Populate Devastation of Nirauan | NIO | Populate of Ansion

[Lucien Dooku]

ope. page claim tho.

 

[Dante Corvus]

BARRAN'S COUNTERATTACK
173RD STORMTROOPER LEGION
MYRMIDONS - FULL LEGION STRENGTH [1000/1000]
ACCOMPANIED BY - FIRST COMPANY [200/200]
DECEASED Erskine Barran | Noel Strasza | Mav Ryburn

ANGELS ASCENDANT

The skies illuminated above the darkened city of New Carannia as streaks of white light plummeted towards the ground, the plumes of smoke following their descent leaving billowing clouds in their aftermath. The Myrmidons had landed in force, their full Legion strength brought to bear in order to reclaim their homeworld from the forces of the Maw. With the entirety of the Legion leading the vanguard of the reconquest, spread across New Carannia's remaining defensive pockets, Dante was left with the First Company under his direct command. There were far too many variables for him to effectively command the entire Legion at once. Most of the Legion had gone in blind, outside of the pre-invasion intelligence that was delivered by the Lord Executor herself.

Whole squads and platoons found themselves separated and divvied upon release from their flagship, their predesignated drop positions sending them just where they needed to be. Myrmidons exited their drop pods to scenes of death and glory, delivering the former upon the unsuspecting Mawite hordes, and earning the latter as the fighting began to increase in intensity. Though the Maw had suffered greatly in their efforts to take the planet, Dante would be foolish to think that the battered remnants who remained would be any less savage in their fervor for the Dark Gods, and their supposed herald. But such musing was appropriate for another time.

He had a war to win, and a city to liberate.

-

His axe rained with blood upon the street beneath his feet, the fallen pile of corpses surrounding him being reduced to a mixture of viscera and flayed flesh. There was little sympathy at all for the pathetic creatures around him, no matter how weak they felt in comparison, or the foolishness he sensed through their unwarranted fanaticism. He had slain many of them kind from the first moment the Myrmidons touched the ground, and a quick look upon his surroundings was more than enough to verify that they would surely continue to die in en masse, force willing.

His men performed their duties with equal skill, but perhaps more savagery in their movements, and their methods. Technique never suffered, even as the jetpack-wielding Myrmidons blazed across the streets, impacting enemy formations with the sole purpose of shedding blood on behalf of Nirauan, and for the Legion who called it home. Vengeance reigned supreme, and there was nothing he could do to appease the Myrmidons' collective desire to satiate their anger, other than to let them run free for a time.

Wherever they went, Dante would follow up closely behind, surging to the vanguard of each engagement with his axe humming in his hand. It was his duty to lead his men from the front, to slay and kill where they were all witness to see him fight. He'd grown into a symbol of the Legion, much like the Jedi Lord who founded them all those years prior. Savage as his men could be, the Myrmidons did not falter, nor did they resort to the berserker tactics they found common among the Maw's greatest warriors. Even when their desire to spill blood grew too strong, Dante was there to bring them in line, and he trusted the officers of the lesser companies to do just the same.

Though he found it difficult to do so when his communication device sang tones of notifications to his ears without pause. The armies of Nirauan were reaching out to their Lord Commander, and so too were the elements who flooded New Carannia to reinforce them. His own Myrmidons were rather quiet, but he expected no less. They were far too busy killing to bother the Lord Commander with any trivial information or requests. Their role was to conquer and kill, and to protect the denizens of Nirauan when found. The only one of his men who dared to reach out was none other than his second-in-command, Devaron, who also didn't quite share in the same level of barbarism as the others, despite participating in the bloodshed all the same.

The Devaronian landed next to Dante, his feet touching the ground with an audible thud as his jetpack came to an abrupt stop in momentum. Dante turned his head towards the man, eyeing him down, trailing across the patterns of blood covering his once-pristine armor.

"I think it's about time we put the leash back on the men." He spoke up, a slight heave in his chest being visible through the plate as he was finally afforded a moment of respite from the killing. Dante stood idle in response, taking his second's words into consideration before turning his gaze upon the men around him. Though they wouldn't admit it, he could see his men grew tired with each swing of the blade, and each high-impact assault into successive Mawite positions. It was a small disadvantage to their way of combat, and while he was certain his men could fight like this for much more longer if needed, their longevity was necessary for this operation to succeed.

A nod was given in return, and he opened up a channel to the warriors fighting across the city block they held.

<"First Company, regroup on my location."> His orders were to the point, concise, and needed nothing else said. A final chorus of death rang across the stretch of the city they held. He activated his jetpack, slowly coming to a hover alongside the Devaronian who followed his lead. "I've already received word that Lord Barran's begun his counterattack, along with more recent intelligence regarding a..." He paused just long enough to sigh beneath his helmeted silhouette. The thought of their city being overrun with literal undead was another annoyance to notch onto his belt. "...A horde of zombies, standing between us the Myrmidons' Quarters."

Devaron shrugged in response. "That's not a problem for us." He thumbed at their jetpacks, and Dante assumed the man was smirking beneath his helmet. "Leave it for the legs to handle, we're spread thin as it stands, Commander."

Dante gave a nod, shifting his attention to the gathering cohort of hovering warriors surrounding them. "Perhaps." He'd eventually reply, comms open for the rest of the men to hear. "But what amounts to an...annoyance to us, might result in the further loss of good men who've fought for a month straight to give us a chance to right our failures. To retake our home. We owe it to them, if not to Lord Dooku, and not to ourselves."

Collectively the men remained silent, though he could see in the subtle movements between themselves that private channels had opened up amongst them. Eventually, their attention returned to their Lord Commander, silence breaking all at once, as fists slammed into the breastplate over their hearts.

"For the Legion!"

They sounded off in unison, only for Devaron to chime in afterward and add his own phrase into the battlecry.

"For the Dominion!"

Hundreds of men sang into the open air, their helmets clutched under their shoulders just long enough to clear the sweat off their brows. Dante ascended upwards after the display, soon to be joined by the brothers of the Legion once the seals around their helms had been locked in place. His HUD locked onto the horde shambling its way across the district, the next obstruction to stand in the way of their homeworld's liberation. Thrusters increased to a maximum at once, the concerted thunder being released by hundreds of Myrmidons' cascading through the air with the intensity of heavy ordinance.

"For Nirauan."
​

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SKIES | NIRAUAN
ALLIES: Jon Kovacs | Enzo Demici
ENEMIES: BOTM
ENGAGING: Electra-12 | Electra-13
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives | TIE

EDGE

Were these Bandits born from under a rock?

Del's words had barely left her comms when the bandits turned to head straight for them in near-expert movements while they loosed slow-ass torpedos of all things. Del clenched her jaw and swerved to the left to evade the oncoming ordnance with relative ease. She would have kept on going had Jon not given a split second order.

Party pooper.

<On it, Lead.> she said as she instantly dipped her Fighter into a low yet wide berth to the left. The Outlander shuddered slightly at the sudden change in altitude, but held fast.

Piece of chit rust bucket.

She kept and eye on Electra-13 's fighter movements as she made her turn from down below. Within the movement, the Tempest locked onto the enemy bird with an almost lazy confirmation.
<Party time. Enjoy the fireworks, boys.> she said with a smile.
From the two launchers burst brilliant missiles, already locked onto their bogey and headed straight for it's belly.

Del allowed the Outlander to overshoot the bandit she just shot in order to get in her enemy's line of sight for the off-chance that Electra-13 managed to evade the missiles in order to expose her own tail.
<Dagger-7, Dagger-6.> she hailed Enzo. <If you can get your nose out the air for a second, my tail is exposed. Roast that bandit when it takes the bait, Noob.> she said as she angled her bird slightly upward to present her vulnerable side a bit better to the enemy.

She knew full well she was playing with fire. She hated playing decoy - that's how Vane lost his life, after all. She just hoped the rich boy was competent enough to do what needed to be done.
<Dagger-5, Dagger-6.> she called Jon. <Do me a favour - thrust my wrench down Demici's throat if he doesn't save my tail.> she said calmly as she kept an eye on her sensors.

Thank heavens for Skakoan technology.

 

[Gat Tambor]

DEVESTATION OF NIRAUAN
Y U N G _ S K A K O
DIRECTOR
TRADE FEDERATION
Aiko Hayata​

---

HURRICANE​

Ah yes, another devious scheme for cheap labor. In truth, Gat hardly made use to swathes of populations of downtrodden near slaves. What he produced constituted high technical knowledge and heavy machinery and thus needed skilled tradesmen. But, his industry wasn't every industry. He was not so delusional to not recognize that. One had to do what they had to do.

<"Ahhh- Cathar. Hate that place. The Cathar are good working stock however, if basic labor is infact what you seek, it is a good avenue to go down. The Hutts made use of Cathar labor for generations and in recent days, no one has treated the Cath worse than, surprisingly, the Cathar themselves. They were pit against one another in a war who was pro and anti Sith Imperial. Certainly, make use of the anti to round of the pro, brandish them as non-new Imperial citizens and suspend them in Trade Federation custody indefinitely as you work them to achieve your goals in corporate living and manufacturing complexes."> Gat stated. It was a routine task on the part of the Trade Federation, really.

