Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[Onrai]

Bastion Orbit
Post: 1
Enemies: Aeson Keel Max Darksun Westenra Mina Serenity Cynthia Alucard Detritus Ren Hiram Voss Vitani Azumi Orssos-brel Gordon and any others
Allies: Grand Moff Aut-X Melia Siari Thaelius Moon Seo-Yun TE-236
Objective: Put the assets to use.

So it had come to this: an attack by the New Imperial Order against the Sith capitol of Bastion. Vanessa's own warships had never encountered the rebels' ships before, yet here she was, ready to finally strike a blow through her carefully crafted pile of resources. Multiple fleets' worth of starships and starfighters had been summoned, both from Vanessa's own fleet assets and from the many ships stored within the Imperial Graveyard, to a well defended rallying point at the fringes of the system. This allowed Vanessa complete control of how to involve her fleet assets into the fray - and there were many.

Initially on the battlefield were four Sovereign Elite-class Battlecruisers, the most powerful warships of their type in the Sith navy, and her longtime flagship, the Ablution. Outside firing range from the engagement zone were a dozen Voracitos-class Bombardment Spheres whose targeting data was being shared with the warships in the battlefield. The Ablution and its escorts began to slowly move to the right side of the enemy fleet. Each Sovereign Elite was built around a UBeam ultra-heavy beam cannon, a weapon more powerful than anything in the Sith arsenal sans the kyber crystal cannon mounted on the front of the Emperor's own warship. Plasma shined from the main beams as they fired at the New Imperial Order's larger warships, joined by the Ablution's own super-heavy beam cannons. The Sovereign Elites had been originally constructed by Vanessa in years past to destroy dreadnought-scale warships, and they would certainly be proving their use here soon.

-

Olen Halcorr would soon hear the familiar sound of beeping that would come from being locked on by an enemy fighter. A whoosh would go past his cockpit - Vanessa's ships had launched Forge-class Interceptors and Eightgun-class Assault Fighters, the latter of which had just overflown him. a couple other Eightguns had launched their seeker cluster missiles, hoping that one or more would successfully make contact with one of Red Squadron's fighters. The pilots were no stranger to rebels - they were Alpha Squadron, who at the Battle of Corellia had massacred Rogue Squadron to a man during the Silver Jedi's conquest of that world. As they had mastered, Eightguns were trailed closely by Forges, ready to snap back with their extreme maneuverability and engage any ships seeking to pursue the heavier fighters.

This additionally encouraged the heavier warships to begin launching their bombers, Coryphin and Detritus class, on attack runs towards the enemy warships. The Sovereign Elites and the Ablution themselves responded to attacking fighters by engaging them with their anti-fighter beams - the only error with their targeting was human, as a beam weapon always went where it was pointed. This allowed them to effectively spear enemy fighters and bombers in the area. Meanwhile, the Ablution itself was garnering target data on hostile warships, preparing for a long range missile strike.

 

[Sion Alar]

user :// THE EBON SAVANT
location :// UNDISCLOSED RESIDENCE, CARLAC
relative time :// EIGHTEEN HOURS BEFORE THE INVASION OF BASTION
[ you'll never be free ]
​

Merciless winds of a Carlaci blizzard howled against the glasteel viewports, sending a wailing facade reverberating through the chamber. Fluorescent lights waned and flickered with every sudden squall, sending shadows dancing erratically across Sion's albinic visage. Metal groaned quietly as the grip of his right hand assaulted the crude saber hilt which he clutched maliciously at his side. With one stroke he could end it all, and if he was lucky, attain the solitary existence he craved. Every sputtering exhale drowned beneath the sonic ocean of the blizzard's distant bellowing, replacing them were the sounds of Ash's snoring, in perfect unison with his own ventilations.

Looming above his Other's bedside, only the vague watercolor scenes of mutual dreams accompanied the malevolent intention in their shared consciousness. Poorly fashioned pieces within the archaic apparatus rattled within the cylinder as the hand began to raise in preparation for a strike. Thumb flicked the activator by its edge, releasing the stygian plasma with a sharp screech. As it careened downwards, the air fluttered in its wake with the all-to-familiar drone of a lightsaber in motion. The opposing hiss and squelch of the antithetical silver plasma ceasing its descent came at no surprise. He knew it was going to happen. It was as if he'd pulled the other saber and activated it himself.

Yellow irises met the tired brown optics with determined malice. The strobing of conflicting plasma only serving to intensify their collective gaze.

Sion swung again...

location :// THE APPROACH, FORTRESS CARNIFEX
local time :// IRRELEVANT
objective :// ANNIHILATE
dyad :// Asharo Madar
allies :// Agrippa | FN-999
foe(s) :// Lark
[ it gets worse ]​

The stench of ozone and freshly cauterized flesh lie heavy upon his nostrils. One after another, soldiers succumbed to the sable plasma that extended from Sion's coal-obscured grasp. Grunts, gasps, coughs, and sputters; an orchestra of sudden suffering. His feet floated deftly with every step, nimble frame flipping, stretching, and lunging mere inches from turbolaser streaks and lead slugs that littered the air. A distinctive swath of demise began to clear in the ranks as the Ruiner made way for the coming push.

Near-effortless flicks of the wrist and sudden straightening and bending of the elbow swatted away one bolt of condensed tibanna after another. "For the Imperator!" he could hear his other shout, feeling the words articulate on his own tongue as he involuntarily synchronized with the sentiment. He scowled to himself, clenching his teeth tightly as the stygian blade continued its erratic dance. Was this really for the Imperator, or were they here just because they didn't have any other choice?

Asharo's eyes observed the rhythmic, crimson blink of a thermal detonator as it landed behind Sion. Their shared being didn't end with their thoughts, and though it were not his own eyes that lie upon it, he saw it too. As the plasmatic harbinger of death in his right hand sundered another plate of armor, the Ruiner used his momentum to spin about-face towards the explosive. With hand outstretched, he bent the force to seize the metallic sphere and bring it to his hand. A twist of the hips flung his arm outward and aided further by that metaphysical manipulation he tossed it like a slug from the barrel of a thrower back into the enemy ranks.

The distinct sound of a helmet cracking rang sharply into his ears as the detonator made kinetic contact. Subsequently, it exploded violently on the front line with a loud crack. Shouts echoed in unison as body after body was flung from the force of the blast while others were shredded by shrapnel. Recognizing this opportunity, the Ruiner lunged off his back foot, sprinting carelessly towards the chunk that had been blown out of the Sith-Imperial ranks. A shortsighted maneuver that left him alone within the enemy ranks, having left the Doom Division many meters behind.

Didn't need them anyway.

 

[Hugot Tyvek VII]

[Theme]
​

Spoiler: Fleet Drips

FLEET:
82nd - Dauntless Company:
Star Destroyers:
1 Pellaeon IV-class Star Destroyer - NIV Dauntless (Flagship) [Link]

Support Craft:​

2 Squadrons: REC-LE01 AEG Enforcer Gunship [Link]​

13 Squadrons:TIE Starfighters (5 Outlander, 4 Interceptor, 3 (4 w/ Dervish) Slasher, 1 Drone)​

1 Hugot's personal TIE/HF Slasher and accompanying Slasher squadron, Dervish Squadron​

Cruisers:
1 The Valiant-Class Star Destroyer - NIV Joker (Standby - Ord Mantell) [Link]

Support Craft:​

1 Squadron: REC-LE01 AEG Enforcer Gunship​

2 Squadrons: TIE Starfighters (2 Drone)​

1 Stalwart-Class Carrier - NIV Hussar II [Link]

Support Craft:​

1 Squadron: REC-LE01 AEG Enforcer Gunship​

10 Squadrons TIE Starfighters (5 Outlander, 3 Bomber, 2 Vanguard)​

Corvettes:
2 Gurkha-Class Corvette - NIV Cormorant (Starboard side) & NIV Skua IV (Port side) & [Link]
1 TXS Vandal-class Corvette - NIV Landsknecht (Standby - Ord Mantell) [Link]

STAFF:
NIV Dauntless (Flagship)
Command: Captain Hugot Tyvek VII
Traits: (See above)
1st Mate: Commander Astro Buuchelli [Image]
Traits: Sephi/Devaronian hybrid, old cadet mate of Hugot, Nellogant native, ended up on the same side, has read every novel I swear, extremely organized, in charge of ordering everybody around, always has a stick up his ass, petty

NIV Hussar II (2nd Command)
Command: Lt. Commander Surilda Patullo [Image]
Traits: Mirialan, former Jedi, Bounty Hunter, Sith, according to her basically everything how much of it is true is up for debate but her skills aren’t, unbelievably calm, down to earth, tends to get tunnel vision, sometimes ruthlessly unsympathetic

NIV Joker (6th Command, 3rd if in league)
Command: Lt. Commander Eevla Lancori [Image]
Traits: Human/Cyborg, part time inquisitor part time Commander, thick accent, doesn’t know the word fun, skilled strategist, tends to crack under pressure, major trauma from a jettison incident

NIV Cormorant (4th Command)
Command: Lieutenant Aticus Zylander [Image]
Traits: Human, former poet with a passion for navigation and high power ship mounted weapons systems, speaks in proverbs and anecdotes, often hard to get a straight answer out of, tends to underplay serious issues

NIV Skua IV (5th Command)
Command: Lieutenant Jauqinna Tee [Image]
Traits: Kiffar, Former CIS naval officer, no alligence officer for hire, just follows where trouble is brewing, remarkably lucky, skilled at difficult maneuvers, notoriously reckless but does often get results, personally responsible and the only survivor of the Skua I, II & III

NIV Landsknecht (7th Command)
Command: Lieutenant Aeneid Alamo II [Image]
Traits: Human, out of retirement old Sith Imperial officer hellbent defending his homeworld of Ord Mantell, patient and cautious to a fault, tends to be slow to react and often oblivious, usually late

Bastion…

Nice to see you again

It had been a long time, no? 8 years, 10 months and 9 days by his recollection since the incident, he’d parketen in smaller skirmishes with the New Imperial Order, but this one was different, more personal, not for the glory of the empire per so but for his family who were murdered on this rock, NIV Dauntless followed by her support craft exited hyperspace just barely on the outskirts of the conflict, the bridge was busy with the piterpater of officers running about, Commander Buuchelli doing his usual order of business, hounding people around, to Hugot it made this whole mission slightly more enjoyable but barely.

“This was your homeworld, correct?” Commander Buuchelli peeped.

“Yes, haven’t been here in a long time…”

“How does it... feel to be back?”

Hugot gave a worry expression, his mind elsewhere, thinking of his sister, “Weird...” He brought himself back around, shaking away his worries and continued with a slight smile, “y’know, there’s a takeout joint that used to be just around the corner of my family's tower in Ravelin, I wanna go there when this is done.”

“That’s of course if our boys don’t send it sky high.” Buuchelli scoffed

“Haha, we can only hope.”

When Hugot had gotten the news that they were planning an invasion of his homeworld he eagerly jumped up to the opportunity to take the fight to them and worked closely planning the attack, months of gruelling hard work, tens of thousands of dead soldiers scattered among the planets and voids of the Braxant Run all for this, this one moment; and with Bastion centered on the bow of NIV Dauntless the every officer on deck and paused, staring at her as the amber golden light of the neighboring gas giant flooded the room with a warm glow, in this moment Hugot began to realized that he wasn’t the only one on here who had their own quests or ambitions of vengeance against the corrupt Empire who wronged them, for many of them it had been a long time coming. The crew quickly returned to duty as the main task for pinged their company.

“Captain, company is hailing”

“Bring ‘em through,” Hugot ordered, waiting for everybody to join the call, “Okaaay, role call everybody.”

“NIV Hussar II, Lieutenant Commander Surilda Patullo, how’s it going captain?” the Mirlian said softly.

“Not too bad Su, thanks for asking.”

With a thick accent the pleasantries were cut abruptly, “NIV Joker here, Lieutenant Commander Eevla Lancori, all systems operational captain, over.”

“Good morrow Capin’, NIV Cormorant, Lieutenant Aticus Zylander speaking all systems appear to be operational and ready to engage the enemy.” Hugot and Aticus traded hardy nods.

“NIV Skua IV, Lieutenant Jauqinna Tee reporting in captain, were all set to bash so S-IMP Skulls!” followed by the sound of her first meeting her open palm.

“NIV Landsknecht, Lieutenant Aeneid Alamo II trailing up the rear, ready to engage upon your notice captain.”

Commander Buuchelli cut in, “all ships are ready to engage Captain, your orders?”

“Thrusters, full speed ahead, mark four, towards NIV battlecruiser-175.”

//​

At full speed the company began slowly nearing the all-encompassing space battle engulfing the world with a series of seemingly insignificant specks and lights like a swarm of hoodmoths to a Toydarian meat pie left in summer heat. In the distance Hugot spotted the ship the spies had told the fleet to be wear about, a battlecruiser equipped with an Ion Cannon, thankfully a plan was in the work to deal with it, Hugot’s calculating demeanor was cut short by the sudden shaking of his vessel as the metal rippled violently.

“What in blazes was that?!” Hugot exclaimed.

“Sir it looks as though something has penetrated the hull!” Bucheeli snapped back.

Hugot pressed a button on the holotable worryingly, “Gordon! What’s your status?” he waited for a moment it wasn’t like the man to keep him waiting, after the longest 30 seconds of his life Gordon responded explaining the situation, as he did Hugot nodded to Lt. Commander Patullo, who nodded back as she began to order the bridge about.

“The NIV Hussar II will be deploying three squadrons by carrier to hangar B9, I’m patching you through to their squad leaders, over.” Hug rested his hand on his forehead before muttering, “It’s always something...”

“Don’t you have Sith agents aboard, captain? This shouldn't be an issue.” Lt. Commander Patullo noted.

Hugot scoffed, “Aboard? Yes, do they do anything? No, they’re freeloaders, thugs, if it were MY choice, and unfortunately it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have such unprofessional men lying around, it promotes bad naval habits.”

“Captain, we’re in league of the main fleet,” An officer shouted.

