Log:Last Light and Dark Heart
The Killesa family is saved from their own dungeons
OOC Date: July 6, 2022
Location: Last Light, Delaya
Participants: Kohnner, Corto, Bors Thul, Ulani Kalgaav, Ban Iskender, Aryn Cortess, Ty Killesa NPC, Lars Syrush NPC
The seas have calmed, and the storm now rages over the severe looking fortress standing defiant against the waves that bash its sea walls. Forces from the Allied 'Cortess' banner have broken the fleet, the exterior defenses, and have now breached the protective walls to find the keep nearly abandoned. None sat upon the sea-stone throne of Last Light, pirates and mercenaries seemingly abandoned it, but sources revealed that those who remained loyal to the false Grand-Duchess, Lana Panteer, took to the dungeons beneath the fortress to find and execute the Killesa prisoners.
This must not happen.
The dungeons of Last Light are a local dark spot on the presumably peaceful veneer of Alderaanian heritage. The dark tales that emerge from such a place are the same stories shared to children; that only the most fowl and evil sort find themselves in the labyrinth that is referenced as the Dark Heart; it was the lost abyss of the sea, a place of utter darkness. Criminals captured by the Killesa are permitted to roam free within its walls, subject to the brutality of other terrible criminals or the limitations of their mind. There is only enough light from the outside to remind the prisoners of a life that is infinitely better, but they will never see such again.
It's poetic, then, that the Killesa family experience the Dark Heart for themselves, as now they've been its keeper for more than 20,000 years.
Lord Ty Killesa is at the gate leading into the prison. Thankfully, the doors are shut, but soon they will open. Prisoners likely realized the entrance/exit of the Dark Heart and now await for the inevitable return of their Pirate (Poiret) overlords, eager to prove themselves for a taste of freedom. "It is like they will be waiting for us to open this hatch," Ty warned, spending a moment to bypass the Dark Heart door with a practiced input of code on the holo-keys before urging the typing pad back into its place. "Ready your weapons, I suspect we will have to fight to find a way through. My men will secure this entrance and await our return. We must find my family and remove them from this awful place."
Aryn Cortess is told to remain by the First Sword, "I must insist, your Grace, this is no place for a Princess. I will attend this matter in your stead." Ser Lars Syrush says, freeing his sword when Ty predicts trouble. Aryn, reluctant to leave her companions to the task quietly yields and nods. "So be it, First Sword. See it done, I will see to the rest of the keep."
"As you command, your Grace."
<<"Indeed, They likely are waiting...">> Comments the Space Ronin CHON KOHNNER, fresh off the amphibious assault, blood stained sword still in hand. His white hooded cloak soaked and wrinkled with sea water, mud, and blood. His face however, protected by his well renowned void armor. <<"So we must be quick and crush them.">>
The Katooinian cranes his neck, cracking it. He awaits the order to breach the lower levels.
Question. What do you do when some mean-old mother hubbard wants to tear you a structurally superfluous new behind? Answer, use a gun. And if that don't work, use more gun.
There was a primitive sort of beauty in using the art of explosive-propelled metal to do one's bidding. Clumsier and more random than a blaster, it required a lifetime of training and endless patience. For the Drifter, who had surpassed two centuries of life, this was hardly any time at all. And so Corto the Cowboy Feeorin, with spurs on his boots and a flutter to his poncho, came to the fray loaded for Grom. An MWC-pattern revolver that was oversized for the Morellians that forged it, perfect for dinner-plate hands. Two sawn-off shotguns, one lever-action and the other a weird-feeling break-open design, and finally a scoped trapdoor rifle for Big Game Hunting. And then there were the metal knuckles he'd woven into his gloves.
The Drifter sucked the life dry of his cigarra of the day, stubbing it out in the palm of his marksman gloves and stuffing it in a pocket (don't litter, he'd always say). "Ain't right, stuffin' your unwanted in a place like this," was that thick rumbledrawl. "Happy t' debate the ethics of it later. We'll find your folk, no sweat."
Headed towards their directive, Bors's carbine is out and held ready to be raised and fired. Checking his HUD reads before his eyes, singing to himself inside all the while - the sound muted to the outside world,
"And then appeared our Lion, he was roaring let foemen be met! Charging to the mountain with what forces we had left, 'Cause we're as steadfast as Organa, We're as hard as Leia's glare! Go straight to hell with your Panteer yell! We're the Loyal of Alderaan!"
