Dominion A Crusade Reborn | BotM Dominion of Nothmir

[Darth Solipsis]

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The smoke clears in the aftermath of Tython..

Within the crackling valleys of Exegol, before the Sepulcher of the Sith’ari, a great burial was underway of Darth Solipsis and all those whom had perished in the BATTLE OF TYTHON when chaos unfurled. A War of Succession nearly came to fruition, yet amidst the challenges and brutality, one rose to power through might alone. Standing before the gathered masses of the Brotherhood stretched out across the valley, a new Dark Voice was proclaimed.

Darth Mori, she who had salvaged the ritual of Tython, she whom had defeated all who would oppose her by Kaggath or other; openly seized the mantle before all who would oppose her. Proclaiming herself the final Dark Lord who would succeed where the Sith’ari failed and bring about the end of this terrible dream, replacing it with a galaxy reborn.

And so it is done. The strains of Tython’s wounds have been briefly mended and the vision of their dark crusade restored with the ascent of their new DARK VOICE. With their military forces shattered, and war fleets crippled by total war and the excursion into the Core Worlds, the time has come to tie up loose ends and restore that which has been lost.

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Nothmir. A planet home to the Nothmiro Federation whom a decade ago had joined the Imperial Directorate, a quasi-Imperial organization once under the leadership of Marlon Sularen, the now High Regent of the Final Dawn. This Directorate suffered schism and was robbed from him, an indignity that went unpunished for decades until recent expansions of the Brotherhood reached their shores.

As the forces of the MAW zeroed in on Nothmir, Marlon Sularen offered an olive branch to Nothmir, a chance to join the Final Dawn and redeem themselves for their treacherous actions years ago. A fate no other Mawite would offer outside of slavery or utter annihilation. Alas, the treacherous rulers of Nothmir refused Sularen's offer and thus the curtain closed. The Final Dawn moved in confronting the Nothmiro Forces to secure a foothold within the Nothmiro System as a call was made out to the Mawite Tribes.

Total Annihilation it was.

• In orbit, the Mawite Warfleet spearheaded by the Naval Forces of the Final Dawn engage the defending forces of the Nothmiro Navy in a brutal battle for control over the space around Nothmir. While the Mawite Warfleet outnumbers their Nothmiro counterparts, the Nothmiros have built dozens of military installations across Nothmir and its moons equipped with advanced weaponry which allows them to nullify the Maw's initial advantage in numbers and firepower. Destroy the Nothmiro Fleet and their installations in order to secure absolute control over the space around Nothmir.

Or​

• Unleash Chaos. Deploy your army and lay siege to the massive fortress dubbed the Citadel. Their last resort redoubt and center of power. To prevent a war of attrition on Nothmir, the indomitable fortesss must be breached and destroyed from within. Infiltrate the Citadel from the inside and sabotage key emplacements or alternatively lead the charge against the Citadel from the exterior. Whatever the choice is, the Citadel must be destroyed regardless of the cost.

​

Within the bowels of the Sith Citadel on the Hidden World of Exegol, Darth Mori takes her place on the Throne of the Sith. The dark faithful from across the galaxy, spread out from peasant to wealthy elite gather under the banner of the Church of the Dark Side and the New Sith Order. The midnight shrouds of Sith cultists fill the vast ante-theater as hushed whispers uttered in the Old Tongue sing praise and worship to the new Dark Lord of the Sith.

The Heathen Priests broadcast a sermon of their own as images of Mori appear throughout the Citadel, within the encampments, and all throughout the Tribal Fiefdoms. The Gospel of the Hidden Maw, and the words of the Dark Voice echo in rejoice as a new Voice of the Maw is proclaimed.

Attend the coronation, find your place amidst the new power structure rising, explore Exegol and the secrets of the Sith. Oversee the siege of Nothmir from the capital of the Maw, or plot your own rise to power.

​

Empress Teta suffers under the lash of the Brotherhood’s tyranny, the foreboding station of Gehinnom II sits anchored in orbit high above Cinnagar like a ill omen. With each passing day, countless suffer under the lash and cruelty of the MAW as they butcher any who oppose their dark reign. Droves of innocent Tetans are rounded up each day and taken off world either to Gehinnom or for transport into MAW space to be broken into slave-soldiers.

The Krath rule with an iron fist, propagating a Dark Side led regime not seen since the Great Sith War and Krath Holy Crusade. With their throne restored over their homeworld, the Ketos realize this newfound power is not absolute. Challenged by the very warlords who helped them as entire sectors of the ecumeopolis are carved up by the tribes for their own personal gain, the warlords pay lip service and very little else to the Tetan Death Witches.

A power struggle is sure to ensue, the Krath double down and prepare, unwilling to lose their homeland once more. In the midst of this turmoil, the revelation of Mori’s ascension is made clear putting an end to fears of collapse post-Tython. But will it be enough to keep the peace and maintain the status-quo?

The victory at Tython and recent disruption of Mawite supply lines by the New Jedi Order has inspired rebel activity and Tetan freedom fighters to act. Hunt down the guerillas and round up any suspected personnel, take your wrath out upon the people of Teta for their insolence, and either support the Krath’s supremacy or the Mawite Tribes growing hold over the Tetan homeworld.

The day is yours. As the siege of Nothmir begins, news travels fast inspiring the battle worn veterans to sally forth once more.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

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Beneath the ground, encrusted in the darkness of the Sith Citadel's catacomb stood Darth Ptolemis the Blasphemer, staring into the corrupting depths of nothingness. The impassive gaze of his mask traces millennia-old whispers as they creep across the black stone surface of the underground hall. His only company, the ominous statues of old Sith Lords around him. He silently ruminates on the legend of Naga Sadow and Darth Nihilus, allowing his soul to absorb the oil that is the Dark Side.

Lost, yet unmoving at the centre of this mire of shadow, Ptolemis closes his eyes. Ancient echoes of bilious teachings grab and lift him out of his physical vessel, and his inner self is projected out into the void of space around Exegol. Cold, non-existent winds of death hold his astral form aloft, and he meditates upon the horrid visions he had been given as the lifeless planet rotates sluggishly below him. These grotesque dreams Ptolemis dreamt while unconscious on Tython held an air of strangeness intertwined with significance; they were both awesome, and aweful. A true uncanny valley of the mind. However, messages of the Bogan had layers beyond count. Only one thing was certain; the dreams guided him on toward his destiny.

His eyes open, and he is back within the bowels of the Sith Citadel. Charged with the unholy energies of the nothingness that surrounds Exegol, he sees clearer than ever and senses the profound importance of the fast approaching moment of Coronation. The new Voice requested him personally, and Ptolemis, not having left Exegol since his duel with Khamul Kryze the Unchained, shall follow the call of the void and kneel before the unquestionable might of the Dark Lord, Darth Mori .

The Blasphemer turns back toward the platform that will elevate him to the upside-down floating counterpart of the Citadel, right above the surface. He takes his first step to the growing rumblings of the ceremony above.​

​

 

[Minister Janus Vipsanius]

MINISTER | CHURCH OF THE DARK SIDE
Sith Citadel, Exegol

​

A sea of shrouded cloaks choked the titanic amphitheater like packed rats caught shoulder to shoulder. The faithful among the Dark Faith came from across the galaxy to witness this moment as history was made. They sang praise and worship, a sort of midnight mass, willingly devoting themselves to the belief and words of their new Dark Lord.

To the Believers, it made sense. Their Sith’ari had reforged the Sith from the ashes of Schism and Destruction to embody power, to be ruled only by the strongest. If Mori was to succeed Solipsis, was she not the FINAL DARK LORD? Was she not of equal glory or more to the one who came before her? Would she finally solidify the great work and bring to fruition the GRAND PLAN OF THE SITH?

Time would tell, but he believed.