<"But...hardly needed my input to determine any of this so- do tell, what exactly are the opportunities for my 'holdings' within an arid world populated by low education, barely literate aliens on the Imperial outlands? More TDF presence might be beneficial, given its position along the Hydian Way and Braxant Run respectively but...manufacturing? Hmmm...make the pitch for me, Miss Hayata. What am I to gain from this investment?" He asked, arching a brow.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

THIRD POST
THE_WOAD
313th Stormtrooper Legion,"Sabretooth Legion"

BARRAN'S COUNTERATTACK
OBJECTIVE 1 - OPERATION: PEACEMAKER

NIO: Dante Corvus Noel Strasza Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones Enzo Demici
Kolson Vrask Willan Tal Julian Qar Vladimir Kovačić Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Jesse McCoy

BOTM: Electra-12 Electra-13

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
BASKET-HILTED VIBROSWORD CLAYMORE
FRAGARACH MODEL DISRUPTOR-PISTOL
KEEPSAKE FAIRBAIRN VIBROKNIFE
THE NEW HAND

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: BARRAN'S UNQUENCHABLE RAGE - PART 4

FORT IMPERIUM, MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (870 ABY)

'Rosk'Aiar's asking where we're going- oh, wait.... He's ready, emphasis on,"Ready", sir.'

<"It's about godsdamn time, Lance One. We're eyeballs deep in corpses under the fort at the moment, I'll be with you shortly, Iron Maiden out.">​

Chuckling away to himself, Lord-General Barran was laughing due to the fact Lord-Executor Strasza had unknowingly answered the Tusken's signage question, giving them a task to set to without even trying; this both amused and amazed the Woad in particular, knowing how frighteningly effective his good friend was proving to be as the new Lord-Executor, and of how obvious it was to see already. The importance of utilising concise, strongly worded authority would never be lost on a man who was trained for years on end to perfect and master accordingly, and in seeing another former Major growing and adapting as he was, the Stormchaser found himself gladdened that he could depend on everyone above him in the Imperial chain-of command, gladdened that nothing had changed for him in that regard. By the time Erskine's mirth had run it's course, the old Woad looked to the seasoned Tusken and asked,'You get all that, Rosk'Aiar?', like he was just going through the motions, seeing for himself that his new bodyguard had been listening in the whole time with baited breath.

'HEEEEEEEEEUUUUUURGH - HUR HUUURR!!! HEEEEEEEEEUUUURGH!!!!'

The Grave-Tusken warcry of his people, one that all Grave-Tuskens used to announce their intent to rampage, one such that was entirely new to the ears of everyone present to hear it, though somehow they all knew what it meant. Perhaps aided by the sheer volume of it's expression, perhaps even by the icy, murderous tone, but one thing was for certain; the body-language, the intensity applied to throwing his Gaffi Stick above his head, and the violent steaming of his goggles were all among the biggest factors in helping the humans around Rosk'Aiar come to an understanding of what their Tusken colleague was trying to convey. 'Talk about,"Ready", man.', Erskine started, cut short by the fact it was the first time a Tusken had truly expressed such personal untethered intent to him before, and certainly not as a strangely successful means to put his Lord-General at ease in such a way either. Nodding his emphatic approval of the warrior his Tusken was on the very precipice of becoming, Barran straight his posture and concluded,'Like tigers - we roar, we snarl, we spit, froth at the mouth an' growl as we fight to save our Lord-Executor.... This is where that savage within is let loose, THIS IS WHERE THE RED MIST DESCENDS ON ALL THREE OF US!!!!'

<"Sabretooth Troopers, this is Barran! Whatever ground you've earned, you need to clear everything in the basement levels beneath it! Let loose with everything on the way, an' leave nothing to chance! Lance One out!">​

'Rosk'Aiar.... Lead the way. You know what to do.'

And like a shot, all three IMPAF officers ran towards the barricades at the entrance to the underground access-tunnel, taking less than a minute to close the distance and pass the rubble, debris and overturned speeders on their way into the dark, treacherous tunnels of the redoubt's basement levels. With nothing but the sound of their breaths, their footfalls and the consequent echoes in the tunnels for company, it would be a tense affair until the trio of NFU melee-specialists encountered their first undead threats, but like in all instances of extensive silence, a deafening, hellish cacophony would always resonate with intent to quash the silence that preceded it. However, the voices that broke the silence, undead, vile and ravenous though they were in that moment, wouldn't compare to the Tusken's roars, but at the same time - wouldn't compare to those of the two old Woads either. The true menace in the tunnels never feasted on the flesh and sinews of Imperials, and as far as the trio saw it, the undead never could be; not while the wrath of the Imperium had fight left in them, not while the Lord-General had vengeance on his mind, and certainly not while a Grave Tusken still had a voice loud enough to shout with the strength of ten drillmasters.

'SINN'SEARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!'
'SINN'SEARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!'

'HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUURRRRGH!!!!'​

The rattling, hoarse screams of the zombies bearing down on them from the north would be punctuated by the recognisable sound of blunt-force breakage of a humanoid skull, sending the resounding crunch bouncing off the walls and the ceiling of the tunnel to get their hostilities properly underway. From that moment, from that adherence to Irveric Tavlar's,"Only Forward.", philosophy, the ancient Vibroswords of the Woads would be unleashed on the skulls and necks of their zombified aggressors, and with little or no de-escalation expected until they reached the specific location of the Iron Maiden's heavily embattled Hellhounds. However, what they didn't know was that the din and echoes resonating from the machine-gun fire in the floors above had alleviated their struggle somewhat, making their fight to the southern basement entrance steadily fizzle out into groups of fewer than five or six by the time the doorway itself had been opened by the grace of McGechin's grasp of the scanning-machine's inner electronic workings, but other matters would come to Lord Erskine's attention that would require his urgent attention - more comm chatter in the dark for a man who was more than accustomed to it by then.

<"Vindicate-Actual to Barran copy. The Riders are moving in from the east side, securing the district outside Myrmidon-proper. Expect my men within the half hour, we can have munition moved in and medical on your call.">​

'Riders? Wait a minute, is she referring to - the 307th? That- has t'be!'

<"Barran to Vindicate-Actual! Move your units to the fort's northern sectors, have them hold their ground. Whatever ruins your men look out to will be the ruins we all go running into anyway - I haven't enough patience to play about with defensive-doctrine this time. Not like it worked for me last time, eh? Briefing in the command-centre soon, so be quick. Lance One out!">

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: BARRAN'S UNQUENCHABLE RAGE - PART 5

FORT IMPERIUM, MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (870 ABY)

'NICELY DONE, ROSK'AIAR!!!!'

It was almost as if the IMPAF-trio were engaging in sporting activities together, scoring points together like the clear and present dangers weren't even a factor in their relentless advance, steadily closing in on the Lord-Executor's location with each and every felled part of the undead rabble who blocked their path; alas, such fun would draw to a boring close when it seemed they were alone in the dark for a while, but this would also allow them enough of a respite to catch their breaths and allow Lord Erskine to coordinate for a little while, something Barran would be thankful for when his comm-device bleeped out of it's idled state. Vandemarian tagged, but both a name and callsign the Stormchaser hadn't seen before, and it was in this moment that the Woad realised something had gone awry with Aurelian Sigismund in the previous battle, hitting Barran like he'd taken a nasty, booted kick to the face for a blunder that would be known to all in the galaxy by then.

<"Lord General Barran , this is Imperator Tassar. Assault landing inbound, target zone spaceport. Speartip as relief force towards Fort Imperium, Lord Executor Strasza intended. Requesting information on the last position of High Imperator Aurelian, over.">​

'Not good, not good at all.... I couldn't have blundered that fight any worse if I tried, an' it's gettin' worse by the day noo.'

<"Not gonna lie, that one's hit me harder than all of the bad news I've gotten so far. Didn't know he was MIA, I wouldn't have believed it - even if my subordinates were to tell me.... Last I knew, the Agema were somewhere between the Myrmidon Quarter an' Pellaeon District, but if what you're suggesting is true - only Stilicho made it back to Vandemar? Nah, Tassar, you're reporting to the command-centre first. I want some truths from you before your search proceeds. Something about this stinks, an' I want answers! Lance One out!">​

'YOU'VE GOT TO BE FETHING KIDDING ME, MAN!!!!'

Being made fully aware of the defeat before, neither R'Nurr'Rosk'Aiar nor Carwood McGechin envied their Lord-General in that moment, knowing the Stormchaser was living through some of the darkest days in life since the loss of his firstborn, knowing their commander wasn't getting much in the way of good fortune of late. Whether this trend would continue or not, as much as it aggravated him in such moments, was entirely up to the Lord-General's ability to withstand the Maw's increasingly unpredictable attempts to adapt to their Imperial foes, and the 313th's ability to flourish against armies that cut their teeth fighting against Lord Erskine's comrades and allies alike. And yet, despite the endless existential weight just adding to that already accumulating at his back and shoulder, the Stormchaser would snigger and start closing in on his friend's exact location again, though the supposed laughter itself was more of a rueful, self-derisive snort at the joke he thought his career was looking set to become.

But it seemed that life had other ways to further-confound the old Woad, and in the most unexpected ways he could possibly comprehend, another dose of the unavoidable that worked to hound the Lord-General's every step, only this time - the confoundment would meet entirely new extremes at the mention of his second son on Lord Erskine's comm-link with Major-General Voi'Kryt.

<"Lord Barran, do tell me are you keeping a pet mutant like your greenhorne son? My men and sith-spawn don't agree and I like to give them them full disclosure.">​

'Wait a minute- what the feth? Dae ah really need t'know, Carwood?'

<"Interesting conversation-starter, so it is. Anyway, lets start off with the fact that my only pet at the moment is a Mantellian Tiger cub, obviously putting that,"Mutant", talk to rest on my pa- about that actually.! Would you care to enlighten me as to what the feth my son could've possibly fethed up this time? You know what- feth it! You can tell me in person! Make your way to the command-centre at the double, Vindicate-Actual! Lance One out!">​

Storming off ahead of the others, none would be able to talk Lord-General Barran out of taking the lead in their attempt to reach Lord-Executor Strasza in time, none would even so much as entertain the thought of tempting fate in such a way, but fortunately for the other IMPAF officers - Lord Erskine was only furious at his son for what felt like the millionth time by then. Not that McGechin or Rosk'Aiar could tell, but by the time they neared the Hellhounds' defensive position, it wouldn't matter; a fresh accumulation of zombies would be seen still trying to force their way through Noel's strong, unwavering defences, and every undead back was turned away from the threats they should've been wary about the whole time. By this point of the fight, it was finally dawning on the IMPAF-trio that the rotary cannons and belt-ammunition LMGs were doing their work well, clearing out more than enough zombies for the inbound contingents to clear out whatever had been missed in the initial northward sweep.

