Dominion Archaisians Never Die | Dominion of Archais | NIO

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ARCHAIS
The Fool | Enlil | Halketh

WHAT A TIME IT WAS
​

Archais. It'd been decades since the Imperator walked these grounds. One Sith stormtrooper corps, Task Force AXIS. Both him and Jaeger Harrsk had played a pivotal role in maintaining the Claimant regime of Archais. Now their fate lied in the hands of the New Imperial Order and he was a man with all the leverage. Even if their Imperial doctrines had come to contradict the Republican belief systems found in the Galidraani colony, the New Empire had the power here and they would sway it to their will.

Halketh was the first of the New Imperial delegation to arrive. The Carlaci warlord had always been a wary figure in the eyes of Tavlar but nothing of overt alarm had come up concerning Carlac outside of heresay. Investigations might follow...eventually, but for now nothing tripped his radar in absolute. Then there was Enlil, who operated on the polarized opposite of which Halketh did. Where Halketh was a mysterious, concealed figure, Enlil couldn't be more overt in his intentions and beliefs. Before Irveric had a chance to voice his return to Archais, Enlil spoke up already.

"It is clear, the intentions of the NLA do not align with the New Order and thus you have been isolated as our partisan grasp into Archais. But while you wish not to divert from the core tenets of Claimant rule, there are several tenets which act contradictory to our rule, as the King Enlil had iterated." Irveric states.

"The people of Archais, yours in particular should know well what I am capable of doing here with far less resources and thus it is wholly within your interests to cooperate with myself in my colleagues. So do tell, why is it that the Claimants are the ones who should remain in power here? If you wish for a peaceful transition beneath the New Order of which will bare many fruits for your people, tell me why your regime should remain unchanged within our sovereignty?" He inquired.

 

[Konrad Bolter]

T Y R A N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
66th ARMORED COMPANY 'HELL'S HAMMERS'
XT-62 | MBTb 'Cataphracht'
DECEASED Erskine Barran | Willan Tal | Zaavik Perl | AT-MPT 1540 | Noel Strasza

LONG WAY TO HIRKENBURG​

The road was hard but the wheels on the tar were a lullaby. That was how traditional Archaisian song went. Even if it was repulsorlifts on the main battle tank that Konrad commanded now, he'd come a long way. Come a long way from the frontier homestead he lived on, far from the young age spent in the Claimant paramilitary before he sought a brighter future away from the savannahs. Away from home. The Core Imperial Confederation offered what could've been Archais's final freedom from the struggle of Claimant and Dependent. A strong hand with an iron grip.

Finally, he was able to fight for that in force, at home.

<"MPT bloc Aurek, advance ahead, attacks on pinged targets, priority descending from anti-tank launchers."> The dependent rodents had plenty of the weapons. Easy and simple to get ahold of rocket tubes able to knock out a Cataphract in three to four strikes. The Cataphract was a more durable beast than most vehicles, the AT-MPTs...were less fortunate but were typically autonomous units without manned crews, making them all the more expendable.

Tucking himself back into the crew cabin of the Cataphract field painted in moss green brushstroke he peered to the crewman who piped up in reply to himself.

"Yes...if only we were so fortunate to have Archais under Imperial rule into the days of my youth and these pallid skinned poofs would be on the run from the get go, instead the weak Republican regime let these albino trogladytes fester like the beady eyed rats they are...damn it all, I understand the philsophy of New Order, Whitey. Truly. And believe me I've met a few good xenos in my day but if I have some fucking blobby headed, baby vomit skinned fat Skakoan fuck talk to me again with that whirbling nonsense vocoder I'm going to blow a gasket. Just need some good, true Imperials around 'ere."

 

[Halketh]

Y O K A I
Enter The Vulture
OBJ II | RIGHTFUL CLAIM
ACCOMPANIED BY | ANGSTY KIDDO #1
Enlil | Irveric Tavlar | The Fool
_

Motivations had always fascinated him, perhaps such is why he had such a propensity for silent psychoanalysis. As he and his ward were ushered into the building and led to where the discussion was to unfold, he considered a few things in the back of his mind, entertaining the turnover of prophetic nightmares from the night previous, and ultimately finding himself disturbed by the results. He had chosen to refrain from an investigation on these oft cryptic glimpses into fate, and though he had found himself perturbed more so than before, he hadn't shared these things with any member who may have attended this meeting with him.​

Rather, Halketh had situated himself at the discussion table and was left alone with the guard and his apprentice, as they awaited the arrival of the others.​

'Do you think this 'NLA' is the one housing them, or the others?' her voice cast towards him telepathically in his endless shroud, though his hidden focus remained on the guard posted by the door.​

'I believe it's the opposition; those NLA. I can't imagine anyone here endorsing such behavior... but who am I to judge a government by its bland discussion rooms?'​

The arrival of The Monarch and The Imperator to follow resulted in a shift of behavior, one often unseen by those who frequented these discussions with him. He stood as they entered the room, dipping his head in respectful acknowledgment before settling back down. When no others arrived, his apprentice drew out the seat to his left and sat quietly, folding her hands on the table before her.​

Before The Vulture could part his concealed lips, both the Prime Minister and King had exchanged words, rather lengthy ones at that, and he found that odd; why not let The Imperator open the floor for their end of the discussion? It made little sense for him, but nearly everything seemed to fall into this category. ​

"It is clear, the intentions of the NLA do not align with the New Order and thus you have been isolated as our partisan grasp into Archais. But while you wish not to divert from the core tenets of Claimant rule, there are several tenets which act contradictory to our rule, as the King Enlil had iterated." Irveric states.

