Log:New Alderaan: A Single Spark

The Dragoons repel an armor assault

OOC Date: October 14, 2021
Location: Bastion, New Alderaan
Participants: New Alderaan, Chani Tahn, Ulani Kalgaav, Sorin Endesea, Bors Thul, Ban Iskender, Rune, Ariel Teral, Aryn Cortess

The flares from the palace and surrounding areas still hung in the dark skies. Thunder rumbled and a coastal breeze carried in a flashing storm fresh from Droalder pay. The rain is cold, like icy stabs, carrying the bite from the snowcapped mountains that box in this city named Bastion. Fire consumes many of the buildings outside the palace, lighting the way for the paved paths where innocent people and guards alike crossed swords and shot at invading Panteer soldiers. It was a bit chaotic, dead strewn everywhere.

Ser Lars is in the courtyard of the palace where a victory was just had. Standing beneath the light of an red flare that was shot high up into the sky, he rallies the Alderaanian forces.

"HEAR ME -- " He yells over the chaos and the group around him quiets. They can hear the distant blaster fire and clang of swords. Fighters zip back and forth through the dark sky filling the night with flashes of green and red; occasionally, a fiery mess falls from the heaven and collides with the ground below like the one that just struck the side of one of the mountains.

"ARMOR HAS BEEN REPORTED.. PUSHING IN FROM THE YAVON FOREST TO BASTION. SCOUTS HAVE BEEN REPORTING THAT LIGHT TANKS CROSS THE GRASSLANDS AND ARE BEING ESCORTED BY PLATOONS OF PANTEER SOLDIERS. THEY MUST NOT REACH THE CITY!" Lars yells. "LORD BAN.. AND HIS DRAGOONS WILL DEPLOY TO HANDLE THE ARMOR WHILST WE CROSS SWORDS WITH THE INFANTRY! WE MUST SALLY OUT FROM THE PALACE AND HEAD INTO THE CITY TO REACH THE GRASSLANDS. SLAY WHAT SOLDIERS YOU CAN AS WE GO, AND STAY CLOSE! IT IS EASY TO BE LOST IN THIS FOG OF WAR!... SIR JITTI..OPEN THE GATES!"

The command is repeated by several men, and the gates to the palace begin to open. Aryn Cortess arrives from the palisade to join the main party. She draws her hood up to shield the sudden down pour of rain and reaches to her side to claim the curved hilt of her lightsaber. Its blade remains deactivated for now, its purpose not yet needed.

"FOLLOW ME!" Screams Lars, who once again draws steel and wades into the fiery maze that is the city. A mess of blue cloaked armored Alderaanians follow him, one of which screams, "FOLLOW THE FIRST SWORD!"

A ripple of thunder rumbles through the sky, booming distant. It's still close enough for Chani to feel its growl in her chest. Lightning flickers and illuminates the sky as bright as the day, while the ominous, dark clouds hanging over the city stifle the moon's light from reaching the surface. It makes it darker. It makes the starfighters battling each other in the sky stand out more vividly as their fusial engines flare bright and their laser cannons stitch the dark sky with fire. The rain begins to slick Chani's hair and leave her skin wet. It dampens her clothes, but the homespun fabrics don't add much weight even soaked. Drawing her hood up to protect her eyes from the downpour, Chani grips the silver cylinder of her lightsaber hilt in her right hand and regards Lord Iskender from just beneath the rim of her raised cowl.

Making her way off of the walls, Ulani tries to get her bearings. On the ground, she's lost sight of Bors and the other familiar faces she knew in the crowd. It's just a sea of various expressions. Distress, rage, indignance, calm, pain, apprehension. It is the ebb after a battle; the eve before the next.

Lars' voice bellows over the crowd, drawing Ulani in his direction with the rest of the throng. She doesn't have a sword to cross, but it is clear she has every intention of following him to wherever the next clash will meet.

Red-tinged mud coats and splatters the lower half of Sorin's powered suit, and that hard-edged crystal sword hangs at his waist, still marred by the crimson stains of conflict. Of death. Looking back to where he'd just left Aubrei, Aubrei of Endesea, tending to row upon row of injured soldiery, he offers a grim nod. There's uncertainty whether he's seen, the chaos of that casualty collection point quite profound, if not in its own wane controlled, and the knight of Alderaan turns back to Ser Lars. To the party surrounding the First Sword as it proceeds to engage the Panteers anew.

Rain pattering off the durasteel plating of his suit, Sorin closest distance, withdraws his sword once again, and assumes a position line-abreast, if not slightly forward. Battle neared, once again, and the armor-clad man begins flipping through HUD modes, settling upon a glowy green overlay that stands to minimally effect his night vision.

Blade lifted, looking to Lars and then to the gates, then rested with the dull side of the single edged weapon against his shoulder - Bors strides just shy of a slow jog. Adjusting the helm he wears and it's blast screen, the Lord Thul's expression is set; gaze turning skyward momentarily and visibly yearning to be in that conflict - where he feels most natural. Curiously steady in his pace to reach ground combat in contrast to the raw speed of his preferred fighter.

His path angles to bring him abreast of a familiar figure, nodding as he makes as if to drag her on with his very presence, "Ula." a polite tone, as if to simply give polite greeting to another on a fine walk along the boardwalk. There's a faint reflection of his normal grin hiding there though and his left hand can be seen, gripping something hung from a chain at his neck.