“Put me through to NIV Penitent.” Hugot straightened his collar to look more professional, “NIV Dauntless is in league admiral, we have one slight incursion on my ship sir which my officers are taking care of but besides that we’re all ready to engage.”

​

​

Grand Moff Aut-X Olen Halcorr Zori Kapshan TE-236 Gordon Detritus Ren Thaelius Hiram Voss Var Koon Onrai

 

[Meshla Detta]

Location: Datacenter, Capital Complex
Objective: Data retrieval, retribution
Allies: SoM, NIO - in the company of Amon Vizsla, Tulan Kor
Enemies: TSE - Darth Ophidia 's minions?/TBD
Gear: In bio
We Are Warriors

​

Mandalore remembers...
I remember...
This is for you, Val'ika, my beloved son.

​

As the siege waged on and blood was spilled left and right, the only thing in the young Detta's heart was a raging fire that helped to fuel her need to find justice, no reap vengeance upon those that caused her so much pain and grief.

The Sith Imperials had taken her only child away from her and now they would pay, not only for him but too for all the Mando'ade that had suffered by their hand; especially those of her homeworld after the Dark Lord of the Sith and his minions, including her stepfather, Vilaz Munin , conquered Manda'yaim and destroyed it. He had since turned against Darth Carnifex for the latter and repented, but...

I can't forgive him, nor my mother, for she went along with it. No number of "I'm sorry's" will remove the truth that they were complicit in their grandson's death.

Estranged from the woman who bore her, Briika Munin , and the clan she'd grown up in after her biological father, Kable Detta , disappeared in the Rapture, Meshla now only looked to herself, and maybe one other, maybe.

For the New Imperial Order's invasion of Bastion, Meshla had decided to attach herself to the 16th SOM Expeditionary Force "Pre Vizsla" lead by Amon Vizsla not because she and the young Vizsla had found commonality in the burdens they each carried and comfort in that fact, but more so that they both wanted the same thing - retribution; him for the death of his sister and for Meshla, her son. Supposedly, the answers to so many questions they each had regarding the deaths of their loved ones were to be found in the Imperial Datacenter located in the Captial Complex. That is where their focus would be... if they could get there though that task would be easier said than done it seemed.

Spoiler: Amon Vizsla quote

In the midst of the melee stood out the Mandalorian with the notorious darksaber in one hand hacking and slashing, barking orders and covering his comrades. More died than lived, he had unleashed them with no regard for life. He had one goal and one goal only - get that list.

"Captain, we can't hold this off longer and we can't push through. We have to retreat." Sgt. Hardin reported. Her voice piled with anger.

"No retreat." Amon retorted, the shield flickered as a blaster bolt made its way through it and into his armor. Kark. "Where is Tulan?"

"Dorn Company? They've been radio silent since we pushed into the datacenter. I don't think they've made it."

The T-visor glared at her.

"They always make it."

The 16th were getting pelted, hard, and were seemingly pinned down but they were warriors of beskar and might. Meshla knew if the Pre Vizsla Expeditionary Force didn't move one way or the other, well then this would all be for naught. But, retreat wasn't in a Mandalorian's vocabulary so something had to give... and Dorn Company lead by a former Antarian Ranger like Amon who had just defected to the NIO was late joining them. But she would give Tulan Kor the benefit of the doubt, though only this time.

<"Cover me,"> the Detta said to the comrade next to her as she grabbed a thermal detonator from the bandoleer worn that matched her Bodo Bass Gunbelt, then inserted the grenade into the firing chamber of "The Reckoning" with well-practiced ease. She took a couple of quick breaths, then hefted the launcher up onto the shoulder pauldron of her blue-plated beskar'gam and stepped out from behind their cover. With the right flank of the opposing Sith Legionaires in her sights, Meshla pulled the trigger and let the baby rip, hoping to clear a window of opportunity or more so a gaping hole for them to push onward and through.

Oya!

 

[Caulder Dune]

​

// Location: Thaumaturgic Tower, The Conduit – Obscure Maintenance Entrance
// Objective: Data Acquisition & Recruitment Drive
// Equipment: Adekon Nanogene - Type 1, Imperial Mk. I "Dooku-Pattern" Jedi Armor (but, you know, more stylish)
// Associated Acts: FN-999 (Friendly), AMCO (Hostile), Ingrid L'lerim (Hostile)

That there was no effort to maintain stealth at this point was an understatement. The entrance to Maintenance Corridor B-350, dutifully sealed during this time of great duress, was blown apart with disproportionate force.​

​

Smoke billowed from the gaping portal, and it made a sinister backdrop as Darth Adekos entered the Conduit at his usual clipped, formal gait. The smoke and debris were an afterthought to him. It was the mainframes that held his consideration.​

​

Row after row, tower after tower, black as night and smooth as polished glass. Indicators blinking red and white. And beneath those inscrutable exteriors, a symphony he alone could hear. Electrical signals relaying orders from a central hub: delete this, back up that, switch off power here. All tracing back to a central nexus...​

​

Magnificent, really. And like all truly magnificent things, not long for this world. Darth Adekos took a deep breath, lingering just long enough that his retinue could catch up. It was a modest detachment of Nanogene Troopers, followed closely by an effete New Imperial attaché: Lieutenant Startop.​

​

Adekos exhaled, and made a movement like wiping a tear from his eye. “Can you smell that, Startop?”​

​

The lieutenant daintily sniffed, and subsequently wrinkled his nose. “Singed metal?”​

​

“Well, yes, but also,” Adekos gestured broadly, perhaps indicating the yawning ceiling, “A whiff of finality to the air – the stench of an ending era. It's not something you catch often. Try to enjoy it. Gives you something to tell your kids.”​

​

Startop furrowed his brow, largely on account of not having any children, but proceeded to sniff a second time with a more forceful inflection. He still detected only the burnt metal, the acrid smoke, and the particular-yet-hard-to-describe miasma left behind by a thermal detonation charge. Yes, for the Sith, this must have been what endings usually smelled like.​

​

The lieutenant shook his head, and brought up his datapad. “Okay. Right. Well, the 908th are not far from the walls. If you actually intend to collect any data…”​

​

A faint tremor shook the room. Brief, but palpable. A reminder of the battle raging on the surface – the one that they had dutifully and elegantly avoided.​

​

“...I suggest you get to it.”​

​

The New Imperials certainly weren’t leisurely sorts. That was, perhaps, why they were winning the war. Adekos sighed, and unclipped the gilded lightsaber from his belt. “Very well. Gentlemen, round up any Infocytes you find and bring them back to the ship. Kill the rest. Lieutenant, you and a squad will remain here and keep the exit secure.”​

​

Startop irritably tugged the brim of his officer’s cap. “Great. Fantastic.”​

​

The Sith’s lightsaber sprung to life in his hand, a virulent crimson, and he looked it over idly. An old and all too familiar friend.​

​

“I’ll see to the control room.”​

 

[Cormac Thire]

P E N I T E N T
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HAND OF VENGEANCE | SEVENTH FLEET
T H E _ V O I D

​

Spoiler: Battlegroup Roan Fel | First Wave

F L A G // : NIV Penitent | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] DREADNOUGHTS //: NIV Shadowbringer | Ala | 10000m [ 100 // 100 ] BATTLECRUISERS //: NIV Lateralus | Phaetra | 3000m [ 100 // 100 ] TFV Pillar of Annihilation | Tambor | 3110m [ 100 // 100 ] DESTROYERS //: NIV Arbiter...... | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Stormbringer. | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Antares Draco | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Roan Fel..... | Pellaeon IV | 2000m [ 100 // 100 ] FRIGATES //: NIV Dagger One.. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Two.. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Three | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Four. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Five. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Six.. | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Seven | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Dagger Eight | Corvus | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola One.. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Two.. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Three | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Four. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Bola Five. | Vanto | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam One.. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Two.. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Three | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Four. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Five. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Six.. | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Seven | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Pilam Eight | Tirailleur | 500m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius One.. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Two.. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Three | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Four. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Five. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] NIV Gladius Six.. | Cuirassier | 1000m [ 100 // 100 ] CORVETTES //: Several Squadrons | Caçadore Several Squadrons | Gurkha Several Squadrons | Vandal STARFIGHTERS DEPLOYED //: Several Wings | TIE/OT Outlander Several Wings | TIE/HF Slasher Several Wings | IPLT-01x Excursor Star Sloop Several Wings | TIE/INx Interceptor Several Wings | TIE/VX Vanguard Several Wings | TIE/HB Bruiser Heavy Bomber Several Wings | TIE/GA Mauler Ground Attack

BATTLE GROUP "Roan Fel" The Siege of Bastion Commanders Var Koon Kestus Bralor Hiram Voss Del Lovruc Hugot Tyvek VII ​

“And what did you see?” The helmsman inquired to the Kel Dor as the cold psychedelic blue fluorescence enveloped the viewports of the Dissident Aggressor’s command bridge. The jagged tip of the spear to the New Imperial Order’s Armada of Defiance, the clenched fist of the Hand of Vengeance.

“A sky turned black in fire and broken steel...a path of blood leading to the throne.”

“But...what does that tell you? Could you determine a victor, sir?”

“No.”

“Only that thousands will die and we will bare first witness to the fires."

Arrival. The two monstrous prongs of the Order were here in force today. An unseen sight as both the Imperator and the Warmaster were ever the reluctant to deploy these dreadnoughts in force. They were more useful as deferent, as an unaccountable variable which could work to intercept any Sith Imperial force looking to encroach into traitor space. For now, the Warmaster's vigil was the first and only to appear in the field of battle. In spite of the Imperator's presence on the surface at Ravelin, the Dissident Aggressor had yet to be seen among the New Imperial Vessels.

It was waiting, a ghost in the void.

The tip of the spear and the first wave of the New Imperial Fleet unfurled itself in the shadow of the Crown World of Bastion. The seat of power to the despicable Sith Empire.

Darkness was due its fall.

Squarely pulling into distance among the chaos and carnage of the metal leviathans dancing their waltz to the orchestra of destruction, the Kel Dor stood before the holotable displaying the extent of the battle before him. In spite of the New Imperial mustering of force here, the Sith were more than ready and willing to stand in defense of their throne world.

The bulwark over Bastion would have to break. Amidst the close knit exchange of fire and steel between the Sith and New Imperial vessels, Var Koon took the reins of command.

"They're moving to hit our flanks, they're trying to envelop us, I believe." Uttered from the shuddered voice of one of the helmsmen aboard the Penitent. He spoke in that characteristic Imperial, core world accent. A recent acquisition, from Prefsbelt IV, pressganged into service after New Avalonia was taken by the New Imperial Order. Being a man more fed First Order rhetoric over Sith, it was an easier transference of identity than otherwise.

"Most certainly, then we need to encroach, we need to choke out the space around them."

"They've got heavy hitters moving into position to fire...shit- apologies, sir. But...the second wave?" A reasonable fear, but these Sith vessels were meant to tangle with craft of equal or greater value as the New Imperials found themselves punching up. As they always have.

"It will come..." Var Koon spoke, his voice filtered beneath the vocoder within the metallic rebreather secured over his alien face. As alien as he might've been, ever the Imperial with his stoic indifference and contempt of danger. They would win, or they would die. It was a simple dilemma which calcified any greater embedded fears or worries.

"Understood...but for now, sir?"

"We sever the heads from the hydra." Var Koon iterated.

"In priority...we need target those who might strike our comrades planetside." The capture of Fortress Carnifex undoubtably came with the implication of the capitulation of the Sith leadership and thus the surrender of the planet. At least so was the New Imperial belief in Sith doctrine and their ruinous ego.

"Sir?" The Helmsman asked, confused, concerned. He was clearly new here.

"Our duty is to make the breach and keep it open. We will do our duty." The Kel Dor explains.

"But-." The officer hesitated to speak further.

"I understand...all the same, we do what must be done, Captain. Put a hit on the orbital autocannons to the Siege Breaker. They musn't ever be granted a moment's rest to fire them."

"Understood, Admiral. " As soon as it was pinged on the map, the layout of a starfighter task force pinged it back. They'd taken the mission. Slashers, Bruisers and a Drone escort all wrapped in one.

"All the same, this one here, the Malevolence and its ion pulse cannon. It needs to be hit, knocked out. But I won't delegate any of our destroyers to end up within its field of fire...get me Commodore Voss." Var Koon said, before he hailed Hiram Voss . The first two priorities would be delegated, with more missions out on the battlecruisers and proton beam equipped ships of the Sith horde.

"Commodore Voss, a pleasure as always." Var Koon opened in greeting. His conduct over Prefsbelt IV spoke in spades of his ability to command. He would be the right man for the job.

"The vessel I've pinged is your first target, Vanquisher class. At both port and starboard it is equipped with an ion pulse cannon. You know what need be done, move up and disable it. Immobilize more of these Sith ships if at all possible. Use whatever you might require. It is at your disposal. Imperator's will be done." Var Koon commanded in his characteristic frigid tone before he closed the line of communication with a nod.

"Close the gap, move up our pickets to catch the net of fighters when they move to swarm, as they most certainly will try." Var Koon commands.

H A M M E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
HAMMER WING
TARGET // Autarch Class Siege Breaker
TIE/OT Outlander | TIE/HF Slasher | TIE/HB Bruiser Heavy Bomber | TIE/GA Mauler Ground Attack
R O A D _ T O _ B U R N

3...

2...

1...
​

The hydraulic rack system of the FIV Lateralus gave burst to a moment of foreboding silence before soon enough the TIE Slashers would out from their heavy metal cocoon and into the cold embrace of space. The dark confines of cold flouresence within the ship's hangar bay was replaced in the overwhelming sensory envelopment of the battle around them.

Hammer Leader could pick out Ravelin partially shaded dim by the cover of the night sky on the surface of the Imperial throne world before his comms crackled to life.

<"Hammer Squadron form up on me, egressing 224 magnetic, target is 'Siege Breaker' class ship's underbelly orbital autocannons, marked on heads up and multi color display."> The Atrisian sounded out through the comms to affirmation from his squadron mates and the rest of the wing. Under the cover of the TIE Outlanders enveloping the heavier hitting fighters to shield them from any assailing Sith fighters. Not that Slashers had any problems tangling with the Dominance-class, a common enough matchup.

