Location: Mustafar, Planetside.
Sub-Location: Mensix Mining Facility - Exterior Landing Platforms > Interior Corridor.
Allies: The First Order and their Allies - [member="Rolf Amsel"]
In Vicinity: [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Commander Lusk"] | [member="Preliat Mantis"] | [member="Irajah Ven"] | [member="Rexus Wenck"] | [member="BE-183"] | [member="AR-3752"] |
Enemies: The Galactic Alliance and their Allies - Moving to Engage [member="Draco Vereen"]
In Vicinity: [member="HK-36"] | [member="Ultimatum"] | [member="Six-O"] | [member="Elliot Locke"] | [member="Choli Vyn"] | [member="Asmus Janes"] |
Primary Objective: Secure the Mining Facility.
Secondary Objective: Rejoin the Strike Force.
Equipment: See Signature for Relevant Links.
Post Count: Three.
Blinking away the slurry of distracting lights flickering across his Combat Visor, the Stormtrooper Sergeant pulled his churning axe from the corpse of the last defender holding the exterior catwalks. His gamble had worked, as it seemed, they were unable to repel their sudden and furious onslaught adequately.
While he had known that having Eights use his repeater on those damned mobile weapons platforms would aide them in routing their artificial foe, Torian couldn’t muster the courage to break his seemingly sour-faced facade. They hated him, just as much as he had hated them. Those men and women that had formed his Squad were new faces, freshly cleared for duty or simply veterans of other understrength units that were transferred to his command. He hadn’t earned their trust yet, not they his. So what good would it do to admire and congratulate one of his men for doing their job? Offering the man nothing more than a snort of acknowledgment after he had come looking for praise, the Squad Sergeant turned his smiling death masque towards the ash-shrouded skies.
For a fleeting moment, he was curious how the battle above was going. The Concordia was there. His home. Floating in the skies above Mustafar, dancing with the Orbital weapons platforms and various defenses that formed the entirety of this world's meager defenses. He wondered if his void-bound home would be skewered by the combined assault of an uncaring foe. He wondered if they would even bother salvaging her remains before the ever grasping claws of gravity had taken hold. Hell, he even wondered if he had left his quarter’s lumen strips active before departing for the Hangar Deck. The thought of the ribbing that would come his way if such an eventuality was true had made him shudder. An act that had drawn him out of the realm of possibilities and had thrown him back into the present.
His eyes, bathed in the crimson and gold radiance of his combat visor, drowned in the scrolling screeds of tactical data. His armor, though blackened by the fury of a functionally immortal enemy, had sought to divine the secrets of the enemy. Tracking his gaze and falling upon the curtain of corpses that dotted the catwalk, his integrated battle-computer had attempted to scan the ruined bodies and relay the information held within their cold, dead fingers. He couldn’t care less what world their IFF transponders had made mention of. He couldn’t even be bothered to give a damn about how a particular set of synthetics had differed from their artificial fellows by different margins. They were dead, and he was alive. That’s all that ever concerned the Stormtrooper Sergeant.
Blinking aside the distracting walls of text to focus on the matter at hand, Torian turned towards his fellow Sergeant and opened a secure, squad-level communications channel. Without waiting to hear the other man’s voice across their shared link, the Bakuran-born Soldier began ordering the man to have his Squad remain behind to secure the protruding platform for the Second wave. Though the skies were choked with friendly and hostile targets alike, their fellow Stormtroopers of the First Legion would need a place of safe harbor.
:: Let them know that it can be found here. :: Torian finished, severing the bond with a sequentially coded blink.
With his orders given, he turned towards the Facility and let a smile curl across his lips.They had lost their breaching charges when the weapons platforms had taken out their dropships, leaving Torian with the only means of expedient access. Gunning the trigger of his heavily modified Vibrosaw, the Stormtrooper began hacking at the sealed blast door like a man possessed. Every strike had torn the magma hardened steel asunder with a deafening squeal - scoring the metal deep as the Phrik teeth bit deep. For what seemed like a minute, though admittedly longer than he had expected, the terrifying weapon had chewed through the tracked door’s connection latch, forcing the two slabs of rent metal to part with a spine-tingling shriek.
No longer impeded by flesh and steel, those that remained alive within Squad Pierce began filing into the Mining Facility, shouldering their refreshed weapons and keeping their eyes peels for threats. It wasn’t until they had taken several steps into the compound that the first sign of danger materialized. The passive sweep of the Stormtrooper’s sensors had alerted the Sergeant of various booby traps that were installed in the corridor ahead. It seemed that the Alliance had held little regard for their resources, which had led him towards the inevitable conclusion of how such a towering juggernaut amongst the stars was able to function, bereft of such precious war material. He tried not to chuckle as one of his men had made a crude comment about pulling things from darkened spaces, but quickly silenced the rest of his Unit as they failed to show the same restraint.
Directing several of his Squad to the fore and pointing towards the booby traps that lined the fluted corridor, Torian watched and waited for his men to carry out his command. It was when they had nearly finished their work that a figure had come forth from the flickering darkness. Switching his visor mode to rid himself of the visual obscurities, the Sergeant’s eyes widened in wolfish delight. Standing afore him, several paces beyond his thirsting axe’s reach, was a man who had been broken by the fury of combat. His armor was rent and punctured in several places, coated in his blood or that of his enemies - the Bakuran couldn’t be sure. The fingers that dominated his right hand were unnaturally twisted, telling the Stormtrooper that they were broken. A sword was crudely lashed to his left gauntlet, though with a broken hand and no feasible way to tie a knot, Torian assumed that there were others nearby that had bound his weapon to his extremity.
Foolish, the Sergeant thought as his lips peeled back into an arrogant sneer. Such an act would limit the movement of a weapon, and in tight confines such as this - well - it was almost inevitable that he’d be losing more than just his grip on such a puny pigsticker.
:: You seem lost, Mandalorian. :: Torian began, allowing his thick, gravelly accent to bathe his every word.
:: Has the destruction of your Birthworld deprived you of your sense of direction? ::
It was clear that the man would not attack first, for his stance was one that bespoke of deterrence. He would not permit them to pass, but nor would he charge into the fray with sword high. From the looks of his armor, it seemed that was already done before and had met with some measure of success. Nevertheless, as the Corridor was not fully disarmed and it would be suicide to make the first move - perhaps he could goad the man into a blind rage - forcing his hand until a majority of the devices blocking his path were dealt with.
:: Perhaps we should escort you outside, so that you may relive the travesty of a world dying, and once again find purpose in the fire. ::
