Invasion Death's Sting: SJC Invasion of BotM held Lao-Mon

[Liram Angellus]

GAME ON YAKHEAD!​

Spoiler: SHIP AND FIGHTER MAKEUP

SHIP NAME: ETHEREAL, SILVER CITY
SHIP CLASS: CARRIER, HEAVY CARRIER
FLAG OFFICER: LIRAM ANGELLUS
SHIP CAPTAIN: ZEV TANTOR (Ethereal), GYM HALPERN (Silver City)
COMMAND STAFF
EQUIPPED: 25x L4Vele Series Deployable Defense turrets.
CAPTAIN'S LAUNCH: "Amenadiel"

FIGHTER COMPLIMENT: 103rd Tactical Starfighter Wing "Angel of Death Squadron"
CALLSIGNS: Commodore Angellus "Maverick" is and will always be "Angel 1", Captain Rojuh Pouil "Starlight" is "Angel 2" Commander Scoht Pouil "Meteor" is "Angel 3". Each Squadron leader makes up the remaining "Angel" callsigns, their individual squadrons and make-ups are named below.

HIGH-SPEED INTERCEPTION

1. Angel 4(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
2. Angel 5(Jurat Squadron) Jackal Class Starfighter
3. Angel 6(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter

LONG RANGE INTERCEPTION

1. Angel 7(Gator Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor
2. Angel 8(Raguel Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor
3. Angel 9(Beak Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor
4. Angel 10(Turik Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor

MULTIPURPOSE SUPERIORITY FIGHTER

1. Angel 11(Razorback Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
2. Angel 12(Voight Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
3. Angel 13(Jurist Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
4. Angel 14(Fi Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
5. Angel 15(Prac Squadron) NC-1 X-Wing
6. Angel 16(Tic Squadron) NC-1 X-Wing
7. Angel 17(Alcalde Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter
8. Angel 18(Kers Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter
9. Angel 19(Kyber Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter
10. Angel 20(Jok Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter

STEALTH/RECON FIGHTER

1. Angel 21(Requital Squadron) Azazael class Stealth fighter
2. Angel 22(Scimitar Squadron) Azazael class Stealth fighter

BOMBERS W ESCORT

1. Angel 23(Que Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
2. Angel 24(M'lud Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
3. Angel 25(Gatto Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
4. Angel 26(Hail Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
5. Angel 27(Leigh Squadron) Soverenignty Class Heavy/Assault Fighter
6. Angel 28(Vulcano Squadron) Soverenignty Class Heavy/Assault Fighter
7. Angel 29(Bulwark Squadron) Soverenignty Class Heavy/Assault Fighter

SUPPORT/TRANSPORTS

1. Angel 30(Artillery Squadron) Cherub Gunship
2. Angel 31(Ferret Squadron) Cherub Gunship
3. Angel 32(Ruzek Squadron) Cherub Gunship
4. Angel 33(Ferret II Squadron)Cherub Transport
5. Angel 34(Ferret III Squadron)Cherub Transport
6. Angel 35(Pulvin Squadron)Cherub Transport
7. Angel 36(Gundark Squadron)Cherub Transport
8. Angel 37(Terantatek Squadron)Cherub Transport
9. Angel 38(Ronto Squadron)Cherub Transport

Spoiler: ETHEREAL MARINES

Seraphim Marines
Powered Armor
Cherub Troop Transport
Cherub Gunship
Saraquael Fighting Vehicles
A-2319 Tanks
Jackhammers
"Mauler" Class Mobile Command Center
12x Skycranes

Spoiler: ANGELLUS LORE

Is here.

SECTOR: Lao-mon
ORDERS:
WINGMATES: Gir Quee ADM. Reshmar Marlon Sularen The Mongrel

The swarm of missiles was an unwelcome sight but absolutely no surprise. Do these “tacticians” really believe that there would be no plan for this? Of the twenty-four fighters engaged, six were lost as the others committed to evasive maneuvers. There were more options. The Commodore was working it out in his head, but also at the same time, trusting his Flight Directors to come up with plans as well. These anti-air missiles were devastating and direct but they were also clumsy.

” Redirect bombers to take out those SAM and AAM sites. The fighters in place can keep their attention in the meantime.”

None of them liked the idea of one set of pilots being put up as possible bait in favor of others, but this was a necessary tactic. As the carriers finished their redirect into firing positions, the Commodore gave the order to begin firing on the Maw ships, the furthest one to be targeted.

“Fire for effect.”

The Stratofortress bombers were a different matter, they were heavy hitters and would not be easily taken down. The heavies of the Ethereals were engaged with defending the bombers. Of course, there were other options as well, options was something that the Angellus family made their name in and the Stealth fighters had enough teeth to do the job and be relatively safe.

”Splash those bombers before they do more damage.”

That left the fleet. The AO was filled with “friendlies” which made targeting that much more difficult but that also meant that there could be other tactics in place. The multi-purpose and the fast attack fighters were available for tasking which meant that while the Jackals were painting targets, they could keep the fighting in a smaller and smaller theater.

”Tighten the net. Decrease their options. I want that Star Destroyer immobile.”

He was of course pointing at the flagship.

Spoiler: SUMMARY OF ACTIONS

...

 

[Ves Fett]

D O G O F W A R
BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
OBJ2
Tags: ready to throw hands

The rush of violence and the carrion choir of war was sweet music to her ears; she revelled in it, she sought it out for that release of bloodlust. Armed with her blaster and assortment of melee weapons, Ves's home was in the brutal chaos of conflict. It was her kind that won wars for the big men in charge, the brutal reliable sadists who waged war on countless worlds in search of profit and a release from the tedious formality of civilian life. The whole Fett clan were nought but mercenaries at their most basic, small in size and yet infamously found in any number of sleaze bars across the galaxy or in the employ of some warlord or another. Koda might've lived paycheck by paycheck, but she lived solely for the pursuit of war and blood. Without it, she was nothing but a PTSD ridden freak who got exiled like the rest of her clan.





Among the dark winding corridors of Goshen, where the screams of the damned were replaced with the sound of gunfire, she stalked the darkness, watching and waiting for them. Putting down any and all escaped slaves she came across with sadistic glee, her spiked knuckles crimson red and choked with brain matter and flesh from the violence she unleashed. The Mandalorian animals tortured cries of laughter reverberating through the halls amidst the violence and terror as she sought out a worthy opponent.





​

​

 

[Auria Blackmoore]

ALLIES: Konrad Harrsk | Ishida Ashina | Keilara Kala'myr | NIO | SJC | GA
ENEMIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER
ENGAGING: Tu'teggacha
GEAR: Not a dress (stealth it crucial, apparently)

O~~>TAKE OVER<~~O​

How the hell did she get here?

Dragged into a war that technically had nothing to do with her. Almost giving her life for complete strangers all in order to combat chaos. To restore balance to the Galaxy. And along the way, she picked up a braying fool that now dragged her along instead of making good on his promise. So typically bucketheaded.

She had to admit, however, that when the fool emerged from the ravine on Carlac, looking like death, but still alive, the relief had been temporarily real. It did not take too long, however, before she was back to wanting to charbroil his arrogant butt.

Even now, as war waged on the surface and imminent danger just around the corner down in the tunnels, Auria, still scarred and somewhat sore, had to grit her teeth and clench her fists not to strangle Konrad. For someone that prized himself as some kind of assassin, he sure was an impatient bastard.

Impatient enough that she could not even warn him of the approaching Force-master.

