Operation: Centurion [OP vs OS]

[Sarge Potteiger]

Alderaan System​

Cira Class​

Flying Quiet​

The man who waited...

That's what he'd always been. The man who'd waited. Standing here, halberd in hand, massive suit of grey armor dwarfing those around him, Sarge couldn't help but frown as he looked down at the world below. Obliterated. Glassed. Vongformed. A pacifist world, one of unnatural beauty. Defiled consistently. It irked him to no end. Of all the worlds, this was the next most popular target beyond Coruscant. All because of it's natural wonders.

Oh, but did the rage rise in that broad chest of his. Inhaling sharply, he looked up from where the frigate was skimming dangerously close to the outer defenses of the world. Nothing could see this frigate - well, aside from the naked eye. But frankly no one spent their time staring out viewports so they had been safe enough to approximate Cira's location with the help of the woman standing next to him.

[member="Rave Merrill"].

She was here, standing next to him on the bridge. Waving a hand for her to follow him, he stepped from the bridge and into the spinal corridor. Arrayed in a pair of parallel rows, bolters in hand, stood his soldiers. Their bright blue power armor was only marked by the white inverted horseshoe of the Protectorate, freshly painted onto their left pauldrons. As he walked past the first pair, they stepped from their guard positions and fell into lockstep behind him. Before long, a chorus of thick starship hulled boots were pounding out a rhythm on the deck.

Haft of his halberd being used as a walking stick, he turned into the hangar where a pair of M47 dropships sat, waiting for them to board. The ship was already headed towards system's edge, but the dropships wouldn't be going with as the frigate translated to hyperspace. Boarding, the men took positions inside the vessels and they exited the craft in a hurry.

They would definitely register on sensor's now, and sure enough a comm line was opened by the protectors of the world. A vong, naturally.

"Identify or be destroyed." Ah, but he hadn't missed the instinctive snarl of their voices.

"I've a message from the Lord Protector and a question from myself." Sarge responds, void black eyes resting on the figure of Rave next to him. An enemy any other day, but an ally now. He'd owe her after this if all went according to plan.

Before the Vong could continue, he looked up, as if staring at the individual he was talking to, even though he couldn't see him. "Where's Cira?"

Silence reigned for several long moments as the dropship angled towards the planet and where the enemy would be. It would take a few minutes to scramble interceptors and get them into range to do damage to him. He could use that to prolong this. The signal had already been sent to the arrayed forces of [member="Ayden Cater"]. Pushing his way up towards the cockpit, he leans over the pilots seat, one palm wrapped over the headrest, eyes locking on the globe of Alderaan suspended in front of him.

Naturally, this particular lookout wasn't overly concerned with the dead Lady Protector, or, if he knew of her transformation, was more pressingly concerned with a message from the head of the Omega Protectorate.

"What is the message?"

Sarge couldn't help the smug grin that appeared on his face as he stood and hefted his helmet into place, sealing it with a hiss. Behind the paired dropships, reality was rent in two, warship after warship snapping out of hyperspace and, as shields came up and weapons were armed, they began to fire on the orbital defenses. "Would you like me to repeat the question?"

The dropship was already turning, banking back towards the Protectorate fleet so that Sarge could gather all his personal forces together and drop as one. But as he turned, he saw the true scope of what Ayden had brought with him in support of his old friend.

And they wonder why demons run when a good man goes to war...

Not even Sarge could hide the faint widening of his eyes that came with the surprise of the situation. "By our Martyred Lady..." he breathes, the distortion of his helmet entirely unable to hide the surprise hidden in that coarse voice.


[member="Cira"] [member="Noah Corek"] [member="Aeron Kreelan"] [member="Ven'Rain Sekairo"] [member="Dicer"] [member="Racket"] [member="Knight"] @Corvo Anatollius [member="Levy Willamina"] [member="Bruce Lars"] @Protectorate Folk @One Sith, Two Sith, Red Sith, Blue Sith

 

[Ayden Cater]

Secret Staging Area
0400 Local Time

This was it. There had never been a greater gathering, a greater mustering of military might since its inception. No one, not the Fringe, not the Confederacy, not the Bando Gora had ever warranted a response like this. But this wasn't about the destruction. This was about salvation. This was about saving Cira.

For months, since her capture on Coruscant, there had been a gathering. Deep inside the Llon Nebulae, ships and men gathered and waited. None knew of the fleet's location, but everyone inside the nebulae knew the purpose, their mission. And so the days turned to weeks and still more ships were gathered. Some of them were new, paint still fresh from assembly lines. Others were scarred, marked from their fights in service to the Lady Protector since the Protectorate's founding. They were there, united in their devotion to the Lady Protector.

