Moraband - Battle of Ziost

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Five years ago in 25 ABY the dominion of Darth Dominous ended with the usurpation of his throne by the firm hand of Darth Caecilis who assumed the Throne of Ziost and took the mantle of Sith Emperor. By rights and the cowering of those among the Dark Council, none contested and the reign of Caecilis was made to be the sole ruling party of the Sith Empire. Caecilis’ rule would become known for an era where equality was foremost and the Lords of the Sith were many - though these plentiful ranks were not washed in the blood and fire of trials through combat, cunning and guile. They were rank and title of trade and for those that found themselves cozy within the folds of Caecilis’ embrace. To suggest some of these individual Sith were weak would be arrogant and folly, though to the majority - they were but a watered down representation of that the Sith of Old knew. The watchword of this era became a time of quantity over quality.

In and around mid 26 ABY a Mandalorian Chieftain of Clan Ordo gave his life for the Imperial Empress of the Galactic Empire. This selfless sacrifice was both a noble gift and the final act of a proud man. The Empress, stricken with grief, brought the dead to Darth Naverton on Roon and the crazed sorcerer with Krynn’s help, ripped the soul of the Mandalorian from the void and tethered it to the body once more. Jacobi did not rise up, but rather Tormentous was given life. Sensing the danger Tormentous presented, the Jedi attempted to assassinate him swiftly though for the efforts of a young and brash Dastan Imatari, they were foiled in the end.

Held tightly in check by Darth Vanis and Mariah, Tormentous was utilized as a weapon of mass destruction though once Tormentous regained his mind and saw through the lies of his so-called masters, he never returned to their bonds. Vanis swept it under the rug but by then it was already too late as Tormentous set off for himself - gaining his first Acolyte in Kroxata Akhoi, they burned their way across the Gordian Reach. Their name and prestige began to grow and so did the base of Tormentous’ followers. Soon Tormentous started operating against the Empire, both Sith and Imperial and his glorious campaigns had servants of the Dark Side flocking to his banner and with abundant slave labor to back his war machine there was little that could stop him at this point.

At the climax of his power he took the title of Darth and openly spoke out against Darth Caecilis and little more and a few months later, the Dark Council decided to silence the threat of Tormentous though they failed in every attempt. Resolved that this was the end of his patience, Tormentous ordered his slaves to reconstruct Korriban to its former glory and when he returned he would either be a dead man or the sole architect of the Sith.

He sent a call to the Sith Empire and those that would follow him would take up arms against Caecilis. So began a civil war that would be both violent and brief. Kroxata spearheaded these efforts in seizing control of the Sith Armada. Finally, the culmination of everything has arrived and so a great battle is to be waged. The final confrontation between Tormentous and Caecilis. One army versus the other within a Valley soon to be running with rivers of blood.



---Valley of Sorrow
---The Battle of Ziost
---Day One, Early Morning - 0400-0600

He stood with a scowl on his face, gazing over the terrain ahead. An hour or more ago, Lord Kroxata had marched with his force and now the bulk of the Speartip stood atop a short rise just before Hill One. Scout reports were still coming in but it appeared that Caecilis’ Army under the command of Lord General Silimare, a Sith Master, had advanced under the cover of night and a heavy fog morning over the far Hill Three, to take the most valuable Hill Two position and over to Hill One which granted Silimare control of virtually the entire Valley. Even now Silimare’s positions were being fortified and that meant Kroxata would have to lead his Speartip down the rise and up the face of Hill One under a barrage of small arms fire.

This did not bode well.

Still, Darth Tormentous was not fearful for the outcome of today. No, the events to come after this day were by far more important than what would transpire over Hill One. For while Hill One was fought over and inevitably won by Kroxata, Hill Two would be seen as the strategic gemstone. No doubt it was being fortified as well! Even more, Hill Three would be safely housing all of Silimare’s artillery of which would pound Tormentous’ Army the entire campaign. No, this was not a situation that would be in favor of the Sith of the Red Cauldron.

