Invasion A Crisis of Faith: AC Invasion of WotS-held Ninn (Helgard, Trian)

[Heinrich Faust]

Confrontation in the Tingel Arm!

The Ashlan Crusade has seen the destruction wrought by the Warlords of the Sith within the Tingel Arm, and have decided to take a stand. Forces gather on the planet of Ninn in an effort to stop the expansion of the Warlords before they become a bigger threat to the galaxy.

The Ashlan Crusade and their allies have laid siege to the Jin'Tutsimia, the one major fortress of the Warlords on Ninn. Allied forces have dug trenches around the fortress as they bombarded its strong walls, but the Warlords have dug in just as deep. Both sides have taken hits, but neither have faltered. Explosions shake the fortress walls, as well as the surrounding arid terrain. It has been a war of attrition, and the time has come to finally make or break the siege.

Beyond the siege itself, the Warlords have managed to send occasional raiding parties along the peripheries of the allied lines. Intel has reached the ears of the allied forces regarding a potential tunnel leading to the fortress interior. Scouting parties have been sent out to determine the location of this sally port, and put an end to the Sith excursions into the trenches once and for all.

Beyond the walls of the Jin'Tutsimia, on top of a distant mountain, is a smaller outpost dedicated to defending the skies above. Armed with large anti-aircraft cannons, this outpost is laying a hail of fire upon the dropships of the Crusade, preventing the arrival of much needed reinforcements. The allied forces have sent troops to infiltrate the outpost, disable the defensive batteries, and clear the skies for the dropships.

In orbit, the Sith fleets have attempted to break the blockade set by the allied forces, trying to punch through wherever they can. If they can establish an opening in the blockade, the Warlords might be able to reopen their supply lines, allowing them to maintain their defense of the fortress. Meanwhile, the allies scramble their fighters in an effort to protect the troop transports that descend to the planet.

 

[Isla Draellix-Kobitana]

From her command bridge aboard the Pillar of Retribution, Fleet Admiral Isla Draellix surveyed the map of her fleet positions, each of the three new battlecruisers she had brought, including her own were leading the defence of one sector of the planet. She wished she had more ships, but this was a blockade, all she had to do was keep the enemy from landing reinforcements. The 120° she had decided to cover was directly away from the systems star, out into space. She felt if relief was coming that is where it would arrive. Her other ships, including a dozen or more star destroyers and numerous smaller support ships had stationed themselves in a holding pattern. The captains of The Avenging Saint and Divine Purpose were also in similar readied positions.

She had not yet committed her reserves but knew they were hidden nearby ready to relieve whichever sector required it.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Their landing had been a lucky one. A hole through the Warlords' fleet punched through courtesy of the Ashlan navy, ragtag as it was. Dozens of transports had seen fit to quickly make their way through it, ferrying the majority of the Sons of Ession. Veterans of over a hundred conflicts, the Sons were the greatest soldiers the Ashlan Crusade had to offer, and they marched directly at Cedric's word. Their numbers supplemented somewhat by support brigades of lightly trained and lightly armed volunteers, but the majority of the force, and those at the front, came from the legion.

They had managed to push some way across the wasteland before the Warlords' ground their advance to a halt. Unable to make any further significant gains across the plains that stretched out beyond the Sith fortress, the Sons had traded rifles for shovels and dug in deep. Each line had remained stagnant thereafter, volleys of blaster fire being traded over the trench lines, but no significant moves having been made. For his part, Cedric scrambled around the most forward trench, blocking the stray bolt here and there as he personally supervised the formation of the line.

They would need to push over open ground soon if they were to dig the Warlords out of their positions before their supplies ran low. They'd packed for a long fight, but in a contest of sheer attrition, they would certainly be the losers.

"Status on the batteries?" He snapped over the comms to his adjutant.

The old Bishop Decius responded to him instead. "I'm afraid Detwiler took a shell through the chest my lord. I will appraise you on the batteries' status shortly."

Cedric mumbled a curse under his breath. There would be no further pushes without artillery support. He could only curse again as one of the men firing down at the Warlords' forward trench with a mounted machine rifle had his head blown clean off by an exceedingly skilled marksman.

"We're target practice for those Sith without that coverage Decius!" Cedric snapped a bit more harshly than he'd intended.

"I'm well aware. Battery A is ready to fire. Batteries B through M are still being assembled. A bit of patience my lord." Decius' ancient voice grumbled back.

"Patience he says," Cedric muttered as he settled behind the machine rifle, the weapon barking violently as he sent several bursts out toward where he assumed the marksman was hiding, daring the soldier to try and take another shot.

The battle for Ninn had begun. Ashla willing, it would be over soon enough.

 

[Brimstone]

Brimstone and his Hades Commandos had been trekking through this mountain range for three days. They were forced to land outside of the air defence coverage of the battery to ensure survival, the fleet above was bombarding the position but currently the shields were holding, they would be told to continue firing but were rotating the target sector so when Brim approached the enemy wouldn't notice the let up of firing in that particular spot, at least that was the plan.

He looked at his team, there were 8 commandos and a couple of dozen sons of Ession supporting them, around 35 men all told, not a huge number but with him and his armoured elite at the head, it should be enough. There was another group approaching from a different vector, but both groups were on radio silence.

The objective was simple at face value, theh needed to either destroy the power generators, or the shields and hope the fleet is ready to take over. He had very little idea what the enemy composition would be, but at this difficult to reach isolated position, any hint of complacency in the enemy would be a boon.

"Hades!" He barked through their commlink, "we are approaching the outer perimeter, take positions on my 10 and 2 and prepare for the assault"

"about time too sir," Replied his sergeant "the men are getting bored of climbing and feel like exercising their trigger fingers"

Brim smiled to himself, that's the spirit. He checked his own gear, he had come fully equipped and a generous friend had also packed him some high explosives, with "best wishes" scrawled across them.

Not long now and they would make their presence known to the enemy.

