Junction ILUMinate the Void | Junction of Ilum [GA], Pashvi [NIO], and Empty hex Northeast of Rhand [BOTM]

[Creuat]

K N I G H T
GALACTIC ALLIANCE
NEW JEDI ORDER
ILUM
JEDI_GANG | Xashe Tistya

Her first time? Even better. It was peculiar to why the Silver Jedi did not bring Xashe to Ilum to create her lightsaber. A disservice, if he was honest; sharply honest as always.

Taking her lightsaber, he took a moment to observe it. The crystal’s signature of the Force was there, though it did not match with Xashe’s. The discovery raised a question, one he will ask after his Padawan completed her task of acquiring her own kyber crystal.

“This lightsaber is nothing but a symbol of your past before becoming my apprentice, Xashe. This represents defective traits and ideas that will not serve you well as a Jedi, but we will move past that today.”

“You will no longer be in need of this.”

A telekinetic energy gripped at the lightsaber’s hilt, being suspended in the air in front of Rhis as he drew out his lightsaber and sliced it in half rendering the weapon permanently.

“You will find a crystal that calls to you as I did when I made my lightsaber,” the same one in his hands before deactivating the blade and placing it back beneath his robes. “As simple as it seems, it will be a challenge for you. It is a great honor, thus it will be a great test. Come, let’s enter the temple.”

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

✠ High Imperator of the Rim-Guard Order ✠

✠ Objective: I. Hearts of Kyber
✠ Location: Aboard The Phalanx, entering Ilum System
✠ Gear: Agema-Armour, Lancer-pistol, lightsaber pike, holo-transmitter
✠ Assets: The Phalanx, the White Flame, two Paladin Banners (FG) (181), Skytroopers
✠ Tag(s):
Space​

Adversaries: Caedis Umbrammor

Allies: Open

Ground​

Adversaries: The Mongrel , Maestus

Allies: DECEASED Erskine Barran , open

⮚ THEME​

The expression on Aiglos face did not change - could not - as the sensor officers were reporting new contacts entering the system. Reinforcements. And they were not friendly. It was to be expected that the enemy had some reserves, even though they seemed like savage barbarians they could still have some sense to them. But their primitive ships would not take the Phalanx today. Not today.

The large battlecruiser was still darting forward, its guns blazing and the shields flickering ever more. They were pushed to the bring of collapsing. They were playing on time. The fleet engagements was a very one sided affair as the New Imperials nor the Jedi deemed any forces worthy of sending to this world. But the Order would, reinforcements were on their way, but it would take them till arrival from Alliance space.

"How are our shields?"

"5%, sire. We are, they are ... 3%." Urienz was looking up as he had suggested his course of action the moment the enemy reinforcements had appeared, micro-jumping or retreating.

"Maintain engine power at 80%, thats enough to catch all of them. Conduct all necessary power from the weapons to the shields, cut the life support to minimum, finish charging the EMP. Horizon Protocol to forty percent, Princeps Vrihedd on stand-by."

Aiglos voice was as firm as always, the decisions coming naturally. He knew his ship and he knew what it could take and he would not let it go down because of some raiders from the Maw.

✠ ✠ ✠​

The White Flame was lighted by the fire of its weapons as it started picking on the air forces of the Maw. Light turbolasers shooting their red bolts, tracking the enemy fighters and bombers, the gunners were aware of the ground forces and carefully scanned and aimed their shots not to cause friendly fire. This reduce the overall shots per minute, but increased the efficiency of the shots itself.

The ship itself was still several thousand feet above the battle, but already a shadow, lurking above the fields of havoc as it slowly approached further. Marcus was still sitting in the Stormeagle, his entire banner was, they were waiting for his signal to launch. But he waited. At least he did so for the Paladins.

From the hangars and other emergency exits though, Skytroopers were jumping into battle, utilising their jetpacks to fly and enter the ground battle. They were filling the air, hundreds of these ancient battle droids with modern weapons descended towards the ground, shooting both the aircraft and towards the ground forces when they got closer. They would loosely deploy in fire teams around the trench lines, heavies among them with grenade launchers and flamers. Their primary goal was the securing of a landing zone as well as establishing a perimeter for the wounded allies.

✠ ✠ ✠
​

In the Brentaal System the Aegis Aeterna jumped into hyperspace alongside two more Munificent-classes. It was a quickly assembled task force by Augustus Tassar.
​

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

Theme

Objective: I
Hearts of Kyber


Part 4A: Wrath of the Raider Fleet

LOCATION: ORBITAL WAR
Allies: -
Foes: Aurelian Sigismund

"HAMMER THEM! HAMMER THEM, BROTHERS, TIL THE SLEEPING KING HIMSELF HEARS OUR FURY!!!!" The Kel Dor's war cries are spat, as he throws away his rebreather. Driven by his malice and rage fueled by the Dark Side aura that filled the burning deck, he needed not of his rebreather anymore. Alas, the flames of the destroyer's wounds blaze the deck more than the malfunctioning lamps do, even under the thick pale shroud released by the failing life support. And so, as yet another destroyer disengages into hyperspace, the black tail of her fire bleed remains mid void, while the three others hammer the Phoenix with yet another barrage. Hunter Dogs... Unable to match any of their preys... wounding them more and more, up until te giant falls by the sling's pierce....

"Good work there, Prince..." Irratar Hemstagon intoned, gazing at the distant battlefield. A visible smirk was constant on his face, while his words came calm, with a twisted tension in each sentance. "Time to teach these warriors a taste of Athysian Warfare".

The Blood Spear slows down... Still a good distance away from the main battle...

"This is just.... good business..." Irratar said, without taking his eyes from the transparresteel window of the bridge.

The hooded woman falls on the marble-covered ground of the temple. "PLAGUE THEM, OH LORD!!!" her screams echoed in the vast chamber. Her trembling arms struggle to hold her torso from crushing on the ground, as blood drips from her mouth. Her long teeth grin, as she fails to hold the invisible essense that battles her strength to be vomed out of her body... The pain... A touch visible to the very eyes, as her grim cloak reflected the very light of the torchfire, soaked in the blood... Left and right, silver chains hang from the complex ceiling, which reaches out to the edges of the circular temple with the seven points of the gigantic star, carved onto the ceiling. She stood in the middle of her very own star, this one painted against the marble floor by the blood of the bodies that hanged from the chains. Their skin pierced, with the spikes of the hooks emerging from within, as they hold them above ground by the chains. In this circle of death and blood and savagery, the crone suffered...

"SLAY THEM, OH LORD! YOUR ANGELS BE OUR WRATH UPON THE FO-"

She could speak no longer, as the urge to cast away the invisible essense crushing her flesh-deprived body finally overcomes her. A black liquid essense is vomed from her ears, nose and mouth alike. Her fists strike against the floor, as lightning blasts across the chamber. The bodies tainted by the crimson aura emitted.... She now stood amidst the pool of blackness, as she lifted her bleeding eyes to gaze upon the hanged carcass of the flayed human. Her voice grows monsterous, as a deepest draconic growl breaks the dry pitch of her voice. "Hear me.... HEAR MEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The crone's scream pierces through iron and durasteel clearer than a plasma hypershot would... As her scream reaches the void, the spiked grim hull of the massive warship bleeds a crimson Dark aura that soon covers the entire of the ship in a thin layer, emitted from the very durasteel; Embraced in the dark essense, the warship sails forth, leaving a trail of blaze and energy behind her as if the ship herself... is tainted...

Lightning sparks occasionally all across the Hemstagon flagship. Onboard her bridge, Irratar Hemstagon takes deep breaths, enjoying the coming aura that emits from the deck. He embraces it... He embraces Him, as He fuels the Blood Spear for the coming battle...

"Send the hoplites... End the siege of the Brotherhood's base..."

By the hundreds, the Buzzers fill the void around the Raider Fleet... Readying for the coming carnage...
Not far from the Blood Spear, onboard the massive carrier, the Starbane bombers are lined on the hangar bay. Refueling, while the pilots perform the rites to the ancient War Gods of Athys, before mounting on their war engines, sailing for holy battle. The main hangar deck is crowdy. Engineers servicing the bombers, while crew and pilots alike push the heavy load towards the shuttle's bellies...

Below deck, the rather smaller Hangar bay roars. The Hoplites are bound by the thick pipes of the refueling station. Vast armored starfighters, heavier by far from the Buzzer counterparts. No, these were no ordinary fighters... These were the Athysian Elite; Veterans of the infernal wars beyond the clusters; Their fighters blood red, with bronze and golden frames all over the spiked form, while their wings are decorated with countless tattooes. Symbols of the War Gods, and Dark Spells marked upon them. The first, the War Gods see...

The red fabric dress covered the thin body of the woman. Her black hair let loose, messed up, with hair glued upon the sweat on her ritualistically scarred pale skin. Her lips slowly pulling back from his'. The Athysian moves his face towards her, craving for yet another moment of passion. But she would not offer anything more. Her nailed palm pushes his armored chest back, against the wing of the Hoplite. Her lustful gaze ventures deep in his blue eye. A scar had blinded the other, leaving it white in shade almost identical with his skin's. She moves her palm near her chest, curling it to a fist. Her long, unnaturally sharp black nails bleed her soft skin. She slowly brings her palm agains the fighter's wing, staining it. "This, to have me with you in the battle to come..." she says, before moving her palm. As she pulled, he grasps her arm, licking her still wounded palm.

"Go. Do not let the Chained One waiting..."

