Annihilation Head of the Snake: BotM Annihilation of Csilla

[Adaz]

Objective: 3
Allies: Brotherhood of Maw
Enemies: Atlas Drake


The two adversaries exchanged shots through the toxic cloud of green gas, while Adaz kept trying to fire blindly. The two foes continuing to trade shots but it seems that neither one or the other seemed to gain any substantial hit via blasters. Soon the man thought to outsmart the mad raider by using his jet pack to clear through some of the toxic fumes. The mad raider kept inhaling them and all the while kept laughing like a madman the more he inhaled the poisonous gases deep into his system.

Adaz pulled out the crude jagged spear, launching it through the air. In the attempt of trying to take out the jet pack to bring the two foes on some type of even ground. Attempting to surround some more toxic gasses. With his spear now gone, he pulled out the even more alien like blade he carried, as the blade he carried looked like a cross between a rusty short blade and an elegant curved Vibroblade. “Ooo sneaky sneaky big foe, for you cannot hope to survive Adaz’s wrath.” He said in a delirious state of mind.

It was just the two of them, now what seemed to go from a dance of blaster bolts, had now devolved into a sort of crude duel. Despite the advanced tech the enemy carried. Adaz was either a fool, or maybe he possessed for the right amount of balls for his next move. Looking at his enemy, he spoke once more. “Down and tumble you go!” He said with a sort of shrieking sound. Lunging at him with his blade in an attempt to get him close to the edge of the catwalk they were on despite the immense risk of one or both tumbling down the endless abyss.

 

[Cedric Grayson]

Objective: Silence The Voice
Location: Chamber of War | Throne
Tag: Darth Solipsis ​

The twin slabs of metal crashed into one another with such a ruckus that Cedric's ears were left ringing. At first he thought that they might have crushed the Voice, but the old crone pocked his head out above the debris a moment later evidently unharmed. The exile spat a curse under his breath as he reached out toward the ceiling to prepare another barrage.

The rapid shattering of bolts and shrieking metal were his only warning that Solipsis was stepping onto the offensive. In the time it took Cedric to blink, Solipsis had ripped his throne from its foundations and hurled it the Jedi's way. Unable to dodge the projectile in time, Cedric erected a hastily formed barrier of telekinetic energy in front of him. The barrier did little to stop the throne as it crashed into him. He felt the servos in his cybernetic arm snap as he instinctively raised it to shield his face.

The force of the blow sent Cedric rolling down into the console bay, the throne itself thudding weightily unto the floor a few yards away. Had he not forged the barrier, it would have landed on top of him rather than bouncing off, and that would have been the end of things. As things were, blood dribbled freely from a busted lip and a broken nose. He spat a glob of the stuff down onto the remnants of the floor, bits of shattered tissue and cartilage followed followed with it.

Before he could offer a counter attack, one of the consoles was yanked by unseen hands a meter or so into the air, and was then hurled toward him just as the throne had been. Cedric was already overexerted with his previous manipulation of the Force - it was all he could do to hold out the cybernetic limb once again. He drew upon the reservoirs of the empyrean that stilled flowed through his body and channeled it into the artificial limb: the moment the console met with his digits, it exploded outward and away as Cedric let forth another burst of telekinetic force into its center. His cybernetic limb hung limp as the remnants of the console down onto the ruined floors in bits and pieces.

The exile tried flexing the digits of his damaged limb, but they only hung there uselessly. The flesh running up to his elbow on his organic limb was blackened and dead in several places, most of the nerves having been burned away by the Voice's lightning. If things kept up as they were, he would have to start kicking Solipsis to death.

"Gotta keep pushing," Cedric muttered to himself as he fought the all-consuming desire to retreat and nurse his wounds. Bogan's Lament roared to life as he stared down Solipsis with murderous intent.

"I might very well be a fool Kaigann," Cedric's words dripped with venomous sarcasm as he offered his kin a sardonic grin. His gaze never left the Voice's, but his attentions were on the mounds of shrapnel scattered around the room. "Unfortunately for you, the fool's greatest virtue is his inability to recognize when he's lost." He raised his blade in a salute, and the shrapnel rose to meet it. It flew toward Solipsis as a storm of metal intent on spearing him in a dozen places, though even if he deflected every shard, the Voice was not the true target. The majority of the shrapnel flew past the crone, instead spearing into the glass just beyond him. A single shard would have done little; the great mass that did hit the pane caused a hundred hairline fractures to erupt along its surface. A single shard hit one of the weakest points, and what little separated the inhabitants of the the room from the void shattered entirely.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST VI
GALIDRAAN FREE-STATE

OBJECTIVE 1: HELL FROZEN OVER

COMMONWEALTH FORCES: Enedina Tal Konrad Bolter Major Bennett Hall
Tyrell Lockhart Alais Kaun

ALLIES: Irveric Tavlar Tyrell Paxxus Halketh Julian Qar
FN-999 Gallius Orcana Albrecht F. Herlock

Aerarii Tithe Liza Korum Krov
Himm'vaun'merek Kaleleon Ziroka

ENEMIES: Kascalion Giedfield Lirka Ka Kyrel Ren The Mongrel
Maestus Khaostra Devoid Chimera UX-0626

Erskine's Loadout

Primary: Custom Blaster-Pistol (Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw)
Secondary: Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore (Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding)
Last Ditch/Second-Blade: Fairbairn Vibroknife (Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding)
Pocket-Weapons: Gifted Brass-Knuckles from the Guv'Nah (Both Trouser-Pockets - akimbo wielding)

Blue-Heart Brigade (Mechanized/Artillery/Infantry)

201 Repulsorlift Tanks
5 AT-ATs
12 AFVs
5 MLVs
1 Coy. Riflemen
3 Plat. Combat Engineers
1 Coy. Field-Medics

Support: Tal's Fighting-First Brigade (Mechanized/Artillery/Infantry)

220 Cataphract Tanks
20 AFVs
5 MLVs
5 Predator Launch-Platforms
1 Coy. Elite Guardsmen
1 Coy. Elite Engineers

The Stormchaser V
CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART ALPHA

Working their way to the transport ships at the summit, the Saga's crew would make for the second trenchline and pin all their hopes on the ACV's ability to tackle any incline Barran wished to throw it into. All the other tanks and AFVs had pushed on ahead to link with the MLVs and Predator Launch-Platform crews at the summit, so the fire raining down around them turned out to be the command-post's covering-fire orders to keep the Saga's crew and passengers safe from the Moon Children and Marauders giving chase. Pencin would lead the Fighting First, in their entirety, off to a safe distance away from the impending blast from the orbiting Superweapon as Barran led a procession of aggressors up towards the second trenchline, putting the engine under great strain as the Saga's pursuers were chewed up by a wall of bright-coloured, deathly beauty, bringing the momentum of their crazed chase to a quick halt as the Stormchaser's ACV bounded ever nearer towards the safety of the final fall-back line.

All seemed to be according to the regularities of winter warfare, even with the onslaught of small-arms and heavy-calibre fire screeching wildly past the Saga's exterior on all sides but beneath, until the sight of a solo psychopath with an LMG slung from his shoulder came running down the hill and offered covering fire of his own, though it was obvious to Johnstone (previously roaring with awe and excitement as the blaster rounds trailed by-and-above his head) that this madman had no intention of joining the Saga's fighting retreat uphill. The covering fire from above would cease, though the support of the irregulars behind him would follow suit soon after, running in with bayonets fixed and knives drawn for the hard fight that followed; Barran would figure out soon enough that these irregulars, though they were only a fraction of the numbers deployed with the man he'd made a point of asking to protect Enedina Tal, were from Dunwall, and making no attempt to turn back.

Clearly understanding of their need to push forward after the automated superweapon-impact warning went up on a mass of local comm-link channels, Lord Erskine knew that the one leading these Irregulars would require something of a rescue-attempt like the still-groggy Julian Qar had just moments before. The,"Devil One", callsign, the indomitable Tyrell Lockhart, whilst running out almost a hundred metres ahead of his own Irregulars from Dunwall, was letting rip with his shoulder-slung blaster-LMG with the wildest look of furious joy on his face; a particular joy that the Brigadier-General knew all too well, a peculiar sort of joy that Barran had noticed in Alais and Noel's husband also.

'Deaney, you know what t'do!', the Lord-Commander shouted from his spot by the map-holographics, perpetually aware of the new and existing blips locked in with each other in the deadly mutual struggle for survival. Fortunately for everyone involved, the sweeping up of Julian went without any protest on the surgeon-cyberneticist's part, resulting in little more than mild, fleeting resistance for Leftenant Kaun to wrestle with; grumbling protestations on the matter of having his momentum pulled out by his cybernetic arms, Qar had relented by the time they had reached Murdoch at the Saga's Sloane-door. A quick, costless, successful rescue-attempt that yielded enough momentum to pave way for what looked set to become their second in a row, and the Lord-Commander was gladdened to see that the latest of his new acquaintances was poised and ready to play his part in the rescue of Tyrell Lockhart.

