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Invasion The Eleventh Hour | BotM Invasion of NIO held Noris and Sharb


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And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.


Site Administrator: Valiens Nantaris





Ten years. For ten long years the Brotherhood has scorched, scoured, and sundered every last refuge of the long defunct Ascendancy. We have plucked their gardens, we have ravaged their libraries, their academies, and taken all they hold dear for our own. There are no secrets left for them, no dark corners to hide in, no line of allies capable of stopping the tide to come as the darkness settles in. We are the MAW and we have come.

The MAW-IMPERIAL Theater of the Second Great Hyperspace War has raged on continuously without end in sight, constant engagements throughout Chiss Space has rendered entire worlds into battlefields. Rebuked from the Imperial Heartland at Nirauan, recovering from the deadly strike at Csaus, the Brotherhood tire of the Tug-o'-War game with the formidable New Imperial Armed Forces. What was intended to be a sweeping victory through the remnants of the Ascendancy has become a series of piecemeal conquests straining the Mawite War Machine signifcantly as it continues to fight on multiple fronts across the galaxy.

The Dark Voice demands action, as the long gathering MAW HOLY CRUSADE assemble to strike at the Core Worlds, the collective force of the MAW's military might gather to try and break the year long stalemate at New Imperial held Noris. The indomitable bulwark held by THE EMPIRE must fall, the DARK THREE cannot be denied any longer. If we cannot take Noris any hope of returning to the Empire's homeland will be for naught. Our Imperial rivals must pay for their transgressions and learn the price of ORDER when confronted with TRUE CHAOS. Let none survive as you wage total war upon the last bastion of hope for the Chiss. NORIS WILL FALL.




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The 117th Stormtrooper Division has begun finalizing evacuation efforts, long entrenched outside the capital of Primus. The long silence of the frontlines have been broken, the first wave crashed against the New Imperial bulwarks without relent but even as combat sizzled out it was clear that such was a precursor to the terror that would come. Washing over the landscape pressing on toward forward fortifications 'Belisarius', waves of Moon Children rush the trenches as their Mawite masters press forward in mechanized terrors. Mawite vessels slip down seeking to turn the tide as the Invasion Force arrives to combat the New Imperials HOLDING THE LINE. Fight as the MAW and destroy the EMPIRE where they stand to claim victory or defend the city as the EMPIRE and make these crazies pay in blood for every inch. The evacuations cannot be interrupted, the spaceport cannot fall.



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THE EMPIRE hold the Spaceport of Primus as evacuations continue amidst the threat of TOTAL WAR. Dug in, entrenched, and heavily defended, the Imperial Spaceport will not fall into Mawite hands without a good fight. The 117th intend to make the MAW pay 10 marauders for every stormtrooper, a promise they intend to keep to their dying breath if necessary. As evacuations reach their most desperate hour, the main surface-to-space Orbital Defense Cannon goes offline suffering major damage. Without this critical weapon emplacement protecting the spaceport, the MAW's fleet should they break through the orbital defenses will be unopposed in glassing Primus along with all those still fighting on Noris. Defend the spaceport, repair and protect the cannon, halt the MAW's advance or RAGE THROUGH THE EMPIRE'S defenses and deliver them a reminder of Nirauan. KILL THE IMPERIALS deliver and detonate the rigged SUPERSONIC M.O.A.B., claim TOTAL VICTORY. WAR! DEATH! REBIRTH!


 

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DARK LORD OF THE SITH
| VOICE OF THE MAW
PRELUDE TO NORIS INVASION
Exegol

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The monolith that was the Throne of the Sith boldly stood centerfold in front of countless shroud covered cultists and gathered warlords. It was a monument to the Dark Side, an Icon of Evil, a symbol of true tangible power. The Dark Lord of the Sith, Voice of the Hidden Maw, sat sternly in the obsidian throne and cast forth a most terrible glare into the masses.

“Break them or break upon them. The push will now stretch further, Bastion will burn.”

A sudden flash of brilliant light, roaring thunder flooded through the chamber and crackling lightning followed in a sputtering retreat throughout the enormity of the Sith Citadel’s amphitheater. The Dark Lord’s hands rose from his tattered robes illuminated by the sinister brilliance.

Meanwhile on Noris his holographic image played out to the Heathen Priest standing among giants The Mongrel The Mongrel and Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood . His feeble form, wretched snare was replaced with a cowardly whine when confronted by the Dark Voice.


“Wipe them out. All of them.”

The Heathen Priest spun on his heels and screeched to the endless masses of the Mawite Horde.

“FORWARD!!”



 
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent | Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw, Mongrel's advisor
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Objective: Doing her job and follow the warlord's commands.
Location: Landing zone, surface, Noris
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Assault Rifle | 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger | 2x Riftblades || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || OPBC-01m
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Open
Enemies: Open
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[ New Order ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

  • She thinking and waits for Mongrel to arrive.

Odessen was a disaster; not just because we almost died because of my failed reconnaissance. I mean, he's almost dead! The warlord… no, Mongrel… no, Kallan. I was no longer able to think of him as Mongrel, he was Kallan. On that damn planet, it became apparent why it was forbidden in almost every place for a soldier to have contact with his subordinate or superior. I don’t care, but there the moment he said goodbye, I also felt like something was died inside me as well.

I exceeded my authority to save him. I would have been willing to sacrifice all the clan members there in the redemptive fire of the orbital bombing just to keep him alive. I don’t care at that moment, how many will die from the enemy or from ours; I wanted him to live. I would have been ready to let him to the Avatars at any time before Odessen, but not after he said his real name or what happened there between us. I promised not to let him down anymore, but I did it there in Odessen. At least I felt this.

I showed weakness. Not in front of others; in front of others, I have always maintained the appearance that I am merely his adviser, his agent, that he is my Warlord. For an outside observer, nothing suggested reality. But in the mind palace, everything was ours, not even the Taskmaster could get in if I didn’t want to. For us... the only safe place in the world. I could have been weak there, and so was he if he wanted. Never, no one will find out from me, I would die before I would betray him.

And yet, I was ashamed of the weakness I showed. When we were finally together, I was sobbing in his arms for hours in both reality and in the mind palace at the same time. To lose someone; only Ziare had known this feeling before. For others, I didn’t feel it; I was able to cut their throat, kill them, torture anyone just as I had before. I just enjoyed being able to have their lives in my hands. I enjoyed it, and the fact I was able to kill anyone for him!

But Kallan? I was afraid, I was terrified; that something will happen to him and I will lose him…

I can never make a mistake like it did on Odessen again. A mistake again would be fatal. Fortunately, it was easier with the NIO. The NIO did not use HPI technology, there was no MANIAC out there who wanted to sabotage all my tricks, or just the personal AI of Ashlan Crusade and / or the Eternal Empire that MANIAC oversaw. I should have gotten something like AI like this. Although there was nothing like it that I could access. In any case, NIO was easier.

As Ziare, I was able to move easily around the city, behind lines of defence, and on the planet; I knew the Maw was coming and how much time I had. With the codes, with my access, I easily obtained the necessary data; exact numbers, operations centres, names of officers and commanders. I knew the Mandalorians would be here as well, the 117th. I knew what ships would be around the planet, what the NIO wanted to protect and defend the best, and I could have listed more.

But the war changed; especially since Dromund Kaas. Not just because Kallan saved me there for the first time, I actually mean war and strategies.

Before that, it was enough for me to send the data only when the armies of the Maw arrived; the joint operations of Ashlan Crusade and the Eternal Empire have shown that this is no longer enough. Not against them; I haven’t fought the NIO since, but I haven’t risked it that way. I didn’t want another mistake like on Odessen. So the day before he and the Mawite army arrived, I wrote my report and sent it in advance to the warlord and the other tactical officers. He was still a Warlord here. I only called him as Mongrel in private only, but not anymore, not since he asked me to call on his real name. The warlord title was needed to maintain the appearance, I never wanted to put him into danger. And last but not least, I respected him as a warlord and clan leader as well.