 

[Darth Bellum]

D E V O U R
[ Theme ]

| Location | Fortress Ninn, Ninn​

| Purpose | Consume and Evolve​

| Opposition | Open​

​

The atmosphere around the besieged fortress had become heavy with an aura of darkness and sinister intent. Across the galaxy the fires of war had been raging, consuming all in its path with its ever-growing desire for destruction and conflict - and with its rise, so to did the strength of the Lord of Eternal Conflict. With every city razed, every planet ravaged, and every soul lost to the wars that he had laid the foundations for, continued to further empower the dark spirit.​

​

His hollow gazed at all beneath him, the skeletal visage of the deceased titan standing at the very peak of the fortress, observing the battlefield with arms crossed over his chest. Blaster fire was exchanged across the plains as the spirit of war's gaze seemed to focus on a particular individual buried along the encroaching trenches that attempted to advance on the fortress; Cedric Grayson - he who would once more defy the way of the Sith as he had done so many times in the past.​

​

Given the current circumstances, the invaders would find it exceedingly difficult to make a frontal assault, with any hope for a charge across a decimated plain being a poor decision and simply leading sheep to the slaughter, with their most reliable bet simply besieging the fortress - however such a tactic would take considerable time, time in which they could ill afford on the Warlord's territory.​

​

There were alternatives to reaching the fortress, but at considerable cost to the movement of the attackers along the network of tunnels that led to the fortress itself. There was no need for Bellum to bring forth his legion to defend the fortress against a frontal assault - Bellum saw no need to provide his precious resources at present, but he would be watching and waiting, biding his time for the most opportune moment to unleash his wrath. In time his presence would be made known to the crusaders, and he would bathe the soil of Ninn in their blood and despair.​

​

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Writing as Darth Vinaze & Kuric Taumin
Tags: Lonnie Kai Brimstone

​

The Warlords of the Sith were on the back foot.

Their crusade, pious and determined as it was, had failed to breach the defenses of the heretical Empire. It had broken them. The hesitant alliance of so many creeds and the lords that followed them shattered.

Since the battle of Malachor, what was to be the spiritual successor of Darth Revan's own invasion in the hearts and minds of the faithful, feudal lords had begun to war amongst them, with no regard for the holy mission or anything beyond growing their own power.

The Warlords had not recovered from the shame of their loss.

Petty struggles should have been expected, but what many could never have been foreseen was perhaps the greatest life snuffed by the infighting: Darth Voyance, their shepherd from the very beginning. As the Warlords descended further in to madness, the unified armed forces were disbanded, and it truly became every lord for themselves.

While some back-stabbed and openly warred, and some hopefuls even devised new peace treaties that fell on deaf ears, their eternal enemy had arrived on their doorstep. The heretic Sith had not retaliated, nor had the wild raiders of the Maw finally turned on them. No... the Jedi had come knocking.

It was no secret that militancy had risen in the various Jedi Orders since the founding of the Silvers and the New Jedi, but the Jedi launching the attack were a different breed altogether. They lived and breathed war. Just like the schismatic Sith it was their purpose... and they too called themselves a crusade.

But even in the the disarray, the faithful remained plenty and eager to answer the call. Those lords who sat in their castle, paying lip service to the Code, mere political opportunists one might say, had sent the token forces they could spare. For those who lacked the faith, this battle would be desperate.

Far from the besieged fortress, far from any sort of "civilization" on the near-barren planet, the Warlord of Northern Tash-Taral leads his forces up the dry mountains. His retinue is not made of soldiers, save for his brutish apprentice with a warriors heart. His followers are monks, mystics, and sorcerers, clad head to toe in their black garments that obscure all but their eyes from the elements of Ninn, as well as the unworthy gaze of outsiders. Dragged alongside them in chains are the monsters they devoted themselves to creating. Vicious Tuk'ata trying desperately to break from their muzzles and mindless golems made of twisted of flesh and bone, lumbering behind until they receive the command to kill.

"There is no glory in this futile hike, Master." the huge Devaronian spoke up, disgruntled at his master's course of action like always. Kuric was headstrong and driven, and a powerful warrior. But those qualities did not make a Sith. In his time in the Sith Order, all he had known was the schism and the crusade. But he had failed to take into his heart the reverence for the fundamentals of the Code that had underpinned the entire schism. He believed his chains had been broken when Darth Vinaze had freed him from slavery. But chains were more than the physical, and fewer Sith nowadays were truly breaking from theirs.

"There is no glory in waging a dead man's battle. Jin'Tutsimia will fall, and your haste would make no difference."

"Death has made you cynical," the mere mention of Vinaze's death at the hands of the Devil Kascalion made Kuric twinge, but in his ire he couldn't hold his tongue. He was jealous. By every right that he understood he should have been the one to take his master's life, and he liked to think he could have stopped Vinaze from reaching the eternal afterlife of spirithood. "If the Jedi take this fething planet anyway, why did you bring the entire court?!

"You exaggerate in your anger. It suits you poorly." The ghostly form of Vinaze seemed to sigh through the force. Kuric's anger was the source of his power, but also his downfall, perhaps only surpassed by the worst of all: his pride.

"You sound like Jedi scum."

"The Code does not teach anger. It teaches passion. Few Sith find their passions beyond such basic emotions as rage, you among them."

Vinaze could feel the anger swelling in his apprentice.

"What about you then? What is your passionate emotion?" the apprentice demanded an answer.

"If you do not know, you will soon."

Kuric remained silent, stewing in his anger.

As they ascended towards the isolated outpost, the desert miles below them was dark and calm. On a night like this, when the cool breeze barely moved the sand and the desert was silent, one who was in tune with the desert could find serenity and clarity. One who stumbled through the sands in haste and anger would only find them shifting, and the terror of the barren expanse could destroy a mind. Darth Vinaze knew the desert here, like he knew them all, for he believed the sands to reflect his very soul...

 

[Kasia Celestyne]

Häerzblat | Armor
​

Kasia knelt in the bottom of a trench, hands stemming the bleeding from a gut wound one of the Crusades soldiers had taken. The knees of her armor were in the mud, caked in the thick morass. Her hands seemed to do so little to stem the tide of blood by themselves, she knew she had to ask for healing for the soldier.

