Faction Dark Horizon [DE]

[Darth Apophion]

DARK HORIZON

The Siege of Lightward: Final Assault

On the storm-laden world of Corbos lies Lightward. A massive citadel built by the Ashlan Crusade and the Jedi. Lightward acts as a pivotal supply point for the remnant crusader and Jedi forces in the Stygian Caldera. An uneasy alliance of Sith have laid siege to the great citadel, and after weeks of fighting the battle has turned into a stalemate. The Sith have dug in with several rings of trenches surrounding the Lightward Citadel. A relief fleet for the Ashlan Crusade is on its way from the Core Worlds, threatening to lift the siege. Calling on local Sith Warlords and allies, the besieging force prepares to make their final assault.

Location: Corbos, Command Tent
Objective: Rally Sith forces

On the storm-swept, rugged terrain of Corbos, several Sith lords gather in the tension-filled command tent. As the weeks stretch into a seemingly endless siege, the barren landscapes around the Citadel of Lightward bear witness to a conflict that has become a war of attrition. The Sith forces, a coalition of Sith Warlords and others, have encamped just outside the ring of trenches encircling the citadel, their initial confidence eroded by the steadfast resilience of the Jedi defenders. The air is thick with the smell of ozone and scorched earth, the aftermath of relentless assaults and counterstrikes that have left the ground scarred and the sky perpetually clouded with the ash of battle.

Within the beleaguered citadel, the Jedi and their allies prepare for the next wave, their spirits buoyed by whispers of hope. Reinforcements from the Galatic Alliance, a fleet amassed with haste and secrecy, are cutting through the star-lanes, a blade aimed at the heart of the Sith forces laying siege to the citadel. The news of their approach has reached Apophion and the other command Sith Lords, Causing division in their ranks.

Darth Apophion, ever vigilant, senses a shift in the Force, a disturbance that speaks of change, of impending confrontation. He stands outside the makeshift command post, his gaze piercing the horizon, trying to discern the shape of things to come. Despite the assurances of victory and the promise of reinforcements for his own forces, a kernel of uncertainty takes root in his mind. The coming day will be decisive, a crucible in which the fate of Lightward, and perhaps the future of the Sith, will be forged. Stepping into the tent the simmering discontent among the Sith Lords had reached a boiling point.

"Weeks, Apophion! For weeks we have laid siege to Lightward, and yet it stands, defiant as ever! Your strategies, your assurances of a swift victory, have led us to naught but a stalemate. The fault lies at your feet!" Darth Varan's spoke as soon as Apophion entered the tent.

"Indeed, Apophion. Your promises of reinforcements have become a bitter jest among the ranks. The Jedi grow bolder by the hour, and yet we hear only of delays and more delays. How long before our forces wane and the tide turns against us?" Another lord chimes in not a moment after.

The other SIth Lords murmur their agreement, a chorus of discontent rising against the backdrop of a siege that has tested their resolve and now strains their unity.

"My Lords, I understand your frustrations, your hunger for victory that mirrors my own. More Sith and their forces will join us soon, and we can launch the final assault." Darth Apophion his voice a calm, powerful undercurrent against the storm of dissent.

"You will be held responsible for the failure of this battle Apophion, and you alone," Varan says harshly.

"Action, Lord Varan, will be taken. Results, you shall have. I do not ask for blind faith—only that you hold your resolve a while longer." Apophion replies

The council falls silent, the weight of Apophion's words hanging heavy in the air. Doubt lingers, a shadow among the gathered Lords, but so too does the promise of victory, of retribution. For Apophion can only wait.

 

[Vazz]

The Ashlan remnants. The Sith Empire had burned through their ranks during the reclamation of the Holy Worlds, but like any annoying pest they certainly knew how to stick around. They were a threat. The Jedi were one thing in their fight against the Sith, but the Ashlan's were the purging type. A Jedi only destroyed things they believed were truly dangerous. That naivete meant many things could be recovered.

Ashlan's burned everything. They sought to erase the presence of the Sith entirely. It was foolish of course, burning the knowledge would only make the Sith who did survive their assaults stronger.

But it also meant a loss of information. That, to Vazz, was intolerable. So he came here with the intention of snuffing out as many of those book burning hippies as he could.

Which wasn't many. He would go after the biggest names, though. High profile, important targets. That's what he was after. An Assassin was best as a surgical knife, after all. Vazz waited close by, hiding in the shadows as he always did. Waiting for the order, for the names to be given. He would kill them the moment he had the list.