A small blessing that was becoming greater as the operation progressed, a gift-horse the Lord-General wasn't daring to look in the mouth, not while time and momentum were still on his side.

<"Barran to Iron Maiden! Sally out on my mark! I repeat - sally out on my mark! Ready.... Set.... GO FOR IT, STRASZA!!!! RIP AN' TEAR!!!!">​

 

[Augustus Tassar]

Augustus Tassar
Imperator of the Rim Guard Legions, First Spear of High Vandemar, Founder of the Tyrian Brigades​

✠ Objective: I. Operation Peacemaker, Find Darth Imperius , Retake New Carannia

✠ Location: New Carannia Spaceport

✠ Gear: Praetorian Sarissa, Battleblade, Tactical Armor 'Discidator'

✠ Assets:

Naval Forces​	Ground Forces​
Omnia Vincit (Battleship Bucephelus-class) [ 100 | 100 | 100 ] ~ Full Complement​	Vandemarian Shield Legions 'Rim Guard Legions' Legio VII 'Praetoria Imperialis' [ 100 | 100 ] Legio XIII 'Ad Victoriam' [ 100 | 100 ] Legio XVI 'Raptor Rex' [ 100 | 100 ] Armored Cohort [ 100 | 100 ] (Excidium-class Tanks) Wardroid Maniple [ 100 | 100 ] (Dreadnought-class)​

✠ Tag(s): Dante Corvus , DECEASED Erskine Barran , Willan Tal , Noel Strasza

​

Part II: Ad Quod Damnum
Theme
​

Nirauan System | Nirauan | New Carannia Spaceport
Forty minutes after the start of Operation Peacemaker . . . .

The landing at the starport was rough, but not really interesting enough to give out any credit or awards. Pockets of Mawite resistance were trying to shoot down the incoming Stormeagles, missiles and heavy lasers were aimed at the armored flyers and while some were lost at the cost of roughly five cadres, the Vandemarian Legions directly hit the target and established a perimeter in few minutes for the transports of the heavy equipment to come in as well.

The Legionnaires did not hesitate or wait for any orders once the doors and ramps were opened, they moved out, swiftly and within seconds death was upon the first mawites. Lancer rounds ripped the cultists apart, made sure that even foul necromancy would have nothing left to revive except for a smoking piece of flesh, blood and shattered bones. The Legionnaires knew what they were here for, their commander had made sure to 'enlighten' them.
Blaster fire peeled off the heavy armors, heavy weapons destroyed makeshift fortifications, flamethrowers burned out the last resistance. The Legions were not known to take prisoners, they were absolutely alienated to mercy and they were searching for their Grandmaster.

Tassar had taken his place on the tank of de Welt, his friend and commander of the armored cohort which was granted to him by the Forgelords. He was standing tall next to the turret and looking at the destroyed city, ravaged by war, clouded in smoke of fires and explosions and the last known location of their High Imperator.

The Imperator had no time to be satisfied with landing nearly eleven thousand men in ten minutes, as soon as the first maniple of tanks was down, he ordered the advance. DECEASED Erskine Barran ordered him to Fort Imperium, their goal either way, but he wanted to see him before they commenced fully to the battle. They fought at each others side on Vjun and now the man rose to the position of Lord General, by skill and merit Augustus thought, not because he knew someone that married someone.

"VIIth, four cohorts to hold the spaceport with the Dreadnoughts, rest follows me as rearguard. XIIIth on the left, XVIth on the right, wedge out and prepare to echelon the Myrmidon quarters from Southeast and Southwest. Offer support to any imperials and citizens. No prisoners or survivors among the enemy. Maximum force. Sol Invictus"

The deep voice of the young leader shut as soon as the general-com channel was closed and with two heavy hits of hit gauntlet on the turret of the tank of Marshal Urienz de Welt, they moved on. A column of tanks speeding directly towards Fort Imperium. The First Spear of the Agema Aegis standing on top of a tank, golden, shiny and he would be impossible to miss, but be it confidence or arrogance, he did not care and had only one goal. Find Darth Imperius . Alive.

Theme
​

Nirauan System | Nirauan | New Carannia Southern Districts
Forty-six minutes after the start of Operation Peacemaker . . . .

The advance of the Legions was intimidating. On a line of nearly two kilometers the golden armored sons and daughters of Vandemar advanced steadily forward. It was not an advance with the goal to reach a destination, the advance was the destination, a purge, a eradication of all pockets of resistance, of all who oppose order. The devastating shots of the Lancer blasters painted a picture that nobody would like to see ever.

Cadres rushed into buildings, cracking doors open with simple kicks or punches, marching through floors, upstairs and downstairs, clearing every room, every attic, every cellar. It was a slow advance, but it was a thorough one. Cultists were killed by the superhuman warriors, just torn apart by a shot of the blasters or cut to pieces with the clean cutting Paladinblades or eviscerated with the cruel motorblades. The same fate was for those undead, caught when feeding on civilians or long dead soldiers, there was no moment of hesitation, no thinking of the person it once was, they were just annihilated to never rise again.

The advance served the purpose of cleaning the streets and of course to find the High Imperator. The Legionnaires were bound by oath and bio-engineering to the Princeps of Vandemar, he fought at their side countless times, he was the father of their planet. But orders were orders and Imperator Tassar had them well phrased. Instead of just rushing towards the aid of the imperials, they would clear a large zone and make movement, extraction and reinforcing a possibility again. Room to manoeuvre and retake the city.

When meeting the Myrmidons of Dante Corvus , the Legions were ordered to reinforce their efforts with a cadre or two and move on.
​

 

[Aiko Hayata]

BYOO|NIRAUAN|Business
AIKO HAYATA, CEO OF HAYATA CORP
TAGS//: Gat Tambor

"It's a shame fur coats aren't in vogue." She retorted ominously, turning to chuckle to herself at the idea. As awful as it was, Aiko knew the rich and old of Coruscant would kill for such rare furs in their fashion wear. Shame that Cathar was not some unknown backwater; perhaps she might've got away with such practices. Aiko nodded intently at Gats words, knowing that the Skakoan was in the right to ask of such ventures, especially when it concerned a spurned minority group marginalised and already in dire straits. No, Cathars industrial project was just a stepping stone for a bigger scheme in the works. She needed others to support if she was to realise it long-term, especially support from someone as wealthy and influential as Tambor.

"I wanted to hear your opinion on using Cathar... and Nirauan as stepping stones for something bigger financially, I see good opportunity for myself to make good profit from setting up projects in the warlord areas, and I wish to see our own respective federation operations take advantage of the Imperial warlords thirst for greater weaponry and tech."​

​

 

[Michael Barran]

FIRST POST
THE_CAIRNSMAN
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

OBJECTIVE: BYOO

NIO: Apollo Kurze Lachlan Sinclair

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: YEARNING FOR HOME - PROLOGUE

CITADEL QUARTER, THE EASTERN CASTLE DISTRICT,
CARANNIA, SERENNO (870 ABY)

Visiting the underground first, following a route set by for him by his father years before, Lord Michael would visit the site of the Armistice Troopers memorial, the place where a Sith Trooper died at peace with an Imperial huddled up next to him during the Battle for Carannia. Young Barran would gaze on a plaque with both names on it, with a glass-encased holographic projection of the dead respectfully covered in Goidelic Galidraani regalia, only realizing then that his father had been the one who found them like that, in the dark - alone with his thoughts. Exhaling sharply and bowing his head respectfully, the Wanderer would close his eyes and mutter,'The things they put you through, old man.', before turning back to return to the streets at the surface. The Wanderer would turn back to look one last time, beholding the small memorial to the fallen for another moment then leaving the dim-lit plaque and glass-encased projection in peace, along with all the spirits that walked the tunnels with him.

The first taste of recent Galidraani history had hit him harder than he ever thought it would, even harder than his trip to Hast, where the Blue-Heart PMCs lost many good exiles to Sith mind-trickery, on a cursed deployment that forged doctrinal laws the Free-State still adhered to by then. However, things would change from morose to a rather enlightening run of heart-warming insights into the father he was beginning to regret estranging himself from, as the monuments to the Imperium wouldn't stop there, for much and more had occurred during the Imperial Reconquest of Serenno, especially for the Free State of Galidraan. Lord Michael would then take a rented swoop-bike out of his own way to find the monument to the Blood-Red Lion Banner at the north-western edges of the Industrial District, finding the perfect replica flapping in the wind beside a cenotaph the Wanderer assumed would contain quite a few well-known names from his childhood, names who had personal attachments to the exiled Clan in it's darkest days.

However, only a few names among the dead were those the Woad recognised, and yet still, he could feel his father's hand in the limitation of the losses seen displayed on the engraved marble in front of him. Even when the Amalgam summoned a massive swarm of TIE-wing horror, and with Force-Storms that threatened to rip the entire planet apart, it looked like the worst of the worst losses would still mount up in the New Imperial Order's favour, as the final storming of the Citadel District had resulted in a resounding victory, one such that assured lasting order and freedom from unnatural influences for generations. Returning to the place where Lord Aron Gowrie pushed back to turn the tide on the Sith Imperials' stubborn defence of Serenno, Michael found himself almost feeling the Tuath's hand in the battle's closing phases, pushing back with nothing more than half-working tanks, AFVs, Myrmidons and troopers from the 501st at his disposal to close out that year's hostilities along with it.

