From The Old Comes The New [TSE Dominion of Kushibah]

[Enyo Typhos]

Objective 3: Hold the fort
Complete a roleplay through the eyes of an NPC accompanying your character.
NPC: Neda Chazzak, Enyo's minion.
[member="Darth Ophidia"], [member="Greta Kohler"], [member="Kizaark"], @Syrena Colsin

Whatever happens. We have got. The rotary cannon, and they have not. Neda had no clue who'd come up with the poem, but it seemed appropriate. The Kushibans were tough, mean bastards, but they were running straight into an inferno. The forest was on fire. Ruby beams of destruction, courtesy of Blue Squadron, wreathed the trees in flame. Where the bombs fell, the earth shook as if struck by tremors and plumes of smoke rose up into the air, which was filled with the stench of barbecued primitives.


Neda balanced the bolter on her shoulder to absorb the recoil caused by the weapon. Her cybernetic arm helped her hold the bulky weapon, whilst her electronic eyes fed her target data, enabling her to track her quarry. A burst of explosive bolts exited the weapon, cutting down those furries who got too close.


When the first line of cyborgs needed to reload or their weapons were at risk of overheating, she gave the signal and the second line took their place, producing a near continuous volley of fire. Scarlet plasma emanated from the auto-turrets, producing a bloody harvest. It was a beautiful and terrible orchestra of death.


A Kushiban got his legs blown off when he was caught in the radius of one of her explosive microgrenades. Still defiant and snarling, he crawled onward, before someone put him out of his misery with a blaster bolt. But the Kushiban kept charging, and in some cases literally stormed over the bodies of their dead or dying comrades. Neda could respect their determination, though their charge was a futile one.


Discarding her bolter since the explosive bolts were counterproductive at close range and she did not have the time to switch ammo types, Neda drew her vibroaxe. Other Eisenkrieger did the same, or alternately affixed bayonets upon their rifles. Moving swiftly, her axe embedded itself into the skull of a furry, and she clove through it. The weapon's head was splattered with brain matter and ichor when she withdrew it, and she whirled about to chop off the arm of a Kushiban with a powerful swing.


But then a primitive sent her sprawling with a powerful blow from his hammer. White-hot pain surged through her as she fell. The savage stood above her with his raised hammer and brought it down with tremendous speed...only to howl in pain when the Geist stabbed him in the back, impaling him upon the burning violet blade. The Geist extended a hand and Neda took it, returning to the fray. The mechanical reservoir inside her pumped chemicals into her bloodstream, producing a surge of adrenaline that made her forget the pain.


Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Typhos. The Boss was tearing through Kushiban with mechanical precision. Neda saw her grab a savage and rip his head off in one fluid motion, before discarding the corpse and cutting down a primitive with her lightsabre, searing through flesh. Another the Boss simply rammed. Blood and gore coated her armour, and she kept slaying.

 

[Jacob Crawford]

The Kushibans and Xinkras hit the outpost hard, a relentless assault as they through their numbers against the defences the Empire and its allies had erected. It hadn't been like the times before, sneaking past the perimeter and wiping the trespassers out during the night.

No, this time they were met with a force designed to beat them back, to occupy their time, their thoughts and bloodlust while another team snuck behind enemy lines. The attackers were met with blasters, turrets, ships and even the occasional Sith that threw themselves straight into the fray.

It was a bloodbath, with casualties on both sides. But the Kushiban and Xinkra forces had taken the most. Amidst the battle, the beasts finally figured out the deception. Hearing the cries of their young as they burned within the cave system that was their home.

The second team had been given a clear path once the enemy's numbers had thinned out. Only a small number were left behind to defend, not expecting the new trespassers to also be attacking them.

As per orders, some of the nests were left intact, overwatched by Empire personnel once the area had been secured.

What remained of the assault force had retreated, but when they returned home they only found death greeting them.