Auria groaned inwardly when Konrad gave an arrogant quip at the Ebruchi as he drew the Songsteel sword. But her attention was grabbed when she felt the Force shift in the being that they had run into.

Her eyes flashed amber in annoyance when she realised what the Taskmaster was doing and she was just about to respond to him with a blast of flame, when red-garbed warriors filed into the tunnel from behind them.
"Great going, Starshine." she grumbled to Konrad as she turned to face the advancing Guard, flames igniting in her one hand.
The Ebruchi trying to hobble away, however, caught her eye.
"Not so fast, Treebeard!" she said, raising her other hand.
The earth beneath the Taskmaster bucked and cracked before a fissure gaped open in his way.

Then a vibro-voulge passed dangerously close to her face.

Flinching, Auria then launched a ball of molten flame into the gut of the Palatini that had just aimed a blow at her.
"Wait your turn, damnit!" she snapped.

And then it was open season on her and the Buckethead.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Obj 1

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Primary - Long Handle)

"ELOHAI" (Secondary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Kyrel Ren

These were no ordinary Sith, it was proof of how ferocious they were, but this was to be expected and the Rangers were fighting back. However long they would be able to hold was a mystery in itself, especially with Maw bombers off in the distance. That did not matter though as there were more coming, and more, and more. This was going to be the end of the Maw occupation of Lao-mon, and if they were not successful today, the next would be.

The red blade pointed at him, it would have made him laugh if it wasn’t such a cliche. No disrespect intended to the wielder, certainly this… whatever he was… was deadly in his own right, but this was not something that affected the massive Jedi Master in the slightest. He was more than prepared to take on all of them if he had to and in fact was probably expecting it in the back of his mind, however if this monster wanted a one-on-one, the big guy would agree.

Looking to his left, and right, Caltin addressed his troops.

Engage any other opposing forces.

This one is mine…

The creature’s roar was something to be remembered if they were that menacing orally then one could only imagine what they could do physically. That did not matter at the moment though and would not be anything more than a glance of the mind’s eye. The big guy would engage this… was he “sentient”? He seemed to be “alive” only thanks in part to rage and anger. This was the way of the Sith, but again, what was this guy?

Holding his weapon down to his side, and extending his free hand with waved fingers (“Bring it”) he simply responded.

Let’s do this.

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

GOSHEN WAR CAMP
THE SLAVE QUARTERS
Tag: Ves Fett

It did not take long for all hell to break out.

Using the enusing chaos to his advantage, Thurion weaved his way through the camp largely unnoticed as the Mawites were far too busy rushing to the defence of their vile lair. There was little need for stealth what with all the explosions and screaming going on, meaning he could hasten his step while making for the Slave Quarters.

There were instances were the occasional crazed cultist would break from his brothers and seek out the lone figure amidst the battle that raged around them, only to have their arms or legs broken through swift action and superhuman strength. He thought it best to avoid whipping out his lightsaber if he could help it, to keep his identity as an enemy to a minimum. Besides, taking lives had never sat well with him, and would prefer to incapacitate his opponent.

Locating where they kept their slaves was not difficult. A vast assortment of cages and cells he'd witnessed from afar was now within reach, however only upon peering into the first such cage did he fully realise the sheer state these poor people found themselves in. Most were too far gone to even react to the assault on the camp, or the appearance of a cloaked stranger lurking about.

They were weak from back-breaking labour, filthy from having to live in their own excrement, and thin to the bone from severe malnourishment. Worst off were the children, separated from their parents and crying uncontrollably out of fear, not helped by the loud noises of the attack. Approaching the children's cage, he audibly gasped in horror at the sight of a deceased toddler at the center of it, its small corpse littered with worms and flies.

Thurion's entire world crumbled there and then, so uttered horrified and sickened was he. His stomach churned and he was forced to step back and gather himself. Somehow he was able to keep from vomiting.

It took considerable effort to steer his mind to focus on the mission, and having regained control of his breathing he turned to some of the older kids.

"Hey. Hey you," he beckoned them to come closer to the bars. A teenage boy answered the call and stepped up to the hooded stranger.

"You're not one of them. W-who are you?"

"I'm a friend. I'm here to set you free. All of you." His words garnered the attention of the other kids, all of whom flocked to the bars. A few stuck their little hands through to reach for his poncho, likely to find out whether he was real or not.

"What about our parents?"

"They too shall be set free, but first we gotta get you guys out. I have a ship nearby, I will take you to it." He reached for the hilt at his side. "Stand back."

With the press of a button the azure blade of his lightsaber appeared and made short work of the crude cage, cutting a man-sized hole through the metal bars. Grabbing the cut-out, he ripped it out and tossed it aside before stepping inside the cage. There were dozens of them, from ages 1 to 15. Again his eyes were drawn to the dead child.

"Woah, a Jedi!" There was no response from Thurion as he knelt down.

Removing his poncho, he covered up the child and gently placed a hand upon its little head, visibly shaken. He whispered a small prayer in his native tongue reserved to those souls that meet an unfortunate end rather than falling in battle. A prayer reserved for stillborn, accidental deaths, and suicides.

"The big kids will carry the little ones. Everyone hold hands so no-one else gets left behind," he then turned to the living with instructions. One of the littlest ones waddled over to him to hug his leg, prompting Thurion to take him into his arms.

"Everyone ready? Let's move out."

 

[Jem Fossk]

Objective: Bop that sith!
Location: Central Keep Rooftops
Tags: Dagon Kaze | Lord Letifer

Spoiler: The Story

NEW JEDI ORDER
CAPTURE Lord Letifer
Central Keep Rooftops

​

A thousand times they've played the game of cat and mouse, of hunter and prey, and it still the mystery remained - who was the hunter and who was the prey? From the riots on Empress Teta, to the criminal syndicates of Denon, to the bowels of Coruscant, Dagon had only caught glimpses of the man's cloak before he vanished and the Jedi was left to undo his work, one that was often irreparable.

The game of cloak and dagger ended now. Atop the roofs of the war camp's keep carved into the ridges. From here one could see the waste the Maw had laid upon Goshen. Pillaged, defiled, and shaped into a war manufacturing plant that supplied the cult's ruthless destruction across the stars. The Brotherhood, nay, the Sith pulling the strings had to be stopped here and now. Before the rest of the galaxy shared the fate of Lao-Mon.

The wind blew sporadically, in bursts, from the trumpets and drums of war beating in explosions both in the jungles and in the Camp. Dagon stared at the hooded man he had chased across the Core, a man he believed to have been instrumental in the efforts to fragment the Alliance and disavow the New Jedi from within. Soot and sweat covered his face, blue eyes once bright with innocence now shared the burdens and trauma of a youth spent in the trenches of the Stygian against the Sith Empire.

"Letifer!" he shouted the Sith's nom de guerre as if invoking the Force to clear his mind; to brush his pestilent thoughts away, mostly his fear over Yula. She was here. He hadn't protested, at least not verbally, but she'd seen it on his face. The worry, the concern, the guilt. Especially the guilt, one borne of abandoning her to the hands of Zaavik and losing her eye in the process. They may have reconciled but the sting still burned in the few sleepless nights he could manage away from work.

"Doesn't have to be this way." said Dagon, almost whispering. The hilt remained still in his hand, the blade a button away from igniting.