Vipsanius approached the hallowed Throne of the Sith with arms outstretched and open palms. Where once High Regent Derix Tirall would lead the ceremonies of the faithful, now he would in his stead. A convenience that also led to rise of Marlon Sularen as the new High Regent over the Final Dawn. It would be under his authority that the minister would enact this most honorable duty.

“Acolytes, Believers, Brothers and Sisters.. Eyah seh maat, shu kor huaan.”

The crowd rumbled and hissed, hushed tones of excitement falling over their number.

“Nwûldwolqû Tashûsh.”

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Empress Teta, streets of Cinnagar
Tags: Open

"Round them up," the Taskmaster demanded. "I want a thousand collared by noon."

The atmosphere in the streets of Cinnagar, still marked with blast craters and carbon scoring from the Mawite invasion, was tense... and that was not good news. Only a few standard weeks ago, there had been a palpable air of hopelessness, a sense of total defeat that had kept the population in check. The Brotherhood's attack had smashed the planet's defenses and put down all resistance, driving the brave but doomed Galactic Alliance forces offworld and securing the Maw's furthest advance into the Core. As the galaxy watched with bated breath, those same attackers had descended upon Tython, ready to extend their tyranny.

Except that it hadn't worked out that way. At Tython, they had lost. Badly.

Now Tu'teggacha could taste something new in the air here on Teta, something unwelcome and unnerving - hope. The local population were not fools, and despite the Brotherhood's efforts to restrict the flow of information to the planets that had fallen under their control, the Tetans had learned of the Alliance victory at Tython. Whispers had spread rapidly: the Dark Voice was dead, the Mawite warfleet had been seriously ravaged, and thousands upon thousands of tribal ground troops lay dead upon the plains of the Jedi homeworld. Now the Brotherhood, bruised and bloodied, had lost the deadly momentum that had carried it so far.

Now they were overextended, their narrow spear into the Core surrounded.

And the Alliance would be coming to take back what they'd lost.

Overnight, the possibility of liberation had become real to the downtrodden civilians... and disaster had ensued. Labor strikes, public demonstrations, and rebel cell activity had sprung up like mold upon bread, eating away at the vital industries needed to rebuild Mawite forces. To make matters worse, the uncertainty had spread among the ranks of the Brotherhood, too. Cynical warlords, convinced that the Maw would never be able to hold Teta now that they were on the back foot, had begun to pillage the planet of everything that wasn't nailed down, determined to seize it for themselves rather than let the Galactic Alliance recapture it.

Naturally, that hadn't gone over well with the Ketos.

They still planned to fight for their reconquered home, no matter what.

This time, though, Tu'teggacha found himself on the side of the short-term planners. As the Brotherhood's logistical genius, he knew all too well just how much the Maw had lost in the failed assault on Tython... and how long it would take to produce, organize, and move up desperately needed reinforcements from the Brotherhood's distant core territories in the Unknown Regions. When the Galactic Alliance came for this planet, he fully expected that they would be able to retake it. That meant he needed to move as many assets as he could offworld, abandoning territory in order to buy time and resources for the Maw to rebuild.

He would much rather be on Exegol, ingratiating himself to Darth Mori...

But he trusted no other to get this vital work done.

All around the Ebruchi, the slave-hunters of the Maw fanned out through Cinnagar's streets. Gehinnom II was in orbit, its colossal holds yawning open to receive sentient livestock, and Tu'teggacha did not intend to allow them to depart in any condition short of full to bursting. "Anyone on the streets without dispensation from an essential industry is to be pressed into service," he commanded. Only factory workers were safe from the press gangs; he wanted to squeeze as much as he could out of Teta's industries before they were lost to the Alliance, and he would not cripple them early by taking away their workers. But anyone else...

The Taskmaster could make anyone useful to the Maw.

By the shock collar and electro-lash, he would restore productivity.

No matter how much callous cruelty and public civil disruption it took.

 

[Marlon Sularen]

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A_C R U S A D E_R E B O R N
Settling Accounts

FINAL DAWN
NOTHMIR , UNKNOWN REGIONS

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TASK FORCE RETRIBUTION​

Fleet Comp. FDS Predator | [100|100] FDS Retribution | [100|100] FDS Allegiance | [100|000] FDS Tyrant | [100|100] FDS Dynamite | [100|100] FDS Desolation | [100|100] FDS Plunderer | [100|100] FDS Dominator | [100|100] FDS Havoc | [100|100] FDS Desolator | [100|100] FDS Juggernaut | [100|100] FDS Punisher | [100|100] FDS Crusher | [100|100] FDS Fury | [100|100] FDS Armageddon | [100|100] FDS Wrath | [100|100] FDS Intruder | [100|100] FDS Crimson [100|100]

Nothmir. A world home to traitors. Decades ago they had pledged their allegiance to Sularen's Imperial Directorate, to it's goals of destroying the Galactic Alliance at it's infancy and to stand with Sularen against those who would seek to bring him down, but behind that mask of loyalty lied the face of lying, treacherous backstabbers who upon the eruption of the schism between Marlon Sularen and Eriaduan Sith Lord Credius Nargath, sided with the latter betraying Sularen and taking sides with a man who would soon destroy everything Sularen had worked hard to build throughout half a decade, in the span of one and a half year. Thus when the Brotherhood of the Maw began closing in on Nothmir, decades after the fall of the Zweihander Union, Marlon Sularen now High Regent of the Final Dawn moved forth to deliver retribution to those who had not only betrayed him, but refused to make amends and redeem themselves for their past betrayal. Nothmir was offered a chance to avoid absolute destruction at the hands of the Maw, but now they had sealed their fate.

Thus, Sularen headed for Nothmir in command of a large invasion fleet, spearheaded by the newly retrofitted flagship of the High Regent, the FDS Predator. Sularen was going to wipe out the Nothmiro Federation from the Map and punish the Nothmiros for their treasonous actions. If Sularen was going to move forwards with his plans for dominance in the Core Worlds he'd first have to deal with the loose ends from his past that continued to plague him which included the Nothmiros. Vengeance would be his, and those who had wronged him in the past would soon get the message, either they repented and redeem themselves or die a painful and brutal death at the hands of the High Regent. It was time Sularen asserted himself in this galaxy, and Nothmir would simply be one of the many victims unfortunate enough to be on his target list.

Thus the FDS Predator and the accompanying Invasion Fleet soon arrived at the edge of Nothmir slowly approaching the heavily fortified world that stood as the Capital of the Nothmiro Federation. "Sir. We have arrived at the Nothmir System" the Captain of the Predator said, to Sularen who sat within his fixed Command Chair. "Good. Is the Allegiance ready to broadcast the battle?" Sularen asked. "Yes my lord, although it's shields will have to be lowered for the process, are you certain you want to risk it?" the Captain said. "Yes. The people of the Galaxy must know what happened here to day, and who made it happen. A reminder that our defeat on Tython was merely a scratch and that any form of weakness they think they have exposed simply being a figment of their imagination conjured in their moment of desperation. I will have my revenge against those who have wronged me one way or another, and those who watch this will know well enough that one day, their world will meet the same fate as Nothmir."

"Right away sire" The Captain said as he nodded and returned to his station. "Now, Let's put an end to this treacherous rabble, once and for all."

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Tag | Chris Walker ​

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[Kralmus Orr]

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Location: Nothmir, Citadel Outskirts
Tags: Open

​

Back on the front lines at last. Kralmus Orr smiled at the thought.

Well, ahead of the front lines, really. By the cannibal's estimate, Sularen's Final Dawn fleet was only now arriving in the Nothmir system, and Kralmus and his strike team were already on-planet. It hadn't been difficult to make it down to the surface; they'd had help from inside. Apparently the Nothmiro people had a Mandalorian heritage, and many still greatly respected those who bore the title of Mand'alor. Good news for the Maw, because Mand'alor the Unchained - Khamul Kryze - was a warlord of the Brotherhood. With the reputation of that high office to grease the wheels of their passage, it had been a simple matter to arrange the passage of a few Mandalorians to the surface.

