Log:Spies of Icy Watch

A raid on Icy Watch

OOC Date: March 6, 2023
Location: Avishan, Alderaan Sector
Participants: Tamsin Cas, Merulia, Bors Thul, Aryn Cortess

Icy Watch was once a great fortress. Ancient were the stones of its foundation, built with curved walls and ramparts to withstand the straight-line winds of the arctic climate of Avishan. Its central keep used a rotating light, like a light house, to help those ranging the icy tundra beyond the 'wire' to find their way back when the blizzards were too much to see through.

Conventional means of travel was limited here, even starfighters had a tough time with the ice, just ask any veteran from Aldera Squad. Flying through a blizzard was suicide, and walking through one was no different. At a scouting outpost on a cliff of ice and rock, the team hoping to invade and take Icy Watch have a great view of their objective.

Snipers man the towers of the circular shaped fortress, and its central tower has been turned off in the hopes that its battlements remain forgotten, a crypt buried in the snow. Baron Panteer wears the white plasteel of an Imperial officer sans helmet. He's an older man, but years have afforded him ample battle experience. Once deemed a traitor to the crown, Gerald Panteer was a general for Lana, heralding a new age and hope that Panteer would once more resume its occupancy of the ruby throne.

With Lana dead, Panteer was redeemed and given purpose anew, but nothing was ever truly given. When he saw the fortress below, he did not see insult. It was a stepping stone in returning to grace, the light at the end of the tunnel. Pulling on his beanie cap to cover his bald head, the bearded Baron turns to regard the team. They're some 20 strong, with heroes joining them from other corners of the galaxy.

"My envoys were slain in cold blood. To kill an envoy is an act of war. We just received word from Her Grace. We are to eliminate all hostiles and retake the keep. Best approach is during the blizzard.. snipers will not be so keen to pick us off. The main gate is like to be frozen and barred, so we will need to scale the walls.. no easy feat."

The baron motioned for the trooper holding a box to begin handing out grapple-guns, these were of similar design to the S5 pistols the Naboo royal guard used. "Make good use of these. Our key to surviving the storm is staying close and low. The less of you the wind catches, the less likely you are to go on a flight of death."

"Come on, then. Best be about it."

"Ser Lars.. Ser Bors, you gentlemen have point. Bring us in close, my Lords. The storm is fast approaching now."

A grapnel gun, Merulia was wrapped in the tight winter gear and her cloak...and was decidedly not enjoying the temperature far from what she'd grown up with on Dathomir. Still, the Nightsister Sephi turned the weapon over in her hand with a frown on her fair features. "I have no skill with such things. There were no blasters among my tribe."

Still, she shrugs lightly. "I will find another means if I must."

The prospect of reclaiming a home and dealing with others who had snuck in to claim it? That bothered Merulia little as she fell into stride with the others, ready to follow their lead.

Flying through the blizzard, that one time, was mildly inconvenient if one were to question Lord Bors, of the ancient and most noble house of Thul. That's what he'd say at least.

His shirt was quite damp when they got home.

Also his pants were quite sweat soaked, too.

And his perfect, perfect, hair.

Battered old rifle held at low ready, nigh a century old armor dyed black encapsulating the quinquagenarian, The Black Knight of Alderaan stalked forward as requested - not without a flash of gut deep anger at being given a command by one of the, until recently, Rebel House of Panteer. Cerulean viaor of his helmet glowing, obscuring his features behind it,

<<"Aye, your excellency.">> head turning marginally towards Lars as he starts the forward trek, noting sure footing and wind-breaks via his HUD while keeping eyes up for potential foemen..

Quite unlike the Panteer general, the hooded and robed Sith had not bothered with dressing for the environment, and quite likely, were it not for the blizzard, the dark of their robes would be a dead giveaway. Emphasis on the dead. But, they were what they were, and they stepped forward, helmed head tipping momentarily to the side before the are around them began to warm, the air around them almost comfortable, the expanse of the heat around them enough that the group could move easily without needing to bum into each other. The gun was accepted, the helm turning towards Merulia, "I will ensure that you are able to cross the barriers." The weapon was disappeared into the folds of her robes, before she nodded towards the general and the Knight, the voice distorted by modulation. "We are ready."

