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

[Isla Draellix-Kobitana]

Opponent: Irratar Hemstagon

Alerts went off across the board as the enemy destroyers launched themselves out of the asteroid field, proton beams firing at the two small frigates. The lead frigate, the Sword, took the brunt of the impact, overwhelming the shields with a beam cutting straight through the neck of its bridge and instantly crippling the ship. Secondary fires broke out across the vessel and abandon ship was sounded.

The Dirk was slightly further away and its sophisticated jamming systems confused the targeting just enough for it to only take a glancing hit from the much larger ship. It began to turn, hoping to escape, its structure straining as its captain pushed it further than it was designed. It returned fire at the destroyers as they made a turn of their own, back to the asteroids. Its powerful heavy turbolasers and multiple triple turbolasers seeking out the attacking wolf pack.

Across the void of space Isla Draellix clenched her fist in anger, the first blood had been spilled and it was hers. Every fibre of her wanted to chase the enemy down and ram her massive battlecruiser down their throats, but she knew that was not her mission today. She watched as the holo of the sword turned from blue to black and she made a prayer to Ashla.

"Captain!" She barked "the status of the Dirk, now! And pull back those two Nebulas that are sight seeing over the moon."

She analysed her fleet composition, if this was all she faced, she massively out gunned them, but she had a whole planet to patrol and they just needed to break through in one place. What she had in this zone was going to have to suffice today. She had the Pillar of Retribution, three Nebulas, once the two returned, three Majestics and half a dozen Dominion class frigates.

"The dirk is damaged but is trying to return, another pass like that and it will be destroyed, the Sith aren't prone to mercy so I think we can consider it lost like the Sword." The captain returned with the report "both frigates fighters are attempting to engage the smaller gunships as we speak." There were three dozen fighters out there about to engage the gunships, hopefully they would be able to do something before the larger vessels caught up and their standard orders to enter hyperspace activated.

She readied herself, she would open fire the moment they entered firing range, but would not be forced out of position by these attackers.

 

[Kasia Celestyne]

Maestus
​

Kasia turned and saw a form at the center of the darkness she felt. Time paused for a moment as the wind picked up, dust blowing across the front of the trenches.

Then hell opened up, raining fire from the Ashlan artillery line down upon the Sith Fortress. The soldiers of Ashla charged from the trenches towards those of the Sith.

Dirt shifted beneath Kasia's boots, and she moved forward, the troops in front of her fighting for inches of soil.

Then she was within speaking distance of the Sith warrior.

"I am Kasia Celestyne, Paladin of Ashla." She saluted the Sith, her eyes remaining on the opponent, determination settling upon her.

Her blade came down, pointing at the center of Maestus' torso, her body swayed forward blade arcing in aimed at the Sith's throat, hoping to end the contest quickly and decisively.

 

[Chimera]

外傷
H I G H W A R L O R D
A N N I H I L A T I O N

He knew they would come. They always did. They always would. It was the wailing strobe of alarms that drew him from his brooding meditation in the bowels of the outpost and disturbed the arranged chaos he blanketed himself in amidst his thoughts. Dead eyes had split apart and he had taken to his feet, pausing briefly before the mirror mounted on the rear of his door, taking in the reflection glaring back at him. The scars twisting his flesh into a story of their own. The age wearing his pallor. He offered it little thought, brushing it aside to distance himself from the shell of what once was, and refocused himself upon what was to be. From the mount beyond, he collected his weapons, binding his forearm by twisting coil of hateful chain and securing the mask over the lower expanse of his face. Silvering hair was brushed backward and bound from his face, tucked neatly after into the darkened hood he found refuge within.

Chimera bounded down the corridor of the fortress adorned in his vestments of wrath, cutting a path through the soldiers readying themselves for the defensive effort. Already, fire raged in his belly, stoked affectionately by the hands of fury until it churned as a ravenous inferno set to burst beyond control with a mere whim. Embers smoldered in his glossy, hidden eyes, traversing the blank space upward in their rise beneath his flesh. He climbed the stairs in rushing stride, ascending higher through the scurrying masses until he reached the door he sought and emerged into the cold, frigid air which bothered him none.

His bare skin raged against the icy wind, lashing back with tendrils of frosted condensation created by his unnatural burn. Smoke spewed from the focal rebreathers situated before his nose and lips and with it, came the rising promise of brimstone and decimation. He would burn the intruders to ash and leave none standing to tell the tale. Such was his promise to this world. His burning eyes erupted in their sockets, bursting at their edges with lustful flame, cracking ember at the wind from where he glowered at the foes beyond the wall. His perch offered him advantage, granting him view of their bold approach, and he lingered there upon the battlement for the time, soaking it all in. They had come to destroy the anti-aircraft weaponry housed in this outpost so that aid would arrive for them.

Aid would never come, not so long as he still remained.

Their hope would win them this battle and the promise of reinforcement was a vessel for it.

A powerful thing hope was, but fickle, and so easily crushed beneath a forceful heel or in the palm of a hateful fist.

He would show them the folly of their way and learn them the lesson he had been forced to swallow ages ago.

It wasn't until the first assailants had passed through the shields that the gargoyle perched upon the wall took to action, torquing himself about with a swing of both arms to the rear, bleeding flame from his palms to engulf his fists entirely. For a moment, he was a pillar of fire upon the ledge, a beacon of Sith might and a testament to their discipline. A raging cataclysm controlled until something disturbed its balance and provoked it. A harbinger of apocalypse then, he became, when the time for it arose.

A barrage of infernal fire screeched in hissing streak from his hands, launched forth towards the soldiers penetrating their defenses. Striking the mark, those soldiers were met by an agonizing death, left to scream and thrash as flame devoured their flesh and boiled their innards. It was slow agony, the kind which drove the victim to enlightenment for a fleeting second just before they could bear it no longer and collapsed.

Screams of terror erupted from the charging line at the sudden attack, they had been anticipating blaster rain, not a hailstorm of fiery wrath.