'Though '64 was a brutal year for all the Woads, I'm glad we righted the wrongs - here, on Serenno of all places-'

'-Excuse me? Oh, sorry. I guess you're another war-veteran, my apologies.', an old fellow cut in, accidentally interrupting Michael in his ramblings to himself, perceived to be a civilian until Michael turned round to see how straight the gentleman's posture was. From there, the appraisal would reveal perfectly-pressed clothing and well-shined black shoes, and a very shiny regimental ring bearing the Nirauan insignia; whoever this man was, he'd seen glory days unlike any the Barrans ever knew, and had the scars on his face to prove it. Turning back to check on the mental state of the man he'd accidentally snapped out from his introspection, the old soldier continued,'Only ever encountered the usual Calavaran brand on my travels, but I've heard a lot about,"Ye Goidels.", in my retirement years. Don't go disappearing on us, ya hear?', before turning to leave the Wanderer in peace, unaware that he'd sparked a certain curiosity in the one he was passing by.

'What rank, soldier? You have my attention now.'

Stopping in his tracks, the old soldier would then perform a perfect about-turn and halt before he responded,'I only managed to make it to the rank of Staff-Sergeant, sir. Nothing that deserves any pomp or fanfare as far as I know. What about you? What rank have you reached in your career thusfar?', approaching at a calmly pace to make a silent offer for a handshake. However, the old man would briefly stop Barran in his tracks and quickly add,'I know what's happening at the moment, and it appears to have you on edge like it has with me since New-Carannia fell. I'm making my peace with it though, are you?', ending on a follow-up question Lord Michael had every intention of answering like the first. In the recent Holonet conversation with his father, it was plainly obvious that the Stormchaser was giving the Wanderer no indication that he was even remotely attempting to make any peace whatsoever with the harsh realities of his first defeat, and certainly not for as long as Nirauan remained in Mawite hands, giving rise to an answer that Michael never expected himself to express for a single second.

'Being honest; no, I am not, I will not either. It is not in my family's nature to accept such a defeat - and thus I also won't be making any peace with harsh realities until Nirauan is retaken.... And answering the first question; I'm a Lord-Captain, been so for a while as well. Not sure I'll be a Major any time soon, so no fanfare or pomp on my end for that matter.'

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: YEARNING FOR HOME - PART 1

WESTERN CASTLE DISTRICT,
CARANNIA, SERENNO (870 ABY)

There were multiple exercises and orientations scheduled for that day, though like the day before and all through the rest of that month afterwards, every single group would be contained within a multitude of events in a perimeter set around 10-20 squared miles of uninhabited insular tenement-blocks and empty industrial estates, offering Lord Michael's battalion of Goidelic Highlanders plenty in the way of improvement to their warfighting capabilities in almost every conceivable aspect. Lord Michael was constantly reminded by 1st-Leftenant McBain that this wasn't what they had in mind when they were told they'd be stationed on Serenno for a while, but in that same respect, all (including the Wanderer himself) were glad of the help they were receiving from Lord Dooku's soldiering elite, glad that they'd have more to offer than they did when the Highland Brotherhood were desperately struggling for survival on Carlac and Lao-Mon against the likes of Darth Caelitus' Perished and Khaostra Devoid's assortment of wild and wicked playing-pieces.

But no more, these Highlanders of Michael's growing brotherhood of revolutionary soldiers, for all their worth already, would no longer recognise the standard of soldiering they all adhered to before that day - and though the previous standard had been exemplary, the new-look Highlanders would prove ultimately more useful to their allies and comrades as a result.

'I dare say we've been needing this for a while, lads.... Have yees seen the training-manifest? Today alone could actually mean us having more than a Battalion after the next trainees filter out through Sandhurst. Been praying for good fortunes like this, an' that's nae joke either.'

Sergeant-Major Denwood wasn't wrong, the list seemed quite extensive, but Lord Michael knew this lengthy list would account for more than just the Highland Brotherhood that week. There would be Krieg-Mandalorians and Myrmidons joining with, competing against and imparting wisdom on the Goidelic battalion in particular, both in a bid to get them up to standard and in a bid to learn what they could from Revolutionary soldiering aspect to their methods of urban warfare. Such exercises would be overseen by one man in particular, from a clan well-known to the Barrans but born with a name that was almost entirely new to them, though the Wanderer knew he'd need to meet Apollo Kurze at some point that day; the sooner they made their acquaintances, the sooner they'd be able to share knowledge on matters of command, strategy, and the immediate future of the participating forces on this exercise in particular.

'So eager for the brigade, Denwood. Ah hope ye realise that Blue-Heart Brigade are the stuff o' legends in comparison ti the Brotherhood, as we've got a long way t'go afore we reach anything close ti that standard. In terms o' comparison, we're barely a shadow o' the PMC - let alone the Brigade they became.'

To have the privilege of gaining every possible nugget of helpful wisdom from a Mandalorian military advisor was something Barran knew he couldn't pass up, not even once, for such links established could've meant the difference between becoming an exemplar and becoming an all-time great in the Galaxy, and Lord Michael knew Kurze would be no slouch on the matter. Seen in the fact he would be overseeing a few of these combat-simulations from a group-leading perspectives all week, and on that day, the Mandalorian advisor had chosen to test the combat abilities of 1st-Leftenant McBain's Argyll Company; the fact the Highlanders alone had intrigued him enough to test their abilities was quite unexpected to most, but to the Wanderer, it was understood as yet another means of learning, though admittedly known to be a closer-up assessment of those who'd credentials that Kurze had only just gotten around to appraising.

'So wharr is Argyll Company anyway? Now, ah know they're wae the Krieg-Mandalorian Chief Advisor an' that.... But ah cannae help but wonder how they're gettin' oan, Milord. Ye ken whit ah mean?'

Whether they amounted to much or not, or whether they'd seen enough action or needed more, there was obviously something about their brand of warfare that appealed to the urban-warfare specialist within him, and Lord Michael knew his second-in-command would definitely work hard to prove their merit as the day progressed. Caulen had gone up in Barran's estimation, and constantly so since he first reported for duty, even proving his worth in helping Sinclair adjust to Brotherhood life in general, so seeing Staff-Sergeant Caulen thinking the same thing only served as further proof of his belonging. The dirk on the belt would remain so for life, and by the way things were looking for the young non-com, the prospect of buying the commoner's commission would surely be a reality within the space of a few years, a thought that both relieved the Woad and inspired him to strive for career-progression by the same meritocratic means - the same means his own father used to achieve the rank of Lord-General after just five years of military service under the Iron Sun.

'We should check the map-holographic plinth - track McBain's ping, an' boom! We stick t'the main observational pathways until we reach a point where we can watch an' see if the advisors have any advice for them.... As it would be advice for the rest o' the Brotherhood an'aw.'

 

[Gat Tambor]

DEVESTATION OF NIRAUAN
Y U N G _ S K A K O
DIRECTOR
TRADE FEDERATION
Aiko Hayata​

---

<"The Imperial-Warlord dynamic is something that has always been deeply intriguing. The issue arises when you realize the harsh reality of these 'warlords' to begin with. Currently- my corporate holdings produce a vast majority of the Empire's warfighting materials. Kuat-Entralla has produced all major iterations of Imperial Capital Ships, starfighters and ground based vehicle and armor systems, Technoid Manufactorum produces many ancillary systems integrated into those products, Karovnogal has produced all standard-issue small-arms for the Imperial Army, Navy and Starfighter Corps and each trooper in standardized armor wears Mythosaur Forgeworks vambraces."> Gat Tambor seems to rattle off with a nigh frigid, machine like cadence to his speech, showing patterns of an advanced thought pattern beyond what he can truly convey in words.

<"Essentially, any armed conflict the Empire involves itself in, Trade Federation is in the green. With the Empire's perpetual state of war and the nature of their occupations will necessitate Trade Federation products so long as it exists. Unfortunately, more than anything, the ego of these Warlords chips into this more than anything. Think for a moment the purpose of this system- is that more culturally autonomous worlds can operate in a means more suiting to their people and thus, put their interests primarily and the Empire's secondarily. What that translates to...is that they will seek to produce homegrown versions of what the Empire provides. Prefsbelt and Nirauan both currently manufacture a lot of their own warfighting materials, with Galidraan and several other worlds making inquiries into producing their own as well. Because they want their unique stamp on the Empire by their own domestic manufactures and are inherently...abrasive to the Trade Federation, largely."> He says, actually able to speak without taking a breath thanks to his atmospheric suit.

<"OWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUU- but, Hayata automatons can certainly enhance existing Imperial contracts and, well, another manufacturing complex in Imperial space is still a beneficial change regardless...though we may need to set our sights on more complex manufacturing...with current policy chances by my metal-faced-friend...we may need to look into negotiating with one of these 'warlords' for Kuat-Entralla partial ownership of an Imperial based drive yard...luckily...I know just the man to inquire with."> He remarks.

After utilizing all his methane supply, he begins to pump more into his atmo-suit.

 

[Aiko Hayata]

BYOO|NIRAUAN|Business
AIKO HAYATA, CEO OF HAYATA CORP
TAGS//: Gat Tambor

​

​

Aiko bowed her head in acknowledgement of Gats finely attuned point, idly tapping her fingers along the fine edge of the bar side. She let him have his moment before remarking back at Gats point to reinforce it and give her own commentary on it.

"It is quite a spectacle given the tendencies of that boy general in Prefsbelt and the reclusive tyrant in Galidraan. But, nevertheless, I find it quite wise to capitalise on both tendencies toward violence; where there is war, there is always profit to be made Gat." She casually responded with a smirk, finishing her glass before sliding it down the bar for the bartender to collect.

