Public Mantell Madness [Ask]

[Hastor Trosk]

Great Rock, Ord Mantell

The agri-village of Great Rock is what you might expect from a typical frontier town on the newly rejuvenated world. Farmers and tradesfolk going about their daily business. Livestock bellowing and wallowing in the mud. Yet, this day would one to shatter the idyllic peace of such a settlement. An ominous sight soon rumbled over head. A handful of bizarre ships, some even looking organic in nature, thrummed as they soon descended down into the very soil of the world.

Hastor Trosk stood at the helm of his landing craft, his Sons of Khaeus preparing for another raid. The outskirts of the village of Great Rock stretched out before them, a deceptively tranquil scene under the darkening sky. The desperate need for supplies was evident in the hungry stares of his warriors. A force no greater than one-hundred able warriors. They had been running low on food for days, and this village was their lifeline. The Ozrelanso ‘s intense eyes scanned the horizon under his helm, calculating and cold, his mind already formulating the plan of attack.

The ramp lowered, and Hastor, dressed in his full regalia, led his men forward. His imposing figure was adorned in armor reminiscent of the Bryn’adûl’s martial style, an electro-ripper staff clutched in his hand. As they approached the gates of Great Rock, the villagers could sense the impending doom. The guards at the post, clearly agitated, stepped forward to bar their path. Hastor’s body language remained unchanged, his steps unwavering as he closed the distance between them.

“I am Hastor Trosk, and these are my men,” he announced, his voice carrying an ominous weight. “You have the choice to stand aside, or be meat for our bellies.”

The guards, however, were not inclined to parley. One of them sneered, leveling his blaster at Hastor. “Get lost, filth. We don’t deal with pirate scu-!”

Meat it was! With a swift motion, Hastor activated his electro-ripper staff, the weapon humming with deadly energy. Before the guards could react, he struck them down, his movements precise and lethal. The guards fell, the confrontation over in moments, leaving a palpable silence in its wake. Hastor stood over them, his face a mask of grim determination, then turned to the massive wooden gates. With a powerful thrust, he knocked open the gates, the heavy doors slamming against the walls.

“Plunder for supplies, convert whom you can,” he commanded his men, his voice echoing through the village. “Take for ourselves and leave no resistance standing.”

The Sons of Khaeus poured into Great Rock, their presence a wave of dread washing over the village. Hastor watched as his warriors began to swarm like a plague of locusts. The once-peaceful village was now a scene of chaos and fear, the ominous shadow of the Sons of Khaeus falling heavily upon it. Hastor remained at the gate, a sentinel of terror, his gaze never wavering from the task at hand.

Feyd | Vul'tsai | Onrai

OOC: This thread is open to any Sons of Khaeus, Bryn remnants, Dark Imperials, or Ord Mantell affiliates who want to take part in the inaugural thread of the Sons and fight some raiders.​

 

[Feyd]

Flesh itching. Gnawing. Biting.

Feyd had been blessed, a Son of Khaeus christened in scorching light. A radiant. Forever sealed in the armour of their masters, the Draelvasier warriors of legend. Feyd was an Altrian, strong and tall, yes the silhouette of a Drael at a distance. But that did not make him one, all knew this shame. Hastor knew this, of his failings. Feyd burned still and the mutagens deigned for greater beings than he were not enough to heal the red-hot flesh. Not only were they hungry, but in need of medical supplies too. To supplement the pain of their brothers. The soothing touch of bacta would put the Altrian at ease.

A prize to be found. It would all be taken from the fledgling inhabitants of Great Rock, they would fall to their knees and beg for enlightenment. Beg for the radiant glow, the heat on their flesh and they would pray for death or subservience to the great Khaeus. Hastor led the way, strong and certain - no weakness, no hunger. Truly like a master.

Feyd took the hilt of his Mistral blade into hand, gazing in awe at it for a moment. Honoured to carry it, honoured to wield such a weapon. He could only imagine what great feats had been accomplished by the Draelvasier blademaster that carried it before him. A pale sky-blue engulfed the length of Verikast metal as Feyd raised the large sword overhead, turning to his brothers. Feyd knew regardless of their hunger that they would follow their master, Hastor. But all the same he felt the need to urge them.