"Ashla preserve the life of your soldier so he may continue this battle against the darkness." She spoke the words softly, using them to link her concentration to the Force, and to link the Force to the wound in the soldier's gut. A soft, golden light suffused her hands, and the flow of blood ceased. Color returned to the soldier's face, and he blinked eyes that were mostly clear of pain.

She had healed him enough to continue on, and no more. Darkness was coming, she could feel it. Her energies would be needed for the coming battle.

"Up and at them, soldier. This time try to remember the trench is your friend." She offered a wan smile, and the soldier beamed back. She knew he practically worshipped those like her, who could commune with Ashla directly. She would have to make sure he knew to offer obeisance to Ashla fully, and not to her or her companions as mortal gods. Later, though, as now was the time to fight.

The soldier moved on down the trench, grabbing a rifle on the ground, possibly his, and taking up a position again.

She stood, a wet slorping sound gracelessly telling the tale as she looked toward the fortress.

Something came, was coming for this section of their lines. She extended her senses, few of her brethren were near. What was coming could not be stopped by her soldiers, not without a great loss of life. She began to walk towards where she felt the darkness strongest, calling on the Force to guide her feet and swell her breast as she drew her blade.

A soft, clarion call sounded as she drew Häerzblat. Other sounds faded a moment, as if in respect for the clear note that rang out. She could feel her heartbeat, which had risen at the prospect of the coming confrontation, slow once more. She stepped from the trench onto a path beside a cliff, a solid wall of dense rock formed barred access to the fortress on her right-hand side, and the left sloped toward a river a kilometer away. Eyes half-lidded in concentration, she paused. This was where they would meet, though she knew not where the battle would take them.

Maestus​

 

[Drako]

Tags: Brimstone
Forces: Vigils of Drako 12/12, Uvak 1/1

---

The anti-aircraft batteries flung superheated plasma into the sky with rapidity as the critical defenses staved off the reinforcements from the invaders. Among the trained gunners were the security detail. What looked like members of a dragon themed gang patrolled, mingled, and generally tried to look imposing among the outposts facilities. They were alert only in passing, believing that there was little threat to their current position. Brimstone and his men would be in a position to see that their main armaments were meant for close to medium range and they were lightly armored with no armor support.

One of the Vigils held a metal pole with a red flag on it, which he used as a support beam to lean on as he talked with another. On the banner it held three black slashes across a field of red. Perhaps it was symbolic of their affiliation? It was clearly not the emblem of the Warlords of the Sith.

Above the din of a skyward battle an explosion lit up the overcast of smoke, steam, and cloud. Some sort of starship had been destroyed though that was not bit that would have been the most attention grabbing. A sound like a roaring screech echoed in an eerie manner from high above though the naked eye would not be able to penetrate the sheets of overcast to discover the source. Several of the Vigils looked up then went back to mingling and patrolling as if nothing were truly amiss.

 

[Darth Maleva]

「Watching, waiting」
「my prey is praying」
Cedric Grayson​

Time had passed as Maleva was forced into the shadows once more. The Brotherhood may have succeeded on Csilla, but her own defeat exposed weakness, a stain on the title she claimed. Had it been arrogance? Pride? Had she become complacent, as she condemned fellow Darksiders for the same? The time spent recuperating had given her little answers. Yet, as her wounds healed, one thing was certain- she needed to be stronger- if not to continue in her crusades, to defend against her savage peers.

Time waited for no man or woman, not even a sith lord. The worst of her wounds had healed with bacta treatments; she could at least walk again, but the aches of the deep burns were a reminder of her failure. They had fueled her when she was spurred to action with the information of the heretics' arrival on Ninn. This time, she would not underestimate the opposition. The fanatical zealots were a different breed than the Jedi she had encountered, that much was clear. Yet, they had defended Ninn from an entire empire; the warlords would hold it now. The blaze of weapons set the sky alight as Maleva looked down from the cliff where her shuttle had landed. Her scouts were ascending the sides once more with grim expressions.

"What is it?" She demanded.

"Weapons, everywhere. They're preparing for something. We're in the final stretch of the siege, it would seem. We may be too late."

Yellow eyes flickered between Severt and the field.

"They cannot be allowed to breakthrough." She reminded him. He was not a stupid man; he knew of the value in such a holding. Looking back to the rest of the team's formation, she nodded to them. "We must end this. Put them to the blade."

The shuffle began as they looked to Severt for further instruction.

"Alright, me-"

"I will lead."

Her harsh words cut through his own. He shifted uncomfortably as her gaze took him once more- a telling gesture. She had become disconnected from those under her. Things would change. The sith's defeat had transformed her, and in battle, she would be born anew. With a step, she began the descent, lightsaber in hand.

 

[Lonnie Kai]

TAGS: Brimstone Darth Vinaze


She crept along towards the outpost. At the back of the group led by Brimstone . Clad in rough spun breeches, a tight fitting halter top, worn and faded boots and half cloak, she moved in silence, bringing up the rear. Hanging on her waist belt were two, matching lightsabers.

She paused, and looked up at the outpost, shielding her eyes from the blowing dust and sand. She was trying to get an accurate idea of the defenses they faced. Preferably before they rushed headlong into them.

She adjusted her position, crouching down. As she did, her boots crunched on the dirt, rocks and sand underneath. Cursing softly, she lowered the hood of her cloak, revealing 5 small horns and a shock of black hair, pulled back into a ponytail.

She paused a moment, entering an almost, but not quite, meditative state. She slowly started to "see" the Force that encompassed all. It wafted around her like a gentle breeze. But there was a himnt of the Dark Side, inherent given their current location.

She focused on the Will of the Force, an exercise in wisdom and patience. She made claim on being a master of the Force's Will. But she always triedt o use the training her mother imparted unto her. Patience and Wisdom, Kai. The point underlying every lesson she was taught her entire life. And she has worked very hard to assimilated that into her very being.