"Even in times of peace, for the men and women of the Imperial ruling class are a paranoid bunch, what's not to say any of them fear the others ascension?"

"....But i digress, I know of the shipyards, and of the man you may be speaking of, per chance does he have a tendency for the authoritarian theatrics that half of Tavlars lackeys possess the talent for?"

​

​

 

[Gat Tambor]

DEVESTATION OF NIRAUAN
Y U N G _ S K A K O
DIRECTOR
TRADE FEDERATION
Aiko Hayata​

---

<"Where there is war there is profit to be made, Ga- you realize that is the source of the near entirety of my worth, Hayata? Of course, I know this. That is in fact, why I enjoy doing business with the Empire above any other sovereign state. Empires, in their nature, demand constant expansion and thus, constant conflict to sustain its economic policies, thus lending power to humble enterprising businessmen such as myself."> Gat remarks.

<"But I'd not belittle either of them, Prefsbelt's work in heavy industry and starship manufacturing is remarkable, the capital grade ships produced from Prefsbelt are of comparable caliber to Kuat-Entralla. It is a realm that prizes efficiency over any other. Galidraan...on the other hand, while Tal's rise to power was a remarkable feat...Galidraan's engineering prowess offers little to be desired though they do seek domesting manufacturing, all I have seen on the holonet are inquiries at best from Galidraan's economic and manufacturing ministries. Beats the Anaxes in-exile, however."> He admits honestly, his saucer wide eyes looking toward the viewport of the Lucrehulk-class Capital Ship.

<"But yes, I do speak of Yaga Minor Shipyards, while Kuat-Entralla has utilized them on behalf of the New Imperial Order in the past, they do still fall under Prefsbelt Command's jurisdiction...and with certain economic policies making my lease of Kuat Driveyards...less useful, I require a manufacturing complex to make up for the loss of Kuat if we are not able to secure a deal to continue imports as is. While the Empire has waived 'Iron Will' for Kuat Entralla vessels from the Core, it is only so long until the Alliance imposes restrictions and holds my product. Thus, Kuat Entralla needs to...diversify its production centers.">

 

[Michael Barran]

SECOND POST
THE_CAIRNSMAN
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

OBJECTIVE: BYOO

NIO: Apollo Kurze Lachlan Sinclair

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: YEARNING FOR HOME - PART 2

​

WESTERN CASTLE DISTRICT,
CARANNIA, SERENNO (870 ABY)

Passing shooting-ranges both close and long-range, nodding at every marshal who stopped to see which individuals were walking by, Lord Michael's small retinue of NCOs would remain quiet and amiable as each of them nodded in acknowledgement of their colleagues' presences, even exchanging handshakes with or two of those who recognised him from the pre-exercise briefing as he led his Highlanders westward. There would be roughly a mile or so of these encounters before they finally reached their destination, but none present seemed to mind this fact, taking their opportunities to ogle at the latest generation of firearms and ordnance of almost every variety, and seeing exactly how everyone was adjusting to the new-spec equipment they were using at the time. Almost as if they were celebrating the Solstice early, but all of Michael's NCOs knew they were better off not seen hanging around - lest they'd be viewed as potential distractions during what was obviously a vital process of everyone involved.

Occasionally passing by a couple Brotherhood companies on the way, Barran would know (with signs like that and others factored in) they were on the right track to find 1st-Lieutenant McBain, remaining silent until one of the Corporals piped up,'So what monuments did ye go see last night then, Milord?', going off topic but still showing enough of an interest that the Wanderer would allow it. However, before the Lord-Captain could respond, the young Corporal would weigh in to ease any potential tensions for the sudden change of subject, continuing,'Went t'the monument to the Battle of the Hangars. Found out Lord Erskine played his part there an'aw.... Never thought I was clueless on Goidelic history until the hours after we landed at Carannia Spaceport.', with all the transparency one might expect of a non-com with something to say on matters of the culture that nurtured and raised him.

'Harold Thrast, my great-grandfather, is the one who told us to dream of the stars with the intent to thrive among them, but my father is the one who took that dream in his hands and ran with it, Marne.... All the best accounts in our recent history happen to rest among those stars as a result - and thus, it falls upon our generation to understand it, and make it a part of the history at home as much as a part of our future in the Cosmos.'

'You went to the Armistice Troopers memorial, didn't you?', Corporal Marne responded, inquiring both on the fact he could almost see it on his Lord-Commander's face and in the way he could hear it in Lord Michael's voice. Something had lit the fire of inspiration in the Wanderer's soul, and pretty much everyone with him could see and hear it for themselves, and yet they could see the irritation on his face just as well, leaving the Corporal to either incur the Laird's wrath or lecturing. Yet still, through the unintentional prying, Barran could see that Marne wasn't prying in demand of information, seeing instead a will to feel the same inspiration, the same reignited desire that was serving to change his Lord-Commander in such a way that more than just the Corporal wished it for himself. Lord Michael was seeing this clear as day as his eyes scanned the rest of his small retinue, all had their eyes either on Barran himself or on the one putting forth the curiosity to begin with, and in this split of attentions, the Laird knew he was better off being upfront and honest about the night before.

'Aye.... The soldiers heads and bodies were covered in Free-State military garb, First-Generation Blue-Heart Brigade clothing at that - meaning, quite simply, that there's every chance my father had been among those responsible for the act of respect. An' making it even more obvious was that my father had sent me these coordinates back in '66, sent without comment.'

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: YEARNING FOR HOME - PART 3

WESTERN CASTLE DISTRICT,
CARANNIA, SERENNO (870 ABY)

Lord Michael was walking among a deathly-silent retinue, clearly still processing the weight of their Chieftain-Governor's actions on that fateful day, still processing what had been resting in the back of the Stormchaser's mind since. They weren't only thinking of what it would've been like for Lord Erskine, but also on what it meant for their place in the Galaxy as a result of such a selfless gesture, as old Barran's acts of kindness towards the deceased had inadvertently brought the dying Goidelic peoples up from the proberbial gutter, and put them firmly in the minds of friend and foe alike, and all without the Highlanders knowing the full extent of it before that day. There would be no wonder as to why this was affecting them to such a degree, as it seemed like they were feeling regret for not having looked to find the pride of their peoples' culture's achievements in the streets Lord Erskine fought for, but the looks on their faces also looked to be dwelling on how positively it affected their standing among the aforementioned friend and foe alike.

'You can talk now if yees want - this silence is killing me 'ere!'

As much as he was glad that it was taken to heart, Barran couldn't help but feel like they were overthinking it, as there was much and more that they'd find out along the way, on other planets - planets the NIO had fought over before and were expected to do so again. Frontier planets and occupied star-systems alike would yield history they never thought existed, but to Lord Michael, these were just reminders of how far he needed to ascend as a commander, understanding that these coordinates were a route to Lord Erskine's very own expectations for his son in the years, or perhaps even in the decades yet to pass. A high standard, almost too high for a man of Lord Michael's insufficiently-elevated status, but the Wanderer enjoyed the near-impossible challenges more than most in his shoes would be comfortable with, as Barran had known the real message, the real encouragement that went with his father's demand for absolute excellence from the Barran clan's next (and possibly the last) generation.

'You do realise what standard we're gawnty be held to now, Milord. I mean - you do, don't you?'

'Aye, but look around yees.... Did my father ever have access to such resources? Training and ordnance and the likes? No, Marne. Not even a morsel.', the Wanderer retorted, but with an aura that was amiable enough to be seen as a friendly counter, and in a tone that also complemented his openness to discuss the matter. But like Corporal Marne, Lord-Captain Barran also wished to illustrate his point before yielding talking space to his subordinate, holding up a hushing index finger as he concluded,'He never really needed it anyway, the fighting spirit of his soldiers was more than enough to get the job done. An' those XT-62s, man! Considered a lesser-MBT afore the Free-State showed us all how to use them properly - seems the old man had a certain something that takes modernisation to achieve again, as it would seem the will to fight still remains in the Goidels, though you can tell it's something lesser than the men who served afore us.', in his usual lilting drawl.

 

[Julian Qar]

✚ P R E S E N C E _ I N _ B L O O D ✚
[ red zone ]
TRAUMA TEAM // SAWBONES | ??/5
// Vladimir Kovačić \\

​

Impact riddled legs nearly gave out. The absorption of shock ushered a thundering vibration down his mechanical limbs. The doctor would steady, bringing a hand to the ground, pushing himself to stand from the crash. They had landed, or rather bodies had been ejected from the craft without much warning than the siren call from the pilot. The others seemed to have fared far better than the iron physician and the other two that followed him after the hatch had flown open. <“Aeyko! Myers! Can y’all hear me?”> he patched into the short range of his com, waiting with baited breath for a sound or a rumble to come from the team mates left behind.

There was nothing.

Julian shook his head, pressing his palm against the crack of his helmet. Stars had already radiated in his sight, yet he was thankful to have not received warning in his HUD over his own personal injuries. He pressed his rifle to his chest, taking a short breath as he tried once more to patch into anyone that could hear.

<“This is Grey, can anyone hear me, over?”>

White noise infiltrated his coms while augmented lenses blinked rapidly as his surroundings started to become more than just static lines in his vision. They had been hit while on transit and the smoke pile to the left of him had already suggested the pilot's fate. He couldn’t help but curse under his breath as shaky limbs set forth to find the rest of his crew and hopefully make contact with the other rescue workers nearby.

The doctor brought the map up in his vision, two blips pinged a few kilometers from their marked drop location. He could tell by the air and the vibration that continued, they had fallen into a hot zone...and they weren’t prepared for it. Dual soundtracks played, the stillness of death mixed with the roar of war bounced back and forth between his ears. He was listening for them always, slicing apart measures to capture chords within the soil that indicated survival.

“D-do...c...h-hel...puh…m..mmee...”