All the pieces were in place. I just had to wait in the landing zone to arrive and get another assignment and finally feel his mind and closeness. To see you again, to be together again. Since Odessen, I have managed to get another object that makes it even easier for me to establish a telepathic connection with it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t strengthen my abilities if I want to use them on others, but it doesn’t even stress me so much and I am able to pay more attention to both worlds if I have to.

And usually I have to…

I looked up at the sky, I could get back behind enemy lines anytime he asked; but now… as I waited for his dropship to appear so that I could feel his embrace, kiss, smell… my heart was already beating much harder and not because of the impending war.

Kallan

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Location: Dropship enroute to landing zone near the Primus Spaceport, Noris
Allies: The Maw
Enemies: NIO
Equipment: Apostles Vestments; The Dark Sacraments

The Message was unmistakable. The Chiss must be wiped clean from the galaxy.

The Dropship breached the atmosphere of Noris, fire flaring around its hull as it pushed through on route to the landing zone that awaited planetside. It was not alone, a multitude of transports and troop carriers flanked and preceded it. Doubtless the ground was already a warzone, blood and battle that fed the Darkside and the Void.

Inside the Dropship dozens upon dozens of 'Acolytes' were packed together, shoulder to shoulder in some cases ready to do the work of the Maw.

The Dark Apostle stood one level higher than those who accompanied him, his gaze sweeping out across the Acolytes. Those at the fore knelt as if in supplication to him while those in the rear continued to stand. As Kol addressed them his arms were outstretched ahead of him, his palms turned upwards as though in offering while his voice waxed and waned, carrying a strange effect that washed over the rest...

"Th
e Voice has spoken. Today we cleanse the galaxy of the unclean, we peel back the rotting malignance so that chaos can replace it. Let no Chiss survive, show no Imperial mercy. The Void hungers for all of them."

There was a resounding affirmation that passed over those in the belly of the Dropship as the sibilant whispers carried by Kol's voice continued to resound through the minds of those gathered today. Like a parasite winding into the minds of those before him the Acolytes, darksiders all would see their wills steeled against the bloody work needing to be done. Man, woman or child no quarter would be offered.

A Light flashed crimson in the dimness of the hold indicating that the Dropship closed on the landing zone and the Acolytes responded by turning to face the ramp that would descend once they'd completed planetfall. When the ramp fell the battle would begin for them...​
 
Objective: Woken Furies, Coordinate and provide fire support for Maw forces
Allies: BoTM, Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis , Rannan Kol Rannan Kol , Open
Enemies: NIO, Open
Interacting with: Open

Havoc walked through the gun battery, examining the artillery battery. The battery was near the back line of the trenches. Gunners and engineers ran around, setting up the artillery guns, carrying supplies and ammunition, and shouting at one another. Even the back line of the trenches was bizarre and buzzing with activity. Maw troops rushed up to the front lines of the trenches to fight the NIO forces. Armored vehicles were dropped off and strode forward towards the front lines to provide support for the infantry.

Havoc pulled out his macrobinoculars and examined the front lines. There, Maw forces were preparing for their assault on the NIO troops entrenched in defense of their city. The battle was already ongoing, but soon things would be picking up incredibly once the full bulk of their forces arrived. When that happened, things were going to be getting a lot more intense. Havoc's job was to coordinate artillery and aerial strikes for their ground forces. Havoc would make sure their bombardment would turn the enemies to dust.

An engineer ran forward to Havoc. Havoc put his macrobinoculars away and looked at the engineer.

"Sir, we're almost ready." The engineer said.

"Good... Let's not keep them waiting." Havoc nodded and walked back over to a gun battery. Havoc approached a small command post and typed away on a terminal. Havoc watched as the gunners climbed onto the artillery guns, the support crews loading in the ammo for the guns. The guns activated, rising up, ready for target designation. The final touches were being finished. Almost go time. Soon, the Brotherhood would grind the NIO to dust, there would be no mercy, no repent. Havoc had been the one to personally destroy Csilla, he had been the one to deliver the killing blow to Csilla, killing an entire planet in the blink of an eye. Havoc would show the NIO just what exactly they were facing. Havoc planned on giving the NIO the same treatment that he had given the Chiss. He planned on wiping out each and every single one of them. There would be no mercy for them. They would be crushed by the Maw, it was inevitable.

Another Maw wave passed their line, heading deeper and further into the trenches, rushing for the front lines. Seemed like it was about time to begin. Seemed like things were finally going to be picking up. No doubt the bulk of their forces were about to arrive.

"Well, time to get this show on the road," Havoc said over the commlink. "All Maw forces, this is Havoc. All artillery batteries are ready for fire support, just give the word, and we'll bomb the NIO to dust. We're ready for target designation, just point them out and we'll send them to ashes." He said, broadcasting it on the main Maw frequency.

Today was going to be a fun day...
 
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Objective: Protect the space port, the Chiss, and the NIO.
Location: Noris Spaceport.
Enemies: the Maw and anyone associated with them.
Allies: The NIO, the Chiss, and fellow bounty hunters.
Tags: Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren

Equipment:


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D E F E N D E R - F O R - H I R E


The bitter cold did nothing to freeze her, comfortable in her beskar'gam. The Mandalorian hunter walked the port's upper walls, gazing out into the frigid landscape beyond. The New Imperial Order was desperate, defending the Chiss with even hired help. Gwyneira Krayt was positive that most bounty hunters were here for the coin and the coin alone, but for her, it was different. Memories swelled in her mind, of the lover she lost. She had first met the late love of her life, a Chiss hybrid, in war devastated Chiss space. She knew how important defending the Chiss and destroying the Maw was to him. Even with him gone, she still loved him. Furthermore, upon hearing about the Maw further working to wipe out the Chiss here, she immediately took the bounty to help defend these people. The credits were simply an added bonus.

<"Jac'Eli'Zirem, I am protecting your people today...">

She stood, gazing out. She already knew the enemy was approaching. She reached and placed a hand on her rifle. At the outskirts of the base, with snowflakes dancing around her, she ducked low, pulled her rifle out, and entered the prone position. Switching the Distant Chill to sniper mode, she was more than ready to snipe any approaching enemies from here.

No mercy, no exceptions.

Especially for the Maw.

 


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The troop transport trail blazed in the wake of Rannan Kol Rannan Kol ‘s dropship. Parting through the opening breached by the ascendant spear which was the prior vessel. They breached the lower atmosphere of Noris akin to fireballs, only upon reaching immediate resistance from the New Imperial anti-AA armament protecting Primus did the flames wicking their steel cool and fizzle out.

One year, the MAW had deadlocked with the occupying EMPIRE for one whole year. The planet had seen countless bodies litter it’s crust, swallows whole in the mud in one gigantic mass burial. The Dark Three must have looked upon this planet as a worthy offering, a place to break the strong and earn Rebirth’s attention or waste away into nothing. The Dark Voice demanded action, with the Holy Crusade gathering on the far side of the Core Worlds the main push was to finally rid the Imperials of Chiss Space and return to their heartland.

Return to Nirauan.

His helmet slammed against the metal bench inside the dark transport, the interior was silent as the grave. The occupants no mere ordinary marauder or cultist, they were Holy Crusaders, a detachment brought to aid in bringing down the main defense gun in Primus. They needed the best, so they got it.

His cigarra lit between his lips, the hot flame snuffed out as he stood. Face covered in sacrificial blood honorarily bestowed upon each Holy Crusader. He stood and turned to address the cabin full of zealots.

“I want chaincodes for every Imperial. I want thirty for every man on this barge.”

His hand scrunched together into a tight fist slamming into the ceiling of the vessel with a resounding thud as smoke filled the airway.

“And I want em’ today! War! Death! Rebirth!”

