Log:New Alderaan: Defend the Beach

Ser Sorin leads the defense of Droalder Bay

OOC Date: November 2, 2021
Location: Droalder Bay
Participants: New Alderaan, Sorin Endesea, Aubrei, Bors Thul, Chani Tahn, Ban Iskender, Ariel Teral, Rune, Aryn Cortess

Ser Lars Syrush has resorted to commanding the remaining forces in the city after divesting authority for the defense of the bay to Ser Sorin. First and Second battalions from the Alderaanian regulars have arrived ahead of schedule to man the defense points along the boardwalks and port. It's to be a key battle and evidently the last push of enemy forces to reach the palace and tear down the banners.

Senior officers and members of the last defense assemble to hear Ser Sorin's brief and receive orders for placement.

There are three key locations that must repel enemy assault. There are two piers that serve as good landing points from further out in the bay, then there is a central pier in the middle of the bay where a tower is erected and used to direct boat-bound traffic. Weapons have been placed in the tower to help blast at boats coming into the bay. Meanwhile the far left and far right piers (the ones that are extended further into the bay) will only have infantry positions to hold them.

Intelligence indicates a large waterbourne force is incoming, ETA unknown.

Aryn stands off to one side, muddied and drenched from the mess of battle that had occupied her through out the night. She looks exhausted and drained of energy, yet present and alert. She partakes what chow has been passed out to the troops to replenish energy, and pauses long enough to drink a large portion of water from a canteen.

The harbor is not only a natural point of assault, it represents a critical point of infrastructure from which to coordinate Panteer reinforcements should it fall. To prevent the city's capture, the port /must/ remain in loyalist hands. In the hands of those sworn to its defense. There is simply no alternative.

Misery. It's what rain brings to a battlefield, and tonight is no different. Soldiers of the 1st and 2nd Battalions have been hard at work with what amounts to a hasty defense, foxholes dug into bare earth, sandbagged field emplacements for heavy weapons teams, and churned mud is /everywhere/. Amid the backgroun din of falling drops, Ser Sorin, of House Endesea, addresses those present.

"This has been a difficult day, and a more difficult night. And here, in this place, perhaps the hardest of all decisions will be made. The decision as to who will own this city by break of day."

He pauses, to let the import of this defense sink in.

"I say to you that it will not be Panteer. Not while we live and breath, it will not. This harbor..." A gauntleted hand sweeps to indicate the three piers, two of which now contain an assortment of obstacles, and are ranged in on by rings of lightly entrenched defenders just beyond. "Is the key to Bastion. Hold the habor, and we hold Basion. Lose it, and we fight from the forests, and hills, from here on our. And that will not happen. To each of you here, my gratitude for your effort, and your belief that Panteer flags will never fly here."

Sorin withdraws his sword, crystal singing against scabard, and it is held high. "To Victory!" he shouts. And the members of the two battalions present, easily some eight hundred soldiers strong, erupts in cheers.

The knight then turns to those nearest him, those Alderaanian nobility, retainers, and close allies, and the senior staff of both battalions. "We're dug in, as well as can be. I've relied upon the subject matter experts to position their units as best fits this situation." He indicates the officers present, "Support them as you support the Princess, and we shall not lose. Not here."

As night continues to fall, rifles are sighted, repeaters dialed in to kill zones, and mortar and rocket teams prepare their munitions to be expended, in great number, very shortly.

"Fake guards, soldiers, tanks, Rist assassins, starfighters, and now ships. Aren't they running out of stuff, yet?" Chani asks the question sidelong to the Princess of Alderaan. Standing near the blond noble, Chani is equally as messy, though the dark brown of her robe and the brown leather of her boots wear the caked mud better than the once-crisp and fashionable garments donned by Alderaan's leader. Chani's chin turns up towards the night sky and she draws in a long, deep breath. "I'm not even sure what time it is. The palace seems like forever ago." The sun had been fading on the Princess' court when the assault first began and had dragged into the night. The rainy battle on the savanna that followed also seemed eternal.

Chani diverts her attention back to the ocean stretching away from the port. It's impossible to make out where the horizon meets the sky, but it's out there, somewhere, beyond the lapping waves that churn around the piers and stir beneath the docks. "I want some muja fruit. And a dento bean bun. You ever have them?" Chani glances at Aryn while speaking. "They're both from Naboo. I'll bring some for you sometime if you haven't. I think you'd like them." Despite her straight posture, there's a huskiness to her voice. Some of her blinks are slow. In her right hand, she holds the metal cylinder of her lightsaber. It has scarcely had time to rest against her left hip. "At least the sight is beautiful."

