

>>What should the first wave of air prioritize as their target?
>Fungal Artillery, the source of the malignant spores that instill fear and paranoia.
>Jombaral Harvesters, the lumbering mounds that cage hundreds of trapped Kakari.
>Tall Walkers, the greatest threat to the high walls of Nest’s End.

[VOTE OPEN FOR FOUR HOURS]

>>4400984
>Tall Walkers, the greatest threat to the high walls of Nest’s End.

>>4400984
>Jombaral Harvesters, the lumbering mounds that cage hundreds of trapped Kakari.
The tall harvesters are dangerous, but if we take out the Kidnappers we deprive The Mother of reinforcements

>>4400984
>>Fungal Artillery, the source of the malignant spores that instill fear and paranoia.
Walls won't matter when the planet gets glassed.

>>4400984
>>Jombaral Harvesters, the lumbering mounds that cage hundreds of trapped Kakari.

Free the prisoners, maybe get reinforcements

>>4400984
>Jombaral Harvesters, the lumbering mounds that cage hundreds of trapped Kakari.
reinforcements bad, even if the spores cause chaos it's better than organized enemy troops.

>>4400984
>>Fungal Artillery, the source of the malignant spores that instill fear and paranoia.

>>4400984
>Jombaral Harvesters, the lumbering mounds that cage hundreds of trapped Kakari.
I think these are the first priority, because they tip the numbers even further against us. The second priority would be the tall walkers, because they're tearing down the walls.

>>4400984
>>Jombaral Harvesters, the lumbering mounds that cage hundreds of trapped Kakari.
Outnumbered, out "gunned." We need to free those lizard homies, then we can use our new numbers to take down the walkers. Also, anyone for dropping the Globus on Treezomie HQ? Only if the situation gets real dire and the droids wont shut down?

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>>4400991
>>4401009
>>4401012
>>4401018
>>4401115
>>4401180
>>4401208
>>4401236
“Concentrate your fire on the Harvesters,” you order brusquely, “Prioritize the empty ones, and blow them back to the abyss they spawned. After that, try to see if you can’t find a way to target the ones without killing the trapped civilians.”

“Good copy.” / “Roger.” answer Skipp and Suzel, each signing off to perform their respective tasks.

The Kakari kept their promise. The insertion point for the expedition force is devoid of its stone camouflage. But from the haphazard ruin and the scattered stonework that shows up on the scanners, one of two things can be inferred. Either the shaman responsible for lifting it hadn’t nearly had enough power, or they’d been violently interrupted by something else.

“Adjust your scopes and keep a sharp eye out for any hostiles,” Octavia shouts over the radio, “Switch to thermal imaging, and try not to bump into each other.”

The commodore guns the throttle, taking the sheathipede up into a sharp vertical incline before diving nose-first into the great fissure in the earth. In an instant, the light of the crimson sunset over the treetops disappears, as the expedition plunges into darkness.

Soon after, the rest of the expedition comes hot on your trail. And as one, their forward lights snap to life. It is the combined light of over a dozen ships, as well as the buttons and display on the dashboard, that serve as the only source of illumination in the twisting corridors of Kakarit.

“One hundred meters below sea level,” you report, squinting at the radar. The signal of the Albatross isn’t all that hard to find, as is retracing the steps back to Nest’s End. “Two hundred meters...at three hundred, there’s going to be a fork in the road. Take the rightmost one.”

“Acknowledged.” Octavia tilts the yoke slightly, and the shuttle responds to her maneuver.

“You’ll keep going down ahead for another klick, and up until six hundred meters below sea level. Suzel said that there’s a large crystal cavern of some sort...”

“Understood.”

Five tense minutes pass of this exchange before light can be spotted. It isn’t the kind of light generated by a shuttle, nor the natural light of the star Kakarit orbits. It’s a familiar light, one you easily recognize. The weight of the Sunspear on your back seems to grow just a tad bit heavier, and the oblong protrusions of the sunstones press lightly into your back.

“This is it,” you tell Octavia, “Home stretch. Next corridor is gonna take you right smack into the middle of the World Beneath!

The commodore nods sharply, transmitting even as she accelerates towards the light, “All units, standby to engage. You will be weapons free once we clear the tunnel! Let’s show these overgrown weeds the full wrath of the Separatist Droid Army!”

“Roger-roger,” answers a chorus of synthetic voices.

(cont.)

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The commodore’s sheathipede bursts out of the final tunnel, rocketing out of the corridor with a magnificent cloud of dust. It wobbles slightly as Octavia winces at the sudden source of light, as bright as the midday sun. “Cut your thermals and switch to visual scanners!”

All the TRP data in the world couldn’t begin to describe the battle you’ve come upon. Certainly, it’s nothing that you’ve ever seen in your entire service during the Clone Wars. This isn’t a battle for resources or political ideology as much as it’s one for survival against a fate worse than death.

The light of the Great Sunstone flickers ominously, stuttering as it casts light about the entirety of the cavern. Hordes of Infected Troopers and their monsters shamble forward towards Nest’s End. Peppering them from above, the Albatross brings all guns to bear, firing from ventral, dorsal and forward laser lasercannons.

Down below, the sight of blaster fire immediately catches your attention (mostly by the virtue of being the only blaster fire). The trench the Clones have dug themselves into belch out a steady stream of suppressing fire to anything that gets too close to the walls. Just a bit further beyond, you can see more cobalt rounds being shot towards a Harvester.

Skipp, undoubtedly.

But Scrapper Squad isn’t the only ones who have taken to the field. Leading one of three groups of mounted cavalry, Prince Troxl, son of Trax-Chief, directs his host into a counter-charge against the horde. From atop his bronka mount, he lifts high a saw-toothed blade, its obsidian teeth glowing sharply with a near-painful degree. Every ferocious swing seems to carve the very air itself into glowing ribbons, and make a smoking mess out of the Infected.

Interestingly enough, hurrying along the otherwise organic cavalry is a Clone trooper atop an AT-RT. That could only be Evo, liaison to the Kakari on behalf of both the Jedi and the Clones. The mechanical walker isn’t quite nearly as quick to turn as the bronka, but more than makes up in terms of firepower and acceleration.

Depressing your comm., you transmit, “This is Jedi Farren Gaelle. Sorry for coming late to the party, but I brought some friends, and I really hope you left us some food.” You pause, glancing out the window towards the prince's host. “Evo, tell Prince Troxl that his friend brought more friends. Metal-without-song are enemies of the Children.”

That first bit elicits a nervous chuckle from the nagai. The clones, on the other hand?

“Look alive, lads!” Skipp transmits a booming laugh into the squad comm., “The Jedi came back, and he brought some tin cans along with him! I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to be outdone by a bunch of clankers!”

It’s certainly an odd thing for a Jedi to be leading Separatist droids into battle. But seeing hardened clones cheering for the arrival of droid reinforcements? That’s certainly one for the books and holo-vids.

(cont.)

File: Angel of Jombaral.png (3.67 MB, 1533x1840)

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Even as she guides the shuttle in the direction of Nest’s End, Octavia begins to analyze the battlefield. Then, with a voice as sharp as a whippet, orders: “Break off into your respective formations! Priority targets are designated as the Harvester units, but you are weapons free. Pick your targets at your own discretion, but focus on maximum yield-”

The air seems to shriek as a squadron of Vulture droids rocket past the shuttle. They split off into attack vectors, grouping in threes as they strafe the Children’s position. Explosions of dirt and stone break across the field as turbolaser bolts peppers their advance. They pull up, swiftly breaking formation before the Tall Walkers can retaliate with thrown boulders or tree trunks.

Close on their tails are HMP gunships, firing their ordinance into large clusters of the Infected. They don’t nearly empty their weapons, quickly descending to deposit their troop compliment. Thirty six BX-Series Droid Commandos disconnect from the ships, lifting their swords and rifles high prior to charging into battle-

“Incoming!” you shout in alarm. The console beeps a frantic warning. “Hostile missile-!”

The missile in question is the trunk of a tree. Perhaps not the most aerodynamic projectile, but still terrifying to meet head on. Especially when thrown by a Tall Walker.

Octavia swerves, pulling the ship into a barrel-roll to avoid being clipped. The shadow of the trunk briefly passes over the cockpit, before continuing on its way to crash into a large pool of water.

“You need to set us down!” you tell her, gesturing towards the capital.

She actually looks insulted. “I wasn’t about to stay up here, Gaelle.” With an irritated huff, she orders the remaining transport shuttles, “Make landfall just at the front of the gates, and form a line of battle! One B2 for every three B1 droids. Droidekas will await further instruction-”

Nearby, three of the Tall Walkers closest to the walls hunch over themselves, hunching and violently shuddering as if afflicted by some terrible malady. The sight of it causes Octavia to pause, frowning as she steers the shuttle for a closer look. “What the hell are they doing?”