ALLIES | GA | SJC | NIO | Jem Fossk
ENEMIES | MAW | Lord Letifer

Jem was sick of sidelines. She was sick of waiting and watching and she was definitely sick of being held back. She had spent the better part of her youth watching as the older jedi left Coruscant and went off to fight. The temple always felt so empty after that. She wanted to be out there with them.

Her instructors had always coached patience, but that was a skill better suited to her brother. She was sixteen now and she was still an initiate-- not a master in sight.

It wasn't fair.

Sneaking onto the convoys had been work, but she had done it. Jem didn't need a Master to escort her to war. No. She'd prove to them all once and for all that they were wrong.

She was ready.


She was flying utterly blind through the streets of Lao-Mon. It was hard to know what was going on when you're a stow-away, but she didn't need comms to sense the turmoil in the air. She had never come across darkness like this before... it brushed across her senses like a distorted lullaby. It made her want to tear her own skin off.

She had been following it, trying to listen to the force as she crawled across the roof tops. It all came to a halt as she found two forms facing off on a roof below. She leaned forward, her senses pricked. A metallic taste spread over her tongue as she quickly recognized one as a fellow jedi, and the other...

Her fingers tightened over the hilt of her training saber.

She didn't think twice. In fact, she didn't think at all. She jumped, her hair bellowing out around her as she tried to drop down and overhead strike the sith on the head.

She was helping!

 

[Ripley Kühn]

:// beware, evil //:
:// POST I | OUTSIDE GOSHEN //:
:// Starlin Rand | Damsy Callat | Artemis Lu //:
:// EQUIPMENT: ARMOR | LIGHTSABER | HOLOLINK | SLICER GEAR | EXPLOSIVES //:​

The familiar sounds of war had reached Ripley, deep in the jungle, and she knew it was time. For days, she had been alone, waiting for her chance to access the camp; and for days, the Maw had been cautious, their scouts never far, their guards alert and ready. The ideal window of opportunity had come and passed. Given that the disturbance she had anxiously awaited in her solace never came, nor had any extraction teams come for her, she could only assume the other agents scattered throughout the thicket had been equally unsuccessful.

So, it would be the hard way. The ring of distant weapon fire reached past the doubt that had plagued her for days. There was no fear. There was not even thought, only action. Secure the pack. Stomp the fire, sweep away the ashes. A last drink of water. Weapons check. Blaster ready. Saber at side. Move. Keep moving. No, stop, what was that? A rustling through in the trees interrupted her newfound calm. Blue eyes scanned for the source, and just as she found it, they found her. A silver barrel raised in greeting.

"Identification."

Ripley could read nothing from the clone, given his armor, but he obviously didn't expect an enemy on this side of the line, or she would have been dead already. Thinking returned at warp speed. She couldn't be seen; the agency's involvement couldn't be known.

"In my pack," Ripley replied.

She held up her hands, as though welcoming him to check. He approached cautiously, but it wasn't enough. As he entered her reach, she leaped, gracefully but strong. Her hands braced the low-lying branch overhead. With momentum, her body swung forward, her booted feet planting against his helmeted head. The soldier struggled, but lost balance, and Ripley's blaster fired. More footsteps came towards the sound.

"Chit!" The hiss was laced with distress.

The zeltron began to sprint wildly through the dense undergrowth. There was no thought this time, either, save don't get caught. She looked back after half a minute, searching for assailants, though her feet kept moving. She thought she was clear- until her boot caught on a hidden root. The world spun as she went tumbling, before finally, she stopped, landing in the smallest of clearings with troops around her.​

 

[Darth Tennacus]

Location: Goshen War Camp Surface
Equipment: 2 Lightsabers
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Nearby Allies: Darth Senthral
Engaging: Mrurh'en'lase | Hel
​

Anger, hatred, vengeance. Necessary condiments of the Dark Side. He wanted her to feel all these things, and more. To be engrossed within them - so much so that all her thoughts would be bent by them. The way in which she perceived him a monster: a beast who thwarted slaves from ever achieving hope. A creature, so merciless in its actions, that the only way to kill it would be through passion. If she herself could become a necessary evil, the Sith would have been one step further towards his intentions. By the time this battle was over, he hoped to see her walking willingly into the dark.

Earlier observation had given him the upper hand in regards to instigation of conflict. Watching her battle her way through the camp, the Sith had provided himself an understanding of her methods, although it would have been foolish to suggest he could predict every performance henceforth. She had clearly revealed that there was something buried within her that he had not yet come to understand. Killing her before he uncovered that truth would have, in his belief, resulted to a failure.

Tennacus awaited the moment for her to make her move, then acted accordingly. Demonstrating his mastery of the Vaapad Form, Tennacus hurled himself around her, utilising the capability of Swift Flank to quickly land himself behind her amidst her blade's descent. From his new position, the Sith Lord rose his hand vacant of any weapon, summoning forth the power of Force Lightning, setting loose a swift tide of scattering, sizzling streaks which quickly sought their way towards the female Jedi. He motioned backwards amidst the summoning of the electrical wave, commanding his horde to distance themselves even further; for he believed more manoeuvring would come of this miraculous battle.

Still, as the electrical waves poured from the tips of his fingers, Darth Tennacus sought to reach out towards the Dark Side, searching for that calling which emanated from within her. I know you're in there, he was thinking - exerting out into the Force. Oppressed, perhaps, by the blinding of the Light. Maybe - just maybe - she could hear his thoughts as he projected them. Reach out; let nothing hold you back. Not if you wish to walk from here, today. The only way you walk away from this is if you give in to your anger.

"What are you hiding, Jedi?" Tennacus spoke out amidst the electrical discharge spitting wildly through the air.

 

[Michael Barran]

POST 2
OBJECTIVE 2: TIP OF THE SPEAR
WRATH_OF_THE_WOADS

ALLIES (NIO): Noel Strasza

ALLIES (SJC/GA/AC/OTHER): Starlin Rand Sergeant Omen Damsy Callat
Artemis Lu The Dark Inquisitor

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/TFD): Khaostra Devoid Romund Sro The Mongrel Dakrul
Halketh Marlon Sularen Zachariel Steelblood


MICHAEL'S FORCES
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
ARGYLL COY. - INFANTRY
LARGS COY. - INFANTRY
FARRIN COY. - ENGINEERS
ISLAY COY. - ANTI-TANK

BLUE-HEART BRIGADE
196 XT-62,"CATAPHRACT" TANKS
32 SCOUT-AFV'S
9 MLV'S (NAKAIOMA)
5 PREDATOR LAUNCH-PLATFORMS (NAKAIOMA)
1 COY. OF GUARDSMEN
1 COY. OF MEDICS
1 COY. OF QUARTERMASTERS


MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
SECONDARY WEAPON: BLASTER-PISTOL
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 2

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (869 ABY)
HOUR ONE OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

Be careful, Milord. She has a voice that hungers for flesh, different to the magic we faced on Carlac - somehow.

I feel it too, but you're needed elsewhere. Get moving.

Sitting silently as Khaostra's entourage approached, who in turn were remaining as tight-lipped as their Imperial opponents, Michael would watch from within the little shack they'd taken a half-mile into Devoid's side of no-man's-land, seeing the white-haired Novanian among the small clique of Mawsworn bodyguards in the distance. A slight upward tilt of the Shaman's head had become a tell of sorts that the Wanderer was about to exchange words with him, and though it was brief, it was enough to see him leave as soon as the meeting had been facilitated; Yorunarr would be manning a very particular station somewhere else in the Woad's static-line, and so his usual duties as a bodyguard had been cast-aside for a short time, but only for as long as his full-attention was required to see his brief role through to completion. Yet, despite being without his main bodyguard, Lord Michael wouldn't be without the Highland Brotherhood's most-prolific killers for backup on no-man's-land whilst Yorunarr was busying away elsewhere, not whilst the threat of death or capture could still be tasted in the air.

