Chief Ironside
Ironsides Irregulars [X]
Team Members [X]
Italic means helmet is being worn.
New Jedi Temple
With: Tulan Kor | GADF
Against: Open | DE
The battle now raged in earnest as Imperial forces were pouring in, all in a bid to seize the New Jedi Temple and claim a decisive victory over the Alliance. While his allegiance lay not with governments or religious orders, but rather the common folk they seek to protect, Thirdas could not help but recognise and respect its truly ancient and storied halls. Midvinter was full of such sites, held in awe by the locals for their historic significance.
But such reverences were best put on hold for the time being, what there being a war on and all.
"Shore up that gap," he shouted over the roar of battle, shoving a GADF trooper to fill the hole caused by one of the TIE fighters contesting the airspace above Coruscant. Keeping the enemy from closing into melee eventually proved a futile effort, however, and soon enough there was a full-on brawl happening on the steps of the Jedi Temple.
"INTO THE FIRES OF BATTLE," he cried out as he swapped from his assault rifle to his trusty greataxe, hefting its weight in both hands. "UNTO THE ANVIL OF WAR," his fellow Ironsides replied over the comms, spread out as they were, completing the war chant.
Thirdas leapt into the fray where he truly thrived, hacking and chopping the enemy asunder as they drew near. Barbaric by most standards, but no less so than the vile and cowardly tactics utilised by the Sith and their acolytes. There was a great primordial fury that resided in all Sons of Midvinter, to be unleashed in the heat of battle against one's foes. Those that lean into that state of bloodshed and martial prowess were called Berserkir.
Today, the Dark Empire would know its meaning.
Already drenched in the blood of his enemies and with his axe lodged in the chest of his latest victim, Chief Ironside proceeded to punch straight through the abdomen of another using his cybernetic right arm, his metal fist coming out the other end. He withdrew his arm as blood and viscera pooled at the trooper's feet with a sickening squelch, finally dislodging his axe just in time to rid the helmeted head of yet another foe.
"Tulan," he called out as he fought his way to his battle-brother's position, throwing his axe at a would-be assassin before using his wrist-mounted grapple to drop-kick another, crushing his head beneath his cybernetic leg. They found themselves fighting back-to-back, swapping between ranged and melee whenever needed.
"OORAH, you sons-of-whores," he roared as another fell by his hand, invoking the oft-used battle cry of the Antarian Rangers.