You reach out with the Force, and nearly scald yourself. There’s something within their bodies, a foreign presence that twists and molds them like earthen clay. The breath in your throat catches as you recognize the Force-signature of the Herald of Jombaral.

There’s a terrible noise as the Tall Walkers rear back, mouths opening in a hellish scream as their bodies visibly contort. Mass is shifted to any and all direction, husking their thick limbs of nutrients and distributing them elsewhere. It’s an awful noise, and the sheer power of the forced mutation is enough to nearly make you sick.

But it isn’t the aura of the Herald that churns your stomach as much as it is the sight of wings sprouting out the backs of the mutated Children.

(cont.)

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The battlefield seems to almost grind to a halt as both sides take stock of the new...creatures. The first one tests its wings with a hesitant flap. The resulting change air pressure is nearly enough to cause the shuttle to hover lightly in the wind.

Albatross isn’t having any of it. They’re the first to react, coming about in a sharp turn to strafe the mutated Children with nothing short of extreme prejudice. The first one falls, cut to smoking ribbons by the hail of laserfire. But the next two, beholding the burning remains of their comrade, mimic what their fallen brother did...

...and they take to the air with an inhumanly beautiful grace. And scooping up fistfuls of boulders, their wings beat a fierce tempo as they soar up and into the cavern, hot on the heels of the Albatross.

“They fly now!” transmits a panicked Suzel as the Albatross swerves violently to dodge the missiles. The ship wobbles perilously for a heartbeat before the nagai is able to stabilize...only to be pelted with more speeder-sized boulders.

“They fly now?!” demands an unnerved Octavia as millions of plans are revised on the spot.

“...they fly now,” you confirm with a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Well, if that development didn’t just go and cock up not an insignificant part of your battle doctrine...

>>Where do you want to be dropped?
>At the front of the gates, to rendezvous with the Clones of Scrapper Squad. [Low danger.]
>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]
>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]

[VOTE OPEN FOR EIGHT HOURS]

>>4401275
>>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]

>>4401275
>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]
We have to nip this at the bud.

>>4401275
>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]
I'm unsure about this, particularly because we might encounter the Herald, but the payoff is tempting.

>>4401275
>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]

>>4401275
>>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]

All or nothing boys.

Gotta make sure enough droids survive for the droid harem.

Ah yes let us go to extreme danger to fight the enemy that made us lose an arm last time. Great plan lads

>>4401275
>>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]

>>4401352
Hey, at least this time we can fight without arms.

>>4401352
I agree, but at the same time there are too many votes for extreme danger...

>>4401275
>>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]

>>4401275
OK, I'm switching from >>4401281 to
>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]

>>4401275
>>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]

>>4401275
>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]

>>4401275
>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]
HOOOO BOY
LETS KILL US AN ANGEL
if Interregnum is back, how long till Clone Trooper Quest is back? ...please?
you should be ashamed of that reference Kaz

>>4401275
>“They fly now!” transmits a panicked Suzel as the Albatross swerves violently to dodge the missiles. The ship wobbles perilously for a heartbeat before the nagai is able to stabilize...only to be pelted with more speeder-sized boulders.
>“They fly now?!” demands an unnerved Octavia as millions of plans are revised on the spot.
>“...they fly now,” you confirm with a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
fuck you

>>4401275
>In the middle of no-man’s-land, the thickest combat with Prince Troxl. [Moderate danger.]

>>4401275
>Towards the rear of the enemy, in an attempt to outmaneuver them. [Extreme danger.]

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>>4401278
>>4401279
>>4401322
>>4401332
>>4401358
>>4401404
>>4401470
>>4401512
>>4401530
>>4401604
>>4401730
At the proposed plan of action you offer Octavia, the woman looks at you with the same kind of incredulity as one might regard the clinically insane. Case in point when she just bluntly asks, “Were you dropped on your head as a toddler? Because with this scheme and your hair-brained attempt to sneak onto the Globus-”

“Octavia.” She pauses mid-rant, twitching only so slightly as you give her the most serious look you can muster. “Trust me.”
The commodore relents with a hiss of breath and a very unladylike swear. Perhaps just a tad bit more abruptly than necessary, she jerks the yaw of the shuttle and guns the ship towards the rear line of the advancing horde.

“Real hypocritical for you to have me stay behind in the capital,” she drawls over the radio as you rush towards the rear of the ship. “When you decide to deploy smack in the middle behind enemy lines. Is this another Jedi thing?”

“A Jedi’s life is sacrifice,” you mutter dryly, repeating the old adage as you pull the opening latch down. Almost immediately, the interior of the ship is violently buffeted by the displacement of winds as the commodore takes a hairpin turn to avoid another projectile. “Besides, my master would have my hide if I didn’t do something as nearly reckless.”

“You aren’t doing the reputation of your order any favors, Gaelle,” snarks Octavia. The hull of the ship shudders as her foot eases off the throttle, slowing to the minimum maximum safe speed for airborne deployment. It’s only for a handful of moments before the enemy can get their bearings, but five seconds are more than enough time for you to leap into the fray. “Now get the hell off my ship. I’m expecting a full report in triplicate of your foolhardy actions when this mess is over and done with.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The leap itself isn’t all that troubling. A five story jump was child’s play for a Jedi of your caliber. Palming the cool grip of your lightsaber, you turn around, give a cheery wave to the stoic forms of the B2 escort guard before you walk backwards, off the ramp of the ship and into the empty space of the World Beneath.

In any other circumstances, you’d say that the view was breathtaking. Devoid of the black robes of a Jedi Shadow, your descent isn’t nearly as graceful, but still slow enough for you to taken in the sights of the battle. Octavia’s sheathipede flies away, evading even more projectiles the likes of rocks and boulders. A terrific explosion rocks the hulking form of a Harvester, and the monster topples over with an earth-shattering groan.

(cont.)

>>4401530
>Clone Trooper Quest
We can only hope, anon.

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>>4401803
Alas, not nearly enough time to appreciate everything. Your internal altimeter reads three hundred meters and rapidly closing towards the ground. You cast a wistful look to the nearby pools, regretful that your dropship hadn’t been anywhere near close for an impromptu swim. Still, at the very least, the enemy only seems to have noticed your arrival, pointing up into the air or otherwise making inarticulate noises.

No time like the present to emulate Master Brethon Larid and piss all over the enemy’s fun.
Concentrating on the Force feels...different. It’s suddenly easier to gather power within yourself. While you never struggled or otherwise strained to reach for it, it seems that your duel with the Accuser of Pilgrims yielded more rewards than the trophy of his Sunspear. All the more power to you, in perhaps a more literal sense.

But you check yourself before you can become too giddy and foolish. The newfound ease to reach for your power is a welcome addition, but one that must always be restrained. With his abilities fueled by his grief and rage, Torok had come perilously close to falling to the Dark Side. You can only train your control to prevent such a thing from happening, and pray that Master Larid had shown mercy in his Trials.

With a single flick of your empty hand, you blast the impromptu LZ clear of Infected with a wave of kinetic energy. And with another thought, you reorient yourself, landing as gracefully upon your own two legs as if you’d only leapt down from a handful of feet.

They stare at you agog, as if unable to believe the enemy that fell out of the sky. But only briefly before you draw your weapon.

snap-hiss!

The golden brilliance of your lightsaber adds to the chorus of illumination, lights against the darkness that the Children of Jombaral would into until the World Beneath. Falling into a familiar stance, you throw yourself into battle against the snarling, shambling hordes of the Children.

>>Please select a lightsaber form. I will ask for lightsaber rolls after we lock-in our choice:
>Form II/Makashi. [Finesse]
>Form VI, Niman. [Finesse+Resolve.]

>>4401879
>>Form VI, Niman. [Finesse+Resolve.]
makashi is for dueling, no?

>>4401879
>>Form VI, Niman. [Finesse+Resolve.]
Niman is good for integrating force powers into a saber fight. Much better than Makashi for a crowd.

>>4401804
That is true, I’ll continue to pray daily

>>4401879
>Form VI, Niman. [Finesse+Resolve.]
Well at least they don't have blasters.

>>4401879
>>Form VI, Niman. [Finesse+Resolve.]

Makashi is anti-hero, Niman is all purpose.

