Lord of Wolves
Objective: Defend the Bastion, Slaughter the Interlopers
Location: The Streets
Allies: Thomas Barran , Keilara Kala'myr , Kralmus Orr
Enemies: Jas Katis , Dylan Marsek , Elaena Kessia Miran
Engaging: Jas Katis / Open
The time for battle had come. The enemy dropships had landed, their contingents disembarked to begin moving into the city. They moved like soldiers, with precision and accuracy, checking their corners and scanning the ground ahead for mines and other nasty surprises. All told, Ronar was mildly impressed. They knew what they were doing. But, truly, how many of them were real warriors? How many of them had faced down death? He had trained in battle since he could barely walk. His weapons had comforted him at night and defended him in the light of day. How many of them could say the same?
<< Sir, Commander Orr, Ronar, this is Mercy! In the city, based on the drones, I see only Eternal Imperial units and mercenaries working with them. Based on my data, they have worked with the Eternal Empire before, so you have to reckon with groups who are working with each other well. >>
Hidden in a building, accompanied by the Violet Wolves, Ronar watched as the enemy squads made their way through tight alleyways and open streets. A smile was on his lips as he gripped the handle of his cortosis sword. He still hadn't named the weapon since he'd obtained it before the battle on Tython, but it had long ago been baptized. Perhaps Storm of Vengeance. Was that too much?
<<This is Ronar,>> he said over the communicator, <<I have engaged the enemy. Glory to the Scar Hounds.>>
Ronar turned to his Wolves, who between them held the corpse of an unlucky enemy soldier, who had made the terrible mistake of ranging too far from the advancing line. He looked to be some kind of scout or sniper, armed with a sensor array and camouflaged armor, but now he wasn't much of anything. His body was covered in slash wounds, and his head hung limp, the neck snapped. Removing the man's combat knife, Ronar smiled as he carved a sigil, a simple fist, into the unfortunate soldier's skull.
In a battle like this, the war of the mind was just as critical as the war of the weapon. If these soldiers knew they were safe, that they were protected, that they could advance with impunity, they would form an impenetrable wall slowly creeping onto the Maw's defensive positions. However, if the sense of safety was shaken, if the soldiers realized that it was the defenders who could strike with impunity, it would make them collapse and draw into themselves, leaving cracks in the wall. Cracks that the small ambush teams under Ronar's command could exploit to the fullest.
Gripping the body with his cybernetic right arm, Ronar gave a mighty heave and threw it out the window, smashing what glass remained. The body careened through the air and slammed into the ground right in front of an advancing column, blood covering the street. And then Ronar was gone, Violet Wolves in tow, running to the next objective. Ronar's smile grew with every second.
He would make these excuses for warriors see death around every corner and in every shadow.
He, Ronar of the Scar Hounds, would fill their hearts with fear.