Invasion In The Undertow // NIO Invasion of TSE Held Jaemus and Dubrillion

[Ra Vizsla]

COMMANDER VIZSLA

// IRON_FURNACE // IN SUPPORT OF // NIO DROP
// GARRISON //: Mandalorian | 403rd Stormtrooper Battalion
// OBJECTIVE //: HOTH Beach
// ALLIES | NIO | SONS OF MANDALORE | Warchief Waddles | GA
// ENEMIES | TSE

“BRACE! BRAAACEEE!” ​

The shuttle was spiraling through the Dubrillion sky.

Crash.

A tangled mess of iron and wrath sat upon their targeted location.

The massive figure of Warchief Waddles tore through the ship, defining the group's exit from the burdened despondent transport. T-visors began to illuminate in the darkness of the ship, as an entire legion of Mando'ade brightened the darkness, standing from the ruinous remains. Stormtrooper helmets, glowing a bright blue, followed suit. Smoke and darkness followed their wake, as others began to follow Isaiah.

Behind them, a bright emerald swirl of plasma contrasted as the crimson red visage of Ra Vizsla stepped out behind Isaiah. Brandishing the bronzed Darkspear, the hulking visage of the Commander stooped forward through the metal and smoke.

"Imperial High Command has given their orders,"

The 403rd Battalion and the Mandalorians stormed the beach, rushing forward and beginning to exchange fire as massive artillery cannons in the distance began to rain their music down on their position.

"SOW CHAOS."

Ra Vizsla shared a small nod to Isaiah as he marched past the slightly larger Mando'ade.

"TIE THE NOOSE," he bellowed.

Ne'catra, the Black Sky, basilisk of the Undying,
the Midnight Dragon, screeched overhead.


"REMIND THE SITH,


ONLY THE STRONGEST."​

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

// Hellhound-Actual // 307th Legion //
// Objective II : Storm Surge : HOTH
// ALLIES : Irveric Tavlar Agrippa Ravraa Vyshraal Lucien Dooku Aerith Castiella Warchief Waddles Junda NIO Forces
// ENEMY : OPEN / TSE Forces
// Gear : Armor - Hand Of God - Melee - Rifle - Side Arm - 'Void' Grenades - 'Null' Grenades - Light Saber - Gunship
// Thematic : Eye Of The Beholder

​

They weren’t the old boys or mandos from the first battalion that the Order had a habit of collecting, just a bunch of nobodies from JanFathal and surrounding sectors. Man and alien, born and raised in relative peace, working class and the aimless. Green, untested and ignorant still to the bloodiness of war. The boys from the batch, declared barely better then the army, were the kind that ended up with the least glorious posts. They had been sitting in space for so many months afterall on the backburner, not that one or two of them minded.

“Anyway, so I started blasting-” Felian threw his hands up, a dramatic arc as he reenacted the tale boring the others; half of it had to be made up. It was some encounter from basic, not that anyone had a better story to tell.

It was just a routine day, the rifle team found themselves a moment to themselves, standing around the bay shooting the shavit. Though over the last hour a sudden surge of ghostly white and red blast plate marching in had begun to strain the team’s banter. The team was exchanging looks with their brothers falling into formation, getting the hint it was time to be on their way.

“Hey guys! Sergeants coming through with orders,” a lone trooper peeled off from the influx, a chorus of jibes thrown at the poor man as he came jogging up their little gathering. Winded and with a scuff on his shoulder plate to show. Marcant pitied the guy, raising a hand to brush it off for him. The lot of the men shifting with their rifles in mind, trading blank stares from behind their helmets; confused.

“Well, I mean it’s about time..we’ll be-”

“No you guys don’t get it, there's a priority broadcast!” Kempps wheezed.

Behind them, just beyond the sheen blue atmosphere barriers-the light of hyperspace illuminated the hangar. The gears slowly turned among the lot of them. The sudden jump had been announced minutes ago with little warning, sending them sailing in the unknown and everyone was falling prey to simple antiness. Everyone wanted to know what was going on, where they were to be deployed, from the artillery crew haunting the space to the lone maintenance guy walking by.

It was a long time coming for the Riders of the 307th.

“C’mon Kempps! What is it? They need us scrubbin’ the hangar floor? Sure the shine will make us fight all the meaner.”

“Nah nah just shut up man, here watch,” Kempps exhaled, catching his breath as he produced the holo projector off his belt. The group of troopers crowding around, elbowing each other to get a look at the slim disk. The blue light flashing before projecting a spotty recording of a familiar figure, their Commander Voi’kryt. One of the boys muttered some choice words under his helm, silence by a jab and several hurried hushes.

“Troopers of the three hundred seventh legion, today as you hear this, you will find yourself enroute to a storm that you have trained for since the conception of our Order. Dubrillion lays at the doorstep of Bastion, and now is the time to act. Tonight will be the night of nights and it will be my honor to fight beside you-”

A hush descended on the soldiers, something tense and unnamed on the air. Realizing all around them, there were similar projections informing the rest of their brothers.

“That’s why they gave us icecream at mess last night....” Felian interrupted the recording, the man torn between the excitement and the looming invasion; his pauldrons drooping.

Hour Zero..
The Approach..

<<”One minute to landing zone, all teams standby,”>> the pilot voice filtered through the cabin, the echo of artillery in the air following the ship wide announcement.

A shrill bell of an alarm erupted over the speakers, that kind that made the audio receptors sing. There was a red light accompanying it as the noise descended into a steady wail, the Gunship shaking. The small steel space tightly packed with the combined forces of the 307th and 173rd's own squads. Engines whining as their altitude began to drop, the faintest explosions resounding just beyond their sight of their metal hull. The promise of war was clouded by the heavy metallic footfall of the troopers racing to fall in line. Steady clicks of powercell locking in place as the infantrymen checked their rifle and weapons alike.

On a cool clear night, typical to southern Dubrillion, the mobile castle made it’s approach en route to the beach head. Their smaller support ships b-lining it through the nighttime sky following it's flank. They were only the first wave, they were the typhoon now. It was vastly different from the mission upon the sea wall the woman had found herself heading near these very shores weeks prior. So much had changed in only a hand full of months, and Lyra had come to live battle to battle and a vicious want for chaos ebbed in her throat-one she had to smother behind the dusty helmet; it was the only sane choice after so much death. She had found some measure of resolve, looking upon this debut with only a quiet shadow of doubt. Each breath steady but there was a peculiar feeling creeping up over her, in the wake of this size of command. Soldiers moved around her and Lyra observed them, constricted by her armor and the weight of the blast plate.

A Legion to field, the expectation to ensure their tyrant fell.

Lyra had avoided it for so long, had placed this command on the back burner. If she had her doubts about the scale of warfare..a Legion looking to her..the responsibility she had to abide by now. Thousands of soldiers and their undoubted mortality..these were the thoughts she’d never air. The faintest of panic racing beneath her skin and Lyra steeled herself-ignoring it..denying it. It was a great burden resting squarely upon her shoulders, and Lyra would not betray herself by revealing that. She dared not compare it to the plights of their Imperator. Some mistakes were best witnessed and she did not intend to learn through such hardship.

The hypocrisy was plainly swept aside.

A handful of hours ago, they had faced off with each other. Not a sole word traded between them before they had filed away to their respective ships; staring. Irveric Tavlar had a way of always crawling back and for once Lyra had felt a sliver of sweet and blissful nothingness. She was no longer concerned with the ongoings of his mind, after Muunlinist, after Bescane, if she could temper herself..

Bitterness bled and built itself a nice place in her gut. Lyra had the decency not to smile, they had been alone but the raking anger began to simmer in her gut. Her eyes narrowing ever slightly. She had dared him to speak with only one etched brow. He was no longer the only one that did dealings with silence and Lyra let it set the stage, so he might understand.

Lyra had slowly been sliding down this slippery slope, was it the bravado that blinded her? The woman’s servo had curled at her side, garnering the strength not to reach for the Durin strapped to her hip, to put a bolt in him or her own head..though her fingers itched and curled begging herself too.

She thought about killing him just like she had imagined he had.

Even if she believed herself acquitted, it did not take away the seizing in her chest when he walked away-nor the cold solitariness that followed. It was simply the reality of her post, alone and skirting a noose. He had yet to say stop, so she would persist. There was still had a battle to win, one she intended to with the fervor of the zealots. Timeless were her doubts and they harrowed her steps up until this point and she began to reorganize her thoughts. He wasn’t allowed to compromise her again and that was that.

Lyra didn’t even care she was walking in to battle beside him, something had changed and she welcomed him to bare witness.

Perhaps that was in part why she had always preferred the small scale command, less eyes, less damage. She hadn't wanted to fail him. Her own deep rooted fears she grappled with. Yet there was no running away from duties now and the 307th could not be spared. This wasn’t Harnaidan, with the rises on fire, desolate cityscape and it’s..she only needed to keep a calm collected mind. She only needed to see them through this. They had slipped through the harried aerial wreckage above their head in orbit. Maker help them they had gotten this far. The air space flooded with scrap from the harrowing first strike and below them was their enemy entrenched in waiting.

<<”Archer-actual come in. Are all off loading squads prepared?”>> Lyra’s servo ghosted over the comms, eyes roving over the names filing down her HUD. There were so many. A timer slowly peeling away their final moments, the HUD blinking with each second.

Tapping her interface insistently, the screen filtered through lifelines, a steady red beacon growing closure on the map as they prepared to drop. She didn’t know these troopers, nor these Officers who now answered her call. None of them but Appw’rii, they were so unlike the 12th she had braved the lines with for years-now under the 501st..They didn’t need to be though, they had her dedication and she placed her trust in them to a degree. TO see this through and..if she had to achieve this alone, she would grin and bare it. The thought was equal parts unfair to expect that from them, and a mindful preparation to the unknown. It was time to build something new and untouched by the Sith Imperial rank.

Something they hadn’t encountered. It was a fool hardy hope but it was all she had.

<<”Confirmed, infantry is ready and the eighty-nineth is on standby with Prahl.”>>

They had taken one step back and three following up pushing them forward; putting Borosk behind them. Such was their gamble. Trading fire for fire and stepping into the newest plasma sprayed fray. For the Legions of the New Order, each soldier would see soon enough the blood and shit in the sand; know the desperation. They all banked on the possibility streak of the Braxat. They were so close and Lyra’s visor passed over the lines of troopers, she could feel their eyes as they minded their tools. Soon, they would all see the other side. The sweat was in the air, tension rife and Lyra endured it with a placid visage. Craning her neck as she ran through the checks of her own rifle in hand, gauntlet passing over the powercell and to the saber resting openly on her chest; walking down the rows.

