Log:Slipping Through Fingers

The falling New Republic is driven from Bestine

OOC Date: January 31, 2023
Location: Bestine IV
Participants: Tamsin Cas, Xavier Harcourt, Galen Dawnstar, Terek Rosol, Midne, and Hadrix Kora as GM

Drop pods from the Star Destroyers in orbit were still falling, mixed with the boxy troop deployment craft falling and rising with their dorsal turrets raking the area surrounding the drop zones. Many of their like were smoking wrecks in impact craters or at the terminus of trenches dug into soil and duracrete by craft shot down by the AA guns and fighters that are absent now. Not enough to stop the onslaught. The last of the Republic fighters had been destroyed minutes ago, the smoke of its destruction added to the haze that fogged the ground forces fighting like guerillas now.

Small pockets of resistance holding open channels for the passage of refugees desperate to escape Bestine IV. Buildings were akin to broken bones and bent fingers reaching for the sky, places where they'd been reduced to rubble having become landing points for craft brave enough to weather the storm of TIEs screaming across the sky.

A handful of figures, battered, bloody and smoke stained were working their way from one scrap of cover to the next, diving behind barricades and gaining precious seconds of respite. Moments only long enough to look to one another before they plunge again into the thick of the fighting exodus, trying to find whatever cover they can.

One of those pockets of defense holds less than half a dozen figures in heavy armor, Mandalorians drawn by the promise of payment for services rendered, to load up craft and ferry the retreating off world. Many more mercenaries, crazy enough to accept the pay in spite of the risks. More than a third of those who responded already dead, and more than half of those who remain wounded.

<<"Mir, status?">> <<"Shields are holding, Pheegus is ready to boost.">> <<"Copy. Report when the hold is full.">> a moment to shift to external comms, enhancing his voice for the din of battle before Hadrix Kora calls out, <"DEFENDING LINE, COVERY FIRE!"> leaning from cover to launch a bolt of durasteel wrapped in green plasma towards the crimson line of Stormtroopers bearing down on their position. Not aiming specifically, just throwing fire to get heads down or make attackers flinch. Joined by golden and crimson blaster bolts from fellows following the command.

There were many drop ships lost in the initial salvo. The one in which the dark robed and masked Councilor stood, waiting, eyes on what could be seen of the landscape without word or action, was not one of them. It descended with almost preternatural speed and grace, managing to avoid the ground to air bombardment with ease. They offered no visible response to the danger. They simply waited, a single hand holding them upright in the descent. Once the landing alarm was sounded, they turned from the view to make their way to the exit ramp. "Your orders are clear. Eliminate the last of the resistance. Secure the planet and the starport. The ships above will ensure that nothing escapes the atmosphere for long."

The robe is on, the cigarette is snuffed out, the metal cyllinder is in his right hand but not yet activated. These are all telltale signs that Xavier is working. Boots on the ground, he exits the dropship with the Councillor and steps onto the battlefield. He is unmasked today, likely because he doesn't expect anyone who sees his face to live. That or he simply does not care if he is seen. Hood up over his head, he rolls his shoulder and takes a deep breath in. "Should make quick work of this," he says to the masked figure nearby. "Really, they should have folded when Chandrila fell, mm? They've picked their fates."

SN-6428 had been embedded on Bestine IV for a few days now. Sent ahead as a forward scout, as she usually was these days, the Mirialan had come as a 'civilian', masquerading as a trader from Taris. She was good at feigning accents and the posh, better-than-thee manner of Tarisian speech was particularly easy to mimic for someone that had spent most of the last year or so in the upper levels of Coruscant. Using her established cover name, Midne Starcaller, the perceptive woman remained in the city for nearly a week as she studied, memorized and reported any helpful details for the invasion to come.

When the invasion finally did come, she would have been near the city center itself knowing vaguely that the strike was to come soon but not specifically -when-. So she was only mildly surprised when it was. Taking cover in a corner cafe, after it had been bombarded, the Mirialan found herself peeking over a half-rubble wall dressed in the civilian armor she'd worn as part of her cover. Slinging her A280 over her shoulder, she primed the firing lever and the weapon hummed with latent energy as it powered on.