'General Devoid.', the Mawsworn commander said in a dry (yet somewhat introductory) spoken tone, a pleasant surprise of sorts that would instil a sense of relief the Woad couldn't quite assign a reason to yet. Despite her clear and present urge to slice and dismember every revolutionary-soldier in sight, curiosity seemed to be spurring Khaostra to see what the opposing strategist was like after a week of skirmishes and raids, almost matching Michael's curiosity in kind as their hands met in the middle; this handshake would serve as a mutual agreement of brief armistice for parley, something that also bore risks aplenty before the hands curtly parted, though the strange-coloured eyes were oddly remaining cold and neutrally unemotional. A strange expression to convey with eyes that looked like they were burning in the glare of the daylight, but still a look of which that both knew was a necessity in such moments, unfamiliar though the realm of negotiation was to these untameable contrasts.

'Barran, though not the Brigadier-General sadly. A pleasure to meet you though - and yet to, regretfully, disappoint you even further, this conjoined contingent of Blue-Hearts an' Highlanders are actually being coordinated by a clique o' veteran-Captains at the moment.... Halketh's wee bombing-incident saw to that, mate.'

If he'd waited just two more weeks, the reprisal might've been somewhat....

Quieter, perhaps?​

'Drink?', the Lord-Captain then asked, attempting to break the silence and break the proverbial ice at the same time, but with a near-ecstatic grin that only amplified the murderous intent in his eyes, in stark contrast to the warmth conveyed below the eyes. Khaostra, under very different circumstances, may have been endangering herself greatly, but fortunately for the wild power who stared back, they were both bound by curiosity that overrode even the strictest of recent military protocols. No such rules for parley existed in Galactic warfare any more, such means of negotiation that were deemed unnecessary many centuries before either individual struck out in anger at anything for the first time. And yet, seeping through all the hatred and animosity that was practically oozing from both opposing commanders, was a will to do things the old-fashioned way, somehow seeking to achieve something so great that neither side of the encounter could doubt when all was finally said and done that day. Pouring fine whiskey into three glasses as he pondered on this, Michael would then pick up one of the glasses and down it's contents on the spot, picking up the second and pouring the rest into Devoid's would-be drinking glass, filling it two-thirds full before the bottle had run out.

'Made safe, Made full, made ready - Slanjevar, mate. Cladhan whiskey at it's finest.... In any case, I think we should take this time to discuss this last week of hostilities. I've seen that some of the Holonet reporters today called it,"Seven Days of Unrestrained Ultraviolence.", with others claiming it,"The next Bastion", already. Not bad for a battle between brigades, wouldn't you say?'

PROVING GROUND: THE SECOND DEPLOYMENT - PART 3

​

GOSHEN RAINFOREST, LAOMON (869 ABY)
HOUR ONE OF THE MAIN BATTLE FOR LAO-MON....

<"Baird to Cairn Two! Another Sit-Rep is all, seemingly quiet on the right for the moment. Will report again as soon as I see something troubling, tired of doing constant updates when I'm meant to be concentrating.">

<"Good, their leaders are in sight an' I don't need any extra voices in my ear either. Perfect arrangement for both of us, so enjoy yer comm-silence. Cairn Two out!">​

Ooooh, chiiiiit.... I know what that means. Survived enough battles t'see where this is gawn anyway.

'Prep yer med-kits, the real scrap's about t'get underway soon! An' keep yer heids doun, mind?', Surgeon-Captain Brandon Coyle exclaimed to the Medic Company's highest-ranked subordinates, talking as if they were operating at full-capacity and not the minimal-remnants of the unit he left the dropships with. Yet the medics of Blue-Heart Brigade were well accustomed to grave warnings before the fact, and any field-surgeon with the Free-State's 2nd Armoured-Infantry Brigade would freely admit such foreshadowing kept their vigilance at acceptable highs for the crazy, gore-filled hours that awaited them every time, a job considered by many to be the toughest of the Free-State's many military elements. As he followed his subordinates out of their makeshift mess-hall, Coyle would light a cigar and watch on as they moved on to the gravelly parade-ground, muttering,'Here come the battered bastards of Bastion.', to himself with a dry ruefulness that further compounded his silent despair. Even the bugler sounded more dejected in tone as he belted out the regimental rallying-call, paining everyone else in the struggle to hold each and every note until the end.

A troubling omen of sorts, one of which the religious and the superstitious alike would pick up on every single time.

'Companeeee..... Companeeee - SHUN!!!! Aw'right, lads! It's time! The enemy commander an' Lord Michael are having a parley! An' we're gettin' aw the forewarnings passed doun the line, nae joke! Honestly wish we could rotate out in our current state, but we can't.... This is it, lads. PREPARE T'LIVE OR DIE BY THE CROSSES ON YER BRASSARDS, LADS!!!!'

'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'

With each of the four platoons down to less than a third of their original number, the ones who remained to pick up the pieces (though they were all a sorry sight to behold) still managed to muster enough inner-strength to make their reference to the Serenno Creed convincingly. Even with almost half the working remnants of the medics declared,"Walking Wounded", prior to the events of that day, it was obvious these men were of stronger will than most serving other roles around their harshly-depleted company. Many other units would have broken and fled after such losses, and in the Galaxy's long and arduous history, many more already had; but it wouldn't stop the field-surgeons from maintaining a collective stiff-upper-lip attitude about their shared ordeal, not whilst there was still a Barran on the field, a trend of which the medics weren't keen on being the ones to ruin. Snorting with warm, proud mirth at the sight, the Surgeon-Captain would again mutter to himself, half-whispering,'Nutters, the lot o' you.', as the last inspection of the drill-line met it's conclusion with a nod in his general direction.

'COMPANY WILL MOVE TO THE RIGHT, IN THREES - FAAAAAALL OUT!'
And so it begins, the Day of Days is upon us.

 

[Lord Letifer]

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
KILL Dagon Kaze , Jem Fossk
Goshen War Camp | Rooftops of Keep



PEACE IS A LIE​

The silhouette of a man stood amidst the flaming backdrop as the luminescent fires lit the sky, his cloaked form fluttered in the wind violently with each gale. The smell of sulfur, smoke, and ash was warming to him. It was the call of home, not a place, but an idea. It was here in the crucible of combat, the heart of battle that he truly felt alive, that he truly felt like himself. He glanced down at his hands, outstretched against the open air as embers floated between his fingertips.

"Letifer!"

Ah, it was him.

"Doesn't have to be this way."

They'd chased one another world after world, playing games in the shadows. Always a few steps behind the other, now it seemed they had finally caught up. How lucky for him, the Court of Daggers had yet to lay claim to this death mark. The name Dagon Kaze was one that Letifer would mark off personally, all the snooping, all the investigations. They'd end. He'd make sure Ryv's innocence would never come to light, then he'd pay him a visit too.

His head drifted from the backdrop of battle towards the otherside of the rooftop where his prey stood in wait, the Jedi Knight would soon come face to face with his masked visage. A face-off, two opponents standing at opposite corners in wait. The Sith Assassin growled under his breath, his vocabulator coming to life as he reached at the hip for his saber, "I've been looking forward to this Kaze. I should of killed you on Teta when you were less of a nuisance."