Ban Iskender had mounted his Mobquet overracer, and just given Chani a hand up to take a seat on the military speeder bike behind him.He gears out the report of hovertanks on the grasslands with a small nod. This is the sort of maneuver and harassment the dragoons were trained for, even if the rainfall was not. The soldier guides the vehicle out with a whine of engines, a salute in passing to Aryn, and extended to Lars and Jitti by the speed of the steed. <<"Dragoons: skirmish order through the city, at speed. Gain the plains, and commence missile and cannonade bombardments on the primary targets. Sally forth, for Alderaan.">>

Rune gives a thumping pat on Lord Bors' shoulder once he helps the man rise, a grin flashed to the noble before they part ways. "Be careful out there." he calls and, with a squinted glance up at the opened heavens, Rune tugs the hood of his robes up and over his head. Quick booted steps take him to the palace entrance and he removes from his shoulders the Cortess banner that was torn down. This he hands respectfully over to one of the guards, a small smile given, before he returns to the group pushing forth from the grounds.

Bright hazel eyes peer from the shadows of his hood, moving to look at his fellows in arms about him, a longer glance spared for the Jedi that he joins in this effort. Rune watches Ban, Chani, and the Dragoons depart his gaze following the vehicles as they move into the gloom. With a few deep breaths, he clutches his deactivated lightsaber hilt and follows Lars and the main party out and onward.

Ariel's here and looking more prepared for a fight than she has recently. She's gotten proper armor but still working on weapons. She's just going to use her stun baton forever until she finds a knife it appears. The redhead gives a look to the others that are around her, one of her guards giving her a nod to let her know that he's there. The rain doesn't help the feel of the situation. It was ominous in a way.

The thunder is drowned out by the horn that's blown from one of the Vice-Royal Dragoons, a distinct bike bearing the Banner of House Iskender, and its rider dressed solely in black. The Black Rider is the culprit for the call of the horn, and at Lord Ban's orders, his 'steed' is suddenly joined by a battalion of others, their engines joining the chorus in a roar like a lion's pride.

Each Dragoon is paired, a driver and a gunner sitting on the back. Most carry heavy ordnance whilst the drivers make use of small blaster turrets, or use their swords or pikes to strike in-passing. Force pikes levy out, blasters primed, rocket launchers set, and turrets begin to idly rotate. By the third call of the horn, the Dragoons pull forward, following their Captain, Ban, and spreading out into skirmish order which meant a wide flank intermittently dispersed to pick apart enemy combatants in passing. They ride ahead and meet a sizeable force of Panteer soldiers who immediately engage using ranged and melee combat.

The chaos follows as the cavalry drive into and through the lines, skirmishes force the Panteers from being in lines to a disorganized mess. Ser Lars' infantry wades forward to take advantage of the sudden disorganization. There are enemies /everywhere/.

While the Dragoons do not have visual of the armor yet, they do make it into Bastion city, and are temporarily delayed by the thick ranks of infantry.

The battle begins.

Aryn activates her sapphire blue lightsaber blade and jogs forward. She waves at Ban as he passes, smiling briefly, then her attention goes to their foes. Aryn goes bravely into the fighting, where it's most thick, to try to carve a path through and protect her friends and kinsmen.

Taking Lord Iskender's hand, Chani uses the momentum from his hefting pull to plant her foot against the rear foot brace and hike her other leg up to slip over the Mobquet Overracer's seat. She settles onto the leather upholstered cushions and utilizes the armored Dragoon Captain's bulk as a shield against the slant of rain that starts to cast itself upon them when the speeder bike gears up and races off into the city. The whipping wind makes it difficult to discern Ban's commands to his soldiers, but their objective is clear as the buildings of the city start zipping by. Chani lets her eyes drift shut. She focuses on mentally preparing herself for the battle ahead and shunts away all external stimuli from her senses in a moment of meditation.

"Bors." His name comes out in a breath of relief and Ulani steals the briefest of moments to look him over. Fairly certain she had caught a glimpse of a sword skewering him, but that could've just been the fog of war. And so much fog it is. "Are you--"

Nope! They're moving and such things will have to wait. Picking up her pace to keep up with Bors, it isn't long before they come across the Panteer invaders. Jittery from the previous battle, Ulani draws up her rifle and fires.

A bolt of red screams forward; impaling a rival soldier dead-center of his sternum. Before the body can even hit the ground, Ulani screams out in horrified shock. "No!" Clearly she had forgotten to change the toggle on her rifle.

A man is dead.

Because of her.

Sight of that light cavalry breaking through initial Panteer lines seems to give Sorin a boost of energy, or perhaps a thrill - it was a sight not commonly seen outside of organized military conflict the likes of which fill history holos.

As advancing infantry meets with the broken Panteer front line, Sorin shouts, "FOR ALDERAAN!" and steps intro the muddy, rain-swept maelstrom. The rings of met blades surround him, supplemented by the screaching reports of blasters on all sides. Stepping forward, as if out of a personal squall, a Panteer heavy infantryman swivels a wicked looking heavy rifle at his chest. Sorin sweeps down at the blaster's barrel, deflecting it before a shot can be released, then pulls around in a heavy cleave that takes the man at a weak point of his armor, at armpit. And he dies.

Sorin advances, surrounded by the increasing chaos of the moment.

Battle joined and blade swinging into the lot, Bors's expression flattens as he moves to provide Ulani a flank of sorts, progressing when she does and wheeling around and behind her when Panteer forces grow to close. A flick of the blade warning an assailant and inspiring wariness when he cuts s shallow line along one arm.

"Not now, Ula. Later. Plenty of time later." when one can get the chance to reflect on the actions of the day, good or ill. But the sight of her reaction to firing the rifle to kill is enough to keep him lagged back for the moment. Unwilling to quite let her be let alone until he's sure he can. One arm raising to bring up his comms, checking for static or clear lines.

