Ask Invasion Attack On Dathomir

[Renfry]

What unleashed around Renfry was nothing short of a swarm of damage and energy. There was no way that she could evade it all, and so she did what she did best: deliver as much damage out of it as possible.

She was tugged forward by the efforts of the mangled Imperial Knight, and although it was only a slight off-balancing, sometimes that was all it took to change the course of a battle.

The Shadow warned her of the return of her Bolt of Hatred and if it had been anyone else in the galaxy save Darth Raze, she would have failed to prevent it. But even now she was Darth Andruil, Sith Empress.

Her right arm swept in front of her, wrapped up in the Shadow as she batted the bolt of hatred to her side and directly into Max Dram. Closing to such close proximity to a woman such as her was a risky move, and with the speed of his charge and the burst of energy from the jump boots, it would be all but impossible for him to redirect or dodge in the split second before the bolt would vaporize him.

Unfortunately for Renfry, this too, came at a cost. The Shadow guided her hand, but even she was only so powerful. She stepped aside from the tail-wrap narrowly as well as the stun shot to her torso, but did not have the same luck with her leg. Asher's shot struck her right leg and it deadened beneath her even as the remainder of the attacks fell upon her.

Her right hand spun around again to intercept Altair's blow to her chest, but as it spun through the air, it found itself hacked off at the elbow by none other than the polearm that Sheehan had once carried. Now in the hands of the Singing Mountain's First, the last tool that the Queen had to defend herself was gone.

The punch from the Grand Marshal found its purchase, slamming into her sternum with such force that the crunching of bone could be heard throughout the room.

She was flung bodily back into the wall before slumping to the ground as she tried to pull breath into her lungs without success.

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Regret was a funny thing. Renfry knew that she could have done things differently in her life. She could have held onto her Imperial throne and probably averted this. She could have stayed on Dathomir and not ever gotten involved in the galaxy. She could have never joined the Sith, fallen in love with Emryc, given birth to her little Gizka, and any of those steps would have prevented this death.

But she didn't regret any of it. The sleep comes fast and I'll meet no ghosts.

Her whole life had led her to this moment. She had seen things that few could imagine and fewer still would believe. She had made friends and enemies, loved and lost. She'd killed friends and forged relationships that would last beyond her death. It would always end like this, and she knew it. She had left her cherished possessions and messages to those she cared for most.

Her time had come to an end. She didn't fear death as most did for she was a Shaman of Dathomir. She had peered beyond the Veil and she knew what awaited her: Sisters from through the ages. It was simply the natural cycle of the galaxy.

As darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, Renfry, Clan Mother of the Forgotten Valley, Queen of the Nightsisters, and Empress of the Sith Empire finally found her place beyond the Veil.

 

[Vanya]

Vanya felt the magick-infused weapon pass through the arm of the Queen and it didn't even feel real. She was certain that she was going to be struck down and killed at any moment, but it didn't come.

When it was all said and done, she was faring far better than she had expected, and though she grieved for the loss of her Sisters, she felt a sense of relief at having survived the confrontation. She didn't know what this meant for her going forward, and there was a hint of apprehension and fear.

The fallout and vacuum in power would either mean all the Clans would simply return to their old ways of ruling themselves or a war for power would ensue. Singing Mountain would endorse her, but other clans?

That wasn't the immediate concern, though. The immediate concern was that the Imperials would now turn on her. They weren't truly her friends, simply united by a common enemy. They had lost many of their own, and she found herself gripping the polearm in her hand even tighter now as she awaited their next move, praying to the ancestors that they would honor their word and leave. This... it had been necessary, but it had not been pleasant for anyone.

She moved over in the direction of the Imperial Knight who had first come to their village, and without turning her back on the others, bent down.

