Invasion Die by The Sword | NIO invasion of BOTM held Csaus

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! PAGE CLAIM!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Post #3
DIE BY THE SWORD
OBJECTIVE 2: SNOW AND STEEL
THE_WOAD
IMPAF-COMMAND

313TH STORMTROOPER LEGION,"SABRETOOTH LEGION"

NIO: Jon Kovacs Enzo Demici Delilah Jones Volgin Alto
Julian Qar Vladimir Kovačić Bex Tarring Kranak Vizsla

THE LORD-GENERAL'S CHAMPION: Shai Maji

BOTM: The Mongrel Tu'teggacha SCAR Chimera Electra-12 Lurtz Null

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore
Fragarach Model Heavy Disruptor-Pistol
Sentimental-Value Fairbairn Vibroknife
Beskar Knuckledusters
Erskine's New arm

TLDR:

Spoiler

Erskine leads Shazzeke and Tarring to a vantage point of the left flank.
Briefs them on what he expects.
Stops Tarring to issue custom-engraved pistol, offers warning.
Returns to the center of the formation to talk with Julian, to poise for the main attack.
Sees crashing TIE-Fighter, Marić claims the task.

A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 5

​

CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)

With the Galidraani and Mirialan keeping pace with him on either side, the Goidel would start marching towards the left flank, beckoning the others look at the entire approach from left periphery to the right; all the specifics of Lord Erskine's plan would be imparted here, so a perfect view of the ground the chosen pair would cover was very much needed to aid the Lord-General in his effort to keep Tarring and Shazzeke well-informed on the task at hand. Stopping just past the med-station, the Stormchaser would remain facing the long, thin stretch of frozen land between themselves and Citadel Caelitus itself, smirking to himself as the others watched him gaze on Tarring's Cataphracts in intrigued silence - wondering what was running through his mind at such a vital pre-fight precipice.

'The XT-62.... The tank of dreams - you're a fortunate man, Lord Bex. Truly.'

Sniggering to his left, though not in a derisive manner, it seemed that what Erskine was saying in that moment was only serving to prove Nazke's presumptions correct; the Mirialan had his reasons to believe the Woad's like wouldn't be seen again after his passing, smiling as he imagined the battles his Lord-General had won and lost with his mechanised Brigade of Blue-Heart exiles, then turning to hold Barran's gaze in reverent sincerity. The tattoo-markings on Shazzeke's face would move as he smiled, remaining amiable in his demeanour as he explained,'Your deeds are known to us, sir.', before leaning forward in his still-westward stance to catch Tarring's gaze when he was done with Barran's own, seeking to make a point in all of this without speaking too much for his own taste.

'He's not wrong.... We envy you, and them.'

Shots were heard from far off behind them, correctly assumed by all in the trio to be early skirmishes on the far right flank, being handled with earnest, and with the operational autonomy afforded by the jurisdictional authority of their Lord-General personally. Mostly just early tests of wind-strength and distance capabilities from their specific drops or vantage-points, but it was enough to know that both sides knew they were on the precipice of engaging properly en-masse soon, almost like they were shooting away at each other in a small time-vacuum together. But then, out of nowhere came a stray Imperial dropship bearing the insignia of the 501st Legion's new airborne battalion,"All Imperial", making a very accurate landing towards the very edges of the left flank itself, making landfall almost 100 metres north of Shazzeke's contingent to cover a very handy blindspot in the moments leading up to the attack itself.

'Legions win wars, and the Imperium will win this God-forsaken war someday. The 8th Airborne will certainly serve as a wee testament to that, especially if they've been hand-picked to serve in the 501st.... At the helm o' that, people like Irveric Tavlar and Rurik Fel only bring conquerors into the fold. Legends in the making,'

I'll make contact with their commander in a little while, but first thing's first....​

Letting his sense of urgency kick in, Lord Erskine would slip his habit of shop-talk and punditry in the field, allowing the idle chitchat to take a back-seat for the sake of keeping his subordinates safely on the right track in the operation's opening stages; though the orders were simple, Lord Erskine could leave no doubts as to what it was that he wanted from the likes of Lord Bex, Volgin, Shai and Nazke alike, for there could be no room for error this time around. Though the defeat was valiant in his previous outing as a Lord-General, a rotten run of luck would meet with it's own rotten run of bleak, costly rewards, and if the old Woad continued down this path of disappointing the Imperium, Barran knew the Central Government authorities would remove him in whatever way the Imperator desired. But Lord Erskine knew, Imperator Rurik also knew there was a burning desire for victory within him, engulfing the Stormchaser's soul like a healer's therapeutic embrace in moments like this, so Barran rightly worried not.

If the 8th move up, you follow and punch through their opposition, then slap up whatever units are pinning the 16th down. But I want everyone here to burst through their lines, pushing through technicals, marauders an' the like on our way towards the citadel's southwestern wall.... You have the numbers you need for the job, gentlemen. Full green light for operational-autonomy has officially been granted as of now, so don't let me down. Dismissed.'

As his Sabretooth subordinate made his way to Archais Battalion's positions on the far left, Lord Erskine politely grabbed Lord Bex's arm without warning, stopping the Lord-Captain of Bramber Battalion in his tracks before Tarring could get the tanks poised to move at a moment's notice, reaching into his coat pocket for a pistol that very much resembled the one holstered at his hip. 'Here, made specifically for you. Take note of the hammer engraved into the barrel, and the Southern-Galidraani ethnopatterns all over it.', the Lord-General started, pausing to point to the left side where the engraved reference to the Woad-given epithet could be seen. But when the Lord-Captain took it into his grip, a man that could've been his Lord-Commander in another life chose not to make a big point of it, interrupting the lad before he could speak so he could advise,'A Laird made that for you, so try not to do anything stupid like dying on us. It would seem the fates of my people and yours alike depend on your ilk now.', to conclude the matter in short order.

'We talk when you return.'

There was no way the Galidraani Captain could be swayed completely, for the Goidel Lord-General had relinquished the Lord-Commander title that tied him to the brigades that made what it meant to be Lord Erskine as everyone knew him, creating the mythos that defined him just by executing his will with distinction. That life had been left behind him, though in a completely different fashion than it was when Lord Erskine left the mercenaries' life of perpetual exile behind to join Tal's Tigers in 863 ABY, as the choice to lead IMPAF-Command, and doing so as the Imperium's next Lord-General, had weighed heavily on his heart for some time after the pride in his achievement eventually faded from the forefront of his thoughts. Leaving behind his officers, his non-coms, and his beloved Cataphracts, to start anew - beginning from scratch all over again. Much had changed since, in both opinion and circumstances alike, but of all the things the Stormchaser had left behind, one thing remained to gnaw at his heart.

I once commanded thousands of Woads, an' now fewer than two-hundred serve in the 313th.​

A fleeting memory, like a hazy, drunken reminder of a banner Lord Erskine once held dear to his heart, a symbol of fear for all who dared to face off against Barran's Woad-Macushla.

Truth's a cruel mistress - but I know they'd welcome Gowrie, an' with open arms at that.​

These thoughts of his former subordinates would, like everything else it seemed, encumber his soul, but not for long; an Imperial TIE-Fighter had been bested in the air above him, seen leaving a burning trail of debris and ignited fuel on its way towards the very direction the left flank were headed, and though it looked bad, the chances of survival were still high enough that Lord Erskine knew his plans needed to involve this unfortunate individual in particular. And with operational autonomy given, the Stormchaser was more than confident in the good judgements of the captains he was sending in to lead the oblique attack in particular, but it was the commander of Baltizaar Battalion who truly put the Lord-General's mind at ease on the matter, patching through as Erskine waded eastward through the snowdrifts in silence. Marić, though he was only recently commissioned as a 2nd-Lieutenant, had proven quite handy thusfar, playing his part in the reconquest of Nirauan as much as helping convey Shazzeke's intentions; but in this matter, watching as the TIE made contact with the snow, Barran would be happy knowing the Mantellians would acquit themselves well this time.

<"Marić to Lance One! Shazzeke gets the headstart, so the Mirialan gets the conventional objective this time - and the Mantellian gets the unconventional task. That crash site will be secured within the hour, mark my words. Requesting permission now before I make a choice - and with an autonomy I know you'd give me anyway.">

<"Barran to Sabretooth Two! Permission Granted, good luck out there- oh, an' mind yer fething tongue! Any more o' that caper an' ah'll cut it out an' let Misha devour it.">

<"Moving out in formation behind Archais Battalion as discussed - my apologies, sir. Sabretooth Two out!">​

Dr. Qar, being in a quiet, observant state as he watched from a distance at the time, would then see Lord-General Barran approaching at a brisk walking pace, letting the facial expressions steadily come into focus as Erskine steadily drew closer through the powdery top-layer snow and ice-particles kicked up by the high-winds. It almost made him look spectral as he pushed against the gusts on his way eastward, and though his heart was most-certainly still aching, any Sabretooth trooper lucky enough to see it from a distance would draw courage from the fact it seemed like nothing could break their Lord-General, and certainly not on that night of nights. The old Stormchaser had gotten this far without surrendering to the sweet embrace of death, clinging to life as everyone else there was, but having done so for longer than anyone could've expected of one considered a little too long in the tooth for command, there never had been any will or desire to rest on his laurels to begin with - only the tribalistic desire to die as a warrior someday.

'Hello again, Julian... Let us equip ourselves with some bodyguards from the command-centre. Some killers for the road if ye catch mah drift.'

TLDR:

Spoiler

Erskine replies to Volgin on Comms.
IMPAF-Trio engage in chit-chat.
Erskine replies to Vladimir on Comms.
Erskine patches through to the Mongrel

A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 6

​

CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)

<"Lance One to Mauler! This is General Barran! Glad to have you with us, and even more so after seeing you land in a very fortunate spot. So rest assured - from the moment you spring your attack, my entire left flank endeavours to follow and close the gap.... We wish to punch through their main defensive line, and seeing your positioning, I can only imagine that your contingent would have similar plans in mind.">​

'Good, that was clearly the last fething puzzle-piece! We're just about as ready as we're ever going to be under the circumstances, wouldn't you say?', Wyll grumbled, eager to get going like everyone else was, but in seeing the stern looks from both McGechin and Rosk'Aiar alike, the 2nd-Lieutenant relented and silently acquiesced to the judgments of his colleagues almost as soon as he was done venting. There was no room for impatience at that stage of the battle, not when it was planned to be a game of set-pieces for Lord Erskine's second proper outing as a Lord-General, so none of the IMPAF Lances around Martin would permit anything of the sort, no matter how mild the Bastion-born Lieutenant's venting was in the grand scheme of things. Even while Barran and Qar waited just outside the derelict, ramshackle command-centre, watching on as the Stormchaser and his cyberneticist looked out to the west in anticipation of the 8th Airborne's next move, everyone knew that patience would keep everything from falling apart, that level, saner heads would prevail against the horrors of the Maw.

'Can't help but feel flattered bih't! Pickin' the Reconquest-Trio definitely warms the heart, so it does. We work well the-gither, an' gettin' the chance t'prove it instils a sense o' contentment t'go with that warmth.... Best thing I ever did was leave An-Cridheachan, ah swear it!'

<"SAWBONES, checking in, by your orders, Lance One, over.">

<"Vladimir Kovačić, good t'link comms with ye finally. If Julian's going to be busy in the crucible, the likes o' Hazel an' yersel are very much needed at the main med-centre.... Its going to be a wild one for all of us, but it gladdens me to know at least someone can keep it all together in my good friend's absence.">​

The Tusken would slap the old Woad's shoulder and give signage on his views on the transmission with one of the Imperium's best medics, seen and understood by Lord Carwood with ease before he revealed,'Rosk'Aiar's saying he hates hospitals - almost as much as the Lord-General.... But he's glad Dr. Qar's lot make that easier for Barran. Brought through the ringer - still standing somehow, medics must have a part to play in that.', as the signage continued until conclusion. Everyone agreed, and to the extent that even the Sabretooth guardsmen manning their posts nearby were nodding and grumbling agreement under-breath, knowing what Dr. Qar's contingent had been put through to get that far, knowing that Julian's commitment to saving lives extended far beyond the medical, cybernetic mastery he was renowned so greatly for. What none of them had been around for, however, were the glorious showings of what Julian could achieve with sharp-cutting instruments of another sort, something they'd all be fortunate enough to see for themselves before long.