The Mirialan watched the firing line advance, giving her an opportunity to get herself behind enemy lines so-to-speak. But something stayed her firing arm and she remained content to observe for now, waiting. Deciding.

Galen had decided to come out and play with the Mercs. Not for the money not for the glory but because deep down he felt it was his duty. So here he is. Looking around at what's left of the folks he'd shown up with he glances towards Hadrix, "Got room for one more on your ship?" A glance is spared in the smoking crater of the transport he'd arrived on, "Mine seems to have left the oven on." The F-11S he's got slung is adjusted just a bit, "Also how long do you need to finish up loading folks?" The scope of his sniper rifle brought up as he sweeps for urgent threats to hit.

When Hadrix calls for aid, Terek answers. He wasn't about to turn down the chance to make a little bit of extra money at the same time. The Stellar Vupltex had been brought in to help evacuate people, the Rigger freighter currently being manned by Zee, who was wildly beeping over the comms to the cathar Mandalorian to update him with numbers of people aboard.

<"Yes I know Zee just try to get as many folks as you can abord."> And please save room for me, though Terek doesn't bother adding that last bit. The cathar is near Hadrix, taking cover for the moment as he peers over towards the approaching line of stormtroopers, "And I thought the white armored ones were easy to spot." He mutters, <"We're not going to be able to hold these guys for too much longer, Hadrix."> He chimes over comms towards his commander. His assessment of the situation, probably being a bit generous.

<"As long as it takes. Either full hold or when it's too thick to stick around.">

The dark armored figure responds to Galen before he is leaning out again to fire the big wookiee rifle gripped in his fists, again those tucked behind cover now shared with the sniper rifle wielding gent. A glance is taken over towards a heap of broken duracrete and smoking rubble where a craft painted much like filed smoke was tucked. Dribs and drabs of fleeing people rushing towards points being indicated by defenders.

Some being cut down by the ranked fire of crimson armored soldiers that continue to dog their heels.

<"By order of The Sovereign Empress Kessa, those who lay down arms and surrender unconditionally shall be taken into custody."> the phrase has been repeated since the ground fighting began, Sith Troopers with their helmet speakers on riot-broadcast being overheard even over explosions and the roar of dying buildings.

A rodian at the head of one particular group taking to a sprint with others behind, headed for barricades and fighting the urge to look back when one of theirs is cut down screaming to the battered, pitted, pavement. "Go! GO! GO!" a snivvian trailing from shorter legs urging them onward and looking almost tearfully toward a cluster of figures in New Republic gear massing fire and hurling ordinance. Opening a window in the incoming fire that cuts down a disheartening number of them.

<"The things of sagas and legends, eh?"> a glance from Al'Verde Kora to the cathar, seemingly ignorant of the blaster bolt shrieking past his shoulder or the rubble bouncing off of him, <"How long until the robe and jetii'kad crew join the fracas, you think?"> rifle lifted and the report like an artillery cannon, the recoil visibly shoving the big man back, forcing him to step back up to the line.

Crimson armored Sith Troopers press their advance, one thinning line of their front bolstered by the blocky frame of a trooper transport - drop-ramp strobes flaring to disorient before durasteel drops and soldiers are disgorged.

The Councilor moved without an audible word, a hand lifting to call a segment of the troopers with them, as they advanced on the seemingly civilian group. If that meant going through the line of remaining Republic solders, then so be it. The robed figure advanced, cutting the air as they found the range using what intimidation the blade brought to bear, one of the soldiers falling to their blade and being advanced over. A body was simply another obstacle, like formerly living rubble. The troopers followed in step, firing on the Republic soldiers. As one does.

'By order of The Sovereign Empress--'

Xavier has heard it so many times that it's basically a droning noise by this point. And people rarely listen to that advice anyways. Especially not these fools who are getting mowed down by the dozens. Instead he is listening for things out of the ordinary. Any kind of channel chatter, alarms, or voices in the fray.

His approach towards the fray is steady and calm. The screams of battle being the only place that drowns out the bickering voices in his head. A press of his thumb brings his crimson blade to life, answering that question which hangs forever over people's heads: will any Councillors show up?