Maybe there had been some merit in all of Kryze's talk about tradition after all.

Now the small group of supercommandos, smuggled in armor and all, stared down at their target: The Citadel, the planet's maximum security redoubt of last resort. Between active duty soldiers and reservists, more than two hundred thousand troops manned the sprawling complex. That was on top of heavily reinforced walls, powerful shield generators, and enough giant weapon emplacements that they were clearly really compensating for something. The idea, apparently, was to have a military base that could serve as the ultimate fallback. Even if the entire rest of the planet fell to invasion, the Citadel - supposedly self-sufficient even when crammed full of civilians - could hold out.

Hold out indefinitely, if the boasts of Nothmiro engineers and military commanders were to be believed.

Well, the Brotherhood would see about that. After Tython, it was time for a fresh win.

"We're outnumbered forty-thousand to one," Kralmus said, looking around at his small strike team. "Odds like that just aren't fair. We'll have to go easy on them." The other Death's Hand commandos chuckled. If everything went to plan, numbers really wouldn't matter, and they'd earn the glory of bagging a supposedly impenetrable fortress. "Time to deploy the payload, boys," the cannibal told them, his voice becoming saccharine and singsong. "Oooooh paaaaaaylooooooad, let's gooooooooo!" At this command, the non-Mandalorian members of the team stepped out of the shadows - five of them, robed and cowled figures whose skin seemed to shift beneath the cloth.

Shi'ido Fleshtakers - the ultimate infiltrators, and the Maw's ticket into the Citadel.

Once the defenses were down, fleets and armies and Sith could do the rest.

The outermost sector of the Citadel was the Civilian Sector, home to population shelters and commercial zones - and an area that was only moderately patrolled. Death's Hand stood zero chance of sneaking into one of the military sectors, but the right infiltrators could slip from the Civilian Sector deeper into the fortress. By eliminating and replacing the right enemy officers, they could systematically work their way inside, where they could begin utilizing their other talent - sabotage. If the Citadel was self-sustaining, uncrackable from the outside, they'd find a way to break down its defenses from within. But first, the Civilian Sector. Time to slip past those moderate patrols.

Patrols that the Death's Hand commandos had been carefully observing - and timing - all day.

Each commando grabbed a Fleshtaker under the armpits...

... and five jetpacks roared to life.

 

[Chris Walker]

IRON FIELDS
Nothmir's Last Stand
"A coward's only reward is to live another day."

Plasmablast Games
Tags: Marlon Sularen

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Spoiler: ORDER OF BATTLE

Fleet Elements Ground Forces

• 
  
  
  Note: 3rd Peacekeeper Corps fleet has retreated to Enclave space along with some of Nothmir's civilian population following the Skirmish at Erebus. The rest remain within the Citadel or close outside attempting to gain entry.​

  1st Peacekeeper Corps “Grey Hands” Fleet ​	2nd Peacekeeper Corps “Void Walkers” Fleet ​
  Invictus Battlecruiser Unforgiving Revenant	Invictus Battlecruiser Sidestep
  Gravis Cruisers Felhand Hellhand Haunthand	Gravis Cruisers Halberd Morningstar Two-Hander
  Vindicta Picket Light Cruisers	Vindicta Picket Light Cruisers
  Brutus Attack Light Cruisers	Brutus Attack Light Cruisers
  Commandant 2 Corvette Wings	Commandant 2 Corvette Wings
  Carried Craft Hawk Fighters Shrike Light Bombers Launched from ground installations: Hawk Fighters Shrike Light Bombers	Carried Craft Hawk Fighters Boarding Craft
  Marine compliment (light)	Marine compliment Constable Reactive Carapaces Mauler, Warbringer, vibroswords F-1b Droids
  Ground Batteries (Nothmir envelope) Concussion Missiles AD Anti-Orbital Lance Guns	Ground Batteries (Other planets and solar bodies) Lance guns Concussion missiles

  
  
• 
  
  The Citadel
  Note: 2nd Peacekeeper Corps “ground forces” are in orbit, and wearing void-capable versions of their equipment where applicable.​

  1st Peacekeeper Corps “Grey Hands” Ground Force ​	3rd Peacekeeper Corps “Red Giants” Ground Force ​	Planetary Defense Forces ​
  Air Power Hawk Fighters Owl Ground Attack Fighters Shrike Light Bombers	Air Power Hawk Fighters Osprey Gunships
  Armor Torch Heavy Tanks Flint-2 Cruiser Tanks Ember Light Tanks Brazier APCs Troop, command, and medical variants	Armor Pyre Superheavy Tanks Bonfire Superheavy Tanks Torch Heavy Tanks Brazier APCs Troop, command, and medical variants	Armor Spark Attack Speeders Brazier APCs Troop variants
  Infantry Judicator 2 Command Carapaces (Officers) Constable Reactive Carapaces (Heavy Infantry) Enforcer Assault Carapaces (Light Infantry) Nothmiro Flak Carapaces (Tank crew) F-1a and F-1b Droids Small arms (Warbringer, Pacificator, Mauler, Tranquilizer, Negotiator)	Chris Walker Warden Elite Carapace Mauler, Negotiator Pyre Superheavy Tank Infantry Judicator 2 Command Carapaces (Officers) Constable Reactive Carapaces (Heavy Infantry) Enforcer Assault Carapaces (Light Infantry) Nothmiro Flak Carapaces (Tank crew) F-1a and F-1b Droids Small arms (Warbringer, Pacificator, Mauler, Tranquilizer, Negotiator)	Irregular Infantry Enforcer Assault Carapaces Nothmiro Flak Carapaces Small arms (Warbringer, Pacificator, Tranquilizer, Negotiator) Family relic Beskar’gam
  Emplaced Weapons (see codex)	Emplaced Weapons (see codex)	Emplaced Weapons (see codex)

  
  

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“Orders are confirmed, the 3rd Corps fleet managed to get at least some people out of system and the rest of the civilian population are either inside the Citadel or will be within hours.” spoke the commander of the 1st.

“Orbital defenses are online, the fleets stand at the ready.” said the commander of the 2nd from his flagship far in orbit.

“Armored formations are reporting all ready, and QRF indicates they’ve begun their patrol patterns.” spoke the commander of the 3rd.

“They’re already close to the outer system defenses, our last stand begins now.”

“Ours, at least,” corrected the 3rd, “The fight will continue regardless of our actions here. All we have to do is sell our lives as dearly as possible. 1st, you can stay here and coordinate the defenses. I’ll stand on the line with the rest and lead the QRFs from the ground.”

“Agreed. 2nd, keep aim on their landing and bombardment ships. The more you break in orbit the more ammunition we can save on the ground.”

“It will be done.”

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The Citadel
Chris Walker​

Chris locked his helmet over his head, Warden Carapace Armor enclosed his entire body in centimeters of beskar and cortosis.

He activated his armor, feeling the strength it imparted, enough to punch through a wookie's ribcage. The weapons built into his fists flickered on and off as his HUD fed him data. He took his pistol and rifle from his personal rack and walked down through the Citadel superstructure to his speeder ride towards the tank berths.

Salutes were exchanged between himself and the grim men and women fixing helmets over their heads and magazines into crucible rifles. His own personal guard of Uniters would be meeting him at the 2nd layer rallying points, as well as the crew of his personal Pyre Superheavy.

This would be his last battle, whether it would take only hours or long decades would be decided within a handful of days.

Walker had chosen his path, he'd left behind his family, his old life, and even his old personality. Now, all that mattered was the war, the fight against a common enemy, an enemy who wanted to destroy everything that the Nothmiro Federation stood for. If the Brotherhood was maimed heavily enough here, they wouldn't be able to recover their momentum after their failed attack on Tython. Victory or death was no longer a choice, thought the Corps Commander, the two go hand in hand now.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Objective: Disrupt Supply Lines
Equipment: The Veil Guardian Armor
Opposition: Open

Cinnagar was an old city, thousands of years of history built upon layer after layer of infrastructure. The roots of the city ran deep into the planet and covered over half its surface, and while the Maw was mighty, they were currently on a crusade, seeking to reach deep into the core and rip out the heart of their opposition.