Ban Iskender hadn't given Rune any assurances of caution before riding into the storm. His only words were, "May the Force be with us." Solemn in voice and manner, once the squadron of cavaliers clear the fates and accelerate through the battered streets of Bastion, green Sword igniting with a screech and hum, crackling with live energy in the rain as he guides the speeder bike with one hand, and raises his saber in the other to offer a brief salute, before slashing down a pair of invaders in the course of racing through the chaotic melee. Whereas he would typically wheel around for another charge, this time Ban races on ahead, eager to gain the grasslands before more time is lost to the foe.

Rune follows Aryn forward, rushing toward the chaos afforded by the Dragoons' charge while activating his lightsaber, the emerald blade illuminating the near surroundings in the inclement weather. Grim determination meets the approaching line of soldiers as he moves into battle, said blade slashing about them as the forces clash. The foe he encounters first meets his rush head on but manages to duck under the initial two swings of his weapon. It appears that were the only moves the individual had when he glanced down to find the glowing column of green protruding from his chest.

The soldier slumps to the ground when the lightsaber is deactivated, the viridescent light sprouting from the black metal cylinder in Rune's hand almost instantly after. The Jedi sets his jaw, lifts the weapon, and moves in to the fray.

Ariel raises the riot control baton that she wields and jogs along with the rest of the Alderaanian troops to get to the Panteer intruders. This was heavy for her. She'd just gotten to settle and feel like she had a family and a place to be at peace. Then Panteer had to start her stuff. She whacks the first soldier that she sees hard, but not enough to take them down. This could be a bad time for her.

Alderaanian forces quickly overwhelm the Panteer soldiers in a chaotic battle. Fire burns buildings in the square whilst rain begins to quell the flames a bit. Soldiers from both sides move against each other, and it's just crazy! Ser Lars and his platoon are no longer heard or seen for the thick of the battle consumes them, too. Aryn and Rune mark the other front with bright weapons.

In the midst of the fighting, Aryn cuts down a pair of soldiers with a casual flurry of her weapon. Each connecting strike is performed gracefully, the tip of her weapon's length cutting just deep enough to do its damage but not maim or dismember. Instead of wading into the mess, Aryn walks, stepping a line and working her blade in a graceful pattern that melds about her like a blue shell, humming with each motion. She avoids two blaster shots by ducking and twisting with a flutter of her cape.

The Dragoons break through the edge of the city and ride into the darkness of the grasslands. Tall trees shadow, even in the night, marking the distant Yavon forest, and yet.. another force pushes from the forest and into the open. Infantry pour out in droves shooting at and trying to kill the Dragoons. Several are successful, and they blast the riders from their steeds and promptly slay them before they can rise back up. The ARMOR has not made itself known yet, so it's infantry in the open field.

The Dragoons are alone for now because those following Ser LARS are still in Bastion, fighting the first force. The battle in Bastion looks well in hand, but they won't make it in time to help the Dragoons with this particular challenge. They'll have to hold out.

The closed in quarters of the city vanish when Lord Iskender's Overracer breaks into the outskirts and starts racing across the plain. Wet slicked grass forcefully bends out of the way of the down force of the bike's repulsorlifts and Chani's brown robe whips about her legs, tucked as they are against the back of Ban's hips and the swoop itself. As Panteer infantry unleash a torrent of blaster fire at the oncoming Dragoons, Chani senses some of the riders being knocked from their bikes and finished off by the soldiers. As one on Lord Iskender's flank goes down, Chani yells out to the Vice-Royal Captain. "COME FOR ME WHEN THE ARMOR APPEARS!" It's the only warning Ban has before Chani leaves her spot as passenger on his steed. The next moment, the young Jedi is gone.

Through the aid of the Force, Chani leaps from the back of the bike and into the air. The wind pulls mercilessly against her brown, soaked robe, which ripples around her body and her legs as she free falls. It hangs open with the descent, revealing the cream garments beneath on her journey to the ground. When Chani lands, she immediately tips forward with her right shoulder angled towards the ground. Knees tucked, the Jedi rolls to not only shed excess force and speed from her movements, but to close the distance into the Panteer infantry intent on slaying the Dragoon that they've knocked from the speeder bike that has veered off into the dark. The area around them isn't dark for long. As Chani finishes her roll and rises into a a standing position, she activates her lightsaber.

The blade hisses in the rain, but it whispers almost like a purr as Chani, using a one-handed grip, quickly sweeps it up from near her left hip to bisect one of the blaster rifles trained towards the Dragoon. The next trooper in line shouts in fear and swings his weapon to the side, meaning Chani's careful, short chop misses the weapon. She simply turns her forearm and palm up and flicks her wrist, utilizing as little motion as possible to carve through that blaster rifle, too, and make it useless as an offensive weapon.

Bors is saying something to her, but Ulani doesn't hear him. Doesn't seem to hear him. Wide eyes are locked on the body several yards in front of her. The smell of burned ozone permeates the air around her; searing itself into her mind as part of a memory she will not be able to forget. Will not be allowed to forget.

Maybe he's just resting.

There's a hole burned into his chest! That man is dead!

So sleepy...

Nothing short of catatonic, Ulani fails to recognize this is neither the time nor the place for a crisis. A Panteer soldier, rather peeved at his fallen brother, exacts his revenge swiftly and immediately.

The first shot hits Ulani's right shoulder; nearly knocking the rifle from her white-knuckle grip. Instinctively she braces on her left leg only to have it taken out from under her with a second shot hitting her thigh. It's a graceful yet flailing half-spin to the ground in a matter of seconds.

The Panteer heavy infantryman falls before Sorin, as does the heavy battle rifle released from the man's gauntlets. One less weapon to be fired upon friendly lines. That still left, however, countless more... and fire they did.

There's a flash at Sorin's peripheral vision, a tibana-charged bolt sizzling in even before the audible report that is due to follow milliseconds later. Its aim is true, and though the Alderaanian has yet to register that he's about to be hit, someone else has noticed and intervenes.