The mist coiled around Tormentous as he glanced at Kroxata, “My friend,” he began in a deep tone that held no mistake in the challenge here today, “it appears that Silimare is living up to his reputation. A shame to waste such potential though if he will not serve me then he is condemned like the rest.” Jidai Maras sat with the blade tip in the moistened ground, once it was a snowy field now ground to mud by the constant travel. His hand gripped the leather bound hilt and it creaked under the pressure he applied. “Let there be no mistake Lord Kroxata, everything rests on the first impression we display here today.” He hoisted his sword from the earth and held it aloft, “There are many who desire to seek out their destinies, let us go show them the way.”

With that the Dark One leapt from the rise and plummeted the generous distance to solid ground on par level with the rest of the Speartip and while it was Kroxata that would lead this charge, Tormentous would march with the Dreadlord. While they were not equal, it was a sign of respect.

As soon as the Speartip entered the open, the face of Hill One revealed itself. Ten gun positions hastily thrown together with sandbags, the majority were non-Adept soldiers though there were a handsome number of Sith among them. They began to open fire on Kroxata’s Speartip - and so the Battle of Ziost had begun.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

Standing in pure silence, the Speartip army stood in the dense fog of the snow, the howling of the wind hauntingly brushing past them all, some would succumb to the tension, the aura of fear would envelop the rebellion as they awaited the first appearance of their enemy. The line of offence had the majority of the Sith warriors cladded in armour that was mainly concealed through the black robes they wore to protect their volatile skin from the merciless frozen terrain of Ziost. But stood at the very front of the first wave, stood the Dathomiri hammer, he did not wear any protection against the freezing temperatures, only staying to his traditional armour that had highlights of snow outlining the plate chunks covering over the sleek metallic undercoat that connected the armour together.

His breaths of cold air were visibly forming, condensation instantly changing his air to a cloudy mist, though this barely bothered the Zabrak, his kind were known for their endurance to extreme terrains. He enjoyed the build up, the importance of this battle determined the future of the Sith, and that thought thrilled the Sith Lord, the many tainted he would slay, the stories people would tell and the inevitable carnage that would ensue. “My friend,” Kroxa ta turned his head to his master, standing beside the Dathomiri Hammer in his moment of glory, for so long he has served under Tormentous as a mere servant, obeying his every command even if it meant death, but now Kroxata could give his life willingly to the Dark Lord of the Sith. The many battles they have faced together all leading them to reunite under the same banner once more, this even could be the last time they fight side by side, but this did not bring fear to the Dathomirian Zabrak, this would be a very honourable death one his tribe would be proud of if they lived to see this day.

“it appears that Silimare is living up to his reputation. A shame to waste such potential though if he will not serve me then he is condemned like the rest.” A name unfamiliar to Kroxata, mainly due to many months he spent away from Ziost, arranging his own conquest throughout the galaxy, in fact this was the first time Kroxata returned to Ziost after he came here as an Acolyte to train with his master. “Let there be no mistake Lord Kroxata, everything rests on the first impression we display here today.” A first display of dominance and defiance to the corrupt and weak Emperor, he would not allow the men under his banner show any weakness. “There are many who desire to seek out their destinies, let us go show them the way.” “And kill those that stand in our way.” his voice was quiet for once, it did not boom or ripple throughout the hills instead only enough to be heard under Tormentous’ ears. His hand grips tightly around his Lightstaff, ripping it from its holster spinning the blade so his hand crossed both switches, the two unstable crimson blades ignited from both sides of the Lightstaff, the snow sizzled over the burning beam creating a thin stream of steam radiate from the blade.

Upon doing so, the front line of Sith warriors followed the action, all igniting their Lightstabers creating a line of a crimson glow that stretched across the 200 strong.With a battlecry roar from the Speartip’s leader, the Sith warriors make their voices be heard as hundreds of blaster bolt jolted towards the charging rebellion, some Acolytes fell to the unexpected burst unable to deflect the fire before it gunned them down, however the rest manages to hold their lightsabers deflecting the majority of the fire, with Kroxata leading the charge. His beast like approach charging past the others with his added physical speed and strength spinning his Lightstaff out in front of him giving the enemy no chance to deal any damage to him whatsoever the gap between the two shrunk by the second until finally they stood face to face.