Darth Apophion

 

[Ossuaria]

Vazz | Darth Apophion​

The Beings of the Ortan Invictus were not sworn to the banner of the Sith Empire, they were far too savage for such things. They operated outside of the strict structure that was expected of individuals under Emperor Carnifex- they called individuals from each corner of the galaxy to their gold-purple banner, disillusioned New Imperials, radical Final Dawners, and the disparate Sith aligned Neo-Imperials of the Core to Rim- but there was a banditry that united them as well as a theological creed. Blending elements from the Massassi Pagans, Sith Eternalism, and the Church of the Dark Side - the Ortan Invictus crew had a syncretic faith that supported the cruelty inflicted on their enemies.

Despite the strained relationship, the Crusade of Ashla was resisted by all heroes of the Dark. This was not a war of imperialism or containment as the Sith had seen before - this was a war of extermination, of genocide, one that threatened to remove the Sith culture, language, religion, and history from the face of the galaxy. The very life of Moraband hung in the balance. Every last world, every lost life, site, and holocron was a new tally on the sabers of Ashla. It was another head that the Sith would multiply upon the pile. The fanaticism - the radicalization - that would follow this Crusade was yet to be seen in the galaxy, but if the Ashlans knew what they were awakening - they never would have entered Stygia.

Corbos was Hell.

Miles upon miles of planet bombarded, strafed by TIE flights, and entrenched by Invictae. A smaller force in comparison to the might of the Sith-Imperials, but no less important to the onslaught. There would be no quarter- no mercy, there was a wake of devastation and gore behind the Invictae battle-lines. All structures, civilian and military, would be sweeped room by room, and all living beings located inside would be exterminated. Their blaster bolts brimmed with hate, palpable in the Living Force - reaping through the planet. The Crusaders put up valiant defenses, even before the bulk of the armies arrived at Lightward. Veteran marauders were encommanded over lesser bandits, the Invictus thriving on a decentralized structure. Though, losses were great - Ossuaria knew it would take months to recover, many more slave-runs and rallies.

The trench was lost - he knew that. Taking the field with his infantry seemed like the correct move, it was what a braver man would have done, and the high stakes nature of the space battle devolved him into shaking fits of fear. He would rather have his second-in-command take charge and ensure that, at the very least, the Maxima-A survived. Why in Yavin’s name did he expect the mud and gore to be preferable to the depersonalized nature of astral combat?

Sithtroopers lay dead in heaps around him, blaster score marks dotting their armor like art-pieces. He could hear the screaming of the oncoming Ashlan charge. He stumbled backwards, his visor’s motion sensor booming with oncoming targets. He was crouched down into himself, pressing against the rear of the trench’s wall, fumbling with the powercell of his K-11. The mud of the front was packed into the pistol, caked and dried - he tugged hard on the cell before it ripped free with a breaking sound that sent him onto his ass.

Standing on the lip of the trench was a Crusading Knight - golden saber burning with holy wrath.

He shut his eyes, tight.

And the strike never came. When he finally dared to look, the Knight was standing over the lip - limbs slack, saber snap-hissing off as it fell down into the trench proper. A purple, vibrating, arm length nail-like blade was hammered through his chest from behind.

The corpse slouched forward and slipped off the blade- falling into the trench. Standing tall in his ghost was one of the praetorian attache from the initial landing, having become disconnected from Ossuaria once they made planetside.

He had witnessed the Allegiant’s weakness.

Powercell slapped into the pistol - raised, and three shots were dropped into the chest of the praetorian. He joined the Crusader.

And now, days later, Ossuaria stood with the rest of the gathered individuals of note in the forward-operating-base with Darth Apophion - waiting for direction from his better.

There was one less praetorian next to the Allegiant Commodore than would be expected.

 

[Maestus]

Corbos
Praedo Mundus
En route to surface via Shuttle

The Mundus spit itself from hyperspace into orbit above Corbos. Immediately, a shuttle departed, making haste for the surface.

Maestus stood alone in the cockpit, a hand resting on the backs of the empty pilot and nav seats. The shuttle responded to her every thought and command without hesitation.

As she descended to the surface, her mind went through its databanks. The Ashlan Crusade. Destroyed decades ago, but Maestus knew too well the Force never dies. The characters change, but the game is always the same. And the house? The house -always- wins.

She'd had many battles with the Ashlan back in the day. She knew them to be fierce warriors of the Light. Prepared to die for their beliefs. Something she assisted them with over the years.

She also knew them to be hoarders of artifacts. Particularly those pertaining to the Sith. The Sith...That simple thought brought Maestus fury within to new levels. They Sith of today disgusted her. She cared for none of them. Infighting was once again their trademark. Petty squabbles from so-called Sith Lords, desperate to prove themselves. When in reality, Maestus Chosen were more capable. Non-Force Users chosen and trained by Maestus herself. Perhaps the Sith were in need of new training...