​

Ah, there he was. The sorcerer steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, tapping fingertips together before his hidden mouth. There wasn't much to say when the King had spoken for them, now was there? ​

"The people of Archais, yours in particular should know well what I am capable of doing here with far less resources and thus it is wholly within your interests to cooperate with myself in my colleagues. So do tell, why is it that the Claimants are the ones who should remain in power here? If you wish for a peaceful transition beneath the New Order of which will bear many fruits for your people, tell me why your regime should remain unchanged within our sovereignty?" He inquired.

​

Was that a bit of history? It was enough to pique his interest, and beneath his mask, his scarred lips curled into a smirk. Was this the route they were going to take with the hasty and obviously anxious Prime Minister? Delightful, indeed.​

The Vulture's head turned with almost painful slowness, grinding over to fixate in the direction of their host, where he had previously seemed to be staring at the wall ahead of him. A slight tilt to the left spoke of his curiosity for the man's answer at the behest of Tavlar's questioning. ​

'This should be good.' Cassiy hummed in his head, 'Are you going to speak up, given the attendance is smaller?'​

A good and fair question- she was full of those, that's why he liked her. 'Perhaps, when the time is right.'​

 

[The Fool]

OBJECTIVE II //: THIS LAND IS MINE | RIGHTFUL CLAIM

A faint red flare crossed his cheeks as King Enlil did not maneuver but simply charged at the gates of the problem. The Imperator's stance was no different, alas more tempered.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, there must be some misunderstanding, I would say, rather than outright deliberate ignorance." he gestured with his hands down as his eyes shot at the King, "The fabric of Archais is far more complex, where the instillation of an Imperial governor as you, I will not chew words, insolently suggested" Oscar jerked his head at the King, then continued, "would not solve any issue but merely create far more."

"As for Revival Process, or as you'd like to call it - segregation - Archais' history is drowned in blood prior to the first Galidraani peacekeeping force sanctioned by then the Galactic Republic. Before my own ancestors arrived on this world with that force, the world had been torn asunder by centuries-old 'purification' wars as they call them. Wars to cleanse their gene pools of the off-shoots." He let the vileness of such tragic events linger in the silent chamber.

Then to the Imperator, "Sovereign Imperator, you have fought these savages. You are quite aware that any respite given to them would be used to exterminate us in return. We are merely a minority on this world compared to the Novanians." he said, then with a vengeful hint in his tone he added, "This world was saved from these monsters, we built it, we made it prosperous for everyone, we brought order to chaos."

He sighed, "Genetlemen...we cannot allow the Novanians to steer this world or we will all be doomed."

"If we are not able to reach an agreement which does not compromise the survival of my home, then we will carry the costs of your deployment on Archais and perhaps turn to the Galactic Alliance for support."

Halketh | Irveric Tavlar | Joneleth Tarkin | Enlil | Lucien Dooku | Caarlyle Rausgeber

 

[Enlil]

The words who do you think you are came to mind, but he gave them no voice. He stared at the man, unflinching as he spoke, and silently the King rose from his seat. It was not with bickering that he would beat back the quim of a man, but decisive, damning words.

"A problem, perhaps, for you Mister Cato," he said pointedly as he looked down his nose at the representative, "however, I can assure you that the Imperium would see to it that Archais is well taken care of even should your position find itself vacated."

There were many ways to solve the problem of a rogue element. Surgically extracting them through bureaucracy was the least bloody, but oft times also the least efficient. He did not need to infer to the man that he was not a necessary player in this game. Subjugation was not off the table, yet.

"You have made an excellent point by referring back to your forebears, who settled this world generations ago from elsewhere. Much the same way as the Novanian Liberation Army's forces are largely comprised of Arkanians, markedly, both parties feature non-indigenous persons. So it would seem, by your logic, that neither of you have any tangible claim to power over the world at all."

He continued to stand, glowering, as he took a soft breath. Exhaled.

"I can say from my own experience that neither you nor the Novanians seem to have a firm grasp of your collective situation, or you would neither be so quick to resort to war. It is my recommendation to the Imperator that we consider conquest of Archais a completely logical avenue."

He glanced sidelong to Tavlar, and then to Cato.

"You have wasted our resources at this point," he summarized, "if you now decide to bite the hand that feeds you, the Novanians will not be the only ones who feel the heat of the Iron Sun."

Irveric Tavlar | Halketh | The Fool​

 

[Julian Qar]

trepanation
[ Dr. Julian Kaiser ]
Noel Strasza / THE CARLACI CORPS / DOOM DIVISION
[Allies: Konrad Bolter , AT-MPT 1540 , DECEASED Erskine Barran , Willan Tal ] ​

Slow, steady breaths. That’s exactly what he had done before she’d knocked his chest to come to from the medical haze he’d be in. Moments prior, he’d timed the flow of oxygen - in through his nose, out his mouth when he finally pulled the trigger sending a bullet through the body of a brainwashed juvenile combatant. It was never easy, but it had to be done. Somewhere in his mind, he categorized it as a mercy killing. He couldn’t spare any other thoughts that would derail his focus.