'Two in a row! HERE WE KARKING GO!!! Get the Sloane-door open, this wan's gawnty be much easier! S'just grab 'um fae inside an' pull 'um in! Three pairs o' hauns max should be enough for this, but please time it right though! No riskin' an engine-stall in the crucible for a second time, nae danger! Sorry, folks.... But Gear-2 is the lowest ah'm gawn this time!'
Ooft, that's just a tad quicker than sprinting pace, Deaney.... Chite odds, gambled on worse biht.

Drawing up to intercept the Madman himself, the driver had been fortunate that he'd previously been northeast of Lockhart's position, so making a wide right turn to bare the Sloane-Door to Devil One was much easier for the Woad Highlander to achieve than the efforts Alais and Lord Erskine had previously undertaken to reach the medic safely. With the Sloane-door already open by the time they could see Devil One's moustache, Barran tapped on both Qar and Kaun's shoulder to ready them up for drive-by snatching Lockhart at the peak of his warfighting fury; easier said than done, as Tyrell could just as easily have recoiled and pulled back at the pinnacle moment to die in the thick of it, but Lockhart would stay the course as the tiny window of opportunity presented itself.

'NOW!!!'

The Stormchaser VI
CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART ALPHA

As soon as the Devil of Dunwall was aboard, the Saga's driver would kick into third gear when he heard the Sloane-door slamming shut, almost like the sliding door itself served as the third-gear starting pistol that propelled them back on the ACV's uphill struggle to the summit's command-post. Tyrell had no information on Enedina Tal's whereabouts, and had no means of making it to her position in time for the first trenchline's fighting retreat; all the Dunwall Irregulars' commander knew was that the Twi'lek woman had slipped behind the second trenchline and cut of his contingent's retreat, leaving Lockhart no option but to charge into the fray downhill in a blaze of glory, actions that endeared him to all the others within the Saga. Despite this, all within knew the fate to which the Irregulars were being abandoned to, but none knew that the Brigadier-General was silently vowing to charge back downhill again, swearing underbreath that the Saga's crew (and all the passengers who chose to remain for the show) would lead the charge that broke every opposing line on the Fighting First's full-speed descent.

<"Pencin to Blue-Heart Alpha! The fella from Dunwall's telling it true, all the area around Nines' command-post is swarming with the Twi'lek's units. Thermal lenses are picking up quite the angered hornet's nest of foes, so we're switching to tag-tracking now and smoothbore sniping on the move from here.... But do try and catch up with the herd in the meantime, Milord. Our little scrap for the fortified mountain, as you bloody well know, is about to get very hairy indeed!">

'Ne'er a truer word said, BRV One. Pushing hard into the incline again, expect us at the back-right of the line. And good luck, Pencin. Blue-Heart Alpha out!'

With plenty comm-link chatter being sent back and forth between the mechanised-cavalry coordinators, Barran was confident enough in the abilities of the Fighting First that he could confidently leave the tanks ahead to the task of freeing up the tension for the final fall-back line, lighting up a cigar as he opened up the frontal viewports. Wordlessly staring out as the recognisable sonic thumps of distant smoothbore shots echoes thuds downhill, the Lord-Commander of the Blue-Hearts would smirk with silent approval of the initiative shown by his Northern-Galidraani brothers in arms, lighting his pre-snipped Fortaner and revelling in the taste of the tobacco-smoke as the echoes of the High-Explosive shells' impacts followed like thunder after lightning.
The best karking job in the galaxy.... Smoothbores are just god-tier in the right hands, I love it.

Pushing past the second trenchline without any resistance from the defenders who remained to cover their approach to the best of their abilities, the Lord-Commander's ACV would put themselves within a hundred metres of the Fighting First, still firing on the marked areas around the command-post above with accuracy that would've made Gowrie's Goliath-crews blush at the frightening consistency of their Northern-Galidraani colleagues. But something changed in the Brigadier-General's facial expression that only caught the eye of Tyrell and Julian, a shade of someone from Erskine's past of whom could not be seen by the others, wispy remnants of Barran's firstborn that angered him to a jaw-clenching contrast to the joy of warfighting the Brigadier-General had exhibited just moments before. Whether Lockhart, Kaun or Qar had asked him anything, Erskine wouldn't know; with ears ringing, eyes closing in to tunnel-vision, and hands shaking with adrenal fury, the Brigadier-General's mind and soul would be sitting just out of the passengers' collective reach for a moment or two.

'The Galidraanis aren't evacuating, even if everyone else does.... You can leave with the others if you wish, I'm not stopping any of you; in fact, I would prefer it if you did leave with the others, fewer broken hearts to answer to. However, if you choose to remain when we link up with Nines and Lord Halketh, just know that the Free-State intends to see this operation through to it's conclusion; win, lose or draw, Tal's exiles would see this fight through until we're compelled to cease hostilities en masse.'

Further bombardment of the hostiles around the command-post made it clearer how close they had gotten to the Fighting-First's ascent, prompting Lord Erskine to smirk again before taking another flavourful drag from his Fortaner cigar and closing the frontal viewports again; turning round to lay eyes on his crew and his passengers, Barran would inundate his head's vicinity in tobacco-smoke before stepping forth to take his seat by the map-holographics, fully aware that every pair of eyes within the Saga's hull were on him as the Brigadier-General sat down to plan his next steps. Flicking the ash into the nearby disposal chute, the Lord-Commander then leaned back and concluded,'As long as Enedina Tal is MIA, officially or otherwise, the armed wing of the Free-State remains. You are not beholden to our survival, but for as long as you remain within the Saga, the crew within are beholden to yours. The adventure is your choice to endeavour, and yours alone.'

The Kellas III
CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART BRAVO

After managing to get the Blue-Hearts mobile again, Gowrie and Reed coordinated the remainder of their journey to reinforce the riflemen's line beneath their former summit skyline, taking fewer than twenty minutes to reach, and according to the reports of both the QMs' Scopes and Baird's Guardians, the leader of their stubborn ridgetop rivals had been surviving his fight with a particularly powerful force-user throughout. Unbeknownst to their enemy, and much to the mirth of the Kellas, one of the latest transmissions sent to the ridgetop's champion would also be intercepted by a few bored medics who had been assigned to check their comrades; from scouring the riflemen's faces for frostbite and other cold-related injuries, to keeping their focus and dexterity devoted to the unrequested task of hacking and intel-gathering the frozen boredom away.

<"McClung to Blue-Heart Bravo! First time doing this so bear with me, but the reason I've gotten in touch is because the medics have.... Shortening it down for conciseness - we've hacked just one Maw transmission in our last cigarette-break. But quite possibly the best transmission we could possibly have intercepted, considering our slim odds of success.">

'Gowrie to... Ah, AMV One! Spit it out, whatever the hell it is!'

Jumping out his command-vehicle to lead the remaining idled SA-35s uphill, the Tuath Lord-Major had brought his own from the rack by the sliding-door as he climbed the snow-topped rise with a wary hunch; with at least thirty previously-idled crewmen from other vehicles at his back, Aron would signal for a second halt before proceeding onwards with the field-medic responding just as the group dropped to their knees with a readied, trained poise. Whether Coyle's adjutant had useful information or not would depend entirely on his answer, so the Kellas took special care to manage his expectations as the Woad-born medic took a moment to frame his response properly.

<"McClung to Blue-Heart Bravo! Our enemy commander's epithet, or perhaps his title in bombast, is,"The Mongrel", for reasons we cannot ascertain with the limited resources and skill we have for such things.">
Some would laugh but- well.... There's a lot that can be said for a man who spurns prestige in such a fashion.

'Oh, I see.... We've been dealing with a proper warfighter from the moment we first made hostile contact, McClung. Gadgies like Lord Barran, who could make common cannon-fodder appear like wargods in the right setting. This man is completely devoid of ego, and therefore - should be assumed to live for nothing else but the feeling of fighting for survival in the crucible. Just as we do, AMV One! Blue-Heart Bravo out!'
​

​

 

[Darth Maleva]

Elpsis Kerrigan​

Pain and terror bred a deadly symphony. Maleva scrambled to get her bearings as the darkness wreaked havoc. On the cold ground, she centered her breathing, letting a few moments pass as her cloudy vision cleared once more. The woman groaned as she mustered the will to move. With each twitch, the pain became stronger, but she was determined. She managed to pull her leg up, putting her on her hands and knees.

In an attempt to stand, she began to pull herself over to the nearest doorway. The haunted screams echoed from behind her, but she paid no attention. In that moment, there was only survival. Her left leg screamed the loudest as she continued inching her way over, pulling it behind her. The sharp jolts of pain that shot up were worse than any of the various other wounds inflicted upon her. With each, a cry came, but still, she continued.

Finally, the threshold came into reach. Grabbing it with a sigh of relief, Maleva grasped it tight, attempting to shift her weight enough to stand. As soon as her foot touched the ground and the shift began, another screamed burst forth. The anzat look looked down, distress apparent. She was sure, with the pain and the inability to walk, that the bone was shattered. Tension began to rise as her eyes flickered about. It would heal in time, but Maleva did not even have seconds. The witch had shown herself to be skilled; escape was the only way, but she needed to manage to get out.