Chimera sprung from his position, crashing down and out of sight from those advancing upon the wall and grounded himself upon the frozen earth, melting the snow against his boots as he traversed toward where the line had been broken. Weapons still sheathed, his hands wove once more, supercharging the dormant energies of the air in seconds until they too could take no more punishment, and burst into flame. A wall of the impassable fire roared to life, engulfing the break in the shield and serving as a temporary patch to bar the path of the assailants further. Unbothered by flame, the Sith Lord strode forward, passing into its hateful embrace to slaughter the bold who attempted to surge through it.

They would learn it; there was no hope to be found here.


ALLIES | WotS | BotM | Darth Vinaze | Drako | Zinn Zinn Bink'sa
FOES | AC | THE LIGHT | Brimstone | Lonnie Kai ​

​

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Location: Inside the Jin'Tutsimia

Allies: Darth Bellum , Vora Kaar , Darth Maleva, Kascalion Giedfield , Maestus , The Grim Lady , WotS

Enemies: Cedric Grayson , Kasia Celestyne, AC

Berserkir

They had seen the signs...

Thousands of years of war against the Jedi had led to this point. The continuous failed efforts by the Jedi to snuff out the Sith would inevitably give rise to such militant behavior. Any Sith that couldn't see this was a fool. As for Khamul, the hellhound of Mandalore, this was always the logical outcome. At their core, the Sith and Jedi were both fanatics, claiming that their perception of the Force was the true path. He knew deep in his soul that there would eventually be a clash of ideals, not just between the light and dark, but between the very foundations of the two sides. After all, to every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

The invasion of Ninn had stalled his own plans for the galaxy, preventing him from moving forward with the unification of his people. There was little else that he had thought about since he first encountered the Death Watch, on the very ground he stood upon today. They had been scattered to the winds, lost, lacking cohesion. Many had been broken away, opting to serve other nations rather than their own people. They needed to be brought back to their roots, and Khamul would be the one to lead them.

Nonetheless, for the moment Khamul would be stuck once again on Ninn, fighting to maintain his own foothold in the galaxy. Others of the Warlords had begun to make their move, and Khamul would follow suit. He turned toward one of the few Mandalorians who had recently joined his cause. The man was staring across the field to the distant trenches of the Jedi, likely trying to find a weakness in their lines.

"Commander, ready the others. It's time to properly join the fold."

The commander turned to him, and Khamul could feel the man's discouraged energy as he spoke.

"Sir, would that be wise? Many of the others have left, we should man the walls in case the Jedi break through."

Khamul immediately knocked him to the ground, igniting his crimson blade and holding it to the man's throat.

"Yes, many of the others have left, and I refuse to sit idle while others gain the glory of this fight. And if you dare question me again, I'll take your head, melt your beskar, and use it to build a privy. Now go get the others. We take the fight to them."

The Mandalorians gathered along the wall of Jin'Tutsimia, and on Khamul's signal, they ignited their jetpacks and took flight...

The hounds of Hell had been unleashed.

 

[Renair Naki]

Enemy: Khamul Kryze​

You know, it is always a funny story to tell when you can hear an entire plan of an enemy force. The ignition of jetpacks arcing right over him were impressive to see in full array. Renair Naki happened across a small passageway underneath the battlefield...only for it to collapse and trap him onto the other side. Seeing the only way forward, he started to climb, rather clumsily, up the large wall before him. Knowing his only way to break through was to cause havoc and chaos, that was what he planned on doing. When one of the Mandalorians that jumped down and ignited a little later than needed, that is when Naki struck.

Igniting his lightfoil as it shimmered a distinct green, he made a rather loud cut onto the others jetpack. Smirking as he saw it spiral out of control, he went to go upwards before feeling the wrap of a cord around his leg. Renairs eyes went wide for a moment as he noticed the one he just cut his wings on, was trying to take him down with him. Then...he lost his grip.

"Ah Kriff."

Then the human male was pulled down rather suddenly, trying to grip onto the cord and cut it with the lightfoil which proved ineffective. Before approaching the ground, he took a desperate action and Force Pulled the Mandalorian towards him, shoving the Lightfoil into a small crevice into the armor. There was a loud gasp of pain from both men, having felt something sharp stab him into the side as they fell all the way to the ground with a loud THUD. The two would lay there though one had now passed on, the other more worse for wear.

Giving a loud groan, Renair Naki would slowly turn his body till he could slowly sit up, in the middle of a recent artillery shell crater that was just formed. Looking around, he looked back at the wall and started to go back towards it.

"Just...a few steps at a time. One down....a kriff ton to go."

 

[Darth Solipsis]

THE DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW

xxxNinnxxx
OBJECTIVE ONE: LINE IN THE SAND



Cedric Grayson | Elise Solsteel​

It started as a whisper.

A beckoning voice, a familiar face saturated in the kind warmth only family could hold.

Slowly the reverberating noise crawled in the back of their skulls, words of an ancient tongue long forbidden by the Light-Sworn and their false idols within the cabal of Jedi fools and charlatans. It was the language of the Sith, a most holy language spoken by the blackest of hearts whispering sweet nothings into the ears of any who would hear him upon a empyrean wind.

The Force surrounded all living things, it penetrated us, binded us together. Using that same mystical energy field you could do wonderous things.. or terrible things. With the right push, you could drive someone over the edge. With the right pluck of memory, you could make a man insane.

That warmth subtly vanished, a blinding wave would wash over those who felt it as it became a crushing pressure, a willful tug at their very cores. A pair of sinister eyes watching over the battlefield with dark grimace and filled with flickering flames of the realm of Chaos from which all evil stemmed from. Darkness crept across the battlefield, the dark words of a sinister voice carried with it the power of battle meditation and insanity for those who would hear his siren call.

It was not all powerful, not all knowing. It was evil nonetheless. Those who touched it and resisted with their own wills of stone would know, yes they among the Ashlan Crusade would truly know. Within the bowels of devastated hangars, in the wreckage of the last fight between Devil and Dark Voice.

The Dark Lord of the Sith had come.

 

[Mikhail Grayson]

​

This was it.

The Essionian tightened his harness and held on against the brace for dear life as the turbulent entry into the atmosphere of Ninn shook the vessel, threatening to tear it apart at the seams. All around the youth were a dozen or so hardened veterans of the Grayson Imperium and even before that the Essionian Dominion. Sons of Ession, the greatest warriors the Ashlans had to offer, they were unshakable titans of war ready to give their lives for the Fatherland and the Ashla itself.