The man spent few moments looking at her eyes. Taking in as much as he could by a simple look, before he jumped over to the wing, climbing in the cockpit. Rusty, with more blood and decay than maintained iron... A dead carcass of an engine... The engineer unplugs the fueling pipe, quickly rushing away... Three more Hoplites were lined across the narrow hangar bay... Ready...
"Come back to me, with tales of your glory, Caryan..." the witch's voice distracted the pilot. Her voice came soft, promising... "Or do not return at all...." she would sound then, as her dark aura usurps the hangar. Her eyes turn fiery yellow.... The pilot nods, as he grins his teeth in determination...

"Come on now, old friend..." the pilot muttered, as he clicked and pulled and twisted the lightless switches. He then holds onto the twin steering levers. His eyes close, as he takes a deep breath. "Wake up, now... Remember your thirst, Chained One... Your hunger, your rage... Remember them and join me in a feast of death. Glory be mine... Blood shed, be yours... Wake now.... WAKE!!" the pilot's voice soon turns into loud screams.

"WAKE UP!!!"

He says as he repeatedly strikes aganst the cockpit's console. Each time, yet a more powerful lightning blazes. Suddenly, upon the final strike, a dragon-like roar echoes from the engine's depth... The pilot stops. His grin turning more and more into a laughter, as his eyes turn fiery by the taint of the Dark Side... The roaring of the engines suddenly blasts into hellfire, spat from the engines in a storm of blaze, melting the nearby fixtures...

The pilot fails to maintain his posture. Tainted by Madness, his head moves back and forth as he bursts in a maniacal laughter....
"Yes... YES....!! BLOOD! FIRE! THE CHAINS BE BROKEN!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHA"

The Hoplite pulls violently up from the deck, as the witch observes her spells accompanying him to the coming battle... His glory.. her work... A flawless; twisted bond of flesh and blood. Lust, and Envy...

The Hoplite Squadrons emerge from the grim hangars, as the endless swarms of the waving Buzzers advance.... A Hell-born host of Death... Heading to the coming Apocalypse....

No... The Raider Fleet wasn't here to help the Brotherhood... Oh no.... When did an Athysian ever helped? They have always been here, for the Terror. Brought from the edges of Wild Space to make a mark upon this world so deep, the very core shall know the name of the Athysian League and tremble in horror.... A glass-clear message to the next world, brave..... or fool enough to deny the ransom... the next one who shall challenge the Wrath of the Raider Fleets...!

The Kiss of Death now turns. Her unreal speed leaves a grim mark in the void... It cannot be fuel... It is an essense, nightmarish in nature; Grim like the void, hated like the murder's touch. The Tainted ship redeploys herself, as the Beam Cannon charges.... From the depths of the black unforgiving space, a rain of plasma, concussion missiles and rapid hellfire forecasts the coming of the Baron Gunship Squadrons, as the distance is thickened blurry, by the countless hordes of fighters and bombers, led by the feared Hoplites down the orbit... Fiery, as they enter, promising yet another strike to DECEASED Erskine Barran 's brave host... A strike five times stronger; Five times more furious... Five times... More horrifying than its last one...

One after the other, the cuncussion missiles aim at the Rim-Guard's fighters separating the coming hosts from the flagship...

A single word is spoken on both decks of the Kiss of Death and the Blood Spear... Both Athysian Warlords, uttering the initiation of chaos:

"Fire"

And so, the void blazed, in a chorus of destruction...


Part 4B: Frozen-dead Apocalypse

LOCATION: BROTHERHOOD TRENCHES
Allies: Maestus The Mongrel
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran

The thick, black shield wall of the Erevosian warband advances ahead of the trenchline. Fearless. Iron-willed. Savage... The thick testudo-formation unyielding by the constand barrages. Blasterfire, explosions and cannonfire. Hell was now spawned on Ilum's holy soil...
The shields suddenly open like blastdoors. From there, the berserk Fiend warriors unleash themselves in a relentless charge. Arcane-forged machetes weaving behind the towershields, carrying the promise of pain and dismemberment to the enemy host. Grenades and handcannons beam against the vehicles, from behind the shieldwall, while their monsterous war cries almost cover the very sound of the spreading carnage.

"BLOOD FOR THE FIEND!!!! PAIN FOR THE MAWLER SHELL!!!"

The Mawlerites rush to quickly cover the distance with their foes, in a chaotic charge against both vehicle and man alike. Their brutality soon to unravel. Their blades craving to cleave through the very armor of the enemies, blood-drunk to tear their limbs and eyes apart, refusing them the Warror's Death. Flamers blazed, crystalizing the blood against the snow, as the dark marauder horde now seemed to move to the offensive from the ground...

In the skies, the last remnants of the Athysian Bombers return to the Brotherhood's base and land. For few minutes, it felt as if aerial superiority was finally achieved. From within the burning carcass of one of the crashed Buzzers, a black shadow crawls through the fire of the rivering fuel and the deformed durasteel... The pilot... His armor now indistinguishable by his half-torn carcass, with one's eyes unable to determine where the melted fabric ended, and where the white of the bone begun; The very flesh had turned blackened, depriving the nightmarish figure of details such as eyes, or mouth... Deformed. Melted by the unimaginable heat of the burning Buzzer, he crawled against the blackened snow. "Silent King...! Dhefi... I see you...! I see you!" the broken voice came liquid, by the hanging exposed lungs beneath the ashen ribcage, before the pilot collapses into the silent pit of frozen death...

The pilots in the Brotherhood's stronghold jump out of their bombers, seeing the Mawlerite shuttles nearby at the platform. They laugh, greeting eachother as they point up the sky, to the Rim-Guard's warship.
"Look!" they said, "More meat for the Fiend's grinder! Maybe the Hemstagons get their share of glory afterall..."

In time, the skies now crack. The blaze of the Athysian swarms descending in their hundreds, engulfed in the flames of the atmosphere's struggle to resist them... Alas... Who can? Who can possibly resist such reckless fury...?

Irratar Hemstagon paces to the grim chamber. There was no light, but the fiery eyes, casting their shadow on his face. His ring-weighted palm reaches for the altar, where skulls are piled by the dozens, under the ivory statues of a bone amalgamation... "Empor... Lord of the Dead... Revel; The void I make, your church...."

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Post #6
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
BLUE-HEART BRIGADE

Objective 1: HEARTS OF KYBER

Allies (NIO): Lucien Dooku Dante Corvus Rurik Fel
Djorn Bline Izoshi

Allies (NJO/GA/RGO): Aurelian Sigismund

Enemies (BotM): The Mongrel Kyrel Ren Maestus Caedis Umbrammor Irratar Hemstagon

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-Infantry)
*Losses are always registered 1 post after the fact
126 Repulsorlift Tanks
12 Scout-AFVs
2 ACVs
1 Coy. Elite Riflemen
3 Plat. Quartermasters (Combat-Engineers)
1 Coy. Field-Medics

Brand's Crucible I - Clashing Lines

Careening downhill with reckless abandon, the Mongrel's swoop bikes appeared to number in the thousands as they swarmed the lower-half of the mountain, distributing their opened formation widely as they charged on the beleaguered company of Blue-Heart and Northern-Galidraani heroes. The Mawites sallying out would be charging on the cream of the crop, but would be facing the bulk of the Free-State line at their rowdiest shortly after; Brand couldn't help but marvel at their quickness to face their hardest challenges, their clear-as-day enamoured devotion to the thrill of it all, but Barran's newly-appointed 2IC knew there was more to this aggressive downhill charge for glory.

Deathly, brutalizing clashes awaited, yet there was a strange moment of calm in the moments leading up to Birrell's impending collision with the Mongrel's speeding mass of swoop-bikes, one that everyone behind the thirty-two charging tanks and AFVs had noticed; most raised eyebrows, but the smarter ones among them knew it meant only one thing, the smoky blizzard-covered lull was acting as a brief precursor to absolute mayhem. All but Brand were watching on, cheering the brave Leftenant on and applauding his resolve to the last as the friend of the forlorn hope's commander prayed for his passing to be swift. Incanting the ancient last rites, AFV One's hands were clasped together (with his head bowed) as Goliath One's ragged wedge in open-formation began firing off the last barrages they'd ever have the honour of enacting, a coup de grace that would be remembered as one of the Free-State's greatest example of Galidraani resolve.

'Amen.... Be seein' ya, Will.'

Even as the others watched on, Brand's eyes remained shut as the lines in the distance clashed with a mighty uproar of metallic commotion, inhaling shaky breaths though his nostrils, with tears streaming from both sides of his closed eyelids as the swoop bikes enveloped the fated tank crews of Birrell's forlorn hope. Explosions, wreckages, hard impacts of steely frames, roaring engines and shockwaves that could be felt in the pit of the AFV commander's stomach, and still his eyes remained shut to the devastation of the developments ahead, shut to the revealed Mawite fortress that had been built atop the mountain's summit he desired so much to reach before.

'SNAP OUT OF IT, SIR!!!! WE'VE ALL LOST SOMEONE ALONG THE WAY!!!!', Brand's turret-loader roared at the top of his lungs, snapping the AFV commander out of his despair and throwing him towards the comm-link unit before running back to return to readying the next few magazines for the wrathful gunner up-top. Looking back to the Commoner-Leftenant, the Lance-Corporal had change in attitude, but only to hit his point home in saying,'If you break down now, we're all as good as dead. The men need further orders, sir! We can't expect the Woad to do all the work now, can we?'. A fair point that served to further distract the Northern-Galidraani officer from his grief, bringing about a wrathful demeanour of his own as pulled his Calavaran rye from his pocket, finished the contents, and threw the hipflask to one side, knowing and caring little that it was already battered and scraped to hazardousness from multiple battles.