But there was one who wanted her back more than any of them.

When the signal came, the fleet was oddly calm. Everyone knew what they had to do. Failure was not an option. Ayden stood on the bridge of the Spirit of Druckenwell and let himself have a moment of quiet before he gave the order. This was going to be bloody. He knew when he had begun planning for this day that the butcher's bill would be high, but until now he didn't know what world they would have to hit. Part of him thought it was going to be Coruscant, or perhaps Byss. But that was not where they had been led.

"Now is not a time for words. Now is a time for action." A crystal sword hung at Ayden's side, partially obscured by that coat that he so often wore. He spoke to the entirety of the fleet, getting each of them ready for the coming battle. "Today we fight to get one of our own back home. We fight for her." He reached out with his senses, tendrils of the Force snaking through ships and splintering offer to tether more ships and ever more ships. "She made the Protectorate, gave it everything she had. Now we give our lives to save hers."

"Gentlemen... Raise the flag." It was an archaic phrase, but every ship knew the meaning. Hull lights blinked to life. As each ship lit them up, a simple symbol could be found on each of them; a tower with a crescent-shaped top cradling a single star. It had been the symbol of the Lady Protector Cira, and it was that symbol that steeled the fleet for what was to come.

"All hands, prepare to jump." Ayden looked out towards their destination and searched. He knew Sarge was there. And if he was there, so was she. "Mark."

The orbital space above the planet was about to get very crowed. The first ship out, as always, was the Spirit of Druckenwell. It immediately came under fire from Yuuzhan Vong defenses and ships, but it was not alone for long. Dozens of Star Defenders came after it. Then hundreds. A massive fleet, more akin to an armada, dropped out of hyperspace above Alderaan. More than a thousand ships had heeded the call and had come to bring the Lady Protector Cira home to Fondor. And Ayden would not rest until she was safely aboard.

Spoiler

The Fleet

The Spirit of Druckenwell
Antilles-class Star Defender - 100
Belsar-class Command Carrier - 100
Indomitable-class Star Defender - 100
Iblis-class Planetary Assault Carrier - 200
Horn-class Escort Cruiser - 250
Unyielding-class Command Cruiser - 250
Nebulon B7 Frigate - 300

 

[Velok the Younger]

Across from [member="Sarge Potteiger"] sat a woman older than she looked, a woman capable of destruction and deactivation on a monstrous scale. A hero to the lone worlds of Wild Space and the Unknown Regions, she'd even found herself featured in the religions of occasional backwaters, simply for-

Well, no, for hubris at this scale, no 'simply' would do. Her inventions had no equal. Her deliberate impact was neither heavy nor light, just the apathetic trail of a woman in search of challenging diversion - a woman running away from herself.

Sometimes, though, something ugly and fascinating made the wrong move, and she started to care on a very personal level. And when that happened, impact didn't even begin to describe it.

Doctor Rave Merrill offered the centurion a cool grin. "How about that. Every once in a while, a public official keeps a campaign promise."

 

[Jonathan Walsh]

The funny thing about serving in an navy such as the Protectorate was that they never did anything in half measures, One of the many Belsar-class Command Carrier's The Indomitable to be specific held none other than High Admiral Jonathon Walsh. He looked out and had to admit it was a beautiful sight to behold all the ships coming out of warp, they were here to get Lady Protector Ciara back and they would. If they had to rip through the planet to do that they would. John launched all his fighters Most of the fleet belonged to the Lord Protector for this mission so he just relaxed, it was sort of nice to be out and not in command of a full fleet. He awaited orders from the Lord Protector, as they began engaging the defense forces, it was going to be an interesting battle indeed. The first of the enemy fighters started to appear and the defenses activate, and his own screen began defending the ship. This was going to be a fun day indeed.