Ban Iskender had emerged from the last battle with body and speeder intact; alas the same could not be said of all his dragoons, some having been wounded, others 'unhorsed', and some slain. The captain stands with back straight and head high, posture impeccable, despite weariness and weather. His fine green half-cape is burned in places by blaster fire, hanging heavy and sodden by the rain. Ban stands beside his hovering overracer, nodding once to Sorin's oration and orders. "Dragoons stand by for rapid response, as you direct, Ser." As wet as all else is, only Ban's tone remains dry as he notes to Chani, "It would seem we have a talent for finding battles that live on overnight, Mistress Tahn."

The slow trickle of water down the front of Aubrei's visor creates a minor distortion of the already chaotic field. Food had been swallowed in haste and now Aubrei is quickly checking her power cells and taking a moment to catch her breath and let her muscles relax. She aches some and the slow ease of her weight back and forth indicates that the time spent in service here has been long and difficult one. She rolls her shoulders and the moment SOrin begins to speak she looks up, her head turning as the night vision stirs his image across her view. A faint nod is given with no words to add but she listens. Her fingers flex on her held weapon and as Sorin calls out to victory she makes a sound, calling back even if she feels the call for rest pulling at her last reserves. They have this. They must. Sorin is not incorrect and she straightens up quickly, stretching and arching her back to relieve the tension.

She awakens her form with a light shift back and forth.

Ariel's back in action again. There was some protesting from her guards, but, she didn't want others to fight when she was more than capable to as well. She is equipped better this time with a blaster and her baton. Maybe she was going to light up someones life tonight. It was still early!

Hunkered by a bit of stone and scrabbly grass rests, leaning against the stone and nodding to himself after a few taps to his wrist mounted datapad uploads the ammunition counter readout to the monocle before his right eye, one foot tapping a slow rhythm while his hands go to their work, uploading data,

"I'll eat when I am hungry and I'll drink when I am dry, get drunk whenever I'm ready, get sober by and by, and if this hyperlane don' lose me, it's down there I mean to roam; for I'm a hyperlaner and I'm far away from home." the cadence setting his pace. Straps checked, clips, blade in its' hangar and updates tapped into the datapad.

<<"Black Seven in position.">> chiming in over the comms now, a little off from the main pack - the methods drummed into his head by Dameron and Pava having become instinct. Looking up and towards the bay, a little wistful toned.

"For I'm a hyperlaner, and I'm far away from home..." Bors grins at the last and looks about himself, not a bad patch picked out.

Rune had come to learn the finer art of diplomacy and ended up in a war. He leans against a railing to gather a bit of rest in the brief respite from fighting, though there seemed no break from the weather. The rain had been a near constant companion since the defense began and Rune does his best to resist the shivers that threaten to take his spine. Though trying to relax, his hand clench in the chilly air, knuckles white with the exertion.

There are a number of nods from Rune while listening to Sorin's speech, though the cheer that rises meets a grim return, his lips drawn in a thin line. His hazel gaze shifts out to the sea while the knight turns to speak to those near, these quiet words also receiving an acknowledgement of grave import. He's tired, very tired, the battles haven't been easy and the travel has been far, now they find themselves back near the city with another front to defend. At least, as Chani said, they must be running out of options at this point, though he wouldn't put it past them to drill up through the crust.

After all the words had been spoken, defenses prepared, and the plan set, Rune pushes himself to a stand, stretching awkwardly with more than one wince. A sigh brushes past his lips and he nods finally, this time to himself, affirming that he is, in fact, ready to do battle once more. The trusty black metal cylinder lies cold in his grip, the surface just beginning to warm to his touch, and his eyes search the horizon for the enemy that comes, peering into the gloom that assails them.

"I truly wish they would," run out of things, that is, comments a tired sounding Aryn. A nervous laugh follows and she passes her water to the next person; someone who looked like they needed it more than she. Chani's comment about the time conceives an urge for Aryn to check her own chrono, but she remembers she had taken it off prior to court to prevent herself from looking at it and appearing bored or rushed in front of subjects. She regretted it now. When Chani asks about Muja fruit and Dento bean buns, Aryn shook her head no. "Anything sounds good about now. I feel as if I could eat a large meal, and pass out beside the warmth of a crackling fire listening to the rain against the window." Aryn's voice drifts, and her gaze turns toward the view prompted by Chani's 'at least the sight is beautiful.' True.

The backdrop to Ser Sorin is the glittering sea beneath the binary moons' lunar glare. Tall mountains align the bay with white snowcapped tops and spiky pine trees that sway with each icy coastal breeze. Waves wash in constantly, providing the ambience that sneaks through the chatter of soldiers and movement of gear. At the assembly area, the very place the officers are addressed, the low rumble of Dragoon engines idling is heard, their riders unsheathing their blades at the call for stand by.