"I'll fix that."

His eyes widened under the veil of his mask, he felt the immediate tug of the empyrean upon his psyche and responded. Near-instantaneously the air lit up in a crimson light, a crackling beam of plasma roaring to life from the hilt of his weapon. He stepped back with a wide arch, narrowly avoiding the easily crippling head blow that could of finished the fight before it began. The training saber nearly hit it's mark, the sudden appearance of the second Jedi only spurred him into action now.

Dropping down, he swept his leg under in a wide arch. Time to die little Jedi.

 

[Noel Strasza]

F I G H T C L A W K I L L
R E V E N A N T
IMPERIAL SPECTRE

​

The cyborg flicked her bladed arm downward, shedding the clinging gore from the edge before retracting it back into hiding amongst her limb. Proximity sensors flashed warning across her peripheral HUD and she turned her head, beholding the graceful landing of the partner she had reluctantly been dispatched with. He was a man of unquestionable honor, something that she had learned to despise in the trenches of war. Pompous moral codes and honor only ever served to get good men killed. It was something she had forgone with every modification of her body, every cycle through the lab to be repaired, every single time she had to deliver the news to anxious families that their father, brother, mother, sister, wasn't coming back to them.

Some men had the luxury of morality.

She couldn't afford it.

"With all your modifications, you couldn't just knock them out cold?" he asked hoarsely.

How expected.

Her nostrils flared with annoyance beneath the glassy helmet masking her half-human face and she shook her head, turning herself away from him. Rev snorted heavily, "Keep your morals to yourself." The Spectre slithered forward, sweeping low beneath the sprawling fronds obstructing their path, pausing as at last, the facility came into full view. Built-in scanners swept the walls with her gaze, analyzing opposition and routing the path with the greatest chance for infiltrative success.

A thought triggered the stealth generator nesting at the base of her brain stem, activating the nano-mesh lattice draped across her body, and as easily as she had been seen before, her physical form vanished beneath a flipping wave of triangular tiles, masked by the projection of the environment around her. Mechanized strength lent itself to her, propelling her upward to the edge of the wall, where she encountered another scout mid-rush to a mounted turret. Rather than risk showering her invisible frame in a splatter of blood and revealing herself, Revenant merely swung a fist at the foe, forcing jaw to snap out of place and the body to go limp- toppling from the wall onto the outside.

She checked her sightline before shedding her cloak of shadows and leaned down, extending a hand for Avenger to grasp onto- an offer to assist him up to spare the deployment of grappling gear at this time. "We will follow this wall around, their command is stationed to the rear North, infiltrating it should be no problem." The cyborg spoke with the enthusiasm of a corpse now that the other was here to chide her for every bloody swipe she dealt unto the Maw's forces.​

​

ALLIES | NIO | SJC | Avenger
HOSTILES | BotM | IF IT'S RED, IT'S DEAD | OPEN FOR OPPOSITION

​

 

[Gir Quee]

Objective III
Location: The Emerald Undertow, in hyperspace entering the Lao-Mon System
Allies: @Reshmar | Kiara Ayres | Liram Angellus | SJC | NIO | GA
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

Lights beckoned and faded across the room as the holo display showed almost countless allied craft entering into the Lao-Mon System. Whether the craft was a wedged-shaped dreadnaughts from the New Imperial Order or a trio of unlucky Galactic Alliance B-wings, some subprocessor within the Undertow was tasked with keeping track of its position as well as sensor feed being transmitted back to the Undertow. The dozens of Sh'nerus that had attempted to reconnoiter of the local space had been pounced upon by enemy fighters, but quickly the Sh'nerus simply broke formation to engage in a dogged dogfight. Each Sh'neru was as well armed and defended as its rival, but perhaps more importantly, was significantly more maneuverable. The admiral guessed if the pitched dogfight continued, the Sh'nerus would likely be flying circles around their opponents to jockey into attack positions from which they would not easily be shook. Yet he was disappointed by their run so far - they were so busy dogfighting that they were unlikely to get any unhindered scans of the area.

"They seemed to be waiting for us there," observed Ariela.

"Do you think we have a spy within our ranks?" asked the admiral.

"Maybe," said Ariela, "or among one of our allies. Yet it's not impossible that they could have detected our force build-up on the outskirts of their system, or had someone monitor a hyperlane in. That foray does show that they enjoy at least some sort of early warning system. Still, that's not exactly overwhelming force, and most of their small craft do appear oriented to ground missions."

"That would appear to be their priority," agreed the blonde man, "but perhaps they do not understand the threat we'll pose to them from orbit."

One that I will be happy to show to them if the opportunity is right....The admiral studied the holo overlay, taking notes on formations and vessels observed so far. He noted with some interest that the Brotherhood did not appear to be fielding any medium-sized vessels - there appeared to at least be one battlecruiser and a large space station, and hundreds if not thousands of starfighters, yet he had not observed a single frigate or cruiser yet. Are they hiding them somewhere? Are they off on a raid? Or is that something that is just not important to them on some doctrinal value? We're missing something here...He had only more questions as he studied the area, but his comlink chirped with the tone that he knew he should avoid - that of the Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi Order. He tapped the comlink's activation stud to hear the grandmaster's voice flow through for all nearby to hear.

"Admiral Quee, inform me if you receive intel of the situation deteriorating on the ground. Otherwise, maintain radio silence on this channel until I contact you again. The Imperator and I will be boarding the Maw in a few moments to strike at the heart of their operations by nullifying their leader. The skies are yours, Admiral. May the Force be with you."

The admiral nodded in acknowledgement, "Understood grandmaster. May the Force be with you too."

We'll certainly need it. He spared a knowing look at Ariela. The human replica droid immediately nodded in understanding, taking up the duty of keeping track of the ground situation. Her positronic processor was almost infinitively better than his feeble organic mind in keeping track of minute details, and he would wholly like to focus on coordinating fleet actions to achieve space superiority in order to affect later fire support missions for the ground. Leadership is the art of skillful delegation, is it not?

The Emerald Undertow surged from hyperspace among Admiral Reshmar's fleet. The two officers had been through much together over the years, even if their paths had frequently taken them apart. While Gir had not pried into the mon calamari officer's personal affairs, he had an understanding that he was still recovering to some degree from a pyrrhic victory against the Bryn'adul horde. Even as victory seemed closer and closer with that thread, the cost was still high and would continue a climb. A damning thought against galactic war - with the Bryn'adul reeling from their latest defeats and the Sith Empire dissolved, the Concord and her allies could once again bear their strength down on the latest menace to galactic peace. He studied targets, noting that the NIV Antares Draco and her consorts seemed posed to take on the enemy flagship. That's one less thing for me to worry about. His sapphire blue eyes swept over to an unusually large space station that orbited the world. That looks important.

He toggled his headset comlink.

"Admiral Reshmar, there appears to be a large space station in orbit over the world - you can't miss it. I am going to suggest that we make it the focus of our efforts. Wipe it out or secure, and then work our magic on the ground below. It would appear that Commodore Angellus's group is already involved in fighting some fighters nearby. We might be able to mutually support ourselves. Any objections to the plan?"