'You're quite correct aboot ah't, Rosk'Aiar. An' every last one o' Qar's subordinates have that certain incredibility-factor an'aw.'

<"So if there's any, an' I mean any urgent matters you need me to attend to, do not hesitate - not even for a second. Just patch through, Lance One out!">​

'See? Best in the Galaxy, you'll see for yourself if you take disruptor-hits tonight. They're not supposed to be a considered as a lifeline, but they become lifelines whenever one karks up along the way.... But with that being said, I hear nothing but good things about these people regardless. Best in the Galaxy, like I said.'

'Wyll, get on comms at the double.', Barran ordered, leaning his head inside the walled ruins that served as their command-centre, briefly gracing their holographic-display room with a specific idea in mind. Waiting silently as the 2nd-Lieutenant manned the comm-link unit against the snowdrift-addled room's south wall, the Lord-General's cigarette-smoke would billow into a small cloud on the spot as the device was switched on and readied for further input commands, and only then did the Laird exclaim,'Hack into Mawite comms - find the Mongrel, patch through, then stand aside for your Lord-General!', with supreme confidence in both his aura and in his standing posture alike. There was nothing that reeked of surrender, capitulation or desire for truce in the way Lord Erskine issued his orders, and in the slow stroll towards the comm-link unit itself, everyone present knew that this correspondence would not be for anything else but for the never-ending rivalry between the Galaxy's greatest living battle-commanders.

'Done.'

Flicking the remnants of his cigarette into the gathering snowdrift, Barran smirked and nodded approval as Wyll stood up to step away from the comm-link unit, sitting down and muttering,'Thanks, an' I hope you're all listening by the way. If you want the truth of your commander's current predicament, and my intentions, your ears will be listening.', before falling silent for a few moments. The Stormchaser would then light another cigarette, pocketing the lighter as he inhaled another draw to keep the head lit, still considering what he should say after such a long time, briefly pondering on the years that had passed since their duel on Ilum as he reached for the headset and turned the speaker-volume up on the transmitter. Inhaling two more puffs before putting on the headset, the Stormchaser chuckled ruefully before growling,'Been a while, an' much has changed for us since - but nothing changes between the Mongrel & I. This is war after all, nothing's ever simple.... Not in this Galaxy anyway.', with a last reassuring glance towards his subordinates.

<"D'you remember Irveric Tavlar? He was still breathing when you an' I duelled each other for the first time, Mongrel.... Remember Ilum? Much has changed since the Imperator died, hasn't it? A lot can change in a few years, but it would appear we've been in the same - unchanging - state of duelling rivalry throughout. Quite intriguing.">​

Another draw from his cigarette, another exhalation as a visible test for shudders this time, but to the Lord-General's relief, his breathing was smooth, and his hand was steady as a rock. This was exactly where Erskine needed to be and he was finally beginning to see and feel it for himself, a feeling the Stormchaser had not experienced since he was still leading his legendary mechanised-infantry brigade, but it felt cleaner somehow, like there was nothing bringing it out from within him but the very drive that got him out of bed in the morning. All of these words that were spilling out of Barran's mouth, in all their abundance, though it would've seemed like babble to non-combatants, felt necessary to Lord Erskine and equally to all his subordinates within earshot, though everyone knew that their Lord-General needed to get every last syllable off his chest. This wasn't just venting, this wasn't just the Stormchaser merely speaking his mind on the glaring issues, nor the initiation of petty mind-games or an attempt to buy himself time, this was something much deeper, much more intense than all the aforementioned rolled into one.

<"We will duel again, this I promise you now.... However, as much as it pains me to say it, we will not be clashing today - but I send you a champion in my stead so our swords could at least feel that sensation until the next time we meet face-to-face.">​

Smoking another two draws, he flicked the cigarette into the gathering snowdrift at lower-shin height to his left, another test of resolve that resulted in smooth exhalation and steady-hand inspection, one that everyone present noticed on that occasion. Then, in that supremely silent state of singular calm, the Stormchaser decided in that moment that he would conclude his opening transmission to the Mongrel with another reference to Niruan, a subject of which had the makings of becoming a beacon of open contention between them, but one that Lord Erskine resolved to explore regardless. Losses had been suffered on the Mongrel's side also, with quite the tale to recount to their commander afterwards, a story of three dead marauders - and a wildly-opportunistic undead warrior of the Perished. The only one there who was present to bear witness to these events, besides Lord-General Barran himself, was 2nd-Lieutenant Wyll, moments away from being forced to recall New Carannia in the same way Lord Erskine was.

<"I know Rook delivered my message, but I think we both know I'm not in fighting condition yet. Amputations, costly defeats an' the likes take time to recover from.... Your forces bested me on Nirauan, an' your,"Dreamer.", certainly did well as your substitute that day as well. Two names I'll never forget in the time I have left, two names you would do well to keep close.">​

 

[Colton Renfro]

Location: Deeps of the Citadel, and nearby mountains

Allies: @ Michael Barran ,@@Nuruodo'kal'brast "Dokal" , Rika Hiro ,Annor E-059, Amadeus Blackwood

Enemies: Khamul Kryze , Ozma Olumivius , SCAR

​

<C> Crosshair to Epsilon1 looks the main offensive has drawn off the patrols, your clear to entry point beta, over. <C>

<C> Epsilon 1 copy eta 10 mikes to entry point beta, out.<C>

As Colton continued to scan the area suddenly the comms in his ear Clicked on <<C>> command to Epsilon actual come in over.<<C>> the urgency in the woman's voice was evident even over comms.

<<C>> Epsilon Actual command send traffic over.<<C>>

<<C>> Command to Epsilon Actual, we have reason to believe there ISB agent in the citadel, possibly captured, you and your are assigned the additional task of retrieving or eliminating the agent, in addition to your primary mission how copy over.<<C>>

<<C>> Epsilon Actual to command I read 10 x10, retrieve or eliminate possibly captured ISB agent, confirm over.<<C>>

<<Command to Epsilon actual, Confirmed, Command out <<C>>

~Well this is just kriffing great~ Colton thought to himself before updating his team

<C>Crosshair to Epsilon 1<C>

<C> Epsilon 1 , send traffic crosshair.<C>

<C> Crosshair to Epsilon 1, we gotta change of plans boys and girls, just off the net with command, there is an ISB agent inside, possibly captured in addition to our original mission, we are tasked with retrieving the agent if possible, or eliminating them if necessary, How copy over.<C>

<C> Epsilon 1 to crosshair we read 10 x 10 primary objective to wreak havoc with defense and security systems, destroy research, and kill anything unfriendly, Secondary rescue or eliminate ISB agent confirm. <C>

<C> Crosshair to Epsilon 1 confirmed, keep me apprised crosshair out. <C>

<C> Epsilon 1 copy crosshair, out.<C>

========================================================================



Approx ten minutes the infiltration team arrived at what was thought service/ utility entrance, it was a large drainage pipe as the stealthy cut a hole in the grade with plasma cutters and made their way through the pipe to the sewage treatment facility in the lower bowels of the keep. As they entered the treatment facility they assumed a standard diamond formation and began to move through the area look systems to slice, research to destroy, and intel about the BOW their numbers, capabilities, and location of bases, etc.

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective III: BE QUICK OR BE DEAD
Location: The Necropolis, Citadel Caelitus, Csaus
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Michael Barran | Nuruodo'kal'brast | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Colton Renfro | Amadeus Blackwood | Open (Allies to Ziare, enemies to Mercy)
Enemies: Open

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

"They have to believe you are with the NIO!" said one of the marauders.

What do they need to believe?! I am fully with NIO. Oh! This is unpleasant! I couldn't resist when all my guns were taken away. But I'm really with NIO! I don’t care what they think or this Mercy is on their side. Now I was here, not her! If it's up to me, it will stay that way. That was actually a very interesting question. Can I stop her from taking control of my body? Because if I haven't known about it so far, she'll probably be able to do it and he'll give it back to me…

The way I thought about it, my head hurt a lot. It hurt so far, but now it's worse. I think this happens when someone tries to think of something too hard, but they are too stupid and they got headache. I just wasn't stupid. It just hurt my head. According to these, Mercy even had the time and opportunity to invent false memories with MANIAC. That's why I could remember something when I worked for. How much has been reality from my life since I was taken prisoner? I mean, since I escaped from the Maw? Escape… They released me because they knew Mercy was coming back.

The recognition was infinitely painful, yes. It was all perhaps even more painful than it turned out I couldn’t escape. How much I spied on the NIO for the Maw without having any idea I was doing this? I wanted to cry. According to them, was it very possible that I betrayed my home in such a way that I thought I was working for them? And now I didn’t have a single weapon to be able to do anything. I could still hear the fighting noises from outside while one of the marauders held me captive.

However, there was something that, even in this situation, was surprising and somewhat admirable. That is, in light of what I knew about Maw, Mercy was able to earn the respect of these marauders and they would have been able to protect even me in order to protect her. I didn’t think I would experience and find fidelity in this place. Until now, I thought of them as just a barbarian horde. Maybe I thought wrong and they are much more organized than that? That wouldn't be good news.

Nor was it very pleasant what followed. From the part behind me where the wall had collapsed and blocked the other exit, there was a shout that the wall was about to be blown up to free that passage as well. And it wasn't very good, because then we could go the other way. I mean, they could have taken me and dragged me to the other end of the room to get as far away from the debris as possible. A cry I’ve heard so many times in my life. Fire in the hole!

Another explosion ensued.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Csaus, Citadel Caelitus Outskirts
Allies: Lurtz Null | SCAR | Electra-12
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | Shai Maji | Jon Kovacs | Volgin Alto | Delilah Jones

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel orders Lurtz Null and the Crimson Hands to charge and displace the drop troops from the ruins
  • This creates a "bulge" in the Mawite right flank (left side of the map)
• Anti-armor forces remain in reserve on the Mawite left flank
• The Mongrel faces off against Shai, then hears from Barran before he attacks
  • He takes a guard position, letting her make the first move

Where The Mongrel walked, blood flowed.

Years ago, when he had just begun to serve the Maw as a slave-soldier, he had feared close combat. Though the cracks in his broken mind had been filled with fanaticism, he still had too much of his old self in him, the quiet speeder mechanic who'd fled to the edge of the galaxy to escape the endless wars. But as he'd earned more and more scars, as more and more of his flesh had been stripped away, that old self had been stripped away along with it. He had gone from fearing the blade, sticking to guns, to reveling in bloody melee combat.

But he had to be commander as well as slayer.

Even from the midst of the carnage, it was abundantly clear what the NIO was trying to do here. Two units of jump infantry (the Sixteens and the 8th Airborne Division of the 501st, both veteran Maw-fighters) were dropping near their defensive positions, then digging into the ruins of the Chiss compound. It put them close enough to harass the Mawite defenses, firing on their walls and trenches at medium range, but far enough away that the Brotherhood would have to leave those defenses to dislodge them. That left an impossible choice.

Either way, the Maw's defenses would be weakened.

The Mongrel's decision, then, was a simple one: given the option between charging, creating a bulge in the defensive line and moving his troops out of position, and sitting there and taking the fire from the jump troopers, the Brotherhood could really only charge. The marauders, eager for blood, plunder, and a glorious death, lacked the discipline to hold defensive positions while the enemy was so tantalizingly close - and shooting at them. None of them would consent to die standing when they could be dying fighting, a more glorious end.

All The Mongrel could do was reap the whirlwind.

"Lurtz," he barked into his comm, cutting down another trooper with swift swipes of his warblade, "you may advance. Let the Crimson Hands drive these drop troopers from their little dens." Despite the bulge- and potential overextension - that allowing the Crimson Hands to charge would create, it could also benefit the Maw for two simple reasons. First, the marauders were most powerful on the charge, and would fall upon the jump troopers with a savage fury capable of routing them. Second, the same ruins the jumpers now hid in...

... could provide cover for the Mawites when the main NIO force came.

