[CSP][Midnight] Trial of the Body

Midnight800×200

This is the run-on event for the Midnight Clan Event. Full backstory can be found here. This run-on will take place on the discourse forum, and will last for the entire length of the Midnight event. Full prompt will be posted in the run-on for ease of reference.

There are two open run-on threads on the forums. You may participate in one of them. Please review the prompts posted there in deciding which of the two you would like to participate in.

Judging will be based on the fiction grading rubric. Level of cooperation with fellow clanmates in the run-on will also be taken into consideration. This includes, but is not limited to, keeping a flow of continuity with the story, including other members in your own posts, not derailing the story for your own story.

Participation in this run-on will earn you Clusters of Ice, as well as points toward the parent competition of the Midnight Clan Event. Participation will be manually added to the competition listing for this run-on at the end of the event.

This is a Level 3 competition for Midnight.

General Post Guidelines:

• Minimum post length of 250 words
• Maximum post length of 1000 words
• Minimum of 2 posts required for participation qualification
• No posting twice in a row, one other member must post before you can again
• Posts should be only continuation of the story, no OOC posts, save for posts from the event runner.
• Posts may be edited by the poster only, and no edits on a post will be allowed once the next post is made in the thread.

Helpful Hints:

• Check out other people’s character sheets to help write them in your posts
• Remember Star Wars Realism Counts. No out of universe swearing!
• It always helps to have at least one other person proofread before posting
• Reserving posts helps prevent people from posting before you get yours in.
• Be courteous to your fellow housemates, and don’t reserve a spot then not post.

Opening Prompt

Trial of the Body

Despite Stana and Polis’s attempts to persuade you otherwise, you have decided to focus on attacking the New Dawn over attempting to free Xen’Mordin from Darth Fallax. The New Dawn have taken control of the whole Empire and its facilities. You know there are a series of locations that need to be disabled and neutralized, and if possible returned to Palatinaean control. These locations are critical in securing control of the Cocytus system. Should they remain under the New Dawn’s control your attempts to take down Fallax and his disciples will surely fail.

Striking out from the thick forests that surround the capital city of Ohmen, you and your fellow attackers will need to clear and control the following locations:

• The Central Imperial Communication Center
• The Primary and Backup Power Generators for the Palace
• The Grand Imperial Hospital
• The Primary Spaceport

Dante’s booboo.

Imperial Dropship - Aleph 08
Skies above Judecca

The last time he’d come through this way, he was headed for a banquet. This time, it seemed, would be different. The transport juked low behind a bluff of hills, running as close to the surface as the pilot’s skills, and nerve, could manage. He held on with one hand, the strapping reinforced specifically to sustain his bulky frame. His demeanour was dark, blacker than the usual for a Sith. The fury boiled quietly under the surface, threatening to explode at a moment’s notice.

A small metal nut, possibly taken from a technician’s tool kit, hit him square between the eyes. The nut hovered for a few moments, long enough for him to spot it, before dropping to the deck. The man’s eyes scanned the assembled troopers and Dark Jedi, before they fell on his Quaestor, Blade Ta’var.

He scowled, his expression warning her off. Today, or this week for that matter, was not a time to test his patience. Blade simply flashed him a grin. She’d done her duty, by distracting one of her weapons, at least for a moment, from the task at hand. The man had had a history of destructive responses to stress, and a small, enclosed transport was not the time or place for that kind of response.

“Two minutes,” the pilot announced over the intercom. A moment later, the lighting in the troop carriage switched from a pale white to a deep crimson. The Dark Jedi in the hold suddenly began to move, preparing equipment, checking weaponry, and more than a few cases, looking nervous in the process. The man stood stock still. He knew he had but one job to perform: destruction.

“One minute!” shouted Blade, her voice barely audible over the roar of the engines, and the clatter and susurration of the Sith. The man turned, donning his heavy helmet, its T-shaped face mask glowing a faint sapphire in the center of pitch black metal. The huge dark shape split the press of bodies, advancing on the rear hatch.

The entire transport suddenly veered to starboard, curving into a braking maneuver, and descending sharply. The Dark Jedi rocked in unison, though none of them cried out, or fell. These were war veterans, warriors of dozens of battles. They knew what a rapid combat descent was, and knew that even if they were terrified and screaming, they had no way of changing their future. They were in the pilot’s hands.

“Drop, drop, drop,” announced the pilot, as the skids of the transport touched down, feather-light. The rear door dropped immediately, and in an instant, the huge man was sprinting across the courtyard ahead of him, his emerald green lightsaber burning in the darkness. Blade and the rest of her posse followed at his heels, towards the main building of the Judecca Municipal Spaceport.