For the moment, the monitors in his HUD seemed normal, that was until impact reeled his medical mind into action. Mav. Julian flatted himself out, throwing off the kit with haste as a screech and thunderous clap of an explosive impact left him with a high pitch banshee scream in his ears. He centered himself, tunneling towards the body and the others that huddled up beside him - the monitor wailed, [thready pulse], his shock was near-instant. [Core temperature dropping],[Oxygen levels low], he wasn’t gone yet but dying was just a few inches from his toes. The medic drew a shaky breath, this could only mean one thing - that thought sent his hand to the small pack at his hip which he housed the unthinkable.

His eyes turned towards The Major, scanning what bits of her frame he could make out through the dust and gravel caked over his visor. He didn’t even speak, pulling the plunger from the needle and driving the lethal concoction through the exposed clothed area of Mav’s pants.

Mercy.

“Time of death …” His voice trailed off, muffled by the sounds of heavy fire that shrouded them like a thick blanket. The medic would pull his focus from the body, his ivory cloak now splattered with mud and traces of his comrades' life force. No matter the circumstance he would try.

Her five words would snap his focus once again, “I’m fine, I’m fine!” He’d call back, keeping his body one with the ground, his hand slapped shut the flap of his hip pack. Focus. That’s all he needed, his free hand would draw that Angry Owl to his side and true up his position right along with her. He moved quickly, body lowered, weaving in between shots. Of course, the calibration on his leg was thrown off, the terrain had adhered to the spikes under his boots in such mismatched fashion, though all the while it would try and ground him and steady his balance. “Go on ahead'a me, darlin’ - fuckin leg is acting up!” He would break form when he called to her, watching the monitor in his eye flicker, his heart rate thrashing about as adrenaline set in with such force. Julian smashed and punched the finicky limb, lifting that large frame to stand. He wasn’t even thinking straight.

All it took was a split second to wipe his vision, painting his sight in a blinding white light, the monitors in his earpiece now sounding off, overriding the visual.

Idiot.

His body slammed onto the earth, taking down that heavily mechanized medic with the full force of its hit. His vision came back, only to witness spots and the sky above him streaked with light, a memory poured in from the back of his mind to remind him of that blast that encapsulated flesh and metal in that synthetic vessel. The long-range shot seared a hole through the breast of his coat, the monitors shot forth angry warnings, screaming, roaring as instant agony set in and trailed through every lasting limb in his being. Julian kept a hand pinned to the wound, trying to stave off the rushing, thick green fluid that spewed from its cavernous destruction.

[Warning: Thoracic injury - Organic heart compromised]

[Warning: Titan Cardio Unit -offline-]

[System Error: Titan Cardio Unit ]

[Warning: System Shutdown]

 

[Noel Strasza]

N O C H O I R
MAJOR NOEL "DEADER" STRASZA
Julian Qar // 2nd DOOM DIVISION "THE WATCHMEN"
DECEASED Erskine Barran Nima Appw'rii Kainan
Willan Tal Djorn Bline AT-MPT 1540 Konrad Bolter
AXIS

She focused intently on the task ahead of her, inching up the knoll with her comrade by her side, clutching those grenades to her chest like her life depended on it. At the time... it likely did. She twisted her head, looking to the mud-splattered trooper beside her, and offered him a nod. This would do. The debris and muck churned by the conflict built upon that tiny hill of salvation was holding, for now. But it needed reinforcement.​

"On your mark, Major." Crabs's voice barely registered over the thunderous welcome their closing foes offered them.​

Noel nodded, shifting to push the grenades out in front of her and she pulled the pin of the first, taking a tighter grip as she counted.​

One.​

Two.​

Three.​

The cyborg chucked it with an arc of her left arm out to her side, ushering it forward through the air and into a nook between the muck. Immediately after confirming it was on the mark, she shoved herself backward on her stomach through the mud, checking to make sure her comrade was right beside her. Gas hissed violently as twin clouds of it were released, instantly freezing anything they touched. It was enough to bind their cover together, as for how long it would last, that was anybody's guess. What didn't strike the earth cast up into the tumultuous air, dissipating harmlessly with the savannah's breeze.​

"Good job! Doc, you-"​

The all-too-familiar sound of betaplast splitting apart and flesh chunking pried her eyes as wide as they could go beneath her helmet the near-instant she turned her head to look for Julian, and when she saw him, it was as he stiffened from shock.​

"Doc!" Rogue cried from somewhere in front of her, scrambling through the mud to shove the medic over onto his back.​

Strasza froze, gawking in horror as she tried to put together the pieces of what she had just witnessed. First Mav. Now... Julian- no.​

No.​

The cyborg slid forward, shoving herself through the grime to loom over him, clawing after his helmet to tear it off his head. "Hey! Hey! Look at me!" She shouted as she locked her hands together and pressed down sharply on the gaping bullet wound. "Jules!"​

"We need a medic here!"​

"He is the medic!"​

This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening. This wasn't happening.​