The key would be occupying that cover - and driving out its current occupants - before the NIO tanks rolled in. Letting the marauder "bulge" get caught out in the open when the tanks rolled in would be a disaster, for history had repeatedly shown what happened when lightly-armored fanatics came up against the heavy hulls of Galidraani armored divisions. That was why The Mongrel wanted the Crimson Hands to take the lead on this one. They were particularly vicious and brutal close-combat fighters, a good choice to clear the ruins.

And they were also survivalists, good at going to ground.

Though he trusted Lurtz's savages to take the position and drive out the jumpers, The Mongrel intended to lend them his own aid as well. Hhe commanded best, he found, from the midst of battle... and being on the front lines, drenched in unbeliever blood, was exactly what the tribes expected of their sainted warlord. He could not betray that image. And if he fell here, if one of these NIO soldiers managed to bring him down at last, he would be grateful. Twice he had been on the cusp of martyrdom, and he longed to reach paradise at last.

In the meantime, he'd keep his anti-armor forces in reserve. He could see on the tactical readouts before him, fed directly into his brain by the same implants that helped him react with inhuman speed to the world around him, that the Galidraani were getting ready to make their main move. They wouldn't shatter his lines this time; he had taken precautions to prevent that, vehicles that his best tech-shamans had been working on for months and more. When the tanks made their push, the Mawites would be ready and waiting.

Better yet, it looked like the Maw's air support had arrived.

In the meantime, the Mandalorians who had dropped first were making a fighting withdrawal in good order. Their flamethrowers, plasma casters, and repulsors kept the Mawites from closing to melee range, leaving countless warriors as little more than twisted, blackened skeletons in piles of molten slush. That was part of why The Mongrel was so eager to send in the Crimson Hands. His battered Scar Hounds couldn't sustain losses like this; their eager young aspirants were needed to replenish their depleted ranks.

The Crimson Hands, though, could sustain such losses. Let them charge the Mandalorians, the cannibal marauders howling in bloodthirsty glee, while The Mongrel's veteran Tarar fired their plasma weapons to melt that beskar armor with concentrated bursts. Of the Scar Hounds, The Mongrel alone would actually advance to dislodge the Sixteens; it would take more than a flamethrower to destroy his armored body. Most of his tribe would keep back to the defensive line, preparing to repel the tank shock that was shortly to come.

Of course, the Sixteens - as veteran Maw fighters - knew exactly how to keep the pressure on the band of fanatics they faced. "MAW DELENDA EST," they shouted back, nearly drowning out the cries of "War! Death! Rebirth!" coming from the onrushing marauders. "LOUDER!" The Mongrel bellowed, incensed; he would not allow this disrespect to his dark gods. "Louder, damn you! Drown out their heresy! WAR! DEATH! REBIRTH!" Soon the battlefield was drowned in shouts from both sides, louder than the gunfire.

Despite it all, The Mongrel could still pick out Shai Maji 's mockery. He turned to face her, his metal chassis spattered with hot, fresh blood that steamed in the frigid air, wreathing him in a billowing cloud. "You have found your target," he simply replied, stepping onto a ruined block of stone to see her better through the carnage all around them. "And yet I find myself... equally disappointed. Who are you, 'Wardog', to challenge me? You will find that the vessel," he indicated his new body, smaller but far faster...

"... matters far less than the contents."

The warlord raised his blade in a gutting motion, preparing to stalk forward and close the distance. "Let's open you up and see what yours are like." He sprinted forward, his movements almost faster than the eye could follow, preparing his sword to strike with the greatest force and finesse he could muster. Perhaps he should have been insulted that this whelp had been sent after him... but he knew better than to underestimate the NIO's elite soldiers, especially after Sephi Karneh had all but killed him on Nirauan.

Best to finish this quickly, eliminate the threat.

That was when a familiar voice was broadcast from across the battlefield, worming its way into his mind, making him slide to a stop amid the snow. "It's been so long, Barran," The Mongrel said, the entirety of the battle's cacophony fading away as he focused on that voice. "The galaxy changes around us - the armies, the commanders, the warzones - but you and I... we remain." From the very first clash between NIO and Brotherhood at Csilla, The Mongrel had been connected to the old general and his proteges.

A fire-forged bond. Equal opposites. Perpetual foes.

"I'm waiting for you, Barran." Waiting for the man he wanted to end this at last, the old general who could deliver him the glorious finale he had earned. Gowrie had nearly managed it on Korriban, nearly finished what had begun on Csilla, but fate or chance had intervened. In the end, it had to be one of Barran's to send him to paradise. He believed it fully, for how else had he survived Nirauan, where he ought to have died? "If this is your champion, I'll prove to you with her blood that I'm ready for you." He saluted Shai with his blade.

His demeanor changed. Barran had sent her.

"Come, then," The Mongrel told the Wardog. "You have the blessing of a rare creature: a 'civilized' man worthy of respect. Let's see if his faith is well-placed... or if I must send you back to him in pieces, to remind him to train harder."

 

[Bex Tarring]

NIO: Jon Kovacs Enzo Demici Delilah Jones Volgin Alto
Julian Qar Vladimir Kovačić DECEASED Erskine Barran Faison Kelborn Shai Maji Delilah Jones


BOTM: The Mongrel Tu'teggacha Tor'r Tal'Verda Chimera ​

Lord-Captain Bex Tarring
Bramber First Battalion
Hurst Company

The cheer that had gone up when the tanks of the Hurst Company 'rolled' into the mobilisation zone was a hardy one, Tarring smiling to himself. The Imperial armies marched best when they marched in step, functioning as one, unified force, the disparate and often contentious infighting set aside to defeat a common and powerful enemy. He watched as they began the approach, well set upon the task at hand; engage the enemy.

The Citadel loomed across an open expanse, a veritable death trap. Bex often wondered why sending troops into the meat grinder was ever a viable option, but he also knew that sometimes just the foolhardy madness of it inspired heroism and, more importantly, dissent within the ranks of the enemy combatants. A routed enemy was almost as good as a dead one. Almost.

Bex had disembarked from the Command Vehicle, watching as the Lieutenants met to coordinate their efforts, each of them giving a singular nod to the Lord-Captain as he made his way through the makeshift staging ground to find Lord Erskine.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Command Centre.

Bex had seen fit to ensure the lieutenants of the company were kept in good spirits, allowing the troopers in the command to engage the enemy with a strengthened zeal. The XT-62s would be vital to the success of the operation but would also draw the ire and attention of the enemy; large moving targets, no matter their strength, would pose a serious problem to morale if bested by the enemy forces.

Bex stood, listening intently to the Lord-General. He spoke with an assertive yet ferocious hunger, a determined thirst for undeniable and unassuageable victory, the destruction of the barbarous forces that stood opposed across the field of death. He had his orders. This would be a decisive strike against the bloodthirsty Maw.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He walked alongside the imposing Lord-General, saying as little as possible. He didn't feel he had much to contribute in this early stage of their acquaintance. They had made the necessary introductions some years prior and various actions had seen them cross paths but never in the flesh. Tarring was growing in confidence in his command, the Hurst Company of the Bramber First Battalion chosen as a specialist unit for this operation, one that would see a profound danger imposed upon the troopers from the southern county of which Bex drew his soldiery.

They stopped, taking in the battlefield proper. He watched as his tanks sat idly.

''The XT-62.... The tank of dreams - you're a fortunate man, Lord Bex. Truly.'

Bex drooped his head, almost encumbered with the praise. It wasn't something he was accustomed to and he knew it hadn't been given in earnest-it was a good day to be in the graces of Lord Erskine. The companion spoke too, offering his admiration of the troop of XT-62s that filled the roster of the Hurst's platoons.

Shots fired.

Bex looked over, attempting in vain to see if he could discern the frazzle of rifles, discharging towards unscrupulous agents in the vast expanse that served as the killing field. He couldn't as yet but knew it would only be a matter of time before he got far closer than he might ever want to soldiers of the Maw.

Lord Erskine engaged, began detailing the plans for the action ahead. Bex understood the initial parameter-advance on the enemy, dispatch enemy. It was a tale well told and Bex knew the intricacies would be detailed shortly. He nodded and made to leave, the Lord-General grabbing Bex's arm; an otherwise unseemly motion that for anybody else would be seen as a slight but from the Lord-General? Quite the privilege!

A pistol

Lord-General Erskine proffered him a pistol, detailing the iconography and make of it. It was a marvellous weapon, one that would render an enemy incapacitated with some assurance. Bex didn't know what to say, other than to take in the General's focus and concertation. The two were of the differing ilk, Tarring's Southern sensibilities and ways differing in stark contrast with the 'Woad' that stood before him.

He nodded in canon with the Lord-General, offering a crisp salute as Tarring made his way to the staging Cataphracts, checking in with his own subordinates, newly minted pistol in the holster, the old one in his hand.

The sound of a lone fighter raced above.

He craned his neck to see, losing sight of it as it plummeted towards the battlefield.

There would always be casualties.

---------------------------------------------

"Are they ready, Lieutenant?"

"All checked in, sir."

Lieutenant Boniface, the ranking officer of the Hurst Company, stood next to his XT-62. He lent on it, giving it a reassuring rub, as if a petting might make the inanimate war machine feel better about what it was set to do.

"Fears, Netley and Tuppen have their platoons ready. They're a good bunch. They'll do you proud, sir."

"I have no doubts about it, Boniface. The Hurst are a proud bunch and I'm certain they'll excel in their task today. First, we have to tackle this damned Maw. Their artillery will find their range pretty effectively and we'll have to keep moving, if not to cover any further advances. Our hope is to rush the position and lay down as much effective fire as possible. We'll chew up what we can and hope to avoid casualties. It's a complicated scene, insertion undertaken by forwarding skirmishers, all kinds of espionage going on. We're to be the very loud distraction at the front!"

Bex stepped up into the Command Vehicle. Boniface looked up at Bex, watching him talk to Horsham, the adjutant.

"We'll do the Lord-General proud, sir."

Bex looked down a genuine smile across his face.

"I know you will, Lieutenant. I know you will."


Bex sat, watching the tactical display on the comms relay, the three 'four-unit' platoons ready to engage the field and begin their way across towards the enemy. He checked in eagerly on the comms.

"Boniface, we're coordinating with the air support. Let's show 'em what we're made of."

He closed the comm, flicking to another channel. The 12 tanks would begin the advance as soon as they had the okay. Bex would remain behind in the Command Vehicle, accompanied by three XT-62s. It always benefitted operations to keep a full eye on the situation as it unfolded, he thought to himself.

<Bramber One-Lance One. Hurst Company. We are operation ready and eager to engage. We await your orders, milord. Bramber One out.>

Spoiler: Hurst Company

1st Platoon-4 XT-62s
2nd Platoon-4 XT-62s
3rd Platoon-4 XT-62s
Command-3 XT-62s plus two Armoured Command Vehicles

Spoiler: GROUP ACTION

TANKS HAVE ASSUMED POSITION ON LEFT FLANK OF NIO BATTLE LINE.
PREPARED TO ENGAGE ENEMY TARGETS AHEAD OF POSITION.
AWAITING FINAL ORDER TO ENGAGE FROM DECEASED Erskine Barran

 

[SCAR]

Tor’r Tal’Verda | Death’s Hand
BREAK the New Imperials
Khamul Kryze | Kralmus Orr | The Mongrel | Lurtz Null


Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | DECEASED Erskine Barran

​

Not a moment after addressing the Mawite Warlord The Mongrel would Kralmus Orr come, his signature devil mark, his dreaded Beskar'gam crushing into the frozen earth.

"Buried after I've picked their bones."​

A trophy. Tor'r may have disagreed with his vod's particular tastes but his warrior spirit was undeniable, a trophy was a trophy after all. The horned dome of the Mandalorian tilted toward his shoulder, a dark reflection cast back from his visor an image of the brutish warrior as he gazed back. He offered the cannibal a slight silent nod, a token of respect to his vod, and then turned away back to the mechanical saint of the Scar Hounds.

"My greetings to the warriors of Death's Hand, and my thanks to your Mand'alor," the thundering voice of @The Mongrel replied, "The skies fill with our foes, preparing to drop upon us like steel rain. Carve your bloody path through them, and you will know the gratitude of the Scar Hounds." He indicated the gunships above...​

"Done."