>>4401879
>Form VI, Niman. [Finesse+Resolve.]
We should really fix our saber soonish
maybe with alotta Arotta wink wink

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>>4401881
>>4401885
>>4401891
>>4401892
>>4401900

>>Please roll 2d6 + 8 Lightsaber (+3 Skill, +3 Finesse, +2 Cunning)
>Best out of three.

Accidentally mistook Cunning for Resolve. My bad.

Rolled 2, 4 + 8 = 14 (2d6 + 8)

>>4401910
bruh

Rolled 1, 6 + 8 = 15 (2d6 + 8)

>>4401910
Watch this shit

Rolled 4, 2 + 8 = 14 (2d6 + 8)

>>4401910

Rolled 4, 6 + 8 = 18 (2d6 + 8)

>>4401910

>>4401919
oof

>>4401917
>>4401916
You fuckers

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>>4401912
>>4401916
>>4401917
At its core, Niman is an aggregation of all five lightsaber disciplines with the exception of Makashi. It incorporates the best of what each form has to offer, culminating in what appeared to be an otherwise boring, but practical technique. Success of the form has always been largely dependent on the practitioner’s intuition and creativity in combat rather than rote responses.

The forms are not entirely complimentary to each other. Form VI doesn’t quite nearly place as strict a focus on bladework as much as Form II. Yet it is in this paradox that you find balance; Makashi for all the Dark Jedi you could ever come across, and Niman for the rest of the scum that would otherwise impede your duties as a Jedi Shadow.

“It’s the difference between forming scenarios for strategy,” Master Larid had once said, “And forming strategy for scenarios. The eternal debate of making practice conform to theory, and vice versa, Padawan.”

That particular tidbit admittedly took you a long tie before you were able to parse that one out.

There isn’t anything wrong with such a straightforward application. But overly relying on pre-determined formations or stances (in the case of the Jedi) wouldn’t be ideal either. Niman is perhaps the most flexible in this regard, emphasizing moderation over aggression. Still, a common criticism has always been that the form is insufficiently demanding, especially in bladework. And you readily agree.

The Force, however, more than compensated for the more lenient swordsmanship requirements. And there is no greater demonstration for this than the horde of Children shambling towards you. Interwoven between every strike of your lightsaber, your free hand is always there, following up with a series of blows with a deft application of the Force.

Clusters of Infected Clones are blasted away from a simple Push. Others are yanked violently forward, stumbling over their uncoordinated limbs and into your effective strike range. Sparks dance along your fingertips as tongues of Spirit Fire leap and lick at the Children. Against greater beasts the likes of quadrupeds, all it takes is a single hand upon their bodies to Sever their connection with the Force, and the hivemind of the Children.

You leap out of the way as a Tall Walker swings a gigantic trunk in your direction. Even after you spit out the dirt and grime that entered your mouth, a sour taste lingers as you sprint after it. What was it that the Herald had said?

“Henceforth, for sparing the nurseries, you will be untried and uncontested should you encounter the children.”

...kriff that, you think, bisecting not only the weapon, but the arm of the Tall Walker holding onto it. If this was ‘uncontested’, then you’re really, really glad that you didn’t make the deal with that conniving bastard.

(cont.)

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Still, that does leave the question of Master Uyer Kosa trapped in the Womb of Jombaral. There’s...the remainder of this day, and the entirety of the next for you to return to Mylar-3 within Master Larid’s deadline. If...no, when you finish trimming the weeds and kickstart the evacuation, the retrieval of the Jedi Peacekeeper will be your utmost priority.

>>You have succeeded in fraying the rear guard of the Children.

Across the muddy surface of no-man’s-land, Octavia’s droid expedition has fully disembarked. Lined up in a series of staggered formations, the assembled B1s and B2s slowly advance into the thick of the battle. Prince Troxl, identifiable by both his glowing sawtooth sword and bright blue scales, blows a horn to signal a withdrawal. A gap in the infantry opens for the returning cavalry, and with the Clones laying down covering fire, the bronka riders are able to organize and regroup before launching another attack.

Overhead, what was supposed to be one-sided air support seems to have degenerated into a frantic dogfight. More of the mutated Tall Walkers take to the air, chasing after the Vulture Droids, HMP gunships, and the Albatross with impunity. It’s hard not to wince when one of the former is either swatted out of the air or crashes into a wayward stalactite. Worse is all the debris that comes falling down, the most concerning of which was unexploded ordinance.

Of course, that leaves you, slowly being encircled by cautious Children behind the enemy’s lines. Your mission to harass or otherwise attention was a rousing success. In the distance, several of the Tall Walkers have broken away from their march to the walls, as well as the Infected underneath their legs. And are slowly bearing down upon you...

You take a glance up towards the hole in the Firmament, and the roots that have violently split the stone apart. It’s an ugly wound, and the tendrils holding the gap open are even more disgusting...least of all the eyes within, the eyes of a monstrous creature just lurking beyond the light of the sunstones and your own lightsaber.

Without any warning, something brushes against the edge of your mind. You turn around, flailing abruptly before you recognize the aura of Grand Shamanka Bos: Jedi, can you hear me?

You almost nod, but you don’t bother holding back a sigh of relief. Yeah, I hear you! It’s good to hear from you, but try to give advance warning next time. I wasn’t aware the Communion had Telepathy as a talent.

I’m terribly sorry to have frightened you, Farren. I hope you accept my appologies The words are devoid of any sarcasm, but there isn’t missing the teasing lightness in them. Her intangible voice, however, quickly take on a melancholic air. I see that you’ve returned from the Heart with renewed purpose and vigor...as well as a relic of our past.

(cont.)

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As well as your own fair share of questions about the nature of the Liar’s Blade. Maybe a few about the Accuser and the Herald, but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. ...I’ll tell you more about it later. you promise, squinting for an exit strategy as the horde slowly consolidates. Once I get out of this mess-

I would be more than willing to give you aid...but a unique opportunity has presented itself before us.

You pause, frowning. And what would that entail?

The monster responsible for causing the earthquake and cracking the Firmament...do you see it? It’s hard to miss, even if all that’s visible are the eyes and tendrils. At your confirmation, she continues, I dare not even think about its name, but in your tongue, it would translate to Sings-of-Splitting-Stone. It is the last of its kind, a divine beast from the time before the False Mother, corrupted into yet another one of her catspaws and slaves...

A wayward glance towards the hole does little to allay your worries. Maybe the murals of the Heart had something going for them with ...and what exactly is it that you need me to do?

You can imagine the grim look on the Grand Shamanka’s face as she declares, If I gather the energy in the Great Sunstone, I can attempt a mimicry of the Liar Chieftain’s deed. I will seal the breach and repair the Firmament, but only if the monster is slain or driven back. Preferably the former.

As if on cue, the artificial sun overhead dims perilously, flickering and shuddering before its light refocuses on some point in the battlefield. The sheer intensity of its light causes the weaker infantry to burst into flames, not unlike an insect beneath a magnifying glass.

But still, you have your hesitations. You told me that the Kakari can’t go without sunlight for at least a week.

That we do, but you’ve given us back the Heart, she counters, And I hear you’ve been whispering thoughts into the prince’s mind about an evacuation from the planet...

Golly gee, when she puts it like that, of course your warnings about Base Delta Zero would come off as suspicious! But even so, it seems that you have your next task. All the reinforcements in the world (which were only 400 more droids) would barely count as a pebble against the avalanche that’s the Children of Jombaral.

Even as you had continued to talk, more Tall Walkers and other infected emerge from the hole, gliding down along the writhing boughs and tendrils of the monstrous beast to join their fellows’ march against Nest’s End...

>>What will you do?
>Break through the enemy’s line and regroup with the rest of the company. You will need everyone’s help to stop the monster.
>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.
>Custom option. [Write-in.]

[VOTE OPEN FOR FIVE HOURS]

>>4402240
>Break through the enemy’s line and regroup with the rest of the company. You will need everyone’s help to stop the monster.

>>4402240
>>Custom option. [Write-in.]
Run for the gribble but call for any available aid.

>>4402240
>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.
Haha Anakin killed that thing on Nelvaan alone right?

>>4402240
>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.

>>4402240
Watch out everyone! It's a 9/9 with Shroud!
Quick, use the droids to chumpblock it! It doesn't have Trample!
>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.

>>4402240
>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.
We could see about combining Force Sever and Force Flame together
Inb4 Force Cauterization

>>4402240
>Continue cutting down the children, challenging Sings-of-Splitting-Stone only when it tries to enter or act.
I'm worried about being flanked by the Herald, or if Bos' barrier will kill her.

>>4402240
>Break through the enemy’s line and regroup with the rest of the company. You will need everyone’s help to stop the monster.

>>4402240
>>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.

>>4402240
>>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.
Farren, god bless him, seems to be pretty good at achieving the impossible.