Laughter bellowed and spread through the cabin as lights flickered around them from the outside in, they made amusement in the face of death and stared into the abyss without fear of reprisal. Mikhail could not say the same, he was afraid, he was here to fight a war he'd never thought would come before seeing the horrors of the Brotherhood of the Maw alongside his uncle. The Sith and their vile allies were parasites upon the galaxy and would not stop until all hope had been snuffed out and drowned under the blanket of despair that was Sith rule.

It was not long ago that he began his training alongside his uncle, learning to use the Force and what it meant to be a Jedi. He had yet to master such powerful instincts and skills but his stay among the Jedi instructors and his uncle had brought him to speed with the basics of what he needed to know in order to survive. If it wasn't for that and learning to fight alongside the Sons of Ession, under the teaching of Titus of Epoch , he would never have been able to come on this assignment. Never had been able to participate in the redemption of Ninn, the cleansing of a world left to burn.

Yet here he was, afraid and alone.

Breathing in and out rapidly he closed his eyes as a battlecry roar erupted from a nearby Son of Ession.

"ASHLA AWAITS!"



It all faded to black.

He awoke with dirt in his mouth and sparks flashing before his eyes. The wreckage of the troop transport was slighted against cursed earth, all around him were the bodies of fellow countrymen and conscripts for the crusade. It was the first time he’d been exposed to such things, a wave of shock washed over him as he sat back in horror once the grogginess faded away completely.

He freed himself from his seat and fell to his knees onto the dirt ridden cabin floor. Taking a few moments to himself he attempted to regain his composure as he seized the nearest blaster rifle from a nearby corpse and donned a Son of Ession’s vibroblade.

Stepping out of the wreckage into the battlefield, adorned in tactical gear the youthful Grayson called out over comms.

“Echo 2 reporting in.”

Cedric Grayson | Pietro Demici​

 

[Vora Kaar]

Directly Engaging: Pietro Demici
Allies: Kascalion Giedfield | Darth Bellum | Maestus | Darth Solipsis | The Grim Lady | Khamul Kryze | Darth Maleva |
Enemies: Allyson Locke | Cedric Grayson | Kasia Celestyne | Renair Naki | Mikhail Grayson |

​

There was always the fight. The pure manifestations of the force, men, technology and more that all cohesively congregate into a mass of war. It was interesting to see many times over. The years spent to learn and dedicate to training, would be washed away with a single strike, or a stray bolt. All the energy they expended over their lifetime was for the majority of it, wasted. For they were mostly fodder in Vora's eyes.

It was always interesting to continue this trend. The Lightbearing crusade were preparing. Oh it was easy to feel it in his veins. As a defensive position, it would be best to lay and wait. Let them tired themselves across the distance. Losing numbers as they came in a massive wave of screams, death, sweat, and blood. It was not long for the waiting to end. Charges of war, yells of valor, all thrown at the Warlords. Yet, raining hellfire down from upon them. The artillery continued to pester and barrage at them. Weapons firing freely into their direction for any hope to hit a mark.

For the light? For the Crusade? For Ashla? A religious notion of the light from long ago.

No. It would be for naught. The darkness may creep, it may hide, and it may become illuminated, however, the shadows swallowed, they consumed, and suffocate all that comes within its grasp. A balance between the two will always reside. While Vora knew that there would be such days when the light and dark would wax and wane. Today, the Darkness would grow fat with strength. It would gorge itself upon those who wrongly believed in a war, a crusade to bring balance to the force.

"Open fire."

A simple command was given to the troops. Easily heard, and easily followed. to know that the lives of many would perish today, was a great feeling. To know that it may be the day upon which one could die, was rewarding within itself.

Vora took a step forward, then stopped. Clutching his helmet with one hand. Feeling something creeping up from within him. Dormant it may have been for years now, it was quashed easily for now. A minor headache to fight the insanity that resided within the man. Anonymous reasoning, with shaded thoughts. Protected by the shadows and shades of "Bogan."

"Darling, please show them what it means to yell."

Across the entirety of the field, over the cries of men, and the whistling of weaponry, a single roar echoed out. One of that created by an automaton of darkness. A fearmonger, and breaker of men. Vora's Basilisk, a mix of Mandalorian, and Sith technology roared out into No-man's land. The Shadow engines upon it erupting in suffocating fog. Black and thick with fears, screams of the dying, voices of loved one calling to them to fall upon their own blades, horrors of their worst creations for all who entered or breathed within.

Reaching upward, Vora grabbed upon her leg. Holding tightly as she then made her way upon the precipice of the trenches. Standing defiantly against this oncoming horde of deranged Jedi. The Missile launchers, and Magcannons opened fire upon those drawing upon her. Their frames exploding with might as they were impacted. Missing one would send such flying bodies mangled, or end with debris and shrapnel acting akin to slug weaponry. Vora watched as they fell. Feeling their last drawing breaths only strengthened him. The fear of dying, the fear of losing control, all they feared to lose.

This wave of emotions was drawn in like oxygen in a breath. Deeply, and with vigor.

Vora enjoyed all of it. He wanted even more, and so they shall have more.

​

 

[Darth Themis]

Wearing: Snakeskin

Armed with: Lightning Rod

Objective: 1


Darth Themis was playing an incredibly dangerous game.

In the Ashlan Crusade, she was simply Moya De Lifte, a Jedi Master with strange healing sorceries, playing a strictly non combatant role unless absolutely necessary.

Elsewhere, in secret, she was Darth Themis, Bright Lord of The Sith.

A Light Sith in secret, and intending to keep it that way. It was dangerous, playing strictly healer in such a conflict but there she was, healing wounds in the trenches.

The next one they brought her in the dirty trenches, Blaster fire ringing over them, had his right arm blown clean off.

'Moya De Lifte' focused, drawing on the Jedi training she had acquired when she actually had been in charge of a Jedi Order, during The Gulag Plague. Except, given what she was in secret, her results were drastically more powerful as she held her hand over the wounded soldier, wearing her shiny black catsuit with white, wide cuffed sleeves, giving off a powerful Light Side Aura.