<"Fifteen seconds descending out from target, swap ordinance to disruptor."> Hammer Leader ordered out to the rest of his fighters, a flick of the castle switch at the back of his joystick working the configuration into place himself.

<"Bruiser group, move up to bring the heat."> The Heavy bombers were the first to work. Under the cover of Outlanders, they unfurled their full panoply of war of disruptor bombs into the orbital autocannons before peeling away.

<"Good hits, Hammer, on me."> The Slashers joined the fray.

<"Turbos on, give em hell."> He said before pulsing all power to the wing mounted turbolasers, straining the engine to place a punishing volley of emerald in the direction of the vessel, launching two disruptor torpedoes before peeling away.

<"Mavericks away, mavericks away! Stand by for hit confirmation.">

// ALLIES | NIO //: Hiram Voss | Del Lovruc | Hugot Tyvek VII | Gordon | Detritus Ren
// ALLIES | TGA //: Dracken Pryce | Constantine Oliva | Olen Halcorr
// ENEMY | TSE //: Melia Siari | Grand Moff Aut-X | Thaelius | Onrai

 

[Constantine Oliva]

OBJECTIVE: BATTLE OVER BASTION
Galactic Alliance 3rd fleet, corvette line 253
Allies: Dracken Pryce Olen Halcorr Hugot Tyvek VII Hiram Voss Var Koon
Enemies: Thaelius Onrai Grand Moff Aut-X

Spoiler: Corvette Line 253

20 warrior-IIs
7 Avalon Corvettes
3 Nagata- class gunships

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Constantine had been at Borosk when the Sith attacked. He was only a Captain then, leading Hawk to provide air support for the New Imperial forces. He had barely managed to escape unharmed when the Sith took the planet. The months between Borosk and now, Constantine has been busy. Diplomatic and political missions, as well as his promotion to Commodore. He'd fought his first battle over Brentaal IV. Now he was at Bastion, the seat of the Sith Emperor to help dislodge him.

Already the battle had begun. Fighter squadrons had already been deployed, and the battle on the planet far below was already raging. Far away, the Sith fleet was lying in wait. His battle line would be devastated by even one of the massive battleships appearing on the radar. Constantine was nervous but he refused to show it to his men. The bridge crew of the Hawk looked to him for leadership and a sense of calm amid the chaos of battle. He couldn't afford to let that slip.

"Signal the line. We'll hold back for now, but I still want reports from the captains regularly. I'm not taking any unnecessary casualties today."

"Yessir."

The Galactic Alliance had no true reason to be here, but Constantine knew the Sith and the New Imperial forces would not surrender. The Battle of Bastion would be bloody and no quarter would be given.



Constantine would not abandon his allies.

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Theme: X
Main Objective: Gotterdamerung
Starting Location: Skyscraper, Ravelin City
Coordinated Allies: Vaylin
Umbrella Allies: TSE
Coordinated Enemies: Imperial Warlord Zovesa , Dorian Sicarrio , Mavia
Umbrella Enemies: NIO
Post 1: Prelude to Slaughter

​

The sky of Bastion has always been bright, uncharacteristically so for the capital of the Sith Empire. Was it the sun, he has always wondered? Or was it a facade of hope and prosperity under the reign of dark prophets? He had tried to answer this many times once again as he first stepped atop the gleaming skyscraper, watching the black dots of blasphemes approach from the heretic heavens above.

He looks out to the expansive unending cityscape of silver towers, blocks, pyramids, and orbs. Already, the battles had begun, dozens dying by the minute. People he knew, people he had studied with, people he even despised and wished death upon - but only by his own hand or the hands of those he trusted. To die ingloriously to these traitorous, parentless bastards was an insult that he could not let fall upon friend or foe within the Empire.

His eyes fall to his arms and the Devil grimaces at the scars still healing - laid bare for all to see by a mind refusing to forget who created them. The second fight was not a repeat of the first. That was clear as polished Alderannian diamonds - he is still alive to see these wounds. But even still, the Punished Slayer held his own and through sheer resolve - or guidance from a God outside the control of the Force - had managed to make the outcome a stalemate. Such was the magic of Irveric Tavlar. Taking an assured loss and making it an assured draw via tenacity and stubbornness. Or hell - even an assured victory. Kascalion had been the first to rise up from the thermal detonation, but not without critical injury. Void Stone. A terrible business. One that left him that day with broken arms and ribs and half-liquified kidneys. Weeks in a modified stasis tank to heal - annoyance and indignation building like the Empire that stands against the horde today. Assured victories. Is that not what this whole war was? The cretins of traitorous stock winning when they should have fallen since the first day, the first utterance of disloyal words.

The damage inflicted by Irveric Tavlar was almost permanent. Only a few men and women have ever neared such a feat, and four of them stand near him atop his vantage point. Sisters, trained by his hand for decades, and conditioned to be his family. His followers. One more so than the rest, having become his wife this past year.

“Can’t believe it,” he suddenly hears Hildryn, the Titaness of the four sisters atop the skyscraper with him, whisper as she scrapes a whetstone across her antique blood blade. “Bastards just don’t quit.”

“They’re dogs hunting scraps,” says Caldala, the most practical of all the Devil has ever encountered. The Devil hears the subtle crackling of power within her as she speaks, physically and figuratively. She is a leader and a Force prodigy and was the most dissident to him before the Conditioning. “The Sith have been pushed and pushed by an organization of pure military leadership for a year and a half, maybe longer. Even their Force Users have training in that regard. They’ve tasted the Empire’s flesh and they won’t stop until every strand is ripped from the bone. The defenses can only hold for so long.”

“Like bloodied vultures,” agrees Crestienne - who is more of a moonlit wolf than Serennian like her kin - as she peers down at the citizens rushing to find sanctuary or to pick up a weapon and fight. “There’s no victory today. No clean victory that is. We can win if we play our cards right, but only if we play our cards right.”

The Devil nods at each woman's words and turns to the fourth, his wife. She is neither the tallest, the most savage, nor the most built, but she is instead the most well-rounded. An efficient jack-of-all-trades. That is why he claimed her, and not her sisters, after their training.

She is strong and powerful similar to Hildryn, but not equally so - enough to pose a challenge to most. She is quick and agile like Crestienne, but not as viper like - enough to dodge many strikes before being hit. And she has a mind for battle with the Force and commandership of soldiers like Caldala, but will never be a pure general - enough to lead a strike team or two. Skilled in many things, but a master of none. Simple efficiency - an admirable trait.

“What say you, Jain?” he finally asks, rising to his feet at the edge of the building.

The raven-haired woman is quiet for a very long while, her icy eyes focused on the descending vessels of the heretics, those fighting in the streets below, marching towards the Fortress. Finally, she turns to her husband and sighs with a saddened finality, “I agree with Crestienne. If we play our cards right, we can come out of this alive. But, Caldala is also correct. Even if we win today, they won’t stop. They’ve taken much from the Empire in this war. We may have to cut our losses by battle’s end and flee.”

Crestienne snorts at the prospect and swings her feet over the edge of the building, “Doing so will mark us as cowards - maybe even traitors. Our sudden absence will be noted. Do we really want the Empire after us? Again? No, I say we fight. Maul the worms.”

“That would be foolish,” Hildryn says with an unmatched softness. “It is a tactical retreat, yes? The Consortium waits for us. If we just-”

Cadala shakes her head and raises an open palm, interrupting the towering giant, “The Consortium will not so willingly get involved in wars not of their making. They made that very clear when it was formed. Borosk was an exception and many died there - they do not want to lose entire battalions that they cannot spare.”

It is Hildryn's turn to snort at the prospects, although with less spite than her moonlit sister. Resting the hilt of her blade against her massive right shoulder, she turns her gaze to the nearby Fortress Carnifex. “Then what? We just hide until the Empire is a corpse in the ground?”

Cadala huffs and looks to the further encroaching heretic fleet, “The Empire is already a corpse in the ground...we have to leave if we are to survive this. The Empire can hold attrition beyond Bastion, but this is a battle we cannot win, Hildryn.”

“They will hunt us down,” warns Crestienne, her eyes fixated on a gathering crowd of citizens arming themselves to fight and defend. “Official orders or not...someone will come. They always do.”

The Devil hisses for silence and turns his attention back to the enemy in the sky and those now landing on the ground, joining the rest marching towards their objectives. For slaughter. A tragedy. That is what this all is. A dark, grotesque tragedy of an Empire pushed too far to the edge above a pit of vipers. An ever-growing expanse driven back in on itself without allies, without friends to call upon. Betrayal upon betrayal upon betrayal. Schisms and heathenry and the breaking of treatises and the abandonment of comrades. The ravaging of war so impure and obscene that it can only bring laughs and tears from those that fight in it and look upon it.

Something large explodes below the skyscraper's peak, adding emphasis to the fact. Chunky debris of metal and stone and even minced bodies fly up in the low cloud of smoke. A veiled mushroom of ending that stings the eyes of the punished faithful.

But he continues to stare - unblinking as the blood inside him boils with malfeasance and hate - no, not that. It is...dissatisfaction. Disappointment. It is here. They are here. It was close in the preluding battles, but it has come all the same. Planets abandoned, left to wither and grow again under a new rule. And here they were. Here he was. The Devil exhales heavily with a mist of great annoyance as the sky continues to darken and brighten from arriving and departing ships. Bloodied smog blankets of war.

This is truly it. The day he had warned himself of, yet did not want to believe. Everything that happened after that vision seemed spontaneous and outside of a set path, yet here he was all the same.

“You will fight and you will slaughter and you will reach power untold among the pain you will suffer. And then you will retire to Conviction. To home.”

The voice rings in his mind, burning yet cold. Remembrance of prophecy he subconsciously tried to deny - the entrance of his new life and the departure of his old. Would it truly be a new life of warm embrace or empty darkness? It would not be a powerful dark that he soaked in every day nor a hopeful dark like that within a decent sleep. Not a joyous dark like that shared with a beloved in the night. Would it be a sad, lonely dark meant to be shared alone forever and always? The type of dark that encourages you to close your eyes and never open them again? Would it be the oblivion many claim to want to reside in, yet fear to visit whenever it draws near? Or would it be peace and resolution with his sins? He hopes for the latter. He hopes for a warm calm.

Either way, today was the heat death of the Devil's corrupted universe, the time-ending castrophony so immense it can be heard in an existence beyond his own. The Devil looks to his dear wife for the stability that eludes him at this moment, hoping that she will break out of her awed stupor and console him. She does not. Instead, she merely looks back with shadowed crystalline eyes and tries to smile a sad smile. A comforting attempt in some way, but a failed attempt altogether.

“The sedatives, perhaps, were a mistake for this day,” he quietly muses.

“It was a necessity,” she whispers back, nodding once to assure him. “We wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, right?”

There is a long silence shared between the five. The only sounds around them are the screams and cracks of distant and near battle. His anger begins to take firm hold as he feels the departure of not one, not two, not three. Five Sith. Acolytes perhaps, but their potential could still be felt. A disjointed rage that is clinging to the truth of his now broken and pointless cause. If he cannot change the fate he set for himself, then he shall ensure that he does not go quietly into the good night. He will not abandon his people.

"I am a Hand of the Emperor and I will serve this day as such…" he growls, drawing his wife and her sisters to attention. "I want them killed. As many as you can lay into the graves. I must find Vaylin at Fortress Carnifex or do my best to stymie the offensive on the approach. Stay together and I will contact you all soon."

The four can only bow to his words and act according to his orders, no matter their previous reservations and conflict with each other. Slaughter and main they were told. Slaughter and maim they will. Crestienne, grinning despite at the prospect of violence, howls at the sky - it is strident and carries for miles across the city, piercing the air. Caldala and Hildryn briefly groan and smirk respectively at the sight of her sibling rearing her head back in savage joy and leap over the gap between buildings, dropping down into the cityscape below. She and Cadala quickly follow suit, leaving Jain alone with the Devil for but a moment.

“Stay alive,” he says to her plainly.

“I shall,” she says equally plain before following her sisters across rooftops.

The Devil stares dead-eyed as the images of his wife and her kin disappear into the battle and gazes upon the scars one last time. If they are to remain, they shall serve as the drive he needs to fight - his enemies and himself.

The visage of his bearded grey-skinned humanity reshapes itself to match his unleashing hound of rage. His veins begin to blacken and his sight suddenly shows him the dead beach and the creeping ocean. His skin begins to flake off in sheets to reveal new layers of deep corruption previously held in check. His already defined muscles burst at the seams against the cracking, reshaping, and hardening of his bones, causing an agonized scream to escape his thickened throat. The armor he has chosen for this day strains at first, but reshapes itself as he does as if it is aware of its purpose to protect him.

I find himself drawn into the ocean’s waves, towards the Maw within that craves me and empowers me.

The Devil flails himself across the rooftop, the pain incredible and searing. Greying hair turns black as oil and his beard sheds to make way for sharpened and scarred features. A damaged elderly man in his seventies, his teeth sharp like a shark's and his irises beaming with a color out of space. From within his armor's robes, the entranced Devil retrieves a device - a metallic layered breathing mask - and hooks it over his cracked lips and corruption oozing jaw. Filtered gasses immediately begin pumping through internal ports and into his lungs, sedating him, keeping his true self submerged. The last resort to keep hell at bay.

My eyes, buried under the waves, are locked onto the maw within the ocean floor. The void in the void. It was always there. Always. It is a reflection of me. I am irredeemable. I cannot change myself. I am to return home, as I have decreed to myself, and face this reflection. Atone or live as I am.

“Come home,” it cries out to me. “Come home. Come home.”

Twin blades of his lightsaber ignite, eyes are focused on the nearby fortress - besieged by numbers untold. A bloody smile forms under the mask. A devil's smile. Thus charges the Promethean, a single thought now remaining in his mind: Time to end this.

 

[Aerith Krayt]

Location: Fortress Carnifax
Enemy: Lirka Ka
Gear: Armor/ Rest in Bio.