[Dastan Imatari]

The field was quiet for a moment. Dastan stood with both hands on his spear, resting the butt against the ground, and the point straight up- pointing to the sky. Eyes closed, feet shoulder-width apart, he meditated- drawing in the tension, the latent power that the whole field contained like a river through the valley. His war party behind him were eagerly awaiting to bloody their instruments, though for now- relaxed, stretching, crouching, or standing lazily together before the move signal had been given simply. They all wore a red band of cloth somewhere about their bodies so they could tell themselves apart from the enemy. Most wore the band around their arm, others- twisted around their head, or as a scarf or cowl. Dastan’s own band- wrapped around his left bicep, it’s ties dangling down to hear his waist. They were all ready, and knew of the job before them. Simple, really. Then they all stood, and looked ahead- Dastan’s raised spear, hefted up with his right hand...

A Swarm of loosely grouped black clad warriors had stepped off together, keeping a quick pace, though not yet a jog. That would come for when they began taking fire. Boots crunched through powdery snow, rock, and patchy grass. Bits of armor glinting between cloth robes in the small amount of sunlight through the swirling mists. The first hill was set up with gun emplacements, but Dastan’s crew was heading for the flank- the enemy’s supporting fire and artillery, though he’d naturally send a detachment to aide speartip to contain the hill’s overflow- and provide distraction to the other gun emplacements on the left flank.

To their right, they saw the speartip, slightly behind them- as necessary to contain the flank’s attention from the van. Dastan’s heart pounded. Footfalls around him sounding strangely quiet- his party of adept warriors were rather swift. Then in the distance, the tall spires of the artillery cannons arose into view, and the sounds of the enemy voices chattering became audible. His right hand, lax, holding his spear- drew up before him, his left hand finding it’s place near the butt. The horizon became the foreground slowly, the spire of the artillery reaching higher into the air, surrounded by makeshift cover, hastily dug trenches and bagged sand.

The group picked up pace, a slow roar built from the back of the ranks to the front- footfalls hitting heavier- trampling the grass and dirt beneath them. Some voices muffled by masks, helmets, other intimidating regalia. The silhouettes of enemies hunkered behind their cover now. He could hear them chattering to one another. He could feel their fear. Most of all, he channeled his own.

Then, Dastan roared- “Activate!” his entire group ignited their saber blades, and no more than a moment later- the enemy began firing on them as they approached. Red bolts screamed through their ranks coming from the two groups of infantry huddled into cover. War cries abound, blasters firing ahead of them, and in the distance. Few fell as they advanced, but many were adept and well trained enough to deflect incoming fire away from the group like a shield wall. Some of the incoming volley were directed back to the senders, too. The smell of expelled tibana gas filled the air now. Dastan began seeing red as they got closer… and closer…

The two infantry units side by side in front of a repeater emplacement, which was in front of a battery. They began coordinating their ranged attacks as Dastan’s group encroached. Then as they got close enough, their melee adepts leapt to the line from cover to provide a temporary shield to buy the soldiers time to cut down more of the encroaching war party.

Still alive repeated Dastan, From here, it would get confusing. Dastan had entered a rage, and lead the sprint into the enemy emplacements- spear ready to claim its first victim.

[Kell Sangros]

The field was quiet, the air still almost like the calm before the storm. It wasn’t cool but it was not oppressive either. Perfect fighting weather he thought to himself. He had been commanded to join this incursion. He of course did not protest, why would he? He lived for this. Lived for battle, Lusted for war. The Acolyte who would be known soon as Warvanus paced like a caged animal. He had wore body armor and had his blades and a blaster pistol for good measure as his command of the Force was still growing. He opened his senses to the Force. He could sense the life on this world. He could sense that his enemies drew near. He felt something else too, it was like a pungent odor in the air. He recognized it at once. It was fear. He stopped pacing. His gaze lingered towards the open field. This was another lesson, suggested by his Master but any suggestion was a command. Though to the Acolyte he wanted to prove himself in battle, show that he was worth the effort to be forged.