H U N T

​

And so it had begun. The hunt.

Almost in unison with his brother Kralmus Orr , Tor'r looked to the skies as the Sixteenth dropped behind Mawite defensive line as a vanguard to the New Imperial Armed Forces on approach. Mandalorians, he scoffed at the thought, where were they when the Mandalorians raged into the Core Worlds? Where were they when Manda'lor rallied the clans, when their empire reigned, or when Mandalore fell? Tor'r was a child of the Dreadguard, blood kin of the Tal'Verda, honor ran deep within his veins as did the Resol'nare. He fought for clan, he fought for his Mand'alor. These warriors, these fakes fought for the glory of the Empire and their own misguided beliefs.

These warriors of the Sixteenth were DAR'MANDA. They contradicted the SIX ACTIONS. They opposed their rightful MAND'ALOR.

He'd feel no shame gutting each one of them.

Kranak Vizsla said:
<"THE SLAVES OF THE SITH SEEK DEATH! DELIVER IT!">

"Adorable."

"You can take the other dropships, Tor'r," Kralmus spoke out, grinning beneath his helmet. "I'll hack up these... pretenders."

"Aye. Haili Cetare vod."

The two were off, the wolf pack unleashed.

Indeed the Sixteens came in full force at the surprised Mawites, crimson and green plasma bolts flung back and forth dotting the area in blaster fire. Black clouds choked their surroundings, smoke rolling forth in a thick shroud as the Mandalorians deployed into the warzone via dropships, Flak burst around them and left black clouds dotting the air as they deployed from the gunships, leaving their air support to regroup and receive new orders. The Mawites quickly adapted after taking swift losses thanks to the tactics of the Mandalorian-Imperials.

:: Move back, move back! ::

:: On the right, grenade out! ::

:: WE NEED TO MO- ::

"ON YOUR SIX"

Through the black smog, emerging from the silent veil came the horned wolf, the Mandalorian SCAR . Raising his arm braces, the Mandalorian found his person fired upon as blaster bolts ricocheted off his beskar plating. He swayed to the left and to the right as stray bolts made their mark in his charge. Rushing into a dead sprint, the dark warrior speared a retreating Mandalorian into the frozen tundra before he could rally alongside his vode within the broken building. The two slammed against the hard earth, shoveling snow as their bodies plowed into the ground.

Right hook.

The pinned Mandalorian swung, Tor's left arm instinctively rose to parry, swatting away the labored swing as his right crushgaunt folded into a fist. Driving his right hand forward, the Lone Wolf slammed his crushgaunt repeatedly into the visor of the Mandalorian with bloodthirsty vigor. His gaze rose as a bolt caught him in the shoulder turning him over from his prey. Rolling against the solid earth Tor'r sought refuge from the repeating fire held against him. He found sanctuary among the debris of a nearby foundation, a small relief. It would do.

Snapping his right arm out, the Mandalorian leaned in against the broken wall of the crumbling foundation of what once was a Chiss building belonging to one of the Great Houses. Wrist rockets at the ready, the Lone Wolf waited for an opening and rose firing four shots toward the line of Mandalorian warriors entrenched with flamethrowers and plasmacasters firing toward the Mawite horde from their broken refuge. He sprung forward, leaping over the shattered foundation and charged, drawing both pistols from his hip he fired aiming for any Mandalorian he could find, especially those with missiles exposed from their jetpacks.

​

 

[Darth Saevius]

​

Objective: I - The Writing on the Wall
Tags: Tish Cowen Rurik Fel Lucien Dooku Waymar Dathrohan Atticus Draco Dorian Sicarrio Varus the Sigillite Larro Paeb Hans Rennagen Ihsan Varad Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Marus Saretti Darth Solipsis Erion Justeene Halketh Detritus Ren The Fire of Rage Lord Letifer
Engaging: Tish Cowen

A brilliant flash of light suddenly emitted from Raina’s palm, which instantly elicited a reaction from the Sith Lord as he grunted and near-instantly recoiled to shield his eyes from the surprise disruption. His Hapan blood did not lend itself to that, but his implants and years of dealing with the disability allowed him to do so within a reasonable amount of time nonetheless. After said recovery, he realized there was no longer two, but just one Imperial Knight remaining - the one that mattered. A brief survey of his surroundings through the force confirmed that the second individual made their way through, leaving just him and her. Then, she spoke.

’Cute.’ He thought to himself. He didn’t have time to properly respond to her comment about being a so called ‘edge lord’ before the blinding light interrupted their normal introductions, so he responded after the light show: ”Do you use such platitudes to make yourself feel better?” A faint smile edged along the corners of his lips, his accent indicative of a bygone aristocracy nearly extinguished. He ignored her follow up question; he did not need to explain himself to her. But she would know what machinations were at work soon enough.

He took a few steps forward then paused, his right side facing her and his arm holding the humming saber blade in front of him. Their eyes met again, her bright purple orbs meeting his yellow tinted, cybernetically enhanced eyes in turn. ”Shall we?” He paused but an instant as the invitation hung in the air, his tone and demeanor as if he were simply asking her to dance. And dance they shall.

Instantly, Saevius sent a vicious push through the force - meant to shift Raina off balance - and surged forward, bringing his saber blade up so as to crash it down in an opening slash so as to test the Knight’s opening guard. Upon meeting, he would then bring the second blade of his dual hilted saber up in a counter swipe. His opening form would be simple, using Shi-Cho as the foundation, but introducing subtle hints of Makashi so as to riposte when ready. There was no need to broadcast everything he could do.

No. Not yet.

​

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

V I D I C A T E
New Imperial Order
Knights Of The Empire
Armor / Light Saber Pike / Hand Of God / Pistol
Survival

NIO: Atticus Draco Lucien Dooku Dorian Sicarrio Tish Cowen Varus the Sigillite Larro Paeb Ihsan Varad Marus Saretti Rurik Fel Atsá Vyshraal Michael Barran
MAW: Darth Solipsis Halketh Darth Saevius Detritus Ren The Fire of Rage Darth Mori

​

The audio receptors whined from the impact, the distinct crash of bodies in armor hailed by the echo of blaster fire over head. Seconds had bled into minutes as the Knights battered into the lines. Neon red etched itself across the screen as the A.I outlined warnings but Sybila’s own sight blurred following the overwhelming instinct as she pressed past body, ripping aside limbs and trading blows by the end of the blade. The fray was filled with plasma-heat radiating from the hilts of blades and blasters. She could taste the heavy stench of the fires even here over the ventilators. Arms encircled her from the side, ripping the ashen ground out from beneath her from the tide-tipping the world upside down, the woman was wretched away. It was no more than a game of strength, scraping for her bearings as her assailant and herself pulled and pushed at each other through rip current of the Force.

The woman’s weight shifted down to her heels as she flipped over as she turned momentum against them, teeth grinding as she wrapped the unseen around herself breaking the grip of the bound arms-the moment her boots hit the ground her visor rose to meet the phantom’s. Her vision swarmed as her helmet swiveled, there was little space to cross-the sharp edge of her bracer plate swung around in retaliation as her body twisted. Sybila seethed as an ugly crack reverberated as the armor bruised jaw and bone. Hatred lingered in the air like a miasma bitter and radiating. It was nigh impossible to ignore.

Digits tightened against the pike, blade dragging through the floor beside her-leaving an ugly gorge through the dark stone as she hefted it up. She moved in a single motion, as she slashed high in a swift diagonal cut. The white blade burned through the ribcage and chest, tattered robes smoking. The Mawling staggered and she released the air bottled in her lungs, dredging up another as she struggled for breath, chest heaving raggedly. The candle was snuffed before her, and a lifeless body fell.

A pulse radiated through the unseen Force as her gaze focused on the fallen, the corpse flung back into the mob-pressure mounting like a pinnacle upon her brow. A shiver raced up her spine warning her as a shadow fell over head, she dropped to one knee crumbling with the pressure. Somewhere in the mess, her mind stretched to land on the young man-a lingering presence that was drawn in like a moth to Vyshraal. She worried for him, retching back as hellish blades passed over where she had stood. He had to be weather this, he was his father’s son she wondered if it would be enough. Her eyes fell shut as her gauntlet flexed, Sybila dragged the pike around to guard herself, knees straining to bear her weight back up if only for a moment.

Sentiment was often the death of the mission.

Sybila sprung up with great heave, inhaling sharply-limber. The flames licked at her heels as the boot’s thrusters kicked in and her foot made contact with the chest of but another servant of the brotherhood. Through the cross of blade she spotted the younger man briefly-visor landing back upon the Mawling before as jabbed the hilt of the pike up. The recesses of her mind cried out for more, singing for blood-her heart running away in the confines of her chest. The chaos of the battle crashed all around as she landed, following the finger hooked around her nose that dragged down.

There was no end in sight of limbs and weapons. The trivial and masters were spread thinly across the board, the brightest burned through the layers of walls and bodies. She knew no single stench, the daring hope that Darth Maledictus might emerge on the horizon left a striking disappointment in the woman. But alas there was still an infestation before them, a decisive blow would see the head of the snake cut off by one of them. Fel would see to it she imagined. The woman stooped low armor creaking, a dissatisfied noise tearing up her throat as she threw herself across the floor-sliding below arms reached in a split second.

There was no sense in chasing tail and the woman slipped from the main hall, emerging from the frenzy with only smoke on her shoulders. A veil was lifted and she hit the towering wall, grunting as she had over-estimated her movement, one hand braced herself against the freezing stone; her helmet craned to peer down the dim corridor. Warm flames flickered from brazier overhead but that did little to safeguard against the eerie emptiness of the hall, at the end of her sights-vision gave way to the abyss. There were no coordinates but something grinned in the back of her mind-a ringing noise that screamed in her ears mounted- someone pushed themself most uninvited upon the edges of her mind.

An' what exactly brings you t'this frozen wonderland of sorts? Thought mine was the only unit jumping from Serenno, then I sense King Lucien, an' now the Major-General's here too.... I was quite happy thinking I'd have the peace to work without the bloody overseers being on site this time, so what gives?​

The voice was disjointed, speaking too distant then at the cusp of her ear the next. It smothered her by the weight of something else-a drop of emotions to disturb the entire lake. Irritation, it wasn’t her own her chin reared up to escape it as her visage screwed. Insistent, it clawed at her ears and she shook her head to dispel the second presence. Untrained, undisciplined, she wanted to scream-her own frustration muffled behind a clamped jaw as the man’s face came to mind.

‘Distraction will get even the finest soldier killed Barran, what are you doing besides bothering me? Sipping tea and muddling around the snow with your dog?’ she hissed, the projection of her voice was a parlor trick. Her lips moved in the tinted reflection of her own helm. Yet her voice was cast miles upon miles through the snowing warzone over the shoulder of the lone man. The woman dugged in, head leaning in as if she were there ‘-I am busy at present, if you require something then beg or put your gun to good use yourself.”

Fleeting with curiosity, his being was erratic and unrefined-so wholly different was the way he had come in to the Force. She wondered how he had escaped the attentions of Lord Fel-there was no choice their merciful Emperor gave for the unlucky soul that possessed a connection to the living ambience. The man must have been protected by the grace of his name alone. The little Lordling of Barran, his amusement ended in nothing more than a trite. Sybila turned her mind inward then, ripping herself back from the drift and placed herself firmly in the confines of her own body-the woman inhaled sharply. The screen blinked with no set target reminding her the present, still warning her of an encroaching presence on her flank. Her gauntlet clawed at the ground beneath as she dragged herself back up to her full height. Sybila’s mind stretched, breaking out in full sprint-a thunder of boots fall just behind her. Dark figures, acolytes broke from the wolf pack and dogged her heels as she disappeared into the shadows.