It was.​

Somewhere within her mud-caked chestguard, she felt her heart crack.​

"Julian- what- I-" she stammered as she tried to focus, clawing desperately at her memory for anything, anything at all that he had done in his work treating her that could somehow help to save his life. He was fading, fast. The same sting in her eyes from earlier returned, blurring her vision.​

"Major! We got the jam cleared!"​

"The launchers are in position!" ​

The responses to her previous orders came back, slapping her across the mouth to plant her boots back on the ground and she hesitated for a moment, struggling to choke back the horrifying surge of emotions threatening to fracture her bearing as the only person she had grown close to since her reconstruction lay dying beneath her hands. He treated her like a person. Not a weapon. Not an asset. A person. That stabbing pain in her chest resonated again through her mock-ribs and twisted her stomach inside out, tightening it into a ball of spines after. ​

"Give our coords! We're taking heavy casualties-" her cheeks were wet, why were her cheeks wet? "and warn them of the mortars! We can't hold out for too much longer! Tyco, get word to the other squads that we're launching as soon as we get acknowledgment from our friendlies!" Her programming saved her from fumbling her orders, reminding her she didn't have time to grieve. Not now.​

"Yes ma'am!" Penny scrambled back into her hidey-hole, curling up to scrape the grime off of her tac-pad to tune into the encrypted frequencies required for transmission.​

The other Watchmen rushed about, moving up to poise behind the newly reinforced cover and lay down a whole new wave of hellish rain. Tyco slid into a ditch, shouting at the less familiar troopers stuck in this nightmare with them.​

It was all Major could do to hook her arms beneath Julian's and drag him deeper into the shallow ditches carved out of the mud, immediately pressing hands back over the wound as she stared down at him. "You're gonna be okay-" she whispered, the sound lost amidst the crashing chaos swirling around them.​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1st GALIDRAANI ARMOURED-VOLUNTEER BRIGADE
BLUE-HEART BATTALION

OBJECTIVE I: THE LOST BATTALION

ALLIES: Willan Tal Jaeger Harrsk Konrad Bolter Noel Strasza AT-MPT 1540 Julian Qar Ollis Barran

'Milord, you've gone quiet up there. Whit ye found?'
A plausible reason ti ditch the Vibra-Tech Fairbairn, wee-barra....

The military fighting-knife design he'd requested to be brought into the new era, despite the many saving graces it granted both Barran and all his subordinates, was pitiful in comparison to the scabbarded weapon the Lord-Major was holding to the afternoon light. Erskine really wanted time alone with this Vibra-Tech sword, so he opted to simmer his (newly-promoted) Guard-CSM down so the curious guardsman would scurry off for a bit, answering,'A piece o' recent-history that I think even Vibra-Tech's R&D department have long-since forgotten. You'll see it when ah jump back doun, s'leave that ladder where it is.', with a monotonal drawl that did little to hide visible nostalgic-distractedness on his part.

'Has a gid wee ring ti it, rolls aff the tongue easy enough for four syllables anyways. "CSM Rhone.", an' ti hink mah faither only reached the rank o' fu'-bird corporal afore he retired ti the Heartlands for a while, same place your Lord-Uncle went after his warring days were done. Ah wonder if they ever knew each other, Milord.'

'Only way t'find oot is by lookin' through the same picture-albums ah jus' sifted through.', Lord Erskine remarked, still in complete awe of the scabbard's perfect blend of technological and traditional craftsmanship. The design was undoubtedly of traditional Blue-Heart aesthetics, from a later time in Galidraan 3's centuries-spanning Warring-Clans Era; but it was in seeing the hilt, grip and pommel that Barran knew what this marvel was modelled and recreated from. The only sword that young clansmen of the Woad-Macushla could ever put their great-swords down for, was the famed Basket-Hilted Claymore. As he gazed over the technological modifications, he noticed that the scabbard itself worked as an energy conduit for the sheathed blade itself, and done almost seemlessly so, inlaid among the ornate steel-twine native symbols and glyphs that lit up in small green LED-flashes whenever the Lord-Major gripped the scabbard in his left hand.

Understanding why his uncle would never pick it up, (and also his cousin, with Ollis taking to older swordsman-traditions like his Lord-father in every aspect) though also wondering what majestic metalwork went into the making of the scabbard and sword in his cousin's possession, Erskine couldn't help but fixate on the basket-hilt itself; engraved and beaten into composite-metal strings of jaggy-thistles, rosebushes and Elderbrambles, native to only to Galidraan 3's most arable, fertile regions. Barran also found himself unable to neglect noting to himself that the Woad-Blue silk lining within the hilt-guard, and as pretty as it's completing addition looked, would've left his Lord-Uncle quite indifferent, and disinterested enough that he probably saw more value in hiding it than taking it with him.