The soldier moaned as the wound began to reverse itself, his arm rapidly growing back, other wounds he had sustained in the blast sewing shut. Other soldiers watching looked astonished. Most healers could save a life. Most healers, however, could not regrow a limb. That alone spoke volumes as to 'Moya's' power.

The Ashlan Crusade wasn't all that different from her own views on running the Galaxy, though she could have done without the personification of Ashla as a Goddess, and especially all the creepy cultish worship of it. But they were the ballpark estimate of what she wanted for the Galaxy, and had tried for in the reconstruction era.

If only The Bryn'adul hadn't pushed Laertia over the edge. Themis knew the time was coming when she would have to pull Xiphos away by Force from waging constant war on the Order...Themis knew it was never going to work, trying to Force the Jedi to focus on the Bryn'adul, but Themis regarded Laertia's actions as useful for making certain she would never be welcomed back by the Jedi, and would have no choice but to stay with the Serpents of Ashla.

Themis didn't hate the Jedi. But she had done it their way once. Never again. Not truly.

The soldier sat up, staring in awe at his regrown arm. Then her. 'Moya' was silent, and offered no expression, no easy, reassuring smile of a typical healer.

"The Ashla as truly made you a great instrument of its will." He said.

"If you say so." The secret Light Sith replied stoically. She had miscalculated letting Xiphos throw herself at the Bryn'adul and anyone who didn't want to fight only then, trying to sabotage their war efforts. And she had also underestimated the hold The Amalgam still had over her psychologically. Themis was starting to understand just how self destructive Laertia was.

"Next." She called out without mirth of warmth, lacking any bedside manner. How to steer Laertia back from her wars? Would she listen to even Themis at this point, when she had given so much of herself to her crusade. That didn't even cover the fact Xiphos's Squeeze, the currently missing Syd Celsius had also been the one to murder Laertia's parents, and the chances were pretty strong Xiphos would go completely insane upon finding out.

The next one lay down, but just as she was about to, the terrible wave of Battle Meditation from Darth Solipsis hit. Many of the healers around her, dedicated solely to treating the wounded, dropped, clutching their heads in pain. Themis however, only winced, resisting the Dark Voice calling for madness and murder, her body naturally extremely difficult to affect with the Dark Side.

"Crap." She snorted, going over to check on a healer. She was shuddering, screaming.

The Light Sith harnessed the Light and surged it into her body, trying to create a barrier to the Dark Side that would last for a little while.

The Healer opened her eyes.

"Master De Lifte?" She whispered.

"No chit chat..." The 'Healer' replied curtly before moving onto the next incapacitated healer.

"Go and help the others." 'Moya' ordered very sternly.

Cedric Grayson

 

[Heinrich Faust]

Location: The skies near the outpost

Personal Loadout: lightsaber, Ashlan battle armor

Allies: Brimstone , AC

Enemies: Chimera , Zinn Zinn Bink'sa , Darth Vinaze , Drako , WotS

The transport rocked in the wind as Heinrich's team made their way toward the gunnery outpost. Their mission was simple, get in, disable the guns, and get back to the siege. The outpost had prevented them from receiving the reinforcements and supplies that they needed to continue the siege. If they didn't go down, it would only be a matter of time until the Crusade would have to abandon the siege... and that was something that Heinrich could not allow.

He looked to the others on the transport as the outpost came into view. Some were hardened members of the Sons of Ession, and others were recruits without a day of experience in the field. In this moment, however, they were all equals. They had all decided to fight, and if necessary, die for their cause. Their dedication would be one of the greatest tools they had against the Sith.

As they closed in on the target, Heinrich felt a strong disturbance in the Force.

"Evasive maneuvers, now!"

The pilot made a sharp bank to the left, barely missing the incoming fire of enemy turrets. Heinrich muttered a curse under his breath as they continued to dodge the cannon fire.

"We aren't going to make it. You'll have to land and make the climb yourselves."

The pilot looked back to him in confusion.

"What are you going to do sir?"

Heinrich made a move toward the door of the transport, opening it up to reveal the side of the mountain.

"I'm going to join our friends. Get our people to the ground. Ashla will guide the way."

With those words, Heinrich launched himself from the transport, propelling himself through the air with great speed. He ignited his lightsaber, deflecting blaster bolts as he flew toward the mountainside. Upon impact, he lodged the lightsaber into the side of the cliff, using it to prevent his fall until he could find his footing. Once he did, Heinrich disengaged the blade, and began the long, steady climb to the outpost above.

 

[Brimstone]

Location: instead then AA base perimeter

Allies: Heinrich Faust Lonnie Kai
Enemies: Darth Vinaze Drako Zinn Zinn Bink'sa Chimera

Hades commandos 8/8 sons of ession 20/25 at end of post

The creature started moving in front of Brimstone and his team, launching fire from its hands towards his lines, a blast caught one of his Ession units unaware, he saw three of the men writhing in agony as the fire took them. What a cruel way to go. Fire appeared at the shield to their backs preventing any further reinforcement or retreat.

"Hades team! Draw fire from the sons while they breach the wall." The Hades team as one took cover and began shooting toward where sith was now standing, basking in the flame, disciplined fire from the 7 carbine and one rotary all vying to be the one to down the pyromancer.

Brimstone heard a crack of air as a beam lanced from covered position, the three pure white lances from their Molecular disruption rifle converging to strike the concrete wall, disintegrating a section of it several metres wide in just moments, before being drawn in a sweeping motion for a few more metres to widen the breach further. At the very least, the physical barriers were proving assailants even if they were yet to deal with the sith inside. The commandos began making their way to the breach, Brimstone tried to keep himself between them and the burning witch standing by the gateway.

One of the commandos tossed a grenade into the flames, hoping to illicit some reaction from the Sith.