A flurry of black robes moves away from his compatriot and a flash of red saber cuts a nice hole in the first line of Republic resistance.

Crouched behind the destroyed duracrete wall of the cafe and seeing the Sith advance on the Republic soldiers and mercenaries alike, SN-6428's black brows furrow. She hadn't been wearing a helmet, just a simple civilian suit of armor so as to better blend in, but when it was time to raise her rifle and join in on the assault, she had hesitation. From her position behind the cover she'd be firing in to their backs, which wasn't something she was against, per se, being trained to do whatever was necessary, but the question of whether or not she should fire on them at all stayed her firing arm a moment longer.

The Mirialan propped the barrel up on a section of duracrete walling, aiming at the advancing Rodian. The thoughts of Chandrila went through her mind, a brief flashback of her squad of soldiers firing on a Rodian family hurriedly boarding a shuttle during the fighting. SN-6428 had ended the lives on many innocents during her thirty one year career, born in to service with the Sith Empire. But for some reason this new war was giving her pause. Perhaps it had been the councilors having an influence on her. Xavier had encouraged her to lean toward independent thinking, which she had started doing in the last several months. Tarq had shown her that it is possible to stand up for your beliefs, and that even someone as powerful as Darth Ferren could be thwarted, if your conviction was strong enough.

SN-6428 died in the rubble of that cafe. Midne Starcaller aimed her rifle an inch to the right, away from the Rodian and into the chestplate of a Sith officer some one hundred and fifty meters downrange. She squeezed the trigger, putting him down before he realized he was dead.

Galen nods as he adjusts over to settle into a firing position aiming in on one of the Sith who seem to be operating as a leader towards the front lines if lines could be drawn in a fight like this. Taking a deep breath in he exhales and half way through his exhale he pauses squeezing the trigger before finishing exhaling, "At least it's a target rich environment."

<"Not long enough."> Terek replies, as a blaster bolt blasts dirt off of his cover and past him. He frowns behind his helmet, and peeks out for a moment, picking several targets out of the advancing troops. The squad leaders are marked, which makes them easier to pick out and take down. And without squad leaders, the regular troops will lose cohesion.

<"Once more unto the breach, Al'Verde."> He shifts out from behind his cover, and fires a pair of shots at the first squad leader he had tagged, before ducking behind another piece of cover, and firing a blind shot from behind there with the aim of making one of them put their head down. <"How we looking Zee?"> He calls over the comms to his R2, who responds with a series of beeps, <"Yes let them in there! Just tell me when we're full!">

Crimson blades draw attention and the ripple of panic across comms is an electric charge that causes some to loose their nerve. Throwing weapons to the ground, running, or firing in a wild panic in the hopes of stopping, or slowing, the dreaded figures now entering the battlefield.

"RUN! RUN!"

A sullustan shoulder to shoulder with the Rodian trying to move even quicker with the alert of "SITH! SIIIITH!" now in the air, the snivvian being left behind and a quartet of humans, or near humans, trying their best to keep up but keep themselves between danger and the rodian at their lead.

Taking notice of Xavier and the Councilor's direction a contingent of troopers begin to move, fanning out, one of their number chopping a hand in the direction of the fleeing group a moment before their chest plate is burst by a viridian comet, blowing off their feet and hurled backwards to the torn street.

<"Use your comms, shavit for brains..."> Hadrix is stepping back up to the line, the beskar plate over his shoulder almost looking further dented by the rifle impact and the second bolt flies moments after the first. Hunting for troops gesturing, commanding the others. The result being an almost inhuman shift in stance by his new target, letting the bolt sail past and pointing with one armored hand towards the fire position. The return fire on their position withering, cover chewed up by fire and several pushed back by the weight of it, one of those bolts hitting the big man dead center and leaving a glowing spot in his cuirass.

<<"MIR!">> <<"It's filling up!">> <"Not long left, vod."> Hadrix asides to Terek, visor turning towards Galen where he fires from, <"I'd prefer if they'd stop refilling their ranks, personally...">

The Councilor continued on like a juggernaut, blade carving a path for the troopers to follow. They moved with that odd liquid grace that seemed to come far too easily to those who wore such robes, blaster fire raining all around, but nothing managing to impact. A trip of marked Republic soldiers fell to the fiery orange blade, but and yet, still, the figure moved without word or warning. Certainly the saber was warning enough. Move or be put down, by blade or bolt.