They had stood shoulder to shoulder, practically breathing down the backs of other Legionnaire. Antsy was a feeling she did not want to associate with, but her fingers tapped insistently on the plate armor issue to her. Lyra had stood uneasy among the other replacements. That was not the only un-reassuring point in the debrief they had received. Shifting her eyes over the backs of the others. Just three men over from her, a private was getting berated, the stench of fear and sweat choking the transport, at least she hadn’t been the one caught quivering.

<<”For some of you this will be your first brush with the Empire in battle. Let me assure you this..if you falter out there, they will not hesitate to shoot you down, but take heart and remember above all-if you have your blaster, your knife, your fists.. They shall not win this easily,”>> Lyra spoke over the linked comms, her own iron lacing the words. The broadcast filtering over the first wave's radio, though her words lacked true finesse or a real crescendo. <<”do not give them that honor. Look to your brother who keeps firing if you waiver, to your commanders-do not lose sight out there and we will prevail.”>>

The liveliest of the rank raised their fist, a few spats and comment alike after the comms fizzled out. It was startling but Lyra could sense the tenacity. Part of her knew words would not soothe them, it would be the actions of their own hand and mind that would solidify their bonds and give them the resolve. Lyra wanted them to know they were not alone at the very least, that now was the time to look past fear. She did not shy from it, their fear. Lyra had stood where they had and the memory washed over her, bringing the corner of her mouth to curl, it was almost too much. The itch in the back of her throat drawing out regret, she hadn't even gotten a smoke in. Glancing back to distract herself, they were all clad for the deployment on the shore. A singular red line stood out from the sandy ingrained coating, one she had streaked across her own tenebrae-the bright slash racing down each and every pauldron of their rank.

A rush of wind sweeping on to the transport,and Lyra felt the faint pressure..

<<"Ma'am hatch has been opened, we're not ready to drop yet!">> the Pilot's voice buzzed in her ear.

<<"What do you mean-">>

Lyra turned, glancing down the rows of Stormtrooper to see the hydraulics lowering the ramp, the roar of the heights stirring the cabin. Lucien Dooku gave her a final salute as she started down the rows, and a sudden onslaught of confusion filled her...She couldn't find the words to even berate the man before he disappeared in to the night, his soldier's jump-packs sputtering-the fire a stark difference in the wake of the evening sky.

<<"Did..they just jump?">> the words escaped her in one fell swoop..

<<"Uh..yes ma'am yes they just did.">> the nearest officer spoke up, almost hesitant..

Lyra muttered one single word under her breath, "Fuck."

Leave it to that man to..shaking her head. She should of expected the unexpected, this mission was never meant to go smoothly. Lyra squared her shoulders up, there would be no point in shutting the hatch now and Lyra approached the edge of the ramp. Watching their packs burn in the distance, her servo reaching up to claim a transport strap to steady herself. This Legion had one thing she had not during her first run, and that was a burning heart. It could serve them well if they did not break rank and file after the first artillery bombardment. She had spoken her peace and cynicism bled into her thoughts. Turning her attention away from the the disruption, taking up the mantle at the head of the column of soldiers as the last seconds ticked away. It had only been a matter of time for these boys to find themselves facing down the barrel of a loaded blaster, what good was an army if it wasn’t on the move afterall.

<<"I guess we got our vanguard boys. Let's not keep them waiting!">> she hollered, forced to embrace the change of events.

In theory they were ready, with the machines primed. There was a groan of steel struts as the calvary began to drop on the shores; walkers and mecha alike. Her heart began to thunder inside her chest, swaying forward and she pumped her rifle up once. The timer had reached 0:00 and the time was now. The woman followed the chatter as the ship dropped, the flight crew manning the ramps throwing signals as the doors opened. The roar of the ocean surrounding them and ahead the beaches waited-the HUD flashing and compensating for the night. Outlining the palm and shore in a green hue.

<<”Move out! Go go go!”>> she ordered, dropping out into the freezing waters-ahead the ground shook as the leg of an AT-AT descended on to the beach. They were up to their knees here and the water churned, throwing herself forward wading through-each step shifting under foot. The ships pulled out as the last of the ranks hit the ground, fearing the wrath of the AA from the S-Imps high on their hill. A smear of red bolts raining down upon them and Lyra charged alongside hundreds of Troopers, they would be the first rank to fall as Squad leaders hailed in the engineers as it turned in to a mad dash.

The last of the 307th flooded out from the transports as the horizon began to light up, from the cliff encampments they were faced with scorching blaster fire as all hell broke loose. Tibanna mixed with the salt on the wind and sand flung up and the shore line was dogged down. Orders flew from the mouths of Officers alike and Lyra hailed the boys at her back forward.

<<”Smoke the shore!”>> Lyra said, hand dropping from the grip of her rifle as she unhooked her own null-all but chucking out on to the sandy rise after snapping her thumb over the pin. Through the dark several other cylinders were tossed. Their first ranks advancing with shields in tow, dragging them in from the waves under fire. Hollow thuds were lost to the violent noise as ugly black smoke proliferated ahead of them, the light breeze carrying the smoke distorting the light show. There were bodies falling under the heavy fire, screams for medic alike.

<<”Hellhound-actual to Enigma-actual, do you read?”>> she gritted out, hailing down Irveric Tavlar weaving through the gore, the ground shaking as one particularly damning cut of bolts ate at the sand ahead of her. Her heart was racing now and there was a flash of plasma nigh blinding and Lyra lurched back, throwing herself down into the sand-one raised hand to switch over the comms before she leveled her rifle back. She rolled her body away, refusing to break. A soldier on her ass stalling and she felt a hand hook under her arm, hauling her to her feet-the world outside her screen flipping and she inhaled deeply trying to steady herself. <<”Three o' seven have made landfall.”>>

<<”Ma’am!-”>>

<<”Don’t stop private! Watch your twelve!”>> Lyra wretched the man’s hand off her, stopping to stare at the soldier. There was only a single moment spared before she reached for him with her servo, tossing him forward. Losing him to the racing bodies. Titling her helm, as she shook off the faint ache from the fall-there was no use in firing into the abyss and she reserved her shots until they were in the true thick of it.

The screen of smoke sparing them from the eyes of a marksman. The map read the distant signals of Lucien Dooku and his men on the map, the gap was concerning and Lyra’s eyes roved over the ranks. Watching-buying her time before she took back off. Armor creaking and she tightened her servo around the stock of the blaster. Their first and foremost task was to make it in alive and Lyra kept her form hunched as they dashed across the beach. Ducking and weaving as as the ventilators kicked in, her breath came out in steady puffs. The first shield generators hitting the ground and arcing up with a brilliant light. A temporary foothold where the shore still stretched out before them.

<<”Archer-actual start digging in, get artillery a spot to set up!">>

 

[Jalter Volff]

Location: Dubrillion Orbit
Objective: Battle of the Shipwrecks
Allies: NIO Cheapshot Arten Jinn | GA Loske Treicolt Olen Halcorr Maynard Treicolt and Fleeters
Enemies: Nica Dakkar and Fleeters
Ship: TIE/HB Bruiser
Forces: x7 TIE/HB Bruiser x4 TIE/OTx Outlander

Jalter had jumped into his cockpit and begun his pre-flight checks as the deck crew scurried below. He felt his bomber shake in its place as the deck crew loaded the missiles and bombs into the bomber. Only one things occupied Jalter's mind, the fact that he was shot down in his last engagement with the TSE. That really pissed him off. The squadron had been engaged over Borosk and Jalter had been sloppy, far too focused on his bombing run to realise he was being pursued. Not this time though. Not only was Jalter determined but he had the full support of Darkstar and a few GA pilots. This time Jalter would be shooting the Sith down.

While he thought his onboard computer chimed "ORDNANCE LOADED." it read and he gave a thumbs up to the hanger crew from his cockpit. Jalter ran through the ordnance the had been loaded. Concussion, electro-proton, plasma and blazer with all types in both the bombs and missile compartment. Jalter wasn't too sure when the Blazers would come in handy but they were a lot of fun to use. Jalter watched as the Destroyers deployed like dominos and when it was his turn the HTC spoke exactly on cue. "Bomber 1 you are clear for taxi and takeoff." Jalter smiled under his helmet and gave and replied "10-4 HTC. Deploying now". he said as his TIE was dropped from the rack and it screamed out of the hanger.

" This is Bomber 2, all systems green and ready to deploy. " Jalter heard Arten Jinn say over the comms along with all the other bombers in his wing repeating a similar phrase "10-4. All bombers form up on our escort the Destroyers. Once we rendezvous with the 'X-wing Commandos' we'll begin striking targets." he said before checking his radar. "Slipstream I reckon we'll got a lot of targets so be prepared to take a few lads if we're needed at two places at once." he continued before looking ahead.

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Drowning //:
//: Dubrillion //: Undisclosed Cliff Side //:
//: Adriana Fortemps //:
//: Equipment //: Lightsaber //: Tacticabrella //:

...I don't like myself very much, despite all your kind words...​

Echoes of fabric whipped in the wind. A figure knelt over a small panel that had been hidden in the rock formations of the cliffside. The only light in the darkness was the sparks that flashed every so often, which were promptly followed by hushed Old Corellian curses. Nimble fingers worked the wires, fighting the haze that hung in her vision. The war inside her mind raged, the deeds she was doing could be considered traitorous to a side of her, while the other was her job. Each spark was the other persona sabotaging everything she was doing. ​

"STOP!" Allyson flung the toolbox beside her into the large rock, the sound clattered as she fell back from the effort it took to hurl the box. She fell back onto the lush grass that swayed with the wind. Fists pressed into her head as she buried her face into her knees, and her body rocked back and forth as she sobbed. She was so tired of these feelings of betrayal and worthlessness. Everything she had done up to now meant nothing, yet painted a target on her back. Voices fought in her mind, clawing at her, ripping her apart. They each demanded their life to be lived, they wanted to be real, and they wanted to destroy what kept their goal. Allyson couldn't tell who was who anymore and looking in the mirror, there were times she couldn't recognize herself. Was she even the original? ​

The thought scared her, to think that maybe this had happened before - was Allyson not real? Lifting her head up, she looked out to the waves that crashed and wondered. Could she have been an idea, a lie, a person that the original had fed into because it was better? Did she consume the original? Shaking her head, Allyson knew that was not true, she had a history. ​

So did the others. ​

Exhaling, she coughed - breathing was always so hard at the higher altitudes, and the crying during her breakdown wasn't helping. There was a job to be done, and Allyson knew she needed to calm herself down. She was an essential piece of the New Imperial Order's invasion. Like so many times before, she was behind enemy lines to secure intelligence. To lie and steal, to sulk in the shadows like a rat. Arms wrapped around her frame like she always did to comfort herself. ​