Minutes to midnight, seconds to showtime.

Jorm stared down onto the dimly lit chronometer on the dashboard, counting out the last few seconds. When the amber numbers finally flipped over to the next minute, he tensed up and let the speeder bike between his thighs rip.

Somewhere above, he knew, Arch and Blade were about to launch their attack within these very moments. Jorm had opted out of joining them in favor of a role better suited for him: diversion.

Now he was gunning the engine like the madman he was and charging a garrison checkpoint two minutes out from the spaceport.

They heard him coming. The whine of the bike far preceded him. Taking the last slight bend between himself and the checkpoint, he saw white helmets already turned his way.

Showtime.

The checkpoint had been fortified. An E-Web heavy blaster swiveled and sputtered thick orange bolts in the Kiffar’s direction while troopers ran to start up the hovertank at the heart of their little camp.

Jorm swerved to the side and called upon the Force to serve him. The flow of time seemed to slow down as his perception of it grew more detailed, augmenting his premonitions and stretching a blink of an eye to seconds.

The blaster bolts, ludicrously slow to his eye, came closer as the gunner wrestled his E-Web on target. Jorm merely scoffed and threw his weight backwards, his own movements slowed just as well, but way ahead of time, and jumped the bike over the fiery lances.

As his jump reached its apex, the Kiffar grabbed an object hanging from a rail on his saddle. He felt minor resistance snapping as he pulled it away, and dropped it to the side.

Jorm could actually see the New Dawn gunner track the object, before he rode down the road marked with crimson plasma and smashed him down with the bike’s engine block.

Counting down slow seconds in his head, he circled around the tank, taking cover from the grenade he’d dropped moments ago. The tank’s hatch was still open and promptly fed a thermal detonator. Jorm slammed and held it shut with a mental deathgrip while the bike carried him away and around the nearest corner.

The tank did not explode; it started smoking from the seams in its armor and glowing from the inside. Then it exploded.

Jorm had been waiting for this. He jumped his bike up to the roof of a flat building and inspected the carnage. The scene looked like a minor volcanic eruption: slag and ashes mixed with glowing orange. Soldiers lay lifeless or moaning, the lighter vehicles were burning, and the place formerly occupied by the tank was a molten crater.

Not too bad for fifteen seconds.

He threw two more grenades - incendiary - into the damaged vehicles and the least toasty group of stormtroopers before dusting off.

One down, a few to go.

Explosions rocked the spaceport in flashes of fire and a rain of debris. Jurdan had followed Blade and Arch out of the landing craft in their drop towards the Palatinae landing area. The death of Delak, his half brother, was still a fresh wound in the back of his mind. He had been present for his entire interrogation but he had been told that Delak had betrayed his Emperor. He had stood by and done nothing to save his brother.

There was no indication that the Emperor was going to kill Delak up until that point. Xen had trained Jurdan in the ways of the dark side ever since he had made his way to Judecca. He had been his personal bodyguard and protector for months. He couldn’t believe how easily brainwashed he had been by Fallax. He knew what his purpose was now: he must avenge his brother’s death.

Another explosion rocked the ground near where he stood and it snapped him back into the here and now. He drew his brother’s lightsaber ‘Shiny and Chrome’ and ignited the purple blade with a snap-hiss. The laser sword hummed to life and it seemed to dance like a bird on the wind as he deflected blaster fire from the former Scholae forces attacking him. Jurdan leapt and spun to avoid blaster fire as he ran towards the enemy forces. With the quickness of a Nexu and the ferocity of a Rancor, he scythed through the traitors, cleaving the head off of one of the foot soldiers as he ran by.

Move!

He rolled to the left, hearing the telltale whoosh of a swift object fly by. The following explosion marked the ordnance as a rocket, which he was almost too late to dodge. Thankfully his foresight was able to alert him in the nick of time to the danger. Jurdan followed the path of the rocket back to its source, looking upwards towards the various perches the spaceport had to offer. This was no mere foot soldier. It looked like one of the New Dawn’s Lieutenants had been patrolling the spaceport this night. The purple skinned Twi’lek’s lekku and face were tattooed in white. Her face and arms had been scarred from countless battles during her lifetime. She wore dark blue battle armor that looked to be custom designed just for her and her body type.

From the briefing photos he knew that it could be only one person, Aeshi Yamamura the assassin. This would be more of a challenge for Jurdan. The assassin dropped the rocket launcher off of her shoulder. The twi’lek minion of Fallax jumped over the railing of the walkway she was standing on, landing squarely on her feet. The scarred woman had been through alot in her life, and now Jurdan would get a chance to add another one.