Sixty OS-G2 Knights
Twenty-Four OS-B1 Avengers B1-C Configuration
Twenty-Four OS-I2 Inquisitors
Twenty-Four OS-G3 Paladins
Twelve Wasp-class Starfighters

 

[Reverance]

Location: Vaguely Alderaan
Allies: One Sithies, [member="Cira"]
Enemies: Those Protectorate peeps
Objective: Chewing bubble gum and punching faces, and I'm all out of faces...(no direct interaction yet)
Theme:

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOKV9Stri_M

Click.......clank.......click.......clank. The metal opened, it closed, it opened, it closed. A strike of the flint, a pull of the thumb, fire jumped from the grated texture in a dance of flickering and waving. The man lifted the lighter to the cigarra, tilting his head to inspect it as he puffed. Draw in, draw out, draw in, draw out. The action symbolized by the billowing of his cheeks before he flicked the metal back down, pocketing the lighter and ringing his index finger around the raw umber cylinder. The embers grew in a mesh of tangerine and sunset tones, inhaling and exhaling with each rise of the chest. That dragging sound echoed in the quiet night, the drag of feet against asphalt and duracrete. Black robes hovered above the ground, not far now, and trailed behind the man the moved seemingly with purpose, despite having no true purpose.

Couldn't sleep, he thought to himself, as he rubbed his neck and rose from bed earlier that morning. Soft bed was too soft, floor was too comfortable, he longed for the vines and for the forest floor. Slept came to those in their death throes, otherwise a life wasted. Close the eyes and he'll pluck the lids. The words of one prisoner to another, held up in the frozen confines of Arkania. Sleep in shifts, sound the alarm, the doctor comes and we're finished. Don't sleep, they'll be pickin' your bones from the teeth of that thing. A rancor by any means, an obstacle by another, another mode of sleep deprivation in the hallowed arena. Was it fear, was it anxiety, perhaps it was anticipation. A good fight, a challenge, something to occupy the mind. Such things were the wonders that drove a man to wander, beyond the cliche of ridding this universe of weakness. He accepted the hypocrisy of that judgement, judging anything weaker than him as weak drew quite the learning curve. Impossible odds cleverly drafted by a man with no intent on redemption, accepting eventual martyrdom in its stead. A burden born from necessity, a burden born from boredom, and a burden born from vocation. Sometimes, people were just born with a talent. The capacity for pain, self-realized early in life and pressed hard into something substantial, was his most potent aptitude.

Pass a slum, pass an alley, pass the Ritz and the flippant. It all looked the same in the nights sky, differences likely conjured by a mind still waking. Sanguine and currant toned eye spotted an old man wheeling out a cart, looking to catch the industry with the early bird special. Sewer vermin on a stick, how can ya resist? Credits were exchanged for services and the old merchant was on his way, to flip a trick on another corner beneath the sickly yellow hue of a different street lamp. Gabriel shook his head as he ripped flesh from the little beasts abdomen, currently equipped with food in one hand and the smoking cigarra in the other. Not really sure the majority of the Vong would actually appreciate such delicacies...though, they might. He raised an eyebrow in thought and then the lights came on.

Lights, lights everywhere. Defenses were triggered, the planet lit up like megaphones in contest to see who could make the loudest noise. He winced as he took another bite, tossing the scrap to a random feral dog. Probably left by the recently deployed, he thought. Probably be dead soon enough, might as well die full. The Sith Lord wiped his mouth with the provided napkin, tossing the paper into a pauper bonfire, a filled trash can lit with fuel. With that, he inspected the elements of his person. The battle armor beneath, the black robe of armor-weave, the two sabers on his back magnet plate, sitting all pretty next to the alchemical dagger and shotgun. He counted them, twenty little rounds just waiting to sing their tune. And finally, the Sith Lanvarok nested on top of his bracer. The old Sith clicked his tongue as he pulled another smoke from the cigar and began walking, reaching out with Shatterpoint. Those telltale tendrils, cords nested upon one another, strings to puppets not yet moved. The knot, the end, the conclusion, would soon reveal itself and with it, the fibrous twine that led to it. The sirens lit up his haggard face, one marred by combat and pain and suffering, the singular crimson eye filled with a capacity for it all. Perhaps, today, he would find satiation. And he had all but finished the cigarra, mind straddled with distracting thoughts. Someone would have to pay for that, he thought, as he tossed away the nub. It bounced, cinders ricocheting off the ground in little explosions before it rolled and settled against a nearby drain. Pulling up his cowl, he made his way forward, following the path set before him.