'All units, this is Brand! This is where the fight is decided, right here within this storm of snow and debris - the only theatre of war that ever made sense to us! You see those vehicles in front of us, charging into the enemy ranks like nothing could touch them? The men crewing them are heroes, and by the time our lines engage those of the men trying to kill them, those heroes you see before you now will be dead.... AND YOU'LL BE HONOURING EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM TODAY, UNDERSTAND?!?!?!?! FOR LORD BARRAN, LORD TAL, AND TAVLAR - IMPERATOR!!! WE BLEED FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!'

Goliath One's Blackbox (Easter-Egg for the Maw)

'Lets - aaaaAAAAAH FETH!!! Let's give these 'ard fethers a bloody nose before we - before we kick it, sir! Aim straight f'the center-mass and try punching through to the trenchlines! It's our only.... UGH!!! Our only 'ope of makin' summat of this forlon 'ope! Nout much else we can d-do elsewise, sad - lyyy....'

'Cameron? Kark it all t'hell, man! Cameron! Oh.... See you in the afterlife, mate.', Birrell painfully groaned as he tried to get a response from the turret-loader, watching on with tearful rage as the Lance-Corporal exhaled his last breath. The crewman's body would slump down to a crouch behind the magazine-feeder, but his eyes were still visible to the Commoner-Leftenant when his knees brought the sliding motion to stop at nose level with the upper-rim of the loaded shell-magazine, with eyes wide open for all in the tank's front compartments to see. When the young NCO-crewman's eyes rolled back into his eyelids, the Commoner-Leftenant then crawled over, grunting and growling with the agony of doing so until he reached the turret-loader's corpse, closing the young Dunwaller's eyelids as he muttered,'Rest in peace, Marbury. You've done enough for now, lad. Even given us an idea t'work with goin' forward, for goodness sake! But in the meantime, God be with you.'

'So what now, sir? We leadin' the charge, or....? We have enough weight t'punch through, mind.'

The driver, missing his left arm, had to change into high-gear with his right arm when they forayed beyond their place in the Blue-Heart's offensive static-line, but had made a decent torniquet to limit the blood-loss as much as possible since, a small relief for Birrell in that moment, though it was was small for the reason that he could still see the driver's blood gathering in a puddle that grew wider every time the Leftenant looked. Catching the Northern-Galidraani officer in the act, the Tuath-born driver chuckled and exchanged a reassuring nod with his commander before turning round and letting the Commoner-Leftenant get to his duties in peace, waving off his predicament like it was just an occupational hazard of the job's most-mundane aspects.

Smiling at the steadfast nature of the soldiers of Galidraan III, always impressed with their martial prowess, even in the face of certain-death, Birrell chuckled a little at the driver's successful attempt to put it out of both their minds, then grabbed the comm-link device from it's respective unit for the last time and barked,'All Forward-operating vehicles - this... This is Birrell! Follow my lead, lower your barrells, and keep pushing forward as one! This is the last push, gentlemen. Let's chamber our last salvo, and when our lines clash, we punch through their vanguard like lances on horseback! LIKE THE GOOD OL' DAYS, EH?!?!?! All jokes aside, I'm proud of those who charged out with us; thank you all for understanding when it mattered most, and God save Galidraan!', with the enthused, authoritative tone of a proper martial-disciplinarian, throwing away his comm-device as he slid down the wall in a light-headed haze.

'Sir? Oor turret isn'nae movin'. Guess it's just you an' me noo, mate.... Rest in peace, Smith. You made Goliath One a pride of men - one that dies like men! Godspeed, Archaisian.'

Closing in on the swoop bikes, the Goliaths at the front of the speeding wedge-formation would receive early flak from small-arms fire and rockets, but the momentum and the tanks behind them would keep them moving forward as the slack was taken up by all pushing from behind the front-to-back impacts, long enough for McEmmal to call for impact-brace twice in anticipation. Even though some of the rockets had made frontal wreckages of the frontal arrowhead of the formation, the rolling mass of broken metal behind it would throw their line into that of the Brotherhood like the early-flak never even mattered, but the Maw were much too smart to think they could do anything of importance with their first shots, though all who were present for this battle-within-battles knew this was merely to probe the opposition for further exploitable weaknesses.

The first ranks of the Mongrel's racing superbikes would attempt to veer around the massed Goliaths, but the formation was still too wide for them to escape, made all the worse by some of the speeders behind them attempting to make the same turns and evasions also; and when the lines eventually clashed with a mass of clunks, cracks, thuds and belly-shaking sonic impacts of all varieties, the bikes began to break away with the protective husks of the Galidraani tanks, though Birrell's forlorn hope was moving with enough momentum to mow down much of the unfortunate central-vanguard. However, up until that point, the tanks had held fire as ordered, but had been smart enough to know that they had the freedom to judge the right moment for themselves; and as soon as the first turret began letting loose with the last shells in their loader-bay, all the others who could followed suit with everything they had left.

'That's how it's done! Wait, NO-'

A power lance been driven through the Tuath's driver-viewport, decapitating him immediately as the power lance itself lodged into the compartment wall behind the headrest, and Birrell saw it all. Covered in the blood-spatter, the Goliath commander closed his eyes when he saw the grenade follow soon after, with enough time to mutter,'See you in a moment, Dad.', before the detonation brought his existence to a spectacular, explosive end. Birrell wouldn't get to see what happened next, but if he had, he would be angry that he hadn't smiled in anticipation of the masterstroke's success, though the success itself would be shortlived. The swoop bikes were ready to use the Goliaths' momentum against them, and the successes found on the mass's frontal layer would be found in the gaps left by those the Mongrel's bikes had made just moments before; the rest would be a simple slaughter until the Lord-Commander's impending arrival, but the impact of just thirty tanks and two AFVs was just a morsel compared to what the Mawites had to face next.
​

​

 

[Annasari]

Kanto

Annasari's expression shifted from neutral to ponderous as she considered all the Chiss had laid before her. Nothing had slipped by, but especially not the threat. However, it was an admirable thing, his passion for his nation.

"As you have spoken on, the Alliance's relations with our neighbors are far from simple. Though we both see the need for another in such a turbulent galaxy, we are not of the same stuff. Where the Imperials seek to subjugate and assimilate, the Alliance instead cultivates and nourishes. While this may sound like poltical rhetoric, I promise you, I speak from a place of understanding your concern. Before I came to power on Jakku, Imperialists and Corporatist alike sought to steal what belonged to my peoples and leave them to rot on the backwater planet. As you can gather with me sitting before you- democracy prevails. I will not make false promises regarding Chiss space; As the Brotherhood and Imperials both grow closer, as well as the establishment of the outbound flight program, it is likely our borders may move farther north. However, I can promise you that all Chiss planets under the Alliance Umbrella will be subject to the same representation as those in the core."

It was likely not the answer he wanted to hear, nor the one the senator wanted to give, but it was an honest one, at the very least.

"The dangers of the New Imperial's has never been lost on me, despite our mutual need. Imperialism is synonymous with expasionism; a threat not only to the Ascendency and all worlds in their way, but also to our democracy. In the coming months, we hope to reduce this threat through cooperation with our Triumvirate counterparts. In the meantime, this defense pact is a promising solution."

She gestured for a moment before pulling a datapad from beside her. She quickly jotted in a few notes to add to a future bill.

"I cannot fully authorize such a thing; being the chair of foreign affairs, though, I can promise to propose it to the Senate as quickly as possible. The lure of Fort Typhos may well be enough to gather support." Looking up from the screen, she cocked her head. "I must ask, however, to prepare us fully for such a commitment: Will all Imperial reach within Chiss space be seen as hostile action by the Ascendency?"

 

[Tarok Vassket]

"They will never let you leave with their holy crystals," the Taskmaster pointed out, "unless you make them."

"Hmm."

Tarok hadn't expected to be presented with a weapon immediately. However, having had his cannon destroyed by one of the Brotherhood it would prove most useful in getting out of here alive.

"You timed raid badly," Tarok said, turning away. It was hard to tell from his tone whether it was a question or an observation.

The crew of warriors fell into step behind him. As did slaves pushing carts of crystals. Tarok didn't think quickly, but the way he was being used was obvious. A bartering ram to help them get out of these caves with their spoils. For now, it was mutually beneficial.

As he moved through the roughly hewn tunnels he mused on how he might use them in turn. Some might have thought of that as a mutually beneficial relationship, but Tarok knew the truth of this world. You took advantage of others, or you suffered in turn. In the chaos and the carnage there was only strength.

He sought out those who would oppose his.

 

[Maestus]

Cold. That was the thought racing through Maestus mind right now. Why did it have to be so fething cold again? First Csilla, now Ilum. What next...Hoth?! The cold was all the worse due to the wind whipping straight through her as she raced along on her swoopbike beside The Mongrel . The cold licked at the fire within her, threatening to stifle it. Snuff it out.

She could not allow that to happen.

To mitigate the cold, she called on the hate and rage ever present, even at a slow simmer. She stoked the fires within her. The heat began returning to her limbs. She flexed first one hand, then the other as they came upon the massive vehicles heading directly towards them.

Then she stopped the swoopbike and stepped off, staring down the behemoths that threatened.

Her eyes fixated on the lead vehicle. She raised her arms, hands reaching out towards it. Her eyes sought for her target: The power supply, engine, motor. Whatever made this thing move and fire any weapons it may have.

Calling on the Dark Side, she began to Drain the Energy from it. Her goal was to stop the thing in its tracks, rendering it useless. And trap its crew.

Exerting her will, she could feel the energy begin to drain. Now to see it dead. ​

​

 

[Janos Sovv]

JEDI TEMPLE
ILUM
UNKNOWN REGIONS
Auteme Aeris Lashiec

"Hm? Yes, whatever you s-say master."