Where was everyone? She knew she was surrounded by others, by Loske, Jyoti, Maynard, Ryv, Auteme, and Zaavik. All of them cared about her, and she knew it - they told her. Yet, here she was on a cliff alone. I'm always alone. She stood and walked to the edge of the cliff and to watch the waves disturbing the sand dunes. Soon, the dunes would find themselves to be disturbed by the footsteps of Troopers and Imperial Knights. They all had something to fight for, and she was here to give them the fruits of her lies. ​

The waves were calming, she felt that calm wash over her as she was able to push back the violent images of her other realities. Allyson closed her eyes as she thought through the Force towards the box that she had been working on. Her palm opened as she used Mechu Deru to operate the circuits connecting the several satellite boxes she had been slowly linking up the past few weeks leading up to now. The information that she had stolen from Jorryn's terminal provided the layout of the planet and details on the enemy's forces and weaponry. Dubrillion would welcome her new rulers with open arms, like a wife welcoming her long lost sailor back from war. ​

White noise filled her mind, the only sound that stopped the chaos that stormed in her mind. That's another lie. Allyson frowned at the voice. She didn't want to admit the truth in it, so she pushed it back, focusing on the white noise of the electromagnetic waves working and connecting through space and time. ​

Lifting her wrist, Allyson chimed into the direct line to Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt . The woman was the current lifeline for the Corellian, despite being something so important - the woman didn't even know her name. All Allyson was known as was her code name. A disposable piece. <Codename: Lucky - Eyes of the Heavens shine, the library is open.> She waited for a minute, letting the woman process the information. She knew that everything was uploaded and available for her troops. <Lucky going silent. May the Force be with you, Commander.> ​

The radio went silent, and Allyson pulled off the device from her wrist. Holding it in her hands, she knew this was how they could find her if she went silent for too long. The method she had for some time now, always changing it to fit her needs. Flipping it over, she looked towards the underside where a pair of initials were carved into frame. Thumbing over the engraved K and T, Allyson smiled softly, remembering when the woman had finalized her creation. It was one of the last things she owned of the girl beside the memories that have been her recent haunting. Part of her wanted to throw it over the edge of the cliff, but something stopped her. Maybe she wasn't ready to let go. ​

Her job was done. There was nothing more for her to do here. She should have been climbing down the cliff face and waiting for the NIO's military strength to recover her and ship her back to the Alliance. Allyson knew that wasn't going to be an option, especially after her run-in with Loske and Ryv. She continued to tell herself that her outburst and drive to protect Jorryn was to retain the cover she had carefully crafted. Stop lying. It was possible when she returned she would be detained, Allyson shook her head quickly. Being locked away and forgotten was what they did to people like her; she knew too much. She was a liability.​

Closing her eyes tightly, she wrapped her arms once more around her, seeking the comfort she needed. Memories rolled through her mind as she searched for something to warm her. A pair of amber eyes stared back at her, her smile followed, and Allyson felt her breathing steady; there was someone else that cared about her. Just like before, she sought the comfort of the woman's presence. A hand placed over her face as she fought back the urge to scream. Whatever they had wasn't real, no matter how much Allyson wanted it to be. Rae was a lie, one that got her into the Saaraishash. It hurt to admit that to herself, the pain that coursed through her was unbearable. What was she going to do? Being Rae, living the woman's life, falling in love with the Inquisitor, it was something she wanted to be real. Every night she fell asleep either in her bunk or beside the woman wishing that she was real. When she left, she would stay only long for the woman despite her being her enemy, but she couldn't stay - she only became a liability. No matter her choice, Jorryn was hurt and in danger. ​

There was no way out. Allyson knew this - she was a spy. She was meant to be alone, she was meant to be the one that no one noticed gone. Spies disappeared all the time, either executed or locked away forever. The Corellian knew she was used up, and this was more than likely her last mission. Her mind was too shattered, she was also broken. ​

I'm just asking you to come back, Master Aldric can help us both. He can help us find peace within ourselves, so we can find peace within the galaxy.​

Ryv spoke beautiful lies, ones that made her want to believe that she was essential, not a pawn to be used until she was no longer needed. Breathing became so hard; the world around her felt as if it was collapsing around her. She took a step forward, the tips of her feet at the edge of the cliff, pebbles tumbling down the dark side of the cliffside. At the bottom, waves crashed against jagged rocks. ​

The warmth of Ryv's hand disappeared from hers as she remembered how he pulled away from her. She could feel the struggle within him, knowing that she was falling apart. Where was he? She had been falling apart since she had met him. Tears stained her face as she wondered if it was time to lay down her gun, to finally rest. Cold surrounded her as she heard his words once more, I can feel what is happening to you. Our bond is honest, more than you've ever been with me...I can't help you if you're gonna keep secrets from me. "Ryv, I have to keep secrets, it's how I survive. I'm a damned liar, a snake in the grass. That's all I'm good at, please...just understand that." Why couldn't she tell him that? Maybe she would have saved him the heartache. ​

It's okay, I'm tired, I just want to sleep, I want to be free of these feelings, these voices. I've done my job, my mission is over. ​

Accepting her fate, she forced her mind to push away the sudden burst of feelings about the people that she would be leaving. She groaned as she clutched her chest, why did she have to think of them now? Memories of her recent visit to Kiribi filled her heart. Seeing Aubrey, Jyoti and her son Casval, everyone she had worked with and had fought alongside. A scream echoed through the beaches, one full of so much pain. The memory disappeared as the woman found herself standing in a hanger working on an X-Wing, laughter echoed between her and the blonde woman at her side. The pair of droids played in the distance, and she felt human and normal. ​

Why now when she had accepted letting the galaxy continue on without her? What was wrong with her? Finally, the feeling of the air being knocked out of her took over as she felt the twist of her mind changing to another's memory. A silver-haired woman rested against her chest, seeking warmth, Allyson wrapped her arms tightly around herself as she lived the warm memory. ​

...it is your duty...
Make me feel better.​

There was one more thing she needed to do, one more loose end she needed to tie up before she could accept the conclusion. Looking at her wrist, she sent her position back to the Lord Inquisitor. Allyson wondered if she would come, she wondered if she had grown tired of her Attendant always having to go off somewhere. The Corellian chuckled a little under her breath as she thought of the woman's haughty attitude, the way she was flustered at some of the most exciting things, yet found the most mundane awe-inspiring. Looking up to the sky, Allyson laughed. ​

Her life was such a farce. ​

 

[Zsuzsa]

NIO Stormtrooper Corps | Dorn-2 Squad
Gear in bio
Allies: NIO/GA/SoM
In company of Ravraa Vyshraal , Aerith Castiella & Dorn NPCs

Enemies: TSE and et al
In opposition of TBD

Post 1: D-day - En route via dropship to designated LZ at Hoth for nighttime beach insertion
Weather Report: Clear and cool

​

How did the one only known as Zsuzsa get here to this point? Now that was a good question and one that is probably too long, complicated, and boring to spell out, but here goes the short version...

Fraz'suz'safis wasn't your typical Imperial Stormtrooper recruit. No, the Chiss had already served with distinction in the Chiss Ascendancy's Marine Corps as a sharpshooter as well as a secondary medic and rising to the rank of an officer from humble yet stained beginnings as her parents were Chiss Joiners, but that seemed like a lifetime ago. So much had happened since the glory days of fighting the Killik's, Vagaari, and Ssi-ruuk in Chiss space and further into the Unknown Regions. She missed her comrades from the Mighty Fighting Niners in the CEMC's 9th Battalion. All but a few were still alive as most were KIA at the last major offensive for CA at Bakura against the Ssi-ruuvi Imperium, which in the end was a victory though came at a great cost.

But their greatness wasn't to last as the Ascendancy soon fell back into disarray due to infighting amongst the Ruling Houses, intra-family coups, and assassinations of key Aristocras. Which of course left the Ascendancy militarily weak and feckless allowing yet again outside forces to take advantage of the situation by occupying Chiss worlds first in the colonies where her homeworld was, then coreward along the Path of Houses. It was probably only a matter of time before Csilla, the Chiss capital, would fall into the hands of the newest oppressor without a peep from the Circle of Families, and with that truth, Fraz'suz'safis chose not to support the Ascendancy any longer and resigned her commission.

Shortly after is when Fraz'suz'safis sought to join the New Imperial Order who's ideology was something along the same lines she grew up with though not to the degree of the ideals of the Red Flame Chiss hold dear. Well, some anyway like her. Now using her core name, Zsuzsa was given the rank of corporal for her previous military experience upon signing on with the NIO's Stormtrooper Corps. It was a new beginning and hopefully would be a wise decision in the long run.

Corporal Zsuzsa was quickly assigned to Dorn-2 Squad as a replacement due to the squad taking heavy casualties in a recent engagement. Dorn-2 was an intriguing group of mainly human's though there were a couple of aliens including the sergeant that led the squad, though the Togruta seemed to not be pleased with a Chiss in the mix for some reason... and how did he ever get those montrals and lekku of his to fit comfortably under his stormtrooper helmet? Just asking for a friend...

Zsuzsa was not to be the only stormsniper in the squad as there was already another, though she did outrank him. But any replacement knows it's not all about rank, but the time you put in and acceptance... She would have to prove herself with the core group of Dorn's before rank carried any privilege or respect. This invasion would be a challenge for all of them if the mission brief was any indication, but a marine stormtrooper didn't let that ever stop them from achieving victory or die trying.

​

As Dorn-2's gunship came down through Dubrilllion's atmosphere in the cover of darkness, then low and fast over the ocean waters nearly skimming the tops of the waves as it headed towards their designated landing zone, code name Hoth. The passengers in the troop compartment experienced some turbulence but nothing too bad. Zsuzsa didn't get airsick, though not being able to see out did bother her. This is why before she sealed her helmet to the issued Stormtrooper armor, she'd popped in her mouth a piece of licorice. Unfortunately for her, the gooey red vine was now stuck to one of her back molars, and tonguing it out was not working...

At least it kept the Chiss' mind off what was ahead - hitting the beachhead probably under a fair amount of opposition, but with luck taking it quickly so the NIO and allied ground forces could advance inland to their objectives. The human Dorn sitting across from Zsuzsa seemed to be quite an interesting character... or at least the woman's attempt at humor was. She was newer to the squad as well. Time would only tell how they all got along and if the intermingled group worked well together as a unit.

Soon enough the pilot announced they were one minute out from insertion. Zsuzsa steeled herself for what next was to come... The weather was supposed to be clear and cool, but the Chiss rather believed it was going to be more like hot and steamy under fire.

​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

T H E W A Y I S E E T H I N G S
THE MYRMIDONS | KAL'ORITSOR | DOOKU-PATTERN JEDI ARMOR
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Trajan Fett Irveric Tavlar ​

---

---

War.