He wished to be seen, honoured, to bask in their glory as well as his own. He would be known, he would be their Paladin. Their sworn and known brother. As a radiant, this was his duty.

"Brothers! We follow our master in the name of our great mission! For glory! Take what is rightfully ours! We are the radiance of Khaeus! And in radiance, there is judgement!"

With a great and heroic cry, Feyd charged with the others. A hundred warriors with a hundred blades, hacking and slashing.

Feyd stopped at a stall, with a over-exerting strike, cutting the wooden table in front of him in half. He wasn't even aiming for the cowering butcher behind it, he just wanted to scare him. He wasn't even listening as the Butcher begged on his knees.

"YES! For Glory!"

The 'radiant paladin' swung with loose limbs, his ignited Mistral blade cutting through the tarp roof as it came down, cleaving through the thick belly of the Twi'lek butcher.

Vul'tsai | Hastor Trosk ​

 

[Vul'tsai]

Chaos buzzed around another figure, hooded and three-eyed. Her mask hid her malformed features. Yet, none of that mattered. Sarcosia, one of few Daughters of Khaeus, sought nourishment. Like many of her so-called brothers, she had not fed in a while. She sniffed the air, catching a scent that found her favor.

She sprinted on all fours, her gangly, mutant limbs making her seem almost simian in nature. The Force as her ally, she leaped across the village until she saw her target. A panicked eopie, tethered near a family dwelling. Her head tilted in fashion, observing her prey. In a sudden movement, she unsheathed her Skag-bone staff and slammed the creature onto the ground. She hovered over her prey, before pulling down the cloth that covered her mouth.

Though hard to make out, the sound alone made it clear what came next. A bite to the beast's throat, the sound of Sarcosia feeding like some abominable parasite. Her prey seemed to slowly shrivel, as if the Force itself was made sustenance for the mutant witch of this horde.

Another one of the Sons, a shambling thing that may have once been a Ranat, attempted to get close. Sarcosia reared up and screeched inhumanely, a deformed piscine mouth with teeth like razors. Her mandible seemed to almost split apart like a Xanti.

“Minnnne...” Came a guttural growl, returning to her meal.

What a bountiful feast their master had brought them!

Hastor Trosk | Feyd | Onrai ​

 

[Onrai]

Hastor Trosk Feyd Vul'tsai @OPEN

Great Rock, Ord Mantell, Bright Jewel system

The slow, metronomic sound of footsteps slowly grew ever louder as a familiar figure approached the village of Great Rock. Once a meager frontier village, today it was superior, a greater town than it had been while smothered by smogged clouds and a rusted site line. And here ne'er-do-wells were, having come to the planet of Ord Mantell to make trouble, to destroy that which a great deal of effort was put into redeveloping and regenerating.

She really, really, couldn't stand it.

The form of freshly rearmored Darktroopers made themselves known, their older armaments contrasting with the plate of their exoskeletons freshly forged and painted with the sigils and symbols of the Dark Empire. Standing next to them was a plain blond-haired woman with fair skin, wearing a simple black robe. Her eyes looked at the motley crew of the monstrosities. "I'm going to only say this once, as the representative of Onrai here. Either leave, and don't return, or die." She said to them. "Your choice."

 

[TchKren’Anook]

Two dreary days and three long nights.

Rain and mud, biting insects, smells the likes of which he'd rather go his entire life without experiencing again.

Two blasted days and three bitter nights.
That's how long TchKren'Anook had been lying in wait, patiently staying put to see if Tathra's bit of intel on this renegade group was at all founded in truth. He'd replayed the askance look and terse words Nanalia had bestowed upon him when he decided to take this mission on. Kren had perhaps offered his stealth capabilities too readily as he sought to make himself a tactical asset in Tathra's eyes.

He was not some green warrior, in need of approval from his senior combatant, nor did he particularly like the warlord on a personal level. However, Kren had the wellbeing of his people heavy upon his shoulders and he saw in the Draelvasier a kind of greatness. A terrible purpose which he intended to serve as long as it was necessary to shepherd his people into an era of prosperity.