Rain begins to fall harder just as the illumination mortars are released over the bay. Two bright lights ignite and begin to saunter down, casting a glare over the small navy of ships rushing inland and toward the port. Almost immediately, gun emplacements along the shore, and on the central tower, begin to fire. Laser bolt tracers crisscross over the open sea, each finding random marks along the way. In the distant bay, something alights to a loud explosion with a towering flash of flames, showing shadows of more troop carrying vessels. It's going to be a hell of a fight.

Aryn sets out to the beach and to the LEFT side pier to help the infantry hold it from the beach. It's not long after that boarding crafts drop their ramps and Panteer soldiers rush down the docks of the port to try to reach the beach. Their war cries are loud, and they cut through the first rank with blaster fire and grenades, trudging into the sand and beach to meet with the entrenched Alderaanians for, hopefully, the last time.

Those mortar-delivered star shells, drifting slowly to sea, make it clear this is going to be a real fight. As both repulsor and conventional landing craft drop ramps and debark their horders of Panteer soldiery, Sorin takes up position with an E-Web equipped heavy weapons team positioned to provide enfilade - flanking - fire against the right pier. The pier that seems to be receiving the bloodiest attention at present. The pier itself is relatively devoid of cover, lending an almost perfect setup for the heavy repeater. "Keep them on the pier," Sorin urges the team, as red bolts lance out to wash the pier, and many of its invaders, with tibana-excited death.

The light show is brilliant. Oscillating salvos of fire errupting from the various emplacements blitz through the night. The hard rain that's falling amplifies the vivid red that plays across her features and her robes. It taints the beads of water starting to form on the ends of her lashes. Chani blinks and follows the Princess, boots carving divots into the sand and creating a wet rasp as the granular ground is displaced. It's growing more compact because of how much its soaking up, but it's still loose. She trades sand for the material of the peer, with her boots grating in subtle, gravelly grinds of loose sand against the pier. Her robe becomes heavier. She sheds it, shaking her shoulders back and working her arms until the garment falls in a heap.

The loud cacophony of soldiers screaming their battle cries resounds out in the darkness. Chani answers them with noise, but it's not her voice. Depressing the activation stud on her lightsaber, the light cast around her by overhead lamps is tainted by the vivid cyan of her blade as it coalesces with a quiet snap-hiss. Rain sizzles against it and evaporates on contact so fast that there's not even steam left behind. It's flash-boiled and gone. The charging soldiers are met by Chani, who carves a wide arc in front of her. Her lightersaber growls quiet, like a hunting Nexu, and one of the more ambitious soldiers finds his blaster rifle cleaved from him when he snaps it up towards her. Another retreats, avoiding the same fate.

Ban Iskender draws a slow, savoring breath through the nose as he hears Aryn describe listening to rain beside a fire. The breath is let out slow and measured. Then the flares go up and the sight of an incoming flotilla is revealed. "It begins," he notes without ornament, turning to remount his hovering steed. Drawing and igniting his radiant green sword, Ban offers salute to Sorin and a bow in the saddle to Aryn, before accelerating toward the pier not yet facing a Jedi. Lightsaber is raised in a final salute to the enemy before slashing downward in his first mortal blow of the engagement. Two invaders are slain, before a third dives out of Ban's reach.

<"Here they come..."> The rain obscures and makes the images less clear but Aubrei steps forward and bringing up the cumbersun net gun she aims for the motions that are not falling downwards. There are no allies in the direction she aims and with a centered focus she pulls the trigger. The recoil hits her armored shoulder and she grunts but the net is already sparking in the air from its collision course with a multitude of never ending rain drops. The net slams into one, winging him but tangling another two in its suddenly glowing edges and there is a delighted sound that is emitted through her vocoder. A cheer of some sort that is digitalized. Three tumble to the ground useless in that moment and receiving an extra bit of fun thanks to the current weather.

She can not help but pick out her next target. Success.

The sight of the falling illumination mortars over the bay would be truly a sight, the gentle light reflecting on the waves as they pull in to lap gently against the shore. But what the light illuminates this time is breathtaking, unfortunately it is for an entirely different reason. The scores of boats carrying enemies are brought into sight with the illumination that falls around them and, with a silent prayer to the Force, Rune ignites his lightsaber, making his way quickly toward the right pier to assist efforts there.

"Stand strong, believe in yourselves, trust in the Force, and we will prevail." The black and brown clad Jedi calls to the rush around him as they make their way toward the offensive. "For Bastion!" Rune cries as he charges the first that dare to disembark onto the platform already swarming with soldiers. The first clash of weapons sees his emerald blade parting a raised gun, the verdant column continuing past in its sweep to fell the solider behind it. He turns for a second strike, pivoting on his backfoot to cleave at a fellow about to do harm to a compatriot. Sadly that attack misses and it would be much more the pity if his follow through hadn't caught that particular enemy off-guard, dropping another aggressor to the wet surface as war cries erupt all around in the met charge.