One would assume that it was a leader's primary concern in the moments before the imminent assault of an enemy beachhead. The lessons imparted on him at Muuninlist and beyond should've been cemented within his mind, but Luc found himself preoccupied elsewhere with his thoughts and attention. Music of all things had taken his attention by a storm, not the chatter of voices being delivered across the shared channels of the 173rd and 307th Legions of the Order. It was negligence to a certain extent. Luc would freely admit that he wasn't the best commander, nor did he claim to be the most tactically sound either. The woman that he and his men were accompanying was a far more experienced leader than himself. She had earned the extensive body of men under his command through just as much diligence as himself, but unlike her, the exiled prince had not spent the majority of his years at war for one Empire or another.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt earned her right of command through nothing more than her own grit, and in her possession were the skills that were necessary to carry the diverse group of soldiers to a superb victory over the foes of their shared Imperial Order. With a tactical ability that was far from being outmatched by their peers, perhaps the only advantage Luc kept was the utter trust that his Legion had in his command. Even when their commander preoccupied himself mid-flight to a war zone by retreating into his own zone, not a soul within his legion had developed doubt nor distrust in the actions of their seemingly-negligent leader.

He'd fought and bled by their side since the onset of the Third Imperial Civil War; Against the unending tide of S-IMP Legionnaires that threw themselves at the Order's forces, Lucien's presence on the battlefield had been a constant near the front, and willingly at that. Where some commanders chose to lead from he back, relying on their tactics and wit to win the day, Luc had neither the background nor the experience to justify doing so without compromising his own legion in the process. Instead he led from the front, serving as the vanguard of the elite force of veterans who followed valiantly behind him to accomplish whatever objective was thrown there way. It was dangerous, and death had been close to claiming him on several occasions since the start of his military career. He knew this, and his men knew this even more.

Rallying around him, they fought just as hard as their Jedi Commander, who in turn fed off the energy of the men he'd come to regard as brothers-in-arms; the only group of Imperials who he found good company in, for the most part. They weren't just a Stormtrooper Legion, after all. They were friends, comrades-in-arms, even brothers who bonded through the trials of warfare over several campaigns. Storming behind the Jedi who fearlessly presented himself as the tip of their spear- wherever Luc led, they would follow. The fate of the Legion was tied to Lucien himself, and both parties had accepted this, for better or for worse. They were his Myrmidons, and there wasn't an enemy who put enough fear into their hearts to shatter their resolve.

The defenders of Hoth Beach, despite their entrenched positions overlooking the beach, would find themselves no exception to the Myrmidons' unyielding resolve. A tap on Luc's shoulder alerted their negligent commander to the familiar sight of his second-in-command, one of the few stormtroopers of Crest Section -- his Legion's predecessor -- who survived their daring Speeder assault during the Battle of Muunilinst. Removing his earphones, Luc shoved them into the pocket beneath his chestplate, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his lips as the man raised his voice over the ambient noise of the transport.

<"We're a mile from the landing point, Sir.">

Luc gave him a nod, arms stretching out within the cramped confines of the transport. "Good." He replied through a yawn, raising up from the seat and rolling his neck around with the few moments of freedom he had left. The veteran officer handed him the earpiece that Luc had given to him while he preoccupied his ears with music. Luc put it in his ear, adjusting the frequency until it picked up the chatter coming solely from the 173rd and not the 307th. It was time to address his men, and the last thing he needed was for the 307th's commander to catch wind of the unorthodox command that was about to exit his lips. The chatter came to a stop once his voice entered their ears, the attention of his veteran Legion shifting to him immediately.

"Alright, boys." Luc spoke up, shooting a glance across the transport to ensure that Lyra wasn't paying any attention to him. "The plan was to assault the beachhead with the 307th-- but plans are always subject to change within our Legion. Thirty-seconds from now the entirety of the 173rd will be making our way to the beach ahead of the primary forces we've been asked to assist. Is it risky? Definitely. But not much more than hitting the beach with the bulk of the ground forces in one giant wave. We've been through hell and back together, and tonight's goin' to be just another step on the road to claiming Bastion from these Sith bastards who don't even know they're about to die on the same rotting hill that they built."

"Remember what they've destroyed-- what they've stolen from each and everyone of us. That's more than enough reason for us to fight till their entire Empire has crumbled to dust. As always-- I ask this of you, not as your commander, but as a brother whose seen it all alongside the majority of you in this Legion. We may not have the numbers of the 307th, or the sheer dominance of the Imperator's legendary 501st, but none of that matters when I look behind me and see who's following me into the next line of unfortunate S-IMP's who have to throw themselves upon my blade, or die at the hands of their own like the cowards they are."

A fist slammed against the controls for the rear hatch, the removal of his fist causing the massive doors to lower down, breaking the seal of the pressurized environment within the transport's interior. Water was still present beneath them as he took in the view, and the sight of dozens upon dozens of transports dotting the black skies as his eyes shifted away from the dark water beneath them. "We fight to prove nothing to nobody, and we take what is offered to us, and sometimes that must be enough for us to get the job done. The enemy might know that we're coming, but they don't know that we're coming."

Activating his jetpack, Luc swiveled on his feet to face the shocked stormtroopers of the 307th, who were sending word of what was going on towards Commander Lyra by that point in time. The jetpacks of his command squad broke the monotony of the wind-delivered ambiance, and Luc couldn't help but look back towards the lot of them, two fingers pressed against his brow as a half-baked salute was delivered their way.

"Expect nothing but the worst-- Only then can we be prepared for anything."

His final sentence was purposefully leaked across the 173rd and 307th's shared comms, but no room was left to stop him as he lept backwards into the air, activating the jetpack's thrusters quick enough to catch the wind and jet forwards towards their target. Reports would flood the airwaves of the various Legions taking part in the operation; the Myrmidons had done the same as their Commander all across the invasion force, leading to hundreds of signals pinging on their radar within moments. Those numbers increased as the full force of the 173rd boosted ahead of the main force, the Exiled Prince leading at the head of the wave of stormtroopers in a concerted effort to storm the beachhead before the rest of the force had arrived. The finale of this daring assault would end in a successful arrival for the majority of the men of the 173rd. The S-IMP AA emplacements being too inaccurate to pinpoint the small targets darting in its direction, the first casualties taken by the Myrmidons were due to artillery bombardments and direct-fire from entrenched Legionnaires.

A fusillade of returning fire echoed across their advanced position on the beachhead- further fire increased the intensity of their assault as incoming squads of the Myrmidons landed upon the beach, joining in the chorus of blaster fire and fragmentation rounds that aimed to suppress the Sith positions with everything at their disposal. Luc was positioned near the very front of their vanguard; the aqua-blue blade of his lightsaber carving through the air, deflecting bolts away from him and his men and occasionally sending a bolt back towards the trooper that was dumb enough to expose himself from his position. Kal'oritsir was sheathed on his back, but for the time being his lightsaber proved more useful as a means of drawing the attention of many entrenched Legionnaires away from the squads of men who were landing across their forward position on the beach.

Protecting himself from incoming blaster fire was a risk he was willing, especially when it could help contribute to the bulk of the Myrmidons accomplishing their daring air assault, further securing the vanguard position ahead of the invasion's main body. Luc wouldn't stop there either, as victory wasn't achieved by sitting around and doing nothing at all. The 173rd would only pause in their assault to ensure that their presence was recognized as a threa. With S-IMP legionnaire's aggro focused in their direction, and not on the men and vehicles hitting the shores far behind them, the Myrmidons would only have to bide their time for a little bit longer until they inevitably received the next command to advance against the entrenched positions ahead of them. "Always forwards, brothers; Never backwards!" Luc called out over his comms, still engaged in drawing the attention of the defending forces towards him and his command squad.

 

[Ruek Tast]

Allies: TSE | Open
Combatants: NIO | Open
​

MORNING
Fascinating how quickly legionnaire armor sank. Granted, it sunk faster when filled with rocks and sand and bits of legionnaire left inside.

The sand-filled gauntlet was thrown in the sea, an offering to whatever spirits writhed beneath the surface. Gutted of sensors, the leftover shells of plasteel were dead of electrical life. Sensors were little tattletales that gave away your position, so the talkative things were executed by way of a hatchet and stone then spread like ashes to the waves.

The legionnaire's head was covered last since he was buried vertically. The underbrush looked undisturbed as moss and rock were returned to natural positions. All signs of tampering were removed, all but a deliberate set of tracks that passed directly by. It looked like nothing more than an ordinary patrol route.

People would search for him but they would never find him.

They will never find him.

He saw too much. He talked too much. He was not what the Empire needed.

He's not what the Empire needs.

Loose lips sink ships!

He was going to tell.

"Haven't seen hide nor hair of him."


AFTERNOON
A few choice rooms of the facility had been emptied for what became forgotten maintenance. It was in one of these that an Alder-Espirion female cleaned the components of a modified E-11 sniper rifle with religious devotion. Each piece had been laid aside, inspected, then united with its kin to form a whole.

"Out of many, one."

A vibro-hatchet rested near her side, weathered and bearing the scars of heavy use.

"And of the one, unity which the vilest of foes may not tear apart."

The darkened armor sat around her in unregulated congress, the amount of markings drawn on their surfaces catching her a sharp tongue from by-the-book superiors.

She was at the bottom of the military food-chain once more. Her former records were cast aside, that much she understood.

But she would prove it.

Her loyalty remained to the Empire, even if it had died centuries before.

Tast had his concerns and tried to tell her it was over.

"This isn't our empire!" he'd shout.

But he was wrong.

He had stayed rooted in her mind, a so-called friend--no, a brother. His voice grew alongside her for years and in the wilds of Jelucan they were allies. Inseparable. She needed him. She loved him.

Tarkin's speech led them to pursue a higher calling.

Tast gave his foresight and she honed her strength. These were their gifts, the mental and the physical split in two yet still housed in one vessel. But he grew a coward. He grew selfish. He would not give his all for their Empire. So of course she had to get rid of him. His voice. Mute the voice.

It had been so long since she had heard him.

She would serve without restraint. She would prove herself worthy of the Empire again. No more running. No more "new lives."

EVENING
The klaxon blared in practiced distress as communications flooded with sightings of New Imperial forces. Soldiers awoke in their beds, others stopped recording their letters, and some cursed their interrupted lunch break.

Ruek's eyes snapped open from her meditation. Her armor was equipped without missing a beat, the act a ritual in itself that was to be observed with precision. The sniper rifle's cloth wrappings flowed as a banner over her shoulder and the camo hood of her ghillie cape wreathed her helmet. The blood-drawn glyphs on the wall's interior panel were closed off, the human heart and liver stowed away, and the light of the candle snuffed between index and thumb.

Red lenses glowed as her helmet's systems came online. She jogged through the corridors, meeting up with a platoon as soon as they were loading transports.

In the cover of night the enemy had come.

In the night they would pile onto the sand.

Does darkness make it difficult for dead souls to find peace?