Xavier casually rolls his wrist, spinning his saber in a deadly circle of burning malice. Just as the blue and green sabers of the Jedi were signs of hope, the red blade illuminating his features tells tales of might and fear spanning millenia. Surrounded by pain and hate and reckless determination, there is no shortage of fuel to spurn him onwards. Nevermind the simple fact that Xavier truly enjoys his work.

He strikes down another target with the same regard he gives a swatted fly, brown eyes scan the field again for larger targets. Seeking out those barking orders, directing escapees, or being a general nuisance to this being a quick in and out endeavor. He catches what he thinks is something of interest somewhere in the mess of moving figures and blaster fire. Armors that tend to stick out in a crowd. Mandos. Oh, this'll be fun.

He grins and takes a step forward.... then stops. The smile fades as quickly as it came.

He senses it like a string plucked and slowly he turns around. Bolts flying past him cannot seem to make purchase as his eyes fall on the small, familiar form of Midne. There is a moment -- just a moment -- where he appears almost to be admiring her. This ends swiftly as he cuts down two more rebels then breaks into a run towards the source of treachery.

The red lightsabers screamed to life in the distance and were advancing quickly on the Republic and civilian soldiers nearer to Midne. The red lightsabers coming out was usually a good thing. To Midne it meant cover first and foremost - there was no better cover in the galaxy than Councilor Cas standing between you and your enemy. So when she first registered them it wasn't a sign of alarm.

Adjusting her posture to move to the other corner of the cafe, closer to the front line, she throws herself into the rubble wall and props the barrel of her A280 on a pile of duracrete. Aiming at another sergeant, she squeezes a shot out and catches him directly in his visor. A now-former trooper knew the best spot to aim for, after all.

With Councilor Harcourt advancing directly toward her, however, the instinctual will to survive registers in her mind that 'hey, the red sabers aren't on your side this time.' Ice blues narrow in concentration as she pulls back the firing lever on her rifle, the cooling unit preparing the weapon for its next few shots. They were going to be important.

Galen's rattled from some of the incoming fire as he tucks behind the cover before he pokes back out and squeezes off another shot the bolt landing a bit wide, "Well that didn't go where it was needed." As he peeks back over the cover he's looking over the wasteland that is the battlefield, "This is a pretty nasty level of scorched everything policy they're going with."

Terek manages to get tagged twice as he moves between cover. The first one blasts off the beskar of his chestplate, the impact causing him to stumble a bit backwards, as a second shot tags him on the left thigh and sends him to the ground.

The cathar lets out a roar of pain and frustration and rapidly returns fire at the trooper that hit him in the leg, the shots flying wide until one catches him in the upper torso and knocks him off his feet, allowing Terek time to scramble behind hopefully more solid cover.

<<"I'm spinning up the dorsal turret...">>

An accented voice over Mandalorian comms precedes the roar of superheated air from a ships grade cannon letting loose towards the approaching line of Sith Troopers. The resulting explosion spewing duracrete and soil into the air with little additional effect, other than to signal the position of the Woor'tra among the chaos.

<<"Wish you wouldn't">> the grumbling from Al'Verde Kora coming as he drops down near Terek, rifle held in one hand an a stim-prod in the other, <"Got you."> moving to jam the syringe into the cathar's neck and simultaneously putting himself between the troopers and his fellow Mandalorian.

More and more of the republic forces are forced back, risking a flank assault on a group of crimson troopers. Cutting into their line before being forced back by the return. The wall of return fire joined with a cylindrical device that pulses with red lights before it goes off, throwing stone and bodies over a makeshift barricade.

More fire is laid down all around the position held by Galen, the Battle Cathar and the Boar Wolf of Ealor, the big man bodily shielding his temporary field patient, a chorus of shots ricocheting off of his plates or smashing into the stones around them, <<"MIR!">>

<<"SOON.">> the old man sounding as exasperated as the younger warrior.