It's in his shoulders though. And the bob of Lord Thul's head. Even in the spring of his step. Jovial as ever as he prepares to charge into the teeth of the enemy with little more than a knife, his dueling blade and blaster at his side. It wouldn't be surprising if someday he rigged a flag carrier to his belt and backpack, most like.
Not being a native of Delaya or Alderaan, Ulani was given a crash course in the labyrinthine hell they are about to enter. Normally, she would find such a topic to be intirguing of grotesque. Still, she would have researched it. Read up on the history. Perhaps even discovered some famous -- infamous -- names of those who have been lost to the dark tunnels over twenty thousand years. Like a true crime book or a novel of political intrigue and murder. She'd stay awake an extra hour to read another chapter or two with only the light from her side of the bed to illuminate. Chilling, surely. But it'd be difficult to put down.
Standing in front of the doors about to navigate the maze itself knowing that evil and death lurk? That rings a bit different. She draws in a steadying breath and checks the charge on her rifle. "Thank the gods for dark vision," she says, gratefully tapping the side of her helet. "Oh. I also have this."
With a flick, a headlight comes on. "Though I suppose that will only make it easier for them, as well."
Ban Iskender remains clad in the heavy battle armor he had worn through the landing and running battle to reach this point, the dragoon's elegant green half cape already spotted in places where blaster bolts had narrowly missed him. Having reached the gates to the castle's dreaded underground, Ban turns a dry side eye to Bors at mention of Leia. He makes no comment, dwelling in the silence for a long, centering moment before voicing, "Let us begin."
The doors begin to open, rotating yellow lights coming online to signal the threat of two, heavy-weight blast-proof doors swinging inward. Ty takes on a stone cold expression, drawing his own sword from his side, but not looking so eager to lead them into the abyss of Last Light. It gave the Keep a whole new meaning when they stared into the darkness ahead of them.
At first, there was no sign of life. A small stair case led down to dirty cavern flooring, and the roar of the sea filled the void like a distant echo. The air here was humid, warm, and carried the scent of death upon it at all times. Ser Lars took the first steps down, clamping his helmet in place and activating the artificial heads up display that used optics to enhance his perception and surroundings. He holds a large sword with both hands, and a dirk for quick access along the small of his back.
They make it into the main atrium of what seems to be a vast choice of direction. Tunnels lead to unknown locations, and the tunnels in view now number in the twenties. Lars begins to speak, but is not able to finish his sentence when people begin to emerge from the shadows of the tunnels and charge. "Where to begi--"
"BEHIND THEM IS THE DOOR TO FREEDOM! KILL THEM! AHHHHHHH!"
Lord Ty steps back in sudden surprise, ironically moving closer to Corto who had voiced some reservation about stowing the criminally insane in such a place. "T'was not my practice or direction, sir, I only bear the name of those who ran it before me.." In typical teenage fashion, Ty stated this could not be his fault!
"COME ANY CLOSER AND YOU WILL MEET YOUR EN--" Lars warns before being struck by an enthusiastic tackle that takes him backward one step, anchoring him in place and stopping the pitiful attack before it could find traction. Before his opponent could realize that his needless HMMMMMMMMPPPH lifting of the Knight's leg would prove nothing advantageous for him, the sharp edge of a pommel struck their head and dropped them like a heavy sack of rice. "So be it.." Lars said, shoving the man's form aside with ease and preparing for his next swing.
Eleven crazed prisoners charge from tunnel in the center, wielding weapons they fashioned from the sea stone of this place. These knives are jagged and painful; definitely sharp.
The great thing about the helmet of the Void Suit Armor was that not only did it provide low light vision with an augmented reality generator to help with combat. It had a powerful headlamp. Now Klatooinians naturally could see in low light but these dark tunnels were void of much. So there was a loud whine as Kohhner turned on that powerful headlamp, illuminating the crazed prisoners. <<"Desperate people are always hard to deal with...">> He says in a low growl.