The gurgle of wet chords cut through the brief silence in his ears. A mangled arm held in the air from the pile of stacked rubble and debris. “Aeyko!” He called out, recognizing the amber flash from the rescue beacon bound to her chest. Locked in, the mechanized doctor rushed toward her location, stopping at the wounded medic's side. “I gotcha...yer gonna be ok.” he reminded calmly, metal fingers undid the latch of his helm, forcing it off his head and tossing it beside him.

A dry breath nearly choked him the moment he saw the impact blast that had removed part of her leg, severing an even cut just below the knee.

“I..d-don’t w...want..to...die….” she spat out, blood pooling and dribbling down her nose, causing small geysers to shoot up towards the front of her helm from the air that rushed from her lips. “You just gotta hang in there for me ok?” Julian nearly whispered, undoing the latch and pulling the ebony helmet from her head. He wasted no time, flinging the pack from his back and forcing the lid open. One tourniquet and a few vials of medication were thrown to the ground beside him. “I gotta get this around your leg and then we gotta move, ok?”

He searched around her, looking for any place to plunge the needle of medication into. All areas of entry that he could see had been covered by armor that had melted to her person. There was only one place he could think of that he had access to...her neck. “I know….I know...I’m sorry…” Julian muttered, sliding the needle into the medic’s vein to help lower the storm of pain that rattled through her. Agony stricken screams bounced off buildings, ringing through the metal of his core. He could see that look in her eyes, the one he’d forgotten nearly two years into his solitude. “F*ck!” The monitor in his head blared what dilated pupils had exposed.

[Diagnostic Report]
[Sudden Cardiac Arrest]
[Begin Compressions]

“We’re not fucken doin this today, Aeyko! Dammit!” Julian pulled off his gauntlets and started tearing through the trooper medics chest guard. He shoved the armor behind him and placed his hands crossed over the center of her sternum. “Come on…” he growled, applying calibrated force that mimicked a heart beat over her chest. From time to time he had checked for her pulse, for a breath, for any signs of life.

<”Can anyone hear me?! This is Grey,I have one down medic, fucken three missing! I need a transport to my location!”>

<Grey! This is Rescue Six, we hear you loud and clear! We have a transport four clicks from your location. The air is hot, can you meet us there? Over.”>

“Come on…”

What is your track record now AX-919? You haven’t saved a life….in so….long…

The voice in his head taunted him while he continued his compressions, sweat rolled down the side of his face but he would not let up. <”Fucken finally! Copy Rescue Six! I gotta get this medic up and then we’re movin out! Over!”> Julian huffed, balling his hand into a fist that he pulled back and struck the center of her chest with full force. “AHHHH!” Aeyko wailed, gasping for breath as she was brought back from darkness into the turmoil right at their feet. “Hey hey, I gotcha...we need to get movin.”

Julian carried on with the rest of his treatment, binding just above the knee with a tight tourniquet. He plunged another line of medication into her neck, knowing the blockers would have quelled the pain she had felt before until he could get her to safety. He thrust his medical pack on his back, “Alright, up you go.” He warned her as he hoisted Aeyko over his shoulders, listening closely as the woman let out pain riddled grunt that didn't match the wails from before. Carefully, the doctor dipped down carefully to pluck his combat rifle from the ground and held it at his side with his free hand.

<”Grey to Sawbones! Barnes! Where the fuck are y’all? Aeyko and I are meeting Rescue Six...I hope y’all are alright...”>






█ █ █

 

[Electra-12]

Location: New Carannia - Nirauan Lower Atmosphere
Call Sign: Nacheria Seven
Objective: I - Inflict Terror
Equipment: TIE Pilot Flight Suit │ Hekler’Kok FP-01
Allies: BotM
Enemies: NIO

Fight or flight.

The torpedoes were seemingly evaded or countered with an almost-frightening degree of ease by the bandits, the warheads sailing wide as both of the New Imperial TIEs turned in the opposite direction of her own break. Fortunately, the third bandit seemed to have been engaged by a friendly, making them no longer an immediate threat, but still one nonetheless. At the very least, the torpedoes had forced the remaining two into maneuvers, perhaps depriving them of energy which might come into play later on. The clone quickly processed one of the TIEs lowering altitude, while the other slowed down, taking a tight curve in the process. All the while, Electra-12 kept her control sticks shifted to her own left, fighting to keep the bandits within the semicircle from her 1 through 5 o’clock, until her nostrils suddenly flared with realization.

At this rate, the two flights would meet in a second nigh-head-on pass.

“13, hold the turn! Shunt...power to engines!” The clone breathed, in the process flicking a few switches to turn down some of the power in the inertial compensators and half from weapons, adding it to the engines as she began to feel the Gs weighing on her body more heavily, drawing out a strained grunt from her lips in the process.

“They...want a turn fight...we’ll show them what...that is...” She continued.

Just as the TIE of Jon Kovacs began to draw a lead on her craft, the clone pulled her control sticks further to the left, increasing the angle of attack to pull the machine just out of the bandit’s sights. The twin ion engines whining as she applied yet more throttle, compensating for the loss in lift and energy in the process.

Spoiler: Loadout

• TIE/fd Space Superiority Fighter
  • Axial Missile Launcher [x2]
    • Proton Torpedo [x4]
    • Proton Torpedo [x2]

 

[Apollo Kurze]

IRON RETRIBUTION
173RD. STORMTROOPER LEGION 'MYRMIDONS'
KRIEG ADVISEMENT CADRE - [100/300]
DOMINION OF NIRAUAN
Michael Barran

The reconquest of Nirauan had begun.

Nearly the full might of the Legion had been called into service, pulled from the farthest corners of the Empire, no matter the assignment or state that its subordinate companies were in. Their ranks were replenished with the newest recruits out of the Myrmidons' stables, fresh out of the rigorous training being delivered by the Mandalorians who shared in the brotherhood with their charges. Their service to the Legion began like many, with a small amount of their number being contracted to train the original formations that formed the core of the Myrmidons in those early days of the Empire. Over time their obligations had grown past the financial agreements set in stone, and the tradition of Krieg's presence inside the Legion had entrenched itself as one of the many facets of the 173rd.

Even now, they served the Legion, and the Dominion, on Nirauan and Serenno alike. Many of Apollo's fellow Mandalorians were accompanying the Legion to war, poised to fight alongside the Dominion's Warlord to enact vengeance against the planet's occupiers. Over half of the Cadre's finest were chosen to accompany the Legion to Nirauan. Despite being spread across the ranks of the five companies assembled for the invasion, their expertise in the art of war would undoubtedly serve the Legion well, as they had done on the few times their cadre's assistance was required during the course of the Third-Imperial Civil War.

Apollo found himself not among those chosen for combat, much to his dismay. He had a lot to prove and sought every opportunity to do so since his ascension into the Cadre itself. No longer was he stuck on Krieg, enduring the arduous training that would prove him worthy of holding the same honor as his father. He earned his position with his own sweat and blood, that much no one else could ever deny. Even if he was still an unblooded, to the veterans who fought alongside his father in those years past, his technical skill had never come into question, so far at least.

---

---

WARFIGHTERS

The Highlanders brought before them were no Myrmidons, nor were the type that Apollo believed could be crafted into those who would fit into the Legion they served. That wasn't their goal, thankfully, as his commander would eventually explain to them all. The Highlanders were to be molded into a conventional unit and freed from the irregular status that had been their identity since their creation. What was once a brigade had been depleted in strength, and the equipment brought with them to Nirauan was abysmal, to say the least. Their task was only salvageable due to their express permission from Lord Dooku himself, who authorized them to reequip the Highlanders how they saw fit, with all the stocks of the Dominion's warfighting equipment at their disposal.

This made the task much easier for them, as warehouses and military depots found themselves being opened up to the Beskar-clad warriors who carried the Warlord's seal of authority. The depleted formations of the Highlanders were stripped of their meager equipment in the aftermath of the Cadre's arrival and found themselves faced with a plethora of materiel at their disposal. Crates upon crates of weapons and armor were loaded off logistical vehicles, the seals keeping them shut still waxed into place. Cargo shuttles dotted the sky overhead, their landings being concluded with the delivery of military vehicles that were deemed suitable to the men under their command., such as a number of Light IFV's, fast-moving anti-vehicle speeders, and other vehicles that irregular soldiers could quickly adapt to, and support more conventional tactics in the process.

It would be a gradual process, the reformation of their "brigade" into a fighting force worth presenting, yet there were none more suited to the task than themselves. Equipped and divvied between different groups of instructors, mass wargames would dot the fields and forests of Carannia, to begin the process of adapting these men into a presentable force.

It was for these reasons that he assumed he ended up where he was, and where he most likely would be until the Goedelic soldiers could be brought before Lord Dooku anew. Knee-deep in dirt and mud, the smell of burnt gas flooded his nostrils from the bolts flying overhead, as a whole platoon's worth of these Highlanders were letting loose a flurry of azure bolts in the direction of the Mandalorians. Despite their irregular status, the men under Lord Barran's command were sure-hearted enough to stand toe-to-toe to his kin, but their battle tactics were visibly leaving much to be desired. Orders were barked down the chain of command, as he and his brothers were keeping their heads down in the foxhole positions they'd dug out a few hours prior.

The men of Argyll company were hammering their position with everything they had, and poised themselves to charge through the defender's line of fire when a whistling echoed through the air overhead. Canisters arced through the air, billowing clouds of smoke following them closely as they impacted onto the ground between the two forces. Smoke clouds dispersed throughout the area, blocking the attacking forces of the Brotherhood from what was once a clear line of sight to their foes.