 

[Cassus De'Gaunt]

STAGING AREA: MEDICAL BAY
OBJECTIVE: PREP FOR CIRA'S ARRIVAL
MUSIC: MAD WORLD by JASMINE THOMPSON {COVER}

Here it was, finally. They were going to rescue the woman who had held them together for so long. The one who had started it all. Cira was going to come home. And though I was going to have little to do with it, I couldn't help but feel a rush. Several dozen individuals, including myself, were ready to do whatever it took to get her stable. We had no idea what state she was coming back in. All we knew was that she was coming back. Because damn it, she had to. To us, to the Protectorate, she was everything. Something we needed. Without her... Well, none of us were really ready to accept life without her. Sure, we were just the medical team. Most of us had never had the honor of meeting her. But we'd all seen her. And to us she was such a symbol of hope that we'd all have laid down our lives if it had meant she had never been captured. It's a little late for that. This is all we can do. Stand quietly, trying not to hold our breaths. We can wait. We can stand still hoping with all of our hearts that the plan will succeed. Some of us can pray, others can do what they can to bend the force to our will. None of it will do anything, of course. We're the backup. We're the people no one ever sees. Because by the time they get to us, they're either dead or dying, bleeding out on our tables. So I guess you can say we weren't looking forward to seeing Cira. If she ended up with us... if she ended up in the Med Ward... That would mean that we failed. Failed to keep her safe.

Then again... we already had.

 

[Noah Corek]

Noah sat in one of the many hangars of the biggest ship in the galaxy. The Spirit of Druckenwell. Noah sighed as he looked over his weapons and ran through a systems check list by using his HUD. All his weapons had been field stripped on the floor of the hangar and every part had been cleaned meticulously, not even a speck of dirt or dust had been left on the barrel. The people who knew Noah personally were aware that this was his usual pre-battle, meditation. Little did they know that it had been drilled in into him after a mission had gone wrong after a equipment malfunction and Noah and his entire team had spent six weeks in a Imperial forced POW labor camp.

Sighing as Noah finally finished putting the last piece of his final weapon together, Noah looked over his weapons. For this mission he had decided to go heavy and when Noah went heavy, he usually was armed to the teeth. For his primary weapon, Noah had his Custom Tenloss RAB with this slung over his back, Noah picked his secondary weapon, well more like his three secondary weapons. His main sidearm was his Merr-Sonn Power 5 'Lazy Eye' this was secured tightly in a shoulder holster, while his two backups were two Corek Custom Revolvers which were secured on his chest by two of the four loops of his Bodo Baas and below those secured on the other two loops where his two Custom Vibro Trench Knives. Noah sighed as he made sure everything was secured before he grabbed the coup de grace: a Hekler'Kok RAMR-1, of course he wouldn't be the one carrying it, that would be [member="Ven'Rain Sekairo"]'s job.

Sitting down and making sure that everything was good, Noah decided now was the best time to prepare for the worst. Pulling out a datapad, Noah already had the pre-made message to be sent to his daughters [member="Sky"] and Melissa, his brother Flint and his sister Asha, those would be sent to them upon his death. Though Noah still needed to make a message for his girlfriend [member="Laura Swift"].

"Dear Laura
It's no doubt that you've already heard about the massive Protectorate fleet that is above Alderaan and I also have no doubt that you've deduced that I'm going to be taking part in a dangerous mission. To rescue the Lady Protector. I know what your asking yourself: 'Why am I risking my life for hers?' Well it simple, everything I have I owe to her. When I requested to join the Omega Pyre, I was a washout from the Republic Commandos, I was drunk and stumbling and barely had any credits to my name. But Cira looked past that and read my service record, she saw something in me that I never saw in myself: Someone worth of a second chance. So Laura, if I die, don't be mad at her or the Protectorate, this is my choice and mine alone. I while make a request. Go to Fondor in two days and wait in front of the garden at the Prex Tower, if I'm not there, you can assume the worst.
Signed By Yours Truly: Colonel Noah C. Corek V"

Noah sighed as he finally finished and pressed the send button, the message being sent to Laura, wherever she was in the galaxy. Noah sighed, he felt strange, Noah had never feared death in battle before, he saw it as the inevitable end of his life, he had accepted the fact that, like most of his ancestors, he was going to die on the battlefield. But now, with Melissa, Sky and Laura, Noah felt that if he died so many would grieve and be forever scared. 'Well, I guess that means one more thing to fight for.' Noah thought to himself and then began to silently look outside of the hangars force field into the vast emptyness of space.

 

[Iroatas]

Location: Alderaan Sith Temple.
Objective: Meditate for nao.
Allies: One Sith.
Enemies: erryone else fam


Cross legged and meditating upon the Dark Side of the Force, the last time that Darth Acarus had been upon this planet, he had helped fight off the Galactic Republic's attempted 'liberation' of Alderaan to take back their planet. Why Alderaan and not another one, he couldn't understand, but he figured it was due to it's mines, resources, and economy. Too bad they got smashed both times.