They charge and he goes on the offensive, his initial swing missing one before it counters and swipes the leg brutally, taking them out but not killing them. <<"We are not here for you! Back down and you will not be harmed!">>
Helmet back down and looking into the faces of the deranged and armed, Bors's expression dismay concealed from other's view. A quick tap of his thumb changing settings from plasma to charged particles before shouldering the stock,
<"Quite the pickle..."> keeping his forward movement steady, refusing to yield ground and unleashing the first staccato trio glowing energy rings of sleep crash against the chest of one oncoming madman with a shiv poised for radical facial reconstruction of Lord Thul if his aim not be true.
Fortunately it isn't. But they keep coming, hollering and raving with arms raised and the old man blinking, <"Oh I don't like this pickle!"> firing again with, thankfully, greater affect when thee raving sot is sent twitching to the ground, skidding to stop at his feet. <"Meant to do that!">
A flick of her thumb and forefinger deactivates the headlamp attached to her helmet and Ulani switches to the augmented reality. The shield visor in front of her face goes dark as the V.I. system activates. Dark vision takes over where her own would surely fail as they venture into the depths where the Killisea keep all their literal skeletons.
She stays close to the soft blue glow emitted by Bors' Katarn armour; a beacon of light in a pit of squalor and misery. Those subjected to its darkness are waiting to rush against all odds to make a break for the exit. Ulani helps to fend them off, a stun blast of her rifle enveloping one as they charge forward and sending them falling to the ground limp yet alive.
Ban Iskender carries a measure of green light in with him, radiant sword held advanced like a lantern as their surroundings are gradually revealed. When the prisoners come at them, Ban shouts, "STOP," projecting his will outward, seeking to amplify it through the Force so that they hear: "You don't want to die. You want to hide until the fighting is over, so you can live." His sword is drawn back, poised, his empty hand out thrust toward the crazed eight. No appeal is made to justice or reason: simply seeking to amplify their innate desire for survival, with a commander's authority, and an edge of power coursing through the words that some might feel humming in their chests.
Lars looks poised to bring the sword down when Captain Iskender's commanding voice issues the order to stop. It works two fold, and the prisoners abandon their crazed pursuit for freedom and look to the Green Knight in a moment of unreal subservience. The display of this sorcery makes the hair on Lars' neck stand on end, and honor nearly compels him to state that these people made their choice; leave their minds to it, but such would condemn them to death. Could a Knight truly stand in the way of life, even if it were for these lowlife criminal scum? Lars remains silent, bringing his sword back to a defensive posture.
The prisoners repeat the words as Ban says them, "..so we can live." They look subdued, held by some notion of inception.. that this idea Ban has used the Force to imprint on their mind was in fact a decision of their own making. They all step aside, with the last pointing toward the middle tunnel. "The people you seek went that way.."
Lars seems skeptical to believe this intelligence, but what else had they to go on? Inept, for the moment, and questioning his own command, Lars gives Ban a nod indicative that he should lead them onward. Bringing up the rear of the formation, Lars kept his eyes on the prisoners, just to make sure they didn't get any knives in their back.
The tunnel the prisoners indicated turned out to be true. It led up, following a decently lit portion of the dark maze, and occasionally washed with fresh waves of the sea bashing the keeps battlements. There is some sort of ruckus ahead in a larger atrium, a group of people are being forced to the center of the room by armed pirates holding blasters. "I WILL NOT DIE ON MY KNEES TO YOU SCUM!" Screams the voice of Lord Killesa, who headbutts one of the pirates, then tackles another to keep them from his wife. The other Killesa members begin to put up a fight as well. Some eight members of the House against twenty pirates. Ty did not call out to his father, knowing the distraction could prove fatal, but he rushes ahead to join his kin in what looked like their final stand.
Kohnner's blade lowered as he felt the command come from the voice of the Green Knight. It wasn't something that was unexpected. His 'mind meld' with the Jedi he encountered over a year ago left him with a similar feeling. his memories were gone now though that his mission had been completed. Only stark few visions remained from this clearly similar Jedi tactic. <<"Interesting...">> Is all he can comment before the brigade moves on.
As they near the Atrium and the rousing speech from the Kilessa is given the Canine can't help but feel the urgency and camaraderie in the face of a last stand. <<"Ahah! Finally a challenge!">>
And so his hound like legs take him sprinting towards the lines as they merge, brushing past some of the defending to slam into the attacking line of Pirates, His sharp metal blade swings at the first Poiret he crosses, the air he cuts causing that high pitched swiping noise. He misses.