Hero's teeth were chattering so much he stuttered in his thick Basic accent. He would have found all this ancient Jedi lore just as fascinating if the sullustan were not colder than he'd ever been before in his life. Moving to a temperate world like Coruscant had been difficult enough. Nothing could possibly survive here. Even this temple defied his comprehension.

"So how long does it t-take ice t-to melt anyway?"

With nowhere else to go Padawan Sovv slowly paced around the chamber. He tried to rub some circulation ineffectually back into his hands. When the young Jedi finally beheld twin massive statues for what they were he stepped. One was a crumbling ruin above its torso but its counterpart had withstood the test of time. Hero tried to imagine what the sculpted temple guardians would have looked like in their original glory.

"Wow."

Memories were etched into the foundations of this place. He'd seen holoimages of ancient Jedi ruins from all over the galaxy but standing in one made everything feel more real somehow. Hero felt connected to the Jedi like his own ancestors. Thousands of years of tradition. Countless before him had undertaken the same pilgrimage from Coruscant to distant Ilum. Only this time the New Jedi Order was back to stay.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1
Engaging: Rurik Fel
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran
Allies: The Mongrel Maestus


Soon, he had finally managed to meet up with the Imperial Knight, a stark contrast between the two. One was cloaked in white, and wore an iron mask to cover his face. Something similar with Kyrel wrapped in darkness, a mask that showed stitches, and his eyes remained visible. One remained the same brown hue that Rurik had seen years ago, but the other eye was an eerie blue color.

His blade remained ignited, but lowered down. As if posed to not strike yet. But to test and see what the Iron Master would say. His enhanced senses told him, that the Iron Master was wary. No doubt he could sense the bloodlust coming from the Master of Ren, even noticing that his hands were reaching close for his saber. Ready to respond in kind.

He spoke cutting thick through the silence, his voice was not angry, but somber and sympathetic. Perhaps even pitted the monster that Kyrel became in death. Kyrel’s response was a scoff, then he spoke. “I take it you will not leave Iron Master. Allow me to tell you that there are some things perhaps worse than death.”

He slowly started to pace around the Iron Master, his saber giving a faint hum, as he looked to his former comrade in arms. “The Sith, the Bryn, what you have seen will not compare what is to come.... I do not think you will survive to see the shape of things to come.” He said the last sentence with a hint of guttural venom within the damaged vocal chords.

With his words, he moved with quickness, speed that was not human, nor that of an alive being. What stood before him radiated like a pure beacon in the Force. The same mantra echoed in his head. The necromancers always speaking to him. ‘Consume, Destroy, Kill, Devour.’ These thoughts were more like beast in instinct. The stronger a foe was in the Force made him behave as if a hungry savage. When he moved, he proceeded to lift his blade in both hands. The Ren Master moved like the brute he was, wielding the dark side as if a heavy hammer to bash into his enemies. A primitive and yet unpredictable method of the dark side.

What came was a series of heavy attacks, meant to test the strength of the Imperial Knight. Knowing and even expecting the Iron Master to block his blade, even countering him. The caves glowed with the crystals as the savage darkness sought to drown out the staunch discipline of an Imperial Knight.

 

[The Mongrel]

Objective I - Hearts of Kyber​

Location: Ilum, Frozen Plains
Allies: Maestus | Caedis Umbrammor
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Aurelian Sigismund

High above the ground battle, their advance silhouetted by bursts of turbolaser fire, the two squadrons of Doomsayers closed in on the White Flame. They largerly ignored the Skytroopers spilling out of the enemy vessel, their heavy shields and armor allowing them to plow through the few bursts of weaponsfire that struck them as the jump infantry descended; they were intent on a greater prize. With a terrible shrieking sound resembling the yowling of a million tortured felinxes, they opened up on the enemy Munificent-class with their fire-linked ion cannons. Blue bolts streaked across Ilum's skies in an unbroken stream, the barrage slamming into their foe's shields from a dozen angles.

If they could keep the pressure up, those shields would surely fall.

On the ground, The Mongrel noticed none of this. The bloodthirsty howling of the Mawler warbands, the buzzing descent of the Athysian fighters, all of the boneshaking clamor just blended into background noise for him. His entire world had narrowed to the point of his lance, aimed straight at the metallic heart of his foe. His focus was perfect. He banked, dodged, and weaved as the Galidraani fired up the slope. A burst of enemy fire ripped apart the swoop bike a couple of meters to his left, and he didn't even blink. The frigid wind was screaming past his face, but even that was drowned out by the rushing of blood in his ears and the thumping of his heart. The gore-hunger held him now.

His focus was all that saved his life, for it allowed him to notice - just in time - that the colossal enemy Goliaths were closing ranks. The heavy vehicles, wounded but still imposing, had formed a solid front of heavy durasteel plating... and they had left no gaps for the center ranks of swoops to rush through. Several swoops, either left with no time to turn or caught up in fanaticism, simply crashed head-on into the enemy, becoming balls of expanding fire as their engines exploded from the impact. An old joke from a long-forgotten life before the Maw surfaced suddenly in The Mongrel's mind. What's the last thing to go through a scout trooper's head when he hits a tree? His afterburner.

Other swoops, including The Mongrel's, attempted to swerve to avoid this new armored front. Many of them became tangled in one another, marauders flying over the handlebars and slamming into the churned permafrost as they collided. While the flanks could easily evade around the edges of the Goliath formation, the center could not... and that was where The Mongrel had found himself, leading from the front. He had less than a second to react, to choose between slamming into the heavy vehicles of the enemy or the light bikes of his own warriors. Unless... unless he could find another solution. Thinking fast, he swerved toward one of the crashed bikes... then angled his repulsorlifts and hit the fuel boost, ramping off of the wreck.

He was flying up, up, up, soaring over the line of armored vehicles... and then back down, streaking toward the middle of the armored column. He had traveled in a six-meter high arc, his momentum and sudden change of direction carrying him far higher than any swoop bike was intended to go. The bike slammed back down, and The Mongrel wrenched his legs upward so that they didn't hit the ground with bone-shattering force. The swoop itself shrieked as its metal bottom scraped along the permafrost, and the impact slammed the seat against the marauder's tailbone... but, incredibly, it shot forward again. The snow had been soft enough not to rip out the machine's guts from below.

Throwing his weight to one side while wrenching the handlebars to the other, The Mongrel bled speed, spinning his bike back around to face the direction he'd come from. He'd managed to keep hold of his lance, and he still had every intention of using it; his eyes blazed and his jaw clenched, reflections of his fury at having his glorious charge disrupted. He should have known that the Galidraani would, as usual, have a tactic for disrupting such a simple, barbaric advance... but he had survived, and enough of his men on the flanks had as well. Now the Free State soldiers would pay. Already he could hear superheated lances tearing through the sides of the enemy vehicles, exacting their revenge.

His turn. Kicking the engine back to full, The Mongrel aimed himself directly at the centermost Goliath. As he raced forward once again, he caught a glimpse of Maestus on the far side of the wall of mobile armor; she had stopped her bike and now stood alone in the snow, arms outstretched, power swirling around her. He had no idea what she was doing, but it was certain to be devastating. He would have to claim his glory, and his vengeance, before that happened, or there might be nothing left for him to destroy. So he hit the boost again, closing in on the command Goliath, lace raised to shoulder height. "War! Death! Rebirth!" he screamed, feeling the roar of the bike rattle his teeth.

And then, all at once, the wrenching crash of impact.

The Mongrel felt his arm nearly wrenched from its socket as his lance struck home, its superheated tip drawing a long, molten line through the underbelly of his heavily-armored target. Sparks flew as the anti-vehicle weapon ripped through heavy plating to annihilate the circuity beneath. Just as planned, the lance kept traveling, deflecting up the face of the Goliath. The veteran marauder grinned... and then pushed off from the bike, holding onto the lance as it ascended. Beneath him, the swoop hit the bottom of the Goliath and detonated, lift from the shockwave and accompanying fireball carrying him higher, higher... until the lance pierced right through the driver's viewport.

Hanging from the lance one-handed, he tossed a grenade inside.

The Mongrel hit the ground hard; he'd dropped a considerable distance, and into slush melted by the flames of his exploded swoop. His leg, rigid where he had to wear a thick brace after the saber wound he'd taken on Batuu, buckled beneath him as he fell, and he hissed in pain. He caught himself on his hands and knees just as the cockpit above him exploded, crippling the Goliath... and, though the marauder didn't know it, putting an end to poor, heroic Birrell. All around him, the brave but doomed armored company was falling apart, being ripped up piece by piece as the surviving swoops closed the noose around it. But it had only been one clash in a long, long battle, and the cost had been high.

Now The Mongrel was stranded in the half-melted snow, vehicles burning all around him, the air thick with smoke. His tailbone was bruised, his leg twisted, his arm dislocated, his lance and transportation gone. Gritting his crooked teeth, the warleader slammed his shoulder against the burning hulk of Birrell's Goliath hard, then howled his rage and pain into the smoke. His vision swam... but his arm was back in its socket. Reaching into the many hidden folds of his clothing, he produced a blaster pistol in one hand and a vibroknife in the other. He had to get back into the fight. He had to keep buying time, or the great plan of the Dark Voice would be disrupted. That could not be allowed.

Above him, descending elegantly through the smoke and swirling snow, were the Skytroopers from the White Flame, those that had landed quickly taking up positions in the ruins of the outer trenches. The Mongrel swore, a dark curse frowned upon by even the Heathen Priests; now there were enemies between him and the mining base. That would be bad news at the best of times... but the Galidraani would surely be closing in, hungry for revenge. The small group of Maw fighters he'd led out of the base were about to be pinned between two enemy forces. Regrouping was essential. Raising his wrist comm, The Mongrel sent out a signal to the other swoop riders, gathering them.