Tucking further down when the illuminators are up and trying his best to put the stone between he and the initial volleys of blasterfire, Bors's expression is a fixed grin, almost a rictus. Head dipping slowly, finding the rhythm of the shooting in his vicinity - such as it is. The gaps are minimal, but they're there.

"Bah-bah-buhhhhh... buh-buh-BUH-buhhhh..." Yes. He's found it and the fact that he's found it is enough to make the man a bit giddy despite the volume of fire shrieking back and forth by his position. It's there! That glorious moment when the cadence falls into place. Why he could be at a marriage reception he's so gleeful now! "Staaaaars! Touchin' Staaaaaaars! Reachin' out! Touchin' me! Touchin' yoooooou!" and suddenly he is up from cover, stock of the carbine tucked in and firing one handed while the other is out in exaltation.

"SWEEEEET ELLLLLLLONWYYYYY!" SHONNK! SHONNK! SHONNK! "GRAND TIMES NEVER SEEMED AS SOOOOO!"

The victim of his most recent foray into impromptu battlefield musical tumbling backwards back into the surf with carbon sored pits dug into their center of mass. A light show from The Stone and Grass Tuft Theater. Possibly another reason people had left Bors's Rock to Bors?

Directed blaster fire lights up the right pier and personnel are caught out in the open without cover. Heavy repeating blasters fire at rapid rates of fire, pouring into the thickest crowds where fighting appears to be the bloodiest. It has a marked effect, and the right pier begins to shape up, with ranks from the second battalion finally getting the time they needed to shore up their defenses.

Meanwhile, the center is holding its rank through heavy blaster fire. More and more explosions occupy the center of the bay giving it an orange glare. Another set of illumination shells are shot up into the air and made to saunter down; their glare revealed a shift in fighting that now favored the left. Despite being bolstered by a number of combatants, the sheer number of troops storming the beach break through, and now fighting is sporadic along the beach and sand.

Among those number now on the left is Aryn, who gets knocked down in the chaos of all the fighting, and partially trampled before managing to emerge out from the side. By then, she realized the left line was broken, and before she could do anything about it, she was set upon by a group of soldiers that sent her back stepping into the sea. A wave crashed against her back as she brought the lightsaber to life. Two men lunged for successful strikes with their swords and were met with the burning cut of her lightsaber. Aryn's weapon glided through their armor with ease, emerging from each strike with a plume of embers cast from their body. She stood strong to fight the third, but a heavy wave cracked against her back and sent her stumbling, thankfully away from the soldier who swung their sword and missed as a result.

Sorin's direction of the right flanking E-Web team is conducted as he examines the battlefield as a whole. And the seemingly near-collapse of the left pier's ringing defenses draws his attention, the knight of Alderaan's eyes going wide at the sight - and further prospects - of a hard pressed defensive line.

"Keep them on the pier!" he urges the heavy weapons team, which is successfully doing just that, and begins to sprint in the direction of that beleaguered pier's defenders. Along the way he passes a squad of Alderaanian infantry belonging to the 1st Battalion, not yet dug in, and exhorts them to to follow. "Follow!" he shouts, voice lightly vocoded. "You are needed!"

His entourage melts into the conflict just as Sorin meets the first of many Panteer soldiers pressing onto land. There is a flash of that curved crystalline blade as a thrust penetrates just beyond the edge of an armored chest plate. Battle is met.

Ban Iskender senses a blast sent his way, and leans slightly to one side, the shot missing by meters for that small adjustment at speed. Forced to slow the speed of his swoop by the press of friends and foes on the center pier. Not the best deployment for light cavalry, and even Ban struggles to keep from being mired down and trapped in the press of battle. His saber flashes to each side, cutting down a further pair of Panteer mercenaries. <<"Dragoons, stand-">> a moment as Ban finds himself hard pressed, <<"Stand ready to charge.">>

Ariel wings someone and there is a momentary feeling of elation...but it doesn't last when she almost gets hit and she's ducking to try to skirt away from things. Boy this was tough! She gives a yelp as she springs up to fire at the enemy again...but misses, shots going wide. It makes her feel bad, "Alright Ariel you're a pretty face not a soldier, but we can work with it..." she mutters to herself.

Falling back, and down, when the whistling scream of super heated air and flash vaporized moisture is Dopplering past his ears, Bors is still laughing. "Mother, I haven't heard that in such a time." drawing up against his little bit of defensive position with a wild giggle in his chest, "Oh, Bors. You scallywag."