Chon redoubles his efforts and quickly pierces his blade through armor before pulling it free and lobbing the head from that particular individual in a rather bloody fashion. He roars, the intimidation factor lowered because of the helmet and Vocorder. Though, he might grab the attention of those around him. While he may not be taller than Corto nor hold a lightsaber, he certainly was taller than that of average humans and clearly not homosapien.
Corto had come up the rear of the fray, hanging back with young Killesa, and thus got to witness the display from Ban Iskender first-hand. In response, nothing but praise. "That, my boy, is how you use the Force. Well done."
The journey through the catacombs wasn't exactly the most comfortable for the Drifter, ever-used to wide open prairies and long distant ranges. Too many walls. Not quite claustrophobia, but definitely a sense of unease. He didn't even have the benefit of night vision, relying on the glow lamp of Kalgaav and the still wind of the living to guide him through the darkness. It was when light was introduced to the fray, however, that Corto had to remind himself that not all that was light was good. Sometimes it held pirates.
The Drifter was always one to pick his battles. Sometimes they could be defused, sometimes you could get away with only the basics, like a slug to the knee. But, when Young Lady Killesa was at the mercy of a man of ill-intent, well, occasionally one had an excuse to go all-out. As the fray began in earnest and the rest of the gang came in swinging, Corto crossed the floor with three huge strides, the still wind fwicking the break-open sawn-off shotgun into his hand.
/snap-hiss/
Cold, icy blue burst from the barrel of not-actually-a-slugthrower, filling the space between Miss Killesa and the rogue Panteer Pirate. With a delicate wrist flick (...how, with those hands?!), the faded blade lanced through the torso of the pirate, giving him a practical lesson on the fragmented reproductive method of certain sea-based annelids. Unfortunately, being only human and suited for other ways of doing such, he expired pretty quickly.
"Pleased to meet'cha, ma'am," the Feeorin rumbledrawled while raising his hat in greeting, the huge roughshod lightsaber positively normal-sized in his massive hands. There was one faint twirl as he turned to face the rest of the fight and raised the weapon above his head, his free arm sticking forward. Olden style, Academy-taught Soresu. This also had the advantage of completely concealing the young lady behind his massive bulk. "Try and stay behind me, we'll keep you safe."
Following the lead of those called to direct by means of sorcery, Bors is uncharacteristically quiet on their travel deeper and further in. The faint cerulean glow of the katarn's helmet visor the only real way to keep watch of him without optics to enhance light around him. Steady moving even when the bellows of Lord Killsea reach them and the sight of the pirates is before.
<<"Well, Ula my dear. I'm certainly dressed for imbecility, no?">> head turning briefly towards her before he starts to charge in, rifle raised in a very 'Hey! Look here! I am an interesting thing that can be shot at!' sort of fashion. Complete with his spraying blaster bolts into the thick of where he can see it be Pirates and not Pirates Con Killsea. Some going wide and another pair raking across the chest of one particularly smelly brute.
<"Surrender now, to find amnesty for your good sense!">
Because they'll fully understand what you're saying, Bors. Good job.
Bursting onto the scene, it is havoc but a welcome one. The family, some of them at least, are still alive and fighting for their lives. What else can Ulani do but to join in those efforts? It is exactly why they are here. Her hand goes to her side where she has any number of grenades at the ready, her keen mind calculating how many she could take out in attempt to quickly even the odds.
But there's too much action. Innocents intermixed with assailants as well as the cavalry now joining the fray. Too many variables. Too much room for error. The hand returns to her rifle with a tight grip, carefully taking aim for the single shot she is able to fire. The burst of blue flies past one pirate and stricks the one behind him. A one-way, all-expenses-paid trip to the ground.
<<"Hmm?">> Ulani turns towards Bors' voice only to discover him already rushing forward in a full spectacle of Alderaanian glory. She cannot help but grin a little; the levity in such a dire situation helping steel her nerves. More so as he drops another. <<"Do give them a sport chance, darling.">>
Ban Iskender lets out a long slow breath as the prisoners stand aside. He nods once to Corto, swallows against a dry throat and steps as Ser Lars suggests. The gentleman is breathing notably harder than he otherwise might as they hasten through the corridor, a clue that the exertion of affecting so many minds had taxed the Jedi greatly. Still, when they arrive in time to find the Killesas still alive, the swordsman wasted neither time nor breath before striking mercilessly at three of the Panteer pirates, none of whom escape his reach or rise again thereafter.