They zoomed in to reach him, slipping through the gaps of the destroyed heavy armor, readying their flak cannons, missile launchers, and lances. Among the hulks of burning Galidraani tanks, the Maw survivors made a stand, ready to fire on any who approached...

 

[Xashe Tistya]

ok i pilgrim

GANG_GANG: Creuat

​

Shock took her face as her blade was sawed in two. The beauty of the destruction was not lost on her as she watched the sparks fly and subsequently fade. When they were snuffed, she stood a little taller. The last chain to her old life had finally been severed.

"Wow, that..." She began. "That almost feels, freeing?"

As the pair stepped into the temple, the harsh winds stopped. The cold was still there- but it wasn't nearly as bad without the invisible, icy whips. Xashe lowered her hood, looking around the dank hall. As they continued forward, she spoke again.

"I read once, in a paper, that an old master theorized they could feel emotion."

She wondered if that meant sentience- being a crystal seemed an awful life to have.

"What does it feel like, when you're searching? How will I know I have the right one?"

 

[Auteme]

Aeris Lashiec Janos Sovv ​

Hero's shivering didn't go unnoticed, and though she partly regretted not sending him with the other padawans to Tython to learn to control his own temperature, she found herself smiling as she offered a bit of advice.

"When I need warmth, I generally focus on a memory," she said. "I know that's a bit cheesy, but- it works. For me, it's usually the first time I was out in the snow. It was on Arkania, I think, and I couldn't stop sniffling, and I thought my fingers would freeze off, but my body started to warm up anyways." She'd been so young; yet every experience informed the next.

"Maybe your homeworld?" It wasn't the most out-there suggestion -- after all, Sullust had a much hotter surface than Ilum. That was probably why Hero was having a much harder time compared to Aeris or Auteme. Human adaptability at work, she supposed. Plus, her own relative mastery of her own warmth made the layers she needed far lighter.

Her attention turned back to Aeris, just as she followed the other knight's hands over the engravings. "Those ones, yes, but-" she pointed to the ice, "I meant the engravings just within the caverns themselves. Many of them are done by Jedi in a sort of revelatory state as they construct their lightsabers.

"We don't need to record them, maybe, I just... was curious if we could make any out," she said.

Almost on cue, light struck the great crystal at the top of the chamber, beginning to melt away at the icy door.

 

[Halketh]

S I M P L E M A N
V U L T U R E
// ILUM \\
// CLOSED | Darth Solipsis \\

​

"Search your feelings.. you know don't you? You were born for this.."

Heaving chest and stuttered breath, the miraluka kept his head fixed in the direction of the black, sickly energy that was Darth Solipsis , glowering in his mind's eye at the wretched, soul-shriveled shell of a man who was, no doubt, something greater once upon a time. Never had he a choice in his fate, never in his path, it felt, as Fate was often cruel and unkind to him in how it wove his threads together and scorched out the rare parts of his tapestry that he had come to adore. The galaxy was a cruel place, especially to one who longed to be anything but.

His past had shaped him into a man of benevolence, led astray by some greater entity he could never quite place, yet... he had always strived to do right by himself. No one else, not anymore. He had aimed to please his Master ages ago, and the Council over him as well. Then it was living day to day to satisfy and please himself, serving the purpose and role he set out for himself, carving a destiny in the expanses of the galaxy that had long been untouched. It wasn't until the madness of echoing isolation settled in that he had changed for the worse, plummeting in the spiraling insanity he had come to trust with his life on more than one occasion. Sparse few had even glimpsed that truth of his.

And even less, still, had been able to see through it. ​

Ezra Dune .​

Crimson streams trickling from his nose still, Halketh hefted an exhausted hand upward, raking the back of his knuckles beneath to wipe his mouth clean. The taste of iron had always clouded his judgment. The grip his ringed, bloody fingers held on his lightsaber's hilt hardened, tightening until his pallid knuckles washed a lighter shade. It was a simple manipulative trap that he had sprung, perhaps with intention. This was a fight he had known from the start that he could not win, not here where he was cut off from the resources he required to place himself at equal power to the Dark Voice.

But there were more layers to such a thing than one with a single-minded goal might have been able to perceive.

He had effectively shaped the situation into a stalemate where, rather than having no chance of survival, Solipsis was intent on keeping him. Not just sparing, but keeping him. Adopting him beneath his blackened wing and taking him in as Shadow Hand. He could not serve if he was dead, no, his survival was all but guaranteed now. It was a glorious offer, truly, one that played into the sense of security the miraluka had always yearned for. His status now was unsure, his role temporary. He could die, eventually, without achieving anything worth memory. That's what he would think, of course, were he not so stubborn.

No, it was he who had carved his path across the galaxy.

It was he who had toiled on Carlac to raise a world from the edges of society and ushered it to the forefront of advancement and power.

It was he who had taken a silent oath when he had stepped forth from the shadows that he would not be so easily bent and molded again; those mistakes were fleeting and few.

The Vulture's head panned, tracing down the web of energy manifesting in his blurry, unsteady sight that formed the Sith Lord's hand. He stepped forth, extending his own Dark-touched grasp unto the Dark Voice's, taking his hand.

"I'm unsure what I was born for...." he uttered, tongue flicking across the fronts of his teeth briefly, "though I'm becoming certain it was for this."

A sudden, bleeding-edge seized his tone as he growled and wrenched the hand he clutched toward himself, twisting the opposite wrist about with deceptive deftness with intent to run the still-humming blade of his saber through Darth Solipsis 's exposed gut in their intimate closeness.​

 

[Aurelian Sigismund]

✠ High Imperator of the Rim-Guard Order ✠

✠ Objective: I. Hearts of Kyber
✠ Location: Aboard The Phalanx, entering Ilum System
✠ Gear: Agema-Armour, Lancer-pistol, lightsaber pike, holo-transmitter
✠ Assets: The Phalanx, the White Flame, two Paladin Banners (FG) (181), Skytroopers
✠ Tag(s):
Space​

Adversaries: Caedis Umbrammor

Allies: Open

Ground​

Adversaries: The Mongrel , Maestus

Allies: DECEASED Erskine Barran , open

⮚ THEME​

The Phalanx' turbolasers and ion-cannons were still shooting, pulsating with every release of energy even though they were not on full power anymore, they were still targetting the smaller destroyers. The old Zakuulan ship was strained to say the least, the incoming fire of the reinforcements was finally overpowering its mighty shields, but its capabilities were not yet reached.

The moment before the shields failed, the ship emitted a pulse of electro-magnetic energy, shorting out both the remnants of its own fighters and everything else electrical in a radius around the ship. It was a weapon designed to overpower planetary shields or defence systems, but was not unfocused and sned out as a strong wave around the Phalanx.

Right afterwards the more squadrons of starfighters launched from the ship along with swarms of boarding pods, thousands of droids being carried into battle to destroy what would be left of the ships. Dozens of drop pods would directly move for Caedis ship, the 5th Banner and Princeps Maximus Vrihedd among them, guarded by starfighters before they would pierce the enemies hull to bring the fight directly to the enemy, alongside the Skytroopers of the Order. Only those ships with shields would be targetted, those without were reserved for the Orders master.

Aiglos was standing on the bridge of his ancient battle chariot and watching how the damage slowly but steadily mounted. The hull was strong, but would not stay that way for long.

"Maximum spread, I want 100% efficiency. I want the shields back online, prepare the engines for micro-jump, hold a squadron of Stormeagles ready to get the Fifth back."

The first command was directly aimed at the weapons officers who were responsible for the assault concussion missiles which would now be shot at the ships which had no shields anymore, attempting to take them out with the heavy missiles.

✠ ✠ ✠​

The old Munificent-class was targetted by a multitude of enemies, fighters and bombers alike as well as some ground installed weapon emplacements. Its Captain was steadily trying to maintain the ships integrity. He was shouting commands, angry about this reckless deployment of his ship by a paladin commander he did not even know. They were holding well, the big armament allowing to shoot down both Maw and Athysian aircraft, but there were quite many and they had no fighter screen and all requests towards the Phalanx were denied. The shields would soon fail and then those multi-roles would unleash their heavy ion charges to disable the ship.

Princeps Maximus Marcus was seeing all this. He was watching through his HUD, seeing more or less a 3D projection of the battlefield, ground and air, in his helmet interface. The engines of the Stormeagles were heated up and now they just waited for the right moment. The pilots knuckles were white in their flight suits, the hands shaking as their instructions were very clear, the Princeps was not leaving anything to chance.

There. There it was. The gap he had waited for, the enemies fighters were disorganised and their attack runs not coordinated and random, but Marcus' calculations said that at some point they would all either been too close to change their run or moving away from the ship. That was the moment they waited for and now the Stormeagles jumped out of the hangars, all their energy to the engines and shields, diving directly towards the ground, targetting the area directly inside the mining base, behind their walls.

The heavy gunboats were like falling angels, the large wings extended, the engines roaring. The pilots and gunners instructions were clear and precise. They would demolish he ground area with all they had to prepare the assault landing. Inside were nearly hundred battle-brothers and sisters under the command of Marcus. Warriors even considered exemplarily by the other Paladins, the 11th was absolutely disciplined and absolutely suited for the battle ahead.

Meanwhile the Skytroopers were engaging the black Athysian troops and supporting the Galidraan forces against the swoops, utilising their own jetpacks to compete with their agility and speed.