The sivvian member of the Rodian's group looks over his shoulder, eyes wide and snapping off a pistol shot at the approaching Councilor while he cries out, those ahead pumping their legs all that much faster.

The Councilor continued on, pausing only briefly as the world exploded near them. Much like the turret turned to target the ground, so too, the Councilor turned to face the attacking ship. The saber remained raised and ready, but the Councilor did not strike down anymore bodies, the troopers around them advancing until they were in the middle of the fragment and not at the head of it. This did not seem to be much of a problem. For the moment, it seemed the rodian and his fleet feet were not their target.

A bolt hits Xavier in the shoulder from behind, causing him to lurch but not break his stride. Not break his focused concentration on the target at hand. He watches Midne take another Sith trooper down without a twinge of care. Let them fall. There will always be more where those came from.

"Admirable, Starcaller." His jigsaw puzzle of an accented voice projects towards Midne, somehow capable of breaking through the chaos of the fray and pierce directly into her mind. There may be a war going on but right now, Xavier has zeroed in on this singular person. Likely allowing a great many others to escape or continue fighting with one extra saber momentarily off the field. "To sieze a mind of your own. Yet you neglect the crucial detail. The assurance of your own survival."

Right hand still humming with the saber, it is his left that moves with the striking swiftness of a venomous snake. Cracking out, the ebony sleeves of his robe fly back against the invisible wall of force he throws Midne's way, revealing a the abstract tattoos that cover his arm from the wrist all the way up. Black hair blows back and jaw set, he unleashes fury at the young woman.

Midne had raised her rifle to fire at Xavier just a tinge too slowly. Her eyes narrow as the Morellian speaks in to her mind - to anyone else it may come as a surprise but this is a type of person Midne had worked with for quite some time and she'd gotten used to tricks of the Force like that. In contrast to Xavier, and despite her Mirialan heritage, Midne wasn't nearly as tattooed as he was. She had a trio of triangles on her face: one on each cheek and one across her nose, which for a Mirialan her age was very few. But Midne hadn't truly started to BE a Mirialan until a year and a half ago when she was ascended to the rank of Marked, and took on her cover. Midne was Mirialan by biology, not by culture, quite literally born in to the Sith. It was largely because of Xavier that she'd started to have a sense of individuality.

Being flung backward into the cafe, her back strikes the duracrete where she had taken her first sniper post and the air escapes her as she falls to the floor. Raising her rifle, she fires a shot off at Xavier meant largely to slow his advance rather than to catch him with it. She knew that if he closed in on her it was lights out. But her body was sore and some bones had just been broken. She didn't know which, yet, as the adrenaline masked a lot of the pain.

"Lord Starcaller," she quips with a pained voice, fighting her weakened arms to get her rifle back up. "Come to esteem me with your rebellious ways? Thought you'd rather enjoy this," she says, coughing some as she inhales particle debris from the crack Xavier put in the wall with her telekinetically-flung body.

Galen takes another breath as he pokes back out from the cover as he sights in and squeezes the trigger dropping a Sith Sergeant before he ducks back behind cover, "You know... I think we might be outnumbered a wee bit."

<"Remind me to stay behind you next time."> Terek says, getting back up to his feet as Hadrix puts himself between the Sith forces and him. That cannon fire rocks the area around them, making Terek shake his head, <"Zee, get ready to launch!">

Terek has decided to do something stupid. Those lightsabers are getting close, too close for comfort. Terek's eyes lock onto the male of the pair, and the Mandalorian rises up from behind his cover, and steadies his blaster with both hands, moving away from Hadrix as he pulls the trigger twice, letting loose with a pair of bolts while the Sith is distracted. Of course now he has to deal with the fact that he did just shoot at a Sith. He didn't really think that plan through past this point.

"The hells?" the rattling of the turret gives Greeza momentary pause before she is firing again to similar effect as before, the anti-fighter weapon blowing the side out of an already gutted building, spraying stone out into the ruins of the street and forcing Sith Troopers to detour around. Crumbled masonry, their own dead and far more of the fleeing republic troops in their wake.

The blasterfire being returned to the Sith Troopers is becoming woefully lacking and now only two humans, the sullustan and the Rodian remain, pushing ahead of the lot, firing over their shoulders at the approaching Councilor with her flaming blade in hand.