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Valeria Ragal (Ingrid L’lerim)
The Red Witch; sorcerer, master spy, agent, assassin, sniper​

Location: Byss Island, Dubrillion
Objective: Objective II - Storm Surge
Equipment: 2x vibroblade | Standard vibrosword with these look | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Tactical Turtleneck with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | Stealth field generator | Holographic disguise matrix | G1 OmniLink | Actual look under the armor: link |
Allies: Open | TSE and allies
Enemies: Dorian Sicarrio | Mavia | NIO and allies

Background music:
Elena Siegman – Abracadavre​

Ingrid wasn't bothered by the cold, in fact, for her, it was a completely natural living space, she came from an ice planet, and there also from the northern regions. She loved the cold, she felt better in it than in the warmer conditions. Not to mention the fact that the frozen soil leaves no trace for someone who wants to stay hidden, the frozen ground - without snow - is the perfect terrain. Her gaze scanned the area, hoping to notice who she had come for.

She was on the battlefield, her whole body tense ready to jump, her movement, on the other hand, is resilient, graceful, smooth. Like a perfect predator, the woman's patience was just like that. Anyone else would probably have had a pulse in the skies because of the fighting situation. But Ingrid? The woman was as frosty as the night, motionless, waiting for the right moment. Her heart wasn't beating faster either, her pulse was slow. A model of patience.

She paid a lot to be like that, it was not her decision, her parents decided at the moment of her birth that this would be her fate. And the often cruel training was effective. If these don't happen to her… if Ingrid’s childhood is not sacrificed because of the training, then she would not have been the person who became her. Did she regret this? No! Just that later normal life was just a painful dream, beautiful but painful, for she knew that it could never be fulfilled.

She raised her head in the air when an explosion occurred, a rocket that hit a ship. Since he had no idea how her contact would arrive, it could have been him/her. Since the enemy was already close, her contact might have wanted to get here by shuttle. She didn't know a comlink number either, the whole thing was completely anonymous, she only got one sentence and that’s why the target person will pursue it, that they will get to know each other with this. That was the safest method for everyone.

She watched the explosion and the way the two of them seemed to jump out of the exploding ship, she saw the silhouettes as she went closer to see the events. Whereas she had no intention of fighting and hoped to avoid a battle, so she decided to help the two people. She began to concentrate and reached out to the Force. Used her telekinetic power, trying to form invisible "hands" around the protruding and catapulted person. If she succeeded, she prevented the couple from falling into the water or the rocks, and at first just floated them in the air, then ashore, not far from herself, she lowered them to the ground.

She didn’t really look like a Sith in this dress and the dark side wasn’t present either, thanks to her perfectly controlled emotions. Rather, she could be seen as something of a bounty hunter or something like that.

”Are you alright?” she asked. ”Do not replace the well-known path…”

Ingrid thought it was worth a try to see if they were the ones she was waiting for, or at least one of them…

​

 

[Darth Argentum]

Operation Storm Surge-Objective: Hoth Beach
With the Sons of Mandalore
Allies: Ra Vizsla Warchief Waddles NIO & GA

Politics, it was said, made for the strangest of bedfellows. But it was also true that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Thus Maro found himself accompanying a legion of Mando'ade into battle. He wasn't doing it out of some foolish misguided honour nor the kindness of his hearts.

He needed to prove himself to these beings if he was to enter into any kind of alliance. The Muun had made private inquires as to whether the Sons of Mandalore would require funding. Credits to pay for their ongoing insurrection against the Sith.

There'd been interest but also skepticism. Why would a Muun banker and Sith sorceror want to help them? What was to be his gain in all of this? Moreover, what was the game that he played.

The answer was simple: to rid himself of the Sith Empire. Just as the Sons also wished to do. The reply was simple. Prove it.

The Muun hadn't liked it at all. But his hand had been forced. There was no better way to prove himself to the warrior Mandalorians than to join them in combat. Maro had agreed knowing it was a calculated risk.

So it was that he found himself in a shuttle hurtling through Dubrillion's atmosphere. Strapped in as he was, the turbulence still felt as if he were in a groundquake. Yet he kept him features impassive as he knew the warriors were scrutinizing him. He could feel their eyes through their t-visors on him.

He could also feel the current of their emotions when he reached out. Fear was tightly restrained and the adrenaline had begun to flow. Their minds were focused. The hyper-awareness brought on by conflict had taken hold.

Above all, they were poised and ready. Their movements were well-honed through countless repetitions. Weapons, armour and equipment was given a final check just before entering atmosphere. They laughed at jokes made and talked about the wine that would flow after victory.

Seasoned professionals to the last. All brought up among a people who cherished combat. Maro Dansk stood out like a sore thumb. Both his height and lack of besk'ar'gam were the most obvious things.

He also carried no visible weapons, unlike the rifles and pistols toted by the warriors. They'd offered him body-armour and weapons initially and he'd turned them down.

"It's your funeral, Muun," had come the casual reply with a shrug from the one offering.

Maro grinned in response but said nothing further.

Then the shuttle made jarring contact with the beach. It was more of a controlled crash than a landing. The Muun grunted audibly as he was thrown back in his chair in spite of the harness. But the Force helped cocoon him from the worst of the impact.

He unstrapped his harness and exited the ruined landing vessel, following the Mandalorians and stormtroopers out. Then he saw the figure of Ra Vizsla step forward from behind a hulking male. He heard him bellow cries of death towards their enemies.

Overheard he saw the fearsome aspect of a basilisk and heard it's piercing cry in response. Ahead of them, the 403rd and Mando'ade surged into battle. The Muun stood for a moment studying Vizsla. He was a thing that should not be and it fascinated the Sith sorceror.

He wondered how he'd come to be this way. Perhaps one day soon he'd find out. For the moment, he reached into his zeyd-cloth robes and produced the elongated hilt of his lightsaber. He thumbed it on and the crimson blade hissed to life.

"Gentlemen," he said to Vizsla and Priest "Shall we?"

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Location: Hoth Island, Dubrillion
Objective: Storm Surge | Defend the Refinery
Allies: TSE and Others
Enemies: NIO | Avernus & Kenth Tavlar [Planned]
Equipment: Ceremonial Armor | Lightsaber
Theme: X
Post Title: Memories # 1

How many times?

The question is like a persistent ringing doorbell in his head. Over and over again, chiming without stop and refusing to let him rest. The New Imperial Order always at his heels and he at theirs. An endless chase of hounds and serpents hunting for scraps of food and territorial gain. It reminds him of his early days on Credence when the world was besieged by his hordes of brainwashed fanatics who would openly sacrifice themselves in battle if they believed it would give him strength. At the time, it did and the world was his to toy with.

​

"Hail Lord Kavar!" the masses had called out in frothing jubilation following the final conquest of the last city, eyes brighter than a Tatooine sun. "Hail the Warrior-King!"

"You draw quite a crowd," she had said as they overlooked the thousands upon thousands chanting his name and praising him as a god. "What do you plan to do next with its support?"

"Conquer the stars and claim my destiny," he had replied simply. And conquer he did. Multitudes of worlds and star systems fell under his primitive, domineering control. An iron fist triple-plated with alchemized impervium. Unbreakable. Unshakable. Never to be removed. Until it was.

Killed by a lowly assassin in the dead of night as he conversed tactics with his aging father, the last words he had heard being: "Not my son!"

And the Devil fell into the oceanic abyss, ripped and torn by the claws of demons and devils seeking to punish him for his violent conduct and his murder of millions. His skin was flayed, his muscles shredded, and his bones snapped before he reached what appeared to be the bottom. A resting place at the very least before he lay there for untold millennia, pecked at by the carrion birds of whatever spirits inhabited this lowest part of hell. Over time, Kascalion grew to think that he deserved his fate, and over time, he even embraced it.

That was all before he awoke as something new. A Sith in a marauding Empire at war with a Republic. He learned of the Force and of the Dark and the Light and those that came before and after him. He fought for Sadow, Revan, Vitiate, Acina, and Sidious. And the Promethean died each time, and he awoke each time, and he died, and he awoke - died, awoke, died, awoke. Countless times, countless lives, each death withering his spirit, his memory, his body until he finally entered the life he currently lives. For so long, he thought himself as just Kascalion - a Koignalteth in service to the Empire, just a cog in the wheel of imperialism.

​

But now the Devil is here. Sitting at the peak of a plateau overlooking a war-ridden beach, he is a reformed man conflicted with himself and what he should do to reach the goal set on Bescane. What he must do to finally return home and spark the fires of his old conquests once again with his people, his old fanatics and his old armies.

It appears as an unreachable goal in the practical sense in that he will most likely die soon if these battles and sieges and invasions and skirmishes keep occurring and the date he had told himself does not come soon. So, he asks himself once more and once more and once more like a broken holotape: how many times? How many times must he throw himself into the battle to fulfill his grieving vendetta? How many more wars must he fight until he can finally rest?

Kascalion rubs a gloved hand against his forehead and sighs heavily, eyes focusing on the hundreds, perhaps thousands, charging up the beach towards the complex behind him. They enter the fray with such conviction and belief. Trying to claim their own destinies. The Devil chuckles at the sight - it is a humorless chuckle - and rises to his feet, cracking his knuckles and back and neck, a symphony of noises. What can he do if not cut those destinies off at the root to further his own?

"This is my time...my path...my destiny...it always has been...and I refuse to see it fail now," he growls to himself before leaping off the plateau to the fortified line, lightsaber ignited to a black-blue blade emanating a deep wolf-like howl. They will die, he will live, and he will claim what is rightfully his.

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Mavia | Ingrid L'lerim | Imperial Knights | Target Island Byss​

Alas, a moment of confidence was not enough to save him completely. The ship rocked and shuddered with the impact of the missile. Dorian was rooted in place as he watched Mavia leap into action. Even in the face of such danger, she was a sea of calm. The roar of the Sith and New Imperial weapons turned to a quiet drumming in the background. Still, as calming as her presence was he couldn’t help but feel helpless in the face of the challenge in front of him. His barriers were nowhere near as strong as hers, his skill in telekinesis lackluster in comparison. Again for a moment he was that little boy, watching as someone else did something he was too weak to do.

While he was frozen he was simply in awe of the Mirialan’s commanding presence. The other Knights and troopers filed out as she gave her orders, but Dorian waited as the shock wore off. They were equals, weren’t they? He could do something here, surely. He could run off with her. He could lend his strength. Anything. Something stupidly chivalrous. Dorian was nothing if not brazenly stupid, and what would a knight be without chivalry? There had to be something. He needed to prove he wasn’t helpless anymore.

Mavia ordered him again, and as her hand towards him, everything began to slow. His eyes locked with hers for only a moment. In that instant he realized the truth -- he had nothing to prove here. The weight of her earlier words finally hit him. He’d been entrusted with this responsibility by her.