The purple waves were disintegrated as the wall of flame burst forth. Maleva's eyes widened, her immobility trapping her. A third, and final, scream echoed through the chamber as the magic met its mark. The heat was was astounding, the fire kissing every inch of skin and armor. The smell was somehow worse, as skin and hair was devoured.

When it stopped, Maleva's form had slumped against the wall. Marred flesh and sooty, her chest rose and fell slowly. After a moment, she looked up, a robed twi'lek standing in front of her.

"Rise." She demanded. "Teach them."

Maleva shook her head weakly. The woman attempted to speak, but her dry mouth caught her words. She cleared her throat, looking to the woman again, speaking in barely a whisper.

"I-" A cough. "I can't. I can't do it. I wasn't strong enough."

The form dissipated out of seemingly nowhere. It took a moment to process, the sith lord blinking, but realization dawned. Her master wasn't here. She was long dead, killed by Maleva's own blade. Delirium, brought on by pain and exhaustion, had set it. The clarity was somehow worse, as Maleva was powerless to stop what fate would bring.​

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: On aboard the superweapon.
Objective 3.: Duel of the Fates | Stop the superweapon
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | Kiss of the Red Witch | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: N/A

[ Just Inside My Head ] ​

However, the Red Witch’s attack was interrupted by something. The moment she would have reached her opponent with her swords, she suddenly sensed something that made her completely motionless in an instant. The blades stopped barely an inch from the other woman. Another aura, a strong one that approached very quickly, and an explosion nearby. Ingrid didn't want to wait for either, for the person to get to them, or for a possible secondary explosion.

She reached into the Force and teleported again, two levels down, to a similar room. However, she was already here alone, hoping the woman above would not be able to follow her. In any case, she put her weapons away and became invisible again. It continued to be the fastest way to get around. However, now she also had to be prepared to be unpleasantly surprised by the creative shape-shifters.

She still knew the goal, to sabotage the generators and shutting down the entire base. That would have been great if it had succeeded. She immediately moved on, while asking for a report from her own people who were out there, she wanted to know how the fighting was out there. Ingrid didn’t want to explode with the base if that was possible. Fortunately, the escape can be easy for her.

She passed two corridors and passed several fighting groups, eventually arriving in a larger room where there were already computers. She was probably close to her goal now, so the red-haired woman walked over to the terminals first to see what they might be good for if she could start the sabotage here.

 

[Dagon Kaze]

NEW JEDI ORDER | GALACTIC ALLIANCE | MERCY
Yula Perl
TK-818

The flicker of hope, the we gottem faded away the moment the Ren repulsed and sent the two flying back like ragdolls. The strong telekinetic wave, fueled by primal rage, blasted through a whole durasteel wall and the two Jedi were swallowed into it. They came tumbling down, skidding through the rough durasteel floor burning their flesh and unhinged metal debris piercing their skin.

“I think he likes me.”​

Dagon shoved a large durasteel frame away from him with a loud groan of pain; every bone in his body ached. He glanced at Yula through gritted teeth, lightly panting, "Not in the way you'd like." the Jedi somehow managed a half-smile through the direness of their situation. "Doubt he's keen on tying you up to a chair in a lone warehouse and--" his smile disappeared, replaced by the gravity of what his eyes caught at the corner of his vision.

The reactor.

Dagon scrambled back up on his feet with painful urgency, the blade hissing back to life as he called to her, "Go, find a way to shut this thing down!" his head turned to the approaching figure full of fury, "Now!"

Whether she refused or not, the Jedi was already dashing straight at the Ren seeking to bring the fight up close to the dark sider and keeping him off Yula. Even if it meant sacrificing his prefered counter-attack style of fighting for a full-on assault.

"Gonna have to cut that joy short, Ren."

"We aren't dying."

Right?

 

[Elpsis Kerrigan]

Gear: Equipment: Armour, Hold-out Bolter, Shotgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Darth Maleva

The pain her foe was evidently in brought Elpsis no pleasure. She did, not as a rule, enjoy inflicting pain or indulging in violence. Nyssa always, as she openly admitted with the brutal honesty Elpsis had always liked about her, felt a surge of excitement during a fight. Battle exhilarated her in a way nothing else did. Elpsis never felt that. Nor did she feel bad about doing her duty. She was a soldier, and she liked to think she was good one. And did not overcome evil people by politely asking them to turn away from their evil ways. No, one killed them.

So she advanced. Her body was in deep pain, from the bolts of hatred, from the draining assault and the demons' attacks, among other things. The fact that she had drawn upon her enchanted arm to channel the pain only made the feeling worse. After every high, there was a low. But the waves of darkness seemed to be dissipating. Fires licked her, as she walked through the flames. The Sith Lady was somewhere hidden away. She could vaguely sense her presence...oh, there she was. Elpsis had lost her gun when the waves hit, but Inferno had been ignited and was held firmly in her grip. It was time to finish this, administer justice and move on.

And then a furious fusilade of blaster bolts came her way. Many of the Maw cultists engaging Elpsis and her team had been killed. A few, those less strong in the dark side or not sensitive to the Force, had been affected by the waves of darkness. Others had retreated, their morale adversely affected by the change in fortunes. But there were some who had hid, and more were on the way.

Swiftly, Elpsis had to reorientate herself and angle her lightsabre to intercept the flurry of bolts. Inferno slashed bolts out of the air, sending them right back to their shooters. Anger surged through her at the...foolishness. She charged, despite the pain surging through her, even as a blaster bolt slammed into her. Blood dripped from her when sharp flechettes, not blockable by her lightsabre due to the sheer spread, tore into her flesh.

Her quarry was so close, and yet so far. She did not have time for this nonsense. A concussive pulse of telekinetic energy sent cultists flying, as she ran. And then a zealot, who had played dead among the corpses, flung himself at her, screaming: "For the Great One!" Kamikaze attackers were a hallmark of many a crazy cult. Boom.

Precognition let Elpsis realise his intent. Just a moment before the cultist triggered the concealed explosives and she was swallowed by a cloud of smoke and shrapnel, she wrapped herself in a barrier of the Force. The blast wave hurled her backward. She survived the explosion, bleeding and with cracked ribs, but when she came to, her target was gone.

 

[Albrecht F. Herlock]

Location: On board of the Pride of Anaxes, orbit of Csilla
Task Force 58 compostion: X101 Pride of Anaxes (flagship); X102 Audacious; X103 Courageous; CV-1 Foudroyant
Objective 4: Stop the ennemy fleet with the help of the Noga (Pride of Aanxes and Audacious) | Support allied ground forces (Foudroyant and Courageous)
Allies: CIS, Eternal Empire, First Order, Galactic Aliiance:Jedi Order, New Imperial Order, Chiss Ascendency and Independents.
Ennemies: Brotherhood of the Maw, Kainate, Sith Eternal, Warlords of the Sith and Independents.
Post theme: N/A
Tag: Korum Krov | Teica Giraan | Constantine Oliva | Gallius Orcana | LtCdr Mannerheim | LtCdr Halsey | Jack Daniel | Erika Richthofen
Legend: Comm out, comm in, crew, ship's intercom



"Status of the ennemy ship?"

"Their shields are down Sir!"

"Okay. Open a link to the Audacious."

"Right away Sir!"

"Audacious, this is Pride of Anaxes. Cease fire and join with the Foudroyant and the Courageous to support the ground forces. We'll join you next. Anaxes, over."

"Open a link to the Noga now"

"Aye sir!"

"Noga, this is Captain Albrecht Herlock from the Pride of Anaxes. The ennemy destroyer's shields are down. You can do whatever you want with it. Herlock, out."

"Navigation, hard to starboard. We're going to support our allies who fight on the ground. Ahead full!"

"Aye Sir!"

The Pride of Anaxes turned back to the planet's atmosphere, following the Audacious and letting the Noga carry on with his plan.

 

[Enedina Tal]

Galidraani Free state
Allies: DECEASED Erskine Barran Tyrell Lockhart FN-999
Enemies: Chimera The Mongrel

She fought with reckless abandon, even as more and more of the raiders swarmed the lines. For every screamer who stood in the way, she answered in turn with her shovel, knife and fists. A true scion of the Tal family if any were to say otherwise, every snarling face she caved in, every limb she severed, every bone she broke. It wasn't enough. They still came in swarms, and that biting sensation of dread built in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong; something was coming her way. A darkened shadow loomed over her lithe form, casting darkness over the bloodied snow, Enedina looked up, eyes widened in terror as the figure forced her to the floor. Her terrified gaze met by the visage of a Sith caked in blood and dirt just like her, although she knew that was not the blood of any Maw. That was her own men.