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

Post #7
GALIDRAANI FREE-STATE
BLUE-HEART BRIGADE

Objective 1: HEARTS OF KYBER

Allies (NIO): Dante Corvus Rurik Fel
Djorn Bline Izoshi

Allies (NJO/GA/RGO): Aurelian Sigismund

Enemies (BOTM): The Mongrel Kyrel Ren Maestus Caedis Umbrammor Irratar Hemstagon

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-Infantry)
*Losses are always registered 1 post after the fact
96 Repulsorlift Tanks (-30)
10 Scout-AFVs (-2)
2 ACVs
1 Coy. Elite Riflemen
3 Plat. Quartermasters (Combat-Engineers)
1 Coy. Field-Medics

Brand's Crucible II - Rise of the Rooster

'Leftenant Brand, sir! Are you seein' what ah'm seein' the-noo?'

Nodding in response to his own indomitable Tuath-born driver, offering a quick affirmative before the comms lit up with activity from units in the advancing first and second offensive lines, Brand was looking uphill with a smile on his face before his driver piped up. Less than a kilometer away, the pileups had stuck out from the burning, smoke-filled blizzard around them, showing that the brash actions of Birrell's forlorn hope had proven to have aided in partly clearing the approach to the first trenchline; seeing this, it became easier for Brand to formulate a strategy he knew was applicable for the situation at hand, so Brand got back into his seat beside the AFV's comm-link unit and sifted through to the most-revelant picks of the Blue-Hearts' comm-chatter.

<"Collingsworth to AFV One! Leftenant Birrell might already be dead, but the Maw's swoop-bike contingent don't look so good either. They're re-orging in and around the Goliath wreckages, probably rallying on their commander. Any further orders?">
Bladdy 'ell! Smells o' Mongreldom, that does.... Wouldn't put it past that nutjob to try summat that fething mental anyways.

'Brand to Goliath Four-Zero! Seen, but stand by on-the-move please. Need t'get eyes on a few things before the movement orders are changed definitively.'

The formation had drawn closer in their advance, seeing from early on that Goliath One's tactical approach was going to be close-knit until the blizzards obscured the last segments of the swoop-bike hostilities, but even then, the Galidraani contingent were mostly (and correctly) self-assured of the damage Birrell's broken-hulled charge had inflicted, and confident in the Northern-Galidraani Leftenant's abilities overall. The static line had no need to be so wide any more, something that the experienced survivors of the battle of Csilla intuitively tapped into when the saw the consolidation efforts of the swoop-bikes in the distance, and thus were slowly making a point of closing in on each other as they waited for further orders; and without any complaints from Brigade-Command, there were no discouragements offered for the naturally instinctive efforts of their subordinates.

Barran was with him, along with everyone else, and this realization alone had proven vital to reigniting the fire that waned in his soul, rejuvenating a man who, otherwise, would've broken down and left it all to Lord Erskine to coordinate on his own. AFV One's eyes were red, bloodshot and itchy from the despair of Birrell's final moments, but the pupils were dilating, displaying a rush that was beginning to have something of a narcotic effect on the Stormchaser's Northern-Galidraani subordinate, such that had never before been seen by the AFV's crewmen around him. Something that stirred, perhaps even awoke something within them as the driver began a string of personal fist-over-heart salutes to the man Brand had just become.

'WAKEY-WAKEY, LADS!!!', the young commoner screamed, with no parade-ground decorum deepening it from the gut, just a throaty roar of inherent Galidraani rage one might expect to hear echoing from within the lower-ranks. Common as muck, but in that moment, there was no self-consciousness to be seen on the matter, not even a care in the world could be read in the sardonic, though clearly-murderous expression of the AFV commander; the crewmen knew right then and there that this Leftenant Brand, the one who seemed well-adjusted to contrastingly confident degrees than before, was going to grow on them before long. The tentative-veteran of multiple career-defining battles arrived to Ilum just hours before, clearly unaware of the legend he was to become before the fight met it's conclusion; live or die, win or lose, Brand would become the true warrior he was destined to become by the time the smoke cleared.

<"Collingsworth to AFV One! So what's the plan, sir? We can see the wheels of their bikes now, time to act-">

'Absolutely, Goliath Four-Zero! We split the entirely line off at the center and go around the wreckages and the compacted swoop-bikes instead! Only thing is, we ain't letting the opposition off that easily - nooo way, Collingsworth. Not this time, I don't care what Gowrie says, I'm not that respectful to let my friend's death go unanswered.... Aim every barrel inward, an' when we pass by on both sides - GIVE 'EM A TASTE OF THE AP-SHELLS!!!! AFV One out!'

<"All units, this is Barran! Belay the aggressive stipulations of that order! No offense to Leftenant Brand, but I would have brief words with the Mongrel as you continued uphill! He's here, and soon to be within earshot! That means you should keep yer smoothbores facin' uphill as you split off and drive around the swoop-bike formation! No ifs, no buts, just get it done! Sorry, Brand.... But you have obligations to the Wildcats as I do. Blue-Heart Alpha out!">

Another Ideal Battlefield IX - An Overdue Confirmation

'Now, don't get me wrong; ah like that enthusiasm, an' t'see that in a Northern-Galidraani is even more wondrous to behold, so ah'll be sure ti use that goldmine ti get us uphill for sure. Just canni be lettin' 'im deny the Kellas his chance to learn the swordcraft.... After all, what Gowrie could learn in that fight could change the way our officers fight the Sith in CQC doun the line, Deaney. Plenty cost-effective ways t'move wae the times, isn't there?'

The crew of the Saga were veering off towards the right-hand side of the formation split, though making a leisurely point of slowing down to become the last vehicle to pass by the piled-up masses of broken bikes and tanks alike, and all within being unusually calm about the next part of Barran's plan as they did so. All were happy to stop on their way by, though dwarfed by their aggressive willingness to step out the Sloane-door with Lord Erskine in contrast, knowing that the Stormchaser presented a much-riper target for the Maw's most-ambitious of marauders; it would be an odd parley to delegate with naked steel, but Barran's tribalistic ways had allowed him to delegate such knife's-edge negotiations with sword drawn before, so long as his demeanour remained casual for the entirety of the discussion.

'No gonni lie, Milord. Ah jus' wanty see them gawn at it! Closer we get ti Galidraan, closer ah feel ah'm are ti the traditions that make us Galidraani deep doun! Watchin' you, Lord Gowrie an' any other toff o' the Blue-Hearts wage war makes me understand whit separates oor officers fi the others in the galaxy. Like competent commanders wae suhin' else thrown in, an' that suhin' else never relied on,"The Force", in any way, shape or form.... God guides hands such as yours, an' there is nuhin' mare satisfying than seein' the divine hand manifest in warfare, sword-duels an' bareknuckle bouts alike! The Galidraani ways of old! The archetypal warrior, cleaving out his own path with his own karkin' HAUNS!!! So whitever the Lord-Colonel uncovers in his fight with the Mongrel, ah have nae doubt in mah mind it's gawnty be a beauty seein' it put intae practice.'

It was as if the words had been taken right from everyone's mouths, then amplified from the same singular conduit throughout, and none within the Saga minded one bit; Deaney had never spoken so profoundly of home before, and though they knew his teetotal thrills could only come from driving through battle like a maniac, everyone within earshot was left utterly speechless by the eloquence of it. Even as the Goliath/Swoop-Bike graveyard approached in the not-so-distant vicinity of the back of the right flank's splitting-column, Lord Erskine and the others would gladly sit in silence and let their driver's wisdom sink in for just a little longer, even as the Stormchaser slid the Sloane-door open for their impending exit. The silence itself, however, would be broken in the moment Deaney began slowing the ACV down, stopping at the nearest Goliath husk as every other Blue-Heart vehicle pushed on ahead, an eventuality none wished to rush into, especially not after the rousing words of the Saga's driver.

'Well said, Deaney.... Keep the engine running, I have no such plans to hang around here, not with the debris an' ships that could land just about anywhere around here.... "Priority-target procedures", and all that nonsense, eh? It seems the sword will just need to settle for someone else's throat today, so be it! Stand by and grab a rifle in the meantime, all on me for the parley.'

With SA-35s drawn, (having refused the new model on behalf of their Lord-Stickler for tradition) all the crewmen, with Corporal Johnstone being the strategically-placed exception, would exit the ACV with barrels shouldered in readiness for every possible wild outcome. However, judging by how active the tanks had become since, firing off with AP-shells at those who'd stepped out to defend the lower trenchlines as a second line of defence, such action would only work to reassure the rifle-toting crewmen that Barran's route was the safest by far, even though it was obvious the Mongrel's swoop-bike contingent was far from becoming depleted or shaken by the ordeal. Hemmed in, though easily in position to harry the Blue-Hearts from behind their re-attaching formation, Barran knew there would be more from the swoop bikes in the immediate or not-so-distant future, and the fates of the Maw and the Woad-Macushla had been inextricably bound too tightly together for the Brigadier-General to deny this fact.

'MARAUDERS!!!! I WOULD HAVE WORDS - RIGHT HERE ON NO-MAN'S LAND - WITH NONE OTHER - THAN THE MONGREL!!!! HOUND TO HOUND!!!!'

​

​

 

[Maijan Paisea]

TASK FORCE XESH

ILUM | CRYSTAL CAVES | BYOO
HEATHENS

​

Having golden skin on a frozen planet absolutely sucked. Bits of ice were forming beneath her eye, the only exposed bit of flesh, that she had to keep reaching up to brush away. It made her look like she was constantly crying until they reached the cave’s welcoming entryway.

In relief, she lowered the mask-like bandana aroun her mouth and exhaled a breath out, a small cloud forming just beyond reach as she shook her head at the Zabrak’s constant remarks about their controller. It just wouldn’t be Viribus if he wasn’t complaining about something. These days, M bore the brunt of his frustrations –– and Mai was eager to agree. The frustrating thing was, they’d done so many missions by now, they should have been released.