The Sith Empire had conquered the mutated beasts, and Kushibah was now theirs.

| [member="Ardeth Zun"] | [member="Ulu Rin"] | [member="Gavin Coral"] | [member="Darth Banshee"] | [member="Syss Rembala"] | [member="Aria Vale"] | [member="Scipio Alta"] | [member="Darth Lykos"] | [member="Darth Ophidia"] | [member="Enyo Typhos"] | [member="Juliet Varos"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Taeli Raaf"] | [member="Kaalia Pavanos"] | [member="Kizaark"] | [member="Venthis Zambrano"] | [member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Syrena Colsin "]| [member="Atmeiktes"] |​

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Objective 1: Hold the fort – Victory!
Sub objective: Complete a roleplay through the eyes of an NPC accompanying your character.
NPC: Lt. Barlan Sucz.

Reloaded, resolved. Barlan tapped her compatriot on the shoulder and signalled her orders: 1. Go up to the rightmost turret – They would press the advantage. As a P.S she added that she would go to the leftmost. Which was now near the Sith Lord.

She threw herself to her feet and darted across the muddy field. Her boots kicked up the mud between the shredded remains of beasts. Some crude weapon swished past her head, thrown. A shot from above took the thrower down.

Lt. Sucz turned sharply, the mud slipped under her foot and almost toppled her over, but she remained on her feet. Ahead, she could see Lord Ophidia ascending a flight of steps to the rampart’s crest – Scarlet sabre in hand. Plasma burst from Barlan’s weapon as she unloaded on a wounded beast that tore its way through the hail. Then she began her own ascent up the stairs.

The breath was quick in her chest. Her head pounded – Her heart pounded harder. She barely failed to register how the thump-thump-thump of the turrets and the hellish scream of battle faded into silence.

Darth Ophidia stood on top of the wall. Barlan saw her back. She felt the need to protect her, to fight beside her. And as the Mirialan came to the top, her jaw dropped. First now did she see the scale of the battle. Beasts routed and fleeing. Jungle ablaze. Corpses. So many corpses. Barlan removed her helmet, not believing her eyes.

Her eyes moved over to the turret as it fell silent. Breath quaked in her mouth as she saw the grizzled veteran in the turret seat, speared through the gut; a wide smile on his face and blood caked in the white of his beard. She ran to him and checked the pulse. A cough repulsed through the veteran’s body in reaction, and he turned his honey eyes on Barlan’s green face. The smile remained.

“Who are wh- h- We?” “Dan, you’ll. You will pull through this. That’s an order, from your commander! I ne-” She cut the words off as she bit her lip. “Wo, who are wh-” A grunt of effort. “Wh” He closed his eyes in a grimace and never opened them again. Barlan let his body down carefully, bowing her head to not show the Sith Lord her weakness. “Satwasin, Dan. We are Satwasin.” She would never forget it.

A gloved hand set on Barlan’s shoulder, strong, hard, skeletal almost. Yet, it was comforting in a sense. She turned barely, looking up at the pillar of black robes through the tears she refused to shed.

Victory.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Objective 3: Hold the fort
Complete a roleplay through the eyes of an NPC accompanying your character.
NPC: Neda Chazzak, Enyo's minion.


The battle was over. The turrets fell silent. Those beasts that had survived the battle were fleeing into the forest. The jungle had been set ablaze. The acrid stench of burning flesh filled the air. Wherever Neda looked, she saw bodies. So many corpses. Many of them were piled above one another. It looked awfully macabre. The Zabrak veteran was used to it. The years she'd spent as a soldier, mercenary and street thug had hardened her. Maybe she enjoyed battle a bit too much.


"See to our wounded, get medics and mechanics on the spot," she ordered as she walked across the battefield. What a massacre, she thought to herself. Yet she was not moved to feel pity or remorse. What caught her attention was the sound of gunfire. At first she believed one of the Kushiban had performed an ambush, but when she got closer she saw that the Geist who'd saved her life earlier was unloading her pistol on a badly wounded, maimed savage. The Geist was taking her time, aiming to prolong the creature's suffering. "Stop wasting ammo and just kill the damn thing, kid," Neda grunted, but the Geist seemed locked in a violent frenzy.


"Give the furry a clean death. Bastard's earned that much." The Geist glared at her when Neda grabbed her arm. Neda did not need space magic to feel the bloodlust and furry emanating from her.