Enedina tried to reach for anything, anything that she could fight back with but sheer exhaustion and the Siths attack had took the energy and will to fight back from her. Instead, the Galidraani girl offered the Sith the only form of defiance she had left, spitting a bloodied glob of spit right in his direction. Resigning herself to whatever death awaited her in a moment, the look of anger on her face never burning away. All around her was death; she looked over to her right and watched one of her men writhe in agony as the fire burned his flesh away; she looked over to her left and watched as a tidal wave of raiders smashed into the tired and beleaguered Galidraani soldiers forcing them back. Her attention was brought back on the Sith stood before her, a look of confusion and then irritation forming on Enedinas dirt-streaked face.

"Eat... sh*t." ​

 

[Viribus]

R E D _ H O R N E T
GALACTIC ALLIANCE
CSILLA
MY_GUYS | Maijan Paisea | Kingsley | Kirk Korrado
YOUR_GUYS | Rika Hiro | Hakon Fett | Joren Loft

​

The odds weren’t entirely against their favor. If it weren’t for Maijan’s abilities, they wouldn’t have the slimmest chance possible of even nearing an inch to their primary objective. Definitely be forgotten names in history were it not for the white current concealing their bodies to the naked eyes as well as sensors within the planet killing space station. Too many missions were successful all thanks to the Fallanassi and her weave of illusions. Were it not for her, they would’ve been history a long time ago. Both her and Viribus.

But he was all too arrogant to admit that in front of her.

“I don’t think the current will deafen our voices, so shut the hell up, Kingsley. Fething bird.” He was annoyed with the latest unusual outlaw in their merry team of volunteers full of criminals. Very bold of the Zabrak to front on a bird, one that was taller and carried more mass than him.

“How long ya got? You acting like we’re taking a stroll in the park with all this chit going on.”

 

[Alais Kaun [DECEASED]]

​

1LT. Alais Kaun
Hell Frozen Over
Allies: Enedina Tal , Konrad Bolter , Major Bennett Hall, Tyrell Lockhart , Irveric Tavlar , Tyrell Paxxus , Halketh , Julian Qar , FN-999, Gallius Orcana , Albrecht F. Herlock , Aerarii Tithe , Liza , Korum Krov , Himm'vaun'merek , Kaleleon , Ziroka
Foes: Kascalion Giedfield , Lirka Ka , Kyrel Ren , The Mongrel , Maestus , Khaostra Devoid , Chimera , UX-0626

Spoiler: Equipment

Armour:​

• X-02A2 Powered Combat Armour

Weaponry:​

• Melee:​
  • KXV-VBS-01A 'Streiter' Vibroblade.
• Ranged:​
  • KXR DSP-61x Hybrid Pistol.​
  • REC-DC/03 Modular Particle Blaster Rifle; Viperwasp Pattern.​
• Thrown:​
  • Concussion Grenade.
  • CryoBan Grenade.
  • Thermal Detonator.

Alais' metal and ceramic frame launches in a burst of speed her boots clamper across the sloane door of the Saga, the Imperial Officer slew her way through cultist and monster alike in a ruthless hardy mechanical advance towards Tyrell Lockhart and his Dunwall Irregulars. Stinking Corpses of foe and ally lay across the concrete hallways and battlements of the Imperial Fortifications.

With two less armoured men behind her, Alais thinks that their lives and safety are her responsibility. With bravery and courage, Alais throws her snow caked devil black powered assault armour and its' deflector shield field between them and hostile fire. Following the helmet-mounted displays' prompts, Alais finds Tyrell Lockhart and was not disappointed; the man's rugged appearance personified Galidraan's working classes perfectly.

Shells from the Free State's tanks fall like rain all around the trenches and command post, Alais with reluctance had to step over the dying they reach out with open hands and claw at the ceramic statue's boots. Swallowing her guilt under the sleet that falls from the sky. Alais' gaze lands upon Tyrell Lockhart, standing there on the presipise of a trench. Alais thought he was overcome by madness no knowing his moniker. "Leftenant!" With a thought across the neural interface device, the annunciator amplifies Alais' voice above the din of shells, cries of dying men and staccato of blaster fire.

Alais' feet push against the ruination of the trench up over the palisade and clutches a massive metal gauntlet around the barrel of Tyrell's weapon and jerks it skywards and jerks the man towards her helmet's faceplate. Alais' voice is a angry snarl, if it were her choice she might have left Lockhart in his madness and saved his men from the stupidity of vainglorious sacrifice. "We're evacuating key personnel from the trenches, General Barran's orders." Not even waiting for an answer, Alais jerks the weapon from Tyrell's fingers like one might pull a rattle from a child.

A massive cold limb wraps itself around Tyrell and lifts him from the ground. Holding his weapon in left palm, Alais leaps into the trenches and hastily retreats firing rearwards towards as necessary to kill any pursuers. "Bring it on you ugly bastards! Come and get me". Keying up the comlink with Blue-Heart Alpha with a thought. "Sir, this is Leftenant Kaun. I have the HVT in custody, conscious and breathing."

 

[The Amalgam]

The Amalgam had sent her Witches off to attack the Tributary laser systems as she butchered deeper and deeper into the facility. The Witch had realized destroying the main power Generator would likely take too long and be improbable, so she deduced the Tributary Lasers were the most logical weak points to target. She however, remained a terror through its passages, savagely butchering and slaughtering Maw Knyghts and the more common scavenger warriors, purple blades flashing through armor, Lightning cooking flesh and muscle, dark spells and the Amalgam's sheer hatred diving into their minds, breaking some into insanity with nightmarish visions as her vicious, umcompromising slaughter drove deeper and deeper into the facility.

Three at last, seemed to offer more opposition. All staff wielders.

The Amalgam smirked, covered in blood, a trail of gore behind her, flesh bubbling and shuddering everywhere as she basked in the suffering of thousands dying all around her. Just because she was here to prevent Csilla being destroyed didn't mean she wasn't going to guzzle like a bratty teen who had discovered the soda fountain in a mini-mart.

The three Sith rushed her, and the Witch sprinted, red blades meeting her purple ones, slapping aside eachothers strikes as they attacked from all sides, black robed fiends thirsting for the Death of a whole Planet, trying to invade her mind with horrors, only for the masses of evil minds inside of her to furiously fight them off.

She sneered through a bubbling face as she was lifted up bodily by all three of them with a combined Force Choke. The hidious level of corruption in her body kept them from breaking her neck but she still strained to breath. She was starting to black out.

Her hatred flared and melting, bubbling eyes stared into the face of one of her attackers, and he screamed as his eyes and face began to cook. The others closed in, still trying to hold her with the choke. But The Amalgam reached out, and suddenly the lesser Dark Adepts had to not only hold her in place with The Force Choke, but keep their own life from being torn out of their bodies, the effort causing her bubbling flesh to start wrinkling and decay as it used up more of its energy as the got closer.

A metallic scream left her throat as a blade rammed into her chest and she summoned all her hatred to keep from dying on the spot, and managed to block the strike to her face, body shriveling to an emaciated condition as she further resisted both their attempts to rip her apart, the third one having recovered, trying to drain her own energy out of her body. She let her bones break as she fought their telekinetic attacks, struggling past their wills as her melting head was turned all the way around in a brutal 180 pattern, but still she advanced, slashing viciously and quickly into one and finally decapitating him, only to block the equally vicious counter attacks from the remaining two. The half melted, broken abomination split her staff in two, Sustaining a few more glancing strikes she didn't feel as she defended her self, forcibly snapping her head back into place and sending out her terrible malice to their life force, this time with all her might.

The pair screamed as they resisted, but her will was reinforced by that of the Witches inside her gradually overtaking them, stealing their energy aggressively and painfully, restoring the mutilated creature to perfect beauty in seconds as their bodies shriveled and died in the large corridor they had fought in.

Her flesh rippled for a few seconds afterward as she knealt down, reaching into their robes, looking for information.

She smiled as she found a datapad. It was directions to key parts of the massive facility, including the direct route to power systems controlling the Tributary Lasers and Shield Generators. He had been a new guy obviously. It was easy to get lost here, she imagined. She was also close to the throne room. She sensed great conflict ahead.

She immediately directed her Witches to imoroved, more efficient routes to the target sites via telepathy.

Then the Amalgam proceeded ahead, grinning as she felt Xiphos ahead, busily aggroing the whole station. She was so proud of her for ripping and tearing. But it was not yet done.

She would do her best to resolve that issue...

The Amalgam sprinted deeper, on a collision course for the Throne room, her terrible evil writhing in the Force as she cackled.

 

[Henri Estienne]

ALLIES | NIO | GA | NJO |EE | CIS | FO | CA | Halketh | DECEASED Erskine Barran | FN-999 | Tyrell Lockhart | Aerarii Tithe | Major Bennett Hall | Enedina Tal | Kaleleon | Liza | Himm'vaun'merek | Maple Harte | Jabez Melidoru | Ziroka
ENEMIES | BotM |TK | SE | WotS | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | Maestus | Khaostra Devoid | UX-0626 | Chimera


FIVE O' FIRST RCC

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
FIRST ANAXSI FREE BRIGADE

"AS A WILD ANIMAL BANDS ITS MUSCLES, THE PHALANX LEAPS FORWARD"​

Henri watched the TodHusars regroup and charge with awe as the tank regiment reached the ridge. They had regrouped after an unmissable arrival on the battlefield, and charged over the exploding first line of the trench complex. Their use of a phalanx-like formation meant they did not want to retreat, rather push the Brothers of the Maw out of the battlefield. But they had missed the order of retreat and evacuation that was given just after their charge. Now cut from support and reinforcements, the TodHusars faced annihilation. This Henri would not let happen.