The sudden arrival of friends to aid in their survival sees the Killesa clan fighting for its right to live. All members of the family give it their all, but fists and rock knives prove futile against the plasteel of pirate armor. Their allies prove far more resourceful. Ser Lars rescues the Lady Mother of this House by impaling a pirate through their mouth with a very abrupt and cold stab of his sword. He spares the Lady from witnessing the gore of such a deadly strike by kicking the man from the end of his blade rather than tearing it from his cranium. "With me, My Lady."
"The First Sword!" Screams Lady Killesa, who is all too eager to place the large armored man between her and danger.
Lord Ty defends his cousin, sliding in with a disabling strike using his saber, he swung a second time, but the pirate raised their weapon to block the blade. Ty grinned and used his off hand to draw his blaster, blowing a hole through their center with a muffled shot. "With me, cousin," Ty said, waving the young man closer.
The pirate number dwindles suddenly, but to their credit, they try their best to respond to the sudden ambush by attacking.
Kohnner realized he's in the middle of what can only be described as battle chaos. Keeping track of those he is with was important, but as targets were near he dived deeper into the violence. He swung and attack at one of the pirates close by, hitting only air yet again before twisting and striking an arm, slicing through to at least bone. The Pirate retreated as the third swing came, scurrying away from the canine in pain and avoiding any further maiming. <<"You run from battle? Coward!">>
It may not be exactly the case, but the lack of attacks towards him and more so towards those with the laser swords might have had something to do with him still terrorizing the pirate lines without injure.
At best, Corto was out of practice.
It was barely even a children's game to block the incoming blasterfire, old saber remaining close in a defensive pattern. But stepping out of it, well, it required a segue into something more offensive. Aside from words about the Republic, the Feeorin was rather lacking in that regard. One of the closer pirates got a stab through the abdomen. Another, slightly further away, was just out of reach, and the Drifter seemed unlikely to move from his spot.
"Move along the wall there, darlin', right to the exit. You're safe." Calm words of reassurance to the Young Lady behind him cut through the din of battle, her defender stalwart in his mission. As she moved, so too did the Drifter, the implacable wall of defense.
<"I said better to surrender?"> falling back against stone walls while narrowing his profile, watching blaster bolts hurtle past, scoring rocking and setting it to a threatening rosy glow that could become shattering if cooled to quickly. Forced off of his point and turned into a stumbling comedic sideways stage three step when his armor absorbs shots that careen into his shoulder and arm plates from the wild torrent aimed towards he and the other rescuers.
<"Bugger"> BORS.
An attempt to get his footing only serving to tie up his ankles in what would have been a twisting spin that results in a clattering tumble to skid and on his back plate until the rim of his cowling hooks a crack in the stone and he is kicked up. Swinging half-way up to his head before slamming down with an outrush of breath that hot-mics his external comms,
<"Rotters! Rekk!"> half sitting up, rifle poised and seeing an available target he fires. Flames burning on armor and the poor soul crumpling where he stands and Bors rests back on an elbow, <"Ow.">
She must be getting used to these sorts of encounters by now. Her instincts certainly seem to think so. The incoming volley of fire is expected and dodged with a half-roll to the side that winds Ulani in a crouched position, one knee to the floor and the other up for stability. <<"You're outnumbered and out-manned. Lay down your weapons and---">> A pirate is trying to scrmble to her feet likely so she may attack again. Ulani has no choice.
<<"This is a mercy, I assure you.">> One blue burst later and said pirate is taking a wonderful, blissfully ignorant nap on the filthy prison-maze floor. <<"Are you all right, love?">> There's an awful lot of High Galactic cursing.
Ban Iskender deflects a pair of shots in a single deceptively smooth parry, striking down the same pair of assailants with a swift step and lunge, followed by a pair of cuts. The Jedi notes when Ty is wounded, but as the young man still looks to be ably continuing the fight, Ban can only envy the scar.