So with wisdom in the forefront of her mind, she pulled the Living Force around herself. Effectively hiding her force signature from the enemy. Until, that is, she was ready to reveal herself. ​

 

[Zinn Zinn Bink'sa]

Objective: 2
Allies: Darth Vinaze Drako
Enemies: Lonnie Kai Brimstone
Equipment: Lightsaber, light robes.

It had fallen on hard times these days, the Warlords had suffered a tremendous setback following the death of Darth Voyance, now it had seemed uncertain of a new future for the Sith. Others have followed in trying to claim the mantle of Lord of all Sith. It had all gone from such a fragile dream, onto a new wave of anarchy and as usual the outrageous gungan was in for the ride. He seemed to slowly stay away from any Sith affairs, yet as such a time when the Sith Empire is under siege, there had to be those wishing to destroy the Warlords. This crusade? Was something the Gungan saw as trouble. If need be in the past few days planned on running.

Thats if things would collapse for the Warlords, but until such a time, Zinn Zinn did what Zinn Zinn always did. To serve the Warlords for what they have done for him, until such a time was needed to get the heck out. If only his battlefield wasn't surrounded by snow. Not many was there to defend this wasteland outpost on a familiar world he almost died a horrible death on. Not to mention duking it out with some Sith Imperial dogs. Yet here he was.

His body shaking, and here he was full of anger, and ready to strike with only his lightsaber, and the dark side to guide him. Not much but in these desperate times it was either fight or die. The adrenaline kicking in for the spice energy Gungan, he ripped his robes off, revealing a more chiseled physique. The Gungan shredded to the max, able to pick up a speeder by his hands, he seemed to have been ready for some hand to hand combat. He took a deep breath and what came out of his lips were a surprise. "MESA COLD!!! Muy Muy why mesa be doin this... This isn't homey swampy."

Zinn Zinn started to dance around as if the temperature was something he couldn't stand, his teeth chattering now, as he tried to take his arms to cover himself. When the dropships started to approach the guns started blasting loudly, and the troops coming all around. He stopped dancing around like a fool, and activated his blade with a snap hiss. His chattering now turned into a snarl, a scowl formed as he looked upon his enemies. Loving the AA guns bring down the enemy transports. As the troops were coming down, an idea came to mind. Where the half naked Zinn Zinn approached the gun crew and looked them over. One of them spoke. "Hey shirtless Gungan, get the kark outta here. We are trying to make sure none of these guys come through." One had said rather rudely to the Gungan

The Gungan cleared his throat slowly and moved his face up to the gunner chief. "YOUSA GIVE KARKING BIG BOOMER NOW!" It seemed the shirtless comment had made things go from zero to one hundred. The crazy gungan proceeded to grab the gunner chief, lifting him up. The once rude expression had now changed to fear, as he said. "OH GODS! Please... Please? I'll let you have the big boomer? Is it? Yeah please let me down!" The gungan wasn't having any of it, as he brought him to the cliff edge where the enemy was also coming from. Positioning in a barrel toss Zinn Zinn spoke. "I bid yousa beasties want offering... Yousa takes what yousa gets now take muy crunchin." The gunner just dumb founded, unable to process what the mad gungan was saying, before screaming as he was tossed off the cliff.

The gungan only danced and clapped his hands to the mans screams. "May the bad beasties be pleasea now where was mesa, Oh righto we gonna be causing big flasher sky fire!" Going back to the AA gun, he took the controls, the other gunner just horrified and confused, as the gungan took control of the gun, and started firing on the transports. His eyes lighting up "Mesa create all sparkly glowy fireworks!"

 

[Vora Kaar]

Cedric Grayson | Kasia Celestyne ​

The strength of men was failing.

The past few months after the loss of an attack at Malachor, with the loss of our dear Prophetic Dark Saint, Many lords had thrown caution into the wind. Attempting to go on their own, or otherwise seeking power elsewhere. Many times Vora had done the same. Using his own intuition to leave and escape the preverbal collapsing building he stood within. However, doing so now, was not as easy as it may have been in the past. As a simple Sphere of Strength in the Keepers, it was simple. As the Dark Sovereign? That would be a different story.

No, Vora was here for the long haul. He had to be. While he had been absent on Malachor for reasons of his own that he did not even bequeath to such of the other Sovereigns, the question remained, if he had been there, would this... lack luster life of the Warlords be different?

Vora did not think so. It was only a matter of time until one of the Dark Sovereigns would perish. While another has not arisen to take its place, the chance to see one rise here, now, in the defense of Ninn, that had been so bravely and defiantly fought for previously against not just the Sith Empire, but also against the Grey Cloaks of the New Imperial Order. Only one would assume that the Warlords would fight vicariously for such a planet they have held onto so far.

The buildings were barely rebuilt from last attacks. While some fortifications were here, mostly in the form of Warlord strategic placements, the cities and locals were still dealing with the damage and destruction from previous fights. It seemed that the Warlords would have to live up to their name sake. Breeding war wherever they went.

For the likes of Darth Bellum and his hunger for such, it was easy. Vora himself respected the individual as he had a knack for such machinations. Vora was no Mighty General, or Commandant of Battle. Instead, Vora was a man who enjoyed the thrill of using his darkened Forcesaber, running it through men, women, and children alike. It was his fight against those, his tests of strength upon the battle with combat in hand, that he thrived. While the current state was rather lacking in hand to hand combat, and more akin to trench warfare.

No-man's lands spread across distances with artillery, bombing runs, and pop-shots made by many weapons. All attempting to do chip damage against the mass of forces upon either side. Vora, lustful of such the time when this Ashlan Crusade would come knocking on his doorstep, so that he might return their crusade with his own. Their "Righteous Demeanor" only hastened the fall. So many times have Jedi so close to the field of battle, flowing with emotions not controlled, did they fall to their own. To be a catalyst for this, would be an honor so few have.