That was a thought that could wait for another day. Today was at hand and required her attention. As Corbos grew larger as she got closer, she guided the ship near the citadel. Behind the trenches the Sith had dug. Were this a helicopter, when it landed, the force from the propellors would have shaken the command tent violently, how close she chose to set her shuttle down.

As she descended the ramp, she waved a hand. She had the full complement of her Chosen on board. All 40 plus their Commander. With the slightest hand motion, she ordered them to stay. Each would move to his assigned place and duties, awaiting further instruction.

A few steps from her shuttle, and she allowed herself to pause and study the citadel carefully. She could feel the Light within it. And the Dark as well, but within those walls, the Light was in command. Situational...

She strode towards the command tent. Already, she could feel the distrust and tension rolling off the Sith within. Great, egos. With each stride, she dug her bootheels into the ground. Cementing herself here.

Stepping into the command tent, she stopped. The hood on her robes was lowered. Lethan skin covered with black tattoos of runes and gods know those other symbols meant! Her robes were of rugged, durable fabric. Black as the moonless sky, with crimson stitching. Midnight eyes encircled with fires landed heavily on each Sith within. Finally coming to rest on Darth Apophion

Status?​

 

[Nal'Khem Szat]

Darth Apophion , Maestus , Vazz , Ossuaria

The forces of Ashla still endured...

How could such filth remain, after so much turbulence and defeat? How could one claiming to be representing a deity that preached strength and intervention crumble so? Such were the thoughts of the Lord of Whispers, yet he would keep them to himself, for they mattered little. All that mattered was the great work of those who's whispers he listened to, and those who stood in their way. As such, snuffing out the last bastion of this so-called holy movement would serve to send a message to all of those that may defy the greater unknown...

He had bided his time, since the killing fields of Tython. Long had he waited to see where the chips would fall, hoping for the next opportunity to show the galaxy the essence of true power. And now... it seemed the time had finally come.

He almost gave off an air of floating into the command tent, his robes and light steps giving him an almost otherworldly presence, much like that of the entities that he had dedicated his service to long ago. He turned his pitch black eyes toward the others at the table, offering a bow out of respect for those he shared the room with. He held little value in the ideals of the Sith, but nevertheless, they served a similar purpose. Similar enough, at least, to align their interests with his own.

"You called... we came..."

The tone was rather indifferent, though wrought with purpose. These "crusaders" of the light had to be snuffed out once and for all, and if he had to help facilitate that, facilitate he would...

"My troops are ready to bleed and die, at your word."
​

 

[Pietro Demici]

Darth Apophion , Maestus , Vazz , Ossuaria

The Last Stand

The One Behind The Veil

Cannons roared for longer than one would care to remember, their vicious onslaught of plasma crashing against the walls of Lightward. The One had limited resources to work with from the start, but through time and effort, the Ashlan forces had created some semblance of a redoubt. It helped that old Imperial resources had remained, yet their ties with the old Empire had long since been severed. Even fellow Ashlans had abandoned their good Cardinal, calling him a heretic for his pure ideals against the darkness. Yet, they managed to hold out nonetheless, despite all adversity. Pietro himself had barely escaped death, at the hands of none other than his old companion Isla Draellix-Kobitana . But the will of Ashla endured, and those loyal to him felt the need to keep the voice of their goddess from the brink, and do that they did.

The Cardinal was still weak, however, and without their leader, they were certainly lost sheep attempting to roam without their shepherd.

"Any word from Magister Kaarz?"

The officer's face held a grim look, his pause telling The One all he needed to know before it left his lips.

"No sir... he went dark long ago."

The Magister Militum Dei of the Crusade was meant to bring reinforcements from friendly planets, yet it had been days since they had heard word. All that The One could do was look upon the encroaching Sith, and with a sigh of understanding, he finally looked to the officer.

"We must accept that he is either compromised, or dead. Double our efforts to maintain our defenses. Should the need arise..."

He looked back to the healing body of the leader they once so devoutly followed.

"The Golden Veil and I shall join the fray."

It was a grim day indeed, but a day where they would fight to the last, should Ashla's will call for it.

 

[Eina L'lerim-Vandiir]

Objective: Protect the last Outpost
Location: Ground, Corbos
Equipment: Sverð Fyrstr (weapons) | Ljósspjót (spear) | Skrúð Engill Fyrstr (armour) || Empyrean gland | OPBC-01m
Tags: Darth Apophion | Vazz | Ossuaria | Maestus | Nal'Khem Szat | Pietro Demici | Open

[ Valkyrjan ]
"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Since the end of the Second Space Hyperspace War, Eina has not forgotten her job in Realspace. Since her mother had returned to the collapsing Eternal Empire, she fortunately didn't have to deal with that. The former Valkyrja, who was now Ashla's Avatar and Champion, didn't like ruling anyway. So she could return to the task she had been doing. Or, she had to learn what it was like to be a parent, as she and Geiseric had a daughter on Tython. And she had to raise her too, though she knew a lot thanks to Ashla being part of the child, she was one of the three Avatars.

