The assault on Dressel had been a relative success, but Delam had remained behind all the same. There were a few holdouts of the usurped governor's army remaining on the planet. They could not be allowed to continue their operations - enough blood had been spilled cutting off the head. It would do no good to let the body heal, even if it would never pose as much of a threat as it had in its earliest months.
And so a contingent of fighters had remained on the planet. Their duty was a simple one; purge whatever remained of the fallen governor's military forces. They had been reduced to squabbling nation states now, claiming small swathes of Dressel for themselves as if the might of the Black Imperium could not reduce their petty holdings to rubble. Still, bombing cities was not good for PR, and so the legion dealt with their enemies on the ground.
It was personal warfare, the kind Delam had come to love. There was something missing from battle when you fought from the safety of a ship - it was impersonal.
Currently, a force of the legion's guardsmen were raiding one of the warlord's strongholds. It had been a small town at one point, though it was now a heavily fortified citadel. The man within had put out a cause for aid to the galaxy, claiming he and his people were victims. From what Delam had heard, a Jedi had responded.
How interesting.
The High Lord strode through the shattered gates, his Shacklebolt rifle heavy in his hands. All around, the sounds of battle thundered in his ears. He strode through the sea of bodies, ignored the defenders' desperate attempts to hold off the legion. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, he called out.
"Bring me the warlord's head - and the Jedi, bring it to me!"
[member="Maya Whitelight"]
And so a contingent of fighters had remained on the planet. Their duty was a simple one; purge whatever remained of the fallen governor's military forces. They had been reduced to squabbling nation states now, claiming small swathes of Dressel for themselves as if the might of the Black Imperium could not reduce their petty holdings to rubble. Still, bombing cities was not good for PR, and so the legion dealt with their enemies on the ground.
It was personal warfare, the kind Delam had come to love. There was something missing from battle when you fought from the safety of a ship - it was impersonal.
Currently, a force of the legion's guardsmen were raiding one of the warlord's strongholds. It had been a small town at one point, though it was now a heavily fortified citadel. The man within had put out a cause for aid to the galaxy, claiming he and his people were victims. From what Delam had heard, a Jedi had responded.
How interesting.
The High Lord strode through the shattered gates, his Shacklebolt rifle heavy in his hands. All around, the sounds of battle thundered in his ears. He strode through the sea of bodies, ignored the defenders' desperate attempts to hold off the legion. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, he called out.
"Bring me the warlord's head - and the Jedi, bring it to me!"
[member="Maya Whitelight"]