The woman chased the stairs that fled downward into the unknown, swinging the pike back around as she twisted her whole body to face the brunt. Every sense stood on alert as the first fell upon her and she rammed her shoulder behind the guard of the saber's hilt, thumb brushing over the switch of the hilt to kill the blinding saber. It was a crude use of such a weapon and she prayed for the first time that her once Master was rolling in his grave. Her wrist flicking as she struck a heavy blow, a muffled grunt following as she treated it no more than an over-glorified baton. Metal struck metal with hollow thud, though a foot planted itself on her knee-buckling her. Blindly, one gauntlet clamped around a fist full of robes and Sybila flung the man aside over her shoulder, hurdling it to the stone work-arms bolstered by unending anger that burgeoned in her throat. She didn’t fear this endless void, the back light of the HUD clicked off leaving her to hunt. Death lined the walls as the first of her pursuers fell skidded and rolled away down the stairwell, joining rest of the dead in this catacomb. Her chest heaved and Sybila struck with impunity. The saber sprung to life a second time. A fount of white light burned above the woman as she nicked limb and joint with the blade, collapsing the presence that made to pass over head.

If they had wanted her dead they should moved as one being.

Their lifeless bodies joined each other at the final step and Sybila planted the hilt of the blade on the stone, lifting herself as a dull ache stretched her leg. The woman alone pressed on, the eerie call in the night took hold as the battle melted away behind her. The citadel hid something, the epicenter had not been fueled alone by the presence of Maw’s ilk but something more. It stewed like a vat under one’s fingertips and the woman’s servo traced the wall as she pressed forward, a copper stench bled into the walls and she knew what the whispers said. Disgust hammered and clawed it's way through her chest, the discomforting dissident voices egged and pulled at the conscious.

She only needed the scent of sulfur and she might of called the little hell hole Credence.

The darkside hummed, a collective consciousness that dripped with venom from it’s fangs. It wasn’t far from the likes of Korriban, the first day she entered the heinous valley but she was not alone. There was someone just beyond that straightened her spine, it was distantly unfamiliar to the woman but they both understood the nuance it seemed. Where the others had been sputtering flames..this one burned like a torch. Following the labyrinth deeper, a single blade cut through the night, a crimson glow illuminating the form of the woman in her path, no more than a wraith-the Sith.

What a gimmick, the woman sighed audibly.

Sybila came to a halt, stretching her blade before her so her physical sight lengthened-steam rising from her form amidst the cold confines of the catacomb. She had never concerned herself with names and titles, with off hand trade of power amongst the Brotherhood. Perhaps that was her fault, she had never spent any time well anywhere and least of all where Kascalion had bound her-knowledge of your enemy..the fleeting philosophy of war from days at the academy came to mind but it was scarred. The white noise where all memories had gone to die, she still couldn’t recall those days clearly. Sybila shrugged her shoulders, the butt of the pike tapped against the stone twice with a deep ring in greeting. The woman leveled the pike before her in a spearman’s fashion.

<“So two Sith walk into a hall..”> Sybila’s voice was augmented by layers of armor and face plate, her tone laced in dry humor as she touched upon the paradox. The tip of her boot dragged forward, plying the adrenaline coursing through her vein like armor as she lunged, striking once over head-sweeping out with a useless strike; a test. It had almost cost her life on Helgard, the reckless abandonment in battle and almost won her it just the same. She'd place her bet eventually, eyes narrowed from beneath the shroud of her ebon helmet, studying, mirroring the woman as she traded the weapon between servo and hand-slowly feeding her coursing adrenaline in to the coils of her palm; the whine of electricity turning like a cog. <"-well come on hit me with the monologue, I came all this way for you it seems.">

 

[Enzo Demici]

P O S T N U M B E R 6 9 . . . N I C E

CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | 181st FIGHTER WING
BRAVO FLIGHT | DAGGER SQUADRON
ALLIES: NIO | Delilah Jones | Jon Kovacs | DECEASED Erskine Barran
ENEMIES: MAW
ENGAGING: Electra-12
GEAR: In bio | TIE-OTx 'Outlander' | Standard loadout

HUNGER​

It seemed that the three of them would not, in fact, have an easy mission topped off with a warm meal and shower afterwards. His sensors whined as an enemy seemed to target them from behind. :: Delightful. :: He grumbled as he heard the voice, checking above him and the rear scanners for any sign of the enemy. His left hand gripped the throttle while his right gripped the joystick. Ready for anything, he was forced to listen to the annoying voice of their opponent.

His scanners drew his attention to Dagger-6 beside him when she banked left, only to spiral out of control. :: Dagger-6 is down, repeat. Taking fire! :: He chimed in over the comms as he yanked up and slacked off on the throttle, only he wasn’t fast enough.

Alarms blared as he banked up into a spin, only to open up his throttle again as their attacker filled his vision. Letting loose with a salvo from his laser cannons, he hoped to take her out of the fight and get on her six… except that was not at all what happened.

An explosion rocked his TIE as he pulled up, and the fighter disobeyed any maneuvering orders he gave through the controls. His ship spiralled out and in the confusion he felt himself impact something. A partial glance at the scanners indicated that he impacted Dagger-5’s TIE in the mess… he desperately hoped that it wasn’t the case.

:: Mayday, mayday! Dagger-7 going down! Repeat, Dagger-7 going down! :: He shouted over the comms as he fought to control his ship somehow. He managed to even out for a moment before another explosion rocked him and hurled him down to the grounds far below.

No matter what he did, pressed, punched or smashed, nothing worked. The forces at work hurled him around in his cockpit as his vision blacked out. With all his might he clutched at his breast pocket. He wasn’t going to miss out on dinner…

Come hell or high water…

Enzo’s eyes slowly flickered open, met with nothing but white and red lights flickering, the occasional spark plinking against him as he slowly came to. With some effort he released his harness and checked himself for a moment. Apart from pain all over, he seemed to still be in one piece for the most part.

Slowly he stood up and popped the top hatch of the TIE to exit, falling over and landing flat on his back with a heavy grunt. He quickly yanked his helmet off as his stomach decided to empty itself on the snow around him. It was only afterward that he noticed his credits dotting the area around where he fell, sending his distressed mind into overdrive to find his money.

It was all he had for their dinner. He couldn’t lose it.

He managed to find some of the credits when he turned his attention to his ship. It was completely wrecked, with only a piece of the wings remaining while debris scattered the trail where he crashed and skidded along.

Where the hell were the rest.

He wiped his mouth off and slid his damaged helmet back on to open a comm channel to the rest of his squadron. :: Dagger-6, Dagger-5, this is Dagger-7, do you copy, over? :: He called out with a groan as he looked around him. Where the hell was he even?

 

[Kovacs]

DIE BY THE SWORD
SKY GUARDIAN: EMERGENCE vol. I
Issue #3 w/ Delilah Jones Enzo Demici DECEASED Erskine Barran Electra-12
FLY FOR YOUR LIFE

Dagger-5, Bravo Flight Lead
181st Fighter Wing

The quips of his fellow wingmates were met with silence. Something outlandish, foreign, had snatched his voice and dried his lips. Jon could feel cold sweat run down his temples but he knew he wasn't sweating. The life indicators on his HUD were all normal, including his heart rate - all stable, and the temperature within the cockpit was in the range of mid-level, normal. The itch at the back of his head was becoming unbearable.

"Hell's goin' on with ya, Kovacs--" he muttered but wasn't unsure if the words even escaped his lips. His hand reached for dad's lucky charm around his neck and suddenly froze. There in the distance a distinct hilltop that did not belong here, on the flatlands of Csaus. The sharp, rocky hill they had used as an IP landmark back on...

"...Krownest."

<"Not pulling till I hear Shooter say Up, Six!"> a voice from the past echoed in his head.

"What the--"

The echo faded away into a sudden burst of alarming beeps from his radar and a foreign feminine voice intruded their comms.
​

“Feast your impure eyes upon the walls of paradise.” The ace said unbidden, over an open, short-range broadcast directed at the trio, her tone laced with fanatical arrogance as the words left her lips. “It normally looks better this time of year, when there aren’t rats crawling all over it, but we’re taking care of our pest problem.” She continued, with a feminine giggle. “I just have...one question.” ​

"Huh?" the pilot frowned, clearly perplexed, "Where the hell did she come from?!" Had he paid attention during the brief, Jon would've been aware of the meteorologic interferences of the planet. Keep your eyes skinned, Harkas had said.
​

“Peanut butter or soft cheese?”​

"Cha--!!" the warning barked trailed off as an explosion lit up his portside, "DEL!!!" instinct, or something else, yanked his fighter after her, ghosts of his past mistakes hot on his tail. The mission was all but forgotten as if it had never existed in the first place. Another explosion shuddered the pit, this time starboard, and a moment later a loud bang tore his fighter's wing. Shrapnel pierced straight through his suit and the sudden pressure began to relentlessly pull him. The wild vortex sucked away wires and panels and electricity crackled across his visor.

Everything flashed red as the fighter tore through the skies downwards, wild and untamed. His mind ran blank of thoughts, dominated by the impending death if he couldn't soften the landing. The stick pushed against his pull with the fiercest resistance the pilot had ever met the closer the white ground was.

"Nnngh!" Jon grunts, the raw pain of pulling back the stick with all his strength surging through his body as the fighter shredded across the snowy ground. Another bang clipped the other wing away and Jon yanked the stick to counter the sudden shift of balance. A large rock outcropping grew bigger in his viewport, taking the shapes of tombstones of his final rest.

Another loud snap and the last of his reverse thrusters died. He shut his eyes, the grunting turning into a defying cry and that alien, invisible itch at the back of his senses repulsed against death. Like an arresting gear, it yanked the skidding eyeball of steel into a halt only mere centimeters away from the rocks. A long sigh of exhaustion escaped his lips and his head collapsed down. Everything went black.

There was no telling how long he'd been out. The distant clamor of war seemed nearer than it should've been. His eyes opened, despite the cries of pain pressing them down. Each blink to clear the blurry fog hurt more than the last.

"Ugh..." Jon groaned, slowly lifting his helmet off. His hands were so heavy that he felt as if he had been trapped in his own body. The fresh but frigid air greeted his face, infusing him with his senses. Even they hurt. Ears rang and blood ran down his nose, drying on his lips. The metallic taste in his mouth remained even after trying to spit it away. Freeing himself of the harness, Jon staggered up on his feet, flailing inside what remained of the cockpit until the world stopped spinning.

Muscle memory, forged from hundreds of hours of training, reached for the gear compartment picking what still remained intact. More than half of it had been torn away with his right wing. The blaster, at least, was still there with some mags. Along with whatever remained of his equipment, he swayed to where Powerslave's brain core was. Not salvageable. The black box was the final thing he took before hopping off the demolished fighter.
​

:: Dagger-6, Dagger-5, this is Dagger-7, do you copy, over? ::​

The voice crackling through the wristpad's comms startled him, washing away the blur of his most recent memories.

:: Demici! You're alive! :: he replied back in surprise, then his heart dropped, :: Del... :: the lieutenant swallowed hard :: ... do you copy? :: hope was all that remained.​

 

[Lurtz Null]

Objective: Hold the line at the ruins
Allies: BOTM The Mongrel Electra-12 SCAR
Enemies: NIO DECEASED Erskine Barran Bex Tarring Shai Maji Jon Kovacs Volgin Alto Delilah Jones


The Hands stood ready, snarling, growling bashing swords against their own armor as they watched the front line move ever closer. Lurtz himself even was impatient as the hands were eager for fresh meat to sink jaws into fresh blood. He wasn’t sure if he could contain the men to go into an outright feeding frenzy. Watching as the New Imperial ranks were bolstered by the help of Mandalorians and even tanks. It would seem as if they were more than ready to bring the citadel crumbling down. When Mongrel gave the order to unleash the Hands upon the likes of the 501st and the Sixteens, Lurtz could only grin beneath his Stormtrooper helm. “Yes! Alrighty boys, who’s ready to taste New Imperial dog tonight?”

He asked aloud among his men, all met with loud feral roars, coincided with a chant of “We are!!” Was shouted across the wall lines. Those that stood at the lines along the walls only to head a path towards the ruins. Along Normal Stormtrooper ranks these were different. They moved like savage barbarians, covered in furs. Armor stained with blood as they gave out chants in a dark language. Some speculate it was Sith like influence from the decade spent on Mustafar, others say it was the dark speech of the Mawites.