Eina came back to help the remnants of the Ashlan Crusade, and to continue to help those who still followed Ashla. And of course, she never stopped protecting souls. On top of that, she was mainly still in the Netherworld, where she had even more duties than ever. Here she was also with her husband Geiseric , with whom she now had the same species. Thanks to Ashla.

One of the most important things she did was to keep an eye on her three biggest nemeses, War, Death and Rebirth. The Dark Three, the gods of Maw, who also dwelt in the Netherworld. One of Eina's last actions, which was thought to have killed her, was that when the three Avatars almost crossed into Realspace over Exegol, she attacked them alone and all four were returned to the Nether. The woman did not die, as always she was severely wounded, but she was able to prevent the Dark Three's actions. The Avatars were in calmer times after this, but the woman, her Valkyrie, and the Children of Ashla continued to watch them.

So because of this, the watchers notified the Light of Ashla, and the Shield of Ashla knew that the three Avatar were moving again, and there was worse news, Darth Solipsis escaped from where his soul was and made his moves again in the Realspace. And Eina didn't want what had happened last time; these made her pay even closer attention to events in Realspace. The next task she heard was that Ashla believers were praying that one of the last outposts was about to be attacked by unknown Dark Side forces.

For this reason, Eina used one of the rifts to enter Realspace, where she immediately felt the presence of the Dark Side and of course sensed a very, very familiar presence. Uncle Pietro; she teleported there a few moments later, into the air, then flew down with her wings and finally landed where the Ashlan forces were. She smiled kindly at Pietro, and then, if the older man would let her, gave him a hug.

"Uncle Pietro! Nice to see you. I came to help you and the others. I heard the call between prayers for Ashla." she told him. "I am informed that Darth Solipsis is back, we are facing dark times again…" she said gloomily.

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Dark Horizon

Darth Apophion | Maestus | Nal'Khem Szat | Vazz​

The front lines never ceased... only shifted like sands blown in the wind. Where the light retreated, darkness flooded into the void. Corbos was a pitiful sight, a torch that refuses to go out even as the gales whipped at it. So characteristic of the Ashlan Crusade, who continued their mission even after victory. Had they not heard? The Sith'ari had fallen. The Mawites scattered. The holiest ground of the Jedi saved, and the sancitfied worlds of the Sith crushed under heel. Even now the void they left was being filled with Imperial remnants.

As the Lords of the Sith, who gathered to nail the coffin of the crusade shut, stood in council with their ambitious organizer Darth Apophion, a man lurked in the shadows. He watched them from the corner of the room, garbed in a large black robe that flowed eerily around him giving him no corporeal form, or so it seemed. Its wide hood covered all but the long white beard that fell from his chin. He leaned wearily on a tall staff of twisted wood that someone keen may have known from the shadow trees of Umbara, so black that it seemed to dim the light around it.

Though the man did not speak at first, his presence was known through the Force. A glance at him, and one's neck began to tingle with the fear of being watched from afar, though the elder never returned a gaze, eyes hidden away from the light.

When more Sith had arrived, faces the old man knew from distant memories half recalled, he shuffled forward to group and clinked his staff against the floor twice, a curt way of grabbing attention.

"My Lords, when you stare out across the bloodied field you have made, and you see the resolute fortress of the Light, do you fear? Fear that you will not be able to conquer your enemies? Fear that this wasted effort will make you look weak in the eyes of one another?"

 

[Darth Apophion]

As the tension within the war council tent simmers, an unexpected voice rises from the shadows, commanding the attention of all present. Darth Vinaze , an older-looking man that Apophion was unfamiliar with spoke of fear. The question, poised like a blade at the throat of gathered Sith Lords, hung heavy in the air.

Darth Apophion, unflinching, met the Underlord's gaze. "We do not fear defeat, for every moment we stand against the Light is a testament to our strength. To appear weak before each other? No, we stand united, in strength and purpose. Our efforts should be only to cleanse this Ashlan Crusade remnant from this planet."

Apophion's gaze swept across the gathered Sith Lord. "So, yes, I acknowledge my fears, but I do not bow to them. We, can wield them as we wield our lightsabers—tools to carve our destiny from the heart of the galaxy. It will not be fear that greets them, but the indomitable will of the Sith, united and unstoppable."

Soon more Sith arrived. Maestus and her Chosen had arrived. A small elite force that would be a strong asset on the field. Nal'Khem Szat , 'The Lord of Whispers', came shortly after. He looked as if he could more than handle himself. Ossuaria crew of the Ortan Invictus had already made a name for themselves, performing far better than most Sith shock troopers. With Apophion busy assigning the Sith their orders, he did not notice Vazz lurking about.