Aerith had been in battle before, she had been in the middle of that disaster of a siege on Borosk, barely gotten out alive, and here she was again; back in the fire. The drop-ship rocked about, being shaken to pieces by the anti-air fire that was more than likely sheering the paint off the transports. She had been issued a new set of armor for this battle, a heavier set to help get the most bang for her buck. The power suit was a bit bulkier, but on the other hand, Aerith felt ready to take on whatever that combat droid she had fought on Borosk was. Being the biggest hunk of metal in the hold, she stood rather than sat, the sound of quiet prayers and explosions was the music of this ship, and it was a sorry state of affairs. Most of these men wouldn't survive the first five minutes they touched the ground, but it was a sacrifice they had to be willing to make.

It was funny, she had always heard of Bastion growing up, heard it be mentioned several times over by her Sith masters. Now here she was years later, laying siege to it. Life was funny like that, wasn't it? She wanted to tell herself that this would be the end, that after this mission she would put her life as a tool away. She knew it was a lie. She'd never be able to stop killing. As sad as it was, she enjoyed it in a way, it was revenge for all the mind games they had played with her. In a way, the Sith had ruined her. Her thoughts went back to the scavenger who had saved her on Borosk, the same one she had abandoned once her repairs were complete. Shai Maji had been so open to her, so kind to her, and yet that hard wiring inside the cyborg had compelled her to leave. Maybe once this was done she'd try and find her again. Assuming she survived this.

The 'thump' of impact sounded, and the landing ramp practically exploded outward. Aerith was given a glipse of hell once again, as she stomped forward, seeing a bulwark of barricades, laser fire, and corpses aligning the bridge towards the massive structure. Moving as quickly as she could, she was the first one out of the transport, had hardly taken more than six steps, and felt a 'whoosh' shove her forward as the transport erupted into flames. Sparing a foolish glance behind her, Aerith only found melting bodies in the wake within the twisted metal. The men behind her had been taking as an offering in her place. She would have to make it count for them. Rushing towards the onslaught of weapons fire, she began to unload her REC into the few positions she could reach. There was going to be hell to pay.

 

[Nida Perl]

Gotterdammerung | Imperial Capital Complex | Datacenter
Allies | Cara Dorniarn
Enemies | Amon Vizsla | Tulan Kor

They were ruthless.

She’d thought the same about the Sith, once. Twice. A dozen, maybe a hundred times. Every instance when the Sith had ravaged a Jedi world, Nida was in awe at how brutal they were. She’d been privy to the escalation between the Sith Empire and the New Imperial Order, but she never knew the details. Right now, details didn’t matter.

The Order had descended upon Bastion like a blight, swarming Ravelin and pushing into Imperial complexes with gusto. The Sith world was heavily fortified, but the enemy had come with that in mind. They were organized, cunning, and prepared. They’d come with the intent to win, and the Sith’s will to preserve was just as robust.

The Datacenter was a massive building, spiraling upwards into the skies of Ravelin. Nida was already within the complex once the klaxons began to blare, assisting with the retrieval and cataloging of genetic data from the Imperial archives. She’d suited up into the most skintight garment she’d even worn, a gift from AMCO which was apparently armor. Vaguely, Nida recalled her mother owning something similar. Uncomfortable with the overall look, she’d draped herself in a charcoal cloak and perched in one of the open-air halls winding around the massive central data core.

The core of the datacenter would be breached, of that much she was sure. The enemy was determined to cut a path through their forces, and the sound of the rocket volleys and blaster fire complimented their resolve. Nida’s hand clenched the railing as she immersed herself with the Force, extending her senses out towards where the fighting was and drinking in the anguish from the perishing soldiers. Imperial trooper or Sith trooper, it mattered not—their fear and pain were a source of energy and revitalization.

Nida’s brow furrowed as something familiar brushed her mind. Someone familiar. She couldn’t place it, but she was uneasy.

 

[Hunter Blackburn]

OBJECTIVE // Secure Sith Data
LOCATION // Imperial Capital Complex
ALLIES // Atlas Kane
ENEMIES // Darth Ophidia

Spoiler: [FONT=Courier New]Equipment[/FONT]

Imperial Knight Armor
Vibrosword
Hybrid Pistol
Void Grenade
Double Vibroblade
Magnetic Disruption Device

There was a line between a mere fighter and a warrior. Behind the warrior there was a purpose, there was a rhyme, a reason. They laid their life down for what they believed in. A fighter, a simple soldier simply followed the orders issued to them. That was the difference between the Legionaries and the Sith that followed the Empire. They had no reason, they had no purpose but to rule and destroy, that didn’t make them champions, that didn’t make them heroes. It made them nothing more than scum in the eyes of Crius. At least the Sith that fought alongside the New Imperial Order had a purpose, and had chosen to be on the right side of history.

The silver blades of Crius’ whirled through the air, off the sides of the blades, crimson darts of were flung off and reflected away into the nearby walls. With a swift flash, they cleaved through the crimson armor of a S-imp, from head to groin. Without even stopping Crius leaped rolling over the falling corpse, the other side of the double-bladed sword coming down and slicing clean through another soldier's arm right beneath the elbow. The man cried out, blood gushing from the fresh wound they dropped to their knees before the armor-clad figure.

Their screams fell on death ears, how many worlds had the Empire done such a thing to? Brought to their knees, destroyed, left them begging for mercy only to continue their needless slaughter? How many innocents had died from these soldiers simply following orders? There was nothing the legionnaire could say to stay the blade of judgment.

Down Crius’ blade came at an angle. The soldier saw nothing but a flash, and then slowly the helmet they wore fell to the ground with a thump. The scent of ozone filled the corridor, at Crius’ feet corpses lay strewn about, and behind him the sound of a lightsaber continued.

“Thought I told you not to slow me down?”

Turning towards the sound, Crius looked towards the armored Sith. Tavlar had commanded them to infiltrate the complex and retrieve what information they could from the Sith servers, they were meant to be quick, effective, and most of all deadly. Grip tightening around his weapon, behind the dark visor Crius’ eyes narrowed on the lean figure. He couldn’t bring himself to trust the Sith, the entire vision of the New Imperial Order was to break free from them, and yet here they were fighting alongside them once more, at least here they weren’t subservient.

 

[LT-137]

INTERLUDE
Pre-Commencement / In-Transit.
Aboard the Guerdon; Flagship of the Golden Armada.​

A strigil, fashioned from a piece of acid-etched ivory, flowed across the Warrior's uncovered flesh with practiced grace. The hand that guided the curved tool was one of consummate skill. This was a ritual that she performed many times. She would've kept count, but as time became meaningless - there was no longer a need. After they took her eyes, and her tongue - all that remained was her mind, and the task at hand. Sadly, the Warrior was trained in the blackest of arts. He knew that a mind, even if that was all that one had left, could still be used against him by those seeking to tear him down. So, the towering figure had her mind - and those who dwelled within the dimly-lit arming Chamber - bleached of all sensation or reason. All that she ever was became a distant echo. She saw glimpses of her past, every now and then. Her eyes would brighten as the recollection took hold. She was strong then - a Warlord herself in such a manner.

Upon taking her station, the now-blinded woman was bound by oath to uphold their ancestors' vows. For in a time scarcely remembered, the peoples of the twice-scorched world of Thyrsus found themselves on the losing side of a conflict they never started. As the victors, their ancestors decreed that the Scions of that world were to be shackled for their own good, or cast off into depths of space in the hopes they died alone - cold and forgotten. The former was a fate that was endured for countless centuries, so much so that the Sunborn's barbaric culture began to fade away, replaced by something entirely new. They were starting to comply with her every demand, just as those before her experienced. Rebellions were rare, especially when she held a proverbial gun to their collective heads. If it wasn't for the unexpected return of the Exiled Sons and Daughters? Well, her present fate would have been very different.

She could've lived untold decades out of the eyes of her people. Having the barbarians serving her every whim. Yet, here She was. Her insidious machinations were thwarted by the very same Warrior whose defiled flesh she now daubed with cinnamon-scented oils. In many respects, she was a self-styled Queen of the Thyrsian people, despite her skin being of different colour and her hair spun from threads of silver. With her throne broken, the woman - who had forgotten her name - served as nothing more than a Blinded, Mute, and Brain-bleached Arming Slave. The Galaxy believed her to be dead. That she was slain during the Reclamation Crusade, an event that saw to her downfall as self-imposed Sovereign, and then the liberation - and reunification of the disparate Scions of Thyrsus.

No one would be coming to save her. No one knew she was alive, let alone the gruesome fate that awaited her every time the Warrior clad himself in his gilded panoply. She tried resisting at first. After he took her eyes and her tongue - She sought to deprive him of his armour. Yet, there was some malicious entity that dwelled within the Chamber alongside the other Arming Slaves. It nearly took her hand for attempting to meddle with the Warrior's vestments. Suffice to say, She learned her lesson then. In many ways, what the Warrior subjected her too was cruel. However, as her mind was continually bleached of sensation and recollection - the woman was nothing more than a puppet. Strung along by the memories lingering within her muscles and the nutritious paste that filled her belly. This pitiful existence was her penance for enslaving the Thyrsian people, and in the mind of the Warrior - this Khonsu Amon? He believed it was a fate that was righteously earned.

What he had done to her body and to her mind were precautions. It would've been foolish to have his secret revealed long before he was ready, all because of a chance encounter between an enemy and his arming slave.

When the last of the cinnamon-scented oils were scraped from his form, Khonsu stepped off the basalt platform and proceeded towards the towering, circular shape of his personal arming rack. His xenografted flesh was cleansed in a twisted version of the traditional rites of a Warrior on Thyrsus. Typically, a Warrior would inscribe themselves with oils and scrape them from their flesh - cleansing themselves and focusing their minds on the battle ahead. But, with the additions made to Khonsu's flesh? He couldn't join his brothers and sisters in the ritual cleansing, not without his secret becoming known to the masses, and sold to the highest bidder. It was a sacrifice that he was willing to make, especially when the Beast's flesh and spliced genes gave him incredible power.

Stepping into the arming cradle, his layered flesh was soon draped in his armour's tech-suit. Which was a bodyglove, that was forged in the sinuous likeness of his own muscular frame. The suit embraced Khonsu's towering form like a long-lost lover. Neural nodes hissed with pressurization as they connected, sending a sharp pain through the man's nervous system as they surged with activity. He growled as the sensation faded, before verbally commanding the arming cradle to activate. With a whisper of oiled pneumatics, the circular armature spun to life - bathing the Warlord in an arterial crimson hue. A selection of mechanical limbs sprung out from their integrated alcoves, selecting pieces of gilded armour from a nearby pedestal.

Within minutes, Khonsu's form was fully armoured in his aureate panoply. Every piece was magnetically sealed or bolted to his muscular frame. When the whirring armature came to a halt, the Warlord was released from its embrace. Reflexively, the Warlord stepped off the crimson-bathed platform only to stand before the remaining adornments that would be affixed to his armoured form. An ebony and silver-scaled kama, wrought from the hide of a great Dragonsnake that nearly claimed the lives of himself and his men amongst the fetid swamps of Dagobah. Other trophies found themselves affixed to his armoured form - each bearing some unknown significance to the Warlord and his aureate panoply. The one Khonsu treasured the most, was a cloak of the purest blue, that was magnetically fixed to his pauldrons by a pair of shimmering brass Suns.

Without thinking, as if driven by instinct alone, Khonsu gingerly pressed an armoured digit against each of the Suns in religious reverence. Hushed whispers were spoken, beseeching the Twinned Suns of his Homeworld to bear witness to his deeds. He knew they wouldn't listen. They were nothing more than incandescent orbs of highly-ionized dust, given life by an uncaring Universe. Many would speak ill of such barbaric beliefs. When organic life could control the very fabric of reality with their disciplined mind, what need was there of such archaic faith? The Gods were made real. Their command over reality was undeniable, and their power was unquestioned. However, despite all of this - they still perished. These Force Wielders may proclaim themselves to be Gods - but they are nothing more than Gifted Instruments of a power that cared little for their myriad trespasses. They, like the mewling mortals they sought to lord over - still bled like anyone else.

After his words faded into the arming Chamber's silence, Khonsu's darkened eyes turned towards his crested Helmet. There was no turning back. With one final effort, everything that he had been working towards - especially the war amongst the shadows against his former teacher - would finally come to a head. This battle was a tipping point that would either shatter his best-laid plans and all of his contingencies or bring about a new age of prosperity for his kind and the world they hailed from. Failure was not an option. Without fanfare or the reverence shown towards the cloak that adorned his shoulders, the Warlord lifted his gilded battle-helm from whence it rested and placed it upon his brow. A subtle twist, followed by the all-too-familiar hiss of pressurized air, signalled that the Thyrsian was finally entombed within the golden vestments of his cultural vocation.

The crystalline visor before his eyes flashed once with its activation, filling his vision with the false-firelight of glittering emeralds and arterial rubies. Screeds of data spilled forth from the darkness, as the powered armour ran through a veritable list of diagnostics. Each test came back with a pulsating Thyrsian rune - with everything reading as optimal. As the Warlord moved away from the arming pedestal - his darkened gaze fell upon a crystalline sword that hung from the bulkhead. It would've been iconic, and ultimately ironic if he wielded this cursed blade in the battle ahead. Hearteater, the Sword of the Sith Emperor, bequeathed from one apprentice to another - and the very weapon that once set him on a darkened and irredeemable path.

There was a moment that the Warlord considered taking up the blade, and finally wielding the sword against its former masters. However, as his fingers ran along the poisoned, crystalline surface - an ashen revenant sprang forth from the depths of his memories. Arcanus Sunstrider, the very Jedi Master that he nearly killed in the streets of Mon Calamari's - Coral City. He stopped and withdrew his fingers from the cursed blade. "No," Khonsu whispered to himself. "Your hold over me was broken the day I put this blasted blade through that Jedi Master's chest."