Mavia trusted him. As things began to move once more, he finally said something he’d never admitted to anyone else, barely above a whisper.

“I trust you.”

But it was too late.

Dorian was launched out of the hole on one side of the gunship. The fall felt like an eternity, and yet again he could only watch as the fiery explosion claimed Mavia and knocked him further astray. The pieces of the gunship scattered, landing in the water below. Part of him wondered if that was how his mother went out as well. Part of him wondered if there was anything he could’ve done to protect her.

Was it really the end? Was that the last thing he’d ever say to her? Regrets flooded into his mind. For the first time in a long time he’d found someone he trusted, only to have her disappear into some fiery explosion. All he’d done was watch. There were more things he’d wished he’d done, things he should’ve said, but he’d been too weak and afraid and slow. For a guy who could run faster than a blaster bolt, he really was slow.

“Do you know where your mother’s strength came from, Dorian?” The voice was that of a man’s. He spoke in a calm, soothing tone; he was not accusatory nor malicious, only thoughtful and kind. “She had someone to protect, someone who reminded her that she needed to be greater to honour her son and protect his future.

“You struggle with the past, Dorian, such that you cannot look forward. Remember well, but do not drown in those memories.”

But she’d trusted him, too. She’d given him a job to do. The facade and bravado were gone. His heart ached but he knew what had to be done. It’d be a poor way to honor her if he didn’t remember well. Worse if he drowned in those regrets and memories.

It took him a few moments longer to realize he was being pulled far from the water below and past the beach, only to be lowered in front of an armored woman that was unfortunately not Mavia. As such, he didn’t care for her -- as soon as he was set down, he threw up his free hand to push the woman away with the Force. “Get the hell out of my way,” he growled. “You saved the wrong person.”

The knight turned and his image flickered as he returned to the battlefront.

---

By the time the other knights had swum to shore, Dorian had broken a hole the first line of Sith defenses. He stood tall on the pillbox he’d cleared. His weapon was aglow and dripped the same hue of crimson. It radiated a hunger, a thirst for war and violence unlike any other. He didn’t know if this was what the other knight had wanted from him, but he was there. He had his strength. And he would show it to the enemy.

<<”Let’s go,”>> he ordered, turning his sights to the central complex. No, he didn’t think he was entirely ready. He needed a little more help.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

DUBRILLION // BATTLE OF THE SHIPWRECKS // VANGUARD
X-02 // FLIGHT SUIT // FRANK
GA // Maynard Treicolt // Olen Halcorr
NIO // Cheapshot // Jalter Volff
TSE // Melia Siari // Nica Dakkar // Jihun Kim
IT TAKES TIME TO COME BACK FROM LOSING YOUR MIND​

<Once more unto the breach.> Frank intoned almost melodically through their shared comms. It was a final statement after spending most of their time in the whirling light tunnel of hyperspace listening to the historic records of Dubrillion and its significance within the galactic scene. He’d spent a rather long time focusing on the contrast of the superlaser facility of yore to the aquarium. It was funny what he found worthy to focus on –– after all their time going through this routine, Loske'd come to appreciate Frank's attempt at having an affinity for the quainter things in life. Like he was constantly encouraging her to experience some normalcy and that version of life she idealized so frequently to him.

As if a visit to the aquarium would satiate that need.

<Or unto the beach maybe, when all this is over. You could do with a tan. Dubrillion is the spot for it.>

<I have a feeling the beaches will be less scenic when this battle’s over.>

Frank only released a low whistle in response, seconds before the sound off of callsigns relayed through the comms. Realspace was now seconds away, and they’d be snapping into a junkyard. Loske joined the sound-off dutifully after the list of vanguards and a moment before the Squadron Leader relayed instructions for how to enter the scene. His tone betrayed no nervousness at all. She sent a glance to her right where Saber-1s ship started to activate to attack mode, though it wouldn’t meet any reciprocal gaze. Despite the homeyness of the cockpit, and all it’s protective advantages to fighting shoulder-to-shoulder in the ground fray, there was only mystery behind the glasteel canopy and eye contact was near impossible.

<"Not a party without the company, Vanguards pair off and regulate. Once we're tapped for our mission we'll form up. Saber-5 , on me.">

<Always, Commander.> Loske purred through the comms when Saber-5 received explicit instruction to remain paired with the other Saber.

<I’m glad we’re back up in the skies. The last two invasions you’ve been in turned out badly. You’re much better up here.>

She knew Frank meant no harm by the comment, but it was a heavy reminder of the failure on Muunilinst where she'd let Maynard down, and Borosk where she'd felt the amassed confusion and heartbreak from her best friends. Having the invitation to perform amidst the stars would help get some of her cockiness back; she belonged behind the sticks. Her track record of success was far better up here. She couldn't fail anybody while in the pilot's seat.

<You’re just saying that so you can feel involved in the action.>

<Partly.> The astromech admitted as the automatic safety on the hyperdrive kicked in. The fighters burst through the incandescent white wall and into the belly of the Myto sector. And right in the middle of a running light fight and a minefield of former ships. While a shot from the X-02 of the commander cored through a fighter, she nosed downward to clear a large chunk of residual debris in her path. The rangefinder on the targeting monitor scrolled numbers off with blurred speed. Her crosshairs went green and she fired, but she couldn’t see how much damage she’d done because of the light show around them and clouds of metal floating around that tinked and bounced off her shields.

<Use the debris to your advantage. Keep twisting and turning and it’ll be tricky for anyone to find and lock you long enough to stick around and dust you.>

Loske stabbed the right rudder pedal as a response to her astromech, swinging the ship around a piece of what looked to formerly be a starfighter nose. Punching her throttle forward she closed the distance lost between herself and the other X-Wing. With her thumb, she popped weapons control over to torpedoes and got a solid tone with a fleeing Interceptor in the targeting box.

<Still don’t know why those things don’t have shields yet.> She murmured, and her finger tightened on the trigger and a single torpedo shot away in a jet of blue flame. The torpedo met its target, coring through the eyeball in an erupting blossom of fire that was instantly swallowed by the void of space. With her acceleration, she passed through the area where the ship had once been, now nothing but additional clutter in the DSZ.

Amidst the heat, a flickering blue silhouette bounced off her viewport, and she leaned forward in her seat to squint at it. For a handful of seconds, it lodged in the divot between the canopy and the nose. Long enough for Loske to make out the flickering silhouettes of the pocket-sized holo. It looked like four people, a woman with three children surrounding her. It flickered a bit, and another piece of loose metal, causing her magno-sweeper to bark indicatively, knocked against the shuddering picture and orbited it back out into space; spiralling in the wake of the X-Wing.

Her gut felt heavy. A painful reminder that while she might have counted her kills as numbers of ships there were still people inside them. Each ship lost was a pilot down.

<Nice shot!> Frank encouraged. <Don't glorify yourself too long.> And instead of finishing his sentence, he forced her screen to red to indicate the incoming sweep of opposition; keeping her continuously humble.

 

[Strain]

Beach Head "Hoth"
11 FS BN
501st Legion

War. Strain had seen thousands perish. Blood, guts and men vomiting was nothing new for the grizzled old veteran. He'd quelled insurrections, slaughtered Rebels, and been shot or blown up no less than three times at least. Since returning from retirement he'd been reinstated a Sergeant, overseeing a Battery of Mortars. Now mortars were still effective as all hell. No matter who you were, 120 Millimeters of explosive ordinance detonating on or near you was bounds to leave a mark.

The kings of Battle, protected by the beloved grunts.

As the door slammed open, he wasted no time. The squad he was controlling pushed their platform down the ramp. Two took plasma bolts to the chest. TK grunted and kept moving, wading with an Erie calm through the sea of death. The greenhorns trembled under the intense barrage. Somewhere nearby a round impacted the beach, sending guts and limbs flying across the LZ.

"Keep moving, look forwards you dogs!" TK roared.

Any time to think could not be allowed. Thinking in combat was a sin. There was only action, reaction and muscle memory.

Speed, Aggression, Violence of action. These were the laws he had drilled into his squad.

A private fell, hands coming free of the mortar platform. Strain reached down, grabbed him by his web harness and ripped him to his feet.

"Keep moving Private! Hesitation is death!"

"Roger Sarge!"

He had the urge to plant his boot right in the mans chest. These young-lings weren't cut out for this. How could a man whom had led division of Stromtroopers across multiple Empires be reduced to a mere sergeant, leading these rabble?

Strain pushed the thoughts aside. By the end of the War these men would be the finest Artillery Detachment that'd ever existed.

He Swore it under his breath.​

"Drop the platforms! Prepare to hang rounds!"

A snipers bolt sizzled through the air, killing the very private he'd just picked up. The round went sloshing into the mud and salty water. Strain growled and grabbed it with a thumb-less grip, as the legs of the mortar bases extended.

He let it drop into the muzzle and roared over the sound of bombs, blasters and dying men.

"Fire!!!!!"​

Rounds went up in a furious barrage, like wasps hurtling for the kill.

"Hang!"


......


"Fire!!!"​

Another barrage ripped from the bores of the platforms, hurtling for the plateau. Up ahead Infantry would have to guide them on target. Sergeant Strain cared not whether they were directly on. All he cared about was silencing the enemy artillery. Once they were done, he could call in Close Air Support and rip the enemy a new one.

"This is Aurek Two Five to Pathfinder and Observers. How copy on target?"​

 

[Lark]

​

Allies: The Sith Empire
Enemies: New Imperial Order, Lunafreya Solidor
Objective:

Lark rested on the sands of Dubrillion, gazing out on the horizon as the soft tides lapped at his ankles. In moments like this, time stood still. The crescendo of mortar fire and artillery strikes were so easily forgotten when viewing a sight like this. The endless night sky, speckled with stars, moons and suns painted a galactic canvas of unmatched beauty. Lark's head drifted back, and the sounds of blaster fire became nearly inaudible as he tried to enjoy just a mere moment or two of pure bliss. He knew what it was that he had to do, but he had always found peace near the ocean. Tragically, he hadn't found the time to visit those serene shores in some time.

He had the New Imperial Order to thank for that. And as nice as the Dubrillion beaches were, it was no secret what came next.

They brought destruction and ruin to those places of peace Lark sought so dearly. Sand dunes would become craters, tidal winds would not gently caress the cheeks of any living thing for quite a while. He stood, forcing himself to let go of that tranquil dream he chased after. There were so many obstacles standing in his way. If rest eluded him until he cut those obstacles down, than so be it. He'd watch the galaxy burn, set forth all manner of unholy beasts, anything to experience the peace he searched for.

Anything for them...

Lark smiled, taking one last look at the stars. Somewhere in that wondrous expanse were his brother and sister. They were out there, waiting for him. He had to ensure that when the three were reunited, they would be at peace. Maybe, one day, once the echoes of what would soon happen on Dubrillion had long faded away, together they could all enjoy a much quieter night here on these same shores.