" Pietro Demici , is leading the defense of the Lightward Citadel. My intelligence sources indicate other members of House Demici are involved with the defense. This will also include the infamous Golden Vale. If we do not capture the citadel before the relief fleet arrives, the siege will falter and the Ashlan Crusade remnants could hold out in the Caldera for years to come." Apophion spoke with resolve.

"I have drawn up a plan of attack." He continued, a small holoprojector displayed the Citadel and the trenches filled with Sith forces surrounding it. "First, we deploy a large echelon of shock troops to the main gates, a high concentration of our forces. This will mostly be the Sith infantry, everything and everyone who is expendable. I will lead the assault myself. This charge will not be blind, however. We will deploy smoke canisters around the citadel to obscure our advance, masking our numbers and movements. The smoke will serve a dual purpose: to screen our true intentions and to instigate uncertainty and fear among the defenders."

Apophion pointed to the holoprojector. "We know that around Lightward Citadel, are artillery and light bombers have made small breaches in the structure. And several smaller entry points can be breached. We have identified these weak points. While the defenders are preoccupied with the chaos at the main gates, our elite forces, accompanied by small detachments of shock troops, will launch simultaneous attacks on all other sides. These units, capable and more agile, will exploit the openings created by our diversion. They will infiltrate the citadel's defenses, targeting weak points we have identified through our reconnaissance."

Apophion scanned the room out of habit. "Any Questions?"

Eina L'lerim-Vandiir .

 

[Merion Oreno]

Three Cultists of the Central Isopter, shrouded and masked, stood on a blown-out cliff overlooking the carnage. They mumbled appreciatively among themselves about the destruction past and the greater destruction to come. Merion Oreno was among them.

He had a motive other than standard cultic disaster tourism. His estranged but antihero-worshipped aunt, Ibaris Varanin , had signed on in some capacity with the Dark Empire, and thus Merion had done so also. He'd thought he understood conflicting allegiances, but the stakes had never been so high: he was here for both the Central Isopter and the Empire, and that was exciting.

What that meant in practice, he didn't quite grasp, but he'd had to kill an Ashlan soldier to get here, slogging up to the precipice. He was still chewing on how he felt about that. Inside his all-encompassing robes, he kept fiddling with the warm blaster at his belt, making sure the safety was on.

 

[Vazz]

"I shall take Demici."

There it was, a target. Vazz stepped forward. Well, the illusion that gave him color and form stepped forward, though for once without a grin. He knew of Pietro A leader of the Ashlan, and the perfect target to behead to shatter the ranks. If there was anything Vazz did best, it was just that. Sowing fear. There wasn't much time though for a proper plan. All the information he'd been able to gleam was from this meeting alone.

Those weak points in the defense, though. Those would be useful.

Vazz stepped away from the table, lifting up his hood as he did. There wasn't any time to waste at all, was there? "Good luck on your assault." War wasn't his place, nor was a battlefield. The illusion faded once he stepped away, and the real form of the Defel sunk into the shadows around him. He'd make his way to the enemy fortifications and slip in, when the time was right.

He was going to get his prey.

Pietro Demici | Darth Apophion

 

[Imperius Anathema]

DARK HORIZON
Corbos, Descending​

Was that fear he smelled? The atmosphere was ripe with it. Fear of defeat, fear of death, fear of failure. The soldiers, warriors, fanatics beneath were stinking of it and their petty ideals, their zealous nonsense. Ashlans, a thorn in natures spine with their useless and pathetic appeal to the Light side while embracing what true conflict meant, crusaders and terrorists no less than what they so passionately deemed their adversary. Sith, reeking of despair for their assault was checked by the Lightsiders, defeat and fear in their eyes and hearts as their inferior enemy was about to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

Fear not little Sith, he thought, reinforcements have come. He was sparing a Legion of his Shock Troopers to aid them in their assault, to forge new bonds of false alliances and delusional pacts of companionship. It was war that had a gravity on its own, not to aid a cause, it was conflict which pulled him here and it was brutal vehemence he was delivering. Two ships had stopped in lower orbit above the Lightward Citadel and their hangars started spitting out dropships and assault shuttles, delivering his troops to the surface, artillery and infantry, as there was no need to waste tanks here.

He himself stood in the leading shuttle, his hand casually holding one of the railings above as the turbulences of the atmospheric entry shook the shuttle. His skin was tainted by the red light the passenger compartment was flooded with, the eyes glowing in kind, sickly and bright like the heart of a star. Around him was nobody. He was alone, as he was since many years. As he wanted to be.