Attention was taken from the would be "Jedi" before him. To that of a lone ship, a shuttle baring marks of the Warlords landing no too far. In fact, rather close. While no one could see it, a smirk came to Vora's lips. He could feel her presence. Darth Maleva was a sly woman. Appealing to any Sith who fancied such a woman of her caliber. However, while Vora's eyes did not fall upon her for the "Sins of the flesh" instead, he found her actions, her past accolades of war to be rather interesting. One he wanted to look into for quite some time. Knowing that she was tied to another Sith Lord who he had sided with before.

She wanted fury, and so did Vora.

"Captain, kindly contact Darth Maleva, and inform her to take the left side of the field when the possible charge begins."
"Yes, m'lord. Any thing else?"
"Bring forth my Basilisk. She should be prepared."
"Your will be done, Sovereign."

Gaze of the onyx helm once more returning to the front lines, Vora shifted his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet. Preparing, the anticipation, for a fight against Jedi. Having fought Sith and Grey cloaks for some time now, the prospect of coming face to face with the Eon-old enemy of the Jedi, filled him with a malicious glee.

 

[Brimstone]

Location: AA base
Allies: Lonnie Kai
enemies: Darth Vinaze Zinn Zinn Bink'sa Drako

Complement: Hades team 8/8, Sons of Ession 23/25 (at end of post)

The they were close to the shields now and the orbital bombardment was continuing, every few seconds a bolt fell from the heavens, causing ripples across the ever stubborn shield. Then there it was, a five second burst of sound through their comms, a targeting jamming beam from the ship above intended as the signal to attack. They had two minutes now until the walking bombardment pattern crossed this section of the shield again, the assault was on.

“Men, we attack now, good luck and may whatever gods you pray to watch over us today”

Brimstone and his men advanced, immediately one of the tower guards fired upon them, at this range the light blaster fire was of no consequence to his armoured elite, and the supporting infantry were moving from cover to cover on the approach.

“Pick up the speed Sons of Ession, 90 seconds until that shield starts taking hits again”

Brimstone was the first to enter the shield, striding through it, taking further light blaster fire from the towers. He opened up with his BAW-63, spraying rapid fire heavy blaster rounds into the defensive position, the incoming fire paused, he didn't see the defender on his HUD any more but couldn't confirm the kill.

60 seconds…

All of the Hades team had made the shield and had taken up defensive positions nearby, the Sons of Ession were taking too much fire and their progress had slowed, the first few had crossed the shield now though.

“Hades! Get those defenders suppressed or we are going to lose the Sons” he barked through his comm as he opened fire on another defensive position, this repeating blaster had a small number of the Sons pinned behind a rock, his sniper has also taken up position and was attempting to keep the defenders suppressed.

30 seconds…

More of the Sons of Ession crossed the threshold, one of them was limping from a minor wound to the leg. The repeater fire had stopped now but the Sons of Ession still had ground to cover before they got in to the shield.

15…. The turbolasers will have fired and supercharged bolts of energy were already enroute.

The last few sons were just passing though the shield, it looked like they would all make it. He admired the bravery of those soldiers not fortunate enough to be clad in heavy plate armour, we watched his men, there were two left, he saw them hobbling toward the shield, one had taken a blaster shot to the hip and the other was supporting him, fool, he needed to run.

Brimstone's HUD momentarily went white before his flare compensator kicked in, the barrage had restarted, they were in, but they had lost two good men. Now the hard part would begin.

 

[Pietro Demici]

Location: The trenches

Personal Loadout: lightsaber, armorweave priest's vestments

Allies: Cedric Grayson , Kasia Celestyne, AC

Enemies: Vora Kaar Darth Maleva, Darth Bellum , WotS

Part One: A Higher Calling

Die, Die, Crucify

Cardinal Demici wasted no time exiting the shuttle that had brought him to the surface of Ninn, his face covered with the calm, yet silent storm of judgment. The fact that yet another faction of Sith had arisen in the galaxy had been enough of a nuisance; the fact that they were in the Tingel Arm only compounded his frustration. Heretics and demons had no place in the galaxy, and he had been eager to begin the purge.

He walked toward the front of the vast array of troops that had been awaiting his arrival, all standing in formation as still as stone. Lord Grayson had not been present, but that was only due to his own diligence in preparing for the fight to come. They had already carried out a grand ceremony blessing both the Crusade and their devout leader, declaring to all of their followers that this would be the right path. Now, it was time for Pietro to address the soldiers themselves.

Pietro was followed closely behind by those of the Holy Guard of the Host that had accompanied him; a cohort of elite, devout warriors prepared to give everything to defend their faith and their holy brethren. They line along his front and back as he took to a small pulpit that had been erected on the field of battle.

The cardinal took a brief moment to call out to the Ashla, asking for the holy light of the Force to show the way forward, as it always had. As a gentle breeze picked up, flowing through his majestic crimson robes, he finally raised his head to address the gathered hosts of Ashla.

"Friends, it is good to see so many faces on this glorious field of battle. I am aware that not all of you are yet believers in our faith, but there is more than just faith that brings us here. We have all seen the horrific damage wrought by the Sith. We have all suffered at their hands... and we all want it to end. Countless worlds still burn because of their actions. They are a blight upon this galaxy, and a microcosm of the greater, growing presence of the Bogan. With the recent destruction of Csilla, the situation may seem to look dark indeed. But take heart, for it is always darkest before the dawn, and make no mistake..."

A small pause.

"We are the dawn!"

The soldiers began to cheer in a cacophonous symphony of hope and rage, echoing across the vast fields they stood upon.

"We will bring in a new age of peace and light. We will take back the galaxy in the name of the Ashla, and destroy the heretical followers of the Bogan once and for all! Every one of you is a soldier of the holiest order on this day. We cannot fail, for the Ashla smiles upon us. These sniveling creatures of the night don't hold a candle to the likes of the righteous host I see before me. And now, they shall suffer the dawn!"

The cheering grew even greater as the cardinal raised his hands in the air. Once it finally subsided, Pietro lowered his arms, and stepped down from the pulpit. A small chest was brought over, containing a single leaf from the Great Oak of the Graywall. Pietro took the leaf in his hand, and walked through the ranks of soldiers holding it above their heads. With each row of troops, he uttered the words 'May the Ashla light your path" in the old tongue of Ession.