There was only one way to make that happen.

Lark drew his enchanted blade, and turned away from his dream. Instead he faced what not only threatened him and the Sith Empire, but the peace he desired for his siblings. They deserved a night of calm and quietude, and Lark would ensure they got just that. If the New Imperial Order sought glorious death, he would gladly give it to them.

So long as his sister could have a restful night's sleep.

 

[Darth Zveris]

Location - Beach Hoth
Forces - Combined Anzati-Sith Pureblood Army (50,000 In Total)
Tags - Irveric Tavlar Agrippa

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Lord Eternal of the Sith,Supreme Overseer of the Armies of Xyston, Lord of Sentiment, he held many titles. However, none brought him more glory than the title of Conquer of Souls. It was with this thought that he slammed his boot down hard on the skull of a mud covered New Imperial Stormtrooper.

"My Lord, we have located the traitor Tavlar and his legions. Shall we move to intercept" The Anzati Sith Knight cowered in his masters presence, and even in the peripheral hell, he knelt.

"Civil War. How primitive. Thousands of years of work always coming crashing down when some fool seeks power, and somehow, against all odds receives support. I'm tires of this cycle. For thousands of years have we toiled. Thousands of years have we watched helplessly as one Empire after the next was swept aside by anarchy. No more! I call the Armies of the Sith Eternal to war!"

He activated his lightsaber, a enormous construct welded specifically for his hands, as he screamed in agony.

"Reveal thyself, Tavlar! You made a mistake coming here. It's judgment day"

 

[Lily Kuhn]

​

Location: Dubrillion Space, Battle of the Shipwrecks
Objective: I guess fly again? Maybe shoot some people down.
Allies: The Sith Empire | Aerarii Tithe , Nica Dakkar , Jihun Kim
Enemies: New Imperial Order & Galactic Alliance | Maynard Treicolt , Loske Treicolt , Jalter Volff , Arten Jinn , Cheapshot , Olen Halcorr
Ship: Sorzus Syn-class Spherecraft - Teta Actual
Theme: Confident

Slender hands slid into old flight gloves, small feet into boots that hadn't been worn in nearly as many years as the woman wearing them had seen action - both in space and otherwise. Dexterous fingers, gloves aside, worked at unwieldy red hair to tie it back into a tight bun, and with practiced, almost ritual, precision a helmet was lifted up, hefted over her head, and then lowered to seal at the collar. She was supposed to have retired, she was supposed to be raising a kid, a little boy that was only a few months past ten now, and yet here she was, doing what she did best - or perhaps worst, depending on who she was up against.

The hissing of hydraulics and the clinching of metal against metal cut the Tetan off from the world outside, and as she settled into her seat the gravity of her situation pressed down against her - still nothing compared to the weight she carried on her shoulders for the last ten years. Behind her flight chair was a massive brain, a Tsudakyr, that would act as her silent co-pilot, and for the first few hours of service she was going to need one to shake off the rust. The dark interior of the craft was illuminated by a low red glow and various lights and sensors that sat before her, she supposed to add to the ambiance necessary for a Sith to feel focused in such a craft.

A low ring came over the ship's communication system, signalling her departure from the hangar of some nameless corvette that had flew in to drop off the pilots with an aptitude in the force - something that had, apparently, been quite illegal for some time before the invasion of Borosk and Troska. Each flew a ship similar to her own, but rather than grouping together someone had determined that they were to be separated to help deal with any elements of the Jedi on an individual basis, and to let the main forces do their part to hinder the enemy advance. While this meant keeping her from assaulting capital ships, a prospect she actively wanted to avoid, it still meant flying sorties with pilots that had likely spent much more time in a cockpit than she had in the last ten years.

"For Jai." Lily muttered as she directed her fighter out of the ship's hangar, deciding that if there was any one person or thing she'd make sure she made it out alive for it'd be her son. The boy hadn't known his father, she wasn't about to make him learn to live without her, too.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

// IMPERATOR //: 501st Legion | 12th Armored Assault | Sons of Mandalore
// OBJECTIVE //: Operation Storm Surge | Target Beach HOTH
// ALLIES | NIO //: Agrippa | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Del Lovruc | Ravraa Vyshraal

Spoiler: Target Beach HOTH | NIO

Agrippa
Ravraa Vyshraal
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Lucien Dooku
Salvor Thul
Spencer Varanin
Aerith Castiella
Lunafreya Solidor
Ra Vizsla
Strain
Warchief Waddles
Junda
Grigory Tallis
Zsuzsa
Vilaz Munin
Warchief Waddles

// ENEMIES | TSE //: Ruek Tast | Lark | Darth Zveris | Sith Empire | OPEN
Armor [Shore/Tropic Climate Adjustments] | Rifle | Pistol | Melee | Grenades

​

I R V E R I C _ T A V L A R
Г p у п п а _ к р о в и

<"...Well what'd she end up telling you?"> The 501st Stormtrooper asked with a glance to his comrade next to him, the broad vision of his climate adjusted stormtrooper helmet locking with his counterpart's as they sat aboard the Dare-class Troop Transport. The two troopers had clearly been making the other privy to home front gossip and storytelling. Even as that countdown to landing timer continued its rapid, foreboding descending the spirits remained high or at the very least, calcified in the wake of total war.

<"That standard shit, you already know how it goes. Stay safe, can't wait to see you when you get back, all that stuff."> The trooper said in reply, shaking his head. Speaking with the spirit of dejection over a sweetheart back home. Or at the very least, one he yearned for.

<"Ah- Hell, guess there's only one way to find out what she meant."> The first trooper replied in return as he peered down the sights of his particle beam carbine, angling it toward the floor of the crew cabin, viewing the sight picture illuminated in a bright green.

<"Make it out of this shit alive, yeah."> The trooper remarked before his cold gaze stared forward with the flashing of the crew cabin lights to a bright crimson. They were about to land. Hands tightened around their weapons as their eyes froze over in anticipation. Each of them slowly walking themselves through the stages of the assault again before looping right back around to the foundation of it all. They were molded in their training to be automatons of death. There was no reason to overthink anything when that boarding ramp finally dropped down. Seperating the sterile realm of the transport from the choking air of fire, ash, death. War. That last moment of respite before the 'clunk' of the metal hitting the earth and jostle of duraplast as the troopers charged from the transport unto the beach.

Blaster cannons from the nearest emplacements were quick to rip through them as soon as they could see the signature armor of the New Imperial Shoretrooper shaded into a dark tan with the cobalt markings of the 501st present on the plating. Whatever lives had been so carefully constructed, whatever mortal souls tempered and nurtured were snuffed out in moments as blaster bolts ripped through the plates and sent them to a trembling death, only a scattered few who were able to let the battle droids in front of and around them from the first volley managed themselves to cover on the beach, the sights and sounds perforating in the darkness.

War in all its bloody glory.

In spite of the chaotic beginning that came with the prospect of a night time atmospheric assault, the pieces were already well on their way of being moved into place. The 501st were the bulk of that main drive. The spear. Irveric would not touch the ground of battle without them at his side. The Imperator's Fist all the same as they were his sons and daughters bound in bloodshed. A bond machinated and tempered in the fires of war. From a time spent marching one next to the other beneath the Crimson Saber, to now, in defiance of the very same evils.

The beach head was a scattered display of glowing blue squad shields set down into the sand with smoke screens shrouding the mass movements from the naked eye as the Shoretroopers continued their forward advance. With the first stretch of clay claimed under New Imperial might, the next wave emerges. Using the open space to land Heavy Assault Dropships under turbulent fire, the compliment from the 12th Armored Assault begins to furl its mailed fist to support the bulk of infantry, lighter vehicles and gunships who'd made landfall to set the stage of HOTH to begin with.

Walking upright among the chaos, his armaments at his hip, the Sovereign Imperator managed the assault on the field. Gladius was quick to manage target observation for the artillery which had begun to be immediately unloaded and dug in by the 307th.

Speak of the devil, and she will appear.

<<”Hellhound-actual to Enigma-actual, do you read?”>>
<<”Three o' seven have made landfall.”>>

<"Acknowledged, Hellhound. Establish your gun batteries and keep up with the charge. Don't cede any ground."> Irveric voiced through, conceding no emotion in the inflection of his voice when he spoke to her.

There was no other choice. In these sort of attacks there was no room to stay idle unless it was under the cover of bodies and smokescreens. They had to keep moving.

<"Imperator. Our com-scans are picking up intense chatter from Sith positions, they've packed a lot more into these fortications than our projections listed."> The subordinate 501st Stormtrooper Captain laid out to Tavlar.

<"Good. More to kill."> They were already here in force, might as well seize the opportunity.

<"Soon as the sights are put on priority targets by Gladius, tap the Beachmaster for the fire mission ( Del Lovruc ) to bring the heat. Warn of danger close."> Irveric ordered down the chain.

<"Understood."> He sounded out in reply to Tavlar.

When Darth Zveris voiced his challenge, to meet the Sovereign Imperator in the open field it fell on the deaf ears of stomach turning explosions and shrieking blaster fire.

With the coming of the second wave, Nomad Actual had begun to arrive in force with his armored detachment. Consisting mainly of XT-60b Cataphracts with a small few Pernach Turbo Tanks to add bludgeon to the blow. Even still, the anti-armor emplacements made it a difficult task to advance forward too much without stretching too thin or making the gained ground too Pyrrhic of an achievement.

<"Nomad-Actual to Dorn-2 ( Ravraa Vyshraal | Zsuzsa | Aerith Castiella ) , I need a hit on this AT emplacement grid mark 22387, transmit back when the path is clear."> Waylon patched through to Brambles and his retinue, one of the closer immediately recognizable units at the onset of the storm.

 

[Agrippa]

GLADIUS COMPANY, 501ST LEGION
COMBINED JOINT TASK FORCE - OPERATION STORM SURGE
TARGET ISLAND HOTH​

NIO //: Irveric Tavlar | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Del Lovruc | Ravraa Vyshraal

Spoiler: Target Beach HOTH | NIO

Irveric Tavlar
Ravraa Vyshraal
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Lucien Dooku
Salvor Thul
Spencer Varanin
Aerith Castiella
Lunafreya Solidor
Ra Vizsla
Strain
Warchief Waddles
Junda
Grigory Tallis
Zsuzsa
Vilaz Munin
Warchief Waddles

TSE //: Ruek Tast | Lark | Darth Zveris | Sith Empire | OPEN

YOUR POSSIBLE PASTS​

I dug and I dug and I dug as bodies of brothers and sisters fell besides me dozen by the second. The trench we managed to dig filled to the ankles with the blood of our fallen brethren forming sanguine puddles in which gizmos of destroyed battle droids sailed like careless yachts under the night sky. How eerie it is that a sight like that could provoke the imagination to seek sanctuary from the war in such a form. Like most, probably, I had shut off the casualty report - it only served to distract me, fuel anger and rage, emotions which hindered the rational mind.