Through sporadic anti-air fire his shuttle touched down swiftly on the desert grounds, dust whipped up in conjunction with more shuttles and landers coming down. His eyes briefly wandered up as an explosion brightened up the sky for a moment. One of his landers was coming down like a meteor towards the citadel, having lost its cockpit by one of the missiles fired by the Ashlans. It drew a long crater through trenches until it was topped by the pox-like ridden walls of the fortress itself, forming cracks in it was the battering ram ran out of energy to do significant damage.

The massive warrior did not halt to see it happen, he marched straight for the tent of Darth Apophion and came in as he proclaimed his simplistic plan. There was little surprise the siege had not been won yet, the man in charge played dejarik or regicide rather than command a military force, but Imperius was not here to commandeer the situation. He was here to destroy, to crush and hopefully find what slumbered beneath the surface.

The Galaxy must be set ablaze.

Vazz Maestus Nal'Khem Szat Darth Vinaze Ossuaria
Pietro Demici Eina L'lerim-Vandiir
​

Post I​

​

 

[Maestus]

Corbos
Command Tent

She stood where she had upon entering the tent. Slowly her eyes slid across the faces of the gathered. Unknown to her, the vast majority. But one...Felt...Familiar. In the way a long forgotten memory scratches at the edge of consciousness, fighting to return to significance within her mind. Her eyes lingered on Darth Vinaze for a moment or so. Leaving the shadowy visage when Darth Apophion began to detail his plan.

Maestus listened, curious as to what hidden strategy would lift the siege on the Ashlan citadel.

And then his name. Pietro Demici himself...The Cardinal. Long had Maestus waited to finally face him. The Maw and the Ashlan Crusade had a long history of...Entanglements. She held the Cardinal and his power in high respect. She knew he was a formidable opponent decades ago. She would be wise not to underestimate his growth over the years. She was no longer a fresh apprentice to the Dark Voice, Darth Solipsis . She, as Pietro no doubt, had grown in her knowledge, abilities and power.

So it was when Vazz attempted to call dibs, Maestus eyes snapped to him. A delicious curl formed at the corners on her lips.

The good Cardinal and I have a long overdue appointment. Decades, overdue.

Her piece spoken, she turned her gaze back to Apophion.

My Chosen operate in 8 units, 5 each. My Commander will lead one unit. The others will attach where an as needed. Their direction I give to you for this endeavor. Do have you a numbers estimate within the Citadel?

Obsidian eyes ringed with flames studied the holoprojection with interest. She did finally stride around the tent, maintaining her gaze. She was searching for...Something.​

​

 

[Kroeger]

D R E A D N O U G H T
IRON LEGION
LAID TO WASTE
​

The Long Night of Solace slipped into a world amidst chaos and devastation. It would've been a pity under any other circumstance. Corbos was a world under siege. The combatants? Hardly anyone worth their weight to the Iron Legion. A false moniker, they hardly compared to the Stormtrooper Legions of Empire's past, operating at a manning perhaps a third of what would've been considered optimal strength in the prime years of the New Imperial Order. Even still, the men kept their pride. The uniform, the symbols, the struggle was all any of them had left. Some of them, most of them hardly even lived the genuine life, inheriting past glories from their forefathers in the hopes of claiming some past glory.

Regardless, they had a decent military force for themselves, with the aim of personal loot, pay and prestige the aim in the stead of service to a greater state. The generation of revenge had long withered, the dream long gone and thus came the wake of angry men, grown old in a profession where men oft die young. A dangerous combination.

The Solace's low surface orbit in tandem with picket TIE squadrons patrolling the surroundings of the vessel were enough to ward off any meaningful Ashlan intervention, or Sith if they chose to. Within the matter of a few hours, a well enough staging ground, tactical operations center and logistics point was established on the hard ground of Sorbos. They had the final citadel in mind just as their Sith counterparts did. The 34th Legion often specialized in siege warfare and all though few remained from the rank, enough of the brain trust existed at the top of compose of a competent plan.

First, the avenues of approach had to be cleared out. The Sith had established their front within spitting distance of the outward fortifications and defenses of the Ashlan citadel. It served a good enough bulwark for which the Legionnaires could mount their own offensive in the shadow of the Sith.

First in the chute was the armored reconnaissance squadron alongside the forward command element 'Dreadnought'. Kroeger was often among those first in line to see blood. He wanted to shape the battle space to his liking, get a feel for the air of the conflict before he waved down the rest of his men into the fray.

Sixteen Cataphracts in total made up the formation. Three platoons. Black, gold and red for brevity's sake over comms with the respective tanks taking up leader, two, three and four as the suffixes to their callsigns. Not far behind them, another two armored platoons alongside mounted stormtrooper infantry were held in to close with and destroy the enemy once a path had been carved. All to support the movement, a battery of ART pattern Cataphracts were nestled in the surrounding hills to provide indirect fire support.