And Just Like that the battle was upon him. He heard “ACTIVATE” from a distance not far but it seemed to be the gong to begin blaster fire rained all over the field. The Acolyte drew his blade and sprinted to the front line. Through the Force (Danger sense) he dodged blaster bolts, some by mere millimeters some by good amount of inches. He charged the first soldier drove his blade under his arm where the body armor was weakest he drove the blade deep. With his foot he pushed the soldier away and freeing his blade in the process. He sensed (Life sense) one coming at him from behind. He brought his blade straight up and turned swinging at head level at the soldier. He did not decapitate him but he did slice his throat. He fell and gurgled in his last few moments. He turned around and charged issuing kicks and slashes to anyone blocking his path. He saw what looked like one of the lieutenants of probably the enemy unit. He threw his blade like a spear the blade found its mark. The chest of the lieutenant was reddening with blood. The Acolyte drew his dagger tackled him to the ground and using his forearm he pressed it hard against the officers throat before his dagger side of his head. Blood spewed on the Acolyte’s face and something primal came over him. He stood up pulled the dagger which was not coming out, he took the sword he had been using since day 1 and pulled it out of the chest.

He looked around at his surroundings scanning to find his next victim. Then he saw him, someone also was fighting with melee weapons, which told the Acolyte that this being might possess some skill. He swung his blade brandishing as if testing its weight. Then he charged to his next victim. The warriors clashed blades left, right, each blocking the other’s attack. What felt like an eternity the blades clashed. The Acolyte was patient he knew his opponent would make a mistake and sure enough he did. In the last attack the Acolyte’s opponent overstepped in his attack. His footing landed him off balance. Not enough to knock him on his feet but it was enough for the Acolyte to exploit it. He stepped half a step forward as he was to side towards behind him, he brought his blade to drive it into the back but the opponent at the last second brought his blade up to block from behind. The Acolyte drew the blaster pistol and with his free hand brought the pistol up to his opponents head and pulled the trigger. The bladesman was dead. He holstered his pistol. He spat. If he had honor he would have felt bad. “Honor is for the Jedi” he thought to himself. He was not honorable. He was Sith. He was a killer. And he was just getting started he was acting on his instincts, thought, senses, instincts working together as one.

[Slade Xandir]

If there was something Slade excelled in, it was being where one would least expect it. It was the job of he and his miniature army to be the arrows that penetrated the lives of the livestock they were meant to fell. To be the offensive group that landed blows to distracted enemy. Spears were the aggressors; shields were the protective front. It was time for the fletched weapons to be released.

Prepared for the worst, Slade had brought a single cell of his stock of DeathStalkers and cell of his stock in Garrals. Each contained 10 of each within their genetic pack, so 20 canines in total for his hand. Paired with the group he was meant to lead, Slade knew enough as a snake to manipulate warfare while remaining far enough to not be touched. A far range murderer took his place, a master web weaving spider whose intention was to wear you thin enough to pick you off...
One..
By one.
Watching with keen golds, Slade kept his hands steady, his body language the life or death to all who kept their motions triggered by his own. Once Speartip moved their mass to ascend the enemy's souls to the Void, Slade kept his feet firm. Shield began their move, their tankish hoard bleeding those who had no endurance dry. The majority of the enemy front was covered, their numbers focused on the two heaps of opposers that met them head on.
The snake began to slither.

Crouching well enough through the universal motion of 'get down' Slade and his pack began to make the move that would grant their allies ample time to keep their numbers and the enemy the lack of time to see what hit them until they were either decapitated or eviscerated. Through the web of the Force, Slade kept his mind open. Each motion was a hair being tripped, and each he felt. The instinct to remain unseen ran through each and every individual in his pack, and with minute adjustments, they moved synonymously. A single creature that craved to flank and destroy, hidden, unaware, weakening and bleeding Hill One like the useless prey they were.

Far enough they slinked to the right, the end of peripherals barest piece of horizon. That menace you felt watching, but were too caught up to notice...
Too busy to turn and investigate...
Until it killed you.