That was how he found himself on this backwater planet, surely regarded as useful for its agricultural benefits and perhaps even called beautiful by some. Because when murmurings of fanatics had reached Tathra Khaeus , the Neti offered to discover if they had any merit. So there he waited, completely still as only one of his kind could manage. Disguised as some burly tree tucked between two others which had probably been there for well over a century.

Kren rooted himself in when he'd first arrived in the dark of night, running sensory appendages in a 100 foot circumference through shallow soil surrounding him. For their part, the farmers and general townsfolk hadn't spared him a second glance, so complete was his disguise as just another non-sentient arboreal denizen of their village.

It was from this vantage point that the Neti Chieftain watch the unfolding raid.

Tags: Vul'tsai Feyd Hastor Trosk​

 

[Hastor Trosk]

The Ozrelanso watched as his men, no, brothers and sisters went forth into Great Rock's village. He grinned toothily underneath his helm as he relished into the mayhem of the attack. He had joined in as well, slashing his electro-ripper left and right, discriminating only against those who challenged his path to glory and food. Soon enough, the authority of the world made its presence known to him. A bold, blonde human female, the very pinnacle of his disgust. Surrounded by a retinue of black-armored stormtroopers, clad in the regalia of the Dark Empire. Yet another monument to the human ego, like a festering parasite on the Galaxy.

“All things die, man-thing.” He growled, “And I am prepared to meet it, like all great huntsmen.....are you?”

The Master of the Sons stood ready. He did not fear the sting of imperial blasters, or the threats of his death. Not like he once did, back when he was a feeble weakling who had suffered under a different pretender to Palpatine's greatness. No, the Bryn'adul had shown him what strength was. And if this was his day of dying, he would not go out a whimpering coward. He moved into a stance, showing his eagerness to fight.

“If you are my doom, as you so posture, make it glorious!” He roared, “But none have yet felled me or my best lieutenants.”

He awaited her response, the green of his helm's optics staring her down, much like a nexu ready to pounce. Energy rippled from his staff's blade. He prayed that somewhere, the gods of the Draelvasier stood to witness what transpired this day.

Feyd | Onrai | Vul'tsai | TchKren’Anook ​

 

[Teket]

Teket stood behind the blande woman, in front of the soldiers, yet the ones they stared down didn't seem to notice him. Or didn't care. The second thought annoyed him, but he stayed where he was. He did speak up though. Still not having a full grasp of Basic, he asked: "What's this thing saying?" How could something be both that cool and that ugly looking? "What even is it? Need me to beat it up?"

The shadow lady Onrai had told him to come with her, so he did. But suddenly, she had vanished. There was only this blonde woman here, so he just followed her, pretending he knew what was going on. He did have a snazzy new Dark Empire emblem added to his cloak. He thought it added quite the nice flair.

TAGS: OPEN
Onrai Hastor Trosk Feyd Vul'tsai TchKren’Anook​

 

[Feyd]

The Mistral blade burned hot, setting the clothing of those he struck on fire as he darted through the marketplace, half his strikes not killing blows and an array of screams from men and women burning alive, crippled by reckless strikes. Feyd searched through the village, chasing after those fleeing. Cowards, cowards all. Sarcosia, a devotee witch of Sons tore the throat of another, feasting upon the weak. Barbaric and strange, but rumours remained of rare occurrences of such acts among the legendary Draelvasier. Sarcosia fed upon more than flesh, Feyd was certain he saw the soul being sucked in between her snapping pincers. The Altrians momentary captivation was pulled to a tent, a tall man with a blaster filling his bag and trying to flee unseen.

Feyd and he locked eyes, and the Son of Khaeus produced a toothy grin, bringing the mistral blade to bear. He gave chase and the man retreated back into the tent, firing off inaccurate and panicked shots from his blaster pistol. Feyd continued his charge, ignoring the bolt that landed in his shoulder, what was more pain, his flesh had already burned till it split. He leaped forward half a metre into the tent, his glowing white blade carving through its roof and setting the roof alight as he missed his strike as the man ducked under a table, trying to crawl.

Feyd was clumsy, but still much stronger than a human. He grabbed the man by his leg, dragging him onto his back, and raised his foot. The man tried to speak, raspily begging him to wait... to just.. wait. Feyd twitched. Did he expect mercy? The weak did not deserve such things, only those who bathed in the radiance of the Khaeus could expect such glory as to live in their world now.