"Never again," He growled. "Like my people, we shall be free of your legacy. We will never again succumb to your honeyed lies or shadowy manipulations. Once Bastion falls… the Galaxy will learn it has nothing to fear. The fires of Hope shall be rekindled, as Darkness falls…"

PRESENT
Post-Planetfall.
Ravelin, the Great Imperial Ruling City.
Military Sector - Castle Blackblade.​

The Fortress was a towering edifice of layered Basalt armoured plates, edged in metallic silver and arterial crimson. Grand banners, woven from carnelian threads and heavy with the honours of unnumbered campaigns, billowed in the unnatural breeze. It was a sight to behold. Truly, a testament to the significance of the location, and those dwelling within the labyrinthine network of cavernous halls. Were it not marred by the cloying haze of battle, and the deep scars inflicted by the Sun Guard's opening volley - Khonsu might've considered himself wholly impressed at this feat of defensive engineering. Instead, as the Warlord and his forces made planetfall, the man thought this landmark to be nothing more than an obstacle that stood in his path. One that needed to be toppled before moving towards the remaining Fortresses within Ravelin's military sector.

While the might of the New Imperial's would throw themselves against the walls of the Imperial Palace - named after the Sith Emperor himself - the Sun Guard elected to tackle Ravelin's Military Sector. As the City was the size of a Continent, one could only imagine the amount of tactical cohesion required to successfully carry out an assault. Let alone the defence of the sprawling Imperial Centre. Thus was Khonsu's reasoning for leading his forces against the twinned Fortresses of Castle Blackblade and Ultima. While the Sith-Imperial Legion, and likely a significant portion of the Blackblade themselves, would be deployed in the Administrative Sector - their Commanders would likely remain far from the battle.

Although many of their Officers would take to the field to earn the Emperor's favour and untold glory, many preferred to wage war from behind a tactical display. Having studied the Sith Empire greatly, during their tenure as Mercenaries to the cause, the Sun Guard knew precisely where the Craven Wretches of Sith-Imperial Command would be. The High-ranking Officers who oversaw the Defense of their Great, Imperial City would be situated within those walls. Adding in the various Commanders of the Emperor's personal Praetorians? The Military Sector was filled with targets of opportunity, ripe for the taking.

As one would expect - the path the Sun Guard took wasn't the easiest. In fact, the Military Sector was one of the most heavily defended sections of the Eperoolis, aside from the Administrative Sector. It took much of the orbiting warships of the Golden Armada to punch a hole in the Sith-Imperial defence network and provide a safe approach vector for the hundreds of disgorged Thyrsian dropships. Even then, their appointed trajectory was assailed by a thousand-fold anti-aerial emplacements - each seeking to tear their carbon-scored transports out of the sky. As soon as they touched down - their forces were thrown into the midst of a bitter firefight. The enemy had time to prepare their defences and knew the terrain marginally better than their assailants. That gave the Sith Empire the primary advantage. However, as more and more Thyrsian Hoplites and Sun Guard burst forth from their transports with weapons raised - that advantage slowly began to fade.

Advanced weapons, the likes of which had never been seen in the hands of others, roared with personified fury. Ochre beams of coruscating lightning rattled forth, turning Sith-Imperial Soldiers to billowing pillars of smouldering ash. Their projected energy fields flared to life as they were bracketed by the Defender's weapons but initially failed to slay their targets. It wasn't until the heavier weapons were brought into play that the Thyrsian Hoplites began to take mounting casualties. Their defensive barriers failed under the sudden barrage of unstable plasmatic weaponry. Exploding outwards as the plasmatic cannonade washed across their flaxen armour. The Sun Guard, on the other hand, were wholly unphased by the renewed assault. Their armour and projected bulwarks safeguarded them from harm - long enough to silence entire sections of improvised barricades.

Their lightning assault gave the dropships time to deploy additional forces, alongside entire armoured columns. Thyrsian Walkers took to the field alongside bulbous Battle tanks, decimating entire structures with their combined assault. The clouds of dust that were birthed by such untold destruction threatened to darken the skies for days if it wasn't for the unnatural breeze summoned forth by the fighting. What made matters worse was the amount of debris and detritus that littered the various throughways and side-streets. The towering Thyrsian Walkers held little regard for the clutter that sought to block their advance. Still, the Hoplites and the Sun Guard found themselves forced to go around these obstacles - or mount them whenever possible.

However, as many Thyrsian soldiers mounted these improvised barricades, they found themselves thrown into a pitched battle with Sith-Imperial forces seeking to do the same. The sounds of clattering steel and dying screams were drowned out by the cacophony of explosive detonations from lobbed grenades or timed charges. Even the thunderclap of various energy weapons added to the destructive chorus. To say that the battle was bitter in any sense of the word, was an understatement. These Sith-Imperial Soldiers were fighting for their Empire, and their Homes thereafter. They would fling themselves into combat with reckless abandon - seeking to take down as many Gilded Invaders as they could, before finally succumbing to their wounds. It was madness, but such fervour was spurned forth by their extensive indoctrination. Better to die for the Empire, than to live for thine self. In many ways, these Sith-Imperial Legionaries were religious fanatics - who were highly-organized and willing to die for their Emperor.

While many Sun Guard considered them to be relatively easy to kill when engaged in combat - they couldn't deny how deadly their zealous fervour was.

For what seemed like an eternity, Khonsu led his men from the front. With sword and shield in hand, the Thyrsian Warlord cut a proverbial swathe through the forces that opposed his relentless advance. His armour's protective embrace shielded him from many assailants, including the Sith Assassins that sprung from the shadows - seeking to claim his head for their Shadowy Masters. Only once, during the entirety of his push towards the Castle Blackblade, did Khonsu's shields finally give out. A lucky round from a Sith-Imperial walker clipped the projected corona of his mobility shield, causing it to collapse in a cascading shower of flickering plasmatic vapour. There was a sniper nearby who saw the Supreme Sun Guardian's barrier fail, and sought to take advantage of the situation. It didn't help Khonsu's cause that he was clad in the most ornate of his kind's battle gear - let alone wore the most lavish of cloaks from his pauldrons.

The man stuck out like a sore thumb.

The Sniper took aim by levelling his rifle with the recovering Master of the Sun Guard, only depressing the trigger when his sights lined up with the target. He had the man dead to rights. However, there was a crimson flash as a Lightsabre sprang to life - with that all too familiar snap-hiss - blocking the path that the bolt was intended to take. Instead of laying the Supreme Sun Guardian low- the plasmatic bolt was reflected back from whence it came. It struck the Sniper in the eye as the Soldier sought to realign his weapon's sights.

"I thought the Sun Guard were more careful than that," the Crimson-bathed Warrior bellowed with a prideful smirk framing his lips. "You would've died before we even reached the foot of Castle Blackblade! What of your Legend then, Sun Guard?"

Khonsu snarled as he finally recovered, slamming home a new power cell into his shield projector. "It would be taken up by another," the Warlord shouted back. "Such is the way of things amongst Warriors!"

"Fair enough, Sun Guard," the Crimson-bathed Warrior said, as he directed yet another barrage of laser-fire away from an advancing Thyrsian Hoplites. From his affirmed stance amidst the rubble, and the coruscating red Lightsabre that was brandished - One could easily surmise that this man was a part of the Sith Order. Such assumptions were correct, however, the man didn't belong to the Empire and their Cult any longer. In fact, he was reportedly one of the few that first walked away from the Coven of Carnifex once the first signs of weakness took hold. Much of their religion was perverted in favour of stagnancy. Which was the very antithesis to the belief system and ancient code of the Sith. While many practices remained the same, others were outlawed - all in the hopes of not repeating the mistakes of the past. While admirable at first, the truth of such machinations came to light not long after their implementation.

He introduced himself as Darth Futris before the assault began. The man was to act as the New-Imperial Attache to their assault on the Military Quarter, likely reporting to his Commanders of the Thyrsian's progress. Khonsu didn't care for the man. It wasn't because of his status within the Imperial Rebellion, nor his religious inclination. No, it was because of his peacockish personality. Like many Sith, they believed themselves to be wholly superior to everyone - including others of their kind. So, it was only natural that Darth Futris thought himself to be an apex predator amongst the lesser rabble. If only the man knew the truth. His form was sloppy at best. The uneven ground caused marginal errors to arise within his roving spheres of defence.

At a glance, Khonsu found seven openings that he could've exploited with the tip of his lightning-shrouded blade - if they weren't allied in cause and purpose. Nevertheless, the Warlord tilted his head to thank the Crimson-bathed Warrior as their eyes once again connected. The act sent a shiver of revulsion through the Sun Guard's nerves. He was disgusted by the notion of being saved by a member of the Sith Order, let alone sharing the battlefield with them. However, such thoughts of internalized odium were soon swallowed by the oppressive atmosphere of the ensuing battle. His ingrained, and battle-hardened instincts swept aside everything from his conscious mind that wasn't related to the surrounding conflict. It was clear that the enemy sought to use the terrain and elevation to their advantage, meaning that more Snipers were setting up positions in the nearby structures.

His assumption was proven correct as three plasmatic bolts lanced out from a nearby building, taking out one of his Hoplite Medics, and two nearby Squad Leaders. Growling a set of orders over the encrypted Thyrsian BattleNet - Khonsu directed the considerable firepower of a towering Eradicator towards the structure with a flourish of his sweeping blade. The gilded behemoth turned its massive, spindly bulk towards the building. The twinned cannons of its primary armament rapidly began accruing lethality. There was a deafening whine of energy building up, filling the back of Khonsu's mind with an invisible pressure, before suddenly being released in a blinding barrage of solarized plasma.

A portion of the building vaporized before the superheated gasses began melting what remained. The duracrete sloughed off the structure and began pooling around the building's foundations - bathing a pair of Sith-Imperial Tanks and supporting Infantry Squads in a molten landslide. Khonsu laughed as he bore witness to the aftermath of his command. It was a horrible way to die, buried alive by molten duracrete. There was a part of him that wanted to order the Walker to unleash another barrage at the base of the tower - to end their suffering if they weren't dead already. Other buildings needed to be toppled. Let them burn or suffocate amongst the ruins. Either way, their deaths were assured. Why waste the effort to expedite their fate?

Brushing the cooling pile of slag from his mind, Khonsu pushed forward. It wasn't long until they would reach the Castle Blackblade proper. Still, the amount of resistance they were pitted against - alongside the various setbacks made the advance take longer than they initially projected. As a result, many of the waypoints they had set were forcibly revised. There were also missed opportunities as flights of Thyrsian Starfighters swept across the City. They were unable to unleash their payloads with any accuracy, only because entrenched targets weren't marked by the forward elements of the Sun Guard's advance. Instead, their munitions were expended against the proverbial swarms of Sith-Imperial Starfighters that sought to establish Aerial Superiority over the Military Sector proper.

While they were outnumbered, the advanced technologies woven into their void-capable frames, alongside the supporting Gunships from the Golden Armada, made such a task incredibly tricky for the forces of the Sith Empire. As the airborne forces duelled for supremacy, their fiery remains began plummeting towards the surface - throwing up more billowing pillars of dust and debris. Their emblazoned wreckage made the terrain even more treacherous, as their explosive remains caused the streets to fill with a wide array of micro-craters. There were even casualties on either side as a result. The odd Thyrsian Starfighter plummeted into an entrenched Sith-Imperial position, whilst a Sith Starfighter spiralled into the shielded edifice of an advancing Eradicator.

In what felt like a proverbial age, the Thyrsian Army finally pushed through the Sith-Imperial forces to reach their destination. Before them lay the gargantuan Fortress forged from lusterless obsidian - bristling with gun batteries and able-bodied defenders. Khonsu's lips curled into a smile as he saw the network of defensive structures and trenches that were situated along the Fortress' approach.

"It's a shame we've gotta tear her down," Darth Futris said, over their shared and encrypted Comms channel, as he came to stand beside the Thyrsian Warlord. "I would've loved to make this Fortress into my personal Palace."

Khonsu disregarded the Sith's words with a retaliatory grunt. "I have little interest in your plans, Futris. Focus on the present, and surviving this damned Siege." Without waiting for a response, Khonsu turned away from the Fortress and cast his eyes out into the teeming sea of Flaxen Yellow, and Aureate-clad Warriors that began trickling in. This was the largest deployment of the Sun Guard, and their subordinate Auxiliaries since the First Thyrsian Crusade. The Warlord's lips peeled back ever wider - as those memories threatened to stir themselves from the ashes of history. "Brothers," He began after his integrated A.I. swapped frequencies within the encrypted channels dedicated to the Thyrsian BattleNet. "Sisters, and all who stand ascendant beneath the Twinned Suns of Thyrsus. We stand here - as One people - united by our hatred of the Sith and their Empire. They have taken everything from us throughout history, and never once - paid for their uncounted crimes."

"Today, that changes! Today, we rise up against those who would seek to enslave us. To demand our fealty and unquestioning loyalty in return for nothing, but a Master's satisfaction to an Obedient Dog." ​

"We will, never again, be Slaves! Our Freedom... is ours to take, and our Future... is ours to make!"​

Khonsu was never known to make speeches. Even when they reclaimed his Homeworld from the Echani Devils that enslaved it, the Warlord was taciturn, saying very little to the gathered masses. However, it seemed that Bastion was different. This Crusade, as it were, was to avenge the betrayed spirits of the Sun Guard's collective ancestors. To rage against the beleaguered Sith and their Empire as they entered their Hour of Twilight. Thus, to mark the occasion, Khonsu felt inspired and wished to share such elation with the Troops. Whether it had the impact he imagined and desired was another story entirely. Regardless, as the last words eclipsed his smirking lips - Khonsu turned back towards the distant Castle and it's killing fields. He pointed the tip of his blade towards the monolithic structure and felt a fire ignite within his armoured breast.

"LIVE AND DIE BY THE SWORD," the Warlord bellowed. His battle-scarred and gilded form surged forth, as the words sprang from his mouth - the lightning-wreathed blade betwixt his fingers spearing towards the gargantuan Castle. "IN AUREATE CLAD!!"

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

// Legion Commander // 307th Red Riders //
// Armor / Hand Of God / Rifle / Pistol / Saber(s) / Grenade //
// Fortress Carnifex // Flanking // Surrounding City Sector
// Allies : NIO / Irveric Tavlar Lucien Dooku Avernus @Anyone nearby
// Enemy : TSE / Jain

B u r n T h e S h i p s​

---

---

Eight Standard Hours Before..
Sith-Imperial Space, In Transit.....