The charge came regardless, accompanied by a fierce battlecry in that coarse foreign tongue the Highlanders spoke. Through the trees they went, their numbers massed, and their stun batons -- in place of the lethal sidearms they carried -- primed to make contact with their enemies. They breached the smoke with haste and fervor, only to be met by a fusillade of stun bolts in return, delivered by recently brought-up E-WEB's, whose stun bolts pounded through their ranks with the force of a steel bat to the chest. The Mandalorians in their foxholes didn't miss a beat, as the squad weapons went to work. Blasters set to auto-fire rang out next, each of their kin letting loose an interwoven pattern of fire that laid down and suppressed the attacking force with deadly efficiency. Argyll's numbers were reduced in minutes, with only the company's commander and what few men he could rally, making into the defensive lines themselves.

Their efforts were brave, but futile, as Apollo and his squad descended upon them without hesitation or second thought. Stun Batons met betaplast, crashing into torsos and the side of their heads, knocking them out through superior skill alone, aside from their overwhelming numbers. It was called to an end after that, and Argyll was given the next hour to compose themselves for the next set of drills to follow. The Myrmidons trained harder than most, perhaps fanatically so at times, and the Highlanders were rather lucky -- or unfortunate -- to get a taste of their methods. But for now, both Mandalorians and Highlanders were afforded a break. It was enough time for Apollo to unseal his helmet, wash his face and enjoy his rations to the ambiance of mock warfare in the background.


​

 

[Michael Barran]

THIRD POST
THE_CAIRNSMAN
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

OBJECTIVE: BYOO

NIO: Apollo Kurze Lachlan Sinclair

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: YEARNING FOR HOME - PART 4

​

WESTERN CASTLE DISTRICT,
CARANNIA, SERENNO (870 ABY)

'Aye, that's them settin' up their plays on baith sides noo. Shouldn't be much longer, Milord.'

Finally making it to the operation-zone of the Highlanders' training exercise, Lord Michael's small retinue were finally able to see who the Highlanders' Argylls were being pitted against in a fight against experienced specialists in conventional and unconventional battle-strategy alike. Their opponents this time, much to Lord-Captain Barran's amusement, were none other than the Krieg-Mandalorians Apollo had brought with him to Serenno; a well-trained, elite example of what the best of the best could fight like in a not-so-distant future, one such that Michael knew he would be learning plenty from that week. Although there had been no prior knowledge of the Kurze clan's long-term role in maintaining the 173rd Legion's perpetual state of supreme combat-effectiveness, Barran would learn of Apollo's ancestral-ties and his function as a warrior at some point that week, though like anything with Lord Michael and his kin, important sequences of events often liked to occur sooner than later - ever in a rush to seek thrills, storms and new acquaintances alike.

'Non-lethals an' betaplast, should make for an entertaining matchup either way.'

Looking out to the area beyond, the other Cairn callsigns looked out to the early stages of Argyll Battalion's full-contact battle simulation against the Kurze-Mandalorians, watching the strategic placement of both forces unfolding as the recognisably loud voice of 1st-Lieutenant McBain roused the Highlanders for an all-or-nothing blaze of glory, clearly more clueless than the other members of the Laird's little clique were in that moment. And without fail, the blunder of Randall's propensity to lean towards his first assumptions would cost him long before ever knowing mistakes had been made on the Highlanders' part, laying down suppressing fire on the close-quarters cover that hid the Mandalorians' well-placed foxhole positions as the Mandalorians themselves used their covered movements to set up heavy squad guns, smoke grenades and E-Webs for the mass of irregulars that poised to charge down a street the Goidels assumed was no longer covered by dedicated platoon fireteams.

'Aye, looks about right.... McBain ay'ways did assume too much of oor suppressing-fire effectiveness, an' he should know that such shortcomings are only intensified and exposed even quicker on competitive training exercises.'

As soon as the orders to charge en-masse were issued with loud and raucous fervour, the brethren of Argyll Battalion (at little more than Company turnout numbers at the time) charged a long, open stretch to find that the picked shots of several Mandalorian LMGs and E-Webs waiting on them like a wall of nonlethal agonies, hammering against the betaplast of their Goidelic opposition with the intent of mopping up with every last shred of brave error-forced resistance. Within minutes the Myrmidon-bolstered Mandalorians had brought the Argylls down to barely a fifth of their standing numbers, trapping them in an Aleckist nightmare as they closed the distance on the broken momentum of McBain's lamentable Highland-Charge tactics, and from there, the close quarters efforts of the Mandalorians would bring the last remnants to their knees in resounding victory for Kurze's professionals for that round.

'Game o'er, an' in fewer than - ooft, Randall! That was about four minutes an' twenty-nine seconds in total.... Pick that wan oot, ya late-bloomin' Aleckite dunce! Ye'll no be chairgin' in like that next time anyway!'

Sinclair, Pinely, and several others would howl and wheeze in mirthful fits, as much as Barran was in that moment, but the disappointment, the mild derision in their laughter towards the tactical decisions of their 1st-Leftenant was enough to let them know that their second round against competition in this exercise could only be an improvement on that previous round. 'Ab - so - lute dobber!', Lord Michael drawled in his militaristic Woad-born twang, shaking his head as the laughter threatened to crease him and double him over at any moment, especially after seeing how the Argylls were handling their defeat. Kicking barriers, visible tensions between McBain and his subordinates, and with some other looking just outright confused by what had just transpired; further inciting laughter among the not-so-distant Goidelic observers, before Barran realised that he very much desire to play to the advantages of both sides for a longer, wilder round than the one that had just run it's course.

<"Greetings from clan to clan, Lord Apollo. From Goidel to Mandalorian, I'm glad you're teaching our McBain some harsh lessons on the limits of his competence in autonomy. Believes himself to be made o' the same stuff o' the Blue-Heart Brigade stock, and as you can clearly tell, we don't need that mindset any more.">​

Everyone around him would hush as soon as Lord Michael started communicating with the Mandalorian, shifting a little closer as soon as he brought the comm-device out from his pocket, simmering down properly by the time he started speaking. All nodding agreement with the Laird's assessment of the situation, and of the assessment of the 1st-Leftenant's counterproductive behaviours, Lord Michael could see that the others in the clique were all as much out for a good showing as the Brotherhood's recently-anointed Grandmaster was in that moment. However, if it had not been for the fact the Highlanders kept pushing on despite the simulated losses they were incurring, the overall tone of the observation may have been somewhat more unforgiving, perhaps even as far as a first-time disdain towards his subordinates, but Lord-Captain Barran would be gladdened of the standard his lower-brethren were retaining in the previous round - even in complete disagreement with McBain's glory-hunting.

<We'll be with you soon - just need to see a proper round first, sir.... Tell McBain to shut the feth up more often, play to the strengths of both sides, an' ye won't be disappointed.">​

Of this, the Wanderer had never been so sure. In the event such ferocity was put in situation that called for the cornered-animal approach, Kurze would find himself pleasantly astonished by the effectiveness of Goidelic surprise attacks and ambushes alike; the Highlanders were a sly breed whenever conditions gave rise for it, and if given the right chances and openings, there would be much and more to give the warriors of Krieg and Serenno alike to think on. And still, even in a fighting-retreat scenario that substituted such ambush-tactics, Apollo would see something of that slyness in the way they used the urbanised elements around them to their advantage. Whether is was rubble, brick-walls or the windows of far-off apartment-blocks, the use of blind-spots, vantage-points and long stretches of street development would always benefit experienced Guerilla warfare contingent, such that would be perfect for keeping the Myrmidon-bolstered Mandalorians on their toes.

THE STORMCHASER'S RETRIBUTION: YEARNING FOR HOME - PART 5

EASTERN CASTLE DISTRICT,
CARANNIA, SERENNO (870 ABY)

The night before....

'Veteran of the Carlac Rebellion in the building? Welcome to Fort Merrick, Lord Barran! ACTIVE OFFICER ATTENDING- ah, he's good.... Sorry, sometimes the meaning of,"Off-duty", is lost on some here. But you're good - so I'll give you a proper introduction to the place. Welcome to Merrick's Bar, unofficially named Fort Merrick for many a reason that's relevant to this fine establishment's extensive and hostile history!'

The officer from the old colony on Nirauan had dragged the Wanderer to a well-known veteran's bar near Castle Dooku's eastern boundary wall, and such that was filled with soldiers from a multitude of differing wars and campaigns alike, men and women of Serenno's armies congregating in a familiar, universally-adored inn-house that fortunately survived the hostilities of 865 ABY. The Woad would see for himself before long why so many old soldiers preferred the familiar comforts of,"Merrick's Bar", and especially-early on in the process of being regaled with the establishment's recent history. A time when assassin-droids and Sith-troopers were running rampant on the city to assure her people's,"Safety", one inn-house, deep into the Castle District of Carannia itself, would slip beneath the Sith Empire's notice and influence as it's staff and patrons sold weapons and secrets to the local resistance-cells, to people Lord Michael would've gotten along well with.

'Yeah, we're talking centuries of history here - though you will be pleased to know your Goidels were a part of this place's history too. Maybe not your Highlanders, but Blue-Heart Brigade broke the backs of the Sith-troopers who were wailing on us at the time.... Ever met a man who goes by the name,"Aron Gowrie", by chance?'

Despite it's highly welcoming atmosphere, with a design that wasn't too dissimilar to the pubs on Galidraan, it had not been dubbed,"Fort Merrick.", in jest; underneath every table rested a means to fight back against any intruder, and in more than one perceivable way too, as the tables themselves would be supported on their undersides by thick, circular sheets of durasteel to provide better cover for whatever patron needed to flip them over for protection. Besides this, the barman's station was almost a pillbox beneath the bar's wide oak-wood counter, protected by similarly thick metal sheeting and hidden rotary-cannon waiting next to the bar-supervisor's knee at the credit-till, a station Merrick Sindemar I. only stepped away from after ascertaining that Lord Michael was well-and-truly off duty. The old owner of the pub would leave his son to serve the late-arrivals and let the regulars enjoy the Friday night delights in peace, leaving Merrick Sindemar II to handle that part of the pub's recent-history lessons as the credits kept rolling in with profits in his absence.