Like a phantom dervish, Aryn /emerges/, blade flashing. With an audible sweep of controlled plasma, that bolt - destined to make Sorin's day just a little bit worse - is deflected back into the Panteer line. The knight's focus swivels to fix upon the Princess and the gauntlet gripping that curved crystalline sword clangs to his armored chestplate in salute.

Unfortunately, mid-salute, a sizzling report screams in and a second bolt strikes the heir of Endesea in the lower right abdomen. A smoking divot scores durasteel, which manages to ablate most of the strike's energy. But not all. Sorin grunts, a loud expression of surprise and pain that's transmitted beyond his helmet even without the activation of his suit's vocoder.

A Panteer pikeman, seeing his opportunity, charges Sorin. With his energized weapon lowered to chest level, the Panteer moves in for a spearing kill but Sorin has just enough time to counter-stroke the weapon away, and then spear his own length of crystal through the space a gorget would have protected. A red-weeping lance of crystal through the man's neck ends him.

Ula hit and the battle swarming around as he manages to get himself to one side of the fire coming his way, Bors sword is checked and slipped to its hangar while the old carbine is swung up. Attempting to get his bearings and an eye on the fighting, the nobleman lifts one hand to speak into his comms.

<<"Thul to..">> he pauses and ducks again, checking his blaster charge momentarily, staring out at the mass of it all with an expression mixed in frustration and a touch of confusion before concern hits and he is kneeling by Ula without realizing. "Ula! Ula you need to keep it together!" what was he doing?

Blast it all, stupid old man - getting distracted. "Bugger all." more to himself than to anyone else - not realizing he's got a hot-mic. Blinking before smacking the toggle and looking skyward. "Bugger -all-" taking a huffing breath before his blaster is up and he's hoping he can remember how to do -that-.

By conventional reckoning, a column would have been the choice to charge swiftly through the streets, but as the Vice-royal dragoons clear the city one by one, from a number of different streets, the choice of skirmish order becomes clear: there is never even an instant in which enemy guns could fall upon more than a single speeder. Rather than a single formation, the Panteer artillery must try to drop their metaphorical hammers on the fast moving riders. But... there is no incoming artillery. <<"This is Iskender. We have gained the grasslands and encountered enemy foot. Neither armor nor artillery are in sight. Dragoons: cannonade to scatter their formations, ride for open ground.">> Light cavalry loathe facing deep formations of foot, and the sword armed Ban is no exception.

When Chani bids him come back for her, she might sense a flash of surprise before she leaves off. "AS YOU SAY, MISTRESS," and then he is racing and slashing toward the open ground, himself.

Suddenly there is blaster fire streaming from the line ahead of them, the area now lit with as the bolts streak past. If it weren't so deadly the evening air might have looked a bit festive. Rune takes to whirling his blade around, the humm of the blade peppered with soft sizzles of icy rain as they meet in the dark. The emerald line becomes a fan of green while he knocks multiple bolts away from the folk nearby.

Two of note leave an assailant's gun and scream toward Ariel, one fortunately meeting the protective barrier of Rune's lightsaber, the other does not. Slipping just under a return stroke of his saber, the bolt slides by to strike its intended target, hitting Ariel square. A grim look is hazarded backward, finding her injury with a frown. The Ysannan grits his teeth and turns back to the raging battle around him, the lightsaber given one loop over as he prepares for the next wave of attack.

Ariel's going to need to get better armor, or a shield to go with it. The young woman gives a look to Rune when he does his best to block both of the blaster bolts and there is a pained smile, 'I'm fine', mouthed to him before the Jedi dives back into things. She finds a new target though with newfound anger and there is the sizzle of electricity that flows through the soldier as he drops to the ground.

When the transmission for no armor is heard, there is no answer. Well, not on the radio. The cracking of trees being pushed over announces the arrival of armor though, and they break through the forest and into view just after the Dragoons were scattered by infantry and tied up with pockets of skirmishes. Four tanks in total, hovering on repulsorlifts, and pivoting on turreted guns. They fire in quartet, striking a few of the distant buildings and lighting up the horizon and city with towering explosions.

Aryn manages to intercept one of the two blasts intended for Ser Sorin, succeeding and deflecting one with a practiced guard angled just right to send it to its origin. She misses his gratitude and salute because she is attacked again, sliding to one side to avoid the sting of a sword. The soldier must not have intended to miss, because he was run through by the soldier behind Aryn who implanted a spear in their stomach, lifted them up, and slammed them firmly back to the muddy ground, withdrawing and stabbing again for good measure.

Chani's efforts are not in vain, for the rider she intended to save scrambles back to their steed and blasts the two unarmed combatants. The engine starts on the bike with a roar, and the rider is gone a second later, yelling "THANKS!"

Those who have been fighting in the city make it out to the grasslands now and cross the distance of field to meet with the scattered infantry. Ser Lars is still among those living, surviving a hellish entanglement of thick fighting further down the line.

The Battle for the Savannah begins, and the armor bears down on the group, moving slowly as infantry, unprepared for the Alderaanian infantry, now are overwhelmed with fighting.

It's dark. It's pouring icy rain. It's muddy. The sounds of battle are everywhere.

With the two soldiers disarmed, Chani is ill-prepared for the Dragoon to suddenly execute them where they stand. The momentary shock leaves her speechless and unresponsive to the grateful Dragoon, who rights his speeder bike and speeds away into the night. It's not quiet, but the screams of combat and the initial reports of the hovertanks are distant, like the rumbling of thunder. Chani breathes, panting, while rain batters against her hood and her robes. Her hands feel cold, and the whispering blade of her lightsaber thrums underneath the continous fall of precipitation against its luminescence. Chani deactivates it and the illumination cast around her vanishes so that she's lost into the darkness. Only the vivid arcs of lightning flashing overhead reveal her location on the savannah that's growing muddy.