I can help your wounds, she said. Unless Astrid objected, she would lay the polearm across her own lap and begin conjuring ichor from her fingers and running them over the wounds to at least stop the bleeding. This one was... well, she was an Imperial, but at least she had been not entirely insufferable. She could have been much worse.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Astrid al-Bahir]

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It was all blurs of movement, a flurry of strikes, dodges, counter-strikes. Rocket boots, a blade, ripping crimson energy bouncing back and forth. Astrid had done what she could to bring them victory in the end, creating an opening. Pain and spilled blood made the lightsaber slip from her grasp and clatter to the ground. She could only crawl on her broken leg. But even then, she would not be defeated. Even then, she would spit in the face of her foe.

Knight al-Bahir's duty wasn't over yet, and she would not tolerate even a single loss more. When the reflected bolt of red careened back toward Queen Renfry, amethyst eyes followed it. They followed it as it was struck aside toward General Dram. They followed it, and her hand moved on its own, forcing herself, dragging forward. Though her spear was shattered, al-Bahir would still serve as a shield.

The bolt would curve, slipping barely beneath the General's right arm. Stray sparks would leave painful superficial burns, but no more as the destructive energy past him by. It careened off course, pulled unerringly by the will of a soldier. She'd known in her chest that anything less wouldn't have been enough to move it. It was almost as if the energy was alive with hate and malice, seeking to destroy all on its own, uncaring as to who. But had to be a who.

The world was silent, then, in those moments after Renfry was struck with lethal blows. Red light splashed like spilled blood throughout the temple pit as it flew unerringly for Astrid's outstretched hand, her lightsaber clattering to the ground. When her broken left arm rose alongside, it wasn't muscle that moved it, but pure will. It was pride. It was the Force answering in a moment where she made a choice, and expected to die for it.

And then the light struck her shattered limb, detonating and blasting her arm to blood and ash. Astrid was flung back from the detonation of power far beyond her own, crashing against the stone debris behind her with a gasp of pain. Her left side was scorched from residual energy, burned across and through her crimson Imperial Knight armor. The arm was gone, vaporized to a smoking, bleeding stump attached to a thrice-shattered shoulder, unable to cauterize properly due to her half-Tiefling nature.

Astrid didn't answer as Vanya moved to help her. She couldn't hear over the searing agony, couldn't see her through the haze of white and red that everything had become. But through glory fading into bloodstains and broken bodies, General Dram had survived with an Imperial Knight as his shield.

As the world faded to black, that's all that mattered.

@Phoenix @Sreeya @Alhon @Altaris

 

[Max Dram]

For a few moments as he soared through the air, Max actually believed he might pull it off. He closed with Renfry fast, his blastsword arcing towards her back, primed to slip between the ribs.

But even Max could feel the power rippling around the woman as he neared. All it seemed to take was a flick of her hand to redirect a nasty bolt of energy right towards him. Momentum and gravity pulled him towards it and there was nothing he could do to dodge out the way. The red light flared in his eyes and a hundred images were compressed in a single moment. Pride, regret, more missteps than he could count. A life lived, but a life now over.

At the last moment, the sickly light seemed to twist away from him, slipping beneath his right arm close enough to burn the skin. It all seemed to happen in slow motion and Max stifled a cry of pain as the bolt lanced past him, arcing towards al-Bashir as Max tumbled roughly to the ground. He just had time to see it hit, to see the woman's arm obliterated and her body thrown back.

Adrenaline and disbelief soon had him back on his feet, rounding to find Renfry downed by Altair. The General went in search of his unlikely saviour, certain the Knight had saved him from death but shocked at her willingness and the price she had paid. He found her among the heavy fallen stones, bleeding and unconscious. Vanya leaned over her, doing what little she could for a woman who had lost an entire limb.

Max stood over them protectively, hands still on his weapons lest any more threats still linger. His hazel eyes kept flicking to the crippled Knight and her wounds. Max himself had given an arm for the Empire, now al-Bashir had given one for him. He would think on that, and what it meant, for a long time to come.

@Mr. Teatime