The Sith Knight shrugged -- mentally and continued focusing upon the Dark Side of the Force. Why he was doing it? There wasn't much reason other than waiting for his Apprentice, [member="Mala Kulan"] to come and find him, and until that happened the Sith Knight was going to wait in the meditation chambers in the Academy.

In the back of his mind he heard his holocommunicator beep, but he didn't react. He had to stay focused.

 

[Grrwunhoooll Agaburry]

Location: Sith Temple, Alderaan.
Allies: One Sith
Enemies: Who ever I want
Objective: Growl.. Simply Growl.

Alderaan was reclaimed for One Sith, Their Temples Converted to the Darkside and filled with Arrogant and prideful Force users that called themselves Stih. Alderaan had been in One Siths's grasp for awhile, as of late no attacks or invasions had come to anything owned by the Empire.The thought of standing guard by the stairs of the Temple Deeply bored the massive Gen'Dai. With is Thrist of Bloodshed he only tapped his foot having the metal plating bonded to the area make a clinging noise that echoed about the Temple. Along with a growl Kezeroth Held his Sulfuric stare to the distance and rested his weight against a Pillar. Crossing his arms against his Chest he grunted and snarled at those who stared back at him like a Wild Beast, His Connection to the Darkside was Very Strong and it showed on his Body. Corruption had spread making his look something of a Giant Abomination with Weapons.

Kezeroth was not Sith at all, He considered himself an ally to the Sith Empire only by a Means to an End. So far his plans had worked and he had learned tenfold since the original battle that he held here, when he took the Tunnels by Force and crushed them into collapse. When he slaughtered the republic troops like cattle! Oh those were the good times!

 

[Dicer]

Corporal Curtis Charles was a man capable of achieving sweet feth all on almost any scale. A failure at school, a failure in his personal life. Hell, he’d barely scraped through basic and was about to be thrown out on his arse when the invasion of Druckenwell kicked off. That planet had been his curse, and his redemption. Accidental Hero members of his Platoon had called him. Tarnishing his deeds and turning the moniker to insult.

Dicer looked up as his Platoon Commander walked past. He gave a crisp salute with a “sir”. His body language conveyed anything but respect. Managed to show your feelings for an officer clearly whilst following protocol for saluting was an art that Dicer had perfected.

He was a Corporal now, his actions on Druckenwell and Coruscant had elevated him to running 3-squad’s third fire team. Curtis sat back down on the crate he’d been occupying, once JP had returned the salute and carried on. He was sat in the dark and gloomy bowels of the Iblis-class Desolator. He sat there and thought thoughts that were not befitting a soldier in the ODF Army.

Curtis hated battle: the adrenaline, the shouting, the noise, the death; he hated it all. Every time he knew that some junior officer would - at some point - send his squad into a situation where his death was guaranteed. He was a piece on the board, and an expendable one. But today they would be giving up tens of thousands of lives for one woman. It didn’t seem right, no matter how much he despised the Sith. At the end of the day, this was just a day job for him. The only one where he’d been accepted and had managed to show any modicum of competency, but he’d still take a safe, normal job back on Eriadu any day.



The lights flickered and the ship lurched. That meant they were making the final hyperspace hop to their destination. Not long now. He purged his mind of all his qualms and complaints. Petty thoughts really, he reflected. His tactical HUD flickered into life. It now highlighted his four-man fire team and had more details on their weaponry and state. The squad was split into three teams. The first was led by the SL and would be providing close fire support with two light repeaters. The second was more balanced, with CC13s, heavier blasters and underslung grenade launchers. His fire team was for rapid assault. They all carried extra grenades, less supplies and one member had a scattergun. He probably had the most dangerous job, leading this four man team. They'd be expected to be right in the enemies face during the encounter. If they had to charge a repeater nest, they'd be the ones kicking the door down.

His Company was now gearing up and getting loaded into transports. They were armed and organised for nearly any kind of encounter. They had three attachments: two recce squads, a close fire support squad armed with mortars, two sniper squads and an engineer support unit. The Company was well equipped, and one platoon featured heavier weapons for dealing with armor. They’d be deploying in a mix of units, hopefully with close air and armor support.

Dicer lifted himself to his feet on the hangar deck, lazily lifting his CC13 rifle off the crate next to him. In one ear he heard his Sergeant start to complain and cuss in his usual manner. The tough old dog absolutely loved war. His excitement was palpable as the engagement drew near.

Curtis sighed and took a deep breath in, imagining swallowing his fear and burying it deep with that breath. He undertook a final check of his person and kit. He had a spare gas chamber, several power packs, his water pack, spare suit battery, ‘nades and energy bars. Time to rock and roll.