Only a few meters away and the hoard of a fortified Hill One was entirely focused on the warfare before them. Only just until Slade had his pack well up and near breathing down their necks. Only then did he release the hounds, both beast and men alike. But carefully, oh so carefully, and keeping their formation tight, they careened through the weakened right side of the opposing Sith. Both sabers and vibroswords slid and flashed deceitfully, a surprise and unexpected vengeance, decimating the enemy with fluid mobility. The unprepared shouts of terror and "Reinforce right flank!"s came too late, as the arrow had already hit it's mark; a truly deadly one.

[Silas Karn]

Silas’s place amidst the cauldron must have drawn much speculation by now between the many acolytes that served the Dark Lord Tormentous. Silas’s standing among his own people back on Eshan unknown to those who would foolishly consider themselves his peers. The immense depth of the former battlemaster’s ability in combat far in excess of any mere apprentice only served to foster further suspension if not greater respect of Tormentous own seemingly unfathomable power.

Beyond this discrepancy was the manner to which the pair interacted was divergent from a master-apprentice relationship to the point of Tormentous’s complete lack of instruction of the Force in stark contrast to his other acolytes. Were it not for an almost palpable reverence, and to some respect fear, of Tormentous the culmination of these factors would certainly be questioned aloud. Rumors grew as the Dark Lord continued to charge Silas with the success of the famed Dathomirian’s own missions even as most recognized the increasingly unnecessary nature of such a task.

Kroxata had in just the course of a few months risen to such prominence that the title of Darth seemed all but certain in his future. True to form Silas’s restlessness wasn’t acknowledged as the warriors of the spear tip charged past following Tormentous’s valiant second. Silas merely scoffed, “You set him on a path he can never hope to avail his self. Should you fall the Sith fall with you.” Having already ignited his lightsabers Silas channeled the limitless might of the Force to his legs and feet. Bursting forth, Silas honed his unmatched senses upon the folly of those that stood in the path of the Red Cauldron (Force Speed).

Altering his field of vision and amplifying the peerless sight by concentrating a smaller conical zone out between his position and that of his prey, Silas drew upon his knowledge of Soresu to bolster his defenses against the hail of blaster fire that met Kroxata’s spear. Readied for a prolonged engagement Silas dashed past the terminal end of the cauldron’s front line. What outwardly appeared to be a reckless charge covertly held a singular purpose; to draw attention from the true horrors about to be unleashed in Kroxata and Tormentous’s combined assault. So as Silas met the charging opponents to the Red Cauldron’s reformation of the Sith he unleashed upon the crowd in a whirlwind of blades and a torrent of Sith Lightning causing as much chaos as possible. All the while the dark clouds of a true storm began to encompass the Black Hand’s wake.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

With the utter intensity of the opening bombardment over and the dead members of the Speartip lying in cooling heaps far behind them, Tormentous, along with Kroxata’s force had finally crossed ‘no-man’s land’ and had found themselves at the base of Hill One. From the angle they stood, nestled against the line of ascension, it seemed to produce a blind spot where fire was no longer capable of cutting into them, or at least to a vastly lesser extent. Tormentous’ shoulder slammed into the frozen hillside as he finally was permitted to take a breath, the run had been arduous and his artificial lungs struggled to keep up with his already enhanced physique. He glared uphill as the defenders took pot shots at the offenders though the automatic fire of the deadlier weapons silenced - for now.

What was left of the Speartip was still a very sizable force though they’d been weeded out considerably, moreso than Tormentous would have liked to admit. While he considered the fallen unworthy, in a tactical sense they were still bodies that could no longer be thrown into the meat grinder to come. Down behind them the wounded were still being shot at, one Sith Warrior still fought on, his left leg missing from an artillery shell though he fought on from his back - lightsaber blazing, smacking blaster rounds away in some valiant and pointless effort.

The Dark One gave him no pity and turned his back as he was eventually cut to ribbons by blaster fire. Off to the west he could spot the glowing combat in Dastan’s charge over open terrain, he seemed to have made it to the enemy lines - that was good as it’d force the defenders to try even harder to repulse these efforts. From the east however, Tormentous could spot nothing and this would have dismayed him as to Blood’s progress though he could feel the killing swath ahead, no doubt his Apprentice had met the enemy force in secret and was knifing his way through them.