Soon Lurtz raised a fist, as they emerged slowly close to the ruins. To see a gap of troopers away from the main front trying to sneak their way in. “Keep quiet.” He growled at some cackling by one hungry trooper as the hide covered troopers watched the enemy. The 501st were well known for hundreds of years, and to some degree even idolized by the average stormtrooper. These were not average stormtroopers unfortunately, they only cared about one thing… manflesh.

They watched, as the enemy was wandering around the ruins, they waited in the shadows lurking around. Lurtz unsheathed his swears slowly the metal clanking as they kept coming closer strutting about. It had seemed all so perfect the way they seemed ignorant of a new breed of soldier able to destroy them. After a moment of tension rising, Lurtz emerged from a crouch. One word came from his lips that held feral weight to it. “Attack!!”

When the word was given, The men of the Sixteenths and the 501st would witness the familiar and yet alien soldiers emerging from the cover the ruins jumping upon the nearest soldiers wielding swords, axes and spears. One of the men had a blood stained helmet knocked back only to reveal the darkened face which only caused the Hand soldier to bite into the neck of the New Imperial causing a squirt of blood to pour over the lot of them. More of the Hands kept coming out of the dark meeting blasters with close quarters hack and slashes. Lurtz with his great sword thrusts into the belly of one unfortunate soul. His sword lifting high where even the body weight of the enemy caused him to sink down on the sword, and yet while his sword shined with a crimson glee the screams did not cease to stop. Even causing Lurtz to twist his blade into the man’s entrails before pulling it back.

The hands continued to slowly encroach advancing on the moment of surprise, relying upon shock and awe of the new faces to overwhelm them entirely. Lurtz himself met with blaster fire taking it through the chest, before with a savage swing of his sword decapitated three men in front of them. “Advance… the flesh is yours!” He shouted.

 

[Kranak Vizsla]

CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS OUTSKIRTS | CHISS RUINS
501st LEGION | 16th COMPANY | MANDALORIAN ENCLAVE ADVISOR TAG ALONG
VODE: Shai Maji
ARUETII ALLIES: New Imperial Order | Jon Kovacs | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | Volgin Alto |
ARUETII HOSTILES: Maw | Lurtz Null | SCAR | Khamul Kryze
ENGAGING: Kralmus Orr
LOADOUT: Loadout 1 (Minus the Scatter Gun) + Goran’s Stand

The snow beneath his boots crunched as the Supercommando sprinted from cover to cover on the frozen stretch of land alongside his brethren. Red blaster bolts whistled and cracked past closeby as the Maw forces returned fire in kind. Firing and maneuvering, he headed towards the ruins to his north while providing overwatch for his kin with short controlled bursts from his Paranaor, or firing the underbarrel grenade launcher on a few occasions; the big blaster rifle spewed three blaster bolts with each pull of its hair trigger, cutting down the Mawites unfortunate enough to cross paths with his sights.

The giant ducked behind snow covered rocks as a hail of blaster bolts were unleashed his way. The bolts slammed against his piece of cover as they tore small to large chunks of stones. Eerily calm under fire, Kranak smoothly slid the grenade launcher’s barrel forward; the spent brass casing popped out as the barrel slid forward. Reaching for another High Explosive round from his pouch, the Mandalorian inserted the grenade into the breach with his thumb and slid the barrel rearward; the breach locked into place with a satisfying, audible click.

Peeking his white glowing visor over the snow covered rocks, the Alor’ad quickly acquired the group of Marauders that had pinned him down momentarily. They were two hundred meters out in the distance and closing, in the open. The Alor’ad swiftly raised the launcher with the target distance and speed in mind, intending to have the shell right in the middle of the group of irregulars.

But before he could fire off the shell, one of them had lucked out, landing a hit on the giant.

His head whiplashed rearwards as one of the bolts struck the dome of his helmet, sending the giant down on his shebs on the ground momentarily. With a distinct metallic ding, the bolt had bounced off from his helmet, scraping away the paint job from where it struck and ricocheted. <”Di’kutla aruetiise!”> The Alor’ad snarled under his breath; shaking his head in response to the mild sting on his neck, the giant pushed himself off the snow covered earth and rested his blaster rifle over the rocks, lining up his shot once more.

THUMP

The grenade shell landed on its intended mark two seconds later; right amongst the group of Marauders. The grenade blew up in a thunderous boom, scattering around grit, torn flesh and limbs in a small, kicked up cloud of snow. The giant was no longer taking fire from that sector anymore. Suppressed by the Marauders no longer, the Alor’ad rose from his crouched stance and continued making his way towards the ruins as the battle around him waged on.

:: Move back, move back! ::

:: On the right, grenade out! ::

::WE NEED TO MO- ::

Kranak grimaced behind his faceplate as he heard the distinct, agonizing beep ringing in his helmet alongside showing the decaying vitals of the fallen warrior. A vod had flatlined already! They would mourn his passing if the Manda gave them time after the battle. The warrior continued his path, all the while keeping an eye on the vitals of his comrades.

Continuing to fire and maneuver, his comlink would crackle to life amidst the sounds of battle and the sonorous taunts from both sides. Harboring deep hatred against one another, both the Mawites and the Mandalorians tried to drown out the taunts of the other as the battle continued on.

:: OH KRIFF THERE’S A HORNY MANDO OVER HERE! ::

:: Kranak, push him back! ::

In response, the giant raised a quizzical expression at first, but it was quickly replaced with a frown. His hatred for the Dar'manda ran deep. He had heard there were some of them in the service of their Sith masters, affiliating themselves with the Maw. The mere thought of fighting for a Sith was enough to boil his blood. <”Heretics!”> The Alor’ad condemned them vehemently. The giant would respond to his comrade over the comlink a moment after. <”Understood, vod. I’m on it.”> Acknowledging her order, the Alor’ad picked up his pace; at a speed belying his stature, the giant sprinted the last remaining stretch of ground between him and the ruins amidst the blaster bolts landing all around him. Several more vode flatlined in the meantime. Their last known locations were by the ruins in front of them, highlighted in his HUD.

He intended to avenge those who had fallen at the hands of the Dar’manda.

Muzzle of the blaster rifle shifted from corner to corner as the Alor’ad entered the ruins alone as he sweeped his sectors. Navigating through the hallways in caution at a slow combat pace. The rubble beneath his boots crunched and crumbled softly with each step he took. The Supercommando would come to an abrupt halt as he heard a man’s callout, coming from the hallway to his right. He was about to round the corner.

”Helloooooooo,”

The singsong voice was obviously unfamiliar to him. The Alor’ad sticked to the wall to his right as he listened patiently while he lowered the blaster in a low ready stance.

“I heard there’s an Imperial lapdog about who wants to talk chit, so please do come on out.” He whistled as if calling a pet, idly twirling his axe as he stalked around the ruin, ignoring the larger battle raging around him. “Heeeeere doggy, doggy, doggy.” he mocked. “Tell me more about how enslaved we are, won’t you, little pet?”

<So this must be the one I’m looking for.> Kranak speculated in silence. The giant shook his head in silent response. He was subject to far worse insults from aruetii and Dar’manda alike. This was just uncreative and embarrassing, but he would not let his insults go unanswered for long.

Thinking a blaster pistol would be more wieldy to use in a close quarter engagement such as this, the giant decided to switch to one of his sidearms. Letting go of the blaster rifle slowly, his primary hanged over his broad chestplate, suspended by its single point sling. With a soft leathery clatter, the Alor’ad drew his blaster pistol from his left kama holster and would begin to patiently wait for his adversary to draw nearer, listening to his footsteps carefully. He was enraged at the mention of the Dar'manda, longing for the sweet sensation of letting loose his rage on his enemies, but he was no raw recruit. By nature of his line of work, he knew the values of patience in battle. A true hunter lets their pray come to themselves.

As soon as the heretic was close enough, the giant would swiftly round the corner with his blaster pistol raised, sending off several blaster bolts his way in hopes of shooting him in the chest.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Citadel Caelitus
Rurik Fel

​

Violence made manifest. Hatred unfurled. This was the rage that fueled the Dark Lord of the Sith, it molded him and fueled his body as he leapt high into the air spinning freely. The Elder could feel the power of the Dark Side building inside of him like a raging tempest. The aches and pains that plagued him since Jedha faded away, washed out by the omnipresent power of the Force flowing through him and the dark spark he fed with his own passion. His muscles felt renewed, his sense of fatigue replaced by adrenaline and sensory sharpness. The lightsaber held firmly within his grasp flickered with blinding speed as he emerged from his cockscrew, momentum carrying him into a powerful lunge capable of easily impaling the mightiest of foes in one fell swoop.

He felt the barrier as he struck, it's protective layer saving the Imperial from death's claim. Within that moment the Emperor rose his fist, challenging the Sith'ari as it exploded forward and opened wide unleashing a howling gale of telekinetic power. The Dark Lord's mind and body united into one, unable to resist the storm that would spirit him away, he folded inward elbows rushing to meet his knees as the air was taken from his lungs. The thick black cloak of the Dark Voice cocooned around the meteoric figure as he returned to the darkness of which he came.

"No...no no no..." Rurik stated, his voice ever placid, ever frigid in its strained, darkened inflection. The darkness marred his voice, his mortal form, all of his being.

The Man of Iron stepped back into the shadow of the chamber, his very presence fading from view seamlessly even as his voice remained, carrying from various points within the throne rooom.

"You are well and truly alone now, Sith. There is no Jedi, no emotional insecurities to feast upon, none of your cattle to come to your aid."

A sharp crackle hiss ruptured anew with the parting of the long cloak, the Dark Lord rose to his feet and with his ascension his saber bathed the area in a aura of crimson.

"How confident are you truly, Sith? Alone."

The Dark Lord's preternatural senses screamed, his muscles tensed and coiled in anticipation. He felt the coming ripple but knew not where to look as the slash of Rurik's movement emerged from behind, his blade finding purchase against the Sith'ari's armor. Crash! The Dark Lord stumbled a step forward, his cloak immediately separated from the trunk as a carving welt peeled into his back plate. He resolved in that split second to not allow the Man of Iron further initiative, the heat and spike of pain only fueled him as he exploded back around to face the Emperor. His hand rose, with unrelenting motion he seized the initiative as his own, fingers gripping around the blade of plasma tightly emitting a softened glow.

"I will suffer the darkness no longer!"​

DUEL OF THE FATES


"You will suffer me."​

The foundation on which they stood quivered and shook, the durasteel podium groaning with unnatural labor. Slowly but surely, the panel flooring began to peel away and scatter into ash. The Dark Voice bellowed and roared, in his fit of anger the very structure beneath their feat collapsed sending both men plummeting down. Reality bent around them, facilitating the fall through the solid floor into the twirling, twisted metal rabbit hole that dumped into the vast chasm that was the castle's lower levels, the power plant and reactors themselves.

"I am an idea! I am without limit!"​

Laughter pierced the air, the Sith'ari crackled aloud as he fell. His body soared as he pivoted, his armed coiling back in a sudden arc aiming to bisect the powerful force user.

"Soon the Fel will be no more!"​

 

[Djorn Bline]

V E N O M _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CSAUS​

Halketh.

The Dark Lord of the Sith.

One of the main figures who constructed this war and the one to fire the first shots to mark its beginning. Like all Sith hiding in the shadows, he conspired and was responsible for the death of the very man who lead the New Imperials to the nation they were today. In revenge, Carlac was scarred by the ires of the Iron Sun. Glaciers and ice melted by its vengeance.

The war was brought to the Empire’s doorsteps.

Now the favor would be returned. Csaus would look pitiful than Carlac once the New Imperials were through with this operation.

At the gates of the enemy, far away from the main stage of battle and the clash of Sith and Imperial Knights. Other operatives selected their way of entry, daring what lay beyond. The undead and other spawns of the Dark Side was to be expected, but where were they and how many of them in this vast fortress? Befitting for one with the rank of Dark Lord of the Sith.

Djorn chose his entry, preparing for the fight of survival in these corridors. The longer he breathed, the better chances they had of fulfilling the mission.