The halls of the Inceptus they had found themselves stationed on was rife with troopers on the move, the low thunder of boots echoed down the long metallic halls of the assault ship. Orders faintly buzzed from the helmets of the troopers, orders that had come from her very lips in preparation. Lyra stormed down the corridors toward the main hangar, a handful of staff on her heels as they exchanged quiet words. The fresh coat on the tenebrae hid the charred marks from Dubrillion, she had lost four helmets now and her luck was running thin.

Her eyes swept down to the new helm in hand, the green lens reflected the florescents. Not this time, she swore silently as a hot gust escaped her and she scoffed. Her thoughts lingered on the soft faces of the twins, of her boys. Her eyes fell shut and she shook her head, the hiss of the blast doors that opened before her served as a warning. The cut of the steel pulled her from her reveries. The final preparations were set and when she stepped into the hangar bay she tucked the piece of armor under her arm. They passed the fuel lines and crews who raced to finish the final flight checks. Those who weaved between them, the commanders and noncoms who inspected the first teams to drop-gathered as she waved them down. The 307th was spilling out in the steel bays, faint shouts mingled with the machinery as ships fired up, the heat of the repulsors filling the space.

“Big announcement time, yeah gather around-I don’t care everyone who ever is nearby-” Lyra’s voice carried, and she raised one gauntlet to flag the nearest soldiers in. There was little time to line the rank and file up down the halls, to stand on ceremony. Her attention roved across the faces, human and otherwise-the red painted helmets.The soldiers hustled as they pulled in. Some of it was hasty work and she made a point to meet the eyes of those who stepped up, badges and battalions mixed and bleeding together.. “welcome privates, crewmen to the Officers meeting, someone go ahead and set the broadcast-yeah no don't go anywhere. Take a knee, yeah come on fall in!-We are leaving tonight!”

Lyra turned slowly to take in the gathering, and she offered a simple nod to the first man to pull up the recorder. There was a hush still, the faint sound of heavy tools that echoed along the ships. Lyra tilted her head, offering up her helmet to the crewman on her right before she took a few hasty steps out before the crowd that had formed. They would enter hyperspace shortly, and she cleared her throat, it had been several months-

“Welcome back ma’am!” the sentiment parroted from nameless corners of the crowd.

“Not like I left but thank you-” Lyra droned but she grinned anyway, her servo fishing for her smoke and lighter. There was a buzz in the air, something sharper that caught her attention and it swarmed in the Force. Her gaze sweeping over the troopers that haunted the edges of the meeting to whoever had spoken up, there was a shuffle and relative silence that descended over the rank and Lyra produced her smoke-sindging the end until it gave in and burned. She took a drag from it, the smoke far more bitter then she remembered, and she savored it before she dared speak up. “this..will be a little different then usual, what I am going to say at least..A Lot different really-You know I will admit it. I didn’t think we could do this, I dealt with the numbers, the organization, under the twelfth..we weren’t supposed to win..”

The woman took a short drag from the cigarette, a little fool hardy but she could taste how close they were to the end. Tossing her arms up, Lyra began to speak..

“I see a few beskar’gam, and the volunteers I see you, zabrak gunners. That motivates the shit out of me. I wasn’t motivated before but that there does. Fucking professionals, why professionals? Is that what we’re called?” Lyra said, demanding as she motioned to the men and women a quiet response in turn. Her voice raising as she gestured to them-trying to ignore the flicker of the play back on the ship’s holo feed on the hands of the tech crew-so they could all hear. “I think you’re all lunatics, crazy bastards to sign on for the hardest fight to exist. You all signed up, some of us here topside are ex-legion. Well we’ve been fighting longer then some of you, but you all came along for the ride. Your work on Dubrillion set the stage..You know the Legion-They wanted us cold, methodical, clean cut. They didn’t realize the strength in what this is right fucking here-”

She pointed with the smoke in hand toward the washed steel underfoot, speaking of them-the ground they had made. A few hoots sounded and she heard the light knock of armor as she turned-

“Have you all been motivated? We don’t tell you shit, we played games. I knew we were leaving tonight, I knew three months ago. I want you pissed off. Only a handful of you were there for Imperators speech, who remembers that? I remember the speech the Imperator gave, before we sieged Harnaidan. It was fitting I guess, but I wasn’t inspired. I’m not going to lie. It is an honor to fight beside you, calm, cool, collected. Now that's the making of a leader. I will not deny that but fuck all that, fuck this talk about talk about doing what you’ve been trained to do, you all know damn well you do this for the trooper on your right and left. There is nothing but this day of reckoning now, there will be nothing if we do not fight. Country and core don't matter at that point, the Legion or who ever we face. The Empire will be desperate-they’ve been desperate since Muunilinst. We’re not desperate, we’re angry! When your boots hit the ground tomorrow, or three days from now. Be angry, I want to know-I want to feel each and every single one of your rage! I don’t care how many barrels you burn, I don’t care if every comm’s link floods with your words and your insults. There’s a whole galaxy out there but it’s us, who stand here-who have to clean up this fucking mess!”

Lyra ground out, marching before those gathered-her servo tossed up to mirror the snap of her words.

“And that pisses me off..Who wants to face the unimaginable, who wants this kind of fucking job. Us. One that requires a dedication of purpose, a love country and dedication to duty, one that has proven more important than life itself for this galaxy. We all have more friends buried on Nirauan now or lost in the field, taken as prisoners and executed in their filth, those who are nothing but ash-gone. Their sacrifice is what made this nation possible, quiet professionals. All I have to say is how dare they, how dare they let it come to this, that they dared to try. They will know when we come for them. That it took all of us from every damned corner where they’ve touched-that they made us come this far to put them down like the fucking dogs they are..That we have been here all along and that it came to this. How fucking dare they make us come this far when they should of known better. Their skies will be darken with our ships, the streets will quake, and we will tear each and every one of them...”

She inhaled deeply, Lyra had never addressed any of them in this manner but in the face of Bastion-she needed them to know the fight they faced as a Legion together. There was a mummer in the crowd and she raised the smoke to her lips, inhaling deeply as she turned back to the soldiers. She could feel the energy the radiated and Lyra felt the tell tale of anger and she nodded her head. Her own rage simmered now, growing-the campaign they had abandoned all to start. Good. She had faced the cold drain, the failure with out resolve but Lyra had learned from those mistakes. It would only be them truly down there, to tear the bricks-to dismantle the regime. If anger made a man braver, faster, so be it-she had channeled this rage before and if there was thousands of them marching in tune... Lyra pinched the smoke in hand, her lips pressed in to a thin line. The Order had surpassed her expectation but it didn’t mean the fight was won. The woman had long wondered why it was their fight, struggled with it-but she hadn’t just held her children hours ago, forced to to leave them behind to be here. Lyra was pissed and she snapped the smoke in half, ash falling through her servo's digits.

“There will be no mercy, there will be no quarter! We will drag our guns and worn boots across their pristine streets, we will paint their city red, burn their flags, there will be no resistance or Empire when we are through,” she swore vehemently, eyes alite. Lyra flicked out the smoke, chucking the remains out across the grate and floor, her body still as her voice raised higher to carry her sentiment across the hangar, “we will stand before the palace of the Emperor himself and we unload every power cell and canister at his doorstep, we will spit on the ground he thought he could walk. How dare he make us march this far-he who is so far detached, without thought of consequence. Fuck him, fuck the Empire, fuck those who follow their lead, fuck those who have turned a blind eye to this fight. Fuck them all, we’ll get the work done and the galaxy will be glad we held this job, and maybe they’ll know better!”

T h e w o r l d i s a v a m p i r e​

Hour one...
Bastion, Ravelin, En-rout To Fortress Carnifex....

A dark and noxious smoke drifted across the city street as they stared down the remains of the district, a hail of red bolts scattered across their position. The glorious capitol of the Empire and it was on fire, hailed by firestorm and armor. A tarnished jewel in the galaxy, streets lined with corpse and glass. It had never crossed her mind she'd stand here, the tenacious dream of a handful. They were here finally and her skin itched for the fight. The singing bolts sent them flailing back to the relative safety of cover, pieces of rubble chipped away at the remains of the window. Several smoking bolt marks dotting the remains of the shop they had holed up in, troopers alike scrambling back to. It had been long cleared out, shelves had been overturned and pushed aside to make room for more troopers hitting the ground. Reports from the pilots filtering through the communications and she counted down the remaining teams.

Lyra traded looks with the mixed band of soldiers in her care. There was an anxious preen of weapons and Lyra jerked her head toward the heavy guns. The specialist heaved the launcher up in his arms and marched for the door, kicking appliance and trash out of the way. A spotter shadowed him, working with the gunner as they lined up the shot. Comms lit up as panicked orders and sights were exchanged and Lyra moved back to the opening to observe the desolate road way. Shrouded behind the concrete chunk that took up the greater portion of the former window. The troopers were pinned right off the ramp of the drop ship, but they had expected a hard push in. A battle tank had been wasted in their efforts though, the explosion had decimated the first squad-blast plate and bodies trapped along the remains of blacken steel and scrap. The attempt to move in the armor had been met with severe resistance, the long range at the end of the block disappearing behind the blockades. They had pulled out what wounded they could, forced to wait as the next drop ship closed in.

It made the sweat build on her neck, they had to come up with something else-had to land the next punch. The ventilator roared on her helmet as smoke choked out the block, and Lyra leaned into the cement-inhaling deeply as she stared down the barrel of the rifle; waiting. A lone shopping bag tumbled out across the road as the droid team unrolled, so much had been left behind by the civilians. Lyra was both conscious of the fact she had ordered no quarter..who would be caught in the cross fire and just the same-staunch loyalists were not her concern. I

The A.I made up for the poor sight, a crimson outline along the passing forms of the Riders that had planted themselves along the avenue, the heavy foot fall the battle droids ringing out as they began the approach. Blaster fire tore through the ranks of the droids, sparks flying from the war machines. The bleak city block reflected back across the blast plates of the lines of infantry, the Vindicated vied for a foothold-the end of the street was cemented with resistance.

The HUD was populating, a red mass growing at the end of the city block. The haze of bombs and flames painted the resistance beyond and the Fortress. They needed the move and Lyra checked the timer that had marked their descent in the thick to flank the palace. With her rifle in hand Lyra twisted to peer farther down the roadway, rifle scraping the stone as she raised her sights following the movements of the droid line. A hiss peeled just above her head and the missile team fired from the door, a white trail of smoke marking it in the air as it whistled.

In a blink of an eye it made contact with the upper levels of the office building at the intersection, the floor’s windows blew out and a dusty smoke engulfed the side, fluttering through the air to the street blow-taking with it the kill squad. Turning her rifle’s barrel down, she opened fire on the building’s edges. A haze of charric and plasma sung through the air and echoed across the block. She felt another trooper fall in behind, gun on right of her vision joining her as they opened fire beside her.

The phantom helms of the Blackblade’s ducked and picked through the chunks of concrete and steel that now decorated the roadway, the buildings that had once stood so proud and tall were slowly whittled away by explosives. Fire licked and ate whatever it could find substance to burn on the complexes.

Her visor searched along the upper ledges, a distant and dark plume rising above streets over as a trine passed over. The aerial disturbance stirring her adrenaline and Lyra snapped her fist up, a lazy circle of her arm signaled to the troopers across the road. It was hard to track friendlies on the air outside the map and the woman traded locations over the comms with the squad leader across the avenue. They had to watch their backs. The anger that made her hands quake spared her the wandering thought as she committed herself to the assault.

<<”Inbound forces, drop at the intersection-lay down suppressing fire while we move in,”>> Lyra ordered, a green dot blinking across the map in bound. The comms crackled as she listened for the relays. <”Vindicate signal me, we break this blockade!”>

It was time to move and she heard the clap of armor just behind-felt the tension snap through the bodies of soldiers. Lyra gritted her teeth as a heavy hand slapped her pauldron. With the sign she threw herself over the threshold of the shop. Chest heaving as she broke out in to a sprint, the team of troopers falling in behind her, boots scraping the black top, skirting the carnage on the road. She ducked low as canisters rolled out into the street as a black inky smoke began to pour out. The line of infantry parallel to the ships dropping in. A shadow descending the city block, lost to the sea of smoke as the fresh wave of ships moved in. Hydraulics hissed as the ramps hit the ground, turrets upon the wings whining as they opened fire upon the end of the city block..

<”Move! Move! Do not stop, we push through intersection,”> Lyra snarled through the link, leaping blindly over the ruble on the road and weaving down toward intersection-screen dark and forced to trust the radar. The cluster of enemies moving the next block up, she shook her head to keep herself from loosing herself to Force. The whispers creeping up in her ear, she would brush her fingers along the chaos and let herself unhinge in the face of the true enemy. Her men needed her first and Lyra moved under the cover fire, a shower of rubble rained down down as another missile shot sung through the air somewhere. Teams shouted out and she pushed the charge. The explosion rocked the building and she waited for the emergency signal on the pilot. Small chunks and ruble pelting the commander’s armor.

<”This is Bronco-actual, tank company one rolling in-do you read Vindicate-actual?”> the voice of the Ikotchi tanker lit up on the comms.

Turning her head she caught the dark form of the drop ships pulling out, bolt pelting the hull and shields as they retreated. The last of the tank companies were dropped in, the hum of repulsors firing up sent vibration through the black top as they slammed off the drop ships. Somewhere ahead Bronco team was gearing up and the comms filtered through and she listened in to the drivers priming the armor. Her feet pounded the pavment, a street light passed on her left and then an overturned speeder lost to the assault; the distance was hard to gauge and Lyra’s steps slowed. Footsteps dogged her and faint bolts died out on the smoke and flew passed.

The map flickered and reloaded as their forces began to congest on the roads. There was no use in firing into the smoke screen, a dampened shot was a wasted shot and Lyra sounded off to the squads. It was disorienting, wading in blindly. The droid team’s signals were snuffed out one by ahead and her gauntlet dropped from the rifle barrel to the saber on her hip-contemplating. It reminded her of the long approach to Cathar, steady..steady and straight ahead.