She commits the memory of the Dragoon's face to mind and then shuts her eyes again. Reaching out into the great ocean of the Force, Chani stills as she casts her mind out from herself to touch another.

As devastating as it can be on the body, pain is a fool-proof way to knock someone back into reality. And what a reality. On the ground, there is movement everywhere: spiraling around Ulani in a blur of legs and boots and bodies falling. Bors is there yelling to her and for a brief moment, he comes into focus. Not so much the words he says, but the urgency that carries them. Rallying herself, Ulani manages to get to her feet. There is an unmistakable smell of burned flesh and she's fairly certain it's coming from her.

'No time for that. Plenty of time later.'

Pushing forward with the infantry, Ulani slogs through the muddy grasslands of Bastion City. The last time she had ventured here, they had a lovely picnic and did a bit of stargazing. Now this serene slice of fond memories is being turned into a pock-marked hellscape and the stars are nowhere in sight; blanketed by thick grey clouds that pour rain down upon the clashing armies.

"Go where you need! I'll be fine!" Her voice is dry amidst all the rain as she calls out to Bors, flicking the toggle back to stun and fires. She misses, but for now she's back in the fight.

There's a reason armor prefers the screening presence of friendly infantry, and it's in the yin-yang duality of overwhelming firepower and the particular vulnerability of a vehicle in the face of modern technology.

As Sorin breaks onto that grassy field, advancing soldiery to his left and right, those four armored vehicles are immediately spotted. Still fighting, in strings and clumps, Panteer infantry do their best to keep the tanks clear of danger.

They cannot, for the moment, keep themselves clear of danger. Sorin keeps the sting of his wound at bay through force of will and clench of jaw as he runs at a Panteer cluster. That crystalline sword sings as it cuts through air, heavily impacting a lightly armored grenadier - killing the man instantly. The armor, just breaking through the treeline, is not far off. At present more a danger to Sorin than he, or his grounded compatriots, are to them. With enough forwarded momentum, that could change. The knight of Alderaan pushes on.

"I'm where I'm needed until My Princess orders otherwise, or those she has placed in command over me do so." Bors's voice is 'brooking no argument' toned as he walks with his carbine raised and sighting down it. Mud is splashed against one side of him, blood from the fight mixing and the haggard expression shows the man's actual age so often well dressed up and hidden behind his often Puckish demeanor.

Lines are carved from nose to corners of his mouth, crows feet are raked deep at the corners of his eyes and the silvering at his temples seems only that much more prominent. His face set in a quiet calm, though, despite this; even when an arch of blood from a cut ally must be swept by the particle wipe of his helm or a blaster bolt sings so close that part of the fabric of his suit melts and forms around the kinetic plating.

"For Alderaan." not called aloud like a roaring Manka - but a statement made clear when the firing stud is pressed and crimson bolts hurtle across miniscule distance - one sailing wide to churn soil and flash-vaporize rain while the other bursts through the back of the Panteer soldier's skull and Bors continues his slow advance, eyes narrowing.

<<"A small amendment to my last: four pieces of armor have been deployed. Engaging.">> Yet it's not immediately toward the hovertanks that the speeder bike races, first he wheels around, switches off his sword and races back to Chani, leaning in the saddle to extend an arm to aid the Jedi in rejoining him without stopping. <<"Dragoons: you may commence your assault.">> He nods one to Chani, voicing, "ADMIRABLY DONE, MISTRESS. I SHALL BRING US NEAR THE FOE."

The young Jedi peered through the haze created by the scuffling of hundreds of feet, the frost tipped rain streaming from above causing a shiver to run down his spine. Though his face is protected from the cold wet that assails them from above, his clothing is suffering for it. The rain soaked cloth makes his movements slower, bogging down his arm.

More blaster fire flies from the line in front and once more Rune's blade is spun about his person, knocking fire away from their targets, even deflecting one into the ground that was meant for himself. Sadly, though he's ready and in tune with the Force, the weight baring down on his forearms make his attempts at deflection too slow and a few slip by his wall of defense. This time he hears the thud of the bolt slamming into Ariel but doesn't look, he's not sure he can bear seeing what his failure resulted in. The grind of his teeth can almost be heard over the din of the battle nearby.

He's seen nothing like this before, the cacophony of violence quite literally all around him, all the while being relentlessly hammered by the icy rain lit by a thunderous sky. His time in the wastes of Ossus didn't prepare him for this... but it did prepare him for survival, and he adjusts his grip on the saber hilt, watching and waiting for the next move.

Ariel's going to have to buy this poor Jedi a drink after this is over. If she doesn't keel over, which is ENTIRELY possible at this point. She gets shot again and there's a moment taken to stamp down the momentary sting when it hits, making her skitter back with a yelp. Then she's readjusting the grip on her baton to bring it forward to strike at the next soldier when she rushes forward.

Aryn moves into the madness of the night, shifting shadows and screams from fighting. Her lightsaber provides enough ambient light she can see the lifeless stares of the departed already, trampled into the mud and looking eternally to the heavens. It is haunting. What is more haunting are those who still intend her harm. She cuts down three as they swarm her, pivoting and twisting, her lightsaber passing inside their defenses to cause harm, yet not maim. Each combatant falls and Aryn walks on, not eager to run, but she identifies how far up the Alderaanian infantry has made it, her sapphire blade bright in the dark of the savannah.

At the order of Lord Ban, contrails of orange rockets light up from all angles of the shifting tide of battle. Roaring bikes with riders pass between the tanks doing their best to disable and harm. The Black Rider leads a small squad and points their saber to signal a cooperative attack. Four missiles smack into a tank in quick succession prompting it to not only stop, but combust into a massive tower of energy that lights up the battlefield.