ALLIES | NIO | Michael Barran | Rika Hiro | Colton Renfro | Keilara Kala'myr | Amadeus Blackwood
ENEMIES | MAW

 

[Michael Barran]

3rd post
SECOND_SON
DIE BY THE SWORD
OBJECTIVE 3: BE QUICK OR BE DEAD

THE FREE-STATE OF GALIDRAAN

THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
FRAGARACH MODEL DISRUPTOR PISTOL
VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE
FAIRBAIRN VIBROKNIFE DAGGER

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER: Noel Strasza Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh Lachlan Sinclair
Amadeus Blackwood Djorn Bline Nuruodo'kal'brast Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Atsá Vyshraal Keilara Kala'myr Colton Renfro

BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW: Ozma Olumivius Khamul Kryze

THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN: THE SECOND SALVO - PART 4

EAST FROZEN VALLEY, LOWER-ASCENDANCY MOUNTAINS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)

5 miles outside Castle Caelitus....

An' what exactly brings you t'this frozen wonderland of sorts? Thought mine was the only unit jumping from Serenno, then I sense King Lucien, an' now the Major-General's here too.... I was quite happy thinking I'd have the peace to work without the bloody overseers being on site this time, so what gives?​

Not particularly easy, but the varying training-masters in the way of the Force had given Lord Michael a means to at least learn and set the building-blocks for further fine-tuning of his telepathic-communication methods, but it still wasn't easy by any means - not even in this moment.

The IFV was trailing out westward by then, and though the motion had somewhat affected his ability to reobtain a tether to old residues of a recent telepathic mind-correspondence,"Like stringin' a lyre with the clumsy strength of a scaffolder.", as one of his many masters once described, making comprehensible fact of the observation he made of what most unsuccessful attempts looked and felt like. Understanding why he was recalling his first and greatest mentor of all in this moment, after years of keeping this memory (along with several others just like it) strong in his mind for moments of difficulty in the progression of his Force-Abilities, as the process itself was admitted by the man himself to be an imperfect means of attaining telepathic connections to communicate at a distance; great for beginners, but beyond that, there was much still to be expanded on. Despite this, it was enough for young Barran to wander the Galaxy, with curiosity ignited by a promise demanded in his master's last moments.

"If your father ever found out I were 'elping you become a Force-Wielder, we both know I'd be executed by firing-squad, and the only fething reason you ain't turnin' me in is the fact I'm loyal t'the Exiles.... As long as these gifts are used to keep the dream of Galidraan alive, I will teach you everything you need to know."​

Harlan Brand, grandfather to one Phillip Brand, beloved Commoner-Captain and revered Chaplain alike, and the one who mentored the boy in philosophy and Northern-Galidraani history alike, was none other than the grandfather who died exile - but not before teaching Lord Michael Barran what he could before passing away at the age of 86. Two years as a Padawan to Harlan, though in secret still to everyone, (including the Chaplain himself) was still enough for Michael to learn what having such powers meant, an invaluable experience the Wanderer had cherished since. It was the very reason Lord Michael tested himself to such detrimental extremes at times, to keep proving his worth to a master who was long gone, a master in the closest recesses of his sea of memories that some of Barran's mentors saw in their own revealing ventures into the depths of his mind.

Distraction will get even the finest soldier killed Barran, what are you doing besides bothering me? Sipping tea and muddling around the snow with your dog?​

A smirk would set on his lips, bordering between mirth and aggravation, a response the Druid both liked and hated in equal measure; but he could feel that more was on the way, also knowing that the Major-General wouldn't quite be finished with him just yet, so Lord Michael calmly leaned back into his seat and let Lyra have her say as the IFV continued to draw nearer to East Frozen Valley at a slow and steady pace. Barran couldn't help but admit her attitude would earn her many points among the women of Galidraan III, that as much as other things, but also in her fighting spirit - something that the planet's men and women alike would appreciate to the point of mild reverence. Certainly one who carried the authority and power of a legionary general, and one with enough strength of will to outlast the Second Great Hyperspace War's bloodiest hostilities, there was no doubt the 307th would continue to play a large role in future deployments, a commander and a legion of which the Wanderer knew he needed to learn from.

Even though he was still making his peace with that fact at the time, Barran and his Highland Brotherhood would be resigned to the retraining, reallocation of duties and generally improving under the watchful direction of Dooku's 173rd and Voi'Kryt's 307th - whether they made their peace with this fact or not.

-I am busy at present, if you require something then beg or put your gun to good use yourself.​

Quietly sniggering to himself, the Wanderer quickly realised the Major-General was poised and ready for combat, marking her opponent until Lord Michael broke through to her mind and halted the process without warning or welcome. Feeling this in the message put forth, it was in that moment when the Lord-Captain relented, dropping the act with the intent to offer a means for Lyra to maintain an easier advantage in the fight, such that was seldom offered as advice by coaches in sparring duels among the Free-State officers. Although this advice was often forgotten in the spirited haze of competitive exertion, Barran knew his own father and even Lord Aron were adherents to making use of these nuances, and both were considered legendary duellists in competition and combat alike, though it was often said that neither Lord Erskine nor Lord Aron could distinguish one from the other when swords were clashing at peak ferocity.

Eyes tell ye nothing, only when they know it's too late.... Shoulders, upper arms, hips; all reveal a duellist's intentions, all show a telegraphed movement eventually. Good luck over there.

THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN: THE SECOND SALVO - PART 5

EAST FROZEN VALLEY, LOWER-ASCENDANCY MOUNTAINS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)

2 miles outside Citadel Caelitus....

With the banter being cut short by both circumstance and superior-officer alike, all that was left was to continue on, working his way towards the entrance that led to their objective-targets, and from there - into the heart of the citadel's very own Necropolis. The intention from the offset was to inflict as much damage within the confines of the fortified walls he would be attempting to walk under and beyond, sabotaging and slaughtering whatever the Highlanders were expecting to encounter along the way, but intending to acquit one's self was still just that, as intent would remain unfulfilled until they were actually operating within Citadel Caelitus' boundaries with real, quantifiably effective action. The entertainment factor had ramped up enough that it was helping most of the platoon in keeping their minds off the lurking threats in the dark, and the very worst, it was helping the worrying elements among them feel less threatened by the precipice they'd been dancing on since Fang Platoon first started moving along within the safe hull of their IFV.

'So whit ye done this time, Milord? Has the grandmaster landed us in deep chit again, or....?'

Chuckling heartily in response, Lord-Captain Barran could help but laugh at such a notion, as this didn't feel like such a time to worry, nor did it feel like a pertinent matter to be worried about either. When he looked back at the 1st-Lieutenant, a smirk and judging eyes in jest would meet McBain's gaze, once such that had the others chuckling a little at Randall like Michael was on the verge of enduring. Fortunately for the Brotherhood's Gallowglass, the Wanderer relented, calmly leaning back in his seat as he replied,'Just had words with a colleague is all.... An' we'll just have to wait an' see on the other matter! Sorry, mate. Man has gifts, man makes mischief with said gifts! This story's as old as time itself, so it is. Oldest story in the book, an' we'll never change for as long as there's enjoyment to be derived from it.', concluding his response just before the mirth took hold, as the look of sheer suspicion he received from McBain wasn't helping him contain it in any way.

'Wind-up merchant as ay'ways, Milord. You'll never change in that regard.... But dinnae go changin' in that regard though, aw'right?'

'An' if ah dae, you'll tell me?', Lord Michael asked, adopting a more serious tone in search of a sincere answer. Randall, quick as ever to hold his Lord-Captain's gaze in moments like this, rose to his feet, offered fist-over-heart salute and nodded his silent, solemn assurance as the IFV continued on it's quiet approach to the maintenance-tunnel entrance - ever-loyal to the Aurora De-Danaan's next great Cairnsman. Standing to return the gesture, the Wanderer would then see McBain maintaining his salute as he proceeded to bow, offering a gesture that cemented his fealty to a Laird of both Thrast and Barran lineage, giving wider root to the growing tree that was the proverbial bond in alliance between the Gàidheil and the Woad-Macushla. Yet, much to the surprise of everyone who could see it, Lord Michael would return the salute and offer solidarity with a bow of his own, smirking as they straightened their postures and returned to their previous seats.

'Without your help, I'd be dead a hundred times over. Hardest-fighting Highlander in decades, an' he serves as my second-in-command.'

Michael!​

'Chit, Michael! We've got company! Two-hundred metres - directly in front!', 2nd-Leftenant Ahan-Yan'Sharlim exclaimed, sliding open the door to the driver-cockpit to continue and to beckon Lord-Captain Barran closer to see it for himself. Seeing Lord Michael looking almost completely gobsmacked, it didn't take long for Lord Yorunarr to realise that the bestowed gifts from the Ancients had been bestowed once more, powers they'd given back to the Novanian Pantheon in the agreement that the Shaman would return and rise to unite their tribal diaspora. In this realisation that former powers had been wrought anew without their knowledge or consent, the Shaman began to chortle nervously, shrugging and shaking his head in vehement denial of being complicit in the choices and the actions of his gods. The Druid then rolled his eyes with a relenting smirk, standing up to make his way to the front and see what the Shaman was getting so worried about, only to see the red glow of a Sith's lightsabre as soon as his eyes scanned the horizon.

'We'll talk of Melarran's Firmament an' their actions on oor way back t'Serenno, but first I'll need ye disengagin' that lock on the slide-door over there.'

With a smooth metallic scrape, the door opened to let in a billowing wall of snowdrift kicked up from the gale-force winds outside, and as soon as the slide-door clunked into the rubber stoppers at the end of it's sliding rail, Michael took this as his cue to lunge out and draw his pale-blue lightsabre as soon as his boots indented his bodyweight into the snow. Whoever this warrior was, the red lightsabre was a warning in and of itself, and even if it turned out to be one of Imperial loyalties, Barran knew he was better off keeping his kyber drawn until he could ascertain the intentions of the warrior standing proudly in the near distance. There was no doubt this man was emanating a power that was darker than his own, but only in a way that it served as some sort of counterweight to the power this warrior could feel and see emanating from the Wanderer in turn, though neither could articulate or give meaning to the balance seen in each other, so the obvious pre-fight tensions would take precedence in their minds until they were both convinced they would be safe in each other's vicinity.

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Maestus
Feat. Mavia
​

Strong as the Perished were, Dorian was nothing if not quick. He and his partner let loose. Following Rurik's unspoken orders, they tore through the fortress in search of the enemy. The undead they met were quick to act, uniformly reacting, swarming, firing. They moved with one mind, but so did the two Knights. Sword and shield they cut through, pushing forward, faster.

It was that sharing that gave them pause at the door of one of the guest's quarters of the fortress. The fortress was Halketh's, no doubt -- even with the change in landscape, the change in the now Dark Lord, Dorian had a distinct feeling of familiarity. His brief visit to Carlac had been interesting. The cold was a bit much for him. This place felt the same, only now the warmth of Halketh's halls had become a horrible fire, burning and raging in search of purchase in this vast fortress.

Nonetheless, he pushed forward.

Inside the room they found the far doors open, out into the storm that raged outside. The Sith who had been here was trudging distantly through the snow. Dorian and Mavia followed silently, knowing the woman ahead could sense them -- until the cold, or his own doubts reached him, and he spoke.

"You gotta do some banter."

"Pardon?"

"Throw an insult. A quip. Something."

"That's your thing."

"Yeah, but I'm super cold-"

"Your armor's heaters should be on."

"What? I- Whatever. Call her a mean name. Something funny."

Mavia rolled her eyes so hard he could almost hear it.

"Hey, Sith!" she called out. "We'll make this quick, you won't even need to change color -- it'll still be red on white snow."

Dorian looked at her. "That was sick, holy sh!t. Why don't you do that more?"

Mavia twitched. "I'm... unsure if Twi'leks bleed red."

"Oh."

They ignited their lightsabers.