The upside was that their terrifying momentum did wonders against the morale of those who fought against them. The downside however was that they needed to keep that momentum going, which meant not being able to spare as much time as they wished to subjugate the worlds in their path. They could get away with less through work in the outer reaches, but against a planet as well-developed, as populous as Empress Teta?

That was a different story.

This was a world connected to the Galactic Hub, a part of the Deep Core, home to billions. Soldiers retired here, fortunes worth of credits traded hands, criminals flcoked to and fro, all of them being part of the thriving hub that was Empress Teta. And not too many were happy when the Maw showed up. Loyal citizens were less than pleased by pirates, cultists and raiders coming in to disrupt their lives and force them into service, garrisoned soldiers, gangsters, and other criminals didnt like tourists coming in on the best of days, and the Maw were hardly polite guests.

And while the initial invasion was successful, the war for Empress Teta had not ended. Instead the various factions who wished to see their world liberated descended into the Undercity, far from the prying eyes of their new rulers. Unlikely alliances were forged, resources were shared, calls for aid went out through hidden channels.

And now, help was here.

A helmeted figure overlooked one of the slave processing camps, where those who'd fallen into the Maw's clutches were currently being prepared for 'processing'. Despair hung over it like a fog, thick, oily and cloying, cutting off air and light to those inside.

But like oil, all it took was a single spark to transform it. And that spark came in the shape of an explosion. From one of the buildings overlooking the processing centre, a glowing streak of flame arcing through the sky, impacting right into the storehouse where slave collars, spare ammo and weapons were stored, causing it to erupt into a great conflagration.

Immediately, sentries were on alert, alarms were raised, sentries began to poke their heads out, scanning the area, looking for whoever it was that had the sheer audacity to make such an attack.

Their heads poking out in cline view of the snipers placed around the compound. A series of blaster bolts lighting up the sky, picking off those on the outer edges, along with the guards of the main gate.

It was then the figure descended from their perch, falling what would have been a bone shattering distance for a normal man with nothing more than a forward roll to bleed off momentum, coming up in a crouch a few dozen metres before the gate of the compound, both hands raised towards it in a clawing motion.

And the gate exploded outwards as if torn apart by the hands of an angry god, dust and debris providing cover for more figures to emerge from nearby, all of them sprinting, and charging. Intent on dealing as much damage to the Maw and freeing as many of their loved ones as possible. Soldiers, criminals, brave and angry civilians, all intent on proving one thing.

The Maw had not won the war just yet, and the people of this world would not go down quietly.

 

[Onrai]

Replenish the Ranks - Cruelty on Empress Teta

The instability of the former Cinnagar and its population was... an opportunity to say the least. And given the supplication of one Tu'teggacha to her in exchange for the forbidden knowledge she had waved before him, now was perhaps an opportunity to make use of that pull.

"The Krath. How laughable." She said, her form suddenly manifesting next to that of her associate. "Every regurgitation of that order is further and further a pale imitation of the original, not that the original was of any true value whatsoever. They were an illegitimization of the Sith, curiosity-seekers whose sole rationale for existing was their incessant desire to learn from their dead ancestors."

She pondered for a bit. "Qâzoi Kyantuska. I believe it to be the best option for this world. But you would require a great deal of power in order to be able to influence and guide them down the path of servitude, would you not? Or perhaps it would be best to erase the minds of all on the world, so they could be rewritten?" Perhaps to the worship of a new god.

And yet, those like Aaran Tafo were still below. With minds more resistant than others, and who could cause the ritual to go horribly awry.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

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Location: Empress Teta, streets of Cinnagar
Tags: Aaran Tafo | Onrai

Tu'teggacha jumped as Onrai suddenly manifested beside him, the spirit's cold voice making a shiver run down his hunched spine. He had not been expecting to see her here, watching over this particular bit of routine - if odious - work. She spoke ill of the Krath, and the Taskmaster quickly looked around to make sure that none of Teta's current masters would hear. The Brotherhood's diverse coalition was fragile right now, in the wake of Solipsis's death and the devastating casualties at Tython; though Mori had ably seized the reins of power, everything was still precarious, subfactions eyeing each other warily.

It wouldn't take much to spark an internal war. Solipsis's wake had proven that.

The spirit spoke of some Sith magic technique that Tu'teggacha had never heard of, though he could guess from context what it was meant to do. To enslave the will of an entire planet... was such a thing truly even possible? To destroy a planet was relatively simple; all it took was a colossal amount of energy, directed with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, to rend apart a world. But to dominate the mind of billions... even the Taskmaster, whose entire career was dedicated to dominating minds, could no imagine how to bind the wills of so many. It would surely require not only untold power, but untold finesse.

Onrai considered herself a god, and so she thought like a god, on a grand scale.

Tu'teggacha knew he was just a mortal. He was far more practical.

"As much as I wish to see the kind of power that can seize the minds of an entire planetary population," the Ebruchi finally replied, "we have neither the time nor the energy we would require to achieve it. The Alliance will come for this world, and we do not have the forces to hold it; it is too far from our central territories." He shook his rubbery head, facial tentacles flopping about. "We must take what we need to restore our depleted war machine, but leave enough assets behind to bloody the Alliance forces when they come to liberate their lost planet. We must play the long game."

As if in answer to his prediction of doom, an explosion shook Cinnagar.

"Rebel scum!" Tu'teggacha fumed, incensed by this disruption to his carefully-planned schedule of despoliation. One knobby hand lifted his comlink to his mouth, even as alarms began to blare across the compound. "Lock down the city," he ordered, "and dispatch a reaction force to Processing Camp Twelve-Cresh." These rabble-rousers might be able to cause some damage with the element of surprise, but the Maw would soon teach them that the hour of their liberation had not yet come; they were alone, surrounded, and horrifically outnumbered. If they wanted to reveal themselves to the Brotherhood...

... well, they would be put to use, either as living slaves or dead examples.

"They have a Jedi with them." Tu'teggacha could sense it. It made sense, of course; only one of those light-bothering, self-righteous crusaders would be so bold as to directly assault the camp, and only one of them could have inspired so many poor fools to follow. If only the Maw had managed to destroy Tython, to erase the beginning of that hated tradition just as they intended to become its end. In the absence of such a victory, they would just have to finish off the knights on a case by case basis. "I would welcome your aid, my patron," the Taskmaster told Onrai. His Force gifts were not combat-oriented.

But that was what he had a reaction force of Cirihut Warriors for.

 

[Kralmus Orr]

​

Location: Nothmir, Citadel Outskirts
Tags: Chris Walker

​

Superheavy tanks. Repulsorlift APCs. War droids. Artillery emplacements. Legions of soldiers in powered armor. All this and more spread out around the Citadel, standing ready to confront the Mawite forces that had come to seize Nothmir. Kralmus Orr looked over the assembled forces as he and his strike team jetted from cover to cover, using his visor's magnification to get a better view of the defenses. This was a significant army, a combined force drawn from Nothmir's staunchest defenders, and it was certainly an impressive sight. Of course, it was only the army of a single planet. It could hardly hope to challenge the might of a Galactic great power like the Maw.

But it could inflict casualties before it went down, casualties the Maw could ill afford while fighting the entire rest of the galaxy.

Kralmus's strike team was here to reduce the number of those casualties, to smooth the road to conquest.