<<"One tank down, my Lord.">> Calls out the Black Rider, whose squad follows them back into the fray.

Three tanks remain, but the Panteer infantry wanes. "PUSH FORWARD!" Screams the First Sword, Ser Lars, who looks worse and wounded, but still fighting.

Tanks open fire, turrets spraying indiscriminately, yet only one of the Dragoons gets caught in the gale, combusting and exploding the moment the turret made a hit.

Seeing the coming Overracer, Chani moves away from the two downed soldiers so that there is no sudden obstacle faced by the speeding Lord Iskender. The man's outstretched arm is indicative of his intent and Chani angles herself at forty-five degrees towards him. She leaps into action before he gets to her, hand stretching out to clasp at the Dragoon's wrist and boot seeking out the rear foot rest. It's all one smooth motion with her left knee tucked up towards her stomach and her right foot pivoting so that she can slip into the space behind Lord Iskender without the bike ever having to come to a stop. Chani's hands slip forward to grab the edges of his cuirass at the back, ensuring she's set for the sudden burst of speed from the bike's acceleration.

"GO BETWEEN TWO IF YOU CAN. I WILL TRY TO DISABLE ONE." A repeat, perhaps, of her leap off the bike to rescue the Dragoon. This time, however, it is to turn her lightsaber on one of the Panteer's tanks. Their presence is not unknown to the armor. Chani has no chance to question why the bike dramatically jukes to the side because the ground where they just were is suddenly flung up by a far too close stitching of rapid blaster cannon fire churning through the grass and the mud. Another of the Dragoons is not so lucky. Chani hears the explosion rather than sees it, but there are no shortage of those. One of the Panteer pieces of armor expolodes, too, to cast a vivid orange glow against the treeline while superheated metal begins to slag in on itself as fire consumes the vehicle.

"GOOD LUCK!" She calls out to Lord Iskender before leaving the speeder bike again. Heart leaping into her throat much like she leaps into the air, Chani lands astride the very top of the tank where its blaster cannon turret sweeps around to shoot at Dragoons and infantry alike. The vivid snap-hiss of the blade leads to a wide cleave that cuts the barrel at a beveled angle, and Chani steps forward to cleave again. This time it's the tank's main cannon that she leans over to sweep her blade at, with the blue lightsaber blade carving off the destructive main gun to leave the vehicle looking like it has a snubbed nose rather than a cannon. Chani immediately turns and heads for the back of the tank, where a quick slide off the top edge sees her turning and extending her hand outwards.

The lightsaber blade carves straight down through the entire back of the tank's engine compartment. Fuel and oil lines sever, and the engine block itself fractures under its own divided weight to skew to the side. The tank's repulsorlifts are unceremoniously cut off and the tank suddenly drops to the ground with enough force that Chani winces at its impact.

Ban's voice over the comms along with all the others sparks something in Ulani's mind. She looks at the rifle in her hands hyperaware of her own injuries and the incresaing possibility that the next volley will be harder to dodge. By now she's realized, as well, that an injury to her shooting arm greatly decreases her ability to hit anyone. Stun or no stun.

Slinging the rifle on her shoulder, Ulani crouches low to the ground; arching herself over her lap as she pulls a datapad from her bag. Using her body to shield it from the rain, the woman known to some as 'Techie' sets to work. <"Your Highness. Lords Ban and Lars. Stand by for enemy feed.">

<<"...-static- we've lost word with the Commander. They believe the city is lost.">>

<<"An all retreat is sounded, Rists have already deployed toward the Cole and Teral Estates. The longer we hold them here, the better.">>

<<"What about the air element?">>

<<"Without the New Republic to back it, we own the air.. we can call for bombers soon.. clean up this failure on the ground.">>

<<"The tanks?">>

<<"Two left.. it's a failed assault. Her Excellency says to make them heroes. They failed her for the last time.">>

The tanks manage to churn up the battlefield even when held up by gravlev pods, their armored skirts digging muddy lines as their hulls traverse below their turrets. They are nearer the advancing line of friendly infantry, and Sorin is there in the middle. One of the grav-tanks advances in an arc that he sees will bring the vehicle close, and he begins running - powersuit assisted - in its direction.

That armored skirt is met, a gauntleted handhold secured and then the knight of Alderaan is clambering up the side. Though buffeted by grav-scattered debris, he makes the ascent and there before him, spotting targets through a pair of raised macrobinoculars, a crewman is unaware of this new danger.

Unaware until that singing crystal blade chops, and then chops again, killing the Panteer. The spotter slumps down, then falls back inside the tank. The tank that is now far less accurate for the loss of its eyeballs.

"_Bugger_ all!" another bolt sailing past - a day most unexpected for the Lord Thul as he, specifically his right leg, has remained yet unmolested by enemy fire. Marching forward to interpose himself before Ulani and provide her concealment with the small, but bright, green nib on the fore of his barrel brought around to the Panteers making their assault.

"Fie."

A body spins and tumbles to the ground, sliding through the muck and mud until it comes to where Bors can put his foot on the cadaver's side to halt it's motion and brace while he leans forward, listening to Ulani's shared broadcast.

<<"Thul, Princess, get me a means to our hangars and I shall sally them.">>

Another Panteer troop rounds from a plume of smoke and ash soaring into the sky. More fire on his home, his world reborn. Beneath the star he was born to. A phoenix that now stands battered for all of it's intended majesty.

"FIE!"

The body is kicked over, legs into the air, as if the weight of a tree trunk were being cast into their chest on the end of a giant's arm. Smoking and sundered - sinking into wet ground from the impact and going motionless. Thul's Champion's face forming into an accusing scowl. No quarter given, as none is asked. Blood for blood. The fury of Uypiia set loose on his mission of revenge for Lana's crimes.