As they walked deeper into the temple’s schematics, into the crystal caves, Viribus spoke up again.

“So we go in, take some crystals, try not to be seen, and head out? Easiest mission, so far.”

“Trrry not to be seen?” The Fallanassi echoed, furrowing her brow and dropping her hood from her head. “You offend me, Virr.”

With a flick of her gloved hand, a gossamer veil shimmered over them; a visual reminder that they were beyond sight.

There was a ruckus going on, explosions, shouts.

“We should take some of these for ourrrrselves.” Maijan murmured when they first stepped into the glittering crystal cavern. It was breathtaking. Multicoloured shapes sparkled in the dim lighting, making the place feel alive.

“As payment forrrr someone to get these…” she tapped the nape of her neck. “Out.”

Just beyond sight, one of the crystals seemed to move –– more than just the lighting playing tricks on the eye.

ALLIES | GA | TASK FORCE XESH | Viribus | Kirk Korrado | Kingsley | "Whisper"
ENEMIES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW |

​

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Objective I: Hearts of Kyber​

Location: Ilum, Brotherhood Crystal Mine
Allies: Tarok Vassket
Foes: Ishida Ashina | Izoshi | Djorn Bline

Your raid timed badly, the hulking alien had told him. Tu'teggacha chuckled again, a wet, burbling sound like a rubber hose being slapped against a wading pool. "That depends," he finally continued, "on what we wished to accomplish with it. We have been here for quite some time, harvesting these crystals. And we knew that our enemies had gotten word of our operations well before they arrived." A group of reformed Yuuzhan Vong that had outed the Brotherhood's little secret, fleeing to Outlander Station and spilling the truth to the Galactic Alliance. "We could have been long gone... but sometimes an example is better than a simple raid."

Let the Jedi find them. Let them come and see what the Maw had done to their holy world, the defilement inflicted with mining drills and the dark rites of the Heathen Priests. Let the NIO send its battle-hardened troops against them. The Maw would test the interlopers. It would consume them, whittling down their experienced warriors. It would fill the survivors with rage, with a burning thirst for revenge that would leave them off-balance. Gathering kyber crystals from Ilum, the fuel for the Brotherhood's next superweapon, was the primary objective... but showing the Jedi that their time was ending, dragging them through the muck of their own decay, was nearly as important.

If they wanted to win the next great campaign, the Brotherhood must have no fear of Jedi.

Of course, Tarok didn't know any of the background, and he almost certainly didn't care about the Taskmaster's philosophizing. That was fine. He would serve them well as an escort out of the tunnels, kept in line by his shared desire to seize the loot of Ilum's mines. Tu'teggacha, the marauders, and the slaves trailed along behind the musclebound warrior, letting him take point - and be the first to face the danger of the coming Jedi. For the Ebruchi certainly expected that the Jedi would be coming, and soon. If they somehow escaped the mine before the light-siders reached them, so much the better, but he would take no chances with his precious cargo.

In the tunnels beyond, it seemed the Skitterwings had been disturbed. That made him cautious. Tu'teggacha reached out with the Dark Side, searching for any potential threat...

 

[Izoshi]

N I G H T M A R E
W I D O W M A K E R
UNDERCOVER
// SLEIGHT-OF-HAND \\
Djorn Bline

<"Looks like much of the crystals have been harvested here, there's probably more activity further down from here."

The chiss nodded, glancing at him briefly. "My thinking exactly, they've got to be collecting them to move en mass somewhere down here, it's the most efficient way to move this much cargo." She hefted the lantern out in front of them, but soon found it wasn't required, as the natural glow of the crystalline walls radiated light aplenty, illuminating their path easily. Yet, there was something deeply disturbing about the nature of the fluctuating light, something she couldn't quite put a finger on.

That was until they descended further and the crystals encountered had started turning a wicked, crackling red hue. Izoshi furrowed her brow as she paused, pressing her fingers against one of them. Immediately, she jerked her hand back, waving it slightly. "Damn that's hot-" she huffed, leaning a bit closer to the veinous surface. "I've seen this a few times before... these crystals were corrupted. It takes a lot of effort and power to corrupt one crystal to this extent but..." She trailed when she turned her gaze down the narrowing tunnel, eyes going a bit wider at the display of thousands of the precious, once sacred minerals all twisted to the will of the Darkside. They lined the tunnel in a full circle, creating the illusion that the two agents were willingly walking right into the mouth of a nasty, blood-soaked beast. "Well, this is rather tragic, actually."

Izoshi placed the lantern down between her feet and plucked two small tools from her belt, pressing the edge of the chisel to the crystalline outcropping. "We need to take some of these in," she murmured softly, "but with this much twisted Force energy in them, I suspect they'll draw the Sith to us. I vote a change of plans, now." She looked at him, waiting for his input. "We take samples and delta back to headquarters to relay what we've gathered. If my intuition is correct, the Dark Voice himself may be further down the tunnels, I don't think anyone else in the Maw's ranks is capable of a raw display of power like this- not without killing themself in the process."

She was smart enough to know they didn't stand a chance if Darth Solipsis was here and he turned his attention on them. His associates, they could stand toe-to-toe with, but the Dark Voice himself? The thought sent faint shivers down the woman's spine, despite the malice she held after news of Csilla had reached them.

She would have her chance to avenge her people.

One day.

The distant sound of skittering legs raised alarm in her mind and she quickly searched for the beastial source, red eyes narrowed behind the shield of her goggles.​

ALLIES | NIO | Djorn Bline
ENEMIES | GA(?) | BotM | The Mongrel | Maestus | Tu'teggacha | OPEN FOR DIRECT ENGAGEMENT

​

 

[Irratar Hemstagon]

Objective I
Hearts of Kyber

Part 5A: Bloodfeud
Location: Orbital War
Allies: Caedis Umbrammor
Foes: Aurelian Sigismund

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

The beaming red light shined the smoke-filled deck of the gunship. The quartermaster stood up, seeing the rest of his ship lying soulless of energy. The loud roaring of the engines had fallen silent, while the guns felt cold, regardless the smoking half-loaded barrels. The holocom was too, silent... He couldn't gather what happened... Massive explosion? There were hardly flames onboard... It must have been something else... As he turns closer to the gunport, he looks out th void, from the narrow arrowslit window of the forecastle. There was rain.... Meteor-like lights heading like a storm towards his ship... no... no, they were no comets; nor meteors; no cosmic entities of that matter... they were..-

"GET COVER! GET CO-"

BOOOOOOOOOM

The Quartermaster is violently silenced by the ramming pierce of the boarding torpedo, cutting deep through the hull of the gunship in a hellish explosion of energy and flame and debri and burning limbs. The corsairs onboard, still off-balance are caught off-guard, as the Skytroopers burst out the torpedoes, wrecking havoc onboard the narrow deck. Swords sing as the blaster fire plays the most painful music in the void's orchestra... The fighting soon is driven in close quarters.

"WHAT IN TYR'OATA'S NAME WAS THAT!?!?!?" Caedis Umbrammor shouts, weaving his fisted palms across against an unseen table in his mind. His eyes burn furiously, as he watches his fleet leviating in the void, knocked clean out of formation by the massive energy blast. Some cast disordered sparks of energy, clearly struggling to force their engines back online. Others, boost fast, in an attempt to push themselves away from the shadowing storm of torpedoes that narrows more and more against their hulls... One after the other, the torpedoes pierce through, ramming the very armors of the ships with ferocity.
"Electromagnetic Pulse weaponry Lord Prince" the operator replies to the enraged prince. "They have disabled our systems. All our gunships have been crippled. Boarding torpedoes are a-"

"I AM NO BLIND, IM STARING AT IT! GET THE KISS BACK ONLINE NOW!" Caedis screams, turning towards the view of the countless torpedoes being fired from the enemy warship straight at the Kiss of Death. "They want to play... They want to taste how it feels?! FINE!"

And as such, the prince walks rushly away from the bridge...

"So reckless..." Irratar Hemstagon intoned, careless to hide his sadistic smirk spreading on his lips. His eyes rest at the joint Kiss of Death and Phalanx, now locked into boarding warfare... "The Umbrammors are breaking apart, Lord Prince..." the skinny, tunic-clothed figure behind Irratar spoke. "Shall we redirect the carrier to reinforce...?"

"No." Irratar's sharp voice is heard, as he slowly charted his left palm with the ring-weighted fingers of his right one, resting atop of it, against the edge of the lightsaber hilt. "They should have never closed in... Now, they pay the price. Saving them shall only cost us men... Fire the missiles. Prepare to blind them... It will be to our benefit if we cripple them before reinforcements arrive..."

"Reinforcements? Are you certain, lord prince?"

Irratar turned his head over his shoulder, with his fiery eyes fiing on the figure. The slight exhaling growl of his throat only thing that broke the silence of the moment.

One after the other, the launchers crack open, as the heavy-weighted missiles are launched in the cold embrace of space. Turning in an elyptic, spheric synchronized route, a dozen of them advances towards the enemy flagship... A heavy load rings around their thick bodies. A dozen more follows....

"Red Child; Unborn child of the goddess, hear my plea.." The sorceress spoke in muttering words, as her thin, pale fingers reached out for the crystal statue... It was a large piece of Alchemically-forged crimson crystal, sculptured in the deformed amalgamation of children bodies, merged together in a larger entity. Above it, the large seven-pointed star was fixed against the ceiling. Made of gold, it stood out from the rest grim chamber...

"Hear the ill-intent that comes onboard... Feel their malice and rage and deathseeded thoughts... Feel the death that comes; Unhatched, from the iron shell, to be casted into the void as were the thousand spawns of Asara; Left blind, in a world of darkness.... Feel what is coming, Oh Ignisir; Mighty one... Help us.... Help us...!!!"