It was clear now that he and his supercommandos would never make it into any part of the citadel alive. Not on their own, anyway. Kralmus wasn't afraid of anyone or anything, but he wasn't about to throw his life away for nothing, and trying to fight or sneak past a military force of this size - already at full alert, apparently - would be suicidally stupid. They had scanners and chit; they'd find him and his men before he made it twenty meters, and then they'd vaporize him, beskar or no. But that was why they'd brought the infiltrators. The Shi'ido could go places that no other Mawites could, because they didn't look like Mawites. Indeed, they could look however they wanted.

The purpose of the Citadel, Kralmus had been led to understand, was to provide Nothmir's population with a final refuge in the event of the rest of the planet's fall to invasion. That meant that plenty of refugees would be making their way to the base, hoping to find safety there. In the days that he and his commandos had been on-planet, aided by the Mandalorian sympathizers who'd gotten them past customs, they had helped the infiltrators research and develop their cover story. The five Fleshtakers - normally they worked in threes, but this was a special assignment - would pose as refugees from First Landing. The city was close to the Citadel...

... close enough that their rapid arrival at the base wouldn't be too suspicious.

Kralmus and his men landed well short of their objective, in a sheltered dell; they needed to make sure that scanners didn't pick them up while they were dropping off their sentient cargo. The Fleshtakers, for their part, sprang immediately into action. They took on human faces and bodies, modeled on features they had commonly observed among the Nothmiro population, and produced local clothes. In an instant, they were indistinguishable from any of the masses of civilians who lived and worked in the Citadel's civilian sector - or any of the horde of refugees who were headed for the military base's gates, desperate to find refuge from the depredations of the Maw.

They would blend into the crowd, and when they were inside, they would start their sabotage.

From a relatively safe distance, Kralmus watched as they approached the gates...

 

[Akûz the Ravager]

Prologue​

​

Objective: I - Settling Accounts
Location: Nothmir
Tags: Kralmus Orr | Marlon Sularen | Chris Walker

Spoiler: The Wartribe - Warband Grinâsh - 50km

• (1) Caragol - Akûz Flagship (2,000m)
  • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  ​
• (2) Crucifix Class-2 Destroyer (4,000m)
  • Brakka
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • K’rggah
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  ​
• (4) Crucifix Class-1 Destroyers (7,200m)
  • Varak
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ra’jaka
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Faerûn-V’okath
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Mela’giroth’vaim
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  ​
• (8) Bhorgoth Destroyers (10,000m)
  • O’goroth
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ligash
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Io’eth
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Akash
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ri’noam
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Arv’inash
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Bakavh
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Enakh
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  ​
• (10) Ra'kazar'agh Cruisers (10,000m)
  • Bezarakh
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • H’roggoth
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • A’ashbenaz’ungol
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Cimeno’ath
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Re’oam’ak
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Khand’evaim
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ni’meloch
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ganakh
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • U’toch
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Jenakh
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  ​
• (32) Vagabond Raider Frigates (16,000m)
  • Cleaver
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Jocasta
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Colonial Transport #37(Former GA Designation)
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Rotund
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ren’fiki
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • C-7475-Alpha(Former NIO Designation)
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • A’gash
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • A’enak
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Vak
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Ikbal
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Chronakhal
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Xinoan
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Razorback (Former Eternal Empire Designation)
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • ANV Fatima (Former GA Patrol Craft)
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Desecrator
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Sev’Tok
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Empress Tetah II
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Mine Hauler #AV-037
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Begaan
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • ENS Feltic (Salvaged Eternal Empire Science Vessel)
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Khandar
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Vekht
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Mollach
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Stabba
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • The Ram Skull
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Gromandach
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Mine Hauler AV-#047
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • ANV Swyft (Former GA Patrol Craft
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • ANV Eros (Former GA Patrol Craft)
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Mining Hauler #AV-004
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • Striega
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%
  • BRAAAM
    • Shields 100% | Armor 100% | Power 100% | Subsystems 100%

Normally, the Kragamond Wartribe would be the unrelenting tide of ships in the void during a full-scale invasion. Yet, in the case of Nothmir, things were very different.

This planet would not just be conquered - it would be decimated.

It had been too long since Akûz had bloodied his axe in proper battle. He had hoped to do so in Tython, and despite being able to do so to some degree - his bloodlust had not yet been slaked. With Nothmir, word had arisen to the warlord’s ears that approval had been granted to spare nothing in bringing the planet and its people to its knees.

Akûz did not intend on merely waiting on his command throne as his ships exchanged fire with whatever planetary defenses may well have been in orbit. No, this time - he would fight with axes in hand, and his warband at his side on the planet surface. Preparations were being made to effect a planetary landing even as his fleet readied itself to enter lightspeed alongside the Final Dawn.

Cultists and marauders of all shapes and sizes milled about the bowels of the fleet; from the humble corrupted Ugnaught, to the hulking Graug hauling a butcher cannon across his shoulders to a dropship bay. As the Wartribe busied itself with preparations, Akûz stood in the center of a massive ceremonial antechamber, surrounded by warchanters and singers who harmonized in their distinct, resonous manner. The warlord’s head was bowed as helots cast white ash across his form.

He was still in mourning from the death of Darth Solpsis, despite the ascension of Darth Mori as the new Dark Voice. To watch as the physical manifestation of one’s god died at the hands of those deemed unworthy would shake any being’s faith. Yet, it was in the pursuit of reinforcing said faith that Akûz closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

In the netherworld, Akûz had been touched by Bogan; an undeniable connection being forged between them in the years which passed during his exile. <<”Nuri ki tutsatsa, dzis ri qo tuti kots.”>>*

The chanters surrounding him repeated his words, a reverence in their voice as they attempted to carry his prayer into the ether. <<”Nuri ki tutsatsa, dzis ri qo tuti kots.”>>

<<”Nuri ki hani, dzis mis shiyi zûtazihri ri qo.”>>**

<<”Nuri ki hani, dzis mis shiyi zûtazihri ri qo.”>>

A deep breath filled his lungs as he paused. The helots had ceased applying the ash upon his skin, and instead began painting the markings of his tribe upon his naked flesh. Three fingers made three marks across his chest, the blood-red crimson mirroring the mark of Kragamond as if sheared through tissue by the claws of a feral beast. Akûz’ eyes locked with those of one of the slaves who worked on his markings, with the final words of his litany escaping his lips:

<<”Dijasi wos ki aukotis.”>>*** Drum blasts punctuated his words, along with the voices around him shouting in unison. The time had come.

Kragamond would feast in the name of the dark voice.

Spoiler: Translations

• ”Give me strength, for the path is broken.”
• ”Give me purpose, for we have lost the way”
• ”Smile upon my sacrifice.”

 

[Vesta]

King​

This was the defining moment in so many lives, the validation that those who strove for power needed to feel that everything they had done had some merit to it, and so many innocent men, women, and children had been slaughtered by countless Sith and dark Jedi to be able to find themselves in the position that she found herself in now. Even now, as she prepared to sit herself atop this corrupted throne, there were many who would be surely plotting her demise in order to realize their own ambitions of control and power. Elsewhere across the stars there were those who would be waiting to hear rumblings of this moment to gauge how seriously to take the Maw after Tython, those who held the mystique of the throne with a certain amount of ironic reverence that was fitting for such a superstitious society. So much emphasis placed upon the role, on the title, in the very seat itself, and yet it was little more than chair to sit in by the one who held the reins - reins seized through nothing short of opportunity, strength of will, and cunning.

The discordant chanting of the old Sith language echoed across the stone walls and flooring, amplified by the acoustics of the great Sith Citadel, to add a literal emphasis to the purported importance of this moment. To crown a new Dark Lord of the Sith, anoint the Dark Voice, and usher in the final days of a tormented galaxy, those who belonged to the Church of the Dark Side or otherwise knew of the secret world of Exegol gathered to give witness to the mouth of the Maw as her place at its head was made as official as could be. Sycophants or plotters all, there were none in attendance that Mori felt deserved her time more than taking to action in a galaxy that was attempting to undo all that the Sith had done leading up to their stumbling on Tython - her presence on Exegol was symbolic only, a matter of procedure, and this great crowning was, to her, nothing more than some farce of self-importance.