The 501st RCC had fought over the ridge to push back the first lines of the horde. Now, the Galidraani were seemingly falling back of the first lines, and their troops passed through the armoured formation. The orders were clear: the objective of felling the walkers had been abandoned, and now Henri had to protect the retreat of all units. That meant the retreat of the TodHusars as well.

The platoon let the Galidraani retreat safely and then made its move. Standing over the hatch of his 2C, Henri ordered his tanks to move forward. Other units would join the charge as they rushed down the ridge and into the battlefield. The tanks formed as a spear, a diamond tip ready to crush the Maw. The plan was easy: the tanks had to cut the horde a few ranks away from the TodHusars' contact point. The armoured RCC would replace the paratroopers as a cohesive front, and allow them to retreat safely.

Rushing from the flank, the super-heavy armoured vehicles trampled upon the weak infantry at maximum speed. The flesh wall couldn't slow them: rather, it would collapse and retreat.

The regiment continued its march to save the TodHusars.

 

[Jerec Yularen]

ALLIES | NIO | GA | NJO |EE | CIS | FO | CA | Halketh | DECEASED Erskine Barran | FN-999 | Tyrell Lockhart | Aerarii Tithe | Major Bennett Hall | Enedina Tal | Kaleleon | Liza | Himm'vaun'merek | Maple Harte | Jabez Melidoru | Ziroka
ENEMIES | BotM |TK | SE | WotS | The Mongrel | Kyrel Ren | Maestus | Khaostra Devoid | UX-0626 | Chimera


FIRST TODHUSARS REGIMENT

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
FIRST ANAXSI FREE BRIGADE

​

The melee was bloody.

As one man, the TodHusars had pushed forward, regaining momentum. While the first minutes of the battle had been in their favour, the paratroopers were being overrun. The numbers were not in their favour at all, and Jerec had underestimated the Brothers' fanatism. He thought they would collapse as the Anaxsi crushed their first lines; he thought they would collapse as the meat grinder roared to life.

But they held, and the sheer mass of the horde slowed considerably the phalanx. In fact, the TodHusars were not advancing any more. Their advance stalled, the soldiers were now duelling without pushing forward. Jerec had struggled to get up, but it was for nothing it seemed. The hope of a swift victory was gone, and the deadlock had to continue forever. If not, the paratroopers would be slaughtered during the retreat.

And then the final blow to the Captain's morale came.

All 409th Regiment and allied units in the first trench, fall back to the second line IMMEDIATELY. We are nearing overextension, and will likely soon need to be lifted offworld before it is liquidated. All artillery in the second line should fall back to the third before resuming fire on the thinnest spots of the industrial walkers. Almost all of the city's residents behind us have been evacuated, and our mission is nearing its conclusion.​

The retreat was impossible for the paratroopers. They were locked in combat, and the very nature of the engagement meant the fools falling back would be slaughtered by the counter-attack. The only solution was to hold until the last man.

The Brigade's sacrifice would not be in vain, though. Jerec had to reach the rear-line command and inform the Lieutenant-Legion Commander of the dire situation they were facing. He struggled to reach someone in the human tide, trying to find a com specialist who would reach FN-999. Forever it seemed as he searched, slowly getting away from the line of battle.

"Get me a long-range radio!" he shouted in his comlink, while finally reaching the man he was looking for. He opened the communication and spoke quickly: it mattered little if the message reached correctly the HQ. The only way the Anaxsi could be remembered was to leave a message, a final image. A picture of their end.

"This is... This is Captain Yularen of the TodHusars First speaking. We are not able to retreat without being slaughtered to the last. We will slow down the horde for you, Lieutenant-Legion Commander. The Anaxsi commit their last stand. We will meet again, we will meet again in hell. Over and out."

If it was the end, it would be glorious. The TodHusars, never backing down, advancing as they could, the last wall against barbarism and savagery. But Jerec knew not the Fate was ironic sometimes. First, it appeared in a growl. Then, cries of agony on the left flank. And then, he saw monsters of steel and fire. 4-meters high creations of pure Anaxsi geniuses. The Holt and Dalness might combine into tanks rushing to save them.

Their maneuver was simple, and so was Jerec's order through the long-range comm.

"Everyone fall back in order! The tanks cover our retreat. Get to the ridge !"

And like one man again the TodHusars acted. The rear ranks abandoned the fight, and the rest followed.

 

[Elle Mors]

Duel of the Fates, aboard the 'Mercy'

SHANGRI-LA​

His apparent lack of faith in her claim bothered her about as much as her presence seemed to affect him, that is to say not at all. She lifted the saber in her hand to catch the arcing traces of electricity on its edgeless blade and released them back into the ground beneath her and the walls around them, her resolve galvanized by the manner in which he had acknowledged her - a trifle curiosity, a quaint anomaly at best - which confirmed the spark that had been lit in her heart near the end of her exile. Darkness grew, billowing from the dark lord like smoke from an untamed fire, but though the shadow confined her it could not reach her - the light that gathered around her burned away at its touch like the rays of a star.

All around them chaos unfolded, and like its avatar the Sith launched himself towards her with his saber in hand, the weight of his might held aloft to swat at her like humans might a fly. By all rights her nerves should have been tested, her will should have been stressed, and her expression should have bled an inkling of uncertainty that, in the face of such an intimidating storm, should have been present just beneath the surface - held back by only a veneer of stoicism practiced by Jedi in the belief that to be one must act; but there was no panic beneath the flesh, her heart beat just as true as it had when she'd stepped into the chamber, hand still steady in its grip on her blade, and the look on her face, the confidence, the sheer audacity, was flaunted flagrantly in the face of his assault as openly as a passive reaction to his own might muster.

She shifted her weight as the force built in her limbs, bolstering her at the knees, shoulders, and hips. He was upon her like a ship crashing into the surface of some unfortunate moon but she faced his strength with the will of the force and its blinding light at her back - strength enhanced to match his own in regards to physicality. She did not share his penchant for brutality - she'd never have an inclination to think to tear apart her foe, despite all the death he had sewn through the stars - but absolute serenity filled her as she let go of her sense of self. The force filled her, willing her to do its bidding like a puppet on strings, her blade sweeping up to meet with his while she pushed her body forwards into his, leaning into the teachings of Stava to use even the whole of her body as a weapon.

"The greater your shadow, the brighter I will shine." She said as her eyes closed, trusting in the force to lead her blade against his own, waiting for the moment she could lash out with a limb or shoulder. A man with a legacy cemented in history, infamous for his brutality and his cruelty, Darth Carnifex fought against who might as well be just another nameless girl, just as there were millions of other nameless faces fighting on the planet beneath the station that acted as their stage. This moment, this feeling - the reality of it - was what brought her closer to the light even as the darkness grew close; that she, as insignificant as she was to her peers and those that thought themselves her betters, could muster the confidence, the morale, to put herself in a collision course with the likes of dark lords of the Sith meant anyone with will enough could do it.

Another shower of sparks, blades bouncing off the other, and a temporary eruption of concussive force from the strength behind their respective strikes left them enough breathing room to stare each other in the eyes. She smiled, recognizing the situation for what it had been portrayed to her through the academy by this man's own empire and followers, feeling the sensation of a dilation of time, the moment that fear or doubt ought to have sunk in.

"I am with the force, and I fear nothing."

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Equipment: Necrosis Sword | Necrosis Armor (To Be Subbed Soon) | Axe (To Be Subbed Soon)
Crusade Location: Thrawn's Rest, Csilla | Current Location: Warlord Encampment
Foe: Irveric Tavlar
Foolish Adversaries: Csilla Defenders | Loyal Sycophants: Csilla Attackers
Crusading Forces: The Dread Crusaders

O'Death​

Far and away from the main battle, the Sithspawn First Wave continued their assault upon the Imperials with unmatched ferocity, despite falling to some great number at the hands of the hellish weaponry possessed by the infernal machines of war. Even as the wave of electric blue-red fire engulfed a large portion of this battlefield, the Sithspawn pushed on.

The Mornfangs found great purchase in their assault upon the Cataphracts, rending apart the metallic carapace of the machines with a Hadean aberration, unfazed by the pain inflicted upon them by their resolute victims. Some were even torn to little more than barely function heads on riddled torsos, yet they crawled still with enough lethality to kill any who dared to leave their roving centers of battle. More than one poor Imperial who sought to flee a damaged tank found themselves shoved headfirst into the maw of the Sithspawn, screeching defiant obscenities as the fangs ripped and tore through their composite armor and the delicious flesh underneath. One particularly brave Imperial, for all he's worth as a human, leaped down into the snow from his ruined tank, hollering loyal chants to his Imperialist world, and unloaded round after round into a Mornfang that stalked over him like a serpent of prey. It budged not at his assault, even as blood seeped from its scorched wounds and the pain of a million burning knives ran through its body. It would even have appeared to have laughed at the assault if such a thing was possible for a beast of nominal sentience and depraved, primordial intelligence.