A hunk of red glowing stone impacts his shoulder pad, throwing off his balance and inclining him to lift his blaster up with a single eye peeping out. Blaster firing in a wild sweep across the front line before he is scuttling from cover to find a new place to take his shots from.

"I was beginning to light that rock. Truly." popping his head up, "CADS!"

Language, Bors. You're drawing attention to yourself, you foole.

The intensity of the battle ramps from zero to full blown craziness in the span of a second. Soldiers are everywhere and the slick nature of the pier makes it difficult to hold ground. They're managing to do it somehow, forcing the attack back onto the boats and many of the aggressors into the water. Blaster fire rains around them while the sing of swords sounds in the air.

Likewise, Rune's lightsaber dips in and out of the foe's line, the distinct hum of the weapon interrupted by the soft staccato sound of rain that vaporizes upon contact with the blade. The young Jedi shoves back snarling faces that appear from the sea, the lot of the enemy about him doing their best to hamper that illuminated blade. Rune finds himself wrapped in arms and hands, the swings of his blade ineffective in the limited motion he's given. Grunting, the Ossus native kicks and struggles, trying to free himself from the grip of the Panteer.

The cry from the left draws his attention, when he has a moment to breathe that is. After he shoves a soldier aside, their sword slicing a line across the cloth of his torso, he finds the other green blade on the pier to call, "Should we assist the left?! They seem to be overwhelmed!" As if their own situation was a walk in the park.

The LEFT side has not come under control yet, and more Panteer spill to the beach eager for blood. There is spread out fighting along the shore line where the cold waves wash in and spread over the sand. Rain continues to fall, thunder rumbles, and the flash of crisscrossing lanes of blaster fire illuminate the sea that's still under the glare of two sauntering illumination charges. Everything is utter chaos giving truth to the wise old saying that plans do not outlive the first contact with the enemy.

The center pier continues to hold out against all odds, its defensive guns firing at the cyclic rate now. Landing craft continue to get picked apart there, transforming into combusting slag or sinking ships. People are in the water, doing their best to swim to the pier. Most are drowning from the combination of cold water and heavy gear; the shock.

Aryn tumbles beneath a pair of attacks, rising back up to swing gracefully. She cuts down a pair of soldiers and misses a third, who fell back to avoid the sapphire blade. Aryn brings the blade orientation back to her, close at hand in case she must defend. Her teeth chatter from the cold chill of being wet from the sea, and rain, and the coastal breeze that carries stabbing pangs of icy breath.

Sorin is not the lynchpin to this whole operation. Not a grand strategist, nor an Academy trained or battlefield honed tactician. And so when he is set upon by Panteer invaders, in the form of a vibro-pike impacting and then glancing off his suit's durasteel chest plate, and a bolt of bright crimson sizzling into and divoting the armor upon his left leg, the battle is overly jeapardized. But it /is/ jeapardized. A battle's appointed commander wading into the front lines is for stories, or very, very desperate moments.

Sorin is a knight. He is not a military commander. And he has over-extended himself. Realizing this, he does not advanced, though he does not retreat. The left-side beach is stabilizing, a fact attested to by the friendly soldiers of 1st Batallion pushes forward to his left and right. Sorin, though, is listening to comms, and the do not paint a pretty picture when it comes to the pier he had just left. An escalation has been achieved, as landing craft continue to pour Panteer troopers into battle, and the defenders... are being stressed. Very hard.

<"Lord Ban,"> he calls over the radio net. <"Any cavalry you can spare, in a push to right, would be of great help. We cannot let them off the pier. Coordinate with heavy weapons team on this channel to ensure you don't ride into fire.">

That message delivered, hopefully to success, Sorin wades forward, back into battle at the left pier. "To the pier!" he calls. "Push them back, into the sea!" A slice is cut at a Panteer in his way.

Ban Iskender answers Sorin, glad for the hands-free nature of a helm's built in comms. <<"Understood. Dragoons: cgarge unto the right, strike down any foemen in the breach. Ride, now. Captain Iskender to heavy weapons TEAms-">> A shudder of exertion alters his voice as he strikes down an enemy. "Cease fire on the easternmost pier on my mark: ....">> He strikes down another pair, before turning an eye toward where the Black Rider, brandishing the squadron's ensign leads a speeder bike charge of sword, blaster, and force pike armed troopers, at roaring speed. <<"Heavy weapons, cease fire.">>

Aubrei manages to stay out of the path of anything headed her way and as she comes back up, having to dodge and weave around those that are two close and whirls around and aims at an incoming group that is heading in their direction. She braces herself into position and the snare gun recoils, hitting her shoulder again as another three are left prone on the ground. ZZZZT. The sound of the net connecting with the rain is something to hear, another appreciative moment as blue charge arcs across the surface here and there as it takes down another bundle.