Ser Lars, the First Sword of Alderaan, returned the look from Bors perhaps sharing some unspoken solidarity of the moment. When the Black Knight tread forward, so to did his companion. Lars was a tall man, large too, and much of him was covered in armor. He carries a dueling pistol on one hip, and a sword upon his other. His cloak, a heavy fur of white wolf, wraps his collar, hoods his head, and hangs off his back to lightly flap in the heavy winds they move into. "Stay close. The ice has claimed many lives. If we are to die this day, let it be with weapon in hand, and the blood of our foes decorating its blade."

Lars falls in behind Ser Bors; Bors had more experience on Avishan than most. By the time they reached the foot of the cliff they had been on, the blizzard was in full force. Any distinction of direction was lost, it was just white, and the shapes of the men and women in the group trudging through the ice and snow.

When they arrived at the western side of Icy Watch's wall, it was thanks to Bors keen sense of direction and know-how in arctic situations. Lars motioned the group to hug the wall and take a moment to 'breathe'. Traversing the blizzard was tiring. Baron Panteer brought up the rear, giving a thumbs up to indicate they still had all men. With everyone in place, Lars stepped out with his grapple hook in hand. He fired it at the tower and made the ascent. A second later, a body fell from on high, landing in the ice and snow, splattering blood and missing an arm. <<"Make your way up.. we need to clear the ramparts.">> Lars says over comms.

The other men and women of the group began their ascent, climbing over the wall to land in the ramparts. A few moments later, the battle had begun.

There's no buzzing glow or bright flow of plasma from a lightsaber, Merulia did not have one! Instead there's a soft sound of sliding metal and the short combat sword was drawn by the petite Sister who was apparently keen enough to move with the front.

A lift of her hand and the first sniper was hoisted upwards, grasping at his throat before being sent screaming over the edge to his doom.

Continuing to spring forward like some sort of feline predator emerging from the snow, she plunged her combat sword into the throat of the next sniper with a splash of blood.

Atop the ramparts, moving low and utilizing his suits equipment to bracket the enemy, Bors raises the old EE-3 to set the stock against his shoulder plate, head tipping fractionally. A reflexive action, his HUD was marking his crosshairs where the barrel was pointing and a blink singled out his first target among many.

<<"Black Knight, drawing attention.">> the monocle pinched before his right eye scrolls data, doubled some but filtering out his focuses from the helmet HUD.

The rifle barks twice, two throaty reports of triple bolts erupting and cutting spiraling heat contrails before the weight of the blizzard dissipates his shots. Disappearing mid-flight before they can reach their target, "Bugger" teeth gritted behind his helmet, preparing to drop when the inevitable comes his way.

Dark robes, dark deeds. There was probably some bit of ratty old Sith poetry just to that effect. The helmed figure did not, however, recite any of it. Instead, they simply moved, the heat around them flowing with them as they began to cross the ramparts heading left to clear the offside. The fire-orange blade was like a brand as it spun in gloves hands, and the first of the snipers fell, bisected, a piece tumbling down to either side. As they moved, they adjusted, making certain to allow the wind to whip their robes, the darkness surely draw attention and focus as they closed on a second target, The first strike only took the range, before another body fell from the battlements to the icy field below.

They find Lars already locked in a heated battle between two snipers. One blocks the Knight's sword with their rifle, and the other takes aim at him. Lars draws and fires his pistol at point blank, killing the one blocking him. Twisting suddenly, he cut the throat of the other in a blinding fast slash, and kicked the body from the ramparts to the courtyard below.

It becomes obvious that the fortress is under attack when a siren sounds and men begin to pour into the courtyard. To the keen eye, these people are wearing the phoenix of the Rebellion, with placards to denote rank. In the courtyard, comm equipment has been erected to allow for deep-space transmissions. It didn't take a comms expert to note the scrambler and encryption devices hooked up to keep the transmissions secret.