The cabin roared with zealotry. Cries to the Three Avatars blocking out all ambient noise, they were bloodthirsty, they were the MAW’s black armored knights. A loud guttural howl filled the chamber, dreaded throat singing followed as they engaged in ritualistic preparation for landing. The vessel shook from the explosions outside, the shuttle nearly engulfed in the fires of the defender’s proficient weaponry.

It was time.







 
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Location: Y-Wing enroute to the Primus Spaceport
Objectives: Land, figure out what to do.
Allies: NIO
Enemies: Maw Bros
Equipment: Flight Suit Blast Vest Med Pack Blaster Pistols

As one of the mercenaries called on the spur to assist the evacuation, Prulesa didn't have the best grasp of what was going on. From what she understood the Imperials had been desperately holding on but knew the end was near. At least there was still a small fleet keeping the evacuation corridor open. But now the big gun had stopped firing.

Inside the cockpit of her bomber, she shifted uneasily, her armor was new and still uncomfortable against the seat. She hadn't planned on needing any or going outside the walls of the space port, but this was far beyond the few space skirmishes she was familiar with and wanted to be prepared. As she breached through the grey clouds and the devastation below filled her viewscreens, she was thankful for it, letting out a slow "Fraaaack" within her helmet. She stared at it for a long moment before distant traces of AA lasers reminded her to fly evasive. Already in a dive, her foot pushed against the rudder peddle to throw off visual aiming and bring her more in line with the port as she juked the control stick randomly some to do the same with computer tracking.

Gliding over the port's walls, she picked out a clear spot and landed the ship, setting it down gently before pulling the command key from its place. No way was she risking someone taking her way back off the planet. Then she dropped down to the snow-flecked pad below to find someone in charge.
 

Cormac Thire

Guest
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T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
NIO | Ivan Sienar | Baxter Weyland Baxter Weyland | Gwyneira Vizsla Gwyneira Vizsla | OPEN
MAW | Rannan Kol Rannan Kol | Skorge the Bloodied Skorge the Bloodied | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren

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GOOD NIGHT
NORIS '75

THE WINTER CONTINGENCY
DEFIANT 'TILL THE END

It was supposed to be any day now. Any day that they'd finally be moving off this god-forsaken rock, rotated off the line for the first time in...who the hell knows how long. But instead, the rabid dogs of the Maw would swoop down on the wounded lion as he licked his wounds. This was the Empire in its weakest, most vulnerable moment. It'd been almost two decades of uninterrupted total war and for the first time ever, it'd found itself spent and overextended, in Chiss Space.

He'd sent his last holo message home, to his once-beloved. She hadn't responded in weeks, figured she'd moved on, sick of the sparse contacts and lack of presence. Most anyone who'd told Thire they'd keep in touch fell out of it. Such was life.

The clamor and chaos of the unit was unlike it'd been in weeks, there'd been a lack of vigor and energy from the 117th since the last attack by the Maw, everyone running on fumes and forlorn hope. There was anxiety over when the Maw might next attack and when the hell they'd be able to leave this place.

Well, their anxieties were smoothed over when one of the two pieces fell. The Maw was on the attack again and the Invincible were here to stop them, outmanned, outgunned, and with morale in the dumps, they'd have to put up the most miraculous defense in Imperial military history to save themselves from being strung to the cross.

An impossible task.

Just what they were all trained to do.

His spade hit the rain-soaked mud over a thousand times before they were able to construct a manageable fighting position to defend the stretch leading up to the spaceport.

The 38th Company was assigned the most dreaded task in the final moments, however.

Not soon after the shots began to ring out, intel swooped back to the frontline command that the Maw was planning on planting and detonating a MOAB capable of leveling whatever was left of Primus. If that went off along with the destruction of the city's orbital defense cannon, any hopes of an Imperial last stand were kaput.

One of the few capable in the 117th, Thire was assigned to find, defuse and render safe the MOAB before it ever reached its target.

Once again, an impossible task.

With a magnetic signature scanner honing them in on the bomb's location, Thire took his team into hell. The Maw's brutality combined with the urban dust, mud and chaos of it all made for a spectacle ripped from the worst nightmares of the best the propaganda machine of the Empire could drudge up of their enemy's image. Somehow, there wasn't any exaggeration. A moment past the barricade and Cormac was looking down the sights of his blaster and thudded a violent burst of tibanna into the chest of a Marauder before rushing toward the ruined side of a nearby building.

One of his soldiers piped up in a question awash with anxiety and stress over the moment.

<"They get a gauge on how much time we have to dead this thing?"> The Sapper piped up, his voice as equally distorted as his commander through the vox of his stormtrooper helmet.

<"Never enough, keep moving."> Thire said under careful footfalls as he peered around the corner toward the next street, glancing down to the tac pade on his vambrace to view the magnetic signature once more.

Getting closer. But still not close enough.

He was about to give the order to move when another Marauder appeared from the opposite street corner and unloaded an automatic salvo toward the squad. Thire punched back with a burst all his own before pulling back into cover.

<"Sienar. We're getting closer to where I can pin the 'MOAB' down to but- bad news, as you'd expect it's teeming with Maw. I'm gonna need more cover if we wanna dead this thing sooner than later. Do you copy?"> He asked the way of the lieutenant, ducking to avoid another rip of blaster fire that bit into the duracrete wall next to him, flinching at the noise and impact before snapping his gaze back in the direction of the advancing unit, putting another burst downrange as he waited for a response.

The final hour dawned and the clock was ticking.
 
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Objective: Recon the area, but don't get caught
Location: Noris, the Outside periphery of the NIO Trenchworks
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM
Enemies: NIO
Tag: Open

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When Superious became part of the Maw and their ideals, he knew that they will invade Noris. This was his first invasion within his career and he knew it was for the blood throne. He faced angry Wraiths, a Mandalorian and even a Jedi. Noris and the Imperials should be simple enough compared to them. He knew damned well that it is never simple and that everything has a tag attached to it, be it good or bad. He learned that the hard way. Pain and fear was his teacher, after all, that was a cornerstone in his Sith Training. His nerves misfired at the memory, giving him a slight pause in his train of thought, several blasts of electricity can do that.

The trek towards the trenches was taken with the utmost care, he was open and can't afford to be ambushed with being this open. No, he needs to get close and think of a plan of attack, this involves getting to other Mawites and linking up with them which will help as he is only one man and lightning is easy to figure out after three uses. Which will not do at all. He is not stupid enough to go running right into NIO forces like a lunatic. That'll get him killed or captured because only those with mush for brains run out with no plan. Several apprentices died that way, shame, they looked so promising.

Moving silently Superious ducked behind an outcrop to avoid patrols and sky recon. He nearly got caught once already. Thankfully he was able to deflect away from his location. This is 1 hour to Midnight and the Chiss will vanish from the Galaxy's stage as all things must. He will be there to witness the Maw finally extract that splinter from under their nail once and for all. Splinters are irritants and the Chiss were the biggest one of all.

After a while, he found shelter nearby, far enough not to upset the scanners and alert the enemy to his location, where he can observe and track down allies to group with. As he found himself becoming more involved, Superious actively sought out Maw allies to help benefit him during fights. He even wondered about the one they called Thomas, who looked like a decent asset in the Maw War Machine. He wondered where he got to and whether the guy was still knocking around.

For now, he has to concentrate.
 
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1st post
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FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE

117th Division
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15th Company,"The Embers"
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NIO: Cormac Thire Ivan Sienar
Erin E-141 Jack E-138 Jack E-138 Hiran Avola Hiran Avola

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast Gwyneira Vizsla Gwyneira Vizsla

BOTM: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis The Mongrel The Mongrel Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze Erion Justeene Erion Justeene

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform

CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade

Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool


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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 2 (DEATH) - PROLOGUE
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Objectives:
  • Hold the Line
  • Die Like a Hero
  • Make Your Escape
  • Aid the Wounded
FOB: Belisarius, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


'Well, shit.... Looks like someone wants to die with us after all.'