Though they had a contested airspace, the variables in place made for a well grounded enough operation. Arminius nestled into the commander's seat of his Cataphract with a comfort and familiarity as if the vehicle itself was an extension of him, his cybernetic limb grasping the commander's control stick, a switch flicking to life his independent viewer, essentially a freely rotating macro-binoc able to view seperately of the gunner's sight.

"Dreadnought this is actual, 'redcon-aurek'...begin bounding." He gave the command, his voice placid, cold and concise as the repulsorlifts hummed to life. Each platoon checked in immediately following with their replies acknowledging.

"Hellion this is Dreadnought...send ISR report." He said, ringing up the tactical operations center at the Iron Legion's staging ground from which all strategic control of the ensuing siege was enacted by his staff officers. From there, he could get the word from his scout troopers and observers to paint the picture of the battle ahead for him.

"Dreadnought this is Hellion break - ...ISR reports troopers in fortified positions, tanks, PCs, repulsor and fliers all in AO." The transmission briefed to Kroeger. He sported a metallic grin, nodding.

"Dreadnought acknowledges all..." He said, his vehicles pulling up along a ridge line approaching the Ashlan citadel, using their position in defilade to scout the forward positions of the Ashlan and Sith forces. The turret's hydraulics hummed lowly as its scanned from left to right and back again along with the Commander's independent viewer on each vehicle painting in the opposite direction. Each enemy position and entity was bracketed in a gate, lased with a grid to its location sent to the tactical operations center. Eyeing a line of emplaced fortifications and cannons along the citadel's walls, Kroeger bracketed a gate saturating all of them before doing the same with the first line of trenchworks.

"Hellion this is Dreadnought...fire for effect." He said, his eys viewer shifting to the artillery in position on the Ashlan defenses.

"Fire for effect!" Came in reply.

"Grid...Besh Dorn 5687-9522...length- three hundred meters...attitude- one-two hundred." He said, sending the location of the guns back through to the command center which immediately sent it back to him in mirror acknowledgement.

"Fortified gun positions, requesting delay, high angle." He rung up, ensuring his artillery battery set a delayed fuse to their first volley of mass driver rounds, ensuring they'd penetrate the targets before exploding.

"Hellion copies all." He received in reply, the relevant firing information populating on his commander's display before soon enough the rounds came falling in a horrid, belting screech of supercharged rounds raining unto the Ashlan position. The first fire mission being the improvised trigger for his mounted infantry to move up behind the line of Cataphracts.

"Bruiser this is Dreadnought...begin bounding to phase line 'Kyber'." He commanded to the mounted Stormtroopers who acknowledged the command and began roaring up in their personnel carriers in the shadow of Dreadnought's tanks. He flicked his commander's viewer to the Sith position again, narrowing his eyes as he glanced the way of his gunner, an experienced, weathered sort by the name of Gharik.

"It's still a wonder how they manage to survive, these cloaks. They're doing good enough work for us though." He remarked.

"How do you say that, sir?"

"They're taking the beating, painting the Ashlan sectors of fire, burning their tibanna and taking their focus. We can do whatever the hell we like soon enough." He remarked, adjusting the grip of his control stick with a squeak of his leather glove. Ever satisfying it was to be in the thick of battle.

 

[Gnost Zym]

"Hello there."

Darth Howl did not look up from his canvas. Finely ground bone dust perfectly captured the essence of a besieged Jedi citadel gleaming defiantly. Bold strokes of sanguine fluids represented dark armies gathered before its gates. His latest work had taken on an impressionistic quality. Vivid colors sourced from macabre pigments. Painting always quieted all the noise in his head.

"Such a magnificent view," the kel dor's voice sounded strange under his mask, "So much death."

He could pass without trace to most feeble minds but something about these cultists intrigued him. Perhaps Howl sensed they were in some ways kindred spirits. Those cursed to know how everything will soon end. Echoes of Lightward's ultimate fate creating almost imperceptible ripples in the past. Sith tattoos marked him as a student of fel powers. That did not make them exactly allies.

"Were you sent to kill me?"

Merion Oreno​

 

[Merion Oreno]

"Were you sent to kill me?"

The three indistinguishable and interchangeable cultists clustered around the painter. His painting, not his question, dominated their focus. Merion reached out to touch the edge of the frame and a more senior cultist smacked his hand down with nothing but a glance.

"The way of the Central Isopter is to witness," said one of them. "We keep records."

Another held up a camera and took a shot of the battlefield below, by way of illustration.

"This means," said a cultist, "that your work is of great interest and potential utility. This is a moment of uncoincidental coincidence. Can you tell us more about it?"