As the group spreads along the ramparts, engaging the snipers in close combat, the 20 good men and women who had joined the group begin to fire from the ramparts toward the soldiers in the courtyard, pinning them down and preventing them from joining the fray above. It turns into a hellacious battle. Four of the Panteer men are already slain from the cross fire, one even toppled over the edge of the wall to splat below in the courtyard.

Baron Panteer is taking cover near Bors, firing at one sniper that came upon them in a frantic way. The shot was enough to kill that one, but when a second followed, the old man locked into close quarters with them, grunting and pushing.

A whoosh of motion, more telekinesis sends another sniper hurtling to his death...her sword however is not so lucky as she swings and the sniper evades, her blade no more finding its mark than their shots.

An arm goes out when his helmet system tracks incoming fire, clouting Baron Panteer in the meat of his shoulders and forcing him down and turning to put his plates in the way of one of the shots coming in.

The impact staggers him, throwing Bors back against the ramparts with a wheezing grunt while his arm swings of its own accord, returning fire in a sweep of triple-burst reports. Elbow cocked to press the stock against his bicep to fight the buck of the plasma bursts. Chest smoking, glossy cuirass scored black above his heart where if he'd been wearing lighter armor - the results might have been more than the burns and bruising he feels forming.

<<"Next time I'm strafing and Thul will pay for repairs.">> hissed out, dropping to a kneel, not seeing the second trio cleared away by snow after the first stitch across the leg plates of his assailant.

The dark figure on the ramparts was not oblivious to the rat's warren of activity that suddenly spilled into the courtyard, even if they moved to shield the team behind them, blaster bolts seeming to wing away like screeching birds as they snipers bore down on their location. A quick calculation, not visible behind the mask, but notable in its execution, as the figure turned, almost as if dismissing their opponents, the saber hilt hovering at their hip as their fingers clenched beneath the deep sleeves of their robes. They had studied too long at the feat of another master of long ago, to give themselves over to flashy gestures. Below, in the courtyard, the radio communication exploded, as though some force had squeezed it with all the force of a vice grip. But the figure was not undefended, and as one of the snipers rushed in to take advantage, the lightsaber winged away from the sith, flashing out to slice through their erstwhile attacker, before it flew back to its master, the sith's left hand rising to catch the hilt in a ready palm.

Lars is working his way toward the end of the far right rampart. Holstering his pistol to focus on sword work, the large man charges through the hail of blaster fire to engage his next pair of foes. One is struck diagonally across the chest, spilling what muscles kept locked inside. The second was stabbed and moved to the edge of the ramparts where they were kicked off the edge of the blade to fall into the blizzard below. "For Alderaan!" He yells, stomping after the next group of foes below.

The presence of two Sith have heightened the level of fear. The fiery presence of the lightsword earns screams below, and troops rush for the communications beacon with the hope they can signal for help!

That hope is dashed when Cas crushes the equipment before their eyes, putting on a small light show of sparks and fire. There was no hope of help coming. Dread began to set in.

Panteer, who had been forced down by Bors to be shielded, rose back up to deal with the man responsible for harming Thul. They were struck down with a pair of shots (the first missing). Gerald turned to offer a gloved hand to Thul to help him back up. "Where is the fun in that, sir? -- FORWARD.. UNTO VICTORY!" Gerald moved ahead, motioning for the men on the ramparts to join the fray below where some 20 militia try their hardest to hold out. Down from 30, the 20 men of Panteer are eager for a close quarters battle; they all pull swords and give war cries.

Gravity seems to be Meru's greatest weapon, certainly it seemed the poor snipers had no means to defend against such sorcery even as they batted and parried her sword.

Sliding her weapon down the butt of the rifle used for one such block, the blade bit deep into the man's shoulder.

The group was a small one, and whatever side of the force the sith walked, the sensation of pain around them did not go unnoticed. Stepping aside from the remaining enemy in their direction, that dark robed figure moved from the left side to the strong right side, the warmth that still radiated around them a palpable signal of impending doom. Well, of a sort. "You are still needed for the fight, Knight." Again, that mechanically modulated voice, before the hand that did not hold the saber slipped free from the billowing sleeves, a quick pair of shots of hypospray, hitting with that shock of energy that only really, really good bacta could offer, before the sith slipped away again, robed billowing like dark wings as they jumped down into the center of the courtyard.