One after the other, the boarding shells pierce through the thick hull of the massive warship. With her guns remaining silent, in time the whole sarboard side is thorned by the many boarding torpedoes, voming troops into its halls like virus into the bloodstream...

Upon touching foot on deck, blastdoors scream shut. Although there would be no light across deck, nor sign of energy beaming... The blast doors shut. Ray shield-embraced, they cut off the vermin of the Rim-Guard's further spread... The only light onboard comes from the sudden blazes of lightning coming from the tubes and pipelines above ceiling, or from the different consoles that stood around the decks... It felt nothing more than an electronic malfunction, to the unkeen eye... But for an expert's.... it was far... far worse...

Her tainted eyes roll back, as they tame the lightning engulfing her exposed, densely tattooed body, over the circular torn console. Deep onboard the ship's temple, the witch casted her spell against the endless steel and iron and metal. Lightning blinding her eyes, only to reach out and see beyond the vision's reach. Lightning blazing arms, unseen underneath the plating reach away, grasping upon the endless cabling of the massive warship. The Witch's body a carcass, barelly operating as a shell rather than an asset. For she saw beyond flesh.

Manipulated, twisted and burned by the lightning, the cables charge, activating the Kiss of Death's consoles on the bridge...

"Blind them." Caedis Umbrammor says.

From onboard the Ignisir-Class Star Destroyer, the wave of the jammer machine spans across the void. A machine meant to disable the communications of an entire world, specifically designed for planetary blockades. Now, enforced across the orbit to deprive any communications between the Phalanx, the White Flame and their countless boarding parties and surviving fighters alike. Meanwhile, from Caedis' warship, the crimson mist slowly expands, covering the whole of the external hull, while the shroud reaches out, towards the Phalanx herself...

Onboard the Kiss of Death, the arcane darkness blinds any eye that would make it onboard. Ethereal entities emerge from the thick durasteel; Predators of this unnatural night, in the forest of steel. A most powerful grasp of a dark essense, casting its shadow across the void and the artificial atmospheres... A grasp upon its bite, te entities feel cold like Hoth's frost, draining the life essense from their victim, while the lightning spreads like eldritch tentacles, burning the enemy droids to the core....

And so, the Wrath of Ignisir unfolds...


Part 5B: Firestorm in the blizzard

Location: Atmosphere, near the Brotherhood's Base.
Allies: The Mongrel Maestus
Foes: Aurelian Sigismund DECEASED Erskine Barran

The vast body of the White Flame is visible from the cockpit of the Bomber. The cable-bound pilot turns his cybernetically enhanced eyes over his shoulder, looking at the nearby squadron. "Lets give them hell... All bombers aim the enemy ship!".

The hoplites lead the endless swarms vertically down in a piercing attack against the remnants of the Galidraani fighters and the Rim-Guard shuttles, descending upon them in a volley of plasma cannonfire. The Buzzers had pulled a heavy fight. Alas.. The Dark Side tainted pilots of the Hoplites prove a much... much harder foe. Their armored ships twist and turn and fly and fire, leading wedge-like formations of fighters across the chaotic hellscape of the battlefield.
A massive aerial assault begins once again...
The heavy proton load of the bombers is discharged upon the White Flame, as the fighters form screens, protecting the bombers from the AA guns of the warship. One after the other, fighters and bombers alike blast in the air by the overwhelming firepower. Explosions strong enough to knock their nearby crafts off course, destabilizing the formations. Those fighters and bombers that are wounded lethally, turn in self sacrificce, denying the pointlessness of their death, storming along with the heavy proton load and their explosive fuel against the enemy ship's turrets and engines alike, delivering the final wound against the foe, before walking the nether....

The chaos in the air is joint by the brutal advance of the Mawlerite Warbands on the ground Their fire spreads across the trenchlines, openly taunting the enemy troops as they advance forth. Their flamers roar, to keep the enemy troops away from the thick shield wall, while the hand-cannons and projectiles are fired recklessly against the enarby vehicles that push forth. Some of the shells may even find target upon the Maw's speeders, accidentally hit as the Mawlerites aim at the enemy formations. A reckless, careless fire, at best, with little to no attention against friendly fire. And so, the Mawlerite warriors march on, in a blaze of fire and quaking sound of warcries...

 

[The Mongrel]

Objective I - Hearts of Kyber​

Location: Ilum, Frozen Plains
Allies: Maestus | Caedis Umbrammor
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Aurelian Sigismund

High in the frigid skies, the Doomsayers smelled blood in the figurative water. They circled the White Flame like a swarm of piranha beetles, pounding it unceasingly with a heavy ion cannon barrage. The frigate was returning fire, but the fighte-bombers were tough, designed to be able to take a beating... and they still had the Darkshears, or at least a few of them, to run interference. Again and again the small swarm fighters interposed themselves between their more valuable cousins and weapon bursts from the White Flame, their simple frames and braindead pilots blown apart to save the craft doing the real work.

Soon there would be none of them left.

When the Stormeagle gunboats launched from the ship, heading straight for the mining base, the Brotherhood's turbolaser turrets redirected to try to shoot them down... but the Doomsayers did not. They wanted the White Flame, wanted to rip the frigate apart and earn glory for their first major kill. Tactically, it would also open the way for the crystal transports to escape, but that was not the bloodthirsty pilots' main concern. Meanwhile, marauders within the base scrambled for cover as the Stormeagles began to open up on the area inside the walls, clearing themselves a landing zone. The sudden attack claimed dozens of lives in seconds...

... but many more reached the safety of the tunnels.

Hidden within the mouth of the mine or the reinforced hangar bays, the surviving marauders prepared to resist the enemy landing force. After long weeks of guarding this frigid, far-flung outpost without any real excitement, they were eager to claim new skulls. Slamming pikes against the ground or fists against their breastplates, they began to chant. "War! Death! Rebirth!" The familiar refrain rang out across the base, the chanting loud even over the stomping and clattering of weapons. Hidden within the walls and caves, the warbeasts roared in their cages, eager to be unleashed. Soon, the disciplined Paladins of the 11th would be pitted against the full savagery of the Maw.

Out beyond the walls, amid the burning wrecks of Birrell's ill-fated armored column, The Mongrel and his men regrouped. Their charge had put down the wounded beast, but they had taken terrible wounds in turn; fully half the marauders who had taken part in the swoop charge lay dead in the snow, and many more had lost their bikes in bone-shattering collisions. Their warleader took stock of the resources still left to him: they had a smattering of flak cannons, lances, and a few heavy weapons remaining, plus the usual assortment of pistols and blades no marauder would ever be caught without. It was a paltry collection, ill-suited to affecting the tide of battle.

They would need to be creative and tactical to survive.

Without a broad front of opposition outside the walls, the Galidraani were closing ranks, forming up like a sharp-pointed spear aimed at the heart of the mining base. For a moment, The Mongrel's heart seemed to stop as he saw the barrels of the huge NIO artillery pieces swing toward his position, ready to unleash armor-piercing shells that would end his command dilemma in a blazing hail of high explosives. Defiant to the last, he spat blood into the snow, then raised his arms toward the heavens. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the brief flash of heat before his awareness was extinguished... before he was set free from the cruel galactic cycle.

It never came. Slowly, hesitantly, his eyes opened again.

For whatever reason, the artillery had changed target, turning past the wrecks of Birrell's column to point up the slope at the Brotherhood's base. The Mongrel did not question his good fortune. It would be only moments before the NIO troops linked up with the Skytroopers who were already securing the trench line, steadily closing the noose around the Maw's mines. He would have to make a decision: to deploy the necessary resources to save himself and his men, or to save those same resources to protect the crystals transports. He did not hesitate in that calculation; the will of the Avatars was clear, and he was only a pawn in the great struggle.

"We will conserve the warbeasts to fight inside the base," the veteran marauder ordered, his comlink raised to his mouth. "Leave whatever crystal crates have not yet been loaded behind, and prepare to launch. The base will be lost, but the Dark Voice's plans can still succeed." Sacrifice was a central tenet of the Maw's dark faith, and The Mongrel did not fear it. His branchlurkers could almost certainly have cleared the trenches, opening a path for his men to fall back within the base's walls... but he accepted his own relative irrelevance. The materials to build their next weapon, to win their next Csilla, were far more vital than his life.

The branchlurkers would soon dine on Paladins instead.

As fresh NIO troops and armor closed in, advancing past the wreckage of their comrades, The Mongrel snapped out orders to his marauders. "Take positions in cover. We will harry them as they pass. Aim for engines and locomotors; we cannot destroy them all, but we can slow them down until the Maw's will is done." But the minutes that followed did not go at all as he had expected. Instead, he heard a shouted challenge coming from beyond the wreckage. I WOULD HAVE WORDS - RIGHT HERE ON NO-MAN'S LAND - WITH NONE OTHER - THAN THE MONGREL! Smiling, the warleader commanded his troops to hold their fire... for the moment.

He was already doomed. What did he have to fear?

Holstering his pistol and sheathing his knife, The Mongrel walked boldly out from among the burning wrecks. All around him, the battlefield still swirled with chaos and death as the Mawlerites advanced, closing in on the enemy artillery under cover of Athysian aircraft; the Brotherhood's main forces were dwindling, but the bloodthirsty legions of the Raider-Prince remained strong and on the offensive. Though he faced a forest of guns pointed in his direction, The Mongrel knew the Galidraani would not shoot him; he had extended Gowrie that courtesy on Csilla, and was certain that they would show it to him in turn.

"I am here," he said, stopping in the center of the stretch of frozen plain between the two forces. "If you know my name, you know that I have little patience for words alone. Speak quickly. Glory comes from battles, not parlays."