Forces

Spoiler

The Emerald Undertow with boarding module
-3 squadrons of Sh'neru Starfighters (currently engaging enemy Thornwaves)
-5 squadrons of Gregale-class Heavy Fighters (currently docked)
-6 squadrons of Zephyr-class Droid Fighters (currently docked)
-6 squadrons of Cyclone II-class Starbombers (currently docked)

Summary of Actions

Spoiler

-Sh'nerus continued to engage enemy Thornwaves
-Emerald Undertow reverts from hyperspace and into the Lao-Mon system near Admiral Reshmar's fleet
-Admiral Quee begins to coordinate/integrate others efforts

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Tartarus-Class Battlecruiser, Throne Room

​

So it was. The crew of the Tartarus did as their master commanded, the faithful serving their Dark Voice, their Dark Lord loyally. The enemy had come, a heavy crash against the floors of the hangar bay marked the arrival of his foes. Blaster bolts filled the hangar, scores and scorching remains of heavy fighting began to mark the interior of the warship with signs of battle. The Iron Imperator and Grandmaster of the Silver Jedi disembarked, flanked by two Imperial Sentinels who aided their way in cutting a swath through the Sith Cultists and Neo-Imperials that lined the halls in defense of their Dark Lord, their Sith'ari, their Savior.

The devout flung themselves into battle with zealous fervor, armed with daggers and blasters where the Neo-Imperial Sith Troopers themselves were equipped with cutting edge armor and rifles. Despite this opposition in their way, they would find no skilled forces arrayed against them, no roadblocks deliberately placed to slow their ascent to the throne.

They were being led to him.

With each step, the darkness grew around them. The empyrean poisoned with a thick miasma that was the Dark Side of the Force. It permeated the walls, the floors, the air they breathed. They were close now, so very close.

As the doors screamed open, the throne room was revealed to the assailants. A lone figure sat upon the obsidian seat of power at the end of a long walkway before them, several figures around him sprung to life immediately into the defensive. The Dark Lord chuckled aloud, his hand rose in gesture towards his newly arrived 'guests'.

"Welcome."

Rurik Fel | Kiara Ayres | Bernard of Arca​

 

[Gnost Zym]

GOSH'EN DUNGEONS
Yula Perl ​

Zym's ominous sonata built intensity, rising to its final climax precisely when the young zeltron crashed through crumbling stone and into his private lair. A nalorgon with its many keys dominated the chamber. There was a scattering of indistinct shapes covered in silken cloth like old dusty furniture in an abandoned manse. Several were draped over the walls as well seeming to disguise portraits of some kind.

“Hey. You’re not…that giant red Sith babe.”

He tilted his head in mild confusion at the intruder and rose from the organ to reach his full imposing height.

"Am I not?" Gnost glanced down.

No one had ever called him a 'babe' before but the rest certainly seemed to apply. His skin was a light shade of scarlet covered in elaborate Sith ritual tattoos. The kel dor wore black robes which matched his antiox breath mask. Like all of his kind it gave the deceptive sense of an expressionless gaze. He slowly approached his fallen Jedi visitor and extended a delicate hand with sharp ebon nails almost like talons.

"It is so very exciting to meet a patron of the fine arts," his voice was laced with gentle warmth which seemed completely at odds with such a menacing appearance, "You will be the first living soul to witness my great opus. Can I get you any refreshment? Stimcaf or...something stronger perhaps?"

Beneath one of the cloth drapes something moaned.

 

[Gren Blidh]

Objective 1

Allies: Maw
Enemies: Everyone who isn't the Maw
Weapons:
- Sd-77 sonic pistol
- DE-50 heavy blaster pistol
- 6x EMP grenade
- 6x thermal detonator
- personal energy shield
- armorweave trenchcoat
- Talisman of Transformation

The clouds, the rain, the air that lets life-forms breathe...
The land, the sea, the places where humans breed...
The skyline, the zenith, where the sun rises, travels and sets...
The homes, the lands, the places of shelter for man.​

These sickening, agonized souls would find no respite here. Slave hands gathered dirt between their fingers on the ground below Gren, writhing, searching for an escape where none was. Cold and dirty, barely clothed, this life-form at his feet was no longer human. His spirit had long since left him, leaving a gray shell of a body behind. His mind was taken by the wretched tendrils of the Dark Side of the Force, an utter slave to Gren's power. He was the vessel that kept the dark wanderer bound to reality as his incantation spread through the musty chamber.

Across the room, another dilapidated husk of a body sat curled against the wall, waiting its turn in the black dance of Dark Side magic. This time a woman, she knew what fate awaited her. Gren could smell the fear. It leaked from every sweaty pore of her body, filling his nostrils with the stench of weakness. He found himself strangely unable to muster the slightest hint of emotion at the suffering that boiled around him. As more weakness was perceived, the more detached and grim Gren could feel his spirit becoming. Such was the allure of power. Total, unconditional power intoxicated his brain, made his focus absolute.

Once his mind had been properly tethered to this realm, he would use the woman as a vessel to spread his Force phantom wide across the unfolding battlefield, journeying out of this crepuscular enclosure in mind only. They could beg. They could die. It was all the same to him. His mind invaded the cowering man's, and, watching his irises roll back into his skull, Gren could feel that he was inside. He turned his eyepatched face slowly to face the girl, that lonely blip of pale life against such a glorious canvas of black. She was next.

Back to your past, human.
All dust.​

 

[Glossa]

Location: Western Walls, Goshen War Camp - Lao-mon
Objective: 2 - Tip of the Spear
Allies: BotM ( The Mongrel Marlon Sularen Halketh Romund Sro )
Enemies: SJC ( Sergeant Omen Starlin Rand Artemis Lu ) │ NIO ( Noel Strasza Avenger) │ GA ( Damsy Callat The Dark Inquisitor )
Direct Engagement: The Dark Inquisitor Sergeant Omen

It was almost faster than she could have anticipated.

The sounds of everything else, the screams of the dead, the crack of scatterguns, and the shouts of the living, were almost entirely drowned out in that moment, in favor of the autoturret’s soft, yet mechanical whirr as the weapon swiveled around its base with surprising speed in spite of the powerful, heavy weapon it mounted. Nevertheless, processing the danger with fine-tuned reflexes, the Jango Jumper closed in with robust, leaping strides, leaping on top of the autoturret’s frame before shooting into it at point blank with her rifle disabling it in a shower of sparks.

Carrying her momentum onward, the Jango Jumper rushed to get out of the sightlines of any other turrets in the area, leaping over a duracrete barrier, with almost preternatural ease, driven by powerful legs.

In the next instant, the Jedi landed next to the now-destroyed autoturret, having leapt from the walls above.

The sharp and distinct crack of stones clued the Jango Jumper into her presence, her eyes driven by her ears to face the incoming threat as she flipped through the air, landing on the other side of the barricade. They went wide upon processing the two yellow sabers in the Zabrak’s hands, wielded in a reverse grip that evinced to the Jedi’s skill and power. Like any other, Glossa had heard the stories of the seemingly divine mage-knights who were capable of wielding esoteric forces to such incredible degrees of power, shattering the laws of physics as if they were merely just that, words on paper which held no meaning compared to the arcane energies of the Force. Glossa had known that the day would come when she would be called to face one, perhaps to die at their hand like so many other unfortunate souls.

If that day had indeed arrived, she did not intend to let it pass without making her strength known to the Avatars.

Landing from her flip in a semi-low stance, Glossa snapped her rifle to bear, her sights set on the Jedi’s stomach, from roughly 16 meters away. A held breath preceded a series of sharp cracks as Glossa compressed the trigger, firing two bursts of three rounds each in quick succession, letting the recoil pull her aim up from the Zabrak’s stomach to her upper chest, then hopefully, her head.