'I know him well, he's the only man who survived long enough ascend the Blue-Hearts' cursed Captaincy, the Tuath who took his people to the stars like my father did with the Woads. Like I'm doing with the Highland Brotherhood. Wasn't too long ago that my people made peace with those of the man you mentioned, but I'll admit that Lord Aron is too stalwart to consider my enemy now.... He chose to make peace with my Goidelic tribe, and has done nothing but hold to his word since - so what of this man you so mention without warning or prompt?'

Pouring out drinks for himself, the Staff-Sergeant the Laird, and the only regular sitting on a bar-front stool, Merrick II would beckon the new arrivals closer as he framed his reply in careful earnest, knowing that the people of Galidraan III were a proud race, very much a separate entity to their Galidraani brethren - and also very exclusive (to deep-engrained, subconscious extremes) with their regard to who was permitted to cast criticism or telling on Goidelic culture and events respectively. Superstitious are people who guard their traditions, myths and legends with such tribalistic prejudice, but with the three tribes of Galidraan III, it went much deeper, even deeper than the very native-language they almost always refused to teach to others. For Goidelic-Carrack, along with it's mother-offshoot still spoken on Galidraan IV, was a language once reviled by the Lord-Protector's Royalist predecessors, made illegal and rendered devilish by the rich, decadent powers and published rags of the unholy Rose-Lion monarchy.

'Lord Barran, Gowrie's rampage wiped out every last one of my would-be executioners while they were still lining my father's gang against the wall of our own den. We're talking hands cuffed behind us, blindfolds,"Any last words?", the works! Honestly, one last charge for glory, one last push for victory - one little burst of disruptor-fire.... That was all it took to keep our dwindling dream, that little ember of folk-born resistance, from being snuffed out by Zambrano filth! Your Gowrie, sir.'

'Its true.', the quiet palace guard on the barstool muttered, finally piping up to chime in on the events being discussed around him, though he had been waiting patiently for an opening to offer a less-folksy account on their near-death experience. First to receive a pint from,"Junior.", the soldier arrayed in Guard-Sergeant uniform and equipment would drink five heavy gulps from the tall, wide glass as he bitterly recalled what looked like one of his darkest days; much the same for everyone else within earshot, regulars who knew him, regulars who knew this man as the resistance-movement's main arms-dealer during the Sith Empire's long occupation, regulars who knew well enough to keep their mouths shut whenever this one started talking. As soon as the Woad and the retired Staff-Sergeant parked their backsides on the stools next to the palace guard, the muttering man spoke more clearly as he continued,'I was at my post, watching on in horror as my nephew surrendered to the Sith, and I could do nothing until Gowrie's ACV pulled up and opened it's slide-door on the firing-squad's right flank. Disruptor fire erupted from inside, turned grief into relief in one fell swoop.', keeping it as succinct as possible for those around him hanging on every word.

'When we finish these pints, I'll take you a little tour of the castle. I like the Free-State soldiers, but there's something about you Goidels that not even Staff-Sergeant Jarisun here can put into words. "A wildness at home in the wildest of hostilities.", is the closest he got to getting it right about your ilk, I dare say.... I reckon that's enough grounds to show you what the New Imperial Order saved in the struggle, agreed?'

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

R E N E G A D E
New Imperial Order
307th 'Red Riders' Stormtrooper Legion - Imperial Battlegroup 'Retribution'
Bohemian Rhapsody

Dante Corvus DECEASED Erskine Barran Noel Strasza Mav Ryburn Willan Tal

​

What burned did, fuel leaking from overturned speeder cars-the remains of casualties both allies, the dead, and enemy. Sybila watched from the edge of a crumbling cement barricade, passing over the backs of painted helms. Ban stood out in dusky armor from amongst the common trooper hailing the line forward through the intersection. Power poles sparked overhead as boot fall echoed down the corridor, stray blaster shots filled the gap. A greater part of the black top was covered in soot as they left behind a trail.

Sybila too rose, following behind the pack as she jogged into the crossing-men filing out of the businesses at her flank as another building was cleared. The residue heat was oppressive. Around them buildings blanked by the debris inadvertently caused by the shelling. Smoke still hung in the roadway, lost in the haze above-the rear searchlights from the RDAG squad flickered out as they pulled out from the city. They were left to the urban hellscape, alone.

<”Sensors picking up something large moving on the edge of radar, officiate building-two doors down end of the block,”> the Zabrak’s black clad hand raised, signalling the men to halt. Sybila’s helm titled just so referencing the grid sprawled across the upper corner of the HUD, standing on the fridges of a mass of red digitized. Blotches consumed her vision, a void that traveled as she startled to a halt; sharking her head. A pin needle ran through her eye as she released a heavy breath. The building was nondescript and a spanse of metal standing tall, it’s windows long blown out.

<”I think we have public transport access off the next block, around the corner-could this be underground?”>

Sybila monitored the radio chatter, the team from the security task that shadowed her took post at the intersection in the shadow of the buildings. Stepping toward the man nearest, she dropped a heavy gauntlet on the trooper’s shoulder-a serial number in aurebesh crossed her screen identifying the man from platoon two but that's not what she sought.

<”VST-One leader drop some pucks, Jespe fall back to the line.”>

“Wilde a smoke-if you have one handy,” Sybila asked, his face plate had been hastily dashed in red, a sticker depicting a bantha half scratched off on the crown. She rolled her eyes to herself as the soldier’s hand dug through his cuirass. Lifting her visor, Sybila’s sight passed over Ban as the surveillance team deployed droid scouts, chewing raw the skin on her lip. If it wasn’t the nerves of the men, it was the looming cloud that warned her-

<"Barran to Vindicate-Actual! Move your units to the fort's northern sectors, have them hold their ground. Whatever ruins your men look out to will be the ruins we all go running into anyway - I haven't enough patience to play about with defensive-doctrine this time. Not like it worked for me last time, eh? Briefing in the command-centre soon, so be quick. Lance One out!">

<”Radar would have a hard time picking that up accurately-”>

<"Wait could the mass moving slower then the radar echo?">

“Sorry ma’am I only have my last one, might not be good,” Wilde offered the box of cheap smokes up willingly, ninety-nines had faded off the carton. She hesitated, knowing what it meant-her hand closed around it. Considering the sanctity of one last burn out..Nima..

“Thank you-” Sybila spoke haphazardly, pushing aside the thought. Hastily tucking the small box into her own belt as she took a handful of steps forward. Her lungs burned for the taste of tar and blood, and she knew it was coming. She kept her visor on the Lieutenant at the head of the line as troopers maneuvered behind the half fell chunk of the residential building that had collapsed at some point.

<”Ban, prepare to be engaged-riot tactics. The brief said theses things are rabbid but cunning.”>

<”We have movement, top window. Ten o'clock!”>

Her head whipped to the side, falling the tracking mark up the side of the high rises. Metal, maybe remains of glass fell where a lone figure fell from the second story. It was in a blink of an eye a body graciouslessly hit the roadway-the bloody mess cut off from her vision by blast plate and sidewalk. Sybila froze. An ungodly hiss reached her ears following the interruption. Unease rippled from the men as barrels were turned to to their overhead.

“Karking shavit..” she whispered under breath-

<"Interesting conversation-starter, so it is. Anyway, lets start off with the fact that my only pet at the moment is a Mantellian Tiger cub, obviously putting that,"Mutant", talk to rest on my pa- about that actually.! Would you care to enlighten me as to what the feth my son could've possibly fethed up this time? You know what- feth it! You can tell me in person! Make your way to the command-centre at the double, Vindicate-Actual! Lance One out!">

<<”Lance-One that’ll be a hard negative...I’ll be late to the tea party..very late.”>> Sybila spoke steadily as the comm line switched green, eyes following the top levels of the apartment to the commerce center-the radar blinked erratically. Half the man’s words were lost on the woman, a whirring noise of static over the delayed radio.

Her mind burned, horde, there was no finer word to describe the mass that hummed like a hive of yellow-jackets. Whether they knew how to evade or this was a trap of a semi sentient thing...Troopers moved ahead of her drawing their rifles sights on the openings along the building, the screeching was joined by another ghoul. Just out of sight, the shadows highlighted by the A.I as the haunted faces of long dead civilians emerged overhead.

Another leaped down upon the heart of their column and Sybila’s hand ripped through the air. The Force lashed out under her nails as she seized the undead thing in the air, dangling with it’s boney fingers desperately reaching out to attack the trooper nearest just below. The weight pulled down her own palm and she seized a sharp breath before she wrenched her wrist up-flicking it like an insect back into the building with a defining crack. Silence followed as blood dripped from the indent, limb and organ painted the building side and Sybila swallowed the bile in her throat. Stragglers, that had time to adapt..clever shavits. A fresh wave of searing rage pumped through her veins.

<”Move! Move, get your asses back, fall back!”>

That had been a scared man once upon a time, maybe a simple-and poor civilian caught in this red tide. Sybila tightened her servo around the hilt of her saber, igniting the crimson blade at her side as she raised it to high guard-the red plasma surging as rifle fire broke out all around in a deafening blast-blackening, chipping away at the building ledge in crescendo. Teeth ground and her jaw ached as a muted hiss clawed its way up her throat in to a haughty cry of anger; heart beating against her ribcage. The sound reverberated against the small space of the helmet back in her face rivaling the sound of the horde. The light of day was lost, the clouds and smoke as a dark wave of bodies poured from the building side. Comms screamed, orders desperately tossed out. How many..she could not count. A sea of decay hurdled themselves from the high ground unto them like hail.