“Corporal Charles you piss weak excuse for a soldier, where the frak have you been hiding whilst your squad was…”

Another day at the office. Time to survive.

 

[Ellie Mors]

Location: Alderaan Temple
Allies: Nobody She Could Trust
Enemies: Isn't everyone an enemy? N/A
Theme:

Spoiler

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bx4RYfPOD4Q[/media]

The room was silent, dark. No light penetrated to this chamber, nor would it ever. The walls were painted a deep, dark, red, the floors were panels of wood painted black, and sitting in the center of it all was Silara lost in meditation. Her blank face wore no expression, no feeling of emotion coursed through her tainted veins, and her body refused to shiver at the cold chill that kept the room at a less than bearable temperature. For the last half hour visions of horror wracked her mind, the wetness of blood dripped through her mind like a cold drip against her face, and she knew something inevitable was to come. The Vahla would do nothing to stop it, she merely wished to be there for the great send-off. The only opportunity that she would take would be to grab the attention of the single-most important entity in her life, far exceeding that of any friends or lovers that Silara may have had - she wanted the Dark Lord to see her. If nothing else, she would only act for him. Even within the silence of the small room there was a sense of foreboding, and she could feel the shift in the air as events that she could not see or hear unfolded far beyond the confines of her meditation chamber.

Her eyes opened.

 

[Racket]

Location: Space! OS-G3 Paladin
Allies: Two Pistols and a Beskar Blade



The fat broad was whipping around through space while barrel rolling twice before being thrown to the side and back again; Only! almost-crashing-twice. A male voice belonging to someone who had the right to boss him around came into his earpiece, "Racket, we all find it flattering you have such a warm relationship with death. We really do. So that being said, DON'T destroy my bloody ship just to prove you have a set. Got it?!"

Racket's face never looked once let alone twice at the screen that had been projecting 'Dude Guy number 4 from page 18 of a worthless scene in a worthless cyberflick' s ugly mug into his cockpit. Some people man. They just didn't understand..... and...... well they just never would. Fingers danced across the screen. His feed to the other pilot went silent.

The beautiful specimen of technology with a deadly temper that was the OS-G3 Paladin felt like a flower petal floating through a vast breeze all to itself when in reality the metal shell of it's hull was inches away from one of Omega's main ships testing it's almost unmatched turn radius. Throttling viciously forward whipped the OS-G3 Paladin back into attack maneuvering formation. "SHoW TImE!!!!!!"




[member="Dicer"], [member="Kezeroth the Hateful"], [member="Silara Vantai"], [member="Darth Acarus"], [member="Noah Corek"], [member="Veron'Icka Stormson"], [member="Reverance"], [member="Jonathan Walsh"], [member="Rave Merrill"], [member="Ayden Cater"], [member="Sarge Potteiger"] [member="Cira"]


(OOC: WHo wants to throw Knucks main???)

 

[The Hydra Queen]

Location: The Vongformed ruins of Aldera's palace.
Allies: The One Sith | [member="Silara Vantai"] | [member="Kezeroth the Hateful"] | @Tsavon Kraal | [member="Nui Akona"] | [member="Darth Acarus"] | @Reverance
Enemies: Omega Protectorate | [member="Ayden Cater"] | [member="Sarge Potteiger"] | [member="Rave Merrill"]
Objective: The Spirits Within
Theme : Heart of the Swarm

​

Alderaan.

Once a beacon of hope and timeless beauty, the blue green gem of a planet had been transformed into something new. Something extraordinary.

A planet teeming with new life.

Much like what the Killik horde had once done in their attempt to overrun the planet, Alderaan had become the fortress world of the Yuuzhan Vong. In here, the Master Shapers of the Hrosha-Gul had converted the various chasms and chambers of the ruins into new shaping pools for the glory of Yun-Amon.

New Yuuzhantar now stood in Alderaan's place, and writhing within its surface was the evidence of that. Large thamasshes would hang from light posts and ruined pillars, thickening the air, reducing visibility heavily within Aldera's city ruins. Scores of Rakamats would shuffle on their feet, while packs of slow moving Grokata, hungering for food, lifted their sharp beaks and gave a squat howls.

The defenses for the new home of the Yuuzhan Vong would be heavily defended. Huge Fire Breathers, would be scattered about the city, while Warkeepers would work in conjunction with the Thrall Herders, all of these controlled by the yammosks under the order of the Khaztaaz caste.