The galloping beasts that were the Ofïglë Sĥûjazze, on the other hand, faced a greater challenge in that they had to maintain a sensible strategy that would ensure they at least survived long enough to rejoin the main battle. And for their part, they succeeded, crippling some of the easier to destroy and clearly outdated machines the Imperials had employed here, and trampling down the soldiers that could not avoid their rushing claws. However, where they struggled was against the modern tech that had stronger hulls, better weapons, and even hardier soldiers. These were the machines they could not rip apart so easily as they did the outdated constructs, and it showed as their weapons clinked and clacked and barely gouged through the metal - once the shielding was down after enough impacts, of course. Still, they waged their strafing warfare, flanking the machines as often as they could to allow their more feral companions to do their tasks.

And then, there was the Jek Zûtbo who, lumbering like a giant from some myth-tale, finally entered the viewing range of the battlefield entirely, roaring with a sadistic delight as he charged the armored lines. Standing nearly twenty feet tall, it was not difficult, to say the least, to understand that this was perhaps the true threat of the Sithspawn First Wave. Nearly impervious to pain, the Jek Zûtbo's body lit aflame with the Dark Side of the Force - the fires serving as the Sithspawn species' very lifeblood in some cases - as its roaring laughter switched to growling malice. Its claws clenched together into fists just as it stopped its momentum some two yards away from the ruined husk of one of the outdated machines. The Jek Zûtbo said something at that moment, as the flames of its malice built and built between its fingers that shook and shuddered in frothing power. Something in the language of the Sith that was imperceptible over the sounds of battle, in spite of its size and vocal range. Then it lifted its fists and arms up to the base of its horns and slammed them down with authority, cracking the iced ground into a tectonic tidal wave of earth and fire that began to travel to the remaining machines of the Imperials.

Meanwhile, the carnage before those defending the bulwark trenches was absolute, unbreakable in its hold over those who threw their lives into the grinder of war, forcing themselves to be subjected to the fate of being left in the cold iron earth as sacks of meat. It brought a tinge of joy to the heart of Asu Thine and he could feel himself joining in on the raging fervor that was boiling over in the hearts of the warriors contained within the encampment. And then, the shields went down, and all of that joy in his heart seized like a flash-frozen ocean and his cybernetic eyes burst into a worried crimson.

Where is God when we need him?

The plan had to - no - needed to change. Utilizing the computerized parts of his mind, the Crusade Master paced back to the center of the wall and called out to Artillery Marshal Sören of the Chapters' Armor. "Marshal Sören! Shift focus and target the Imperials Artillery! We've lost the shields and our defenses are at full risk! Get those bastards down now!"

The Marshal gave a silent acknowledgment of his orders through a few blips across the digital link and quickly, the artillery began to fire farther than the trenches. Far and long down the battlefield towards the siege emplacements that the Imperials had kept so neatly tucked away in the back. Electrified-plasmic railgun rounds set to replace the wide-dispersal anti-infantry explosive blaster rounds. Less physical damage, of a sort, but hopefully enough to make them blink. And then, Asu Thine's focus once more shifted to the on-goings of No Man's Land where the armored lines of the Chapters' Armor began to struggle and burst apart from the combined focus of the Imperials Heavy Armor. He would have given an order for their retreat to the bulwark...

Had his attention not then been drawn to the sudden pinging of disaster to the south.

An oracle, one far weaker than the old man from the beginning of the battle, choked out a warning just before he was gunned down in the frontline trenches. Asu Thine turned his gaze to the south, where nothing could be seen through the wind of Csilla, filled with her icy hate. Nothing...nothing but storm. Had he the need to summon them as well? Already?

Where are you, God? We need you.

Asu Thine wasted no more time and asked no more questions to someone clearly absent, despite his efforts to call to him. With hands outstretched, the Crusade Master did the same as he did to the north, bring forth more Sithspawn to go on the hunt. Insectoids with the power of magma-like acids spewed forth from their putrid maws. Insectoids with powerfully reinforced horns designed to puncture and dent. And, of course, the second of the two Jek Zûtbo. With the non-verbal command, the beasts charged towards their generally given areas. Searching and hunting for the flanking forces that still held all of the cards of surprise and very well could have avoided contact with these...abominations.

Asu Thine then returned to his post, silent amongst the blaster fire and explosions. Wondering...where had his God gone?

God's Gonna Cut You Down​

Each step across that barren wasteland of snow and ice was a step closer to the thing he wanted most in life beyond that which was sure to come in the future. A step closer to the wish...the need...that thumped and hummed in the base of his brain like a gnat that had...carved its way through his skull and became trapped in his mind. The need that he refused to admit to himself or any other. The desire that was such a desire that this thumping and humming was because of his own building rage and excitement at the prospect of it finally being over. That a mere slice of his sword...could bring an end to this so-called "Slayer." The same Slayer who had plagued Kascalion's journey from beginning to end. From start to finish of that wretch's life. Or rather, it was not that he refused to admit, but could not. He could not acknowledge that his heart thundered with the same old hate and excitement as Kascalion's had.

What the Devil could admit was that it was because of this man that Giedfield had never accomplished what he was destined to accomplish, not on his own at the very least. It was because of this man that Kavar Lok Kas'Oni had to make his return from the realm of the Gods and reduce that cretin's very existence into a mote of acknowledgment that would soon fade to dust alongside Irveric Tavlar's own. And he could admit that Kascalion Giedfield would be no more with the death of this unsavory cur, this mongrel of a political ideology that tried, again and again, to maintain rulership over the galaxy and failed, again and again.

But then again, the wish was always there...more of a hope, actually. A secret, buried, terrifying hope that with the death of the Imperial's paragon of hegemony and dominion, and thus the subsequent withering of Imperialism itself, Kavar would be all there was. Without fear of failure or of being killed before his "time." A sinful, sickening, dark hope that he would be all there would ever be. All there ever could be. A hope that the Sith, the Dark Side, the Jedi, and the Light would fall under his rule and his domain of the Galaxy. And, once more, this - all of this - he could not admit. To the mind of Kavar Lok Kas'Oni, Irveric Tavlar was merely the last tether to a man who was weaker than any in the history of the Galaxy and needed to be forgotten for progress to be made. His hope was something controlled by a worse thing, a more dangerous thing: true belief in his godhood.

This was his mindset - his forced mindset - as the steps from his target became fewer and fewer. Less and less. Quicker and quicker. His eyes, bleeding with the same hot scars that streamed down from his blue flaming gaze, set upon the titanic machines that carried soldiers of argent and cobalt, ready to kill at a moment's notice, ready to fight without fear for their own lives. At his current speed, he was little more than two minutes away from the carnage, watching with greater interest on the Siege Breaker that suddenly capsized like a boat and crunched into the snow and ice, crumbling the soldiers it fell upon amidst the screech of metallic deities wailing for their fallen daughter. Then, roughly a minute out, his gaze shifted to the turbo tanks that rolled with a painful slowness over the trenches as they birthed more and more of their sons into the dirt and rocks and rime that awaited them, some immediately drenched in the blood of the fallen and the living.

Yet, they battled on without faltering against the lines of conscripts in black and red, the soldiers of the Devil's Chapters trying their damndest to avenge their charges, and the Helgardi under the command of Haalkel roaring in the delight of the carnage. Thirty seconds out, and it became apparent that nothing could stop these living fists of the Slayer, cracking open the jaws of dawn for a brighter tomorrow for their people. Unfortunately, the Devil preferred a darker night and just as his target was borne into a world of doom somewhere down the lines, he was upon the Imperials with the malice of destiny unavoidable.

His first target was the closest Turbo Tank, aiming to slice through its back wheels with the blade to end its forward march and damn those within to unavoidable artillery fire. Regardless of if he was successful in doing this, next was his entrance into the trenches themselves, which was a gruesome affair, and it could be said that more of his own conscripts died at his hands than any of the Imperials in those first few seconds. Sliced into pieces by his sword that, in truth, was simplistic compared to the axe that was strung to his back. Even coated in the blood of many, it was plain and boring. Little did they know the truth of the doom blade held in the Devil's hands. But that would come later.

For now, his intentions were set on rallying the soldiers under his command that still lived within these forward trenches, and with the roar of a thousand suns, he called forth their loyalty and their strength in the face of utter decimation. There was no silence, no confusion, no realization of who was now standing among them. There was only the responsive shout from all in those trenches, a cry that carried in the frozen winds that spurred those in the bulwark defensive trenches and those within the encampment. A collective unified howl that brought out the worst stages of frenzied wrath in the Dread Crusaders and drove them to new heights of brutality.