Like the petals of a blooming flower, the Dark Jedi of Scholae Palatinae spread out from the drop ship, each man and woman focusing on a separate segment of the area. There was little planning involved, as the mission had been put together and executed on the fly, literally. The dropship had had little room for mission preparation, and the occupants had to rely on their innate tactical awareness to characterize and prioritize threats.

This unique situation, one which was essentially suicidal for any less skilled individuals, attributed to the sudden, and ferocious response to a rocket launcher being employed on one of their own. A flurry of blaster fire replied, lancing out at the attacker from several angles at once. Jurdan stood his ground before the Twi’Lek, squaring off against her in single combat.

The woman grinned, and lashed out with her saber, deflecting bolts of energy towards Jurdan, and away from herself. Krennel dodged to one side, and with a gesture, sent a cargo pod careening into her from the side. She let a grunt of annoyance, her blade whipping down and bisecting the offending obstacle.

“Cheap tricks, Scholae!” she shouted, before lifting a commlink to her lips and whispering a few terse phrases into it. A pair of dropships zoomed overhead, circling around to hover over the open spaceport, their hatches open to the heavens. Heavily armoured troopers appeared at the doors, before jumping out, plummeting towards the ground, sliding down heavy black ropes.

The fight was definitely on now.

Blade moved to engage Aeshi, supporting Jurdan as he prowled around the Twi’lek. The rest of the Scholae Dark Jedi rallied around the massive beastial form of Archangel Palpatine. He waded into the midst of the troopers, each stroke of his blade cleaving a limb, or a torso. The other Dark Jedi followed in his wake, keeping the blaster fire off the Palpatine, and finishing any soldier left alive.

Aeshi charged into Jurdan, slamming her shoulder into his chest, sending him sprawling on the permacrete. She pounced, landing with her knee pressed firmly into his chest, a feral grin on her lips.

“DIE!” she screamed, her lightsaber blade slicing down at Jurdan’s throat. But a savage kick in the lekku from Blade disrupted her attack, screaming in pain and frustration. She rolled away, trying to give herself some room, but Blade pressed the attack, her lightsaber shimmering hungrily in the Twi’lek’s wake.

“Not on my watch,” Blade stated simply, her eyes burning with fury. She slipped in under the feeble guard the Twi’lek put up, and skewered her with a single thrust. The woman stared at Blade for a long few seconds, gasping her final breaths, trying to say something but failing. She slumped to the ground, a ruined being, lifeless and bereft of victory.

The assembled Dark Jedi roared with fury.

Victorious battle cries lasted for but seconds before the New Dawn forces responded in force: a barrage of blaster bolts. The reinforcements broke into smaller groups, each pursuing an armed Palatinaean and their support troops. Blaster fire criss-crossed across the expanse between the two forces, a killing zone for anyone audacious enough to rush forward. Archangel Palpatine held back for a minute, barking several orders to a Palatinaean commander.

“Delta Commander, take some of those turret guns and break up that formation!”

“Yes, sir!”

Two divisions split into halves, each sending troops to the nearest set of turrets, and ran behind their own lines for cover as they went for the guns. The left side got there first, but unfortunately the New Dawn had the same idea. Yet fortunately, they were outmatched. Blasters could only do so much against a trained Dark Jedi. A red lightsaber slashed through the air in curved arcs, the smell of burnt flesh a lasting memory of just how hot the blade of a saber could be. The troops cleaned up the rest of the distracted soldiers easily enough. The hum of a lightsaber was not something that was easy to ignore.

Well-trained hands took control of the turrets for Scholae’s forces, swiveled them against the daunting formation of the New Dawn troops and fired. The enemy troops may have been well trained, but there was no match for a blaster against a turret gun. Chaos ensued, and what was once an orderly unit broke into smaller more, manageable chunks that focused on saber wielders specifically.

Unfortunately, the turrets on the right were a bit harder to claim. New Dawn troops claimed at least one emplacement, attempting to unleash it on the Scholae forces. It was only through the sacrifice of many brave souls that the tip of the turret gun was pushed to the side, only peppering the rear-guard of the Palatinaean forces with glowing plasma bolts. It was enough to rally the troops though. Yells of rage broke free as the rest of the split division focused on the enemy troops at the guns. This time they brought the Force. Troops up front kept fire off the Force Users as they telekinetically dragged and mauled the New Dawn troops manning the guns. A panicked look crossed their faces, only to be replaced by horror as well-timed shots burnt holes in their chest. The guns were free.