Muttering under-breath to himself as soon as the latest BattleNet update came through, a rueful feeling of almost-sarcastic relief was creeping up from the burning depths of All-Heart's gut at the time, though he knew better than to let it get to him, especially in the final hours of the Chiss evacuations. The Crimson Hands had fulfilled their duties admirably as according to Mawite standards, holding the ground well as their allies continued to swarm in from all directions to bolster their lines, giving the old Krieg-born Captain plenty other pressing matters to think about that day.

<"Cantrell to Ember One! Another inbound ship marked as,"PMC", it still keeps our deaths at bay - even if only for just a little longer. Honestly; at the moment, I'm happy for any help we get when the Maw eventually swarm us. Keep your chin up, sir.">

<"Karsh to Scope One! Copy that, Cantrell.... And I will, I promise.">


<"Cantrell to Ember One! That's what I like to hear, and just like the reinforcements, I also want you to remember that we need as much morale on our side as we can get too.">

<"Karsh to Scope One! That's fair- OH! And just to remind you, Erin's still in our prayers by the way. The medics' comm-silence could mean anything at this stage after all - so your chin better be staying up as well. That's an order.... Ave Rurik, Master-Sergeant!">

<"Ave Rurik, sir! Scope One out!">

Never before had the Empire let the 117th Division down, but it was still appearing quite obvious that the Joint-Chiefs would issue no such evacuation for the Embers in the end, not that it would matter in the end, as the Maw had every intention of swarming every Imperial element operating within and around Primus' western districts. However, what neither Karsh nor Moran had anticipated were the landings that isolated both key Imperial locations within the city, utilising preparations for divide-et-impera, and were already looking set to be making their moves sooner than expected also, casting quite the foreboding mood over the watchers at the top of Belisarius Tower as they watched everything unfold from the Holographic table. The red blips continued to mount up against their slower-rising blue, green and white counterparts, and there was almost nothing that could be done about it by then, a very different predicament to the Scopes' previous efforts against the Crimsons buying them plenty in the way of breathing-space on their first day on the ground.

'We're neck-deep in it now, Remmel. Looks like your self-sacrifice may occur sooner than we hoped.'

Lighting a cigarra whilst the heels of his boots raised to rest on the edge of the holographic-table, Karsh calmly processed the finality of his friend's statement, understanding it to be one of those definitive signs of the end he had been anticipating with apprehensive vigilance since the Embers first arrived. Then after a few slow draws of silence to himself, appreciating the silence and speaking-room he was given for a moment before replying,'Even if it means seeing just one Ember off the planet in one piece, then that steep price will be paid with my blood.... And if it turns out no saviours are coming to relieve us after all, we'll both be leaving families behind - families who need us.', trailing off in jaw-clenched yearning to see Krieg again, the homeworld that was already fading from All-Heart's memory by then. Perhaps memories of Nachtland (or perhaps even the Vorhut Despotate) would return as the Captain's life flashed before his eyes in the final moments of his life, or at least, this is what Remmel had been hoping for - and for a good while before deploying to Primus.

'Sorry it had to be you, sir. You're one of the good ones, I can tell.'

All-Heart was just about to reassure the comm-tower operator, on the very verge of keeping his friend from worrying too much, everything began to light up with activity in front of them, lighting up the old-heads' faces in an array of movement and flashing red blips. The time for waiting had passed, with no more calm-before-the-storm to cling to, and all the Captain could do was sit glued to the spot, magnetized to the horror as it all began to unfold across the entire battlefront - with old Moran every part as transfixed as Karsh was in that moment.

'Lost my only son to the Sith Empire, my wife to cancer.... About time the Empire loses us to the Maw now, sir. It's our turn now.'

<"Greene to Ember One! Time to look lively! We got firefights on all fronts, and Lieutenant Sienar's looking for ya! Lets go!">

<"Making a beeline for the western front now, Ember Three! Just keep Sienar covered - and bring my rifle!">

With a simple double-handed attempt to awaken his brain, eyes and face with slapping intensity, the Captain then rose to his feet and turned for the door, stopping only to admit,'You're more right than you'll ever know, Moran. Good to have a Woad with us in our darkest hour, more comforting than I ever thought was possible for one of your sort.... If my eyes never live to see you again after this, I still know for a fact that my soul will.', before marching out the door with shoulders back in feigned confidence, out into the Hell that awaited. However, everything would change when Remmel got halfway down the stairs when the distinct sound of a singular gunshot rang out from behind him, and without even daring to turn back to inspect the scene, All-Heart's soul would take a flaying in almost-instantly understanding that Moran had decided to go out on his own terms.

Better that than torment and torture at the behest of the Crimson Hands, I suppose.

'Lets go, before I end up joining the f-..... We're in the endgame now, lads. The time for jokes is over.'

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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 2 (DEATH) - PART 1
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FOB: Belisarius, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


'South-by-southwest, sir. Silvery trails, followed by red in reply.... Has to be Lieutenant Sienar's squad, as everyone else is behind the FOB's HASCO-line. Who else could it be?'

Looking through the scope of his rifle, All-Heart pursed his lips at nobody and nothing in particular as he mused on the best course of action, as yet still visible until the moment Captain Karsh decided to put his helmet back on, but still left clipped at his utility-webbing as he was taking the time to consider their next steps. As his gaze rolled leftward impatiently, Karsh then finally began to understand the poorly-veiled goading in his subordinate's response, and in conversation with each other, Remmel couldn't help but laugh as he threw a scaling ladder over the rampart without warning. With a jokingly-aggressive headbutt to Greene's helmet, Karsh retorted,'Trying to amp up your Captain like I'm the one who needs it, the cheek of it. Just follow me and try not to become food for the Mawites, I'm sure we can get Sienar back behind the HASCO line and active from better cover if we get this done right.... Lets go.', as the first rungs at the top of the ladder were safely descended.

'Ha! Fine! No jokes, but high-spirits still? The Hell's gotten into you today?'

Continuing his approach to the gravelly ground below, the Krieg-born Captain continued,'Boiling it down to the one main catalyst only seems to work here, and all roads point to a younger self climbing out for an encore. Just our good fortune it turned out to be the Nachtlandir Thane resonating from within this time, or rather, it certainly feels that way.', with voice steadily growing quieter until Commander Greene eventually made a point of following more closely. Karsh's longest-serving subordinate would appreciate the candour though, and the mindset revelation even more so, but Brendan had seen this behaviour enough in the past to know where Remmel was headed with his thought process, and though the Commander felt emboldened to fight with everything he had - the Captain was also instilling a deathly dread in his heart at the same time.

'Don't you give up on me yet, sir. You hear me? Last time you spoke like this, it was Nirauan, and it wasn't even half as intense as it is with you now.... Just keep it on a leash until the timing's right, otherwise you'll just make everyone else nervous. Erraticism breeds mutiny, remember?'

In silent agreement, both veterans then shook hands and left it at that, shouldering rifles properly and making of in search of the Lieutenant's squad without so much as another word said on the matter, as it wouldn't be long before their focus would be needed to pass signals and instructions back and forth between each other. Not much stood between them anyway, as only a couple Crimson Hands were found on their way to find young Ivan, guessed to be a failed flanking attempt as the sounds of small-arms hostilities steadily grew louder, sure signs that they were definitely on the right path, and his Lorrdian friend couldn't help but agree on the grounds of what he was reading in the body-language of the Mawites they had just killed. Quickly signalling for a halt and to crouch as they neared the boulevard where all the commotion was coming from, Greene growled,'We're not alone out here, sir. Stay prone.', whilst turning on the thermal-lens on his scope and signalling for the captain to follow suit.

Fortunately for both Embers involved, the other Mawite scouts would be looking for their friends in an entirely different segment of the city's western outskirts, gifting the duo ample time to crawl and then run to find Sienar. Reaching the outer perimeter of the Lieutenant's temporary defensive position, it was already clear that the coordinated Mawite surge had left Ivan's squad with no other choice but to beat a fighting-retreat back to FOB: Belisarius, though the threat of encirclement had become much too great to counteract by that point of the battle - giving Sienar's squad no other choice but to adopt defensive tactics in the hopes it would steadily bleed their adversaries dry.