 

[Drako]

Location: Skies above the Outpost
Allies: Chimera Darth Vinaze Zinn Zinn Bink'sa
Enemies: Brimstone Heinrich Faust Lonnie Kai
Forces: Vigils of Drako 8/12, Uvak 1/1

---

As the attack began the Vigils of Drako scrambled for cover as they attempted to gain their bearings. None of them had expected to face any sort of stiff opposition at the outpost. Whenever a Commando or other reared their head one of the draconic themed minions would pop up from behind their defensive position and fire off a few poorly aimed blaster shots from their wrist mounted weapons. Within moments this form of skirmishing tactic saw 4 of the Vigils downed by counter attacks. The Vigil that held the banner looked over his shoulder to see Zinn Zinn Bink'sa and then looked back towards the forces of Brimstone who were closest to them currently "My lord!" he called "They've breached the wall!" and indeed they had, or else they would have no been fighting. It seemed obvious enough, though perhaps the man was looking for the Gungan to kill assailants.

One of the Vigils near Chimera watched with a mixture of horror and interest as the beast, previously unseen by him, sprang into action. As little as the Vigil knew about the workings and machinations of the Sith he could guess that it was a Sithspawn - or he could have totally been incorrect. In any case no Vigil seemed ready to aid the Gargoyle. Better to stay clear of it. And in the haze of the fighting it seemed non of the minions saw Heinrich Faust leap from the transport and preform a feat of physical prowess while doing so. In the fight for survival sometimes things such as that went unnoticed.

Above the Outpost...

Drako's powerlance found purchase in the hull plating of a dropship as it tried to evade the anti-aircraft defenses from the outpost below. As the dropship had been taking evasive maneuvers to evade the laser cannons they had made themselves slower. This made it possible for Drako's Uvak to catch up to them through a dive from behind, and with an outstretched lance head, succeed in his goal. As the conical equal parts tore and melted the hull's armoring the force of the attack drew it deeper into the vehicle. Within moments the mounted warrior had cut a trench from engine housing to cockpit. The resulting explosion shook the air around the sky and the wreckage rained down into the mountain range below.

As the duo made a shallow turn back towards the former location of the now destroyed transport he scanned the top of the clouds for a near target. It was then that he heard shrieking beep come from his left wrist. Drako looked down to the source of the sound which emanated from what was essentially an emergency paging device. The Vigils of Drako were calling for help. The durasteel clad fingers of Drako's right hand tightened around the handle of the powerlance as he grabbed the reigns with his left and tugged the Uvak's head towards the direction of the outpost.

The Uvak was a swift beast and it made short time of the trip. As Drako burst through the canopy of overcast he saw the battle below and as he swept over top of the shield dome he raised his lance above his head announcing his presence. The pennant banner attached at the upper portion of the lance fluttered rapidly in wind as the light from blasters, shields, and other sources glinted off the Uvak's barding. The creature was outfitted for the modern battlefield. Barded in small hexagonal plates of Phrik with a thick layer of blaster resistant padding which covered many vital regions - though not all.

Several Vigils looked up and spotted their master, pointing him out to their allies and cheering his arrival "He's come! I told you he'd come!" one of Drako's minions said to the splayed corpse of one of his compatriots who had apparently questioned if the Sith Knight would come to relieve them. As Drako swiftly surveyed the battlefield in the hopes of finding combatants outside of the shield he spotted the transport ship that was at a much lower altitude than he had been expecting ( Heinrich Faust ). The Uvak's wings flared and pressed hard against the mountain air as it reached its charging speed, quickly closing the distance with the vehicle, Drako lowered his lance. The tip of the powerlance blurred as it was activated.

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

The life support spits oxygen into the artificial atmosphere of the warship. The high ceilings of the gun deck are il-lit, with few lamps producing light. Several members of the crew cross the huge deck, under the shadowing figures of the temple-like colossal statues. Ancient patrons of war, overseeing the Athysian warriors as they carry their divine war across the stars. The massive flak guns maintained by the crew climbing up and down their posture, while chains lift the heavy munition crates from below deck, before they are being dragged towards their respective barrels by the half-geared crew. Most of them have their upper armors removed, or partially-worn, with the tattooes that cover most of their deathly pale skins showing under the sweat. Eye patches. Bionic limbs. Cyborg torsos with dragonlike spines. Corsairs of noble birth, manning the ancient hulls of the massive warship. Sailing, under the constant chants and prayers of the Adepts from the depths of the massive Dark Temple onboard....

There, the eyeless figure of the Eyerea, the Athysian Seer, casts her runes across the large circular carved onyx floor of the narrow shrine. A seven-pointed star binds the pillars that support the high ceilings, with the blood dripping from the spiked corpses hanged above by the chains causing the feeling of a soft rain. Each droplet burning, turning into black arcane smoke as soon as it hits the unholy ground. The black mist surrounding the cloaked figure of the eyeless woman follows her motions' choreography as she spreads and points and turns and walks in and around the sacrificial shrine, as if the very droplets whisper her the happiest news, as her deeply twisted smile is maintained in her up-looking face.

"Let the hounds roar.... Oh hear their howls, great King... They are coming... Gathering... Craving the sacrifice to come!"

And so, the hulks of the two Ignisir-Class Star Destroyer casted their tainted dark shadow around their fleet of eight Baron-Class Gunships and sixteen more Destroyers... Waiting, under the cold shroud of the Void...

Location: Orbital War
Allies: Warlords of the Sith (Open)
Enemies: Isla Draellix-Kobitana

"GET COVER!!"
The Weequay quartermaster shouted, as the deafening scream of the alarm shakes the gun deck. The very deck shall suddenly be shaken, as the bite of the enemy fire is plundged against the spiked warship. Several of the half-armored crew members are launched against the opposite walls of the deck, while those pulling the heavy chains are left hanging by them, up until their experienced legs find themselves once again on the right decking.
The Destroyer sails quickly behind the asteroid, as the repetitive shots from the foe land one after the other against the cosmic ground of the stone. Behind it, the destroyer leaves a trail of debri, spreading across the unforgiving embrace of the void. Flayed part of the upper armor of the ship, torn off by the shot which passed through the shield, destabilizing the warship.