Assaulting a tank with a laser sword while speeding past on a floating engine with handlebars is quite the delicate process. One must pass precisely within reach of the tons of hovering durasteel, without passing too close (lest one crash and die), while still striking something vulnerable on a target designed for the express purpose of being invulnerable. Also, one must not lodge a lightsaber too deep in the durasteel plating, at the risk of being wrenched off balance (lest one crash and die). Besides this, there is the ever present risk of the tremendous armored cannon landing a shot anywhere in the vicinity of one's speeder bike (lest one crash and die), a fate Ban Iskender avoids only by the thinnest of margins. The mechanized steed is buffeted by the shockwave of a blaster Bannon bolt that throws a great geyser of mud and earth up, but Ban and Chani are already far away by the time the mud and water begin to fall back to earth. The young Captain's hearing may have suffered for the near brush with oblivion, as he doesn't acknowledge the Black Rider, voicing over comms, <<"One hovertank destroyed by rocketry, well done. Coming about.">> His voice is louder than it needs to be. A nod over his shoulder, and call to Chani, "TO THEE AS WELL," before guiding the overracer between two tanks as she'd asked, veering toward one himself and managing to cripple the repulsors along one side of the hovertank. The lip of the armored vehicle tilts dangerously in Ban's wake, digging into the muddy earth and rolling over catastrophically.

Yet Ban has no time for satisfaction as Ulani broadcasts the enemy communications. In particular, word of Rist deployment hardens his expression behind the visor plate. <<"Did your Highness copy?">>

Clearly the Force is telling him something when another blaster bolt makes it past his defense to strike Ariel and he growls quietly at whatever message that is. Irritated the young Ysannan stalks forward with the emerald lightsaber raised, staring down the last one that shot Ariel, bent on keeping his folk safe in whatever way is necessary. Perhaps the saying will prove correct tonight, 'The best defense is a good offense'. Whatever the case may be, defending isn't getting the job done so Rune moves back into the battle, blade lifted as he wades into the mass of chaos.

Ariel attracting blaster bolts like she's wearing some kind of fancy perfume and she doesn't recommend this for anyone else. The bolt slams into her leg and she wobbles a little before dropping to one knee. She swings wildly for the moment, her claustraphobia kicking in as she attacks. She manages to hit something and it falls.

Infantry has been dealt with, and for the most part, the blue cloaked Alderaanians wrap up the last of the fighting to be had in the Savannah. Panteer forces retreat back into the woods, abandoning the assault into Bastion. Three tanks are disabled in quick fashion, and the last is blind without its spotter, firing its hail mary and missing the Commander of the Vice Royal Dragoons by a good portion. The spotter is slain by Ser Sorin just before two rockets collide with its ventral engines, flipping the thing to one side, s l o w l y creaking to a stop in the mud. The crew that comes out of the tanks is quickly dispatched as well, both by marksmen from the Dragoons who zip by, and more from the Alderaanian soldiers who have followed Ser Sorin to the tank and witnessed his, Chani's, and Ban's deeds. They cheer!

Aryn, who is still in a brief skirmish, concludes her battle with a pair of concise strikes, the last missing because the soldier flees. She allows them to live. At the question whether or not she had heard the broadcast, she voices, <<"Yes, I heard.">> It's a cold tone, filled with dread and concern.

Enemy comms begin again, stating:

<<"The assault on bastion is lost. Send in the attack group from the bay. Take the beach, and work up to the palace again. We cannot fail.">>

<<"It will be done, my Lord.">>

High above, in the skies, a bright light cuts through the stormclouds and casts a series of high-beamed search lights. The engines are powerfully loud, and the cruiser that comes into view is none other than the Bail Organa, the flagship of the Alderaanian fleet and command hub for General Cara Dune. With the arrival of the ship, a bolstered force of New Republic fighters begin to launch from its bay and their bright engines and definitive presence fills the skies. Cara Dune's voice cuts over comms as the air battle lights up with new fury.

<<"There's more than enough to go around, boys.">>

Ser Lars begins to rally the troops by the disabled tanks. Too injured to continue the fight, he has withdrawn to commanding, saying the following:

"Ser Sorin is to lead a battle group to the bay and repel the waterbourne foe from taking the piers, boardwalk and shore. Ser Sorin, you have command of our first and second Battalion."

"Lord Bors, I believe, sir, you wanted to reach the sky. Gather your squadron at the starport and take to the air. Join our allies and push back the Panteer bombers that are enroute. Chances are.. they will go for that cruiser, or worse, the city."

"Lady Teral.. I am giving you command of a task force to head to your estate. I need not tell you the importance of denying the Rists access to your grounds. Take a detachment from third battalion.. we'll get you a shuttle. Meanwhile, I will task the Mandalorian.. Aubrei, to hunt down those heading for the estate of Cole, and those soldiers fled to the Yavon forest. Unaccounted for, their forces may yet cause problems."

"Have I missed anything?"

Chani rounds the disabled hovertank made ineffective by her lightsaber blade. Water wells up with every step of her boot sole into the grass and muck, the latter of which is thinned at the line of the forest thanks to the tree canopies. Mud clings to her boots and the hem of her robe, but her cowl still affords her some protection from the cascading rain. It's weighted state keeps it draped over her head rather than wrenched back by the wind. Vapors of smoke rise from the disabled turret on top, while the carved off main barrel of the tank is jutted out of the ground at an angle. It had clanged off the body of the vehicle before digging a deep divot into the earth by spearing into the mud and filling its bore with churned up ground. The crew is still inside.