'LIEUTENANT!!!! GET YOUR LADS READY, WE'RE GETTING YOU BACK TO FOB: BELISARIUS!!!!'
 
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Murraea Pharo

Guest
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1006th Stormtrooper Legion
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N O D O M I N I O N
"Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion."

Allies - Cormac Thire | Ivan Sienar | Erin E-141 | Jack E-138 Jack E-138 | Hiran Avola Hiran Avola


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Defence of Moscow

The spaceport cannot fall.

Murraea slammed a fresh power cell into his DC/03, letting the spent pack fall to the ground. The carbine was brought to life once again. Bolts of pale gold slapping out of the barrel of the firearm and finding home in chinks in armor, in exposed flesh, in the howling mouths of the damned. The weapon was leveled at the open expanse of decimated city that lay beyond the frontlines. A Noman's Land populated by bolts and barbarians. A Warrior of the Maw took a particle round to the shoulder, which in a heinous display of violence, blew the arm free from it's socket. The marauder tumbled as he ran, Murraea's sights following him the entire stumble, before the man found his feet and began to continue his onslaught in the direction of the trenches. Two more bolts screamed out and decorated his chest with harsh snaps. The man fell to his knees, and another bolt delivered to the head finalized the kill. Slumping the man into the mud, the dead, and the dying.

The hoard of the Maw was bloated. Far too many bodies, far too little proper equipment. They came at their lines with blades and bludgeons, with slugthrowers and homespun blasters. None of it seemed standardized. This was all covered in the briefing, of course. He had been reading it for weeks in preparation for deployment into the Second Great Hyperspace War. Letters scrolling past a datapad, however, did not prepare a soul for the horror that was the Maw in action. They attacked and moved akin to a single organism, there was an intelligence in the crowd that was unspoken and uncommanded. They surged where the lines were weak, and they reinforced at choke points, and occasionally, through the blood and gore, something that resembled proper fighting forces would emerge. A squadron of rogue stormtroopers here, fallen members of the Alliance spec-ops, or cobbled together relics from the Old Empires.

Before the deployment, it made the men comfortable. It settled their nerves. The idea of taking on a coalition of underfunded cultists wasn't anything new. They were involved in the pacification of various Sith loyalists throughout New Imperial Space. The 1006th were no strangers to taking on madmen clinging to failing ideologies.

This was different.

The Mawites were united by such a universal doctrine of despair, of hatred, of war. They were a pact of monsters that all held the same faith in common. The overwhelming desire to spread war, and suffering, and to desecrate the core of all things good. They would have put the blade to the heart of light itself, if they could find where it resides. They did not just occupy space. They did not just take worlds. They sacked them. They slaughtered at will and treated the civilians as nothing less than fodder. Food to be thrown into the sacrificial-industrial complex or to be lashed into the shackles of slavery. While the Sith-Imperials operated as a nation-state in their own right, with laws, bureaucracy, and all of the hallmarks of a totalitarian system, the Maw were the furthest thing from. Describing what they are as a nation fits in the barest sense. A nation divorced from the state, a nation that exists to be the antithesis of other states, and a nation that seeks to sever all from the protection afforded to them

The Maw were a raw expression of the darkside.

Hailfire exploded from the Maw's assault, sending Murraea ducking his head behind the sheets of durasteel salvage from the nearby ruins to function as cover. Bolts battered into it like a wardrum. He could hear horns bellowing out at random. Shrieks of red and blue exploded from buildings in the distance, plinking against defenses and scoring deep marks against betaplast armor when they found home. Bringing himself back up, Murraea let out a series of controlled bursts into the darkness. They were charging with the will of abbadon. The apocalypse made manifest. There was a malignant order to the rush. Those that were more forgettable, the thralls, the slave-warriors, those that were simply meant to absorb rounds meant for more important targets, pushed themselves to the front. They constituted a living liquid of flesh and hate. They folded over one another, passed each other and shoved allies aside in a desperate rush to die or kill. Whatever came first. The demons did not seem to care from where the blood flowed. More than once, Murraea watched as one of their number was trampled behind the mass behind them. Occasionally, a heavy weapon user, blaster or slugthrower, would let rounds rip through a disposable fleshling just to secure a firing angle.

Murraea froze, his finger on the trigger of his carbine as the sheer scale of the assault became clear to him. The 1006th Legion had never faced active warfare, and this would be their baptism. They would either drown in a sea of their own blood, or that of the enemy's. He had too many good men, women, and droids under his service to allow that too happen. Too many people to return to their families for that too happen. There was still hope in this galaxy. He was still here. Shili still stood.

The Togruta are not yet lost.

"<Kill at will!>" Murraea barked into his comlink.

No dominion.

The trenchline exploded with particle beam fire. A chorus of rounds flew from the 1006th Stormtroopers' positions. The chunky, repeating fire of the larger DC/01 peppers the Mawite mass. Punching holes into the wall of flesh. Sending up fissions of blood and discordant meat. The quick, well aimed snaps of the DC/02, scoring headshots and toppling giants in their wake. Far down the length of the trench, chainblasters began to rev up before their song screamed out for all to hear. Battering into the Mawites. A flurry of bolts and defiance. The strength of Shili.

For all of it's show and glory, the charge still pushed. The Mawites were impossible to break. Whatever sense of self-preservation that was instilled in them from nature was beaten and tortured out of them. The machinations of their masters demanded a harrowing dedication. A fearlessness of death. The killing would carry on. They made it to the entrenched troopers with the same difficulty one would have running through the rain.

A heathen launched himself from the edge of Murraea's position, bringin him down to the floor. A wickedly curved vibroknife skitted across betaplast armor, attempting to find purchase somewhere inbetween the plates. The carbine scattered from Murraea's grip and was lost in the sludge of mud. The knee's of the marauder held down the Togruta's, elbows pinning down the commander's arms as the tip of the blade was drug wild across him. Like attempting to open a can. The soft dirt underneath Murraea's right hand squelched and gave way, his arm sinking deeper into the mud and allowing him to shift out of the lock. His fist shot up and scored a mark into the face of the Mawite, sending the helmet he was wearing flying off. The snarling face of a Klatooinian greeting Murraea. His fist came up again, this time it was caught by the hand of the Klatoonian. The knife was dropped. The pair tussled and rolled over one another as each attempted to gain dominance over the other. Awkward, sliding, mud-drenched combat. Rough, brutal haymakers and hooks slamming into armor and meat. Eventually, Murraea found himself ontop with his hands around the throat of the Klatoonian. He pushed down as claws began to dig at his betaplast. Sinking the Klatoonian's head deeper and deeper into the mire. Teeth began to flash, the madman attempting to struggle against and bite the stormtrooper. A quick punch to the throat settled that. Removing his hand for a moment, Murraea drew his sidearm and brought it to level with the man.

One, two, three. Obliterating his visage.

Standing from the nightmare, Murraea looked around, seeing the collapsing state of the trench.

The trench would not fall.

The spaceport cannot fall.

"<Stand and fight! For Shili! Send these bastards back over the breach!>"


 
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Allies: Maw
Enemies: NIO




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Earlier

It would seem to Romund that the very fate of the Chiss’s survival hung in the balance. One could argue that it came with the destruction of Csilla, their frigid homeworld. The Brotherhood of the Maw becoming an essential threat to the survival of not only a civilization but as a species. A threat now shared with many others who were unfortunate enough to be in the war path of the Maw.

Romund himself had not done too much with himself, other than to develop his own little enclave within the Maw more and more. He found it a little fated that part of what allowed Romund to muster his own clone forces is greatly influenced by arguably the most important Chiss in all of galactic history. Learning of their own cloning practices and how they managed to so fully develop clones in such short order. The warlord had begun to utilize those techniques himself. The influence of Thrawn’s own scientific contributions to clones now plays a part in the wider destruction of the Chiss. It was just a little… Ironic.