The rest of the division rushed forward, beating back another wave of troops as they secured the right side turrets. Their guns turned on the patchwork of enemies, mowing down any clumps they could find. Some poor souls got caught in the crossfire, but war was never pretty.

Blade and Jurdan followed Archangel into the thick of battle, the three of them cutting down anyone foolish enough to come within range. Swing after swing cut through the air like a scythe, yells accompanying each step of their advance. The dance of their lightsabers, along with well aimed turrets finished off the last of the resistance within minutes, but the war for the spaceport was just beginning. They would be back. Nonetheless, victory cries reverberated off the spaceport’s walls as the survivors celebrated their hard fought victory.

The Quaestor took out her comlink and hung back for a second, and watched the others celebrate. The war wasn’t over just yet, but this was a key battle to win. The troops’ dismayed faces were now flush with victory and their eyes hungry for another chance at revenge. The Zeltron got Archangel Palpatine’s attention and nodded. The brute knew what needed to be done. The large man lifted a large bit of twisted metal and banged it against the ground, getting everyone’s attention. He stared at everyone for a moment before raising his voice to the heavens and punching his fist high in the air.

“FOR THE TRUE EMPEROR!” A chorus of voices followed suit, sending a message not only to the New Dawn, but Fallax as well.

Thro, thro, thro-ttle up, ‘til the engines beam…

True to the little song in his head, Jorm let the speeder bike rip, shooting through Ohmen’s streets at podracing velocities. Taking one last turn, he took as careful an aim as the situation allowed and jammed the levers in their position.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily…

Focus, calculation and execution came as one. He cleanly separated from his restocked vehicle and let his amplified jump carry him high into the air, its resistance slowing him, already focusing on the next mental exercise, yet curious for the results of his actions.

…time to make you scream!

Below and already quite far ahead, the riderless bike, hung with stuffed duffel bags, ran - or rather, leapt over - the gauntlet presented by his target’s garrison. Too fast for ground tracking, yet too low for anti-air fire, it crossed the defender’s perimeter and a fence, and came crashing down into a heavy ferrocrete wall.

On a more advanced world, this wall would have been protected by a shield generator, but the rulers of this place had skimped on such essential equipment, indulging in various vanities instead.

Even so, a single speeder bike crashing into it would have left a shallow crater at best, even if it was going 500 kilometers per hour.

However, a bike loaded with the equivalent of several proton torpedoes? That was a completely different affair.

Up in the air, Jorm balled up and held his breath as the bike vanished in a white flash. He could actually see the ripple of the shockwave rush through the air and break on his own barrier: knocking the air out of his lungs, washing over the hands pressed on his ears, and stealing some of his speed. He uncoiled and set the Force to work in a different way, further slowing his fall and his forward momentum, until he could hit the ground rolling and running.

Another mental switch kicked over, the one still suppressing his breathing reflex. Then finally, his first whiff of fresh, boiling air. It was the sweetest thing his Force-ibly adapted lungs had experienced in the past few hours.

Still at a dead sprint towards the glowing slagged hole - well, more like a cave, really, and a big one - that his bike-bomb had blown, he quickly observed his surroundings. He had been roughly two-hundred meters away when the bike struck, and shielded by his Barrier, but the soldiers and vehicles he passed had been much closer. White-armored figures lay in unnatural angles, many of them incomplete. A tank and other vehicles looked like soda cans after target practice.

He slowed his pace as he extended his consciousness, surpassed his senses, to get a clearer picture. Nothing on this side of the large building still lived, as he found. Little inside, either. And the electrical taste this place usually had… it was gone.

Jorm snapped back into his body, at least it always felt that way when he stopped actively sensing through the Force. Assured that nobody and nothing would or even could harm him at this very moment, he dug through his pockets and retrieved his communicator. Sure enough, it was blinking for his attention.

“No?” he answered the call.

“Stow it, Jorm,” Archangel replied. “Any bet that big boom was you. I have no idea who else would blow up a city block in your assigned target area.”

“Got no proof, Arch.”

“I’ve no time either, Jorm. Is the generator down?”

“It’s offline, all right. What about the secondary?

“Shadow called in a moment ago. The secondary generator is neutralized. City even still stands, I bet.”

“Boring. What about you?” Jorm inquired.

“The CCIC is as good as ours. I suggest you cause some more mayhem,” commanded Archangel.

“Try’na order me to do what I’d do anyway, ey? We’ll see. Later, honey!”

Jorm hung up before Arch could choke him through the comm lines. Another look at the generator building painted it orange, sitting aflame. A small secondary explosion rocked the walls, shaking some debris loose.

Jorm shook his head and turned away. Nothing of value left here.