Whether that's because the disabled engine has cut all power to the external hatches or if it's because they're afraid to expose themselves to the outside is anyone's guess. There's a narrow strip of ground between the tank resting on the field and the one that Ban had forced to tip over by carving through its repulsorlifts that Chani traverses while heading away from the treeline and towards the savannah. The raging fire still consuming one of the tanks spews black smoke into the sky and refuses to be dampened by the thunderstorm. Chani spares it a glance as the warm glow casts itself across her form, then looks out onto the field, where Panteer infantry and Alderaanian forces, accompanied by courtyard defenders, have clashed. Cortess seems to command the day, though Chani is oblivious to the intercepted communications and their ferried messages.

What she is not oblivious to is the cold light that beams from the heavens. Chani reflexively looks away from it and squints her eyes. Even her left hand lifts to combat it, shielding her gaze from the piercing searchlights as it tries to adjust out of the darkness. Her hand gradually lowers and her chin lifts to try to discern what's going on. Recognizing General Cara Dune's flagship, Chani lets out a small sigh of relief before joining those starting to gather around Sir Lars. Chani deactivates her lightsaber and stands near the edge of the ring, face hidden by the shadows cast from the cowl because of the numerous conflicting sources of light. Alderaan's First Sword quickly relays orders while Chani scans the crowd in search of familiar faces, hoping to see all those she'd known to be with them prior to their advance into Bastion.

"This disabled tank's crew remains inside. They've lost all power. Perhaps they can be taken into custody."

Ulani do what Ulani do best. Soaked to the bone and crouched ankle-high in mud, she keeps her precious datapad clear as much as she can; her hand wiping the screen every so often as she works. The feed broadcast from the enemy forces chills her far more than the freezing rain has. More in her element, the weight of taking a life sinks into the background of her mind. A mess to unpack quietly later.

Maintaining the open feed into the Panteer chatter, Ulani rises and slops closer to Bors, her boots squelching with mud-thick suction as she goes. Still hunched to protect the datapad, Ulani begins working on her next task. <"Ulani here. If they're commanding a multi-pronged attack, they are definitely tracking their own forces. I'll try to get into their network: find the enemy placements. If I can get the information, we may gain some advantage in our advances.">

Sorin manages to slide down off the Panteer repulsor-tank as it lands on its side, escape made that much easier by the motorized servos built into the powered armor. The cheers of those nearby are met by a fist held forward, crystalline blade upright, in battlefield salute. But then Ser Lars begins rallying those within range of his voice, and Sorin approaches as well.

The First Sword tasks Ser Sorin with the defense of the shoreward approaches, from beaches to boardwalk, and the knight of Alderaan offers a respectful half bow in acknowledgement. "None shall make shore, My Lord."

Stepping away from the cluster of soldiery surrounding the First Sword, Sorin approaching a smoking wreck and switches comms. <"Command staff, First and Second Battalions, report to the southernmost burned out Panteer armor for field brief. I -- Ser Sorin Endesea -- will be waiting here for you to determine next course of action." As he awaits, officers of those two named battalions begin moving in his direction.

"Aye, I shall take to the air and within my element best serve. Alderaan has the New Republic support and my chariot awaits." Bors carbine is shouldered and the visor of his helmet has been lifted. Bodies all around both friend and foe with his chest still rising and falling with his breaths.

Thin lines of moisture cut through the smoke staining his skin and the dirt that has collected since the fighting started at the palace. Head turning momentarily towards Ulani, looking at her wounds with the frown on his face cutting deeper. "I'll collect others as I go and we shall flock to descend." more concern and weariness for his searching of the red headed woman again and then towards Sorin and Lars, if he can find them. Rune who had been valiantly acting as aegis.

But there are breaths pulled in, filled with tibanna smoke, fumes and the reek of the battlefield, some of the cloak of the youth he still manages to hold returning and the resolve that's kept him marching, so to speak, among the New Republic's Starfighter Corps. His arm lifts and the comm light turns gold,

<<"Uypiia, send the house pilots to the hangars. I shall be taking to my wings."

Ban Iskender remains astride the overracer as Lars directs their remaining forces. Silently, he checks sensors to take count of the losses suffered by the cavalry squadron. As assignments are doled out, the mounted nobleman voices to Sorin, "The dragoons will ride to your support if you have need, Ser. Until then, may the Force be with you all." Commands are given for the riders to continue pursuit into the woods.. and toward those moving on the Cole Estate.

Maybe he should have been doing this all along, for as Rune advances on the enemy, they turn and run. He stops in place to watch idly as the forces flee back from where they came,a final explosion signifying the end of the armor attack. With a sigh he depresses the button on his hilt, calling the verdant blade to shrink until it winks from existence. Rune spares one final look at the departing foe, making sure this isn't a tactic to catch them off guard, before he moves over to Ariel to offer her a hand.

"Sorry, I was not quick enough." He admits, hoping to help her traversal to the gathering at the tanks easier with the wounds she sustained. The trek is made long by the rain soaked cloth that covers his form, a free hand pushing back the cowl to loose his unruly wet hair. Thus it was that the search lights found him, blinking up at the piercing bright white that scans the gore and mud soaked fields. Grimly he steps over body after body, too many of those lying still are from the defense of the land.

When Rune arrives at the downed tank where Ser Lars is giving orders, he nods slowly toward Chani, the weariness showing on his face at the battle won. More issues are given individuals and Rune gently pats Bors on the shoulder, a fleeting smile shifting from his lips almost as quickly as it arrived.

Ariel looks up when she's offered a hand, a smile given to Rune, "You have nothing to apologize for. You've got a million things to worry on, sir." she dips her head to him. "Thank you for the assistance." she tells him softly. She then gives her attention when she hears orders given to her by General Dune, "I'll not fail." she states with a nod. She'd have to explain to her grandmother if stuff went downhill and while she was growing to love the woman she didn't want to get kicked off the planet. Or dead.