The fighting comes to a decisive end as members of the Panteer pirate crew become the outnumbered, and those that remain (which are four of them) witness the destruction of those they deemed crew and friend. Ser Lars cleaved a man with a heavy swing of his sword and abandoned the weapon in the man, to fall to one side as another rushed. They find the sting of a dirk in their eye before a heavy gauntlet struck them across the face, carrying them off their feet to collect in a pile of lifeless skin on the ground. In the pause of fighting, the Knight pulls his sword free from the carrion on the ground.
Ty is shot in the shoulder by a pirate, losing grip of his blaster in response. After rocking back from the blast, the Lord charges forward planting his saber in their stomach, then withdrawing to slice across their face. He screams at the effort, favoring his new wound but holding his ground.
The Killesas (minus the ones rescued by Corto and Ser Lars) put up a good fight. The father bashes a man's head in with a rock, while his brother is breaking the neck of another.
Returning to the four survivors, they cast down their weapons and raise their hands in defeat. Two Jedi, and a special forces unit, plus a blood crazed House Killesa eager for revenge? Check please.
The Killesas are saved!
As the fighting draws to an end, the Killessa redoubling their efforts in the wake of their powerful backup, Kohnner stands there with blood dripping blade at mid guard, his shoulders rising rapidly. A lower growl can be heard coming from his Vocorder as he watches the last four pirates surrender.
The Space Ronin flicks his blade, some of the blood and guts splattering out across the dead bodies before he retrieves a cloth and starts to wipe away the dirt, grime, and bodily fluids from his sharpened blade. Once the weapon is returned to its sheath at his hip, he retrieves an ice cream pop from one of his pockets. He peels back the wrapper, and lifting his helmet shoves it into his mouth.
"Go on, you're safe now," the Drifter encouraged, now that they had made it to the exit of the bright room with the rest of the family.
With his service as a shield no longer required, Corto stepped closer into the room to survey the damage, holding the faded icy beam aloft as illumination. That sawn-off had been gutted a long time in the past, the firing mechanisms replaced by kyber, emitter, power cell, everything else needed to disguise the weapon of the Jedi from prying eyes. There was even a leather wrap around the barrel and forearm, as an impromptu grip. He regarded the four surrendering pirates with narrowed golden eyes, and from somewhere non-visible came a deep inhale and exhale. A shake of the head set his tendrils swaying.
Disappointment.
"Up you get, go on," he... encouraged the four, shutting down his saber and bringing out a long rope he occasionally used for womp rats. "Hands out, the four o' ya. Ain't no funny business now." And so began the process of securing the last bad guys of the tale. This is how it always ended. Turns out, these dank dark caves were a bit closer to home than he'd thought to admit.
<<"Only pride is tarnished, my dear.">>
Rolling to his side and climbing to his feet in the wake of sudden calm following the pirate surrender, Bors keeps back from the main gathering. In part to allow the Killseas their time to reunite. Helmet pulled off and hung on his belt before he is humped up against a stone wall. Gloved hand raised to pull hair from his brow.
The surrendered foemen are watched, though they are tended by others, Lord Thul is fine to let others handle the other matters requiring the attention and accolades. He's more than happy to just take this chance for a breather before new chaos has to come to the fore.
Back on her feet, Ulani breathes out a huff that only gets stuck in her helmet and blows strands of crimson hair around to tickle her nose. Another huff attempts to the errant annoyance from making her sneeze. Eventually she gives up and removes the helmet enough to brush it aside with a grump.
The fight wanes and aside from a few that are unconscious on the floor or the four that are surrendering to whatever fate awaits them (maybe to be thrown right back into this maze), the remaining threat lay as the scattered dead across the island. "Lord Killesa, I welcome you back to your home. Afraid there's a bit of... ah..." Mess. There's a lot of mess to clean up. And a usurper to whoop. In due time.
For now, Ulani just lets the thought go and moves over to join Bors by the wall, helping to brush the hair aside. Briefly. In due time for that, as well. Though with the noble family saved and Delaya territory reclaimed, she does take the nobleman's hand and gives it a happy squeeze in silent celebration.
Ban Iskender deactivates the green sword and returns it to his side, voicing evenly to the Killesas in the aftermath: "My good ladies and lords: if any among you are stricken dire, we may see them tended ere we all withdraw." Discussing a restructuring of penal facilities can wait until later. He regards Ty a long moment, giving the young man a nod to mark the completion of Ban's long ago offered oath to see the Killesa's kin freed.