A motion mimicked by the dark armored Al'Verde Kora, looking to the fleeing quartet that had only moments ago been six. <"HURRY THE KRIFF UP!"> lining up the barrel of his rifle on the robed figure,

<"Par'te Verde te'haat'kyr kyr'am. Te'Verde nayc'chaab kyr'am, Par'ibac takisit oya'la..."> his tone formal and his crosshairs fixed before firing a pair of massive bolts in rapid succession - each intended for center of mass. Both shots slamming the stock of the weapon into his shoulder with enough force that the bionic reinforcements shriek and squeal in protest.

<"IN RANKS!"> one of the troopers on approach call out and a line rushes three steps ahead to kneel, so that when the massed fire comes it is high and low in one, two full ranks of troopers unleashing hell on those before them, seemingly ignorant of the dangers they face. Ignoring it in the name of their mission.

So few are left, none fleeing the city now, now only running madly and firing desperately when they can.

Much like the way the Councilor paused and looked towards the ship, so too, the blasts which tried to reach her from the Mandalorian's Wookiee canon. The smaller bolts that impacted chest and leg seemed nothing more than scratches as the faceless helm turned in the much bigger Mandalorian's direction, and the Councilor moved, leaving the troop to square off with this new (old) enemy. Was there ever a time when the Mandalorian and the Users of the Force were not at war? It was not today, as the Councilor struck, three times, twice missing the mark, the third only glancing off armored figure.

Danger screams at him but Xavier ignores it. Another shot hits him in justifiable retaliation from Terek and he stops for a spell to glare in the Mandalorian's direction. He wraps chains around the Force and whips them out towards Terek, concentrating on his central nervous system in attempt to break past the cat's willpower and strike at the very core of his being. He is surprised -- pleasantly so -- to find a considerable wall there and the bolt of pain is dulled considerably. "Another time," he grunts.

Right now, he has some unfinished busines. His steps are closing the distance between him and where Midne has landed in the rubble of a cafe's former facade. "There is a time and a place," he muses casually to Midne's rhetorical question. "This is neither of those, you would agree. I will say I am glad that my words took purchase. That there is hope for even the criminally brainwashed to find their own constitution. To seize it with both hands."

Is he enjoying this? Xavier's gaze is always so intense, but there is a tension in his shoulders that would indicate soemthing akin to... "I'm disappointed, Midne. I could have supported your endeavors. Helped mold that rebellious streak and seen it put to effective use. You would have been a true asset to chaos. You would have gone far." He stands over her now, eclipsing the hellish lights of explosions and blaster bolts. "But you have forced my hand."

It happens quickly. No flair, no finesse. Just one twist of his wrist and the red saber pierces her midsection. Cruelty to those who may witnesses it, but a mercy for those who understand the machinations of the Sith Empire. "You forced my hand." He repeats tensely, features lit by unforgiving red light.

Midne was slowly trying to raise the rifle back up at Xavier. Her left shoulder was broken, which was her primary arm, and her right elbow had a significant fracture, so even just raising it from a sitting position up against the wall was difficult. Midne's accent now was her own. It wasn't one of the many feigned accents that she had such a talent for putting on while undercover. It was her pure, unaltered Exegol accent wrought from childhood as she learned to speak by a Sith language tutor. "I'd say it's a great time and place," the former trooper counters. "A shame I didn't realize it on Chandrila," she says with a wince. Not so much a wince of emotional pain - though that was present - but more a wince of actual, physical pain as her elbow snaps, the fracture turning to a break as she manages to get the rifle a little higher. If there weren't a battle going on it probably would have been a greusome sound.

"You did enough," she assures him. While the expression on her face is pained, it does have a downcast grimace on it. Not of anger, but of determination. In the distance, people had successfully fled, many of them destind to go on and live full and prosperous lives due to the fact that Xavier had been deterred in his assignment. He'd come for Midne. Eva Cossol, a Corellian pilot had managed to escape a fate that would have ended here today with Xavier. Palde Deegil, a mother of two and daughter to a Serennian count, would go on to lay the foundation for development of a treatment for Antarian Plague years from now, as her fate had been meant to end here had Xavier not been distracted by Midne. And many others of similar importance to the people around them. Not so much to Xavier or to Midne, but it did make a colossal difference to some, even if they would never know the way their lives could have gone were it not for Midne's betrayal.