Once the anointment was over, the battle would begin...

Part Two: Judgment Day

The initial attack had pushed the Warlords and their forces back into the fortress of Jin'Tutsimia, though it was unclear if they had voluntarily gave the ground in favor of their fortifications. What was meant to be a swift victory had turned into a drawn out siege, which was the last thing that the Crusade had wanted. The yearned for this victory... no... they needed it. Up until this point, they had been a ragtag group of believers, militia, and random fighters looking to extinguish the Sith. Things had been going relatively well on the home front, but if they were to truly put and end to the Sith, they needed to become one...

They needed unity.

Pietro had been stuck in a makeshift command bunker, overseeing troop deployments and managing their supply lines, or what was left of them. The Warlords had been rather successful at keeping their dropships at bay, making both reinforcements and supplies difficult to come by. They had begun rationing and foraging as time allowed, but to break the siege, they had to make a move, and soon.

One of the chaplains of the Holy Guard approached the cardinal as he poured over maps and what intel they could gather. Without looking at the man, Pietro spoke.

"Yes, yes, what news?"

"Your eminence, we have received reports that our forces have begun their movement against the gun emplacement on the mountaintop. Going is slow, but we will update as we hear more."

The man hesitated for a moment, causing the cardinal's eyes to shoot in his direction.

"Your hesitation tells me that ill news is next."

The chaplain quickly cleared his throat.

"Unfortunately, yes. We have sent out scouting parties, and some of them haven't returned. No response on comms. We fear the worst."

Pietro hung his head for a moment, contemplating their next move. The Warlords had managed to sally out from an unknown location, attacking their flanks and scouts where they could. The lines had held, but Pietro had to consider the inevitable push that would be made by the Sith. He would normally seek council from lord Grayson himself, but their fearless leader was on the line himself, leading from the front as he always had. No... Pietro would have to make the call. He finally turned to the chaplain, picking his lightsaber up from the table and placing it within the folds of his robes.

"I see. Gather the Holy Guard, as well as a small detachment from the legion. We are going to snuff out the Sith before they can perform a proper counterattack. We keep this fight in our favor for as long as it takes to bring those guns down. Go forth, my brother, and may the Ashla guide you."

The chaplain gave him the salute of the Guard, and promptly left the tent. It looked like the cardinal would be in the thick of it soon enough. He took in a deep breath, and with the exhale, he uttered one last prayer to the Ashla before following suit...

Judgment day had come.

 

[Isla Draellix-Kobitana]

The situation in orbit was quiet, strangley serene considering the desperate situation on the ground. She had been monitoring events and things were moving slowly on all fronts, she wished she could provide more support but the crusade couldn't waste more dropships against that heavy flak battery.

"Admiral...." the ships captain reported to her as she stood watching out the bridge view port. "we have detected intermittent contacts from the asteroid field, energy signatures consistent with star ship reactors"

"OK captain, we cannot be pulled out of position, please dispatch scouts to investigate"

"Very well"

She watched him walk over and give the orders though the communications system, moments later she saw the engines of a pair of Seraphims light up as they accelerated away from her position.

The light frigates arrived near the location of interest a short time later, scans were difficult because of the heavy metal asteroids, certainly though, there was something in there. They launched their fighter squadrons that went in to investigate.

"Admiral Draellix, this is Captain Orlando of the Sword, we are detecting something and investigating further. I dont like this, it feels like a trap." came the message to Isla Draellix through the comms. "I understand, captain, but we need to know what is there, and we cannot afford to move more ships out of the blockade, just use caution and be ready to return to the fleet" She replied

The two frigates continued their sweep, regularly reporting back to the main fleet.

Irratar Hemstagon (pending)

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Allyson Locke​

How many times? How many times could the Light continue to interject into the workings of the Dark Side, eternal in its unholy embrace? How many times did the Sith have to put down the fools who dared to fight back against the inevitable end of all things? For it was known that in the end of life, all that would remain would be Darkness. Why did the imbecilic mortals have to continue to fight over and over again and just not accept the inevitability, the futility? All would be so much more peaceful in the end, especially when God - Kavar Lok Kas'Oni - controlled it. Another inevitability. He knew that was his destiny - his birthright that given to him on Credence so many millennia ago. It was his to domineer, and the fools would just have to accept it.

He thought on this deeply, standing some distance away from the fortress and the outlying wastes of Ninn that were actively being sundered by these Crusaders of Ashlan. Explosions, screams, blaster fire, orders, charges, chants, and lightsaber clashes roared to destructive life in the burning sky, echoing around for miles as ships were reduced to scrap in orbit or crashed into the dirt with thunderous impact. It was a symphony of destruction, a testament to the Light and to the Dark, and for those who marched forth undeterred in their quest to eradicate the Sith and claim Ninn for their own, it was their chance to become legend and gain solid ground in that quest.

The Devil had thought on this long and hard during the initial skirmishes at the border of Ninn space, and that is why it infuriated him so to know that these men and women fighting for a cause that was as faulty as theirs had managed to break the Warlords defensive lines. Marching into their territory as if they had already won the fight, zealous in their beliefs, unwavering in their heresy and ignorance to that which could not be avoided. It was sickening, and he - the Devil himself - would eradicate it.

And yet, ironically enough, this focus on the distant battle - the very same one he had walked away from just as he had on Csilla so as to lead an attack from the flank rather than lead the defense head-on - kept him unaware of that which crept in the shadows so close on his own flank. Seeking to perhaps end the war - and his life - with one single attack.