There was a great crash from the encampment - the crumbling of wood meant to withstand even blaster fire. The Devil turned his eyes for the briefest of seconds as he pulled his blade from the chest of one Imperial who dared to stand up to him with a bladed hammer. The gates of the encampment had been broken down from within. Out poured the swaths of those that had been stoved up for too long, building their hatred and shaking fury for the Imperials and the battle to come for too long. Half-dozens and dozens fell to the artillery fire meant for their own artillery emplacements that remained stationary - immediately - but on they charged across that field. Vibro-axes, vibro-spears, vibro-swords, energy weapons similar to proto-sabers, shoulder-mounted blaster cannons, and all other manners of weaponry were carried in that horde's charge.

The Devil's Chapters in the bulwark trenches, while initially caught up in the feverish joint war cry, now looked upon their allies with befuddlement and concern. They were breaking the plan that their very leader - the very same man who now called through the Dark Side - had put in place. They were not meant to be released until Asu Thine had given the order when the Imperials had drawn closer. But there was no stopping them now and even as they were blasted down in number, the horde proved too blinded by the lust for conflict and too numerous to truly stop. At the risk of their own destruction, they charged. Reaver, Helgardi. Different races entirely, but bound by madness. The Devil's Chapters of the bulwark, and by extension the Crusade Master Asu Thine, had been left to wait until the Imperials were either repelled or managed to cross the No Man's Land.

What of your plan, brother?

As the invigorated horde poured into the battle, some seeking to chop down or throw themselves at the titan machines and Turbo Tanks - perhaps intent on climbing them it seemed - The Devil grinned and even guffawed in his own form of insanity. The Devil turned just in time to slice his blade through the neck of another one of the Slayer's ilk, watching his head fall to the bloodied ice-dirt underneath their feet. A sharp forward thrust of the blade saw the death of another, followed by a lunge of the feet complete with a pivoted spin-pull to free the blade. This was then transitioned into a harsh swing through the armpit and neck of another Imperial who rounded the corner attempting a surprise attack with his vibro-sword.

"My Lord!" a grave voice cried out through the carnage, though muffled by the chaos of the Imperial's heavy machines roving through the field under heavy artillery fire. The Devil turned his gaze up and to the right to see great Haalkel standing above the trenches in the snow, the head of a heavy-armored Stormtrooper stuck to the blade of his halberd.

"Haalkel!" the Devil said with genuine joy at the appearance of the man. Over the years, and especially after the events of Helgard, the Devil had developed an appreciation for the Helgardi much like his false brother, and of Haalkel especially for his ability to speak more than his native language. "How fares the war for the Helgardi?"

The giant warrior leaped down back into the trenches just as an explosion rocked his previous position. Debris clattered over them as they shared a respectable forearm handshake. Of all in his Dread Crusaders, only Haalkel, Asu Thine, Hani Grodvid, and Odzakû Set'n had earned such respect from God. "The contributions from the newly initiated are appreciated, Lord," Haalkel laughed as more of the charging horde entered the trenches. "I foresee great things to come of this war."

"Indeed, Haalkel. Rally your people and push the Imperials on the defensive."

"What of the heavy armor advancing past us, my lord?" the Helgardi asked just as he was about to run off, casting a cold look to the massive titan machines and Turbo Tanks now entering No Man's Land.

The Devil thought for a moment and, in a surprising showing of actual military intelligence on his part, said: "Find the commanding officer of the Chapters here and tell him to radio Lord Commander Grodvid in the bulwark. Tell him to forget the plan I set before if Crusade Master Thine has not already. We should have foreseen the Imperials using our...eagerness against us. Tell Grodvid to open fire on the heavy armor now with any...what is it...anti-tank weaponry they have. All of it. Target the heavy armor as much as possible. And tell the armored lines to back up from No Man's Land. Leave the ground troops to hold back what they can!"

Forgetting that you were the one who broke the plan before they did?

"Yes, Lord!" Haalkel saluted with his blade before rushing off deep into the trenches, the sounds of his war cries and increasing demands distancing further and further down the tundra.

What's that smell?

It hit him then in the instant of a half-second. There was no contemplation or build-up or any of the sort. It was a wave of sensations that stiffened his muscles and made his heart race with a burning realization. The scent of fresh blood and fresh armor, only having recently joined the throngs of savages in the tunnels, coursed through his nostrils. Or perhaps it was something else, something that he could not truly understand even in his own vast wisdom. The inextricable link between God and the Anti-God.

The sweet feud. It sings to you! It's enough to make even God sick.

The Slayer was near, and the Devil proceeded onward, sawing his way through the horde of Imperial and Warlord with a stone-set tunnel vision, following the sensations like a hound on the hunt. His swordwork during the march was formless and blunt in its movements and was merely swings and slashes that did the job just fine, especially for those in the way but unaware of his presence. It was never really known to him how long he walked and waded through the ocean of depraved and organized violence. Or how many he killed in his quest to quench the buried desire and fulfill the even more buried hope. It was never disclosed to him by himself, for the Devil cared not when he, at last, saw him. After so many years of cat and mouse games...he saw him through the trenches of corpses and bones and gore and blood and horror. Explosions wracked his body as he stood motionless, a splatter of sinew sprawling across his pitch-black horns that then dripped onto his pauldrons in a grim rhythm.

Silence overtook the Devil while he watched and examined. As always, Irveric Tavlar was a paramount warrior, fighting with his men in enemy territory, without a care in the world for his own body. The Devil appreciated that in some sick warrior's way, for he knew that the man would always give a good fight. Maybe, with Kascalion, it would have been the best fight. Unfortunately, the Devil that stood there, some forty yards away from his target, was Kavar Lok Kas'Oni. The sounds of battle resumed, as did the light pressure of something upon his back. The Devil turned to see a Stormtrooper, his vibro-knife dripping with the Devil's blue plasma that rushed through his veins. Maybe he was a young man with hopes and dreams, or maybe he was middle-aged and ready to rest on some agri-world in Imperial Space. The Devil did not care for either possibility, and the man's head was quickly crushed under the massive left fist of evil.

As Kavar stared at the lifeless corpse clutched in his grasp, he momentarily thought about the one thing that Kascalion would do that Kavar would not do this day. He would not start the demise of his greatest foe with a monologue. And so, turning sharply on his heels with the corpse still in his grasp, the Devil faced the Slayer and flung the headless Imperial towards his Imperator. Then, as the body soared through the trenches unabated, like an arrow shot from a bow, the Devil immediately stormed the man, his sabatons leaving deep dragging imprints in the snow as he brought his sword high into the whitened sky. An incensed roar of the most frightening form of anger - desperate - escaped his throat, the white teeth of his mouth glaring out through the darkness of his helmet. He swung down at the same time, his Sith blade screaming in sharp whistles as it traveled in a blistering diagonal arc of lightning speed towards the armored head of the Imperator.

The first strike had been made.

OOC:

• The Sithspawn continue their assault on Spearpoint Aurek, with the Jek Zûtbo finally joining in.
• Asu Thine finally becomes aware of Spearpoint Besh and calls for the deployment of the Sithspawn Second Wave to fight back against them
• The Warlords Artillery shifts their focus to trade shots with the Imperial Artillery to avoid complete destruction
• The No Man's Land Devil's Armored Lines continue to fight back against the Air Born Soldiers, RDAGs, and advancing heavy armor.
• Kavar Lok Kas'Oni joins the battle and rallies the frontline trenches under his leadership
  • This causes the Reavers and Helgardi in the Encampment to break the plan and charge into battle, leaving Asu Thine and the bulwark trenches alone
    • Bulwark Trenches ordered to provide support for the No Man's Land Battle to ensure the armored lines can pull back.

 

[Gallius Orcana]

ALLIES | NIO | GA | NJO |EE | CIS | FO | CA | Albrecht F. Herlock | Constantine Oliva | Teica Giraan | Ryv | Thale | Roudac Gannan |
ENEMIES | BotM |TK | SE | WotS | Tu'teggacha | Aldo Garrick | Talon Kyber | Hand of Purification | Derix Tirall | Subject 54 Havoc


NIV PRIDE OF THE EMPEROR

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
AZURE HAMMER COMMAND

The Fatalis began to retreat and Gallius knew he had won.

His fleet had taken extensive damage, with most of the cruisers unable to fight anymore. The reports were dire: the Conqueror was a hovering ruin, engines destroyed, shields down, bridge exposed to enemy attacks. The Revanchist was in a similar situation. While its shields had painfully risen again, most of its heavy armament was destroyed by the fight. The remaining Escolta-class Frigate had been destroyed.

All of this left the Commodore with two capital ships, three Cruisers and two escort Corvettes. Two other ships had survived but could not resume fighting. This meant all the Holt's Fist had to be reorganised to destroy the Fatalis, or at least harass it until reinforcements could come.

The communication with the First Order was shut down as the officer drew his new battle plan. He could not be distracted by fools persuaded hiding was the best solution. He needed to remain focused. And then, he would give his orders.