Surrounding the ruins, one circular volcano like mound that had been mining the natural resources of Alderaan's core would be familiar to the Mandalorians... but not the Protectorate. All this and more -- so much more. The vast creations blessed by the vessel of Yun-Harla and the blessing of Yun-Amon would riddle the landscape. Not just the craftsmanship of the Shapers, but the alchemical twisted creations of Sith Alchemy and Sorcery.

The Lord Protector's message was heard loud and clear. The Oggzil Villip that had been used to communicate with the infidels of the Protectorate would transfer word through Villip beacons, going down the web until it would reach Zhaera Shai herself.

The warmasters along with the commanders of the warrior caste would be at her side, all now observing the Villid. These were specialized form of villips were flattened gelatinous lifeforms which were used in groups to create ight shapers. This made them similar to a villip-choir field but used instead to send and receive bioluminescent holographic images over vast distances. Shaped sparkbees would fly in conjunction to the ight shapers, providing a bioluminecent holographic image of the Protectorate fleet.

[ The infidel had but one question, Yun-Harla.]​

"Ẁ̵h̴a̶͏t̛ ͡w̷͠͝a͜͞s͜ ̡̕t̛͠h̷̀e҉ ͜q́͜ú̷e͡͝s̛͞ti̸͢͜on͘?̵" ͜͠ The snakelike head tresses would twitch along Zhaera's cheeks and shoulders as she asked the question. Eyes would narrow, burning ember coals upon the Protectorate's holographic image forces.

The villip choir would mold and shift until the image of the Yuuzhan Vong Warrior would form. The thickly accented reply would fall upon the vessel's ears.

[ Where is Cira? ]​

​

​

Spoiler

[member="Javik Quar-Kai"] [member="Vraska Yo'gand"] [member="Smeg"] [member="Ratih Lah"] [member="Nam Karakk"] [member="Nas Vua"]

 

[RC 212]

[member="Dicer"]

Location: Onboard the Fleet

Objective: Get ready for some battlez.

There was an eerie silence among the men as they checked each drop pod and went over their weapons for the final time. Delta was not very concerned about the coming battle. He was fresh out of the chute and a bit foolish, walking about the bay with a bravado that suited no one very well. The other more seasoned soldiers whispered being his back but Delta only smirked.

They hadn't counted on the size of the fight in the dog, he thought to himself.

Normally he'd be flying, but today he was dropping.

As the fleet was soon to come out of hyperspace he checked his bolter rifle and pistols, making sure there was adequate ammo. He had a varying compliment of Forcebreakers and Cryobans and two sonic pistols as a back up. It was a far cry for a Forcer to deflect Sonic pistols, and they were nice lightweight weapons.

"Ten minutes to standby, get in your pods, MOVE!" Delta grunted.

Another day at the office. Slinging his pack he made his way to his own drop pod and grabbed the top of the hatch sliding in feet first. His pack was secure against his knees, and his weapon in it's case hung at it's side...

 

[Xavier Vi'dreya]

Location: Alderann Temple
Allies: It's starts with 'One' and ends with 'Sith'
Enemies: People who don't meet that description
Theme: Been to Hell-Hollywood Undead

Things were about to get interesting. They were here, the Protectorate, he could feel it. Just like they'd feel his rage soon enough. For her he did this. Marking himself with war paint of old, darkening the area around his eyes, smearing the white across his face. Xavier Vi'dreya had been waiting a long time to strike at the Protectorate, so long. The teenagers veins were filled with hatred as he donned a long black coat and grabbed the saber of his step father, looking about his new personal quarters one last time. This was it, anticipation anxiously awaited it's transformation to adrenaline as he brushed his hair from his face and opened the door. The light that flooded in forced him to squint his icy blue eyes before calmly stepping forward and looking to the stormtrooper awaiting him in the hall, armor battered, the yellow stripes of a commander on his armor. Xavier had picked him for the job the second he reappeared, 4242, his childhood guardian, and now his right hand man in commanding the remains of the 501st his step-father passed down, the man was the only person besides Thyrian who'd ever truly seen something in him, and he wouldn't waste that.

 

[Dicer]

Curtis followed his squad to the waiting transport. He felt the heat of her engines, already running hot. The view behind them was distorted with ripples of hot air.

The Company was loaded up in four M47 dropships. One for each combat platoon and one form company HQ. They'd be launching mid atmo, not even waiting for the carrier to land. The light infantry battalion wouldn't be setting up pre-fab bases, or even setting up an HQ I'm a building of opportunity. Command would come from the ships themselves. The massive force needed to keep mobile, ready to withdraw. It was no easy task for a force of this size.