'A Lord-Uncle's trash-', Major Barran said to himself, pausing as he drew the Vibrosword in an increasingly-enrapt state of mind, beaming with a joy that he hadn't felt in years. The claymore's grip was sized perfectly, to the extent that Erskine's hand wrapped perfectly around it's toughened leather-wrap, and with room to spare for dexterous finesse-techniques for more-advanced swordsmen. To the Lord-Major, this blade was his ideal Officer's Sabre when he was still a boy, back when Barran's hand was still being slapped away from his father's own; one of the many memories that flooded into the forefront of his mind, along with a rushing surge of all the accompanying, life-affirming emotions that one might expect from such a moment. Lunging at nothing in particular, (feigning a stab and swiping up rightward, making a two-step technique appear as one with fluidity) Erskine then slashed downward before sheathing it again, concluding,'-Is a Lord-Nephew's treasure.', as he turned to approach the ladder at the loft-hatch.
​

​

 

[Halketh]

Y O K A I
The Vulture
OBJ II | RIGHTFUL CLAIM
ACCOMPANIED BY | ANGSTY KIDDO #1
Enlil | Irveric Tavlar | The Fool
_

The threats made by both Oskar and His Highness earned arched brows from the faceless man sitting at the edge of the conversation. But, it was par for the course, was it not? Diplomacy was a magical thing. Highly aggressive diplomacy, even more so. The Vulture wished he had brought a snack or drink to busy himself with as he listened to the fiasco unravel. The rattataki sitting even further out of their orbit had begun to lean forward slightly, growing more invested in the conversation with every flexing syllable cast into the air. ​

"Gentlemen, if I may." The Vulture spoke aloud, at last, fingers flexing around the familiar spheres he frequently idled with as he arranged and vocalized his scattered thoughts, plucking them from the air and weaving them together to make sense of it. "I understand the tenacity in the room and the gravity both of our parties are placing on it. However, we should not forego the negotiation without even explicitly hearing what it is both sides would seek from the other." The polished spheres ceased their orbits for a moment, held aloft by invisible wire just over his bandaged fingers. His head turned on his neck, fixing in Oskar's direction. "What is it really that you would ask of the New Imperial Order? It is, to my understanding, your worry and love for your people that drives you, no?" Silently, the Warlord related to that. "You've been backed into a corner, and I understand that feeling. Tell me how we can help you."​

Halketh was a most reasonable, level-headed man. ​

He would hear Oskar out before rebutting what he had to say. The others were fond of overt force, something he had learned quickly from his seat on the Assembly. ​

He was never the type.​

His tactics were far more insidious.​

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ARCHAIS
The Fool | Enlil | Halketh

WHAT A TIME IT WAS
​

If Enlil cared to establish himself as a candidate for Grand Vizier, he was making quick work of it. His way of speaking was an aggressive, confrontational means of forwarding the collective Imperial ambition. Irveric found his words stolen from his thoughts as soon as Enlil spoke them. Then came the more gentle nature of the enigmatic Halketh. Once more, ever drawing the narrowed gaze from Irveric. He understood the point of view by which the Carlaci approached the issue, but in truth, there was a more insidious means by which Oskar had risen to power.

"Now...what I'm afraid Mister Cato doesn't understand...is he did not come to power by legitimate means. COMPNOR had a full hand in rigging the election in his favor, what would've otherwise been narrow defeat on your behalf instead rose to a substantial victory by our hand. Thus, we are placing our stock in you, Oskar Cato. Placing our stock in that you are the best hope for Archais's future...the issue comes in that Archais must be led by a strong leader...in this Republican system, there can be no strength. That much is clear in that...it was so dreadfully simple to manipulate." Irveric admits candidly.

"Thus...you will abide by the ways of our New Order and the philosophy we ascribe to. The Dependants and the Claimants all will be made Imperial. Of that, there is no compromise. So too will your government. Are my terms clear?"

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

G e n e s i s _ A c t u a l

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJECTIVE I //: THE LOST BATTALION | UNDER FIRE

​

There were alot of things the old guard would talk about, what they left behind, lost, gained, and missed amidst the war. They could go around in circles all day but this...They were supposed to have left this behind under the crimson blade and banner of the Empire. Bile rose in the back of her throat and Nima swallowed the rising bile in the back of her throat, her form shook as she looked at the youth’s prone form plastered against the trench wall; smoking wound the center of his chest.

A single scorch mark across her blast plate smoldered, the dark plate wrought black; the kid had shot her..She stumbled back-the impact left a dull ache in it’s place. Even if the kid had shot her she couldn’t rationalize it-justify it. It wasn’t the first.

She was leaving the force-forsaken place without the grime.

The movement at the corner of her screen snapped her back and the barrel of her rifle rose on instinct. A brilliant blue outlined the armored trooper, even as Aurebesh spelled out the man’s name for her-Nima held her sights on Djorn. Swallowing bile her unsteady breath was muffled by the ventilators kicking in and washing over her with cold air. She wasn’t okay-

<”What kind of crack up shavit-”> Nima seethed over the link, her vision began to tunnel-the dug out and smoke enclosing. The woman’s stomach reeled from nausea. This wasn’t her ally, she wasn’t on his six this time-anger fueled her thoughts as she stooped. The rifle slipped from her grip-he just never knew when to shut the fuck up. Nima’s hands Djorn’s shoulder as he passed her. Maybe he was the better soldier, but the artillery bombardment and firefight spanning the savannah didn’t matter for a handful of seconds.

There was still a battalion trapped.

She wretched Djorn back, the strain of the weight was bore down the spine of the exoskeleton and Nima threw her hip in to the man to slam him back against the dirt wall. Her gauntlets scrambled to find purchase at the man’s neck seething unseen behind green lenses.