'You would have been a true asset to-' Midne had always studied her enemy, the Jedi among them. She shook her head, delivering her final words: "There is no chaos, Harcourt. There is only harmony." She fires her rifle, missing Xavier's body but putting a smoking hole through his robe just before his saber connects with her.

And then that was the end for Midne Starcaller.

Galen just sighs a bit, "That's... Not going to end well." He's watching the Terek pot shots at the Sith with sabers drawn. And as the attention seems to be gathered towards their last stand he calmly stands slinging the rifle behind his back as he does so before he reaches into a pocket of his jacket and pulls a cylinder out of a pocket depressing a button to engage the saber with a more electric snap-hiss followed by a very subdued almost eerie quiet compared to the actual lightsabers in the area. A glance towards Hadrix and Terek before he moves to draw the fire of the Sith Troopers so the last of the Republic Soldiers could potentially make it to the temporary safety of the ship... "Oh this is a bad idea I just know it."

Things are looking more and more bleak. Terek can see that Sith's attention turn to him, but the Mandalorian stands strong against the attempt to strike at his very core through the Force. The cathar is made of tough enough stuff, though he visibly winces when the pain does strike him.

Perhaps it's the lightsaber in the hands of Galen coming on that gets his attention, as Terek turns to look at it for a second, "A lightsaber?" This whole time? He knows not everyone who has a lightsaber is a Jedi, but the appearance of it is too convenient at that moment. Terek holsters his blaster, which was out of ammo anyway, and turns on the shield in his bracer, while down on one knee. His other hand reaches for a weapon that rests nearby, finding an E-11 sticking up from sone rubble. He grabs the crimson grip and pulls it up as he rises to his feet, shifting behind the shield and moving with it to try to absorb any shots that would be coming in for Galen, "I hope you know how to use that thing!"

<"Kriff.">>

Diving back when the first swing comes, remembering lessons taught by another. Possibly a similarity in the councilor's form. Instinctively his arm is out, saber sparking off the Mandalorian armor with the glancing strike before he is stutter steps back, dropping and rolling to one side of the Sith's blade with a rush of breath.

It's the last across his middle that connects, leaving an angry glowing line in the ultra-dense metal that spelled the difference from burns and being bisected.

<<"We need to fall back, Terek.">> still back pedaling from the Sith Councilor.

The Rodian continues to run, headed for the Woor'tra's open ramps with the last stragglers, those two humans and the sullustan who had sprinted with him turning now to open fire, concentrating on the Councilor and shouting aloud, "GO! GO! GET OUT OF HERE, NOW! NOW!" more of the republic troops near the blockade runner dropping to kneel and fire creating a hallway of crimson for Ry'kee to navigate, keeping heads down or drawing fire that spells their doom.

From the cover point the two Mandalorians still standing lift off suddenly, jetpacks ignited and grenades are thrown in their wake for the Sith Trooper lines, hurling crimson into the air or burying it under rubble while they make their way back, trying to get to dorsal hatches on the ship.

Hadrix's hand shoots out, his rifle being let to hang from its shoulder strap, <"Going up?"> right arm extending towards the Councilor and a nozzle extending to spray smoke towards the face of their helmet - quite literally in an attempt to block them from persisting - not lifting off just yet though.

There's very little around them though, to provide other cover.

The onslaught continued, but it was clear that the battle was not going in the Republic's favour. For the Councilor though, the enemy had been reduced to an army (literally an army, because look at the size of him) of one. This time, there was no strike of the lightsaber. The strength of the beskar had already been tested. But beskar was not without its disadvantages, and the Councilor made use of one now. Armor could be crushed, it could be deformed by the force of will alone (but also the Force), damaging the body within. The hand not holding the saber flicked its fingers, the movement a subtle thing, not the wild gesticulations more common in these old holovids of force users in the clone wars, the delicacy of movement learned at the feet of one whose name still conjured nightmares and the Mandalorian was thrust back, flung away from the Councilor as the metal bent and warped under an invisible hand.