<"Just keep running at me...it seems I can do this all night."> She remarks over the sound of the rain. She grips firmly, trying to keep her footing on the slick ground. She has to spread her feet wide to keep from ending up on her backend

Ariel's trying to hit makes her become a target and she's hit in the arm and the leg. Which means she's wobbling when she brings her blaster up next. If she was breathing she was going to shoot something. It was just one of those mental mindsets that she had. She didn't want to give up and let folks down. When did he end up on the ground? Face in the sand...

"Oh..."

You drew attention to yourself, foole. Coughing and rolling onto his back and then back over again to his hands and knees, Bors's memory of the last couple seconds is blank; but who enjoys the memory of being shot. Granted there -has- to be some weirdos out there. Not Bors though, he has a refined sense of taste. No gleeful reminding of being shot in the chest. Most uncouth.

The call comes for assistance, a push to the right, and Lord Thul answers with the small aid he can provide. Spraying fire in the directions of the right pier while he is on the move, headed for fresh defilade to settle in at, gasping for air and gingerly touching his chest a pair of inches from the blaster scoring in his vest,

"Ow..." breathing shallow.

It's almost as if the invaders heard his question and decided to give him a reason to stay, how dare he think this pier was doing well? More landing craft appear at the edge of their defense and swarm to attack, the right pier now feeling the brunt of the combat as the defense is pushed toward the beach. "Get off!" Rune shouts as he kicks one of the opposition away, their grip finally sliding free from his sword arm to allow him some mobility.

The Ysannan manages to slice at the soldier he kicked away, their return to try and prevent him from getting free being met with a swift end instead. More fall back from his attack when another is dropped by his blade, the green line disappearing for a moment only to appear from the back of a foe before it's yanked free. The Jedi attempts to turn the tide, swinging wildly in a bid to drive back the Panteer soliders from the pier, aiming to dunk them in the water rather than let them touch land.

The order given by Ban is two fold, and it's sounded by a loud horn followed by a roar akin to lions; mounted warriors follow the Black Rider to the eastern most pier just as the heavy weapons hear and comply with the cease fire. The cavalry is a surprise to the eastern pier, and Panteer soldiers are suddenly over run. The mounted cavalry not only take back the ground that had been lost, but they ride onto the pier stabbing, shooting, and blasting. The bulk of the forces are split down the center as the riders deny the enemy room to embark on their assault; instead, they're cast from the docks and into the icy depths of the water, or slain where they stand. The right side of the pier is conquered, and a series of anti-materiel rockets are fired from the Dragoons to collide with other war craft inbound, leaving the right side in a 'clean up' state.

The left side is suddenly given aid to by the heavy repeaters that had been used to fire on the right. It shows marked improvement against the numbers there, but not near enough to make a huge difference or repel the enemy assault. From above, in troop carrying shuttles, Alderaanian forces arrive to reinforce the left side. The one responsible is rappelling down the fast ropes to join the troops. <<"This is Lady Kiko, I've arrived with elements of the fourth battalion.. we're here to reinforce!">>

Lady Kiko lands in the sand, taking a moment to bring up her rifle and move forward. Troopers land behind her, unclip, then follow their Commander's lead.

Overall, the center defense continues to hold. The Right side has been completely reclaimed by the Dragoons, and the left is all that remains. The last effort of troops pour in from the left, and the fighting intensifies!

The battle appears to be turning, but a cornered foe is made more dangerous, and the Panteer being pushed back - slowly but surely - cane almost certainly feel the sea at their backs. To be pushed into the sea is death. It makes, in some cases, for a more tenacious fighter, staring back at you.

Sorin, who has moved to a heavy repeater nest that is lancing fire along the Panteer avenue of retreat, makes radio calls on the incoming 4th Battalion's command net. "Good to see you, Lady Kiko. Perfect timing, and we're thankful for your assistance." The incoming troopers of Lady Kiko's unit are partially covered by the stacatto bursts of crimson lancing out from the E-Web nests now fully engaging the enemy. They apply direct fire and also provide a curtain of death restricting Panteer movement.