>>4402240
>>Charge up into the hole and challenge Sings-of-Splitting-Stone so Bos can seal the Firmament. This is a task that a Jedi can accomplish alone.

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>>4402249
>>4402254
>>4402268
>>4402274
>>4402280
>>4402280
>>4402292
>>4402311
>>4402418
>>4402428
>>4402434
>>4402540
...Sings-of-Splitting-Stone is going to be the second Force aberrant that you’re going to be fighting today. At the very least, the duel with the Accuser ended with your arm restored and your scars little more than aches and pains. Physically, you’re more than active. Mentally? A bit drained even with the additive boost to your powers.

Think you can keep the rest of the Children distracted? you think, tensing as you prepare to jump over the encroaching horde.

That can be arranged, she answers quietly. Long has the Communion waited for the opportunity to go to war. My disciples are very eager to take the fight to the ancient enemy.

That just leaves one last group of people to let in on the know. Cycling your comm. to the company channel, you quietly say, “You guys can scold me later.”

And before they have any chance to argue or otherwise demand an explanation, you lower the volume, close your eyes, and take a great leap up and over the heads of the Children.

At first, they almost seem confused. In their place, you might be as well. The enemy isn’t retreating back towards Nest’s End; the madman is actually continuing to advance! It’s all they can do to otherwise swipe ineffectually at you as you flip over fallen boulders, vault across perilous stalagmites.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t last as long as you like. As one, they all abruptly still as you reach the roots of Sings-of-Splitting-Stone, and the fragmented, obsidian debris of the Firmament. In your adrenaline high, you can almost hear the voice of the Herald, ordering the Children in his thousand voices.

STOP HIM

The Children not only double their efforts, but abandon any and all pretense of coordination as they all rush towards you. They come as an uncoordinated mass, snarling and ravening, teeth and claws extended. Quadrupeds leap over Infected Clones and Kakari alike, even as the ground trembles as a trio of Tall Walkers draw near. And to your equal measures of amazement and horror, one of the Harvesters has completely come about, and now lumbers with all haste to the rear.

You allow a second to cringe before your eyes narrow, and your determination sharpens into something just as deadly as your lightsaber’s blade. And as you reach for the Force, the ancient mantra of the Jedi Code both guides and soothes your hand:

“There is no emotion, there is peace...”

From the opening stance, wide with the blade held out in a one-handed grip, you sweep your ‘saber in a wide arc. As the first of the Children fall, bisected down the middle, and your hand is sharply thrust out to deliver the follow-up blow. Everything within a ten meter radius is violently blown back and away from you in an unrelenting wave of Force.

(cont.)

File: Jombaral Hounds.jpg (101 KB, 960x703)

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Suddenly, your senses flare sharply, and pure instinct causes you to leap out of the way of a snarling quadruped. With a cool glare, you reach for the Force, and with a sharp tug, Pull the yelping creature off the ground, into the air, and onto the length of your lightsaber.

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge...”

Even before the creature slides off, you’re quick to press the opening to your advantage. A free hand goes towards your belt, detaching a thermal detonator and depressing the primary ignition switch. It cooks in your hand for a good three seconds before you lob it towards the next wave. It flies for a single second, reaching a cluster of Infected in the last before consuming everything in a fifteen meter radius upon its detonation.

Bos had mentioned that using existing flames as the source for Spirit Fire was far easier than simply conjuring them out of thin air. And though certainly short-lived, the energy and heat of a fiery explosion are more than enough to start a fire. Just before the orange flare disappears, you reach out to capture the heat, purifying it of the chemical taint, honing it with the energies of the Force...

“There is no passion, there is serenity...”

A great ring of fire explodes around you, blazing merrily to life just before the third wave approaches. Those unable to stop in time disappear in the flames, twisting and flailing wildly in an attempt to douse the flames. The luckier ones quickly turn to ash from the sheer heat of the Spirit Fire. But the rest wait cautiously, hesitant to approach the story-high flames out of some base survival instinct.

The Tall Walkers might have an easier time of dousing them than the common infantry. But they’re still well a way’s away, and you’d vastly prefer to be gone long before them. Once you’ve prepared the emergency grapple, you take a quick running leap and soar up into the air, reaching for the first tendril of Sings-of-Splitting-Stone...

>>Roll 2d6+8 Coordination (+1 Skill, +3 Finesse, +2 Force Speed/Jump)
>Best out of three.

Rolled 5, 2 + 6 = 13 (2d6 + 6)

>>4402745
hoo boy

Rolled 4, 5 + 8 = 17 (2d6 + 8)

>>4402745

Rolled 1, 5 + 8 = 14 (2d6 + 8)

>>4402745

>>4402745
>It’s easiest to use currently existing flame to start Spirit Fire
Does our Saber count?

>>4402923
That's a good question. It might be something we can work on.

>>4402934
>Inb4 Lightsaber Flamethrower
Or, if we can mix all of our different force techniques together
>Maximum Overdrive Mode for our lightsaber that makes it hotter than a star and Force-Absorbent

>>4402939
Nah. More like extended fire blade. Maybe a saber wave at max ranks.

>>4402934
I've been meaning to bring up some saber modifications to capitalize on our skills with Niman. It get's a bad rap for being the weakest or most passive of the seven forms, but Exar Kun was able to combine a heavily modified lightsaber and his ability to manage his resources in battle, as well as raw skill, to be pretty much unbeatable.
I'm thinking that once we fix our other saber, we make both of them dual phase and give them interlocking hilts. In battle against other force-users or against clone/stormtroopers it'll work as well as anything and the unpredictability and adaptability will serve us well against multiple force users, where Makashi might fall short.
This video sums up my thinking pretty well.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUSeuFRpX4o

File: Infected Clone Trooper_02.jpg (142 KB, 742x1076)

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>>4402750
>>4402752
>>4402753
The instant you touch the lowest tendril, the beast in the crevice stirs to violent life. A maw with far too many teeth opens, expelling a nauseous odor that reeks of the sickeningly sweet stench of rot and putrefaction. It’s nearly enough to make you gag, and tears spring to the corners of your eyes. All four of its eyes swivel in their sockets, focusing sharply upon you as you haul yourself up and over the tendril.

Sings-of-Splitting Stone is a monster in every sense of the word. It isn’t all that difficult for a civilization as primitive as the Kakari to attach the moniker of the divine. It’s at least three times the size of a Tall Walker, just perhaps a little bit underneath twenty-five meters. But that isn’t accounting for its prodigious girth, easily over five tons of combined body mass.

Beyond the roots that have split open the Firmament, the creature suspends itself within the breach with a horn and fist half-embedded into the ancient obsidian. Even the slightest movement causes the earth to shake and tremble, dusting the overlapping layers of its dermo-skeleton black and white. And occasionally, it beats another fist against the walls in an effort to widen the gap and allow for more reinforcements to flow.

Once, it might have been a proud beast, stalking the endless sands of the planet. But after millennia of corruption and mutation, it’s little more than what Bos declaimed it to be. The best you can afford this beast is a merciful death and release from Jombaral.

“There is no chaos, there is harmony...”

Even with your arrival, the flow of reinforcements from above the Firmament and into Nest’s End don’t quite nearly cease. Sings-of-Splitting-Stone does not need to move or otherwise react too violently. For one, there are still hundreds of Children using him as a repelling device of sorts. And there are plenty enough of said Children to dedicate to driving you away from the breach.

Deprived of the radiance of the Great Sunstone, the darkness of the breach is illuminated only by the frantic slashes of your ‘saber. The surface beneath your feet is a sinewy thing, ceding from tree trunk to jungle vine as you go further up into the hole. Hard, but not otherwise impossible for you to find purchase as the elevation sharply increases.

Out of the arms of the Tall Walkers, dozens of Infected Clones and Kakari leap onto the swaying tendrils of the great monster. More often than not, they miss the landing and plummet towards the cold earth of the World Beneath. But for the odd minority that do manage to hold on and get their bearings...

“There is no death, there is the Force.”

You don’t need to kill the Children, per se, as much as expedite their journey back down to the World Beneath. To this end, you favor application of the Force over the might of your lightsaber. Infected and quadrupeds scatter, blown off the tendril as you rush forward and up along the monster’s limb.

(cont.)

Bros is Kaz dead?!

>>4403531

He does this, just chill.

>>4403531
Tragic. He will be sorely missed
>>4403537
I think we should just get used to idea of him being dead it will be easier that way

>>4403531
>>4403537
>>4403552
The storms knocked out the power to my neighborhood. Internet took a while to come back online. Sorry about that.