Xavier withdraws his saber from the expired Midne's body, leaving her to rest more like she fell asleep than anything else. He stares, brown eyes hardening at the silent form before a sharp, deep inhale through his nose breaks the relative silence between them. "There is only chaos," he answers back to someone who will never hear him. "We will meet again in Oblivion."

There is no time for reflection or introspection. Duty calls and, believe it or not, Xavier is in quite a sour mood. Made all the more sour by the snaphiss and glowing white light of a stunsaber. Darkness pulls in around Xavier as he turns to face what remains of the resistance forces and the man who has made himself a shiny white beacon.

"Call the reinforcement team. I want flamers down here," he can be heard growling into his comms. "Whoever is still on the ground when you get here, burn them all." Burn them all, burn them all.

His saber retracts and is tucked away, freeing up his hands to stretch out from both sides. Fingers curled in and grasping, two large pieces of broken wall begin to float up, up, up. The effort is straining, cutting lines into the man's face as he hurls the debris right at Galen.

His attack doesn't so much hit as... comes flying back at him. The Sith Lord slides expertly out of the way, allowing them to crash into an already destroyed building and adding to the destruction. He missed his opportunity.... oh, but he's gained some important intel. He watches Galen from a distance. Then grins a grin that does not reach his eyes.

Galen shrugs a bit, "Not quite a lightsaber but close enough for what we're tryin to do." Then his head snaps up as he looks at the boulders flying in their direction and he holds out his left hand towards them concentrating as he attempts to use the Force to catch the rocks heading in and flings them back, "Soooo I may have gotten more attention than I anticipated." He's doing a fairly rapid retreat towards the ship keeping his attention on the Sith Troopers as he keeps the path to the ramp as clear of blaster fire as he can. Since the cat's outta the bag (no pun intended Terek) he might as well go all out with it. As his feet hit the boarding ramp he turns to offer a salute towards the Sith who tried to throw a wall at him before he disengages the saber to walk the rest of the way up the ramp.

Looks like Terek is getting out with the rest of the group, <"Zee, go now!"> He calls out to his droid, taking a moment to watch his ship take off. He continues to block blaster bolts with the shield, before he fires his rocket pack, and sails onto the ship, landing and turning back around to continue to block any shots that come in until the last person who can get on is on.

<<"We're lifting off.">>

The Woor'tra's ramps were closing, the Rodian mounting the ramp of the Rigger nearby, sliding across the floor as his legs finally give out, watching the Cathar Mandalorian boarding and clutching at his chest, tube shaped mouth drooping while he gasps for air. "Get me to Roche! However you can!" wheezed out in broken basic, barely formed by his 'lips'.

Hadrix's armor was going to need a special touch, from the Ordo armor mistress after this. A fact to be thought on later. His initial thoughts were the sounds in his chest, durasteel mesh reinforced ribs cracking, plate in his skull deformed by the immense pressure put up against him. It's when his belt engages to stop him from slamming into the ground that instincts kick in and his jets light up, pushing him back into the air while the soot coloured freighter is up, bay doors open. Trying to angle to scoop the man up.

Sith Trooper fire continues, splashing against the reinforced hulls of ships lifting off, alerts going off among the TIE forces of craft taking off and forcing them to wheel around and give chase, zeroing in on the mercenary craft and ground forces calling up heavy weapons. Summon repulsor sledge pulling teams trying to get E-Web cannons into position to fire.

The ringing of metal when Al'Verde Kora slams into the bottom of the hull is audible. Almost as loud as his cursing when it happens the second time, Mir trying to compensate for the man's flight pattern. Third time is the charm and with the big man in the ship suddenly rotates skyward and burns engines at full, considerable speed... resulting in a third metallic clank of the man being bashed against the back of the cargo bay.

TIEs chase after the last pair of fleeing ships, hammering shields with viridian energy all the way through to the escape from atmosphere. Angling away from where the cruisers had been laying in wait and at speed unexpected of either craft.

All told, the casualties among the refugees is catastrophic. But one Rodian carries with them a spark.