"We are coming around! Get the cannons ready, you DOGS! ITS HUNTING TIMEEE!!" the quartermaster shouts, as he rushes across the narrow gun deck, heading towards the well-reinforced forecastle bridge. The blastdoor opens. Before him, the bridge was blind. Hardly any light was produced, by the clearly malfunctioning screenless consoles around the room, bleeding sparks of electricity. In the middle of the room, sat upon an iron throne, was her. A skinny, cloak-covered woman with her palms put against the exposed cabling of the holoprojector before her. Lightning constantly went through her trembling arms, tainting the electronics of the warship; Twisting and charging, blinding and melting them by her manipulation.
The Witch-captain leads her Hunter Dog in a sharp portside turn, aiming her four synchronized cannons against the nearest frigate.... The destroyer accelerates...
"Captain. they are too many. Do we signal the fleet?" the quartermaster asks. The Adept's cold, soulless reply strikes the corsair as she twists her palm in a way it would only crack the wrist bones, as the tanted vessel takes the turn... "He knows... He is watching us"

The Destroyers seem to follow a chaotic pattern in their hit and run tactics, although this is soon proven a misconception, as all emerge almost at the same moment, to unleash yet another strike upon the enemy frigates, seemingly working on keeping their distance from the heavier ships at the back, returning to the asteroid field where they slither like desert snakes as soon as their volley is delivered. Meanwhile, the two capital ships do not move; Remaining iron steady on their position, as if they outright invite the foe to join their deadly feast. Was the blockade already broken, or had these strange foes a plan against their, for now, overwhelming enemies? It is only yet to be seen...


The steps of Irratar Hemstagon heavy armored boots echo in the cold chamber, as he paces through the black mist emitted from the deck. Reaching ahead of the bridge of his Blood Spear, a dead-pale gaze reaches out to the void, beyond the field of the cosmic debri. His fiery tainted eyes bother not with the frigates, or the work of his Hounds... No. He is watching deep, where the Pillar could be seen, in the far distance. In his mind... He knew the real challenge was yet to come.

"Launch the swarms" his voice comes dry and determined, as he spares no motion to turn and look at his operators. His ring-weighted palms find themselves resting one atop the other, onto the spiked edge of the long saberstaff hilt, which was kept vertical against the deck as a staff. Its body decorated with blending ivory-crafted skeletal figures and silver symbols, with the edge of the barrels being crowned with a spiked silver seven-pointed ring.

Onboard the deck of the Ignisir Star Destroyer "Parriah", levitating mid-void just abit behind the Blood Spear, the hangar bays fill with rushing troops. Pilots, reaching for the lined up fighters that are deployed by ceiling cranes and underdeck lifts. The roars of the deafening Buzzer Starfighters shakes the decks. Fueling tubes are pulled off, while the blazing fire vomes energy from the fighters who soon enough one after the other lift themselves as they activate their anti-gravity generators. And so, the swarms of 50 Buzzer fighters spread from the hangars of the Athysian warship like pest, evolving 5 spiral formations which fly in a wide reach over and around the battlefield, clearly going straight for the enemy fighters...

As soon as they enter range, they will engage the enemy fighter squadrons in a wild barrage of beaming cannonfire, as one after the other start picking their preys...

 

[Isla Draellix-Kobitana]

Location: orbit and asteroid field
Enemy: Irratar Hemstagon

The Dirk and what was left of the Sword didn't stand a chance against the second pass, the dirk managed to get a few more heavy and medium turbolaser volleys off as they approached, but the proton cannons from the destroyers managed to scythe through its engine section, blasting the ship in half. The sword, already dead in the water and surrounded by escape pods was also quickly finished off.

Isla Draellix was seething, her jaw clenched and her leather gloved fist tight around the guard rail of her vantage point. She herself has been at the launch of the Dirk not three months ago, its corridors still white and gleaming. Why weren't they engaging, they must know that she wasn't going to leave her position, despite their best efforts to bait her. The only answer must be that they were waiting for something, reinforcements most likely.

"Captain, signal the fourth fleet on maximum encryption" She leaned down to the elderly man "appraise them of our situation and make them ready to jump in if needed"

"Should we recall them immediately to deal with this attack?" he queried

"No, those are not my orders, there must be a reason they wait by the asteroids with a clearly inferior fighting force, they intend on luring us to battle on their terms. No, let them engage on ours, then our reserves can strike if necessary"

Millions of miles away, a desperate struggle was unfolding, the fighters had managed to chase down the gunships and begin their assault, launching as much ordnance as they could, but now the enemy response was on them. The enemy fighters were lightly armoured but their speed was astonishing, and their numbers were a huge advantage. Despite the high quality fighters that carried the crusader pilots, one by one they were being picked off, of the 36 fighters, they were quickly down into the low 20s.

"all fighters, 1 minute more then bug out, no sense being completely lost, anyone still with solutions on those gunships, launch and run. good luck" Came the order from the squadron leader, they fighters followed the order to the letter until, 60 seconds later, the remaining 15 fighters streaked away from the dogfight and into hyperspace, they would do a large loop and return to the main fleet within a short time.

The squadron leader as he was about to enter hyperdrive caught a good look at the horrific form of the blood spear, no sane man could craft a ship like that, he feared deeply for what they might be fighting here.

 

[Pietro Demici]

Location: No Man's Land

Engaging: Vora Kaar

Personal Loadout: lightsaber, armorweave priest's vestments

Allies: Cedric Grayson , Kasia Celestyne, Renair Naki, Mikhail Grayson , AC

Enemies: Darth Maleva, Darth Bellum , Kascalion Giedfield , The Grim Lady , Maestus , WotS

Army of the Light

The battle had continued to rage as Pietro and his members of the Holy Guard pushed to the edge of the Crusade's trench line. Soldiers bled and died all around them, and it took everything their medics had just to keep those who weren't instantly cut down alive. Pietro moved at the head of his men, silent as a stone, watching the movements of those around him as they took their position within the trench. They were to move for the potential location of the sally port of the Jin'Tutsimia, potentially cutting off the enemy's flanking maneuvers and simultaneously infiltrating the fortress walls.

Just as they were about to make their move, the battle meditation of Darth Solipsis reached their lines, sending trooper into a frantic craze. The screams of those suffering from the mental attack echoed throughout the trenches, affecting the bulk of their troops. Luckily, the Holy Guard had been trained to defend their minds against such an attack, leaving them able to maintain their composure amidst the pandemonium. Pietro quickly turned to one of his guard, grabbing him by the shoulder.