>>4403351
Sings-of-Splitting-Stone twitches. It takes a deep, shuddering breath, and those tremors run up along the entire length of the breach. For a terrifying moment, the footing beneath you gives way as the tendril writhes and bucks like an unstable starship.

You have no choice but to jump. But your legs barely clear the platform before another root comes to swat you out of the breech. There’s no room to dodge. In a great feat of coordination, you twist your body around, bringing your lightsaber to bear against the oncoming limb.

Against the edge of your ‘saber, it stood no chance. Upon contact, the sinewy appendage is split down the middle, rent into a ruined pair of cauterized limbs. Still, the sheer force of the blow sends you flying backwards, bouncing off a wayward Tall Walker before you find purchase with the next root.

The monster trembles, lifting the end of its appendage to regard with its penetrating gaze. Acidic blood weeps out of the wound, hissing as it falls on any Children unfortunate enough to be caught in the rain. But the tip of the tendril is utterly useless, limp and unresponsive.

And then those eyes turn towards you, all four staring with a renewed, hostile intent.

An unbidden grin curves the otherwise stern line of your mouth. “What’s the matter, big guy? Not used to your prey fighting back?”

>>How will you approach Sings-of-Splitting-Stone?
>Drive back the monster back, up and out of the Firmament. [Non-lethal]
>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]
>Provoke the monster into following you into the World Beneath. [Other]

[VOTE OPEN FOR FOUR HOURS]

Internet’s still being awfully spotty.

>>4403625
>>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]

>>4403625
>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]

>>4403625
>>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]

>>4403625
>>Provoke the monster into following you into the World Beneath. [Other]
MMMMMMMMYSTERY BOX

>>4403625
>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]
She DID say to kill it.

How tall is Sings-of-Splitting-Stone?

>>4403625
>>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]

>>4403625
>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]
The size of the breech only works to our advantage

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>>4403692
Twenty five meters. At full height and out of the breech, it be roughly as tall as pic related.

>>4403700
Is the breech trying to close itself btw? Or after we kill it will it stay open?
if it’s the former, can we crush it with the breech?

>>4403700
And how far is it from the breach?

>>4403700
While the Firmament is imbibed with some leftover holdover of the power of spirits/Force, the breach is not capable of self-repairing. Even after you kill it, it will stay open for reinforcements from the jungle to steam into the underground. Bos can’t start repairing until the source of the obstruction is no longer a threat. She’s only got one shot at it, and would rather not engage in a prolonged struggle with how Sings-of-Splitting-Stone continues to widening the breach.

>>4403710
It’s inside of the breach, but it’s about a dozen meters up in the hole, on top of being hundreds of meters in the air.

>>4403625
>Drive back the monster back, up and out of the Firmament. [Non-lethal]
Don't know why, but I'm kinda getting some Far Cry 3 Citra vibes from this...

>>4403730
So there's a chance for collateral damage.

>>4403625
>Provoke the monster into following you into the World Beneath. [Other]
HERE WE GO

But in all seriousness, killing the beast here may well make Bos' job harder, among other things. It seems shortsighted, which we don't have time for.

>>4403625
>Drive back the monster back, up and out of the Firmament. [Non-lethal]
Is there anything inside this massive beast?

>>4403698
Wait, I switch my vote to
>>Provoke the monster into following you into the World Beneath. [Other]
If we kill it in the Breech it might get stuck and keep it open

>>4403743
...know what, I'll switch to [Other] as well. I'm just getting some ominous vibes from the lethal option.
>Provoke the monster into following you into the World Beneath. [Other]

>>4403625
>>4403809 for posterity.

I hope the others realize what killing an airborne Colossus plant entails when you're trying to seal a breach.

>>4403823
Oi, you get away from my posterior

>>4403835
Ay man Bos said she would prefer it dead.

>>4403625
>>Focus and go straight for the kill in the confines of the breech. [Lethal]

>>4403866
That doesn't mean we have to kill it here.

>>4403878
Speed and service man come on is this your first day in retail? Step it up it should have been dead hours ago get on it bro.

If too much time hasn't passed, we might be able to stop the Conclave on Kessel from turning into the shitshow it was in the main timeline. Master Larid met Jenir on Coruscant, which means the Cleansing of New Plympto hasn't happened yet so we should have a few days, maybe a week to two to find recruit at least 8 more Jedi.

>>4403627
>>4403657
>>4403672
>>4403684
>>4403695
>>4403779
>>4403799
>>4403809
>>4403814
>>4403870
It’s honestly something like out of a bad holo-vid. But at the very least, the Children are consistent in how they die, in spite of the horrifying extent of their mutations. Limbs severed with a lightsaber are nearly impossible to heal. A body sliced in half will still twitch and move, and attempt to bring itself back together. From the smallest Infected to even the Tall Walkers, they are all uniformly the same in how best to approach them.

But destruction of the brain is the most obvious way to destroy whatever control both the Herald and Jombaral seem to exert over them. Decapitation works just as well, but years of training have all but ingrained in you a need to not half-ass anything. Master Larid certainly wouldn’t waste time with a graceful slice when a brutal chop would do just fine.

Although considering the immense size of the creature’s head, it might take several dedicated chops...

Your journey up the breach continues, even as your battle against the Children intensifies with every increasing step. A descending Tall Walker takes a swipe at you, gouging deep furrows in the tendril in a wide, sweeping arc. Even as Sings-of-Splitting-Stone roars angrily, you’re already up in the air, lightsaber reaching out with a dangerous light.

Fragments of the Firmament blown apart by the excavation stir to life with a single thought. The obsidian pieces answer your pull, fist-sized formations of jagged rock that swirl around your body. Twisting in the air, you carve right through the Tall Walker’s arm, and repeat the technique you’d used against the Accuser. The storm of stone slices through circulatory vine, strips bark to the green, and overall makes an entire mess out of the Tall Walker and the creatures held within its arms.

Not quite like a river in the desert, you think quietly as you land on the next tendril.

The instant you reach the creature’s leg, grabbing onto a piece of its dermo-skeleton, it stirs to violent life. Sings-of-Splitting-Stone rumbles lowly, a keening noise that makes your teeth ache and nearby stone tremble. Even the Children it ferries seem to quail or otherwise shrink back at the roused monster.

It shudders, exhaling another foul breath of decay and rot as it moves the forelimb not embedded within the Firmament. With little more warning than an experimental flex of its fingers, it lunges towards you with an outstretched hand.

Cursing, you reach for the Force, gathering power at the base of your legs. “Oh, no you don’t!”
You leap out of the way, flipping forward as the monster’s fist smashes into the walls of the breach. Shrapnel goes flying, and you wince as splinter-sized fragments of stone slice into your skin. The landing on its thigh isn’t as smooth as you’d like, especially with how hard the bastard’s armor is.

(cont.)

File: Smug Yoda.jpg (24 KB, 545x388)

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But there’s a silver lining to be had. In the brief moment of being tossed about, your lightsaber had nearly spun out of control. Its edges and tips gouge furrows into the dermo-skeleton, opening singed wounds and bleeding pools of acidic blood. At the very least, you don't have to worry about the surface getting too slippery.

“Size matters not, young Farren,” a familiar voice whispers in your head. The diminutive form your mind conjures of Master Yoda seems to be smiling. “Seems it has, you and this creature have learned this of the other, hmmmm?”

Rolling up and out into the first stance of Makashi, you dodge another casual swipe. No longer focused on widening the breach, Sings-of-Splitting-Stone is now focused entirely on you. The rest of the Children are forced to find alternative routes down into the World Beneath, and take a wide berth away from the beast lest they be caught in the crossfire.

Perfect.

>>Roll 2d6+8 Makashi [+3 Skill, +3 Finesse, +2 Cunning]
>Best out of three.

Rolled 3, 2 + 8 = 13 (2d6 + 8)

>>4404497
How does Makashi work against bigguns?

Rolled 5, 1 + 8 = 14 (2d6 + 8)

>>4404497
gg

Rolled 6, 3 + 8 = 17 (2d6 + 8)

>>4404497

Rolled 5, 6 + 8 = 19 (2d6 + 8)

>>4404497
Oh geez.

>>4404505
Damnit.

>>4404497
... I just had an idea to experiment with Spirit fire and our Saber by stabbing into the top of this things’s head and just giving it a whirl

>>4404500
>>4404501
>>4404505
You each have your own fair share of advantages and disadvantages. The creature can’t move with the full extent of its strength without dislodging itself from the Firmament and impeding the flow of reinforcements. The platforms and surfaces that you scramble up along are entirely within the control of the monster.