Blade walked in a small pocket of jungle a good walk away from the Grand Imperial Hospital, purposefully stepping on the upraised metal grate covering a large bundle of wires. Her corrupted yellow-red eyes traced her path ahead, preparing herself for the battle to come. They had already taken the spaceport, the CCIC and took out the power to the Grand Imperial Palace, but that wasn’t enough for the Sith. She wanted to cut the head off her enemy, not just injure him. Blade grinned maliciously as she allowed her darker thoughts to blossom and take flight.

“This should do…”

The Zeltron jumped off the metal walkway, igniting her saber with a snap-hiss, and slashing it cleanly through the metal housing and the power cables underneath as she fell. A shower of sparks shot up that made her shield her eyes: a glorious sight.

“Oops. Was that the power line for the hospital? Good thing they have backup generators,” she said maliciously.

The Sith Warrior shut down her saber, stepped back onto the stretch of undamaged metal housing, and continued to walk towards the hospital.

Here I come, dear Emperor.

Outside the Hospital, South Side
Shortly after main power cut

Blade took out her macro-binoculars and watched the roughly dozen guards, armed with standard issue blasters, standing by a few dull gray durasteel boxes. They didn’t look like much, but they actually contained the generators that now powered the entire building. She doubted the troops would be all they sent in terms of resistance so time was of the essence.

Reaching to the Force, Blade flooded her legs with the Force, ignited her saber once more, and rushed forward. She ran left, then right, and then repeated it all over again as she dodged blaster fire. Every side cut she made got her closer to the men on the ground. She did her best to make them cross firing lanes, with limited success.

“Frak, just shoot her already!”

The Warrior allowed herself a smirk as she rushed to the nearest opponent. He wasn’t ready for her. Blade’s saber cut diagonally through him, his body serving as a meat shield while it remained intact. The Sith immersed herself deeply into the Force and let Vaapad take its course. Her body twisted and moved almost of its own volition as it weaved through the soldiers. Her saber cut down one, and then another. Somewhere far away, she could sense the curious stares of patients within the Grand Imperial Hospital itself. The soldier’s dying cries were already getting too much attention.

Eight guards dead and four left. They fired in unison, their veteran status showing in their dedication to tactics, but it wasn’t enough for the Force. The Arcanist danced around them yet again, but this time it wasn’t working so well: the men went back to back, covering all openings. Blade would have to think quickly or run away soon. She could already feel a malicious presence coming her way. She took cover behind one of the generators and focused on a large boulder near by.

Reaching to the energy around it, the Sith picked it up and flung it towards the cluster of men, who scattered to avoid the incoming collision. Blade was already rushing towards them. One cut after another until they all fell down in a piteous moan. There wasn’t time to gloat though. The Palatinaean quickly slashed through all the generators, screams from windows above her filling the air as the power went out. Guns even started to peek out of the wards above her. It was time to leave. The dark interior of the hospital was a sad sight to see, but it had to be done.

”Fallax and the New Dawn send their regards!” Blade yelled to her audience before running as fast as she could away from it. Someone was already following her, but she doubted they would chase her far. They had a hospital to fix, and Fallax wasn’t getting any better.

Jurdan had watched as Blade had run off in the direction of the Grand Imperial Hospital so it was no surprise that within moments of her departure alarm klaxons were blaring left and right. Blade definitely was not always one for subtlety.

Jurdan and Archangel continued the attacks on the remaining troops that were protecting the CCIC. Their enemies forces fell easily against the powers of the Dark Side of the Force, especially with Jurdan gleefully electrocuting his foes. They were once brothers, but now they were twisted and corrupted by Fallax.

After about another hour of intense firefights the battle for the CCIC was over. Jurdan and the rest of the Scholae forces stood atop their defeated foe. Delak and Sparky would soon be avenged, and Fallax would be no more, one way or another. The leaders of Scholae would soon rally their forces of Scholae for a final assault on Fallax and his personal guard.

The battle would commence shortly. and Jurdan was worried that he would let his brother down: Delak’s honor would be restored. Being murdered after days of torture would not guarantee him a true Corulagian place in their version of heaven. It was silly but their father was a king and tradition was very important to them.

Archangel and Jurdan stood at the briefing table for their planning of their final battle against Fallax. They were surrounded by loyalist troops, many of whom had shared their intelligence. In addition, all of the them were in high spirits after their most recent victories against the New Dawn forces. This would be a day not soon forgotten in the Clan’s history.

There was a disturbance in the Force and all Force sensitive users in the briefing room turned to look at the doorway. There stood the Emperor himself. Xen was here to meet them.