 

[Gnost Zym]

Howl kept painting until the cultist mentioned his work then he finally hesitated. Voices urged him to strike them down just in case but the artist within yearned to be recognized. So many found his subject matter too challenging. Every Sith was a critic.

"It is still unfinished."

He set down his brush and turned at last to gaze upon them. From behind black goggles Darth Howl scrutinized their sculptured helms. At last he stepped aside, revealing more flames which consumed crumbling towers. This was more than just a painting of the siege. This was the ultimate triumph yet to come.

"I am also a witness," the kel dor told them, "I have dreamed of this many times before."

That was his purpose here. His visions provided counsel against the fickle whims of fate. Howl still wondered if the cultists had been sent by Apophion to express the Sith Lord's growing impatience.

"There is such beauty in annihilation. I think I will call it...Brief Candle."

Merion Oreno​

 

[Merion Oreno]

The cultists didn't even need to share a glance to know what came next.

"This is a skill innate to our order," said one.

"It's pretty," said a second.

"An uncoincidental coincidence," said the third.

The first produced a mask much like their own.

"Welcome to the Cult of the Central Isopter."

It was not a choice.

Gnost Zym

 

[Darth Apophion]

Darth Varan narrowed his gaze at Apophion. "Yes, and be sure you and your men are in the front."

Apophion smirked at the Sith Lord. "The men of the Sangre Tercio would not have it any other way." He knew the two would likely have a showdown before this siege was over. Although no one seemed to notice, instead others seemed more interested in the fact that Pietro Demici was active and commanding the defenders.

As Vazz , fueled by a blend of ambition and determination, strides away from the command tent, Apophion's sharp gaze follows him. He waited a moment before speaking to Maestus . "It is imperative that you find The Magister Militum Dei, before Vazz does. I believe you already know, but we need Demici taken alive. Capturing Demici will deliver a blow far more crippling to our enemies than his death ever could."

Maestus inquired about the numbers of the enemy forces. "I suspect they have half our number, but our intelligence has been faulty. Somewhere in the thousands but I can't be sure. What I do know is there are several breaches in the east wall from the artillery bombardment. I'd rather your men go with you and assault the east side. I have planned for them to be there."

Apophion looked out from the tent to the Citadel. "Don't let him beat you to it. My assault will prove to be an effective distraction."

Now it was time to deal with the other warlords. Imperius Anathema had entered the tent suddenly, seemingly looking for a fight. Apophion sensed Imperius's contempt but decided instead to put the man's personal legion to good use. "I need you on the West side of the Citadel, you will attack after I assault the main gates. Kill everything." Apophion could only hope the carnage of battle would satisfy the juggernaut, although he looked like he could handle himself.

The Sith Lord then looked to Nal'Khem Szat . "I'll need you on the assault from the East side of the citadel. Breach their defenses, kill everything." He said then turned to Ossuaria "I'll need you and your men to attack from the South, you will have two regiments of Sith Troopers to command as well as your crew."
Finally, he took a step back and he noted some of the other Sith Lords and Darth Vinaze . "Unless you have questions for me. I ask you to attend your sector of the siege. Be ready for the final assault."

Apophion remains for a moment, contemplating the unfolding strategy with a keen eye. The Ashlans had to trick up their sleeve, it was just a matter of what and when they would deploy it.

Kroeger | Eina L'lerim-Vandiir

 

[Darth Vinaze]

Dark Horizon

Darth Apophion | Maestus | Nal'Khem Szat | Vazz
​

The answer the Dark Lord gave to the old man's question was... sufficient. Ultimately, it would remain to be seen if his courage was true, or merely a performance. The mettle of the next generation of Sith was imminently to be tested. The plan was bold, exceptional... but was it enough? The Ashlan Crusade had been instrumental in bringing down the Sith'ari once, could the new faithful of the Dark Side be able to topple them?

Unless you have questions for me. I ask you to attend your sector of the siege. Be ready for the final assault."

"As thou hast commanded it, Lord Apophion. Darkness as your guide, I leave you with one piece of advice. Do not underestimate the faith of the Light. The folly of man is clinging to that which gives them meaning. You may claim not to fear, but your enemies fear more than anyone. Fear becomes strength when one cannot fathom loss."

With the words spoken, the old man's robes billowed as a strange breeze whipped through the command tent, and he seemed to fade from sight as the breeze subsided, though his dark presence was still felt, perhaps fainter, but there all the same like eyes watching you from afar.

Far off, in the besieged fortress, a chill ran through the solemn corridors, nameless, faceless, dreaful. Words, whispered in no ear and heard by no mortal, echoed through the Force like a midnight dagger in the back, least expected and seldom welcomed.

"Light of Ashla, who hast wounded me, do you hear the calling?"

Eina L'lerim-Vandiir