However, his own minor withdrawal from the happenings of the Brotherhood of the Maw possibly exposed a bleak reality for Romund. He had grown weaker. Since his involvement in the most recent battle on Coruscant in its aftermath it had put him in a worse situation. Romund had understood he was not the most powerful in the Darkside. Which is often why he utilized schemes and trickery to get by in the Maw. But after Coruscant he had lost a great deal of his connection to The Darkside, and severed connections that only grew more and more apparent with each passing day. This was a large part of the reason Romund was here. He needed a revival in the Darkside. He needed war, and all it brought to repair that connection he once had. He just needed it to work.


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Present

Romund looked out over the scorched landscape before him from a distance behind the front line. Eyeing the chaos from afar with a part of Macrobinoculars. He was not alone, with him was a battalion of his own clone soldiers from his personal army. The 909th Regiment. From where he was he watched the human wave tactics of his fellow Mawite rushed forth to take more ground from the Imperials.

He was currently buying his time. His own forces weren’t well suited for typical infantry engagements.They were more like skirmishers, creating chaos and getting past enemy lines. Focusing his optics, Romund watched as a mass of Mawites crashed into enemy entrenchments. But despite the rather valiant and devastating volley of firepower it couldn’t quell the overwhelming swarm of zealots. In his mind Romund feared something, that the Maw may have overcommitted to this battle. He recalled an old saying. That it’s better to leave your enemy a way out, or at least have them think there’s a way out. Many Imperials may already know too well that this was their last stand and would do everything in their power to make the most of it.

Perhaps the Imperials would display an equal yet opposite level of determination this day as the Maw. Many may witness what happens when an overwhelming force clashes with an immovable object.

It was then that Romund was spoken to by one of his clone soldiers, a lieutenant in his forces. Asking the warlord for a suggested course of action. Withdrawing his optics from his face and lowering them Romund turned to face his soldier and replied. “Ready yourselves, we’ll be advancing soon."
 
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Location: Dropship enroute to landing zone near the Primus Spaceport, Noris
Allies: The Maw; Skorge the Bloodied Skorge the Bloodied
Enemies: NIO; Cormac Thire, Gwyneira Vizsla Gwyneira Vizsla , Baxter Weyland Baxter Weyland , Ivan Sienar; OPEN
Equipment: Apostles Vestments; The Dark Sacraments

Anti-Aircraft emplacements located on the ground level rocked the air around the Dropship. Doubtless other craft were likewise feeling the pressure of dropping into a zone hot with enemy fire and staunchly defended, some of those craft were doubtless ripped from the sky and reduced to shrapnel. For Kol and the Acolytes in the hold of the Dropship death was not a possibility, not here and not now as each believed in the 'shield' their dark faith provided them.

The Dropship rocked as it finally made planetside, the light that had illuminated remained and the ramp fell welcoming them to hell. Acolytes, lightsabers and other more barbaric tools already in their hands would rush from the belly of the dropship out onto the field of battle towards the New Imperial Order defenses, the barricades that protected the area around the Spaceport.

Kol followed, flanked by a cadre of his most stringent disciples Acolytes that had truly taken the dark faith to heart and no longer needed to prove themselves. They formed a defensive shell around the Dark Apostle as he strode down the ramp of the Dropshop, lightsabers deflecting blasterfire as they went while all Acolytes rushed ahead to engage defenders. Many of those who rushed ahead would fall to a hail of fire from their enemies.

Turning his head Kol would look skyward, watching as Transports and Carriers not yet on the ground continued to make planetside. A Troop Carrier, probably filled with Marauders burst into flame its durasteel hull shredded as the anti-aircraft fire caught it and ripped it asunder. He thought it a shame that those slaves of the Void would not have the opportunity to serve their master before they were claimed by it.

Looking ahead again Kol stated plainly...

"The emplacements, rip them apart so more of the Maw can make it to ground."

...then he and the cadre of Acolytes joining him would move off towards the barricades, lightsabers ignited and ready to cut a swath through any who opposed them.​
 
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Location: Noris, outskirts of Fortification Belisarius
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Subject 54 Havoc Subject 54 Havoc | Erion Justeene Erion Justeene | Romund Sro Romund Sro
Foes: DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Murraea Pharo

  • The Mongrel reflects on his aging and his relationship with Mercy
  • He orders Subject 54 Havoc Subject 54 Havoc to bombard the NIO fortification to cover a Mawite charge
  • He sends in a line of Raider Walkers to follow up the barrage
    • Some anti-infantry, some wall-breachers with explosive lances
  • He calls for Mercy to report to him


In the beginning, when the Maw had first returned to the galaxy, War had been like fire. It had spread everywhere it touched, racing across vast swaths of space, consuming entire worlds as tinder, leaving only ashes in its wake. The Brotherhood had seen the strange, isolated empires of the Unknown Regions collapse before their savage fervor, their dark domain steadily growing as planet after planet fell under their shadow. The Chiss should have been no different from the Croke or the Gundanbard or the Shi'ido or the Lugubraa or the Tianese.

But the destruction of Csilla, the sudden strike that ought to have scattered the Chiss Ascendancy and left them easy pickings for the ravenous Maw, had instead summoned the firemen. The galaxy awakened to the threat of the Brotherhood, and the fire went out. War was different now. The new war, this Second Great Hyperspace War, was more like the grinding of teeth: straining, crunching, chipping away at the enamel, wearing down until they were nothing more than cracked nubs with raw, exposed nerves and shredded, bleeding gums.

Hate. Rage. Frustration. Battle after inconclusive battle they grew, the unstoppable force meeting the immovable object, bloodying both time and again for a decade. The Maw paced within the cage that three galactic superpowers had built around it, throwing its weight against the bars again and again, testing those who held the line and defended the galaxy from an age of merciless carnage. So far, the bars had held. But now the Brotherhood had gathered its full strength, renewed its burning fervor in the form of their Holy Crusade.

Across the trenches of Noris, through mud and blood...

... they would break the line at last.

And the Chiss would pay.

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"Break them" the Dark Voice demanded, "or break upon them."

The Mongrel bowed his armored head as the words washed over him, his metal warframe whirring and creaking as he moved. He had heard such commands before, across dozens of worlds, in the decade and a half he had served the Brotherhood. This planet, the dirt that clung to his durasteel feet and the winds that buffered his unfeeling faceplate, felt no different from countless others where he had fought to bring about the holy will of the Three Avatars. Perhaps it was inevitable that they would all begin to blend together.

Perhaps he was getting old, at least for a soldier.

The Lord of the Scar Hounds had long ago lost track of how many people he had personally killed, let alone how many deaths he and his tribe were responsible for. He had even lost count of how many brushes he'd had with death; mortality had become a tease, occasionally showing him a flash of corpse-white leg beneath its burial shroud to string him along, but never quite letting him taste the endless peace of the grave. He was tired, so very tired... but the Heathen Priests had reforged his soul with iron bands of faith and obedience.

He could not stop. He could not turn away.

He could only serve.

Odessen had nearly been his last battle. He had accepted that he would not leave the planet alive, had been determined to earn his way into paradise at last... or perhaps just to be finished, paradise or no, to find in oblivion an end to suffering. His only regret had been to leave behind Mercy. Keilara. More than faith or fervor, she tied him to this galaxy, to this war-torn existence. Only she could understand him, the torment of his fractured mind... because he had put her through the same torment, subjected her to the same shattering of soul.

He did not deserve her love, or anyone's. He was a monster.

But she loved him all the same, and she had saved him.

He hated her for it. He loved her for it.

He did not know what to feel.

Kallan. Her voice, the only voice that could speak his long-lost true name, emerged above his dark thoughts like the rising sun. He had grown close enough for their minds to touch, to allow them to speak in the way that no one else could hear. Though he was no telepath, and could not reach out to her in the way she could to him, he had become well-practiced at making his mind a safe haven for them both. Where once the jagged edges of his sundered past had been sharp and painful, now he had learned to smooth them into gentle dreams.