And yet, a part of her knew that it wouldn’t be so easy as that.

Spoiler: Loadout

• White Pulsiva Bodysuit
  • Supplemental Armor Plating
    • Scavenged Duraplast
      • Vambraces / Greaves / Cuisses / Rerebraces
  • Energy Shield
    • DS-102 “Aegis” Personal Energy Shield
  • B-11 “Greitis” Class Combat Boots
    • Whimsy Knife (2)
• Hekler’Kok FR-01
  • 30-Round Magazine
  • Ammunition
    • Hekler’Kok Polymer Cartridge Ammunition-Explosive
    • Hekler’Kok Polymer Cartridge Ammunition-Armor Piercing
  • Sonic Scope
• FAE/M-01 "Scherezade" Energized Vibroblade
• Flash Grenade (2)
• G-20 Glop Grenade (2)

 

[Lyra Vent]

R A V E N
COMPNOR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
GOSHEN | LAO MON
ALLIES: Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Thurion Heavenshield | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Noel Strasza | Sakadi Marathi Sinvala | NIO | SJC | GA
ENEMIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER | Whoever stands in the way of programming
ENGAGING: The Mongrel 's Gore Wasp Riders
GEAR: Armour | Shield and Grappling Hook hidden in vambrace | Side-arm 1 | Side-arm 2 | Rotary cannon | Phrik cybernetics | Standard Grenade loadout | Vibroknife | 4x Shiva Knives

RAISE HELL
​

The trip down the wall was fast and uneventful.

It suited Lyra and her colleague perfectly fine as they hurried over to the first over the processing spires. They had a directive and not a lot of time to act on it.

Chaos waged all around. The din of battle was deafening, even from the other side of the wall. Cries of pain and death could be heard - which side they belonged to, the COMPNOR agent neither could tell nor could she care. From inside the processing tower they had started to plant charges on, more cries could be heard. It was unfortunate to be them, but in the end, war always demanded casualties. The ideologies of Light sided space wizards were lost on the Raven.

Her training and job had stripped her of any marshmallow emotions that could hamper the cause.

She was a few feet from Zoraya, planting another charge on the other side of the haphazard shell of the building.

"The Brotherhood of the Maw picked a fight with the wrong people."

Lyra chuckled and was just about to answer her comrade when repeater rounds hit the wall in front of Lyra.
The Raven's head snapped up, catching sight of the incoming Gore Wasp Riders.
"We got company!" she yelled at Zoraya as she quickly flipped around the rotary that was slung across her back.

And then she let loose with the heavy cannon.

Strafing around the building, still firing bursts of heavy fire on the Riders, Lyra joined up with Zoraya.
"Finish planting that chit. I'll hold em off 'til we can blow." she told her as she moved forward again to face the bug riders.

The combined repeater rounds ripped up the ground and streaked burn marks against her cybernetics. At least for now, the combined defences of sichouweave armour and Phrik cybernetics held fast. The ring of fire hitting metal was quite shrill in her ears, but she gritted her teeth and held her finger down on the trigger.

The heavy rotary cannon answered the repeaters in kind.

Lyra did not know how long she would be able to hold off the riders before her defences would start to buckle. She just hoped Zoraya was moving her butt so they could get the hell out of there and blow the building with the thermals. The chain reaction should make a considerable dent in the Maw's processing expertise.

What was the loss of a few slaves in the greater scheme of things?

 

[Tegan Starfall]

Post: 1
Objective: Master of Death
Equipment: Mind Crown | Black MidNight Duster with Hood | Echani shield suit | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Defender | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | x2 FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X4 Daggers | Pack of Death sticks | Various Explosives on person and in backpack | Holopad
Allies: The Mongrel | Halketh | Darth Tennacus | Bendak Crail | Romund Sro | Marlon Sularen | Glossa
Enemies: Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Lyra Vent | Thurion Heavenshield | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Sakadi Marathi Sinvala | Aemilio Valaar
Special Tags: Aemilio Valaar

---

War on all sides, pure chaos on the ground and in the skies around the Camp. Tegan took a deep breath taking it all in. Letting the Chaos consume her and empower her. The Witches face painted like the dead that scattered the grounds. Once again, the dark came calling asking her to rise and bring about righteous retribution on the sinners of the universe. Those that did not accept the end, those that did not march in step with maw would burn in entropies fire and never lay their eyes on the new worlds.


Tegan’s eyes opened her burning sulfuric orange orbs stared forward toward the door to the little hut she had been meditating and taking in the dark commands. Slowly the sorceress rose to her feet and stepped out into the enveloping battlefield that was the camp. She looked up wards towards the sky that was dominated by fighters and jump jetters. Slowly she took steps from the little hut. Her diminutive figure walked through the camp the darksight guiding her to her destination.


It called to her, it pulled her in a certain direction. She walked through troops colliding with Maw forces and sabers being engaged. Yet she seemingly paid it all no mind, as she did so Mawsworn soldiers began to gather behind her. Tegan was enigmatic figure one that despite her size and often unassuming demeanor was known among the Maw to be one of their most powerful members. The men that followed her cut down any that attempted to get at her with righteous fury.


Though the short woman came across and opposing figure, like all Jedi wanting to prove their existence meant something. Wanting to prove their path was the only way to salvation. Jedi often talked of saving but more times than not where the very killers and monsters they spoke of protecting the so called incent from. The Jedi saw themselves as the better to the Maw when Tegan looked at them, she saw them she saw them as the same. Both were monsters the only difference was the Maw was willing to do what need to be done to cleanse these worlds of their filth.


Her eyes slowly glanced up at the Jedi who drew his saber and prepared for a charge. Tegan’s orange peered out from the hood of her purple duster. Her gloved left hand still healing from Carlac reached out open palm towards the Jedi that now charged her poised to slice her arm clean off. Tegan quickly closed her open hand into a fist and ever bone in the Jedi’s body snapped and crunched as he was crushed by the force. His body dropped to the ground in a heap, his saber disengaging and clattering to the ground.


Tegan’s eye opened she continued towards where the dark was calling her. It was pulling her towards some soldier’s ones with Jet packs on there back. She walked next to one that crashed to the ground, her orange eyes gaze staring right through the soldier still alive begging for help. “Will you serve the Maw?” Her tone was soft yet distant and uncaring as she looked on the man. She wondered would one who wanted help, desperately needed help so easily change allegiance. She looked on in curiosity awaiting the man’s answer.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Allies: Halketh | Darth Tennacus | Bendak Crail | Romund Sro | Marlon Sularen | Glossa | Zachariel Steelblood | Ves Fett
Foes: Starlin Rand | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Liram Angellus | Noel Strasza | Avenger | Thurion Heavenshield | Zoraya Ives-Ayres | Damsy Callat | Mrurh'en'lase | Hel | Lyra Vent | Artemis Lu

The essence of war was chaos. As the old truism went, no plan survives contact with the enemy, and Hetzen was quickly discovering just how true that was. Clean lines of battle warped or even dissolved as forces crashed together and individual champions infiltrated behind enemy units, to the point that she could not possibly have mapped out the course of the battle if she'd tried, even with a wasp's eye view of the field. What she could tell was that the Brotherhood's situation was desperate. They were being hit from all sides, and the cracks in their defenses were showing.