"Contact Alliance One and its escort. We need their support to push the Fatalis further away. Once it is routed, we can destroy the Mercy quickly. Order the Conqueror and Revanchist to stand down. They will escape the battlefield and retreat to the Redoubt, where they will be repaired as quickly as possible."

The Commodore then focused on his enemy. It was retreating, its main armament damaged by the Imperials. Gallius had to press on and beat the battleship harder. And he had to take immediate action.

"Leave the Crucifix remains for the Alliance and resume the advance. We will pursue the Fatalis and destroy the remaining mega-calibre cannons. Regroup with the Proudheart. He will aid us to form the speartip. Caçadores on the flanks, the remaining ships as support vessels. Target the damaged weaponry and prepare the next bombing run. We need to destroy that line of defence !"

Seemingly operated by the same will, the seven remaining ships reorganised their formation. Leaving the Maw cruisers to die under fire of the Alliance ships, they charged again towards the dreadnought. Firing with every weapon operational, the Azure Hammer Command was committing its last attempt to disrupt the defences and reach the Mercy.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

NIV Pride of the Emperor	Cuirassier-class Cruiser	- Fully crewed, Active	Gallius Orcana Gallius Orcana
NIV Proudheart	Valiant-class Star Destroyer	- Fully crewed, Active	Captain Bel Kiez - NPC
NIV Conqueror	Cuirassier-class Cruiser	- Shields down	Captain Kir Ralkhone - NPC
NIV Revanchist	Donnager-class Star Destroyer	- Shields down	Captain Gar Ventanus - NPC
NIV Faith of Steel	Donnager-class Star Destroyer	- Destroyed	Commander Julius Xanos - NPC - KIA
NIV Shadow of the Emperor	Donnager-class Star Destroyer	- Fully crewed, Active	Commander Ma'nuu'roduo - NPC
NIV Anaxes's Honour	Inceptus-class Assault Ship	- Fully crewed, Active	Commander Viel Haskler - NPC
NIV Iron Fist	Inceptus-class Assault Ship	- Fully crewed, Active	Lieutenant-Commander Jurg Haskler - NPC
NIV Fury of Kraig	Escolta-class Frigate	- Destroyed	Lieutenant-Commander TK-32097 - KIA
NIV Azure Avenger	Escolta-class Frigate	- Destroyed	Lieutenant Helbrecht Teshik - NPC - KIA
NIV Imperial Hand	Caçadores-class Corvette	- Fully crewed, Active	Lieutenant Dek Rakad - NPC
NIV Eternal Crusader	Caçadores-class Corvette	- Fully crewed, Active	Lieutenant Fulthius Rax - NPC

 

[Tyrell Lockhart]

1st Dunwall Irregulars (The Devils of Dunwall)

Allies: DECEASED Erskine Barran Enedina Tal FN-999 Major Bennett Hall Konrad Bolter Julian Qar Alais Kaun Halketh Aerarii Tithe

Engaging: The Mongrel Lirka Ka Chimera UX-0626

Personal Loadout: a DC-17m Interchangeable Weapon System, a vibroknife, and a pair of brass knuckles.

Fall In

Part One: A Swift Change of Plans​

Tyrell continued to rip through the legions of the Maw with reckless abandon as he pushed his way forward through the snow. Little mattered to him in this moment. The mission, the cause... everything became a singular blur that did little more than to serve his desire for wanton destruction of his enemy. He continued to cut through them like a knife through butter. Every shot fired was a glorious moment of retribution against those who had dared raise a hand in the name of darkness. As he continued his onslaught, Tyrell was suddenly brought back to reality through the grasping hands of another.

He heard the words, but barely. Something had been said about pulling out, and yet Tyrell barely registered it. He didn't fight getting pulled into the Saga, but he continued firing on the enemy as long as time allowed. Once the doors were closed, he found himself back to the ground. Back to Csilla. Back to the reality of everything around them. He took a moment to share what he knew. Things may have been bad, but he had faith that they could turn the tide. And yet, the lingering sense of defeat hung over his head. He had lost track of Enedina, and that was something he could not forgive himself for...

Part Two: Once More Unto the Breach​

Tyrell took in the words of Lord Barran as he spoke. It was his first time seeing the legend in person, and there was a part of Tyrell that couldn't but to feel inspired. The sheer dedication of the man was legendary among the Galidraani. Even those who weren't as devoted as Tyrell knew of the man's importance to the cause, secondary only to Tal himself. Tyrell could almost shed a tear, if he were capable of such responses.

"Look 'ere sir. I made a promise to ya to keep Galidraan's future safe. I didn't mean to break it then, and I sure don't fethin' mean to now. We don't leave without Enedina."

He took a moment to gather himself, before finally fumbling the comlink out of his pocket. He put a message through to his unit as he wiped the sweat and blood from his brow.

"Right, look 'ere. I know you lot haven't signed up for this. More so, I know you're likely not ready for what I'm about to ask of you. 'Ere's the thing. Enedina Tal is MIA. Until we can confirm her safety, I'm not leaving. Now, I don't expect you lot to stay with me. Any man who wishes to evac may do so. But to any of you lads who wish to see this through, come with me an' lord Barran. Let's go secure the future of our people. For Csilla! For Galidraan! Devil One out!"

Many of those who followed him from the trenches were almost stuck in their tracks. The idea that the future of the Tals... nay, the future of Galidraan being at stake, stirred something in them. They may not have been proper soldiers, but they were proper patriots. Tyrell wanted to give them the option to leave, but he knew they wouldn't. The DI began a rush from the trench line, piling on to whichever tank they could in an effort to hitch a ride. Tyrell couldn't be more proud of his men. Good lads indeed...

It would be a cold day in hell before they let the Maw have their way.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim Ragal Terassi Vandiir
Eternal Empress of the Eternal Empire, Lord Commander of the Wardens of the Shroud
The Red Witch, The Night Queen, Lady Stuztala, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium, Archon of the Primyn Group​

Location: On aboard the superweapon.
Objective 3.: Duel of the Fates | Stop the superweapon
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | Kiss of the Red Witch | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | The Last Gift || Empyrean gland
Writing with: N/A

[ Just Inside My Head ] ​

The computers were still on; they made the woman feel as if the soldiers and officers here had been to leave the room in a hurry and they had no time left for anything. She wasn't interested in the reasons, it could have been one of the attacks or raids. It all came in handy for her, so Ingrid didn't want to argue or object. She could not have expected more ideal conditions.

There was only one tiny problem.

Code cracking, hacking or slicing required a great deal of concentration so she could not remain invisible. Because wanted to focus on that with all her attention. Her first task was to close the room, lock both doors and delete the identification codes from the system. With this, she tried to make things difficult for those who want to come in and gain some time with it to her in the first round. Everything else she wants will take a lot more time anyway.

Once she had this, Ingrid immediately set about finding the generator systems. However, as might be expected, this already required greater access. Since she had no codes for this, she could not find an officer on the way from whom she could obtain a suitable tool for this, leaving her with the only opportunity to try to hack into or bypass the system. The Empress would have been very happy if MANIAC could help her with this.

In any case, the race started over time because she may not have enough time to do what she has to…

 

[Maple Harte]

Maple watched as Lirka Ka got it in the chest plate, not just from her, but from Miranda as well with her particle cannon. But she or it, got up, the hard plating protecting her torso.

Maple was undeterred. She poured more fire at Lirka's direction, telekinetically firing other siezed rifles that floated around her at Lirka, even as other Maw warriors tried to flank her only to be shot by a rifle that orbited around her.

She had always possessed a greater control of Telekinesis than other Force Powers save for Plant Surge. Even in her madness she could still control it easily, and she began to not only fire, but fling other large pieces of debris at Lirka, hoping the sheer practicality of her attacks would do what more arcane methods could not.

Maple didn't consider herself like Laertia. But the similarities were there. She had the same ruthless will to win, it was just buried deep in mental snow and didn't have as many outlets as Laertia. But when it was woken from its slumber it was terrible and people would die when she pulled the trigger.

For all she criticized Laertia for constantly listening to her inner Frank Castle, Maple was all too willing to go full Jon Bernthal when the situation warranted it.

Miranda had readjusted her tactics, taking a few seconds to switch her weapons on her system, now using her continuous cryo laser, and her shoulder mounted micro rocket launcher, nanite sheath retracting over the respective areas to fire both weapons. Perhaps a combination of cryo, explosive rockets and contiuous fire and telekinetically hurled debris could do the job. But Lirka moved fast and it was hard to stay on target, forcing Maple to use more anticipatory tactics to try and hit the seemingly unstoppable monstrosity.

Maple gave a bitter war cry in challenge to the Abomination. She had one edge.

She herself had been trained by a horrendous abomination...and Miranda, in one sense, could be considered a horrific anomaly of tech herself...it disturbed Maple to realize that with something like Laertia's "daughter", she was likely staring at the gold standard of the future.

What would happen to Force Users when the tech truly, at last, caught up to them?

Had it done so already?

Maple didn't know, and right now, she was too busy attempting to kill Lirka to truly ponder it in great detail as she poured vicious amounts of fire at Lirka, not sure if it would hit...