Ban Iskender salutes the dragoons as the riders roast past, a cheer raised by the hard beset infantry who had been pushed to breaking. No infantryman *likes* the cavalry. They're arrogant, they get better gear and quarters, and they're dashing bastards. No one likes the cavalry.. until they charge. <<"This is Captain Iskender: the foe has been broken on the eastern pier. Enemy watercraft are being reduced by rocketry. The right is held.">>

The once serene beach has lost its tranquility for Chani. For some, it is the final resting place. They know true silence. The dead float in the water. Their blood washes ashore, frothing and swirling about bodies trapped where the tide ceases its own assault up the sand. Lana Panteer's forces do not know the meaning of retreat. Their zeal almost won them the right pier and now the left is the site of their fervent attention. Chani is not oblivious to the craft that come sweeping in, but she pays it no heed. Rather than cast a glance in Lady Alde's direction, she's busy turning attention away from herself. She does so with the cyan blade of her lightsaber, the column of light yanked into place in front of her torso with a simple adjustment.

Blaster bolt deflected, Chani cleaves through the end of a blaster rifle with a haphazard carve that comes from a circular flick of her wrist and the blade before her producing a more exaggerated circle at the tip. She misjudges the distance after a quick duck backwards and a turn to the right, meaning the short, diagonal chop started with the tip of her blade angled towards her left shoulder and ending with it slightly off the same line as her right hip. Chani yanks her blade up to level, ready to contend with the next battle and keeping her feet moving. Some preternatural guidance keeps her from tripping over the bodies strewn around her with smoking holes in their armor and the light gone from their eyes.

The pier is slick with rain. And with blood.

That gun is coming in handy and she is keeping her own hands away from the business end lest she manage to shock herself by accident. She watches as others fall and the beautiful dance of sabers and blades alike create a rather fluid backdrop to her own focus. She can hear the calls of the others, but the rain dulls out the cries and what they are exactly for. Pain? Aid? Victorious or not? It is all one and the same in the muddy, rain filled environs.

She makes out Sorin and the others who have become far more familiar over the days she has spent with them. She slides in the mud and as she aims the gun jerks back and she lets out a sound, feeling her shoulder tilt out of the way and suddenly cause her to end up on her rear. SLURP. She struggles to get up.

"Next time I'm insisting on their being something to call in for air support." shaking his head and re-angling. The right flank secured and his vantage good to sight down his scopes to the left. Drawing the priming bolt to load an overcharge of tibanna into the pressurizing chamber, Bors starts a slow walk to narrow distance as to get a better sight on the foeman... singing again.

"Well the owners wrote 'er off. Not a centicred what they spent. She gave twenny years of service, boys, then met 'er sorry end. But insurance paid the loss to us, so let her rest below. Then they said we had to go."

A pair of blaster bolts for the quarry, one creating salted steam and the other spinning a figure on their heel to the side with the crimson dart charring armor plate in the wake of the small explosion,

"We talked of 'er all winter, some days around the clock. She's worth a quarter million, a'floatin' in dry dock! And with every jar that hit the bar we swore we would remain and swore we'd make the Arry'Ella Carder fly again!"

At least the cadence is keeping him rhythm again. Dock songs... But it works... ?

The press by the Dragoons save the day when the enemy force is bisected and pressed from the pier. Many of the opposition fall into the water, dragged down by their heavy gear or the simple shock from dropping into icy water. But the day is not won yet, the left pier still is under attack though the forces of defense appear to be pushing them back. On his own pier there are many that remain, still hungering for the blood of those simply protecting their land, keeping invaders from taking the palace and overthrowing all they believe in.

Rune is here to help with that cause, his lightsaber doing the diplomacy for him as he darts among the foe and thins their ranks. Two more fall to his slashes, their bodies toppling from the docks to disappear into the sea, the third that was to meet his attack simply turns to dive into the water, leaving his fate to the sea rather than face the two Jedi on the pier. The rain soaked Initiate stands with a blazing beacon of green, hazel eyes turning this way and that as he looks for any others that dare try to invade the territory that is not theirs to claim.

The left pier becomes the focus of the defense and the Panteers, with no cover to mitigate the incoming fire, face the full force of incoming fire. Those who persist on the beach are beginning to find fervent resistance as they cross blades whilst those atop the docks and exiting landing craft are robbed of life almost the moment they emerge from the protective walls of their crafts.

Aryn is in combat near the water, twisting and cutting. It had become such a response that when Kiko shot down the final soldier threatening Aryn, she turned to Kiko and raised her lightsaber.

"HEY!" Kiko yelled, breaking through the focus of the young blonde who had to blink and express confusion to realize the person she was oriented toward was not foe. "Kiko?" Aryn asked, weary and shivering. Kiko answered by moving forward to embrace Aryn in a hug; the lightsaber deactivating.

First Battalion, reinforced with Fourth, and aided by heavy laser fire, successfully repel the final assault, shooting down the last of the soldiers to leave the pier empty, and bay full of dead, dying, and burning vessels. Scouts along the bay relaying numbers of incoming ships fire up red flares to signal the bay was clear.

They had made it. Ser Sorin's defense won the night.