Yes, this progress was excellent indeed. He turned and stood from his crouched position and reached forth, one mighty hand gripping a frozen rock tightly. This was Kroxata’s charge, but Tormentous wasn’t about to let the brash Warrior take all the glory. As Kroxata hefted himself over the ridge, so did Tormentous and the wave of the speartip moved from cover to the incline of Hill One - right into the awaiting arms of the defender’s automatic fire. Swaths of red energy blazed down upon them, cutting down a pair of unsuspecting Warriors in the process and guttering the ridge line with suppression. Some fell to their knees and cried as children from the mental challenges alone, others died the glorious charge. But even so, the majority continued onward, scaling the hillside with a sluggish pace due to the frozen wastes they were forced to crawl through.

From the flank of the Speartip came the Black Hand, his torrent of Force Lightning blazed a return fire into the non-adept lines and while he melted some and immolated others, that relief only did so much as others moved to take their vacancies. Not only that but with Silas’ proximity to the line, the defender displayed their true hand, twenty Sith Warriors under the allegiance of Caecilis emerged from the firing lines, a group of five ignited their blades and leapt from the high elevation to strike out at the Black Hand, his arrogant display would be silenced. The rest supported their trooper lines with a great amount of confidence - or fear in that they either win or die. Some cast giant boulders from the hill side down onto the oncoming Speartip with the Force.

Massive tonnage slammed down causing mini-avalanches that consumed many and crippled others. One such rock came hurtling in directly at Tormentous though he backhanded the rock with a wave of telekinesis and the boulder was obliterated into a billion pebbles that showered the Speartip as they clamored up the hillside.

They came on unrelenting in their determination. Automatic blaster fire, small arms, Force abilities and artillery could not stop them. It was insanity in the very definition as to how they charged but also to how they survived the pressure set against them. Higher and higher they climbed, fingers frozen from the permafrost ground that broke the skin on their fingers and cracked fingernails. To stop meant an end unfit, to continue meant meeting cold steel. Fifty meters turned to twenty and twenty turned into ten. Muscles burned with fatigue, sweat poured out and froze to their skin, pain was amplified from the cold temperatures. Tormentous himself had been peppered with shrapnel at least twice as the explosions cratered around them and through all this he fed from the pains in his body, it fueled him with anger and it excited him to the despair of his foes.

So close now as melee combatants stepped up with pikes and spears and shields to slow the attackers as the automatic weapons were silenced and their operators began breaking them down to retreat to a new line. Other troopers stood behind the melee troops with rifles and pistols, fear and disbelief in all of their eyes. While Sith Warriors stood anticipating the battle to come.

Tormentous crawled upwards ever more, finally the pikemen at the fore braced themselves and thrust at him. It was time…

He reared up straight and lashed with Jidai Maras in a horizontal sweep that perfectly caught three pikes in its mighty wake, severing their heads and leaving the splintered hafts. This didn’t however mean the jagged edged of the pike haft couldn’t still be used, just that their lethality had been decreased. Tormentous rushed the line, batting away the defender’s weapons until he reached melee range and his first strike was a fist cracking into the cheek of a man which stunned him and with the same hand he ripped him from the ground and pulled him from the perch to fall down the battered hillside. His sword flashed, spilling blood for the first time in this battle and Jidai Maras screamed out in glee as it drank the horror of the soul hewn from the defender’s chest.

Left and right Tormentous cut down the wheat, and he was displeased with the quality of the defense. These were not worthy of battle nor his measure. With fury his right arm cracked with ethereal power, he channeled it into Jidai Maras and the Sith Sword was wreathed in blue lightning. With every swing it repulsed two men, six, ten, a whole dozen to die in an agonizing way. Jagged bands of angry lightning speared from the termination point of his strikes to leap out and murder more foes as he raged in furious abandon.

Finally Kroxata’s men made it into the sandbag lines where melee mixed with the ranged troopers and so the battle became a slaughter though not entirely a route as the remaining Sith Warriors rushed to shore the defensive line up and keep Tormentous and his followers from gaining any more ground. Two of them rushed into the Speartip and waded into the fray, they killed friend and foe alike, truly the non-Adept was doomed in this moshpit. Suddenly the advance naturally slowed with the weight of the defenders numbers far outreaching that of the attackers. When this occurred the frozen snow covered Hill One began to churn and mix into a mud covered plinth where honor was forgotten and glory was far from reality - it was kill or be killed here and the cost was bloody indeed.