"The Sith are attacking our minds. Find our Jedi, healers, anyone who can withstand it. Get them coordinated so that we may fight this mental plague. We will continue our advance while you see to those who can't withstand this barrage."

The guard only responded with a quick nod before disappearing into the trenches. Pietro was thankful to have such skilled and faithful warriors in his retinue. Their presence on this battlefield may yet win the day.

The cardinal was about to signal the rest of his men to move toward the rumored sally port, only to hear a cacophonous roar cutting through the clamoring sounds of no man's land. Pietro sought the source of the noise, only to find what he could only describe as a demon. A giant creature of metal and darkness that ravaged the battlefield, tearing through their men like they were nothing. Upon the beast's back was a man, clad in black and obscured by an onyx mask. Pietro knew not if this was a true Sith lord, or just another pawn of these so called Warlords. Whatever the case, he couldn't allow the charge of the beast to continue.

"Change of plans. We take the beast down, and kill its master. By Ashla's light, we will see it done!"

With those words, he jumped from the trenches, closely followed by his Holy Guard. As they charged forward, Pietro called out to the Light, holding his off hand outward as he sprinted for the beast. From his hand sprang a glowing shield, beaming with golden holy light. The shield kept his men safe as they closed in on the target, deflecting whatever stray bolts came flying their way.

Once they were within range of the beast, Pietro gave the Guard the signal to hold their position. He stared up at the towering beast, drawing his lightsaber from within the folds of his robe.

"Circle around the beast. Not another one of our brethren die until it gets through us."

With those words, his saber ignited with a beautiful flash of sapphire. Pietro took a deep breath, calling out to the Ashla one last time for strength. The light filled him like a warm fire, his body becoming a conduit of the Light. Finally letting the breath out, Pietro looked to the mysterious rider sitting upon the creature, holding his blade toward him as he spoke.

"Must you hide behind your beast, stranger? Surely the Sith haven't gotten so weak as to have to rely on such abominations."

The cardinal didn't know his opponent, nor did he desire to. He only knew one thing...

No true Sith would decline such a challenge.

 

[Chimera]

外傷
H I G H W A R L O R D
A N N I H I L A T I O N

For a flickering instant, it almost seemed as though the muted man would be held at bay by the rattling skitter of the grenade lobbed in his direction, as it urged him backward out of the radius he had come to expect from such piteous tools of war. Some semblance of admiration swelled in his breast at the sight his harrowing eyes beheld through the raging fire sealing this section of the wall from the invaders beyond. He turned his back towards those barred outside, leveling his weighty attention solely on the shoulders of the commander who sought to separate those beneath him from the jaws of the inferno. Slowly, without shifting his gaze from Brimstone , Chimera lofted his left hand to hold by his shoulder, smoldering palm fixed in the same direction. It wasn't until his fiery fingers curled upon themselves slowly that his intention would be revealed.

The flames behind him screeched higher, lashing over the wall in a collapsing tidal wave of unnatural manipulation, stoked into a blinding frenzy by the energy bled into them from the Highlord turned away. A tongue of fire parted from the greater pillar, becoming almost serpentine in how it twisted and coiled through the air to rush around both Chimera and the man who had boldly stepped forth in the protection of his men- encircling them in a ring of blazing fire.

If he wished to die for his men, it could be so.

Slowly Chimera's hand returned to his side, fingers flicking to reveal the glint of the ember-laced chain loosened from his arm and fixed into his grip. Its wicked, bladed tongue glistened already with the rubies of the men who had endured the sole merciful fate the marauding monster could offer them- death by the blade, rather than immolation. Pacing as a predator with his prey, he set to stalk along the inner edge of the ring of flame, crossing one boot over the next in his slow wind-up. Despite the unnatural verdant radiance in his eyes, they were cold, calculating. Mere paces separated him from his foe.

Offering no words, the Highlord lunged forth, whipping the chain he clutched about in a sweeping arc to crack its bladed tip at the man with full, unmerciful intention to sever limb from body.​

ALLIES | WotS | BotM | Darth Vinaze | Drako | Zinn Zinn Bink'sa
FOES | AC | THE LIGHT | ENAGING Brimstone | Lonnie Kai

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[Vora Kaar]

Directly Engaging: Pietro Demici
Allies: Kascalion Giedfield | Darth Bellum | Maestus | Darth Solipsis | The Grim Lady | Khamul Kryze | Darth Maleva |
Enemies: Allyson Locke | Cedric Grayson | Kasia Celestyne | Renair Naki | Mikhail Grayson |

​

Actions, every one taken, comes with a consequence. Be the result of such be in one's favor, or hinder such endeavors, only one could tell in hindsight. These actions could bring about results that while good at first, would end with a disaster of endings. Vora, the very one of two Dark Sovereigns of the Dark Warlords, sought to be a harbinger of such consequences for these Ashla cultists. Their fanatical faith in the light, while powerful in some respects, will not bring an end to the Sith. For eons they have thrived and evolved in order to meet the power that the Jedi have become. While they should not be given a pedestal, they should be respected and honored for their attempts. Neglecting their power, their tenacity, would be foolish in every sense of the word and its meaning.

Vora knew that this shield of light, created around a small group of men, was a direct attack meant for him. Battle after battle showed that when an act of aggression was met with a secondary defense, or an offensive measure, it was an act of defiance, and to usurp such previous actions. A nuclear response to the destruction that Vora's war automaton could bring. The strength in the force was clear. They, whoever this clergy of Lightbringers were, came directly for Vora.

It only enthused the man further. A single man and machine, could cause doubt, fear, and worry within the ranks of the Jedi as a threat. One that needed to be met head on. It validated all that was being presented today. The Sith, thrived, and would forever more do so due to this fear, and Vora reveled in it.

It was interesting and conventional to see this clergy of men attempt to surround the creature-like machination. A wave of the hand allowed for protruding spikes, the very ground at their feet to erupt into a natural barrier and prevent such actions. A "V" Pattern in front of them. Acting as a funnel for which would lead directly to the man and behemoth. Yet, this singular individual called out to Vora. Proclaiming that Sith could become weak by hiding behind such abominations. It took nothing for the metallic growl of the man to pierce the distance with an almost jovial tone.