There wasn't much left of the old Kallan. The Mongrel couldn't remember his parents' faces, his old address, even the name of the little colony where he'd lived when the Maw had enslaved him. His childhood was gone entirely, his youth indistinct. There were only little flashes, points of vivid light amongst a gray haze. But he had taken those moments, those little bits of a better man, and he had built them into something. At first, he had met Mercy alone in a stormy void. But he'd grown. Now he met Keilara in a place he had built just for them.

The house he had built in his mind was small and cozy. There were only a few rooms, and not always the same number; his memories were still scattered, and it was hard to hold onto them. But there was always a garage, a place where Kallan and Keilara tinkered with swoop bikes and fixed up landspeeders. There was always a kitchen, a place where he cooked the only food he could taste; The Mongrel had no tongue, but in his mind Kallan did. There was always a room with a couch and a holoprojector, where they sat and watched movies.

Or tried to, anyway. He could never remember the endings.

In the house he had built, there was no Mongrel. Kallan was flesh and blood, not durasteel and wire. He could feel the softness of the carpets beneath his feet, the cold of a metal hydrospanner in his hand, the warmth of Keilara when her body pressed against his. In here, and in here only, he could remember what it had been like to truly live... and to enjoy life. He did not deserve it. These were the things he had taken away from other people, destroying their lives, ending their joys. But selfishly, desperately, he clung to it all the same.

He stood at the door. ~ Come in, Keilara. ~

The sight of her made him smile.

But only inside.

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"Wipe them out. All of them."

The harsh command, dripping with disregard for life and love and peace, dragged him back to reality. He stood, not in his peaceful little house, but amid his howling, frothing Scar Hounds, every one of them eager to draw blood in the name of the Three Avatars. Battle was upon them, a battle in which the Dark Voice had informed them there would be no retreat. Break them or break upon them. Do or die. If he wanted to make it back to the one place he could feel something other than this endless emptiness, he would need to see them win.

The Brotherhood was already deep into this battle. An endless horde of Moon Children poured forth from the slave ships of the Overseers, throwing themselves mindlessly against the fortifications of FOB Belisarius, heedless of danger or pain or mounting losses. They were cheap, expendable, nothing more than fodder drawn up from the cloning vats of Exegol and expended as a simple distraction without a moment's thought. Behind and among them came eager squads of Marauder Aspirants, mismatched and chaotic and fierce.

The Mongrel had been one of them once. Young. Untested.

Seeing them now made him feel terribly, terribly old.

All of that, all the fury raging across the cratered earth of the No Man's Land on the outskirts of Primus City, was being used up as little more than a distraction, a test of the enemy's defenses while the Brotherhood's more valuable assets got into position. How many times had The Mongrel seen it before? Korriban, Nirauan, Odessen, over and over the Maw's dark masters were more than willing to sacrifice entire armies to achieve their aims. In the name of faith, and of earning entry to paradise, legions died to the last man without fear.

After Odessen, the Scar Hounds could not afford such losses. Again and again they had been depleted by brutal battles, worn down until only the most hardened veterans remained. It was up to The Mongrel to wield what was left, to make them the hammer that would shatter the foe while these faceless hordes before him became the anvil. Opening a channel to Subject 54 Havoc Subject 54 Havoc , he gave the order. "It is time. Open fire on the forward ramparts of the Belisarius fortification. We will use your barrage as cover for our advance."

Something to keep the NIO's heads down during the charge.

Now to actually make the charge. The Brotherhood needed something to pick up where the artillery left off, to crack open the walls of the enemy FOB and expose its guts to their relentless warriors. Many Scar Hound vehicles had been lost at Odessen, but there was one type of craft that The Mongrel had not expended there. "Bring up the walkers," he ordered, "and prepare them to charge as soon as the barrage begins to fall." By his command, a long line of Mawite Raider Walkers strutted forward, parodies of Imperial design.

These particular walkers were something of a mixed bunch, for the craft were (like most Brotherhood creations) highly modular and easy to repurpose for different roles. About a third of them were Infantry Support walkers, with mounted chain guns and grenade launchers to shred any NIO troopers who foolishly poked their heads out of cover - and to lob explosives into that cover. The rest were an experiment: Psycho pattern walkers, each outfitted with half a dozen explosive lances. Whenever and wherever they touched the wall...

Boom. An opening for the horde outside to pour through.

All the other assets were in place. The warlord Romund Sro Romund Sro and his 909th Regiment were ready to advance. Bold Erion Justeene Erion Justeene had already begun infiltrating enemy lines, ready to shred them from within once the chaos began. And Mercy, faithful Mercy, had already prepared the intelligence reports The Mongrel would require to direct the battle. Now he ought to deploy her. He ought to send her out to infiltrate enemy lines as well, to break open their weak points and give his forces another way into Fortress Belisarius.

And yet he hesitated. Inside him, Kallan begged him not to.

"Mercy," he finally said over the comlink, "come to me."

"I need your report."


I need you.
 

As he moved alongside them, Redmond recalled what it'd been like to be them. One amongst many, a cog in the machine. He'd been better then, more a person, held together by rules and regimen, but it'd been a facade, he was who he was. He didn't care about the Chiss, or the Empire, nor the Maw and their gods, he wasn't sure if he even cared about the money, Redmond was here to be here and that was it. He'd assured the Syndicate the pay was worth it, assured himself taking the job was pragmatic and not an indulgence of darker impulses, but he'd lied on both counts.

Redmond was here because he wanted to be because in the muck there were no rules or restrictions, it was a target-rich environment, weapons free. Heaven for him, hell for others. He stayed wide as he could, with plenty of room to shoot and move if he got creative. All he had to do was wait, and wait, and wait. Stormtroopers recorded final messages, goodbyes to partners and children, sisters and brothers. Redmond didn't have any of that. His brothers were alive, he knew that much, but he hadn't known either of them, and didn't much care to now, and he certainly had no wife to speak of.

His mind buzzed though he stood in silence, a black sentinel amidst the ranks of battered white, waiting. He ejected the magazine, and checked it for the tenth time, returned it, then checked his scope for the third time in twenty minutes. He watched a pair of troopers, and watched them lean their helmets against each others. Redmond pretended to know what words passed between them, imagined it was him, the way it once had been. Cogs in the machine, but family too. He couldn't rely on people like that anymore, and that made him miss when he could.

There was an impulse, dark, and though he tried to smother it, lingering. To go for his blaster, to take from them for having what he missed. But Redmond was as still as he was silent, his gaze lingered, then turned away. Maybe they could hire another enforcer once this was done, someone like him. If all it cost him was the blood of a few hundred Mawities, he didn't see the problem, it almost sounded like fun.

The mercenary remained motionless, planning a mask to wear for the world as he scanned the horizon line. They'd come soon, then he wouldn't have to think so much about lofty things like his humanity, and what little of it he really had.


 


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"CLASSIFIED" DT-104
GALIDRAANI_FREE_STATE
UNIT 44 'RED JACKALS'
Tags: Cormac Thire Ivan Sienar Erin E-141 Jack E-138 Jack E-138 Enedina Tal Enedina Tal DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh
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Amidst the chaos planetside on the distant Imperial world of Noris, four troop transports bearing the worn but iconic symbol of the Imperial Galidraani armed forces cut through the clouds like a razor as it bounded towards the city under heavy anti-air. Each ship contained a squad of the infamous Galidraani special forces unit known as 'UNIT 44', which had earned a dark reputation for being used as a tool of the regime to fight opponents both outside and domestic. Few in number, they were the best Galidraan had to offer. Roland sat at the helm of the loading bay area, helmet in his hand as he looked out of the cockpit and towards the burning surface. Having had the honour of being a captain of the unit for many many years, each engagement felt like the other, be it on Galidraan or on some backwater. The Maw were dangerous, but they had been contained for the past few years, this was different though, something had changed. Roland had noticed it all too well as he pondered on the endless questions that arose, but his thoughts were cut by the voice of another officer on his comm system.