Feyd brought his foot down, crushing his skull like an overripe fruit and took his blaster.

Leaving the tent behind, ahead his master was flanked by Imperial troopers of some kind, perhaps Sith or some other galactic power. Feyd did not know, could not know. Feyd raised the blaster and fired at the small chattering ugly creature beside the woman.

Vul'tsai | Hastor Trosk | Onrai | Teket ​

 

[Rackham]

M A N T E L L_M A D N E S S

DARK EMPIRE
ORD MANTELL, MID RIM

​

It was rare for Rackham to take direct command of military task forces and respond personally to major incursions unfolding within the Empire. Usually he stood by the side of Grand Admiral Sularen or was back at the Shadow Hand Fortress overseeing Intelligence matters but now with the capture of the Grand Admiral at the hands of the Galactic Alliance he had been thrust into the spotlight now having to carry the Grand Admiral's vision in his absence to ensure that his plans would not be compromised by opportunists within the Empire or outside threats that would seek to take advantage of his capture to further undermine him in absentia.

Recently, word had reached the Shadow Hand fortress on Kampe of a raid conducted by a mysterious group on the Imperial world of Ord Mantell which had targeted various small villages on the planet. From what the ISB could gather, the response so far was limited as only local forces under the command of the local Governor of Ord Mantell Onrai, had responded to the crisis although whether they had fended off the unknown raiders or not had yet to be determined as further information was pending.

Rackham however would not wait for further confirmation on the situation however, for if he were to fill in the shoes of the captive Grand Admiral then he would have to act in a similar manner, and Rackham knew well owing to the Grand Admiral's extensive preparations for a long-anticipated joint NJO-GADF incursion in the Imperial occupied Deep Core, that Sularen would immediately respond to any incursion within the Empire whether they were conducted by smaller entities such as pirates, marauders and rebel groups for if the Empire were to remain strong all forms of opposition had to be struck down as soon as they presented themselves as to prevent others from being inspired to take up arms against the Empire.

Thus, Rackham would take his ship, the INV Thunderer and gather a small task force before heading towards Ord Mantell ready to respond to the pirate raid and crush it before they could have a chance to withdraw from the planet.

​

Above the mountainous world of Ord Mantell, a small flotilla comprised of a single Defiance-Class Star Destroyer along a pair of Veers-Class Star Galleons and Kavaak-Class Escort Destroyers would emerge out of hyperspace positioning itself within the upper atmosphere of Ord Mantell as they prepared to deploy their compliment of Imperial Marines and Commandos ready to confront the raiders on the surface if they were still there. Standing in front of the main viewports of the bridge of the Defiance-class known as the INV Thunderer, Colonel Rackham looked down upon the planet ready to take proper action to eradicate those who had dared to take up arms.

"Are we ready for deployment." Colonel asked addressing the officer in charge of coordinating the various troops that the INV Thunderer. "Yes sir, the Marines and Commandos have been briefed, are fully geared up and have completed the boarding process on their shuttles" the troop coordinator officer replied. "Good. Launch the first wave of gunships and head for the designated landing zone" Rackham said. "Let's hope we are not too late." he added, hoping that whoever was pillaging and looting on the surface was still there so that an example could be made of them. He would not let a single marauder leave this planet and would remind the galaxy of the in dominatable might of the Empire.

[SoK] | Hastor Trosk | Feyd | TchKren’Anook | Vul'tsai
[DE] | Onrai | Teket | OPEN​

 

[Onrai]

Enemies: Hastor Trosk Feyd TchKren’Anook Vul'tsai
Allies: Teket Rackham

"I have died before." The blonde woman said as she smirked at the carcerian construct. "I can tell you what's on the other side - but you're not going to like it. Enough of a reason to seek to ascend to godhood." A maleficent blade entered the woman's hand, pulled from the folds of the robe as she gave a malevolent grin. The flat of the blade deflected a blast fired at the young Ewok, reflecting it into the shield of one of the mechanical darktroopers. The soldiery raised their weapons, a cacophony of variations in play as they prepared to unleash a barrage of fire on the enemy.

"Shall we?" She motioned with her blade, offering their leader the first move.