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

Location: Asteroid Field
Allies: WotS
Enemies: Isla Draellix-Kobitana

Theme

The long thick crimson cloth dances and strikes and twists against the fast-pacing legs of the armored figure walking across the large chamber. There was no light. Nothing to show the way on the onyx hall, towards the figure at the long glass table. Arcane darkness caused a cold embrace around the deck. The armored figure then stops. "They are here" he intoned. The bald man sitting on the tall-backed chair by the table picked the silver goblet and drunk, seemingly not sharing the tension of the herald. "How many?" Irratar Hemstagon said, before he took a sip of the goblet's content. "A squadron. Nothing of size. Our position is compromized". The bald man left calmly the goblet on the table, next to the meal-filled plate. His fingers made wide motions, clearly weighted by the large rings of several colors and designs that decorated all his fingers. His skin pale; Soulless. He picked a small white fabric, gently patting it against his long-deprived lips, to collect the liquid's humidity. "About time the rabbit catching up to the carrot before the gun's barrel. I grew immpetient to see the Sith struggling down the planetside... Send the Dogs... Lets see what these foes are capable of..."

As the frigates reach the asteroid field, the void suddenly beams of energy; Several signs of starship-like activity flood the screen of the scanner.
Four hulls that would quickly be identified as Destroyer warships emerge from behind the celestial debri. Like a hyena pack, jumping over to their prey, the Hunter Dogs move in high speed towards the enemy frigates.

"Rules of engagement, lord prince?" the tunic-covered figure of the armored warrior asks, standing just mere meters away from the bald figure of Irratar Hemstagon . "Rules...? There are no rules..." the prince intoned in cold voice, before picking once again the goblet from the table. "Burn them"

The long, blazing beams of proton beam cannons connect their position with their enemy's in an attempted bite of death, as the corsair warships introduce their enemies to the Athysian shock combat. Seconds after the first volley of cannonfire, the destroyers take sharp turns, reaching behind the large asteroids, clearly covering themselves from any counter attack. Atleast for the few seconds to pass, until their 4-pointed cannons charge again, for yet another strike. Their formation nonexistent, with each destoryer slithering like a venomous snake between the pebbles behind and forth of the asteroids. Onboard, the several hands that operate the guns swarm the main deck. Corsairs of all kinds and forms. Duro, human, Nautolan. Half-worn armors allow the eye to see the excess tattoos covering their half-exposed bodies, while several of them have cybernetic limbs; Reminders of their decades on the ill-lit decks of the Athysian ships. Raid after raid, these battle-hardened troops know the void's unforgiving hunger for mortal pain better than many they have sailed against, under the guiding gaze of the witch-captain. Screaming orders and battle cries, the officers on deck push the crew to load the several gun barrels and lift the chain-held munition from below deck. At the bridge of the Destroyer, the cloaked woman sat on her iron throne-like chair, resting her lightning-tainted palms against the console as her reach through the force turned and twisted and blazed the several screens around her through the forceful manipulation of the bronze cables that powered them.

The very shadow of much, much larger hulls could be seen through the asteroids, making perfect use of the field around them as countermeasures against detection... And yet... Now finally, the claws reach out to wound their prey. In time, the odds became clear, with the beaming signal produced by the 6 destroyers that lead the charge already moving as a vanguard ahead of 4 more Baron-Class Gunship who sailed through the cold void, dwarfed under the shadowing presence of the Blood Spear and the escorting Ignisir-Class Star Destroyer, following not far behind the Hemstagon flagship. All the Athysian ships were painted with the blood red colors of the League. Their armors decorated with several tattoo-like symbols and battle marks, while the very capital ships at the flottila's rearguard were embraced by a black mist which only implied the taint of the Dark Side within their cursed decks. Their guns emerged like spearheads before their sharp armors...

And so begun, the Orbital War...

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Tags: Kasia Celestyne, Pietro Demici , Darth Bellum , Vora Kaar , Darth Maleva


Their options grew fewer and fewer by the minute. They'd not managed to get much of their mechanized force onto the ground - the larger transports were still held up by the AA cannons currently harrying the Ashlan fleet. Theirs was an army of infantry occasionally broken by the handful of IFVs that had managed to make it to the ground without being destroyed on the descent. Had they managed to get the majority of the three mechanized divisions ground side, it would have been relatively textbook to shower the Sith line with artillery fire and then punch a series of holes through the softened front. As things were, they had the firepower, but not the speed.

He supposed they would simply have to make do. They could either wait here and hope that their counterparts would might take out the cannons, damned to certain death if they failed, or they could make a push. The latter option was a desperate move, and tactically speaking far less sound than simply digging in and hoping that things worked out in their favor.

But then one could never taste victory if they did not take risks.

"Battery status?" He snapped over the comms as he watched Kasia Celestyne step out of her trench. The woman either had a very good plan, a great deal of confidence, or she was a fool. He was hoping it was not the latter.

"All batteries prepped. Marking out a solution now. Say the word." Came Decius' reply.

From what Cedric vaguely gathered, they had enough shells for a few dozen volleys. It was not nearly enough if they intended to level the fortress, but it could give them enough of an opening to press forward. The exile muttered a prayer under his breath as he cast one last look over no man's land. The fields were nothing more than gray soot and small lakes of mud dotted with the occasional corpse and forgotten bit of machinery. Smoke and dirt jumped up toward the sky as stray bolts missed their marks, the screams of the dying intermingling with the cacophony of ranged warfare. He could do no more damage to this place than had already been visited on it and battles past.

His conscience clear, Cedric lingered his mental presence upon the different eyes of the storm that raged in the empyrean. He recognized these sources of power for what they were: Sith that had taken to the battlefield, many of them not far from the next trench. They would have to be dealt with personally as they so often were.

"Send it." He muttered.

The ground shook as the sound of a dozen thunderclaps temporarily drowned out the noise of battle. That thunder quickly gave way to a high pitched whine that most veterans would have known well. A second or so later, and a rain of explosive shells crashed down vaguely in and around the first line of Sith trenches, kicking up fountains of debris and shrapnel at their points of impact.

The decision to use proper explosive shells rather than plasma based rounds had been a psychological one. The sounds that accompanied their fall were terrible enough, but the shrapnel that followed would make sure enough souls were snuffed out or maimed so as to shatter the enemy line. That had been the hope, anyway.