<<All planets turning to crap, got half the bloody Maw bearing down on the city and its spaceport, command reckons it'll be a massacre if the main Imperial forces don't hold them back long enough.>>

<<Right about that, but we're here to secure assets and the generals daughter, and if need be, help delay the Mawites before its too late.>>

<<I hope you're right, we're too few for this Captain.>>

<<Do your duty, that's all that matters.>>

<<Noted, sir.>>
 

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SPACEPORT
NORIS
ALLIES - Ghorua the Shark Ghorua the Shark
ENEMIES - Xuan Vo

The Mandalorian stared out from beneath this void coloured T-visor, the reflection of the Mawite fleet on the move bounced off of it. The limited defenses were unable to hold them forever, he knew that much. It was reliant on someone else for time, someone more zealous that was content to die in service to their Order. His crowd, however, in the spaceport was not one that found such conviction. Hunters, mercenaries, those that answered the call for aid not from the kindness of their callous hearts, but for the credits. Some, if not most, were never to see the reward, Fett mused.

Psychotic Sith best resembled an animal. One that was hard to kill.

He turned across to see his ally for this one mission. The Shark, a mountainous herglic by the name of Ghorua. Neither of the two had been friends, and a rivalry had once, if not still, burned between them. But that was business, set aside for this newer business. It was an odd trade, their one. But credits rose above all else and a Sith invasion was not one to consider less than formidable. Two, in this case, was far better than one.

For now, he waited.
 

Jorus Fel

Guest
J

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E M B E R _ T W O
THE EMPIRE
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
15th INFANTRY COMPANY
NIO | Cormac Thire | Baxter Weyland Baxter Weyland | Gwyneira Vizsla Gwyneira Vizsla | Erin E-141 | Jack E-138 Jack E-138 | Hiran Avola Hiran Avola | Jax Sloane Jax Sloane | Anith Dorce
MAW | Rannan Kol Rannan Kol | Skorge the Bloodied Skorge the Bloodied | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Erion Justeene Erion Justeene | Romund Sro Romund Sro
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ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT
The Longest Day
Only a few more days.

The wind wept, howling against the shockwaves of heavy shells and laser canons walloping the blasted, torn concrete of what once could've been considered a city. The wind wept with the thousand widow's cries and a thousand more orphans' wails. Echoes. Echoes of a distant time when the longest battle first had begun bounced off the hollow, half-wrecked cloud cutters which once colorful housed beings now almost driven to extinction.

Only a few more days.

A stalemate unbroken, the Battle for Noris may have lasted months so far --or even a year -- by the Galactic Standard Calendar but the faces beneath the proud stormtroopers' helmets had aged years. Faint wrinkles had turned to deep crevices, golden lively locks of hair had withered away to grey much like the bleak, last standing pillars of the capital that stretched before them. Streets once brimming with a hurried life now rotted into decaying cemeteries full of Imperial soldiers and Mawite marauders. And the silence. The silence, it deafened the loudest screams and no trooper sought anything but to hear that silence break with the roars of jubilation under the welcoming eaves of home.

Only a few more days.

And yet the sun never willed to set upon the longest day; never willed to give the tortured spirits brooding boulevards and alleys of a foreign land their final rest. No reprieve for the men and women of the Empire cursed to hold the line against the unending tide of death battering at the gates of their homes. Here, in this distant strange land, Iron would break but never bend.

Only a few more days.

High Command's communique still hung motionless over Lieutenant Ivan Sienar of Ember Company's visor. Sergeant Ryse's melodic guitar tunes somehow found themselves meekly ringing in his ears. Was that yesterday or was that a year ago? He could've sworn they had burried him in the trenches the day before. Or was it today? Time. Time turned and yet they never did. Damned to an endless cycle of perplexity.

Time he could no longer tell but the dreary reality of the present was unmistakable.

The second platoon -- Sienar's platoon -- had been out on recon for the nth time or for the first time; there was no telling. For weeks now the Brotherhood of the Maw was maneuvering, diluting their center and spreading out on the flanks, widening the front line and filling in the line's gaps from reserves in a move only capable to foreshadow a full-on assault. The Empire had initially understated the Maw's manpower and when the revelation had dawned upon them, the Imperials had begun to quickly work on augmenting and adapting to their situation as their numbers dwindled with each departure of their fellow comrades as per the Winter Contingency dictated.

Sienar and his stormtroopers had been entangled into the usual harassing skirmish so definitive of their recon missions into the city's center that the lieutenant had fallen victim to its repetitiveness. This was no short firefight as they made their way back to FOB Belisarius. They were caught on the tide of the all-out offensive of the Maw against the Empire in a dire fighting retreat back to the relative safety of their front lines.

<"Sienar. We're getting closer to where I can pin the 'MOAB' down to but- bad news, as you'd expect it's teeming with Maw. I'm gonna need more cover if we wanna dead this thing sooner than later. Do you copy?">

<"Ember-Two to Thire, I copy."> Ivan replied over the comms and looked up at his platoon sarge shaking his head, <"That's a negative, Thire. We're pinned down on a retreat -- I can't spare the men. Not now, at least."> his tone miraculously still maintained that plain composure officers of noble heritage were renown for. And often mocked over. A lot hung upon the weary shoulders of the 38th Sapper Company. Now more than ever with the Orbital Defence Canon offline and a MOAB somewhere in the war zone.

"It's a tough call -- I know, kid, but it's the right one." platoon sergeant Terrik tilted his head. A response never came from the lieutenant -- only silence.

"Let's look at the map agai--" an explosion burst nearby and both stormtroopers ducked instinctively before they shuffled back into combat. Second squad was flushing out a building from yet another Mawite attempt to flank their retreat. His own squad remained as overwatch onto the street from which they had come from pursued by the ravenous cultists and their monstrosities. Blaster fire exchanged from both sides as the Maw kept the platoon pinned down and the Imperials held them at bay.

"LIEUTENANT!!!! GET YOUR LADS READY, WE'RE GETTING YOU BACK TO FOB: BELISARIUS!!!!"

"
Captain??" he blinked as his head followed the source of the order in the direction of the FOB at a crossroad in their rear. Or rather their vanguard. He saw the grizzled veteran in the battleworn stormtrooper armor peeking through the corner of a building with his loyal right-hand man Greene emerging from behind. "With you and what army, Sir??" nothing on his HUD indicated more friendly blips nearby but then again the state of his helmet resembled the ruins of the capital city.

The silence on Noris had finally been broken.
 
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LOCATION: PRIMUS SPACEPORT, NORIS
EQUIPMENT: IN BIO
ALLIES: NIO, Koda Fett Koda Fett
ENEMIES: MAW, Xuan Vo

There were few bounty hunters as dangerous as the two of them.

Ghorua the Shark leaned on a wall across from the Mandalorian, staring stoically out over the skyline of Noris, helmet tucked neatly under his arm. His eyes, deep pools of endless black, squinted against the light, his mouth a hard line of concentration, hiding the serrated teeth beneath.

The Mawite ships hung over the planet's surface, as if suspended by strings from the sky. The only thing protecting the spaceport from a terrible death by turbolaser hellfire was a defensive line of Imperial ships, and time; Unless the Imperials could hold out, the spaceport, and the people of Noris, would be destroyed.

The Shark kept Koda Fett in the corner of his eye. He didn't fully trust the Mandalorian, and he'd be disappointed if Koda fully trusted him. The mando was merciless, a killer.

But when facing Sith and crazed fanatics, you needed to be a little killer.

The Herglic pushed off of the wall, rising to his full height of ten-and-a-half feet, and began rolling his massive shoulders, as if in preparation for a workout.

It had been a while since he'd allowed himself to let loose.
 
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