<”You think you’re so fucking funny don’t you?”>

Djorn Bline​

 

[Julian Qar]

intercostal space
[ Dr. Julian Kaiser ]
Noel Strasza / THE CARLACI CORPS / DOOM DIVISION
[Allies: Konrad Bolter , AT-MPT 1540 , DECEASED Erskine Barran , Willan Tal ]​

"Hey! Hey! Look at me!"

The shadow hovered over his vision, casting away the light creeps throw clouds above the savannah. The figure was coming in and out, perhaps a familiar or an illusion fabricated by his mind to mask the final moments granted by his panicked, vibrating organ, pushing it to the brink. A dull emerald lens dilated while the other remained fixed, locked in its position while it funneled signals from its receiver into his mind, firing off warning after warning, error after error, reminding him of his stupidity.

Blood, in its purest compound, split from its binding companion, painting the earth and the Major’s hands in its duality. His eyes started to droop while a cascade of fluid trickled from his nose and mouth, staining the onyx titanium and what bits of facial hair covered his battle warm skin. “I-t’s gonna b-b-be ok..dar-lin.” He lied. The rumble of his voice pushed up a small geyser from his mouth and nostrils while he attempted to mirror her reassuring words. Time was not on their side.

Until...
“M-mmmm-tzk---Major--Major Come In, Major.”

The voice relayed through the coms, static picked apart words and syllables until the frequency leveled out and a junior medic on the other line burst through their earpieces.

“Major Strasza, Tyco - It’s Hazel. Either my feed is fried or we have on-two casualties.” Hazel punched through a sequence of numbers from their panel, swiping a finger from left to right as the portraits of the wounded presented themselves through their display. Their remote vitals monitor was feeding them signals of an arresting heart, a bullet wound and the other display outlined the injury that Mav’s sustained and took their life. “I dunno what’s wrong with the doc or why he’s arresting with a wound in his chest. My guess is you gotta turn on his fucking Titan, or else it’s over.” Hazel followed suit, breaking form just as the doctor had to focus on the fizzled heart through their screen. “I’m sorry for overstepping, ma’am, but all you need is a knife and the stomach to do the unthinkable.” They knew the extent of the Doc's morbid curiosity with the parts strewn about his body. Weeks prior he had mentioned to Hazel of his test, to see if his organic pacemaker could keep up with the demand of his body. He never turned the synthetic organ back on, because to him everything was working just fine.

Hazel zoomed in on the layout of the Doctor's frame, shaking their head while a trembling hand traced a diagonal line from the xiphoid process to his left side while they explained, “Once you've cut, you're going to have to shove your hand in his cavity and flip the switch, it's just underneath the sternum.” The junior medic took in a deep breath, pushing at the monitor in out of nervous habit. "Once you're done, slap a medpatch on the h-hole...It-It's not going to save him, but it will buy you time until help arrives."

The clock was ticking. Shots continued to volley not relenting to allow for a split second to think or make any other decisions. It was all in their hands.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

1st GALIDRAANI ARMOURED-VOLUNTEER BRIGADE
BLUE-HEART BATTALION

OBJECTIVE I: THE LOST BATTALION

ALLIES: Willan Tal Jaeger Harrsk Konrad Bolter Noel Strasza AT-MPT 1540 Julian Qar Ollis Barran

'NLA TO THE SOUTH!!! STAND TO!!!'

As the Lord-Major was still climbing down the ladder from the attic in the abandoned house, the comms started lighting up as soon as the lookout spotted movement, followed by a cacophony of distant blaster-fire; judging by the sound, Erskine surmised their foes to have made it within 300 metres of their temporary defensive perimeter, and closing in fast. It appeared at first sight (looking out the south-facing bedroom) that the lookout had seen something else among their foes that made him believe it was, in fact, elements of the NLA that were pushing northwards against them, and looking out further for himself, Barran could see a large NLA banner flapping in the wind on the nearest hillside, confirming that it was neither a code-blue or other local elements giving them trouble.

<"Baird to Guardian One! CONTACT T'THE SOUTHWEST!!!">

<"Haud fast, Bairdy! Majority's en route, stay low! Guardian One out!">
An' ah'll be joinin' yees promptly....

'But if you don't want to be taken prisoner, then that means....'

Erskine had spotted a guardsman in dire trouble out the corner of his eye, (caught in a beleaguered position from the others in his platoon) but the Lord-Major had foreseen this on his way out, knowing the NLA contingent were pushing the advantage and consequently playing into G-Company's hands. The disorganised attack had no qualms in their attempts to overrun their positions, but even with the advantages such had presented the Blue-Hearts in the area, Barran knew this would mean some of his guardsmen would be left fighting from precariously solitary positions, such as the one he had only just come running into.

'Just pull the trigger, you sorry little-'

The NLA rifleman had heard Barran's footsteps all too late, with his leftward turning to meet the Blue-Heart threat only serving to quicken his demise, so the Lord-Major knew that it would matter little to his foeman if his downward slash was telegraphed with a grunt of exertion, the Vibra-Tech Claymore would meet the Novanian's skull anyway. A desperate shot from the local's blaster-rifle missed it's mark by a fair few inches, searing past Barran's left arm with room to spare in completing his downward slash; as the Vibrosword cracked the skull and continued downwards until the Novanian had been split in half, the previously-beleaguered guardsman scurried away from the grisly madness, though without realising who had struck such a violent blow to his would-be executioner. Upon seeing a wide-eyed Lord Erskine looking on his foe's remains with combative fury, Rhone's subordinate stood up to stand to attention as the Lord-Major growled,'Not like you'd be taken prisoner either, YA DIRTY WEE CRETIN!!!', at what remained of his opponent.