Then Typhos suddenly appeared on the spot. "Enough. Torture has its place, but do not make an opponent suffer unless it serves a larger purpose." The Boss had removed her helmet, exposing a mostly undamaged face. Neda remembered that face from Ruusan. It was the same face as that of the Dark Jedi who'd demolished her squad and broken her leg - and probably saved her life because it meant she'd been elsewhere when the city was bombed.


"Yes, ma'am...I understand." It sounded reluctant to Neda.


"No, you don't. But you will. Emotion is to be leashed. Make it a beast of burden, not your master." Neda saw the Boss' lightsabre ignite, making a clean cut through the Kushiban's neck, putting the furry out of his misery.


Neda saw the Geist being sent away and linked up with her commander. "Just another day in the Iron Fist, huh? Almost feel sorry for the furry buggers. Give them better tools and a brain upgrade, and they'd be formidable."

"Perhaps. We're done here. It's time we turned our attention back to our real target."

Neda saw was certain she saw a predatory gleam in the Boss' cold, lifeless eyes. "Time to kill mother two? We're moving to the final phase?"

"Yes." The Boss stalked off, leaving Neda to survey the carnage that had been wrought across the battlefield. A jungle ablaze, piles of dead bodies. Story of the life she'd lived for so long she had trouble remembering anything else. She'd probably die on a battlefield like this one day. She spared Barlan a glance, seeing the Mirialan stand upon the rampart with her Dark Master. "Good luck, kid," she muttered to herself, then transmitted her orders to her goons. Their work here was done.

 

[Kizaark]

Kushibah
Objective I - Repel the assault.

---

Time had lost all meaning, all sense of the hour, the minute and the day had been lost amid a swirling storm of bloodthirsty and primal fury.

Explosions rocked the earth and deafened those without a solid wall between them and the vibrations that shook everything and everyone to the very core. The overwhelming sound of blaster fire from the Sith troopers created an orchestra of destruction, something truly terrifying but equally beautiful to behold. It wasn't surprise that after such a powerful blow to their ranks and their manpower drained in a matter of minutes, the natives that survived turned tail and ran back to their homes, sensing something sinister in the nests that they had called home. The hand of the Empire had dealt a unforeseen blow, one that would cause hearts to freeze, souls turn to ash. Aside from a select few, the native's and the future generations that would take up the torch were snatched from them, put to the sword.

They would soon learn to kneel before the Sith, lest they wished to have their entire legacy thrown onto the fire and the legacy die out with the screams. Through overwhelming fear, absolute control was assured.

As the natives ran to their homes to witness the damage caused by the infiltration team, a single figure could be stood among the shifting tide until it was simply the pile of corpses on the floor. The Fallen Son had been among enemies as the orchestra of ruin sounded all around. The sheer noise alone for someone who had little protection against sound of that magnitude, let alone the sheer scale of conflict that he had never been a part of before, his ears were ringing. Though surprisingly, the Barabel showed little care or consideration; the blood on the tip of his tongue had turned to a full body thirst, a frenzy that if it could have been physically manifested would be the form of a storm of anger and fury unleashed after years of solitude. Wounds and the personal well-being were of course of insignificant concern to the lone armored beast that stood among the aftermath, blood dripping from his sword, spear and from several injuries on his body that had clearly punched through the crude armor that the Fallen Son wore. The Barabel needed medical attention, that much was obvious, though in his mind there were more pressing concerns.

A savage grunt emitted from the Barabel as he looked down at the destruction that surrounded him. Having fought harder than he had ever been pressed to before, the call for blood slowly releasing the clutch on his mind, a lot of energy had been used unwillingly to push his body into overdrive, resulting in a hunger that only the here-and-now would fully sate. He didn't know if the natives were even edible, though the urges of hunger simply swatted the question aside as if it didn't matter. The Barabel reached down and looked among the corpses, finding the best looking dead among the lot; the size was what mattered, the bigger the better and with a nearby hulking figure laying on the floor near his feet, it only take a few careless swings of his sword to butcher the limb like one would from cattle and began to feast to keep the grumbling hunger at bay.

Sword and spear held together in one hand, a beefy looking arm held in the other as it was eaten from like a nerf leg, the Barabel returned to friendly lines to receive medical treatment and a ride off the planet.

His work here was done.