"Over the top!" Cedric shouted, raising the Blade of Ruusan high over his head. The fabled Essonian blade roared to life, a beacon of cyan light that dared any would-be Sith to try and smother it. Several streams of bolts flew toward Cedric immediately, the exile's body moving instinctively as he battered aside the streams with the quick economical fluidity of Soresu. Hundreds of the Sons of Ession charged over the tops of the trench, the largest of them armed with wrist mounted shields that covered their entire bodies heading the charge. Cedric moved at their head, willfully ignoring the dozens of soldiers that were sawed down instantly by the enemy's turret emplacements. He made a point to remain a few meters ahead of the army, drawing as much fire to himself as he could so that he might spare his comrades.

That attention culminated in several detonators being lobbed at his feet. Not keen on being splattered all over the field, Cedric extended a hand, and in turn sent forth a fist of telekinetic energy that crashed into the detonators, sending them flying back toward the trench they had come from right around the time they exploded. The move left him open however, several blots striking his breastplate and shoulder pauldrons before two of the shield-wielding soldiers put themselves between the Sith trench and their liege.

"It's only a scratch, forward!" The Essonian Knight snapped as the auto-injectors in his armor acted quickly to stifle whatever pain would come from his newly gained wounds. The phrik plating bore the worst of it, but the burns could never be wholly contained. The two men that had sought to protect Cedric were cut into ribbons as their shields failed and their bodies were sawed through by repeating plasma fire. It was all the Jedi could do to place himself between the dying soldiers and any continued fire. This push was proving to be extremely deadly, but if they continued as they were, they would overtake the lead Sith trench shortly.

The Ashla was with them.

 

[Maestus]

Why was she here? She held no real loyalty to the Warlords, yet when they sent a call for aid, Maestus had answered herself, instead of sending minions in her stead. So obviously, she had an interest in the outcome, or she would not have bothered to show up.

She mused inwardly as she stalked the trenches. Who were these light side lunatics? What was their goal? She had heard of the Ashlan Crusade and knew they meant to eradicate all Sith. But that was all she knew. And a threat to all Sith was, eventually, a threat to her very existence. And she very much enjoyed being alive.

Surely the AC were lunatics. Invading the Warlords on Ninn, where they were dug in deep and tight....Seemed almost suicidal. Was the Light Side really so fanatical as to inspire suicide in its name? Perhaps today would provide the answer.

She stopped walking suddenly. A flash in the Force caught her attention. The healing Kasia Celestyne performed erupted in the area. Maestus lowered her cloak's hood, exposing her Sith tattoo covered head fully. Black eyes with red flames licking at the edges scanned the area.

And there she was. Making herself obvious now. Inviting Maestus towards her by being foolish enough to step into plain sight. Pathetic. The only thing that the Crusader would earn is pain.

Kasia Celestyne

​

​

 

[The Grim Lady]

B L A C K C R O W N
D R E A D M O T H E R
OPEN FOR ENGAGEMENT
Allies | Darth Bellum Kascalion Giedfield Maestus Vora Kaar Darth Maleva
Foes | Kasia Celestyne Cedric Grayson Pietro Demici

​

Deep beneath the throes of turmoil and the crashing collisions of will, the earth heaved in shuddering churn, perturbed by the machinations of miscreation. Ritualistic pulses thundered beneath the bangled, bare feet lain into the ground, orchestrated by sinuous hands weaving twisted efforts to shape chaos into form. Betwixt the willowed woman and the walls of the haphazard tunnel lurked marauders of design from ages passed, standing in servitude to ensure her efforts were undisturbed. The death of the blinded twi'lek left to helm the Warlords had been the opportunity for her to emerge from her shadowy plane, that desolate expanse between reality and the Nether, where she had found sanctuary to wait. Her greatest agent of chaos, Kascalion Giedfield , had turned wayward beneath the voyant direction he had taken, though with such a light snuffed out the return to her grander scheme had proceeded.

It was silent, eerie so, save for the rhythmic turn of the earth and the deep powers fetched from its surface, with but one woman serving as the foci for the wickedness she invoked. Shadows coalesced, creeping in spiraling madness upon her frame, swallowing the reflective opalite eyes fixed in her skull and leaving naught but bleak emptiness in the wake. The dour corruption spewed forth, filling the harrowing tunnel with choking dread, insidious in how it was invisible to the eye, but lethal in its pierce through armors for the hearts of the disillusioned valiants who dared venture here. The Grim Lady shuddered amidst the frigid dark, body overcome by the power of The One chaining her to this flesh unnaturally, and at last, many voices bled into one and espoused from her dead lips, echoing down the passage as thundering summons for the Darkness.

Incantations were made manifest, set unto the tunnel in the form of shadowy, untangible forms of insatiable hunger.

Demons surged from Sinead's position, twisting and writhing themselves around her affectionately, awaiting the murmurings of her orders.

"Ati uynsutu, kirazi ri Rokatsa." "Go forth, devour the Light." The possessed woman breathed, sweeping her outstretched hands outward to set her creations upon their foes. The abominations flashed forward, forms rippling with Darkside energy and tendrils of chaos until the belly of the void within swallowed them.

The two unnatural creatures swept through the tunnel with inhuman speed, spiraling around one another in their eager race to reach the entrance and emerge from the bleakness and mete their hunger upon the forces of the invaders. The fears of the first to witness them manifested in their incorporeal form, suddenly becoming tangible to invoke paralytic terror on those who would warn their comrades. It was a simple thing for the entities, merely as plain as passing through their prey, vaporizing their flesh with naught but a passing whisper cast into the air. A torturous death dealt out within the beat of a heart; a life extinguished without dignity or a chance at reconciliation.

Such was the toil of The High Priestess.

While her summons tended to the surface, surging for the trenches, she remained in her ritual chamber, thrusting clawed hands towards the cavernous ceiling as new intentions flooded her mind upon the utterance of The One Within. Thus, she would stay, invoking the eager Darkness from the dark places of the underground with the promise of sating its eternal hunger upon the bodies of the Light-blind who struggled above.​

​