'Milord, thank you-'

'-Shut it, ya wee bam! Dae we look like we're out o' the woods yet? Naw, so ready the kark up an' save your gratitude for later.', the Lord-Major interrupted, still somewhat disgusted that one of his guardsmen would so-willingly give his life up without a fight, and to whom Barran considered a lesser opponent, even for the likes of the young guardsman he'd only just saved from certain death. Hearing the exchanges of blaster-fire dying out behind them, the young guardsman silently took point as the Lord-Major concluded,'Just bag yersel at least a couple KC's on oor way back, an' maybe ah'll forget you nearly died without a fight.', whilst sheathing his sword to draw the holstered blaster-pistol at his hip to provide better cover for his subordinate.

'Yes, Milord. Follow me, an' stay low....'
​

​

 

[Djorn Bline]

P U N I S H E D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ARCHAIS | UNDER FIRE
ARMOR

War did many things to a person. It becomes a part of them, awakening a warrior that would never be given a chance to slumber peacefully. He knew that; she knew that. It brought the worst, and sometimes the best out of them. One’s own beliefs and morals were always challenged constantly, inviting the soldier how they would react. Their morals were compromised upon the first man they killed. How far would they go?

This wasn’t the first engagement where he saw children conscripted for battle, and it wouldn’t be his last. Dantooine taught that lesson to everyone in that conflict. They offered surrender and mercy, but their offer would be rejected. Killing a child brought great discomfort.

Nima was far beyond that emotion.

Her hands went to his shoulders, surprising his balance and was pushed into the solid dirt wall of the dugout trench. His own carbine dropped before her hands went to his throat. He was surprised by her sudden behavior, confused by her actions and words. She was still in shock after that gut-wrenching decisión she made. Her hands coiled on his neck, relentlessly choking him. Gagging and reaching for breath to at least say her name, but it was difficult to even finish the last syllable of her name.

Both of his arms shot through the gap between her arms, stretching out to effectively divide her hands from his neck. Naturally, he tried to hold her with his hands aiming for Nima’s shoulders and push her against the opposite wall of the narrow dugout.

<“The hell is the matter with you?! I’m not your fuckin’ enemy! It was him or you, dammit!”>

Nima Appw'rii​

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

G e n e s i s _ A c t u a l

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJECTIVE I //: THE LOST BATTALION | UNDER FIRE

​

<”Where was that in the fucking brief Bline! Where tell me because my boys didn’t sign up for that bantha shavit!”> Nima roared back at the man, her body tensed as he broke the hold and her helmet dropped as they engaged. Her gauntlets scrambled for hold as they threw their weight against each other. Her back hit the dug out first, breath knocked from her lungs.

<”You compnor bastards think we’re here to do your dirty work! I answer to one fucking general, fuck this shavit!”>

The soldier’s struggle ceased, adrenaline coursed through her and Nima’s shoulder heaved under layers of blast plate as she leveled her visor with Djorn’s. The comm link chatter turned to static. There wasn’t any great length of leverage but the woman jutted her head forward to bash her plate into his screen with an ugly crack in an instant. She had the mind to drag the butt of her rifle up-

She wasn't going to be getting that promotion at this rate, good.

A faint whistling read over the audio receptors and a warning flashed across the HUD before the ground below their feet quaked. The bombardment landed not even a hundred yards and dirt sprayed through the trees and their section of trench. Chunks of debris and wood shards hailed down on them and Nima dropped her weight low, ears ringing. In a split second her tune changed, dragging down a deep breath. Her..it was still stewing in her. The manic frustration but..she didn't know what to label it-

Guilt.

She could beat the living shavit out of the man another day.

<<”Artillery danger close, abort! Abort!”>>

Djorn Bline​

 

[Djorn Bline]

P U N I S H E D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ARCHAIS | UNDER FIRE
ARMOR

She still wouldn’t get over it, resisting and being hostile towards Djorn. He got it, he understood. She felt guilty and disgusted about killing a child whether it was justified or not. No one knew from the debriefing what they were to encounter, for the most part. All he did was construct this secret war through various methods and succeeding in that goal; however, he wouldn’t account for what factors would fall from effect.

Killing a child would leave a bad taste on him, though he’d swallow it better than Nima.

Out of spite she slammed his head into his, cracking the glass material of his visor and affecting some of systems from the helmet.

Damn, b*tch
​

If it weren’t for the sudden barrage of artillery and heavy ordnance, she would’ve resumed attacking him. Earth rumbled beneath their feet, debris showering from the heavy explosions that struck the earth. This position would continue to serve as a target for artillery batteries, meaning there would probably be more to endure. Potentially be buried from the loose, burnt dirt in these trenches? Or maneuver through screaming artillery rounds and other instruments bearing down on the surface?

The former.