<”I read you Bronco-actual, punch a way through for us-we’ll be right beside you,”> the woman answered, tracking him on the cerulean map. Following the noise of the machines, Lyra jogged out in to the street kicking up the dust and falling in beside the line of armor. Their rumble was unmistakable and she switched link over the radio Irveric Tavlar <<”Engima actual, the Riders have landed, we're making a push toward the fortress. We’re eight klicks out.”>>

They had to tie the noose, they had to end this before it descended in to chaos-the horizon was more then the Fortress. It stood in between her and any chance of peace and a surge of anger drove her next step forward. The lines of infantrymen behind her, the troopers falling in to escort the main battle tank.

 

[Hiram Voss]

Location: Bastion Orbit, NIV Endeavour
Command: New Imperial Seventh Fleet, Battlegroup 'Roan Fel'
Allies: Var Koon | Detritus Ren | Hugot Tyvek VII | Gordon | Dracken Pryce | Olen Halcorr | Constantine Oliva | Del Lovruc
Enemies: Thaelius | Grand Moff Aut-X | Onrai | Melia Siari | TE-236 | Moon Seo-Yun

Spoiler: Battlegroup 'Roan Fel'

Cruisers:
6x Cuirassier-Class Cruisers [x]
3x Stalwalt-Class Carriers [x]
10x Valiant-Class Cruisers [x]

Frigates:
5x Tirallieur-Class Frigates [x]
11x EF96-Nebulon B Frigates [x]

Corvettes:
12x Cacadore-Class Corvettes [x]
18x Gurkha-Class Corvettes [x]
20x Warrior-II Class Corvettes [x]
15x Vandal-Class Corvettes [x]

​

"So this is it." Hiram mused aloud, cocking his head to the side and examining the sprawling metropolis below them. Ravelin. Capitol of the Sith. "It isn't any Avalonia," The former First Order officer added with a wry sense of superiority, "But, it probably looks nicer when on a street level." His attentions turned back to his crew. This was Hiram's first time aboard one of the new Cuirassier-Class, and it in every sense resembled the traditional layout of the Star Destroyer. Voss watched the Sith vessels collecting and commiserating in the distance. His gaze cast over the youthful faces of the officers and technicians below administering the bridge of the NIV Endeavour. "What is it like, lieutenant?" Hiram continued, "To be back on your lovely home world?"

Lieutenant Hadrian Boars provided no immediate response as he walked up the central command plank. He held a contemplative expression as he approached before settling himself behind Voss. "Strange, sir." Boars mused with some quiver in his voice, "Honestly sir," Boars licked his lower lip, "Honestly, I never thought we'd have gotten to this point." Hiram's eyebrow quirked at that, and he rounded on the younger officer, who towered over his diminuitive superior. "I just figured..." Boars shrugged his shoulders, "I figured things would have played out differently. Or something."

Hiram scowled but gave a small nod, "I see, I see." He then looked back out at the Sith fleet forming, "Well Lieutenant, if its any consolation, I dare say the Sith believe that this moment never could have come either." Hiram paused, and then strode to the fore of the command deck, settling himself at the front and then rounding on his subordinates. Time for a speech. "Ladies and gentlemen, the fact we are here is an achievement to say the least." Hiram began, voice thundering, "Our labours and sacrifice for years have pressed us to this point," Voss thundered, "And so it is today, the day where we sit to strike perhaps the greatest blow to the Sith, where we must not falter." Pause again for effect, "No, we have stabbed the Sith with a blade, and now seek to puncture the monsters heart. Remember that this day, we fell them!" Hiram raised a clenched fist and slammed it down on his palm, "To victory!"

"TO VICTORY!" The crew cried. Hiram basked in the adulation and glory of his words, before noticing the flickering at the rear of the command bridge. A transmission. Hiram hurried past Boars and across the central plating to find himself at the table.

"Transmission from Admiral Koon sir." The technician reported, Hiram gave a nod to the tech to dismiss her as she keyed in the access code. The table then changed. The tactical was disrupted with the visage of the Kel Dor Admiral, whom now had the Sith fleet almost orbiting his person. Hiram and the lanky Hadrian stood to attention as his ghostly figure radiated before them.

"Commodore Voss, a pleasure as always." The Admiral opened with, to which Hiram's gaze steeled itself, and his posture somehow tightened.
"The vessel I've pinged is your first target, Vanquisher class." The gargantuan Sith battlecruiser began to glow as the Admiral spoke, "At both port and starboard it is equipped with an ion pulse cannon. You know what need be done, move up and disable it. Immobilize more of these Sith ships if at all possible. Use whatever you might require. It is at your disposal. Imperator's will be done."

"It will be done Admiral." Hiram bowed his head and the transmission flickered off. The tactical display recentered itself and now the Sith fleet was on full view. Hiram cast a gaze over it, and scowled, examining the details of the vessels. He paused and clicked his tongue, "I think our only option," Hiram mused, "Is close engagement, rob the Sith of their heavy artillery advantage." Commodore Voss now gestured to the large fleet of Confederacy vintage ships orbitting the battlecruiser, "These vessels here, poor make." Hiram mused, "We'll easily be able to push through and puncture their line, sow some chaos." Voss added with some amusement, "Then we take the rest of these.... Inepts, and push their shit in where they can't swing their big hairy lightsabers." He then gestured to the good Lieutenant, "Summon me the other Captains. I'll brief them."

There was a flurry of activity around the holographic console as the New Imperial captains and some of the Galactic Alliance. Within a matter of moments, figures began to form on the holographic display. "Ladies and gentlemen, lets keep this short and sweet," Hiram began with traditional curtness, "I am Commodore Hiram Voss, and I have been designated planner for one of our key objectives here." He then paused, and fiddled with the table, letting the 'Malevolence' grow in size. "Admiral Koon has designated that this vessel here is until disabled or destroyed, our priority objective. Fortunately for us, the commander in charge has marshalled a force of museum antiques which'll be crushed beneath our guns." Hiram added with a small smirk.

"Our plan is this, using our Cacadore-Class corvettes as a spearhead, we move and harass the bastard and see if we can knock out its heavy ion guns." Hiram explained, "Then, using our Star Destroyers, as a defensive screen, we'll use Tirailleur-Class frigates and their heavy firepower to try and knock away the Sith." Hiram then paused, "Overall, we're going to want to push and engage the Sith at point blank range since their heavy weapons favour attrition from a distance. We rob them of that? Well we're faster on the whole and can run circles around them." Hiram then gave a nod, "So we go in, smash their flank and use their lack of manueverability them and castrate their artillery. Questions?"

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

​

He stared at her for a long few moments. Those eyes, her hair, the wave of calm whenever he saw her -- wait, she was talking. Right. Talk. Right. Focus, Dorian.

Of course, there was always that part of him that was distracted when she was around.

"I- oh. Yeah." He grunted. Dorian still couldn't tell if the smile or the cold indifference scared him more. The little amused laugh she gave whenever he did something stupid should've been outlawed across the galaxy. If he got too close, he was always afraid his soul might exit his body through whatever orifice was closest.

Her smile, though... he smiled. So often when he smiled he felt antagonizing. Or when anyone smiled, for that matter. In the ring, in battle; it always felt like an insult. You amuse me. It wasn't nice. It wasn't like her smile. When he saw her smile he felt his heart beat a little faster, a little release in his mind like he'd achieved something, an urge to smile in response. Their dull surroundings and attire were brightened in an instant. It was never glaring or dangerous, just soft. Honest. Caring.

Focus, Dorian.

He stepped inside her room and followed to the rug. The room was as organized and simple as he'd expected; his own quarters were just as spartan, given that he didn't care much for where he slept. Plus, Zovesa would have his ass if he painted it or some shit. No, this was fine.

Focus, Dorian.

It was when he sat down that he noticed her semi-vacant expression. Was she distracted, too? Part of him became excited. What if she was thinking about him? That'd be fantastic. Then maybe they could-

She snapped back to reality and spoke.

What did he want to talk about? He had no idea. Maybe he just wanted to see her. Then again, there was a moment where he could see that heartless woman who'd appeared on Dubrillion.

He wanted to be sure she was safe. Because then he could be safe, too. Or maybe just rest easy, if that time came. But still, there was more to it than that. He didn't know...

"Say what you feel."

"I dunno. I just... uh, we haven't talked in a bit. I mean, when we... 'hang out' on missions, and stuff, that's cool, but sometimes I just... want to sit with you. Chill out. Like this." A sheepish smile crossed his face. "So this is cool."

He paused for a moment, glancing up at the far corner of the room while he spoke.

"I kind of wanted to talk about Bastion. I mean, not like... what it is. I went there once, back when I was still doing the whole gladiator thing. Was kind of a mess. Anyways, uh, I meant more with the attack, coming up." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"I guess I'm just worried. About you."

He blinked, looking to her and raising his hands like he was using the Force to push her armor of its stand. "Not in a bad way. I mean, I know you can handle yourself a lot better than I can and that you're a badass, so I'm not like, worried about you, and I'm sure you're not worried, but like, I sort of am, cuz it's gonna be really dangerous and honestly I'm freaking out a bit myself, because I feel like if I die there'll be shit I didn't get out -- not like, actual shit, because I'm definitely gonna shit before we go in, but like, shit like, how I feel-"

Dorian managed to stop himself.

"Jeez. Yeah. Uh," he muttered, going back to rubbing his neck like he was trying to get the grime out of a greasy pan. "Talk about... that."

Mavia | Vaylin
​

All that pride, built up after nearly two decades of kicking ass and never (well, rarely) losing -- and he bowed his head, grinning as he admitted defeat to green queen. "Yeah, you beat me."

His focus was soon drawn by the growing sense of dread emanating from the doors. They opened to reveal a cadre of Sith warriors, led by... oh, she was powerful. The weight of the woman's steps and presence made Dorian feel like he was wading waist-deep in marsh water. Part of him was excited at the thought of facing someone like that, but then he glanced to Mavia. Something, something, "If you're safe, I'll be safe too."

"Big talk from a woman who's about to be shish-kebab'd. We know why we're here. Let's fucking tango, shitstain, cuz we both know all you've got is a world of hurt." It'd be best to end things quickly. Good thing Dorian's specialty was speed. Even so, he took a moment of pause as the New Imperial Knights stood against the Sith that they had betrayed. Betrayal left a bad aftertaste, so he was thankful that he'd had nothing much to do with the Sith in his life.

"You beat me. You're up to bat first, green queen," he said, bringing his spear to bear and pointing it at the Sith Lady. He was worried, yes. Worried they might die, worried that the cold, ruthless side of Mavia might take over. But that didn't matter. They were a team -- spear and shield, yin and yang. Idiot and smart girl. Brains and brawn. Well, Mavia had both of those, really. But when they worked together they were unstoppable.

Dorian took a deep breath. The air around him seemed to cool, the movements of everyone around him began to slow to a stop. In that brief pause he took a single step forward before the action began. Mavia was first to leap into the fight, charging towards the leader of the Sith Knights arrayed against them. Dorian followed closely, keeping pace such that the pair of them were a blur rocketing towards the Sith Lady.

As his partner went in for the first strike, Dorian sidestepped to attack from a different angle, hoping to overwhelm the woman by attacking in the same instant as Mavia.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: The New Imperial Order | Sons of Mandalore | Koda Fett
Enemies: The Sith Empire | Darth Carnifex
Objective: Vengeance
Equipment: Pistols (2) | Beskad | Armor | Soul Steel Spear | Thermal Detonator (2) | Sonic Detonator (2) | Cryoban Grenade (2) | Fett-Kal knife | Disruptor Knife | Gravitational Field Disruptor

This would be their greatest hour yet, for everyone here in attendance. The theater was set for a great clash of opposing powers with its respective ideologies commanding it. There was one common goal everyone amongst the ranks of the New Imperials shared: freedom. An idea worth living for, even priceless than life itself. What would life be without that essence?

A simple void. A hole in the soul.

The Mandalorian had a small taste of that when tragedy struck across Mandalore and her colonies. Seeing her incarcerated and plundered ruthlessly without doing something was painful for him to bear witness. His pride and spirit crushed to see such defeat knowing what little remained on Mandalore. At that point in time he did nothing just so he could survive as well as his family and clan. A shameful thing they did, a stain on their honor. Although there was a chance of redemption and having a clean slate again. Absolve themselves of their sins.

And this was the way.

This gambit of the New Imperials almost paid off. All of them had come a long way for this moment. There was no room for error. There couldn’t be. They’d see the fruits of their labor ripen for them to harvest here are Bastion. A victory here would secure a siege at Mandalore and liberate it from the clutches of the Sith. It’s all that mattered to Vilaz. It’s why the Sons of Mandalore brokered a deal with the New Imperials. How could he blunder this opportunity, this moment? If they failed here...

No

​

He’d be damned if they did. It’s why invested a lot of his warriors into this fight. Many would die, as always in war, but it was for something larger than them and a price worth to sacrifice their own life. Nothing could go in vain. This was their future, their lives.

Like the Crusade Ra Vizsla waged against the Republic many years ago, Vilaz fought alongside his Vanguard of warriors. Their target: the Emperor’s Palace. Anyone who stood before their path would be cleaved relentlessly. They showed no mercy when they pillaged Mandalore, and so none would be shown to them. It did not matter who they vanquished as any morals they had in war were cast aside. Men, women, and the children would feel the rage and pain Mandalore felt. They’d have a quick understanding of it, the last thing they would remember before being clutched by the arms of Death.

War at its finest.

None were to be left alive whoever remained at the premise of the Palace. No stone was to be left unturned. He’d make sure to scar Bastion and imprint this defeat on the Sith, if they were to succeed once the dust settles itself.

Vilaz and a familiar warrior, Koda Fett , led the charge into the domains of the Palace. Like him, Koda sought redemption for his past. He was a wayward warrior, interested in credits to fill that hole inside him; however, deep down he was always a Mandalorian through and through. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be here.