Tormentous’ black robes were cut in multiple places as skill no longer took precedence in such a melee, instead it only mattered how well one could achieve their level of butchery. The rags of his remaining robes were spatter soaked with blood, mud and sweat, his boots were heavily caked in filth up to his knees and his face too was blood spattered. Blaster holes had torn craters in his cloak along with spears and swords cutting gash marks in his armor, though not once was his lifeblood spilt by the enemy aside from the artillery shrapnel.

An opposing Sith Warrior came at him, thrusting low to gut him. Tormentous exerted the Force and a telekinetic blast slammed into the fool as if he’d been hit by a speeder and the broken body flailed aside into the mud. Such was Darth Tormentous’ unstoppable fury.

The pitched battle for Hill One was well underway, and it was most certainly not over yet.

[Kroxata Akhoi]

With a thunderous roar that echoed throughout the frozen wastes the Dathomiri Hammer had issued his war cry, no longer could he await the sight of impending battle leaping far in front of the first sandbagged choke point he begins to combine the cluster of the Dark Side that radiated on the battlefield more than he had ever felt before. As his energies were reaching his peak he begins descending slamming his hand into the ground below creating a massive shockwave surrounding him knocking back all the Sith warriors and soldiers around him, something even Kroxata did not expect, in the process collapsing a small portion of the sandbags allowing an optimal point for which his own warriors to pass through without having to climb over the elevated walls or still be under threat by the turrets that battered those that had not made it up the hill yet.

Kroxata slowly rose, with his enemies rising alongside him trying to take out the giant zabrak in melee combat, drawing their blades, and with two swift slices of hid Lightstaff, spinning it around the front and back of his body, taking away any limbs that were caught in the radius, he continued to do this until finally upon his last turn he thrusted a pulse of the Force out in front of him knocking down any non force users but one stood out from the crows. Whilst most flew through the air, he stood still, his lightstaber in hand and his hand extended outwards blocking the incoming force of telekinesis, from behind him two other hooded figures emerged from the ongoing skirmish all wielding a lightstaber each, their faces concealed the two newcomers instantly charging forward, darting around with such speed and agility that they seemed to be the perfect counter to the Dathomirian’s brute-like fighting style. But they were fools, falling to the same mistake so many others had made in the past, yes they had the advantage of speed, but the usage of a Lightstaff was designed to face multiple enemies, they both strike from either side, Kroxata simply swiping away the first with such strength it knocks him off balance whilst the other is met by the locked blade of the unstable Kyber crystal.

The skirmish continues with still standing Sith battling his way through the giant Zabrak, trying to expose a weakness whilst the third standing one prowls around the conflict, killing any pathetic acolyte that dared crossed him, cutting him down within seconds. The fallen Sith rose to his feet charging back into the fray making his own impact on Kroxata, though he came to little surprise, already his senses had grasped a concept of his opponents attack pattern now being able to detect what he will do. With little surprise the Sith that faced him rose his blade high seeking to strike down, Kroxata swirled around almost disarming the second Sith before turning a full 180 degrees slashing the first sith in an uppercut motion, his body flipping away to the strength, before finally he came crashing down the opposite end taking off the head of the other Sith. Now the final one remained he charged forward releasing Force push after Force push until a blaster struck his abdomen, he looks back up to see the Dathomiri Hammer dash towards him with unremarkable speed taking his head clean off before moving on to the pawns behind him.

The rest of Speartip finally had crawled their way to the peak of Hill One blasting away at their foe that now stood on equal grounds, using the sandbags against them serving as their own cover leaving the force completely surrounded and open to blaster fire, the other Sith warriors and Acolytes poured from above acting as both a second shield and a mighty spear, obliterating their way through any resistance, though the numbers were still against them, and without the aid of the other two forces, Speartip’s momentum would gradually deplete.