<“Get your chit together and let’s move!”>

Nima Appw'rii​

 

[Nima Appw'rii]

G e n e s i s _ A c t u a l

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
OBJECTIVE I //: THE LOST BATTALION | UNDER FIRE

​

<”We’re not breaching those tunnels now-push down the line Bline,”> Nima snapped back, muffled by the echo the barrage. Suffocating under shoddy pylons and meters of dirt weren’t in the plans for her. The woman kept her head down as she tripped and scrambled over the loose soil-one hand bracing herself against the trench wall. A burning limb cracked and fell somewhere behind spelling the end of the wooden dug out, bodies and splintered tree filling the hunkered space as smoke choked out the air.

<<”Artillery respond, abort fire mission. Abort! Friendly fire-”>>

Who ever had called the seventeen gun salute down was going to be the next one she shot-shaking her head Nima’s heart hammered away as she slipped Djorn as the ground finally stopped quaking. No response came from the Artys on the hill-her visor whipped down staring down the maze of dug out.

<<”Genesis One be advised all guns have ceased fire-”>>

<”Bline this isn’t our work-they’re firing on their own lines!”> she yelled. In the haze Nima caught Djorn’s shoulder plate, dragging him along. The majority of the trench was still standing haphazardly with wood bracers and sandbag-Blaster fire still rung within the confines of the hold out and Nima drew her pistol. Her armor creaked as she shouldered off a handful of dirt and lurched forward, pushing through the trench. They had spread themselves too thin and she cursed, taking the corner with the gun drawn. If they weren’t careful they were going to be the next lost battalion.

<”Genesis enemy artillery is firing on trenches, take cover. Rover One get a sight on firing position and relay to Tyrant!”>

Djorn Bline Konrad Bolter ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

P U N I S H E D _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ARCHAIS | UNDER FIRE
ARMOR

So they were that desperate to victory? Or maybe it wasn’t a last shot to gain victory. Guess they just wanted them to bleed before harvesting the spoils of war. He could understand that, but it’s something he wouldn’t condone. Shooting on his own men? Deplorable to his tastes. He’d rather sacrificed them into some sort of tactical push than to shoot them himself.

Strange how Nima had the urge to want to fight him when the enemy was more insidious than him. Probably. He was more than just a venomous snake, and it wasn’t anything great to give praise.

<“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did something more than that!”>

Wouldn’t be a surprised if the enemy deployed one last desperate tactic. At least didn’t have access to any devastating destructive weapons to hail upon their lines. Wouldn’t want to suffer another onslaught like Article V.

The trenches shook and trembled with each round of battery fired near their vicinity. Dusts of dirt fell from the construct of the trench, thus compromising the stability and build of the dug our infrastructure. They wouldn’t be going in the tunnels as that would bury them alive. Guess it’s better to be blown up than suffocating from the mass of debris. To his surprise she dragged Djorn along, the two reaching the hole that led them within these man-made caverns. The Imperial was expecting her to shove him into the collapsing tunnel, for how her composure was.

<“So what? Test our chances with fate and walk into our deaths?”>

He was the man that preferred to die with his blaster in hand and gunning down someone before biting the dust. That’s if he couldn’t have the chance of dying peacefully from age.

Then again, their odds weren’t so bad. Artillery normally aimed at some large. Aim big, miss big if that was the case. Be a waste to concentrate their focus on two Storm Commandos rather than the formation of tanks slowly crawling to their position.

<“Know what? Let’s give it a shot. Better than being sitting ducks in this damn hole.”>

Nima Appw'rii​

 

[The Fool]

OBJECTIVE II //: THIS LAND IS MINE | RIGHTFUL CLAIM

Oskar's face turned red, blue, pale, purple, red and pale again when the accusations were hurled at him. While half of what Enlil said was an implied true, it was Tavlar's cold, hard facts that struck him hard. Only Lord Halketh seemed to be following a more, rather gentle approach to the negotiations. He naturally reached for a napkin to wipe the sweat pouring down his brow like the rains on Archais. If this was how lobsters felt boiled alive, Oskar would have no more of his favorite stew.

"I--I, perhaps we could reach an amicable agreement that maintains the Republican system to ease any tension on the street...a faux system." he conceded. Many worlds still employed 'phony' elections, maintaining the face of a democracy but being de-facto no more than an autocracy

Halketh | Irveric Tavlar | Joneleth Tarkin | Enlil | Lucien Dooku | Caarlyle Rausgeber

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ARCHAIS
The Fool | Enlil | Halketh

WHAT A TIME IT WAS
​

Irveric narrowed his eyes the way of Oskar Cato. The man had only lowered his standing as the interregnum leader of Archais as it underwent its transitionary period from a apartheid Republican state to a unitary Imperial world, a member state of the New Imperial Order to be put under the same expectations as the rest of the member states.

What Cato proposed was all but actual hilarity. He would plead for the Republican system to remain in place...knowing well the New Imperial Order could manipulate the results to its will. It was exactly what he could expect from a republican glad hand politican such as him. Ah well, he'd be a good piece to keep in place for now.

"Very well...but so then, I am altering that agreement. The Galidraani state in-exile, should they accept, will have their seat of power on Archais as well, the old colonial order returning to present a bright new face of the New Imperial ideology and system to the people of Archais, both claimant and dependent. Until their homeland is liberated, here they will stay. Are these agreeable terms to you, Cato?" He inquired, arching a brow.