Blood and gore were left with each footstep they took, although he did notice there was little resistance wherever they went. The doors and hallways guided them to the heart of the complex and they knew it. Was it a trap? Even if it was, he wouldn’t stop. The Emperor had not been identified in the defenses of Bastion, meaning he was here hiding or retreated from the planet. That would be confirmed soon.

And then...

There

​

There he was, sitting down on his throne with a grand sword by his side. Vilaz, Koda, and a squad of four Mandalorians Commandos entered the throne room. The heart of the Empire with its leader present. The Sith Lord welcomed them, almost as if expecting them. What was the Dark Lord playing at?

“You are trapped, Carnifex,” Vilaz replied to the Zambrano Patriarch with spirit and fire. The man was bigger than him and commanded the Force, but this was not render his will to fight. “My warriors fight proudly against your pawns and soon we will claim the palace whether intact or destroyed,” the Munin was not afraid to go to the extremes and request bombers barrage the Palace with him and the Emperor inside. “I’m sure the New Imperials would enjoy having you alive, but,” and readied his spear, “I’m not sparing room for any prisoners. Your legacy ends here along with any of your kin.”

He’d do what any Jedi or warrior could not do. He would bring this inhuman beast to its knees and vanquish it from the Galaxy.

Their greatest hour was at hand.

“Mandalore remembers.”​

 

[Lark]

​

Objective: One
Location: Fortress Carnifex
Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO, Asharo Madar Sion Alar

Lark idly walked through the rubble, the battle had only just begun and yet so much destruction had already been wrought upon Bastion. He knew the NIO would soon spread their conquests here, it was the birthplace of the Empire, after all. What a message they would send if they managed to take it. Indeed, for some time Lark had been contemplating his own role within the Empire. An acolyte, nothing more. All his masters had betrayed him, the Empire would shed no tears for his passing. So why then? Why did he stay?

He remembered his very first training sessions, sparing here on Bastion with his former master Krest. Those long days were full of brutalities and anguish. But no matter how difficult those evenings had been, Lark had gained so much from them. For every bond that was broken, two more took their place. So much knowledge he had gained, which was his original purpose for leaving Myrkr. Who would have ever guessed, that the rangy little orphan sleeping under a swampy bridge would ever learn to master such eldritch knowledge?

"Make it home," Lark gently sang. He knew not the origin of the words, just another memory lost in the whirlwind of horrors he'd faced in his young life. "To your unknown..."

He drifted off. The rest of the song had completely faded from his memory. A shame, he sensed that it was a beautiful one.

Perhaps I've made it home, the acolyte thought. But the rest of you are still searching, aren't you?

So many personas took control of him, how could they not? His true sense of self, his sense of purpose, was so shrouded in mystery. They all were searching for something, just one little thing that might bring them peace. And where one persona found truth, another found questions. But there was one aspect, one point where all of his raging mindsets could find common ground. They all just wanted a place to belong.

A home.

When Lark was but a child, criminals and slavers burst into his home while his family sat at dinner. His brother shared his mushy apples with their little sister, who was looking more gaunt than any child deserved. But still, her child-like portrait of her family still held an innocent, youthful charm. The three of them could deal with poverty, all that mattered was that they stayed together. But when those thugs tore their home asunder, they took everything Lark held dear. His sister, and within the next few years so too would his brother be stolen from him.

Lark had lost one family, perhaps for good. But perhaps, the Sith had offered him another. His brother and sister may be gone. But AMCO , Nida Perl , Orion Darkstar , and so many others remained.

That was why he stayed.

A decade and a half ago, Lark was too young and weak to save his original family. But now, he had gained so much strength. He wouldn't let his second chance slip through his fingers. Bastion, the Sith, they were his home. And he'd tear the galaxy to shreds to see his home preserved.

So when Lark looked towards the horizon, and saw countless NIO dropships, he was reminded of the pitiful little dregs that stole his sister from his mother's arms. This situation was no different from that eventful night on Myrkr. Here the rats came, seeking to take for themselves what did not belong to them, but was wonderfully precious to Lark.

And so, the personas within him made a silent agreement.

The acolyte and the criminal, standing beside the seeker of eldritch truth. The trickster and the hunter, finally putting their skills to mutual benefit. And yes, even the monster and the child, the two most primordial of his masks, came to an understanding just this one time.

And so, outside Fortress Carnifex, Lark rose. Finally in complete control of all aspects of himself. All those personas, all those experiences, at long last merging together.

So long as he stood, the Sith would not fall.

 

[Darth Daiara]

Location: Bastion Academy Court Yard
Duel Incoming: Oceiros Sunstrider
​

The din of battle rang around her-- shots, explosions, screams. Screams of fear. They were the one thing the training room hadn't prepared her for. The Bastion Academy stood between the city and the Fortress, close to the center. All the best, Aradia resigned, she wouldn't have to go far to make her mark. It was all the other people standing in the way that shocked her senseless.

The civilians.

The families.

Aradia stood in the Academy's court yard, her lips parted as he ground quaked against an unseen attack. In a window beyond a gate, another child stood gaping, their vision set on the street leading toward them. Aradia's attention peeled off the child as a man tore them back, the curtains flapping in their wake. Men in white suits approached down the streets, blasters in hand as they pushed to break in deeper.

All the while they shot. They exploded. They ran over flower pots. She stood frozen as she peered out the gate, watching the swath of trained warriors push deeper into the city that made up her home. She gasped as the outside table of her favorite coffee shop became crushed under the wheels of an approaching tank. The city was falling to the invaders as they destroyed to conquer. And why? They marched on, so close she could see the dirt smeared across a helm.

Anger churned in her gut. She might not understand war, but she did know loss. She would not lose this place too.

A cry pulled from her throat as she left the safety of the courtyard, the teen jumping over a hedge and flying liking a monkey into the nearest solider as they marched on by. It was the shock alone that took him down, the girl small and frail despite how heartily she could now eat at each and every meal. There was nothing to note about her, the girl clad in simple black as she wrestled against the soldier's back. The march halted, all guns swirling onto her and the comrade that served as a shield.

You know she hadn't thought this through.

Her features contorted up at the white helmets that stared her down, her palm raising. "Get out of my home!" Fire exploded out at them all.

 

[Ruek Tast]

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

Location: Ravelin
Opposition: NIO | Open
Allies: TSE | Open
Post #1

Spoiler: Content Warning

This post contains content some readers may deem unsettling or gruesome. I don't wish to offend anyone, so if you do not like Dark Side blood rituals, descriptions of death, or darker elements, don't read this.

​

A green bolt lit the old sanctuary. The trooper clattered to the floor limp, smoke wafting from the broken lens in their helmet. Their leg was gripped by a shimmer, light refracting around the nebulous entity as they pulled the body away from the worn chapel doors and into the dark.

A can kicked beneath his feet as he stepped around an abandoned airspeeder, "Digs! Where are ya? Dammit, where'd she go?" the trooper scanned over his shoulder toward the alleyway. Another trooper shrugged and crossed over the road to meet him, "She was at my back just a sec ago. Think she was losing nerve. Let's find her and finish this useless sweep, Sleet. Fight's thataway. Be damned if I miss out on the big one," he tossed a thumb in the direction behind them. Thin blankets of smoke loomed in the air and faded explosions echoed in the empty streets of the district. Its residents were lucky to have been evacuated quickly, leaving only buildings to suffer the damage of the oncoming invasion. The white-clad locusts had come and gone, their forces focused on the larger targets of the capital complex and the fortress of the emperor.

The apparent head of the squad waved a free hand, "Yeah yeah, I know. Aw hell, place is empty anyway," he cupped a hand around the "mouth" of his helmet, "DIGS! Digs holler out--"

"Sith's sake Sleet just use the comm!" He grasped the leader by his shoulder to give a shove.

The other slapped the hand off his pauldron and gestured around them, "Ya think if her comm was working she wouldn't use it? I know Digs. Come on."

Both troopers trailed down the alley. Ahead was an older building, odd in its age and construction. Compared to the modern structures around it was almost a ruin, having wood doors grayed with age and plaster walls which had crumbled from the shocks of foreign artillery. Its doors were wide open, exposing an interior lit by the light of one large, round window. The broken stained glass illuminated a streak of white and red light on the tiled floor, its brilliance casting a glow on nearby pews and pieces of a stone altar.

"A temple?" The trooper hazard a single step in the doorway, "Thought them Sith would have had this place burned to the foundation."

Sleet, as the other called him, shook his helmet as he followed after, "A relic. Sith love relics. Like some weird fetish to 'em." He raised a hand to wipe a droplet from his lens.

He paused in the action. The blaster in his hands clicked from his sudden jolt while he aimed upward and fired. The ceiling of the temple was washed in sudden flares of red as bolts tore through plaster and plasteel. The other trooper had jumped back and tripped, falling into a pew only to have it break from the weight.

"WHAT ARE Y--" the sentence died when he adjusted his helmet to look up from the ground. The rafters creaked as the body swayed. Singed white plates smoked from the fresh blasts. A small stylized strip on the left shoulder read "D I G S."

Sleet threw down his blaster to throw his hands upward to stabilize the body. The other trooper barked every curse he knew as he scrambled away and to his feet, quickly scanning for an enemy.

"S-Sleet, we should go. Let's go."

The man was silent, the droplet on his lens running a red streak down the cheek of the helmet. He extended his reach further, fingertips brushing the lifeless hand. His voice was flat as he spoke, "...gotta cut her down."

The trooper seethed between clenched teeth, "SLEET she's dead. We gotta go, NOW."

"Shut up, Press."

"It's wasting time let's g--"

"I SAID SHUT UP!" Sleet's voice boomed in the sanctuary. The pause gave way to his shaking breaths as he again looked upward.

Finished with their situation Press shook his head, backing up to jog towards the doors. There was a loud pop, followed by a plastic smack and the metallic screech of gears. Press sucked in a gasp while stumbling forward then fell to his knees. He never saw the hook latched onto his breastplate. The rasp of gears engaging sounded from behind the stone altar and the line went taught, flinging Press backward into the temple.

Sleet spun around to face the altar and its darkened half of the sanctuary. The line slacked, and shortly after a patch of the darkness seemed to smear. Slow steps were audible against the tile as the dark smear lightened into a translucent ripple. Sleet snapped from his shock and dove for the blaster he'd tossed aside.

A flash of green.

The phantom slipped the hood from her head. Red lenses flickered as her helmet was removed and the rest of her body came into focus. The scent of burnt plastic was quick to fill the air as she neared the troopers. The hunt was successful and it was time to dress the prey.

The stone altar, though broken, still bore its offerings. Ruek bowed her head to the ground, light from the lone window encircling her as she prayed in strained whispers.

"May bones be my shelter, flesh my meal, and blood my drink. May the bodies of my prey be made into a shrine of devotion as I atone for my shortcomings. I pursue the hunt with purity of heart and clarity of mind and strength of body. May all be gifted unto me, a servant of the hunt."

She took the bowl from the mess kit in both hands then put it to her lips, throwing her head back as she drank deeply of its contents. She gave a sharp cough then shuddered from the pain, dropping the bowl as she curled into herself. The tiles became stained as the bowl rolled away.

The explosions intensified enough to wake her. How long she'd been on the floor she was uncertain, light outside having dimmed considerably. She rose to her feet but paused.

She felt it.

Old yet new. Familiar yet unknown.

And it was all hers.

​

 

[Orssos-brel]

Location: Space Above Bastion
Task: Engage Sith-Imperial Space Forces
Unit: Helldriver Support Wing
Makeup: 2x TIE/OTx Outlanders, 3x TIE/DF Drones
Personal Ship: TIE/HF Slasher
Faction: New Imperial Order
Allies: All NIO and GA Space Elements

Battle Over Coruscant​

It would have been foolish to imagine Bastion to compare, in any sense of the term, to the splendor and pomp that was Coruscant. Of course, it tried as it may to be the jewel of the Outer Rim, but despite all of that, they did put on a good mimicry. It had everything one would expect from a prim and proper city. Rows and rows of causeways, burning circles of lights where the city was it's thickest, endless falls into lower levels and dithering heights to the top, and what he assumed would be enough air traffic on a normal day to even made an Old Republic Senator think twice before cutting off the local invalid on his way to his sad, lowly job in the Undercity. This was the type of decadence that he expected Bastion would try to mimic, and in all of it's horrendous gluttony he was beyond right by his initial assumptions. It was a mockery to the very idea of human civilization, a marionette of a corpse, the long forgotten specter of Imperium, the same type of Imperium that had brought the Brel name to something worth mentioning and they sat here and made a fool of the very concept. They were children playing with the tools of titans, and that, in the end of the day, would be their eventual downfall. Orssos could see it no other way, this was the end, the final chime of the hangman's bell. The gallows march.

The Helldrivers were based out of a plain idea, to use the power that the TIE Slasher could dish out in more of a supportive role. If there was a big target that needed to be hit, that would be the job for the Helldrivers. To achieve this, two actual manned TIE Outlanders were assigned to the Slasher, to keep it from needing to preform more perilous dogfighting than would be needed for a ship of it's class. The TIE Drones, on the other hand, were viewed as more expendable. If they had the option to ram into an approaching ship to save the Slasher, they would. All in all, they acted as support to the support craft. Get the Slasher into position to let loose it's turbolaser cannons before assisting in repositioning. Of course, this was situational, and many of the times they were deployed they ended up acting just the same as any other given combat wing simply due to the nature of conflict. Protocol and hours of planning goes to the wayside when the enemy force pulls a card out of their sleeve, even the best of Pazaak players can be thrown off when the right plus/minus was tossed onto the board.

Then again, it seemed as if the Sith-Imperials were playing dejarik this day.

A relic from ages past had materialized in front of the Allied advance, something very similar to the Subjugator class vessels that, ironically, had harrowed his kind ages before in the long forgotten Clone Wars. It was an oddity, an anachronistic mistake on the Galactic scale. Why would it be here? Was the Sith Empire really that desperate to fall back on museum pieces?

Then came the swarm, one after another. Honest to the Stars Vulture droids, filled with their chattering and screaming throughout their entire warpath.