Dicer secured his weapon and himself in the back. He had no idea where on the world they would be deployed. That was a decision for a higher pay grade. He worked on street by street, door by door. The nerves weren't as bad as the last few drops. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign.

 

[Lancer Damar]

Location: Alderaan Temple
Enemies: OP
Allies: OS
Theme: Not Hollywood Undead


Lancer sat atop of a few crates, with other Stormtroopers around. He hadn't adjusted the balaclava yet, all he was doing was holding the suppressed slugthrower across his lap, screwing on the suppressor and making sure the weapon would function properly. He sighed, leaning against higher crate behind him, waiting for the OP to come and things to get nasty.


"I feel like I'm the only one without a lightsaber around here."Lancer said passively, clucking his tongue.

 

[Ayden Cater]

High Orbit over New New Yuuzhan'tar
Formerly Alderaan
0430 Local Time

The sky above the former Republic world was awash with light and fire as the Protectorate fleet engaged the orbital defenses the Yuuzhan Vong had already managed to set up as well as their fleet. Hundreds of fighter and bomber squadrons launched and sortied with coralskippers while the Star Defenders tackled their Vong equivalents. They had the element of surprise and would put that to excellent use. Javelin hypervelocity cannons fired in waves behind scattered turbolaser fire. The dovin basals would have a hard time keeping up such unrelenting fire. Something would have to give.

In the meantime, dozens of Iblis-class Planetary Assault Carriers descended into Alderaan's atmosphere before releasing squadrons of fighters and bombers. Other support craft such as troop transports, airspeeders, gunships, and dropships were disgorged as well. Prefabricated base parts were dropped from the undersides of the carriers, heading down in groups to land where clearings permitted. These numerous outposts would serve as rallying points for the Protectorate forces, making it difficult to route them. Supply depots were set up along with the outposts to keep weapons running and troops fed. There was no telling how long the operation would run. They might find Cira and get out in an hour. It could be days or weeks of fighting, and Ayden was never going to let the operation fail because they had failed to prepare for a drawn-out battle.

Ayden remained on the bridge of the Spirit of Druckenwell, coordinating the deployment of their forces. If the Vong and Sith were smart, they'd pull back to the far side of the planet and hold there. There was a lot of ground to cover to find Cira. Until he heard back from [member="Sarge Potteiger"] or [member="Rave Merrill"] as to an objective site, Ayden was going to have their forces dig in for the long haul. If there was still any part of Cira left within that Vongformed husk, he had a feeling she'd be holed up in a heavily fortified location. To assault it without killing her meant outright bombardment was out of the question. So they'd have to figure out how to lure her out, or tear apart the defenses without incurring too many casualties. "As soon as we're clear, move us into low orbit. I intend to push the Vong fleet out of the way. If they make the mistake of trying to stop us then we can send them to the Nine Hells, but they're not out objective right now."

Once that was done, perhaps he'd be able to head to the planet himself.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge looked at [member="Rave Merrill"] from where he was in the front of the dropship, even as it eased into the hangarbay of a frigate. This particular one was outfitted for orbital drop and his warriors were already waiting outside their drop pods, waiting for the all clear. "Follow me." He says gruffly to the woman, heading out of the dropship with marines in lockstop behind him again.

Leading her from the hangar, they found themself in another spinal corridor, metal teardrops lining each side of their path. Each was large, even for drop pods, as five warriors each were loading up ammo and weapons and getting into position. At the very end was Sarge's and he settled inside, strapping himself into the drop harness and motioning for her to join him.

And honor guard of three warriors, their Protectorate emblem painted over in gunmetal grey, strapped in with him. In front of Rave would be a small console, "Coordinates." He barks, letting her to know to input them.

[member="Ayden Cater"] would be able to track their descent and angle forces there; the dropship was forwarding communications from [member="Cira"]'s proxy, so he'd be able to get and respond to them.

 

[Velok the Younger]

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

"I'm going to say this once, Sarge, and remember it because it's going to keep on being relevant. Shut the frack up while I'm working. A blood trail's not something you can bark into functionality." She shut her eyes and got to work, tracking the same blood trail that had taken her, and all of them, to this system in particular. The real challenge was separating it from the dozens upon dozens of blood trails she'd attached to friends, enemies, and objects. Granted, no witch with half a brain put out multiple blood trails unless she'd figured out how to tell them apart, but there was a point at which comprehensive became overwhelming. Assuming he did, in fact, stay quiet, she'd have an answer in about three minutes, at which point she would enter the coordinates for [member="Cira"]'s current location.