The damned thing is faster than you’d give it credit for. And at the very least, it seems to now take a stronger measure of caution when attacking. You aren’t nearly able to inflict more than flesh wounds. The closest thing you’d gotten to severing a digit is de-clawing it with a desperate slice, and a redirection of the talons into its relatively unprotected, fleshy underside.

Wielding a lightsaber against Sings-of-Splitting-Stone is both a boon and a handicap. On one hand, wounds inflicted by the blade are guaranteed to regenerate incredibly slowly. On the other, every wild gouge sends bursts of acidic blood all over the place.

Try as you might, it’s impossible for you to completely dodge everything. No less than five minutes in the melee of flipping and slashing, thrusting and leaping, flects of the stuff have splattered along your robes to fumigate the breach with acrid fumes. It won’t be too long before the relatively small drops bypass cloth and cotton and eat into your own flesh.

Still, for every hissing trail of smoke to emerge off your clothes, there’s at least a dozen of the lesser Children falling about in a panic as a literal rain of acid falls down upon them. A Jedi isn’t supposed to take pleasure in the suffering of other life, but you aren’t completely able to squash a dark glimmer of satisfaction.

But you make a slow and steady progress, all the while dodging more tendrils and assaults by the Children. From the creature’s flank, you scale up to its abdomen, then scale up along the side of its ribcage. You’re forced to expel your grappling hook, zipping sharply up to avoid a particularly vicious swat that conjures violent gusts in the breach.

I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me...

It’s going to be a very close finish. Just getting close enough to the monster’s head nearly killed you in dozens of incidents. Fatigue has settled in your arms like a physical weight, and the dull, throbbing pain in the back of your head has graduated into a full-blown annoyance. Trying to get a second chance at this might very well kill you.

“Nothing ventured...” you hiss, stabbing into the creature’s neck with a fragment of its claw. Acid seeps from the crack in its dermo-skeleton as you hold fast against its wild thrashing. “...nothing gained!”

Twisting, you curl your body and vault upwards. It's a close call as it slams its head back into the wall in an attempt to turn you into a bloody stain. All it does is succeed in causing another localized earthquake, that serves to both dislodge Children and widen the breach.

(cont.)

You offer a very sincere apology to Bos for the extra damage done to the Firmament. Hopefully she won’t scold you too harshly once you come down from the breach.

Speaking of coming down...

The breath is nearly knocked out of you as you crash tail-over-teakettle onto the monster’s head. Mercifully, even as the sharp bone spurs and protrusions that would prick and stab at you, they provide a solid grip for you to hang on as the creature bucks and writhes. You clench your teeth as you’re thrown wildly about like a ragdoll, formulating the blow that would see Sings-of-Splintered-Stone laid low...

>>How will you make your attempt at the kill?
>Amass power in your lightsaber to penetrate the dermo-skeleton and destroy its brain. [Force Weapon]
>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]
>Manifest flames and fire in your hand to burn the creature from the inside out. [Spirit Fire]
>Custom option. [Write-in]

[VOTE OPEN FOR FIVE HOURS]

>>4404978
>>Amass power in your lightsaber to penetrate the dermo-skeleton and destroy its brain. [Force Weapon]

>>4404978
>>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]
We Nomi Sunrider now.
Also, I had never realized how many Jedi just stayed on Coruscant after the Purge. Jax Pavan and his crew, Jin-Lo Rayce, and Even Piell just set up shop there. Hell, Sha Koon just lived under the temple for a few weeks before getting Vader'd, Zonder, Erika, and Drake Lo'gaan tried to live in the underworld, and Ferus Olin came BACK to find the Erased. Were they all just idiots?

>>4404978
Can we Mystic Weapon the Saber into it’s brain? Or use Force Weapon and Mystic Weapon to blend it?
Or, we’ve damaged the braincase right? Couldn’t we force push the damaged part into its brain?

>>4404978
>>Manifest flames and fire in your hand to burn the creature from the inside out. [Spirit Fire]

>>4404978
>>Manifest flames and fire in your hand to burn the creature from the inside out. [Spirit Fire]

>>4405011
>Were they all just idiots?
I mean the bottom layers of Coruscant have been uninhabited for something like twice as long as wooly mammoths have been extinct on earth.

It's not a bad place to hide, getting out is the problem.

>>4404978
>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]
Feels like the hardest roll but the most enjoyable update to read.

>>4404978
>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]
Poor guy didn't deserve to be forced into joining a hive mind as a living siege engine...

Well, probably didn't, anyways.

>>4405054
>I mean the bottom layers of Coruscant have been uninhabited for something like twice as long as wooly mammoths have been extinct on earth.
I guess that makes two of them idiots. Evan Piell (if Kaz is running with the Coruscant Nights version of events and not TCW) pretty much tried to fight an unsupported, one-man guerrilla war and Sha Koon literally sat in the Temple's basement and waited for Vader to find her. Here's hoping Master Laird finds them first

>>4404978

>Force Sever

Its definitely the coolest thing

>>4405072
>(if Kaz is running with the Coruscant Nights version of events and not TCW
Yeah don't worry, you won't find TCW here.

>Here's hoping Master Laird finds them first
Also I think Koon might be dead at this point already, Piell almost certainly is.

>>4405082
Sorry, other way around. Or at least it's more likely Koon's dead than Piell. I doubt Piell can be found though.

>>4404978
>Amass power in your lightsaber to penetrate the dermo-skeleton and destroy its brain. [Force Weapon]

>>4405082
>Koon might be dead at this point already
I think you might be right. Still, Laird was inside the Temple last we saw him, and the Conclave on Kessel and Jedi-lead Battle of Kashyyyk hasn't happened yet, so there might be just enough time to talk her out of taking on a Sith lord with a pack of Cthons.

>>4404978
>>Manifest flames and fire in your hand to burn the creature from the inside out. [Spirit Fire]

>>4404978
>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]
I wonder if this this was sentient before Jombaral treefucked it.

>>4404978
>>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]

>>4404978
>>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]

>>4404978
>Focus your connection to the Force and Sever its connection to the Herald. [Sever Force]
Any other method will let the Herald order it to kamikaze

>>4404978
>Manifest flames and fire in your hand to burn the creature from the inside out. [Spirit Fire]

>>4404978
>>Manifest flames and fire in your hand to burn the creature from the inside out. [Spirit Fire]
I really don't want to try and get into contested Force Rolls with a Force Entity.

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>>4404988
>>4405011
>>4405038
>>4405043
>>4405054
>>4405064
>>4405081
>>4405098
>>4405128
>>4405152
>>4405166
>>4405171
>>4405205
>>4405259
>>4405310

The way is clear, the path set before you. The technique is one well practiced and refined. You need only the refined will and mental fortitude to draw enough for the power. But as you empty out the sounds of the world, all of the noises of the Children and the lumbering monster, as the sound of blaster fire and fighter engines disappear into nothingness...

...their screams still remain.

The flow of time slows down to a crawl as you focus inwards. You can almost perceive the chain linking the monster with its fell master, a series of barbed vines constricting around its brain. The bonds are tugged, and with every movement, Sings-of-Splitting-Stone jerks along with the motion. Now, you know without a doubt that the beast is little more than a flesh puppet dancing to the will of Jombaral.

Hundreds of meters in the World Beneath, the fight has taken a turn for the worst. Prince Troxl’s three great hosts have been nearly cut down by a full half. Octavia’s droid army has begun to flounder in a war of attrition against a never-ending tide of foes. Commander Skipp pulls away from the frontline, screaming for medivac as he slings the limp body of a clone over his shoulders.

But worse are the defenders along the walls of Nest’s End. Great beams of fire rain down from the parapets, conjured by the handful of shaman commanded by Bos. But for every Tall Walker they strike down, or siege engine they immolate in a great fiery pillar, there are two more not so far out on the horizon.

The first of the Harvesters lumbers across no-man’s-land, a bloated thing groping and slavering for more prey. What few Kakari hadn’t made it back to the safety of Nest’s End are scooped up by its limbs, torn from the arms of their loved ones, dragged screaming out of their hiding holes. The burden of flesh upon its back opens in a grotesque mockery of a flower, accepting the screaming sacrifices dropped within its depths, their fates and sanity left unknown.

...even as a child, your fury has always burned cool. Arotta certainly could push your buttons and drive you into the red, but it was exceedingly rare for your temper to rise above a simmer. In recent memory, however, there was one incident that comes to mind: in the Galleria of Splendor, when you nearly beat the muun technician to death for his part in Kristen’s suffering.