"The Sith will do whatever they must to become stronger than the foe they face. Be machine, abomination, or physical strength."

Dropping down from the haunches of such massive a creature, All the while the Missile launchers still attempting to fire upon enemies who would attempt to draw near to this group. Two, verses many. The love for a challenge grew within Vora. Always wanting to better himself physically just as much through the force, or creations.

"However, the aspect of seeing the very light you hold dear, fade from your eyes is a very rewarding, and desirable outcome. Come O'Priest of the Light. Let me see what the Ashla Crusade has to offer!"

Drawing the saber within his left hand, Vora took steps forward to close the distance, letting the crimson cross-guard Forcesaber activate with a deep hum, and a Shriek of the damned. Arcing plasma threatening to break free of the confines of the blade, as if the weapon itself, wished to reach forward and strike whoever stood in the wielders path.

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: A S S A S S I N //:
//: Kascalion Giedfield //:

​

Leather creased, rubbing against the ground, hidden within the protection of the shadows. A red cybernetic eye came to life, watching her prey, seeing every step he took and the pulse of the vein in his neck. It pulsed, begging to be burst, released from the stress of life. She would grant the wish it prayed for.

The shadow moved, gliding through the dancing shadows of the soldiers preparing for battle. They obeyed the will of their master, preparing for the holy war that laid before them. Allyson waited, crouched as she had found a place to watch the target. A part of her hated the zealot religion of the Crusaders she found herself allied with. They were brutal in their actions and believers in their cause. When did the crusader find themselves becoming what they despised?

A leather-fingered glove ran under her nose, letting him draw closer. Allyson Locke reached up and pulled one of her arrows, the tip becoming blessed with the light (Force Light). Slowly, careful hands nocked the arrow into the rigid string. Taking aim, she found her moment. The monstrous entity in the Force, known as Kascalion Giedfield, thought he was safe taking the attack on the flank.

Instead, an arrow with the tip glowing dimly with energy hurled through the air, suddenly becoming visible from the shadows. Allyson stood and didn’t wait to see if the arrow had made good on its mark and retook refuge into the shadows.​

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

Location: Asteroid Field

Allies: Warlords of the Sith
Enemies: Isla Draellix-Kobitana

The Black Prince maintains his posture at the bridge of the Blood Spear, as he observed the dogfight in the void, at the fringes of the asteroid field. Only two of his destroyers had taken damage, but neither was crippled. The Blood Spear and the Parriah remained within the field, with a frame of gunships serving as fire barrier. The perimeter was monitored clearly by his swarming fighters who, as soon as the enemy squadrons engaged hyperspace, they were revealed unwilling, or unable, to push the pursuit. Instead, they return to the capital ships, licking their wounds and preparing for the next launch. Although against overwhelming odds, the Hemstagon fleet seemed to hold their blockade.

Irratar Hemstagon allowed a sadistic smirk on his pale lips. It was to him too obvious at this point he wasn't facing any zealot, like he did on Ilum. No, he was facing a strategist. Whoever his opponent might be, it was clear he or she had a plan of attack, sparing little assets in the heat of confrontation.

He liked that. Just like any real Hemstagon, he too enjoyed facing a worthy opponent. A great tale he shall have to share, when back home. It made the pay the more worthy, in his eyes, if earned over a glorified battlefield, while it also allowed for the possibility of further plunder, should an enemy ship is captured.

"Your move... You have numbers... Why not use them?"

The Black Prince muttered, as if he was taunting the foe across the void. But his voice was misleading. Irratar was not a brawler. He wasn't the one to be driven by passion. He was a ruthless strategist, craving to reveal any gap in his enemy's moves. The fact this battle wasn't evolving to an outright carnage intrigued him. He perceived the events as a challenge which forced him to outsmart his foe, with every little maneuver a vital chord in the development.

"Send word to the Parriah... Tell them to bite abit. Let us test our new foes..."

The asteroid field serving as a natural shield, abused by the Athysian ships well enough to be a statement of their experience. In time the Parriah, the Ignisir-Class Star Destroyer that awaited behind the Blood Spear now accelerated. Her massive, heavy spiked hull was pushed forth into the void by the roaring blaze of her engines... Not much, clearly unwilling to break formation, or abandon the safety of the field. At the bow, the large Beam Cannon charges with energy, readying to abuse the long range to launch a skirmish shot against the nearest vessels. It is yet to be seen if this would be a calibrated shot, or simply a taunting move to further challenge the admiral.... In time, the Parriah reaches the gunships formation, at the verge of entering the enemy range. The Athysians clearly were testing, at this point, the aggressiveness of their rivals, without attempting any critical move as of yet...

 

[Maestus]

She was standing stock still. Black eyes watching the professed Ashlan Paladin before her. She debated, then decided she would return the introduction.

I am Maestus. Sith Lord and Warlord of Crakull.

She felt it then. Like a burning within her soul. Small, a smoldering ember at first. She felt her body begin to be invigorated as the Battle Meditation of Darth Solipsis coursed through her and washed over her. Her arms began to stretch out from her sides. Head tilted back as she felt the Dark Side of the Force come to her, bending to her will.

Upon hearing her enemy, Kasia Celestyne advance, she called one of her sabers to her hand. As flesh touched durasteel, the plasma blade ignited in a burst of purple sparks.

She had calculated a milisecond off though. As she brought her blade up to deflect Kasia's own, her body failed to turn away. Resulting in the Ashlan Paladin's blade connecting with her collarbone. Red rivulets began to seep through the slice in her robes. Maestus glanced at the wound and laughed darkly, softly.

First blood, Paladin. Well met.

Maestus dropped to one knee, her free hand placed palm down on the bare ground. Chanting softly in Ancient Sith, her hand began to glow with a reddish hue. She looked up at Kasia Celestyne and snarled. Coursing through her body, were the energy from the very ground they stood on. Anything in the area that was living,hopefully including Kasia herself, would feel immense pain. Plants withered and died. Every blade of grass turned brown, as Maestus drew the energy into herself.

Kasia would see the cut on Maestus collarbone begin to knit together. The result of Dark Healing, a most insidious thing. Maestus stood, lightsaber in hand and awaited her opponents next move.

Shall we? ​

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