And yet here she was, waiting to perch herself atop the brutalist throne, at the center of it all while hating every single moment of it - a woman of action forced to endure ceremonial rites rather than placing herself in the front of the cause she had rallied the Brotherhood around.

Silent and poised as a statue, as cold and stone-faced as the Citadel itself, Mori's actual face was covered by the same red mask that she had worn to Solipsis' funeral and subsequent burial and stood flanked by Darth Ptolemis as the pair of Sith that would lead the Brotherhood into its - and the galaxy's - final hours. Despite her roots, or perhaps in spite of them, there was little understanding of how such an affair would go for the Sith lord beyond her approaching the throne that she was supposed to sit herself in and being proclaimed as Dark Lord of the Sith with Ptolemis as her shadow hand.

'I would rather be on Nothmir.' She thought, bitter at the thought of having to be confined to this show of ceremony and mysticism rather than being a more part in the Maw's other efforts. Still, her own thoughts aside, nothing outwardly implied that she was anything more than apathetic to the proceedings led by Minister Janus Vipsanius - and, in truth, a small part of her relished the part she was playing if only to later revel in the fact that the leader of the New Sith Order was a woman who desired nothing more than to destroy both the Sith and the galaxy that spawned them.

Personal investment in her own demise, it seemed, was a greater motivator than something as comparatively petty as hatred or rage.

Wordlessly she started to walk towards the throne, expecting her shadow to follow, as Janus addressed those that gathered.

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Objective: Disrupt Supply Lines
Equipment: The Veil Guardian Armor
Opposition: Tu'teggacha

And so, the alarms rang, as foreseen and predicted by the attacks, the Maw was depraved, not stupid. An open attack against them required significant manpower to equal them. Or tactics to counter their savage nature. Otherwise one would simply be throwing masses at each other, turning a battle into a simple war of endurance, and those types of slugfests were ones the Maw had an advantage in.

Manpower was a cheap resource when one cared little for things like 'ethics' or 'basic decency'. The Maw only cared for such things to the point where they could exploit them.

The rebels moved with eerie efficiency, the Jedi taking point, hands thrust outwards, air rippling with kinetic blasts, the Gaolers seized and thrown into walls, cover ripped from the ground and torn asunder. All flashy, grand displays of obvious power, garnering the attention of the assembled guards. The rebels were a credit chip a dozen, but a Jedi was a real prize.

A thought flashed through many of them at once. That here, surrounded by their peers they had a true chance of taking down such a quarry. One could only imagine the glory that would be granted to the warrior who managed to claim the kill, or even capture them alive. They would be granted glory, immortality, wealth beyond their dreams.

They couldn't resist, and the arriving Cirhut warriors were the first into the fray, their maddened chants of religious fervour on their lips as they descended onto the Champion of the rebel cause that had deigned to come out today. And their advance was met with a blade of golden death. THeir assailant sinking deeply into a battle trance, allowing the Force to guide them as the ego faded and only the Will of the Universe was present within them.

To those looking onward, it was some kind of macabre dance, no wasted movements, no clumsy smashes, a picture of horrifying lethal grace surrounded by a mob of animalistic frenzy. Wading into a sea of death in order to buy time for others.

Time that was being spent well by the revels, the majority of the assembled group a militia, there stood among their number a handful of true soldiers, either locals or those who stayed behind to keep fighting the good fight. They moved with startling efficiency, the datapad in the hands of one of them beeping furiously as they moved with all haste to where the prisoners were kept, rifles ready, bolts lancing outwards, picking off the stray guards that remained of those who obeyed orders and remained on guard, avoiding the massacre happening outside.

The squad leader's eyes locked with one of the prisoners on the other side of the cage, a curt nod of acknowledgement was given to one of the brave volunteers who allowed themselves to be implanted with a tracking chip and captured, brought here so that the rebels would have a clear idea of where their loved ones had been taken.

Orders were barked, tools were ready, cages were opened, civilians were being gathered, charges were being set.

They simply needed time, and prayed that the lunatic with a plasma sword outside could buy them every second they needed.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

Darth Mori Minister Janus Vipsanius

sovereign​

Ptolemis, the Living Shadow of Darth Mori .

By her side but slightly behind, the Blasphemer followed the Dark Voice and wondered about what truly is to come for the Brotherhood just as the jagged talons of the unholy throne came into view. Considering himself as more of a scholar, a master of the Force rather than a conquering warrior, Ptolemis recognized the tides of fate break and form upon the borders of Mawite space with ever louder consequences. Tython was a blow, the ripples of which spread far among their tribal alliance; infighting and upheaval was inevitable, but the extent of it infuriated the Blasphemer. Millions of worthless beings already obliterated and countless souls harvested by the scythe that was the united Brotherhood, their sheer power was undeniable. Proven. Whose belief in the Maw's goals was so frail as to lose it after a single loss that followed so many victories, regardless of how painful it was? Their deep stab into the bowels of the Galactic Alliance's core was biblically daring, and loss was very much a possibility; indeed, danger remained a close companion of the Maw. Yet Solipsis' legacy simply passed onto someone else, his vision adapted, as with so many legendary Sith before him. It was the way of the Dark Side. They will endure.

The only way to crawl out of the tar pit that was this air of indecision among the Brotherhood was to place the reins in the hands of one that may usher in nothing less than total galactic destruction. As the discordant sounds of the two dark lords' steps mingle with each other, Ptolemis slightly turns his head to look at the back his new master; a larger-than-life personified weapon of the Dark Side, one who wielded just such brutal power to see the galaxy deleted. This arcane power was perhaps the only thing left in life that Ptolemis could admire, and he admired it greatly. She could be the one to wash away the doubts of yesterday and lead this galaxy into perfect, pristine, nothingness.

– May the Force serve you well, my Voice. – The garbled machine-like tone of the Blasphemer rang out as a final message before the fulfilment of Mori's destiny. He slid his hands into the sleeves of his robe, not unlike the many acolytes of the Heathen Priesthood, and slowed his approach to allow Mori to take her rightful place. As the Minister Janus Vipsanius 's first utterances are heard, the Shadow Hand silently positions himself by the side of the throne and the Dark Voice of the Brotherhood of the Maw.​

​

 

[Onrai]

"Perhaps a more advantageous option would be to send dedicated teams to strip the world of its manpower and machinery for transplantation to another world within our domain." She indicated. Wholesale world-shifting was not impossible - much of the infrastructure on Kinoss had been stripped of Nathema by Onrai's forces well before the Ashlans had taken the world. "There's no need for us to leave anyone here to deal with the Alliance when there's nothing for them to keep."

Then an explosion. Evidently rebels had chosen to involve themselves - one in particular that she sensed as familiar from her time at Mustafar.

"You may gladly have it, and we haven't much in the way of time. As much as I would love to simply go down there, I believe we're going to need a... slightly different approach. Do you have your weapons?"

Onrai reached within her own shadow and withdrew the stone Tu'teggacha had eyed oh so covetously before, raising it as her free hand pointed forward, a rift beginning to open before the duo.

"Go. I will see you on the other side and together we will deal with this rabble."

Aaran Tafo

 

[Chris Walker]

IRON FIELDS
Nothmir's Last Stand
"A coward's only reward is to live another day."