The battle doesn't simply die. It... fades. Reports of blaster bolts, mortar fire, and the rocketry that eliminates the landing craft still at sea begin to lessen as targets become scarce. The peace that eventually falls upon the shoreline, and the three piers that jut from it, prompts the first truly weary breaths from Sorin. Adrenaline driven, he's reached that point of equilibrium between necessity and exhaustion.

"Well fought," he offers the troopers nearest him, before turning to look back down the beach. Aryn and Kiko's embrace draws the knight's eye, an action that heralds the destruction of the enemy. They would still be fighting, otherwise. Ariel, Rune, Chani, each observed down the beach, centers of resistance that had turned the tide. Bors and Aubrei and Ban beyond, yet further. Part of the enfilate fire that had so stoutly turned that Panteer tide. A warrior that sought to avoid the shedding of blood, whenever possible, providing her mettle and value yet again. And the Blackest of Riders, and his column of cavalry, delivery the coup de grace on that flank with brutality, and severity.

All well fought. And, Sorin thinks, please let this be the end. For fatigue was seeping deep, and he suddenly finds that even with the aid of his power armor's servos, what he really needs is that most un-infantry of things to desire.

A chair.

Silence. Not total silence, but the kind where there are no more heavy defense emplacements or repeating blaster cannons going off. Chani cants her head to the side, spilling rain down one cheek and across the curve of her nose. Her jaw works, and she tastes rain as her lips peel apart from one another. The cyan blade of her lightsaber angles slowly down towards the ground. It's light is cast over the dead. No shortage of them wear the blue of Alderaan forces aligned with Princess Cortess. Her thumb slips around the metal hilt of her lightsaber and bumps against the activation stud. It takes two motions for it to finally deactivate, causing the blade to retreat back into the emitter with a whispered hiss. Her posture fails her at that point.

Chani leans over to brace one hand against her thigh. Her other arm simply hangs, and water runs off the backs of her folded knuckles like individual waterfalls pattering onto the ground. Her body shivers and her lips do, too. When she rises to height, she does so with a slight tilt to her tors. Her left hand raises and sweeps, slow, methodical, across her forehead and her slicked back hair. It falls more than lowers, dropping back to her side when she turns towards the start of the pier and the beach. Barely glancing towards anyone, Chani heads for the crumpled up pile of robe near where the foundation of the pier turns into sand. Everywhere, the dead lay crumpled up. Dropped weapons are just as scattered.

She kneels down slowly to brace her knee against the ground. The soaked fabric of her pants clings to her skin and shapes around it in the process, defining the bony prominence where it touches. Her left hand's fingers wrap in a slow grip around the robe before standing up again, arm straightening out before it ever clears the ground. Some of it still drags, anyway, and the soles of her boots skim in quick rasps of movement. She begins moving back towards the staging area, looking to no one and saying nothing to the same.

Ban Iskender is fortunate enough to have a speeder bike to sit astride as the battle for Bastion's waterfront is won. A long, slow exhale, and the nobleman can let his mechanical steed do the work of keeping him moving as he oversees the taking of prisoners, and treatment of the wounded. The emerald sword is sheathed with a hiss. It will be some time before the officer is able to seek out his fellows.

Another rock! Jubilation!

Bors slips down to sit, blaster resting across his knees while he leans forward, elbows on thighs and hands on his weapon; ready to sweep it up again should the circumstances make call for it. Head low and breathing slow to get his bearings once more.

Long days and nights yet, air and forest and castle and sea now coming to this with Bastion and its surroundings washed red by all of this madness. All for a throne. Tucked away still as he is the Lord Thul removes the blast helmet and looks out over the waves again with the smile worn through the conflict wearing away like edges in a river until his expression has slipped to somber neutral. The only lines there having come with age and perhaps a few more gray hairs to join those already encamped at his temples and salting the thin beard that never quite seems fully shaved these days.

"Jolly good." a 'heh' of an exhale traipsing after the words, merry as can be.

Rune stands on the slick pier, the rain doing its part to wash away some of the horror of the evening. Breath coming rapidly, his chest rising and falling quickly, the novice Force user thumbs the activation button to retract the verdant blade with a squeal. Weary eyes find the remaining defense that stand nearby, the rest of his energy spent in nodding to them for thanks in their efforts. The cheers of victory go up from the exhausted soldiers, chasing what was left of the Panteer forces from the bay.

The tired and soggy Jedi makes his way back up the pier toward the beach, only realizing then just how far he was from the shore... the trip hadn't seemed so long when sprinting to the attack. One boot moves in front of the other, as the Ysannan sluggishly saunters back toward the land, just a bit longer, a little further and hopefully then... then he could rest.