Yet that had been only the greatest atrocity atop the suffering of the slaves. Here, in this godforsaken hellhole of the galaxy, what the Kakari have suffered for the last four thousand years is a fate you would not wish upon your worst enemy. The Herald and the False Mother he represents are no dark side entities, merely aberrations in the Force running wild and rampant.

(cont.)

But the horror you felt at the fate of Acting-Commander Marcs, and the mental violation of Arotta's mind...it's perhaps even more visceral than had you simply been fighting against a Dark Jedi or the Sith. Jombaral might not be here right now, but the actions of those who carry out her will are enough to slowly set the simmering of your temper into an out-right broiling fury.

>>Please choose only one of the following:
>Amplify the power of your Force Sever with your righteous anger. [+10 Circumstantial Bonus, gain Dark Side Points]
>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]

[VOTE OPEN FOR TWO HOURS]

>>4405334
>Amplify the power of your Force Sever with your righteous anger. [+10 Circumstantial Bonus, gain Dark Side Points]
I'm not here to be 100% gud boi

>>4405334
>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]

>>4405334
>>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]

>>4405334
>>Amplify the power of your Force Sever with your righteous anger. [+10 Circumstantial Bonus, gain Dark Side Points]

>>4405334
I know what our best friend Kreia would want us to do. But I've always been of the opinion that there is no light and dark side of the force, only the intentions of the wielder. That being said, I don't think that Farren bears any personal ill towards Sings-of-Splitting-Stone. It is, after all, just a thrall of Jombaral. We didn't kill the technician for following orders, it would be a show of growth for us not to give in to our bad side while dealing with SoSS.
>>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]

>>4405334
>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]
The hope is that, with the Mother gone, those who aren’t too infected can heal

>>4405374
>>4405377
Plus, if we Sever Stones from the Herald, I'm hoping we might get the raddest ride to pick up Master Kosa when we visit Jombaral's Womb.

>>4405334
>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]

We're here for a jedi test, let's do the jedi thing.

>>4405334
>>Amplify the power of your Force Sever with your righteous anger. [+10 Circumstantial Bonus, gain Dark Side Points]

>>4405334
>Amplify the power of your Force Sever with your righteous anger. [+10 Circumstantial Bonus, gain Dark Side Points]
Vader hasn't gotten Galen yet haha.

>>4405334
>Remain calm and tranquil as you dispassionately execute the power. [No bonus, gain Light Side Points]
Teach could probably tell if we do use our anger. Save it for the Herald, at least.

>>4405334
>>Amplify the power of your Force Sever with your righteous anger. [+10 Circumstantial Bonus, gain Dark Side Points]

>>4405383
If we sever the ties that bind it'll probably drop like a rock.

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>>4405344
>>4405353
>>4405354
>>4405357
>>4405374
>>4405377
>>4405397
>>4405402
>>4405416
>>4405426
>>4405431

>>You have gained Light Side points.

...they say that the path to the Dark Side is one that starts with good intentions. Letting your link with the Force sup on your rage would be the start of a first step down a very, very slippery slope. At least, that's what Master Larid says.

But Sings-of-Splitting-Stone is no more of a willing participant than the brainwashed Clones and victimized Kakari. If there is perhaps one instance where you will let your fury guide your hand, then it will be against the Herald of Jombaral...or the False Mother herself.

The flow of time begins to resume its steady pace as you reach for the power.

"...I am one with the Force," you whisper, "And the Force is with me..."

One of the great, green eyes twists and swivels to stare up at you, unblinking and wide. There is little in them beyond the frustration and rage of the Herald of Jombaral. But what isn't the former shaman is something else...

"...this is going to hurt you more than me. Apologies in advance."

Your mind is a blade, a keen edge that pierces through any and all darkness and deception. And you bring it to bear against the mental shackles, a burning edge that strikes hard and true at the strings jerking Sings-of-Splitting-Stone...

>>Roll 2d10 + 9 Sever Force (+3 Will, +5 Alter Affinity, +1 Skill]
>Best out of three.

Rolled 8, 4 + 9 = 21 (2d10 + 9)

>>4405547

Rolled 6, 5 + 9 = 20 (2d10 + 9)

>>4405547
I'm not sure I've got the dice down correctly, but here goes...

Rolled 9, 9 + 9 = 27 (2d10 + 9)

>>4405547

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>>4405555

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>>4405555
Whoa nelly...

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>>4405555 (checked)
Naisu.

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>>4405555
>>4405564

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>>4405555
>quads and rolled trips

>>4405555
it has been witnessed

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>>4405555
RIDE ETERNAL, SHINY AND CHROME

>>4405555
Wait... you rolled: Singles, Dubs, Trips, and Quads all in one post
PRAISE BE

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>>4405555
NINE NINE NINE

>>4405555
If you get dubs, trips and quads in the same post, does it count as quints?

>>4405662
Nah, my man got a straight flush

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>>4405555
My god anon....

>>4405555

This manon has rolled something not meant for human eyes

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>>4405555
Nice.

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>>4405555
Well shit, I didn't even notice what I'd gotten

>>4405555
POWER... OVERWHELMING

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>>4405555
The match is struck. A blazing star is born!

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Okay, I'm back. Finished my weekly Mass Effect DnD session with the lads. En route to Omega, the party crashed their shuttle head-long into a damaged Geth corvette as it was attacking a civilian freighter. After an intense firefight, they then proceeded to steal everything that wasn't otherwise nailed down. The resident quarian took a few points in renegade when she gained admin privileges and promptly deleted all of the Geth programs.

There was only one survivor of the freighter, a frightened asari child who kept tearfully asking for mommy and daddy. Upon being told that they were "with the Goddess", she became fearful and asked if her human father was with the Goddess as well, because her dad's family said he was going to hell for marrying her mother. Not the most comfortable discussion to have at 2 AM EST in the morning.

Finally, a recently liberated member of a fundamentalist, religious cult in the Terminus learned about the culture of "the Churches of Asia" after the turian pilot introduced him to the wider world of gunpla. Until further notice, the sheltered soul does not have extranet privileges, but the party is (dreading) looking forward to taking him to Omega. Lap dances may or may not involved.

Writing...

>>4407192
Kickass, sounds like a lot of fun

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>>4405549
>>4405550
>>4405555
NO-!

The raging, hate-filled voice of the Herald is violently cut off as you Sever the shackles binding Sings-of-Splitting-Stone. Its voice persists only as an echo, fading away as the conceptual tendrils burn into nothingness. The links back to the abomination thrash wildly, frantically reaching back towards its puppet before they disappear out of the breach, into the stone, to wherever the coward is hiding itself.

Not even one second after the act, the great beast shudders. Green eyes once clouded over suddenly pull into sharp focus. With the presence of the Herald no longer draping the beast, you feel...something. It’s faint, but you feel the stirrings of some faint, animalistic emotions. They bubble to the forefront of its mind-

Confusion.i

Pain.

Apprehension.

Loss.

Understanding.

Horror.

Loneliness.

Rage.

Sorrow.

Anger.

Despair.

HATE.

Suddenly, it rears its head back, and unleashes a deep, pained, bellowing roar the likes of which you’ve never heard before. Instinct overrides years of discipline and training, and causes you to clap your hands to your ears. Something within you breaks and what you suspect to be blood starts to drip down and out of your ears.

Judging from how the damned creature’s roar suddenly became muted, your eardrums have definitely ruptured. Nothing that a few weeks of rest or a dunk in a bacta tank won’t heal. But those luxuries are a very long time away from you.

The sight of the Children having similar reactions is a mild balm at the pain, but relief nonetheless. Tall Walkers and Infected Clones, Fungal Artillery and Harvesters alike all react in the same visceral reaction. All of their orders to deploy into Nest’s End are completely ignored. They scream and howl in a disjointed chorus, not quite nearly matching up with the pained bellows of Sings-of-Splitting-Stone.

Without any warning, the creature tears itself from out of the breach, pulling horn and hand from the ancient obsidian. It whips its body violently around, smashing into the Children with shocking brutality. Even as acidic blood eats into its demo-skeleton, it doesn’t care about the damage or the pain. One talon after vine-like appendage, it scrambles up the walls of the breach, crushing any and all in its wake to escape.

...this leaves you in the rather unenviable position of being flung off the monster. The grip afforded to you by your grappling hook to attached to the bucking creature is more a liability than a bon. Hurriedly, you disconnect the line, only to be smacked by a wayward tendril and tossed like a rag doll into the empty air of the breach.

But as you flip and careen wildly, bouncing at random vectors and angles off a myriad assortment of Children, the distant form of Sings-of-Splitting-Stones draws further and further away...

(cont.)