Plasmablast Games
Tags: Marlon Sularen Akûz the Ravager Kralmus Orr

​

Spoiler: ORDER OF BATTLE

Fleet Elements Ground Forces

• 
  
  
  Note: 3rd Peacekeeper Corps fleet has retreated to Enclave space along with some of Nothmir's civilian population following the Skirmish at Erebus. The rest remain within the Citadel or close outside attempting to gain entry.​

  1st Peacekeeper Corps “Grey Hands” Fleet ​	2nd Peacekeeper Corps “Void Walkers” Fleet ​
  Invictus Battlecruiser Unforgiving Revenant	Invictus Battlecruiser Sidestep
  Gravis Cruisers Felhand Hellhand Haunthand	Gravis Cruisers Halberd Morningstar Two-Hander
  Vindicta Picket Light Cruisers	Vindicta Picket Light Cruisers
  Brutus Attack Light Cruisers	Brutus Attack Light Cruisers
  Commandant 2 Corvette Wings	Commandant 2 Corvette Wings
  Carried Craft Hawk Fighters Shrike Light Bombers Launched from ground installations: Hawk Fighters Shrike Light Bombers	Carried Craft Hawk Fighters Boarding Craft
  Marine compliment (light)	Marine compliment Constable Reactive Carapaces Mauler, Warbringer, vibroswords F-1b Droids
  Ground Batteries (Nothmir envelope) Concussion Missiles AD Anti-Orbital Lance Guns	Ground Batteries (Other planets and solar bodies) Lance guns Concussion missiles

  
  
• 
  
  The Citadel
  Note: 2nd Peacekeeper Corps “ground forces” are in orbit, and wearing void-capable versions of their equipment where applicable.​

  1st Peacekeeper Corps “Grey Hands” Ground Force ​	3rd Peacekeeper Corps “Red Giants” Ground Force ​	Planetary Defense Forces ​
  Air Power Hawk Fighters Owl Ground Attack Fighters Shrike Light Bombers	Air Power Hawk Fighters Osprey Gunships
  Armor Torch Heavy Tanks Flint-2 Cruiser Tanks Ember Light Tanks Brazier APCs Troop, command, and medical variants	Armor Pyre Superheavy Tanks Bonfire Superheavy Tanks Torch Heavy Tanks Brazier APCs Troop, command, and medical variants	Armor Spark Attack Speeders Brazier APCs Troop variants
  Infantry Judicator 2 Command Carapaces (Officers) Constable Reactive Carapaces (Heavy Infantry) Enforcer Assault Carapaces (Light Infantry) Nothmiro Flak Carapaces (Tank crew) F-1a and F-1b Droids Small arms (Warbringer, Pacificator, Mauler, Tranquilizer, Negotiator)	Chris Walker Warden Elite Carapace Mauler, Negotiator Pyre Superheavy Tank Infantry Judicator 2 Command Carapaces (Officers) Constable Reactive Carapaces (Heavy Infantry) Enforcer Assault Carapaces (Light Infantry) Nothmiro Flak Carapaces (Tank crew) F-1a and F-1b Droids Small arms (Warbringer, Pacificator, Mauler, Tranquilizer, Negotiator)	Irregular Infantry Enforcer Assault Carapaces Nothmiro Flak Carapaces Small arms (Warbringer, Pacificator, Tranquilizer, Negotiator) Family relic Beskar’gam
  Emplaced Weapons (see codex)	Emplaced Weapons (see codex)	Emplaced Weapons (see codex)

  
  

​

​

---

The Citadel
Corps Commander Chris Walker
Detachment Commander Aurelian Hars​

"Ready Hars?" asked the Corps Commander from the tank commander's seat, slightly cramped in the space despite the modifications made to his Pyre Superheavy.

"Tactical ready, CC." replied the Detachment Commander from his unit officer seat down in the hull of the hulking vehicle, "Superheavy squadron, picket vehicles and supporting infantry are in preliminary positions. Comms are free if you feel like a speech."

"I might as well," said the Corps Commander, opening a channel.

"We've made our mark on history, but the chapter of our people on Nothmir draws to a close. The others will survive to find new worlds and new lives, but we have each chosen to remain. Our last stand will be writ across the face of this world, in the blood stains of the mongrel dogs who challenge us. We will never leave this world, but the scorched bones of our enemies will outnumber ours a thousand fold. We will meet them in the Iron Fields, and we will make them pay!"

Walker clicked his microphone inactive as the calls of officers and soldiers ready to die resounded through the entire fortress-city, "Good enough?" he asked, grinning at Hars.

"Positively fatalist, sir" he replied, "and by the sound of cheering I think the truth of the matter was more motivating than any lie of salvation."

"Let's hope so," said Walker, "our lives depend on it."

They were both silent for the next few minutes, each lost in their thoughts until Hars broke it with a question, "How many of our people will live?" his voice was quiet, his eyes focused on the horizon.

"If we halt the Brotherhood's momentum here, there's a good chance that we can hold here until our grandchildren are old enough to take up arms," said Walker, "If we stay focused on the here and now, we can secure some sort of future, become a thorn in the Brotherhood's side, then a dagger."

"Fatalism and optimism," sighed Hars, "not a bad outlook for this."

"It's the only realistic one."

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Empress Teta, streets of Cinnagar
Tags: Aaran Tafo | Onrai

"Perhaps a more advantageous option," the mysterious spirit suggested, "would be to send dedicated teams to strip the world of its manpower and machinery for transplantation to another world within our domain." Tu'teggacha nodded his rubbery head. "That is exactly what we are doing," he replied, indicating the press gang he had brought with him. "As you can see, we are already rounding up the manpower. Other forces will remove raw materials and industrial machinery. We will leave behind just enough so that Teta can still defend itself, so we can bloody the nose of the Alliance 'liberators.'"

The challenge, of course, was carrying off the planet's industrial capacity right under the noses of the Krath. The leaders of the cultists still stubbornly believed that they could hold onto the world they had finally reclaimed, and would resist the pessimistic impulse to simply strip Teta bare of anything useful. Tu'teggacha had to act carefully to avoid angering them; it would already be a hard sell to keep them invested in the Brotherhood's cause when the Mawites had only been able to deliver them Teta for such a short period of time. Like the Drengir before them, they might well turn against their old benefactors.

But there was no more time for such worries when more pressing matters were at hand. Namely, the Jedi and his gaggle of do-gooders now wreaking havoc on a nearby processing camp. "Do you have your weapons?" the spirit asked, and Tu'teggacha looked at her blankly. He was no warrior, utterly untrained in the arts of marksmanship and swordplay. He only ever really wielded the shock whip, and he wielded it against wretched, unarmed slaves. His only real weapon was his sinister telepathic power, which could disorient and incapacitate, but not kill. "... such as they are," he finally replied.

A glimmering rift, a hole in spacetime itself, suddenly shimmered in the air before him, and the Ebruchi hesitated. The last time he'd stepped through one of these bizarre openings, he had found himself in Otherspace, in the desolate final resting place of an alien god. He had no wish to visit such a place again; he was the Breaker of Minds, but in that horror dimension it was his own mind that had nearly broken. But Onrai's intent this time was clearly more simple and utilitarian; she only meant to bring them closer to the source of the disturbance. Reluctantly the Taskmaster stepped forward, into the cold gap in reality.

He emerged up on the walls of Camp Twelve-Cresh, looking down on the carnage unfolding below. The Cirihut warriors, secure in their dark faith and hungry for glory, were engaging the Jedi... at the expense of everyone else. Tu'teggacha rolled his glassy black eyes as a half dozen of the fanatics, almost naked save for the ritual tattoos that served as Dark Side armor, closed in on the saber-jockey... only to be cut down or thrown back before their shock maces could come close to his flesh. The trouble with true believers was that they were both overconfident and easily distracted. They wanted the glory of slaying a Jedi...

... but clearly even these highly elite Mawites were nothing to such a demigod of battle.

Balance sheets ran through the Taskmaster's head as he watched the carnage, careful calculations of cost-benefit ratios for various strategies. How many warriors would it take to overwhelm this seemingly invincible Jedi, untouched despite the many elite warriors assailing him, versus how many could be spared from holding the rest of the population in check? Would it be better to sacrifice this one processing camp in order to avoid weakening the defenses of the others, or would allowing it to fall - and these locals to be rescued - only embolden the local population to attack even more such camps?