 

[Marus Saretti]

Objective: 1
Opposition: Erion Justeene
Other tags: Tish Cowen Rurik Fel Lucien Dooku Waymar Dathrohan Atticus Draco Dorian Sicarrio Varus the Sigillite Larro Paeb Hans Rennagen Ihsan Varad Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Darth Solipsis Halketh Detritus Ren The Fire of Rage Lord Letifer
​

Immediately after sending his little message, Marus turned around and got to work. He didn't have much time to do anything, but he had a trap to set, and by the Force, or the gods, or whatever was out there, he was going to get it set. He jogged back to the engineering room of the freighter, quickly yanking off panels around the engine access points and the hyperdrive core itself. Then, he produced a few of the blaster rifle power packs he'd purloined off of the dead missing slavers, from which it was a very quick operation to pop open the casing, remove the overload sturm dowels, then close the casings back up and hide them within each of the spots he'd opened up.

Now, alone, each power pack wouldn't produce too massive of an explosion. It'd hurt, sure, but anybody in decent armour would be fine; somebody unarmoured might need a trip to a hospital, but they'd survive.

Hidden in where they were? Well, if his calculations were correct—and, in this subject alone, they normally were—the entire ship would go up in a powerful explosion.

Not much time left after doing that to find a good place to hide, though, and he was hoping that the packs wouldn't blow before he was safely away from the ship and inside the big citadel. It was a massive gamble, sure, but he was hoping that maybe the guys that just slammed into the place, alongside all the alarms blaring, meant that they might just be friendly to him.

He'd just have to dive into the lions' den to hope he found one that could help him get out alive. "Well, I don't have any better options," he muttered glumly, before moving back to the cargo bay nearest the loading ramp. There were multiple pelts of various furry sentient species hanging there—mostly Wookiees, though not all—and only a few of them were starting to stink. But, they extended down to the floor, and he was well able to hide among them.

A minute or so later, the docking ramp came down. The soldiers didn't even bother to knock. Marus pressed deeper into the pelts, holding his breath as he heard their voices, one calling out orders to the others, as they started to move among the ship. Then one walked by him, stopped, glanced around, and—

Marus withheld a sigh of relief. The soldier didn't go poking around in the pelts. He took a moment, counted to twenty in his head, and then took off as fast as he could, heels pounding against the metal floor of the ship. He heard cursing and shouts of surprise from the soldiers within, but he didn't care, he couldn't care, he had to run. And run he did; while he was landed on an exterior landing pad, it wasn't far to get to the doors. He just had to get past the guards at the doors.

One pistol came up in one hand, another in the other. He breathed in, focusing on the two soldiers, each just rising up their blaster rifles, and he let the breath out, each blaster aimed at its target—

And he let loose a wild salvo of bolts. Each guard went down, stuck multiple times by heavy blaster pistol plasma even as more bolts splattered around the wall past them, and Marus ran another few steps and leaped, narrowly squeezing through the rapidly closing security blast door. Of course, the desperate leap didn't lend itself to a nice landing, so he landed bodily on the floor, sliding forward another couple feet as the door sealed shut.

Then the ship behind him exploded, the walls rattling violently, even as what Marus hoped weren't the bodies of the troopers in their armour splattered and clanged against the tightly sealed blast door. Not that he didn't want them gone, he did, but the thought that they'd been that close to safety before getting thrown like ragdolls by a child was just...

Ugh.

But, he didn't have time to waste wondering about what happened to them. He picked himself up, futilely trying to dust off his outer coat, put the blasters back and pulled out his Enforcer pistol, and got right back to running. Up, up, gotta go up, gotta find stairs or a turbolift or something...

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective III: BE QUICK OR BE DEAD
Location: The Necropolis, Citadel Caelitus, Csaus
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Michael Barran | Nuruodo'kal'brast | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Colton Renfro | Amadeus Blackwood | Djorn Bline | Open (Allies to Ziare, enemies to Mercy)
Enemies: Open

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

After another explosion, quite a lot of dust got into the air. The only reason I didn’t start coughing was because my helmet protected me from the unpleasant effects of the dust. However, the explosion also had very unpleasant consequences. The place we were in became very shaky. Even so, I felt and saw; although I wasn't entirely sure what the reason was. It's possible that I'm sick. I couldn't rule out that possibility either. I tried to tear myself out of the marauder's hand, but it was too tight.

~ There was no change in your condition, but based on the sensors, there were negative changes in the stability of the building. Now this room can rightly be called life-threatening. I suggest leaving the room as soon as possible. ~ I got the answer.

The Marauders didn't seem to have much to say, because they didn't want to stay here longer than necessary. It was only to my great sorrow that they decided to take me with them. They still haven't let go. Why? Was Mercy so important to them? Or were they so afraid of her? I didn’t know, I really didn’t know, and it was hard to believe they would do anything to keep her safe. I also had a commander for whom I would have sacrificed my life without thinking; but I think the confusion here is that it happened in my direction. That is, in the direction of Mercy.

Although, I wouldn't have been surprised if they were just afraid of that "Tentacled one" or the Mongrel. As a matter of fact, I was afraid of both. Although I feared better from the Taskmaster. Everything would have been easier if I had memories of what happened here, what happened to me, but still nothing. However, I tried to be stubborn and not move. What’s ironic about my physique and strength is that of men nearly two feet tall and twice as wide as me. Moments later, the last debris disappeared from the blown-up wall, and the way there was clear again. Feth!

So here came the moment when I was trying to resist marauders much stronger and bigger than me. The end was that I almost got to the ground again because I almost fell. The end result was all the more disappointing because the biggest marauder simply picked me up from the ground and threw me on his shoulder to take with him. I think that was the point where they got tired of me constantly opposing and resisting them. I kept trying to kick, knock his back and shout to see if anyone could hear me and rush to my aid and save me.

"HELP! Someone, help me! HEEEELP!"

 

[Nuruodo'kal'brast]

INVASION OF CSAUS: DIE BY THE SWORD (870)
OBJECTIVE III | BE QUICK OR BE DEAD
OPPOSING | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
ALLIES | Michael Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Amadeus Blackwood | Djorn Bline

IMPERIAL SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND
IMPERIAL VANGUARD | EMPIRE OF THE HAND
SUPPORTING | TASK FORCE TRACHTA

<EQUIPMENT: HELLION-PATTERN COMMANDO ARMOR MK.I — SFR-58 'BOZDUGAN' BLASTER RIFLE — THERMAL DETONATORS>
<CODE NAME: PULSAR>
<BEING CHISS: COMING BACK HOME — PART I>
Csaus was part of Chiss Space; and Nuruodo’kal’brast was part of the Chiss Ascendancy — she had been part of, in fact. Now, she was part of the New Imperial Order, alongside a lot of Chisses who had left their home planet to join the Empire after the annihilation of Csilla. All of that was very important to her. She had been trained on Bastion and then joined the Neo-Imperial Maritime Division for a couple of years, serving as a ShoreTrooper in a Marine Infantry division until the beginning of the Second Great Hyperspace War and her enlistment in the Empire of the Hand. Today, she was here, on Csaus, feet on the ground, looking for Caelitus. He would pay.

Dokal landed on the field from the dropship, alone. She strongly took his blaster, looking around her to be sure that there wasn’t any enemy in the area. The pilot passed through the air, above her head, but she couldn’t feel the wind of the reactors because of his helmet.

“Let’s move on,” Hukor said, “you’ve a long way to go until the fortress. — Got it,” she answered while she began to walk as quickly as possible on the battlefield. Fortunately, there were only small units from Task Force Trachta on this mission, and there weren't high-range assaults but only little skirmishes between the Maw and the Neo-Imperials. Her job was to support the Trachtas during this battle, and she was supposed to bring assistance to them, in order to kill — or maybe capturate ? — Darth Caelitus, the Sith responsible for Tavlar’s death. “Here’s call sign Pulsar,” she said on IMPSOC’s general coms, “movin’ from dropzone Alpha-Golf-One-O-Five to Fortress Caelitus. Over.”

A great BOOM! saturated her helmet’s headphones while a dropship was exploding in the skies, projecting an red-orange light on the clouds around and producing debris that was falling to the ground in a poetic rain of wreck. “K’pah! — You said it, mate… — Shorty, are you seein’ this? — Sure Dokal, I can watch it on my display screen.” Dokal continued to move forward, in order to join the fortress. “Can you tell me how far it is? — Five klicks from you in the worst case. — Can you establish a private line between Ordinal-Minor an’ me? — Of course, lemme two seconds.”

She entered a light forest, crouching to a tree and hiding behind it to observe the situation. There were three marauders half a klick ahead, looking for NIO’s Trachtas — maybe those who had been crashed by the concussion rocket? “Connection established!” Hukor declared. “Got it Shorty,” the Chiss answered, “Pulsar to Ordinal-Minor,” she called, “Can you gimme your current location? I repeat: Ordinal-Minor, can I have your actual position? Pulsar over.” Then she took a look at the three Mawites. They turned to the right. She had to interrupt them before they joined Ordinal-Minor’s location. She held one of her detonators. “Van in'a euhn in'a,” she thought while she followed the Brotherhood’s soldiers.
​

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE SKIES | CSAUS

ALLIES: Jon Kovacs | Enzo Demici | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Volgin Alto | Bex Tarring | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Julian Qar | Vladimir Kovačić | NIO | Enclave
ENEMIES: The Mongrel | SCAR | Lurtz Null | Kralmus Orr | Khamul Kryze | Chimera | Electra-12 | BOTM | NSO
ENGAGING: Electra-12
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | 2x Vibroknives

IN THE END​

:: Dagger-6, Dagger-5, this is Dagger-7, do you copy, over? ::

Del's head lolled as Enzo's call battered at her unconscious mind.

The crackling of flames and the sound of pieces of transparisteel flaking into the broken pit pushed through the haze even more. When she finally willed her eyes open, she realised the mistake. The world was spinning still while everything appeared to be double in her view.

As she moved to unclip the harness, a pain shot through her side, pulling a gasp from her lips.

The realisation of her next mistake came too late as she finally unclipped the harness. With a thud she landed face first on the ground, the wind knocked from her once more as worse pain shot through her side. With a groan, she lifted her head before she tore the helmet from it to be able to breathe in cool air. The movement pulled a wet cough from her body.

Blood spattered across the snow and slush.

Not good.

"Ugh." she groaned as she tried to pull herself up straight, another cough wracking through her body in the process. Finally able to look down at her side without the world spinning, she saw that a piece of transparisteel had pierced through her suit and into her side. "Great." she said hoarsely before she gritted her teeth and pulled the piece from her ribcage.

Her hand had just moved over the wound to try and stem the bloodflow when Jon's voice over the wrist comms almost made her heart clench.

:: Del... :: the lieutenant swallowed hard :: ... do you copy? ::

The relief that they were both at least speaking, was dizzying. She tried clearing her throat before answering.
<I copy, Jon. You all right?> she managed before another bout of coughing spattered more blood across the frigid ground. Something vital got hurt, that's for sure.

She wiped some stray droplets from her mouth before she struggled to her feet to assess the situation. Turning to face the TIE, her eyes widened slightly. How the hell did she survive that? There was barely even a foil left as flames licked at the outside of the ball while steam rose lazily around it. Most of the viewport was shattered and the body was dented badly.

Del winced as she limped back towards the pit to see what could be salvaged. Her pistol was on the floor of the pit, wedged halfway under the wrecked dash. The vibroknives seemed to at least still be wedged into their holsters around her thighs. The flair gun was also still left in the kit compartment along with a wrench and the pistol holster. Small miracles. Looking at the rest of the pit, she realised she wasn't going to be able to get any of the intel components from the totaled dash or the seat. Not in her current state. "Chit." she breathed.

She looked at the pistol in her hand for a second before making up her mind. Flicking to the three round setting, she then let loose with the particle blasts on the components. Turning her face slightly to shield her eyes from the small explosions the bolts made as the components were completely destroyed under the concentrated fire.

After another cough, Del lifted the comms to her mouth while her other hand gripped her side again.
<You boys have any coordinates? Where are you?> she asked them as she looked around her. The castle didn't seem too far away from her. A couple of klicks at most. Not good. That meant she had crashed behind enemy lines. Bloody brilliant. She was going to flay Jon and his bad luck alive if they all managed to survive this. Not really, but a girl could dream.

She picked up her helmet.

She was a sitting duck. Even if someone from the Order was on the way to the crash site, it would take them some time through enemy lines. She needed to move. She just hoped she'd be able to meet up with the boys on the way.

If she didn't bleed out before then.