I functioned on pure muscle memory forged by a lifetime of training and practice. Meanwhile, in my mind I felt pure dread seep within my system. Just like any dishonorable soldier of the Company, we did not fight valiantly but to survive. Honor only served the dead. Yet, inside that dread I found something different than the usual justification to live another day - a night well spent with Nima Appw'rii had unlocked complicated doors which I had strayed from rabidly after the near lethal divorce with my ex-wife. These doors lead to complex reasons detached from the usual reason to cling to survival. They were vivid, imaginary, pointing at a thousand possible futures should the war spare them from death.

The night sky above rippled, torn asunder by the cannonade of the assault ships lingering somewhere in the distance unseen. They pounded on the Sith fortifications mercilessly. I wondered how many on their side dreamed the same dreams that we fought to live for only to be ripped apart and taken away prematurely - the price paid when two opposing ideas clashed.

Was it worth it?

<"AGRIPPA, THE F*CKING SHIELDS MALFUNCTIONED."> Krayt's voice roared through the comms. A cold rain showered my spine as I looked up and forward at the vanguard led by Krayt and Faceless.

Genocide.

Shit.

<"Hold the line!! Even if you're the last man standing, Krayt!">

A tirade of expletives followed from Krayt but I knew well he would hold the line to the last man. The man was an Imperial nutcase. Brainwashed. The last glimmer of Imperial doctrine within the degenerate fold of Gladius Company. The Company's only forlorn hope.

An explosion hurled me to the side like a rag doll. Pain pounded my chest, ears rang and the noise of war drowned under it. F*ck. The comms corporal lied beside me split into four different directions. Fifteen years ago I would've puked right inside my helmet. Someone else, instead, did. The private released his helmet and tossed it to the side. Another one came to check on him, give him some talk of hope but that same hope was torn when another shell hit its target and delivered both from the suffering of the mortal realm.

Whatever stimulants and drugs they gave us, they didn't help. At all. This was hell on earth. I picked myself up and leaned on the sandy trench. The waves washed over the rivers of blood but could not wash away the sorrow in our souls. Pebbles came and left unbothered by the carnage. They were here before us and they would be here after us. Time was a harsh judge, nothing mattered to Him. Meaningless. All of it.

The live feed holoprojection was as cruel as the reality it projected. I steeled my nerves, found the coldness once more and sharpened my thoughts into turning the tide.

<"Hellhound-Two to Death Knell Actual (Salvor Thul requesting back up to Gladius Vanguard One. Repeat. Requesting back up to Gladius Vanguard One - their shields are malfunctioning!"> I shut the line after when Hawkeye's reports came through.

Fire mission had hit target and he was calling for a repeat to both 3NAGRU, 11th Fire Support Batt. (Strain) and the Beachmaster (Del Lovruc).

They had to keep firing, they had to keep hammering, they had throw it all here, today.

Or die in vain.

 

[Del Lovruc]

Location: Target Beach Hoth
Objective: Operation Storm Surge | Land troops and provide fire support.
Allies: Agrippa Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Irveric Tavlar
Enemies: Ruek Tast Lark Darth Zveris | OPEN
Naval Forces: 2 Inceptus-class Assault Ship [Siege Tower] [Skytrain]

Del Lovruc watched from the bridge of the Skytrain as the ground engagement took place. This is what he had dreamed for, a deployment right at the heart of the action face to face with the Sith. He had an almost evil grin on his face as everything proceeded, his bridge crew rushing around ensuring the smooth deployment of ships. Lovruc turned to his first mate. "Commander Viz, status report." the man nodded and looked down on his datapad. "Sir, all first wave troopers have been landed and are engaging the enemy with heavier transports now landing the tanks. On board we still have the reserve forces but they will be deployed once the beach head has been secured." Del nodded. "Very good, it seems as if we are right on target." he said before dismissing the lieutenant. As much as Del was happy having a 'worthy' mission he did wish he was out there on the ground, sticking it out with the troops and storming enemy bunkers.

The communications officer suddenly shouted across the bridge. "Sir! We have a fire mission request." he said, failing to provide any further information. Del looked straight at the man and replied "Well?! Who is it from and where are we firing! Remember your training you bloody buffoon." The comms officer having realised his mistake quickly corrected himself. "Y-yes Sir. The 501st are requesting a fire mission on Sith weapon emplacements. They've got an AA gun hammering our aircraft." Del took in the information. The 501st, the Imperator's personal legion! To receive such a mission was a great honour to Del. "We shall not disappoint our comrades. Gunner officer, I want that position obliterated, prepare our heavy turbolasers and missile launchers." he said before looking out at the viewport at the Siege Tower's weapons.

The weapons slowly moved into place while the gunners got to work. "Locking grid coordinates 28429. Grid coordinates locked." the officer said before checking the status of each gunner. "Turbolaser batteries charged and missile launchers loaded" he said while the comms officer spoke to Irveric Tavlar 's men "Fire mission underway, danger close acknowledged." Del nodded and gave the go ahead, "You may fire when ready." he said and the turbolasers fired, their green lasers lighting the night sky. The Sith troopers never stood a chance, the initial turbolaser strike killed most of the gun crew and caused the AA guns ammunition to explode lighting the few survivors on fire. Two missiles came in soon after that, putting them out of their misery and flattening the AA position.

As the turbolasers powered down in the next request came through. "Sir, second fire mission has come through. Gladius Company requesting repeat on Sith position." Del nodded. His crew were in for a long night. "Lets not keep them waiting. Gunner officer?" he said while looking down into the gunner pit. The officer looked up and gave a quick reply. "Turbolasers recharging. 15 seconds until we are prepared to fire again." Del nodded "That gives you enough time to lock the enemy position. Notify Gladius company we are commencing the fire mission." Del said to the comms officer who nodded sent a transmission back to Gladius Company ( Agrippa ) . "Fire mission underway, keep your heads down." he said as the gunners began firing off another volley blowing up a portion of the Sith fortification and killing many Sith troopers who were unlucky enough to be stationed there. Any trooper near enough to the fortification would be showered be a mixture of earth and blood.

 

[Olen Halcorr]

Objective 1 - Battle of the Shipwrecks
Location: Debris Shoal Zone, Dubrillion Orbit, Myto Sector
Unit: Twin Suns Squadron
Starfighter: X-Wing
Theme: The Score - Miracle
Allies
GA: Maynard Treicolt Loske Treicolt
NIO: Arten Jinn Cheapshot Jalter Volff

"Lock s-foils in attack position. Fan out into the DSZ and stick close to your wingmates. May the force be with us all." He was surprised at himself for reciting the ancient Jedi mantra but decided that if any of them were going to survive this, then they'd need perhaps even more than just the Force on their side. He took a look to his portside to see his wingmate, he gave a two fingered salute and a nod.

Taking a deep breath, he brought the X-Wing into a wide turn, straight into the fray. He hit the button which made the wings take the shape that they were so much known for. "Here goes nothing." He kicked the thrusters, heading deep into the mass of debris. He activated his magno-sweeper which immeadiately went off, to his amusement. He took a good look at his scanners to see if any Sith Interceptors were looking to join the party. Seemed like it was his lucky day as three marks came onto his scope.

Making a split-second decision his broke hard to his aft making another wide turn through a less populated route. In his peripheral vision he could spot the sleek shape of a Sith Interceptor, he hoped it hadn't spotted him yet. His chronometer ran quickly to the left of him in the cockpit, he had to time this right down to the second. "Two, we're executing a trap manuever, you play fleethund towards that Interceptor and I'll come in and nab it." The plan started in motion as he watched the X-Wing pass by his cockpit and head straight towards the Interceptor which seemed to take the bait.

He pushed his joystick to port ever so slightly, gunning the throttle as the enemy desperately tailed Twin Suns two, he kept moving, his sights on the Interceptor. He quickly veered out of the way of debris which left his wingmate vulnerable, he swore to himself, bringing the throttle to 75 percent as he hurtled towards the Sith fighter, juking into a descent, before jinking back up as the enemy passed into his crosshairs. Red laserfire spat from his cannons onto the wing of the Interceptor before he finished the job, moving back into formation.

Suddenly he picked up two more marks on his tail, he grimaced, diving back into a more densely populated area of the DSZ, the pursuit was tight. He gunned his throttle, making a ninety degree snaproll off to his portside and diving sharply, he was having trouble shaking this ship. He kicked up trying to loop it away but it cut away from his flight path, coming back up behind him as he cut across the axis of a particularly large piece of debris. He kicked in his thrusters, desperately trying to throw off the scent. More worried bleeps came from his astromech as he flew over the side of the large sheet of metal, moving in a swinging motion, making to keep out of the crosshairs of the enemy. The bleeps from his astromech droid translated into words on his screen. <"Damage to rear shields, you've got yourself into a mess this time, please pull off a miracle so that we can both make it to the celebrations.">

"Not now Dewback, I'm trying to keep us both alive. See what you can do with my rear shielding, I'm going to pull off a drop-kick Koiogran turn." The pilot grabbed the throttle bar with one gloved hand pushing it up to 90 percent and used another hand to bring the stick around, his display telling him that he was slowly losing momentum, something good at last. He pulled up sharply into a loop roll off to portside, which thankfully confused the Interceptor. "See Dewback, we're still alive." The astromech bleated something which came onto his display. <"When did you tell me you could do miracles? Anyways, I've got your rear shields back up."> He chuckled, though it was premature, he checked his system and sure as day, his shields were up to full power.

He watched as Twin Suns Six and Eight tried to evade a starfighter but he was powerless to do anything right now. "Hang in there, I'll scissor this troublesome Sithie and come help." Making true on his promise, he looked out behind him to see that the Interceptor was recovering and trying to get back on him. He broke hard to port, as the enemy ascended and tried to nab him with a dive but he moved the throttle to 95 percent then reduced it, breaking off to aft as his attacker overshot the mark, green fire passing by him. He reversed, keeping his throttle at 70 as his attacker replicated the move. Time for the masterstroke he brought the joystick around, snaprolling behind the Interceptor and getting into range, his HUD going red as his blasted off the wing, a panel flying into his vision, another blast exploded the enemy as he blasted a piece of debris out of his path. He exhaled in relief, just happy he was still alive.

"How we doing Twin Suns?"

"Heavy fire boss, two marks on my tail."

He wallowed in shame as he noticed the carcass of a dead X-Wing float past him. He checked his sensors and noticed an X-Wing weaving away and trying to lose two Interceptors. He didn't think and gunned the throttle, blasting through a smaller chunk of metallic debris to go help his squadron mate.

"Hang in there Eight, I'm on my way."