There were no perfect or obvious choices. There might not even be any good ones.

But a choice had to be made nonetheless, and it fell to him to make it.

The Jedi, then. It was he who was giving these ordinarily-craven rebels the heart to engage in so reckless a raid. If he fell, captured or killed, then it wouldn't matter how many of this processing camp's captives were liberated; the locals wouldn't have the courage to strike again without him. Or so Tu'teggacha believed, anyway. "Concentrate all firepower on the Jedi!" the Ebruchi bellowed, his voice like the sloshing of swampy water against rotten wood. "Ignore the rest. Bring him down." It was tempting to try to capture the wretch; the Taskmaster did so enjoy getting to work on Jedi.

But he was clearly much too dangerous for them to risk pulling their punches.

As the remaining Cirihut surged forward, fanning out to surround Aaran and attack from all sides, Tu'teggacha reached out with the Force. The slimy tendrils of his essence surged toward the Jedi's mind, seeking chinks in his spiritual armor. The Taskmaster could not throw around starships or blast lightning from the tips of his knobby fingers, but he was a master of Memory Walk, a technique some called Torture by Chagrin. He could dredge up the worst moments of a being's life and force them into an endless loop of reliving them, over and over and over, until their minds broke and they begged for death.

Aaran was, by and large, a man of tranquil and ordered mind. It was difficult to find something that would truly unsettle a man who so truly embodied the Jedi principles of inner peace and mental calm. But there was a moment that stood out as the Taskmaster searched, a moment that had shaken even this disciplined Force-knight. Unification Day, the fifth anniversary of the Galactic Alliance's founding, years ago now. A somber celebration of victory over the Sith Empire, and a moment to remember all those who had died in the fighting for the Stygian Caldera. For Aaran, a moment of doubt, even self-loathing.

He felt like he was drowning. And with his lack of sight. It seemed to him that he was surrounded on all sides by an unending wave of negativity. But it was nothing compared to the crushing pit in his stomach. The quiet, internal admission that he agreed with them. That he had not done enough, that he had not fought hard enough. That he had not given enough.

Tu'teggacha reached for that memory, that feeling, and grasped it.

And he tried to force Aaran's mind back into that dark place.

Let him suffer again his self-doubt, his grief, his loss.

Let it distract him from the battle at hand...

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Objective: Disrupt Supply Lines
Equipment: The Veil Guardian Armor
Opposition: Tu'teggacha

Before the sights of the gunmen above were even trained on him, the Jedi was already moving, the graceful fluid movements of Shii-Cho were traded for the frantic energy of Vaapad. Constant movement, erratic changes in position, switching from keeping his opponents at bay to launching himself into the mob, saber blurring at impossible speeds as it continued to move around in a deadly lattice, promising only a swift end to any unfortunate or foolish enough to cross the Jedi.

Time, time was all he needed to buy. And judging from the attention that was being given to him, he was succeeding. In the tiniest, most brief of lulls in the combat, his gaze swept itself up to where the Taskmaster was waiting in the wings and directing his men. Even behind the helm he wore, the Ebruchi could feel whatever passed for eyes on the Jedi locked on to them, a simple acknowledgment that they had joined the battlefield.

And were now considered a target.

He read the reports, he heard the stories, he had something of an idea of what he was dealing with. A mentalist beyond compare, a psychic surgeon of unparalleled skill, one with a great love of their duties when it came to inflicting pain on others.

They were a curious creature to combat, every Jedi and Sith, regardless of their preference, had at least some measure of ability to augment their body with the Force. Hell it was one of the first techniques younglings were taught, how to use the Force to strengthen one’s own body in preparation for the tremendous amount of energy it would channell later in life.

But the Taskmaster had none of that, Aaran knew with absolute certainty that if he got within arms reach of Tu’teggacha, the fight would be over. Be it a single stroke of his blade, a snapped neck or a bone shattering blow to the head. It would be a rather one-sided clash. Hell he was fairly certain that even Auteme could probably beat the slaver in terms of physical prowess.

Psychic combat however, was an entirely different affair. Most battles between Jedi and Sith tended to be a mix of physical and mental combat, equal effort being put into disrupting your opponent’s focus as it was attempting to cut them down with blade in hand.

The Taskmaster did not have that option. They had a single trick, and managed to attain a leadership position in a brutal meritocracy by taking that one trick and elevating it to a point where they commanded a position of great respect and fear.

It said a lot that the frail Taskmaster was considered a higher priority target to Alliance command than the so-called Goddess floating beside them.

And so when the psychic attack began, a fierce clash happening at the speed of thought. And the while the Ebruchi would have to fight to find a foothold inside the Jedi’s mind, on the physical plane, Aaran was a mighty foe and against the more generic attempts of the Sith to unbalance his mind by simply throwing massive amounts of raw fear, anger or despair against his mind, the Taskmaster was more insidious, more clever than that. They went right for the weak spot, for some more personal than the more generic threats that under normal circumstances the Jedi would simply shrug off and ignore.

For every infiltrating tendril of Tu’teggacha’s psyche that Aaran fought off, two more slipped into the cracks of his defences, crawling deep into his memories and drawing up old shames, moments in which he was paralysed by his own helplessness, when the loss of his eyes was still a crippling disability and not a blessing in disguise that granted him a greater perception of the universe around him.

On the physical plane, his saber was raised to intercept a shock maul swinging towards him, the entirety of his psychic struggle with the Taskmaster happening at the pace of neurons firing in their respective brains. And the astral dagger was struck into his mind’s eye at the most inopportune moment for him. His serenity distrubed, his saber flickering off just as it was raised to intercept the blow.

And like a crack of thunder, the maul impacted the side of his helmet. Sending the Jedi skidding backwards, reeling from the blow. For a moment silence fell over the mob, the one warrior who landed the blow, pausing in disbelief. The faceplate of the helmet chipped away, revealing an empty eye socket staring back at them.

With a trickle of blood visible, slowly painting its way down the side of the Jedi’s face.

A howl went up throughout the camp, the mob reinvigorated by the scent of blood in the water, the melee recommencing as now with their opponent no longer carrying the illusion of some invincible demigod of battle, the tiniest spark of survival instincts they still held were thrown away entirely as the mob seized the advantage.

The fight recommenced, but now the momentum had swung in the other direction. The Jedi was still a fierce opponent, their fists and feet lashing out with impossible strength, shattering limbs and sending his opponents flying.

But his opponents no longer cared, each strike was mighty, but not lethal. And the Maw’s elicits cared little for something as minor as pain. What was a broken arm or a few cracked ribs in exchange for the glory of battle? Some of the more frenzied ones even dropped their own weapons in an attempt to grapple with the Jedi, to get a chance, no matter how small to saw they managed to defeat one of the fabled warrior monks in a contest of hand to hand combat.

The tide had shifted the other way, now it was the Jedi on the backfoot, fighting defensively, still standing but clearly winded. Their movements lacked the impossible grace as before, a more experienced physical combatant could easily tell how distracted they were, every striked weighted down by his own doubt, his old self-loathing holding him back. Hesitation brought on by flashes of his worst memories rising back up to appear in his mind’s eye.

He was losing the fight now. Slowly but surely, he was being bled to death by a thousand cuts from the mob around him.

 

[Onrai]

Aaran Tafo Tu'teggacha

So it was that the trip to the scene of the crime itself was a relatively quick one. The shade of Onrai traveled through the rift as it soon closed behind the duo - Tu'teggacha himself had chosen to take the offensive action against the Jedi, one she was reasonably familiar with from an encounter on Mustafar. That had ended... curiously. Though Onrai believed in herself, more than certain she had the ability to in theory overwhelm him, she deliberately stood back and allowed the Ebruchi to work his perfidious magic. White eyes gleamed as a portion of her power bestowed itself upon him, further intensifying the mentalism upon the Jedi and giving Tu'teggacha the ability to do more...

So much more.