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>>You have successfully Severed the connection between Sings-of-Splitting-Stones and the Herald of Jombaral.
>>Deprived of their primary means of transport down to the World Beneath, the Children of Jombaral’s flow of reinforcements has been stopped.
>>However, the defenders of Nest’s End are still in great peril. Now, you must rejoin the fight!

As you clear the breach, a familiar presence brushes against the barriers of your mind. This time, you don’t resist, grinning as you welcome the mind of Bos into your mind.

Not quite what I was expecting, muses the voice of the Shamanka. To your own concern, you detect just the faintest measure of strain in her voice, but it’s almost entirely masked by the emotion of triumph in her voice. But it seems that you have a knack of doing the unexpected. Is this a feature of the Jedi, or are you merely the exception that proves the rule, Farren?

Honestly, I don’t know myself, you confess, But I’d like to think it’s the product of a good upbringing.

Hmph. Please remind me to send something nice to your master. She pauses, as if gathering her thoughts, then continues, You’ve done the Kakari a great deed. Now, leave the rest of the breach to me and my apprentices. You’re sorely needed on the battlefield, Jedi.

Deprived of their flow of reinforcements, the Children on the ground fight with a reckless desperation. They walk willingly into torrents of blaster fire, hoping to overwhelm the clones and droids with the sheer mass of bodies. Flyer-types maneuver to crash into air support units in suicide attacks. Prince Troxl’s cavalry has been forced to retreat underneath a hail of Spirit Fire from the spires of Nest’s End.

Bos chuckles, as if sensing your worry, Don’t worry, the situation is...

There’s a grunt on the other end of the line, synched almost in time with how a sprinting trio of Tall Walkers leaps and jumps towards the outer walls of Nest’s End. It stretches its limbs, gripping the top of a parapet to begin tearing the fortification apart, piece by piece, stone-by stone. One of them sweeps the walls, knocking defenders back or over the walls, screaming all the way down to the ground.

...hold on a moment.

You blink and nearly miss it. A brilliant corona of light erupts from a solitary figure on the fortress, dousing the Tall Walkers in an unrelenting confluence of Force. They burst into flames, but continue their grim work as their limbs begin to shrivel and char. By the time they collapse into a pile of smoldering ash, they’ve only stripped a third of the upper layer on a section of the wall.

My apologies, says Bos, who doesn’t quite nearly sound as apologetic as she should, But as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, the situation is not irreversible. The friends you've brought have certainly helped turn the tide of battle.

(cont.)

>>4407527
>the distant form of Sings-of-Splitting-Stones draws further and further away...

Aww, I was we'd get to be the Toshio to Stone's Gamera...

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>>4407553
You nod almost reflexively. I’ll see what I can do to help. In your peripheral, you notice the sleek, black form of an HMP droid gunship barreling towards you at high speed. Months ago, you might have panicked or flinched at the sight. Although what comes after certainly causes your insides to knot.

“You will stay right the hell there, Jedi,” hisses the angry, clipped voice of Commodore Octavia Pullo Mercantor over the comm. There’s an audible steel in her tone that demands absolute obedience, “Heaven help you if you don’t wait for my droid to come pick you up.”

There’s not exactly anywhere for you to go, caught as you are in a freefall. But you decide to hold off on the snark, and radio back, “Understood.”

Bos cackles at the exchange. Fiery one, that woman is. She nearly pulled a weapon against one of Prince Troxl’s peerage for daring to assume command over her legion of Metal-Without-Song.

Even as you blanche at the breach of diplomacy, you can’t help but think that Octavia’s response wasn’t entirely unwarranted. In her place, you might have acted the same way, although perhaps without the imminent threat of death...maybe.

The HMP droid barely slows down as it comes about underneath you. In the underside of its belly where it might have stored commando droids, you send out your grappling line and hook fast into an empty seat. You barely have a second to get adjusted before the droid gooses its thrusters, fleeing as every flyer-type converges on your location.

But you aren’t alone. A squadron of Vulture droids converges on your location, streaking in to pepper the flyer-types with a barrage of lasercannon fire. So wholly focused on you, they don’t notice the threat until it’s far too late. The survivors split off, and the Vulture droids break off, seeking their own targets or shooting at Tall Walkers before they mutate into more flyer-types.

Earlier, you were only halfway joking about kissing Octavia for her help. Now? You aren't so sure anymore.

There are already those who would proclaim you the Liar Chieftain reborn in a warm-blood body, Bos thinks dryly, much to your unease. That discomfort quickly turns to horror as she adds, Be wary of marriage proposals or otherwise accepting any sacrifices in your name upon your return to Nest’s End.

Wait, Bos? you panic, That’s a joke, right? The heat of the battle’s gotten to you, and you’re coping by making jokes at my expense-

The Grand Shamanka merely cackles as she pulls away from your mind.

>>Where do you want the droid to drop you off?
>At the front of the battle, joining the ranks of the droid army and thick of the fight.
>To the walls of Nest’s End, where Prince Troxl leads a struggling defense.
>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.

[VOTE OPEN FOR FOUR HOURS]

>>4407598
That comes later.

>>4407607
>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.

>>4407607
>>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.

>>4407607
>At the front of the battle, joining the ranks of the droid army and thick of the fight.
It sounds cold, but the faster we kill the brunt of it the faster we can mop up what remains, and iirc if the big monster is gone from the breach then there’s no way for the Enemy to exit meaning the Kidnappers can’t leave
Also
>Be wary of marriage proposals
>Inb4 Arotta wakes up right when we’ve got a crowd of Lizard Lasses trying to marry us
>Instinct to protect her mate from all challengers takes over

>>4407607
>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.

>>4407607
>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.
At first I wanted to secure Nest's End so everyone had a place to fall back into, but on second thought making the clones available will help with that. We could potentially hammer-and-anvil the Children at the walls.

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>>4407607
>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.
It's been a while since we hung out with the clones.

>spoiler
Pic related

>>4407607
>At the front of the battle, joining the ranks of the droid army and thick of the fight.

>>4407607
>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.

The Harvesters are in the rear, yes?

>>4407607
>>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.
Bos can help with the Prince's defense and once we're done with helping the clones, we might be able to send the clones to one group and ourselves to the other.

>>4407607
>>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters

>>4407607
>>With the clones and Commander Skipp, attempting rescue ops from the Harvesters.

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>>4407617
>>4407620
>>4407635
>>4407640
>>4407652
>>4407715
>>4407774
>>4407835
>>4407843
“Scrapper Squad, heads up!” you shout into the comm. as the gunship banks sharply in compliance with your order, “I’m en route to provide close support for the rescue operations. Pop a smoke at your location for rendezvous, and be advised of a gunship coming in for a hot landing!”

“We read you loud and clear, Jedi!” answers Skipp. His channel is cluttered with blaster fire and the screams of the Children, but his voice still rings true. “We’ll do our best to save some of the infected for your arrival.”

In an ironic twist, the boulders that the Tall Walkers and areal-types have lobbed across the World Beneath work more to the clones’ advantage than they do for the Children. It’s no longer quite an open flatland, save for a handful of inclines and bodies of water. There are dozens of AT-TE-sized boulders haphazardly scattered around the World Beneath, and the clones have more than seized the opportunity to put them to good use.

Five sets of white armor duck into trenches, fire around corners, provide suppressing fire as they advance from one cover to another in successive leaps and bounds. At times, they split up, flanking an enemy to catch them in a pincer maneuver. Other times, against a shambling horde, they form a single line of fire and send a maelstrom of blue bolts into the amassing horde.

The only thing tempering their performance is the Children’s inability to otherwise shoot back. Still, what the enemy lacks in technological advancement, they more than make up for in sheer numbers. This fact, however, doesn’t seem to bother the Clones in the slightest, and they fight on in spite of the overwhelming odds against them.

Orange smoke marks the landing zone, a rock formation only a dozen or so meters away from a Harvester. Scrapper Squad’s taken up an elevated position, raining blaster rounds down the hill. As far as you can see from the distance, their plan seems to be to wait for the Harvester to come and pass, and then rappel onto the behemoth.

But until then, they have to contend with the literal hundreds of Infected, quadrupeds and Tall Walkers marching on their position.

“Suppressing!” roars Stye, before a great jet of fire roar into a gathering of Children. The Blaze Trooper wastes no time, igniting his jetpack to rocket out of the inferno. An entire hillside and its occupants are immediately consumed by liquid flame. “You’re all clear, commander!”

“Acknowledged!” Skipp shouts. From one of his soldiers, he produces a rocket launcher, and takes firm aim away from the monsters...specifically to a cluster of stalactites and stalagmites. “Backblast clear?"

"CLEAR!" shout three other clones.

"Firing for effect!”

(cont.)