The Wretchedness, at least, appeared to be doing its job. Though some random starship had streaked right over her head, blocking some of the bombs with its hull, the little transport could not possibly make a major dent in a carpet bombing run by forty dedicated bombers. Sularen had played his part well. At the base of the wall and in the skies alike, Shi'ido were abruptly going limp, sagging under the weight of their own suddenly-uncontrolled bodies as they lost control of their shapeshifting. It hadn't gotten all the rebels, not by a long shot. Many had scrambled clear.

But those it had caught were in for a grim fate.

Even that small victory was not destined to last, however. This was an invasion by a Jedi government, and the ranks of the changeling rebels (already full of mystics of their own) had been bolstered by a teeming army of Force-knights. With their magic, they called the winds, dispersing the acid-green clouds of The Wretchedness from the base of the southern wall. The Brotherhood's comparatively small number of shamans and Knyghts could not possibly match the sorcery on display here. Soon the rebels would be advancing once again, ready for a second assault wave.

They would have to advance over their paralyzed, suffocating battle-brothers who had been caught in The Wretchedness, for the compound soaked into Shi'ido skin and remained active for a half-hour. Perhaps the rebels and Jedi had skilled healers among them, people who could draw out the toxin before it suffocated the fallen to death... but they would have to do it quickly, within five minutes or so, and they would have to do it while under fire from the Mawites on the walls. And with Sularen's bombers still prowling the skies, they would have to keep watch for another pass...

And beware the unleashed chrysalide branchlurkers.

The other good news was that the rebel tank knocking at the gate had been destroyed, the concentrated fire of the Tarar warbands - and the rocks they'd pushed down atop it - finally silencing the mighty vehicle. Its durasteel carcass had made a more effective barricade for the southern gate than anything the Mawites could have managed. The southern walls were now effectively reinforced, leaving only two ways into the camp: blowing up tank, gate, and all with copious high explosives, or getting over the walls with wings, ladders, or vehicles capable of climbing 15 meters.

That was why the Micians had to die quickly.

Hetzen had no time to direct the assault on the winged Shi'ido, however. Too much else was happening. That pesky ship's torpedoes slammed into the walls, gouging huge chunks of duracrete out of them. There was heavy disruption on the western and northern walls, and some kind of disturbance in the slave quarters, and more and more enemy saboteurs slipping into the camp... and the Scar Hound commander, locked in a personal duel, had no time to react to it all. How did The Mongrel manage it? How did he strike the balance between Warlord and warrior?

The two wasp-riders she had dispatched, Varkas and Androk, faced off against one of the NIO infiltrators, who was providing covering fire for the other as she continued to plant charges. The two men, hulking warriors covered in tattoos and cybernetic augmentations, quickly divided up in order to press their numerical advantage. They were elite troops, for only the most experienced and strongest-willed could survive the ritual of entering a Gore Wasp hive and claiming a drone as a mount. A significant percentage of those who tried ended up eaten by the titanic bugs.

Their remains were regurgitated to build the hive walls.

But these two had been strong enough, and they had fought together for a long time. Varkas flew high, drawing the fire of his foe's heavy rotary cannon. Blaster bolts plinked off of his mount's chitinous armor, though one ripped through his leatheris leg armor and badly charred the meat of his thigh. He grimaced, but did not fall or waver in his aim; combat adrenals flowed through his veins, deadening the pain and focusing him. He continued to open up on the NIO infiltrator from above, pouring repeater fire down at her in a deadly exchange of flying blaster bolts.

Androk came in low, letting his repeater hang from a shoulder strap and drawing his warblade. That was just insurance, though; his Gore Wasp was the real weapon. As he streaked in on a crash course straight toward Lyra Vent, Varkas broke off firing, turning to hunt for Zoraya Ives-Ayres instead. The blasterfire stopped just in time for Androk's wasp to curl in on itself midair, lashing out with its 2-foot stinger in a blow intended to impale Lyra right through the chest. As thick around as a well-muscled human bicep, it could punch through light vehicle armor.

If it impacted a person, it would be devastating.

Up on the walls, Hetzen had a duel of her own to consider... and something strange was happening. As the Jedi drew her laser-sword, Hetzen's Gore Wasp was thrashing about, trying to rise and chase some unseen foe above it while failing to react to the Jedi at all. Sorcery, the marauder was sure of it; the Jedi always used their magic tricks rather than dare to engage in an honest fight. It was why The Mongrel despised them and all Force-users, an attitude that had trickled down to his entire tribe. With a grunt of frustration, Hetzen slid out of the saddle, warblade in hand.

"My resolve is unshakeable," she said, as her confused Gore Wasp chased a phantom somewhere over her head. Did she feel afraid in that moment, facing a Jedi warrior alone? Of course. She was terrified, for she knew that her chances of surviving this encounter were almost nil. She had no magic, only experience and a good blade, and that was seldom enough against one of the mage-knights. But she also had faith. "I am ready to fall in battle. I serve the Three Avatars, and my glorious death will earn me a place in their paradise. But first, I'll take you down with me."

Warblade in one hand, Hetzen drew a heavy blaster pistol in the other, taking aim at the Jedi. She had noticed Amelia Venthyra 's injury, and knew that taking advantage of it was her only chance to survive the next thirty seconds. If the witch was distracted keeping her Gore Wasp at bay, it might be difficult for her to also counter a volley of blasterfire... maybe, if Hetzen was lucky. So she charged forward, firing her gun wildly at Amelia with one hand, swinging her heavy warblade with the other. She would never have a better chance to wound the Jedi than right now.

Inside the walls, within the increasingly chaotic streets of the War Camp, Mawite reinforcements were arriving. The fearsome Zachariel Steelblood , acting as the vanguard of his mighty Bloodsworn Tribe, had just dropped in, and it seemed that the Mawite Mandalorians such as Ves Fett had also joined the battle. It was impossible to tell if that would be enough to hold Goshen for an hour, let alone for the foreseeable future, but it was all the hope they had. If Hetzen could stop the Jedi here, could keep the south and east walls from being overwhelmed a little longer...

Maybe, just maybe, they could blunt the attack.

 

[The Dark Inquisitor]

Objective: Tip of the Spear
Tags: Glossa Sergeant Omen
Engaging the enemy

---

Having watched the speed of her foremost opponent, Kinhaes knew she'd be a fast one. Luckily, Kinhaes was also a high speed individual. It was the main focus of her techniques. Hearing Omen somewhere behind her, his voice giving her reassurance that her back was safe, she focused entirely on the Marauder in front of her. Her blades crackled as she tightened her grip on them. Watching the once hidden warrior flip out of her hiding place and land reminded her of one of the other Padawans she had seen with a similar style. Fast movements, increased jumping skills to avoid conflict. It was a simple, yet effective method. Seeing the rifle point at her, minimal distance away from the end of its metallic end to her own armored body, Kinhaes trusted the Force to guide her.

Her eyes marked her foe, seeing the unusual weapon, her grip tightened on the handles. Hearing the sharp, bursting volley of blaster fire coming right at her, Kinhaes took action. Using the Force, Kinhaes lifted a piece of debris nearby and used it as a large shield. The many shots from the Slug-thrower dented the metal, but only minutely. After the volley was over, Kinhaes pushed the large lump of metal towards Glossa . With the target blinded to her now, Kinhaes pulled on the Slug-thrower she was holding, aiming to send it flying away. After this, Kinhaes let the blades return to the reverse gripped stance she had before. Compared to a standard fight that this warrior was used to, she carried on moving forwards as if unfazed by the attack on her life. "You'll need to do better than that, monster," Kinhaes said, her mask slight distorting her voice.