Helped up only to be struck again, spun on his foot and put against the ramparts again with a hissing sound coming from his vocalizer grill, his voice chasing it with a pained tone, <"Oh, sure, we could keep getting blasted ere to bits. That's fine too."> resisting the urge to spit - never good in a sealed suit that is blaring integrity threats across the top of his HUD.

Stumble stepping forward, having a distinct realization that this must have been what Antilles went through when he kept refusing those desk jobs. Desk jobs.

No. Then he'd have to give up the cockpit.

<"Father, give me strength."> Still walking fire as he goes, seeing his bolts spatter against stonework and shaking his head and dropping to a knee again to lean and brace on the rampart, muttering to himself, helmet vocalizer not picking up the under-breath words, "Or don't. That's fine. Thanks. I'm telling Mother." a cynical chuckle rattling in his chest.?

Then the warmth hits him - and the stimulants riding the Adrenaline train through his blood system. Pupils dilating and the arthritis on his joints fading and a breath is sucked in, with the old Knight on his feet, "Ok! I take it back... You -are- mysterious!" several hyperventilating breaths chasing the words.

The snipers are done, slain one by one till the ramparts are but soldiers maintaining their up-hill advantage. Whilst the blizzard waged, so too did the small battle. 8 militia from the rebellion are gunned down as they attempted to retreat inside, one being their officer. The remaining are cut off by the First Sword, who cut down the last man attempting escape.

Despite the hopelessness of the battle, the rebellion hunkers down to fight to the last, there was no other choice. Lars had a notion to capture them, but that went out when they continued to fire.

"WIPE THEM OUT!" Screamed the old-man Panteer, who joins Lars down below. What remains are some 11 terrorists, and Alderaan had but one treatment for enemies of the state; Steel.

When did he drop from the ramparts?

When are his knees going to hell him he's not young enough for that?

When is the sound of blood in his ears going to fade.

Oh... did he leave the hot-plate on?

Bors is on the ground, still feeling like a Wampa is shoving him forward and the raging thunder of the stormclouds over Gravenheim in his bones. It's a pounding sweep into the thick of the fight while combat stims have him forgetting that he should be staying further back. One of the militia forces finding their ribs being pressed by the older man's shoulder. Thrown up against what had been cover and riddled with blaster bolts.

Glowing visor turning, the Black Knight presses, carbine raised and firing again - a torrent of crimson stitching along the ground next to their feet.

The sudden jump down into the thick of things had the desired effect, as many, though, sadly, not all of the militia turned their guns on the dark robed, flame-blade wielding sith, the shots all seeming to tack away from the figure save one, that lucky one, which impacted that faceless helm, rocking the figure. Not the best idea, but then, what did one expect from rabble? A breath to catch themselves, and the sith dove him, cutting through two of the militia who had not had the good sense to run away. Likely not for their lives, but perhaps a few extra seconds to say their farewells. Not these two, though, and a third was approached, though not struck, the blade carving through the still whirling snow, heat from the blade and the core of warmth from their ow body billowing a fog of warm mist around them.

Rebellion soldiers were brave, but bravery only earned one so much before death caught up to them. This day, the rebellion died. With the last of the militia down, Panteer was left to command his men to search the rest of the fortress, and so they did. A good number of rebellion intelligence was uncovered, to include a public recording of the Lana Panteer execution.

There were logs of communication coming from Onderon, about someone holding sway over Lana Panteer. Something about payment, and invasion plans.

Additionally, the rebellion was keeping tabs on ships in the area, establishing a routine scan on patrols, patrol routes, and things of that nature. This was clearly operating as a listening/observation post. With it routed, communications wiped out, the place was wiped clean. Panteer gave the order to bring his family, retainer, and belongings. Ships from the sky began to arrive, landing inside the ice-shelf hangar. They had a guiding light; it seemed after the battle, Baron Panteer turned the tower light on. Through the ice, snow, and blizzard, the roving light shown, rotating slowly and announcing once more, this was Alderaan.

Banners bearing the sigil of Panteer were hung from the ramparts and walls.