Private Rising Storm | Final Dawn

[Marlon Sularen]

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S H A D O W _ H A N D _ I N I T I A T I V E

FINAL DAWN
TSOSS BEACON

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War. It is all this Galaxy has known. For decades , the Galaxy has been engulfed in a state of near-constant warfare with new Nations rising and falling and Planets getting ravaged by numerous Conflicts. The Galaxy was ripe with Chaos , and order had yet to be restored. The Brotherhood of the Maw had risen to fix this problem. To extinguish the flames of constant warfare and Galactic Civilization as we know it. So that the Final Dawn could rise from the Ashes and create something new , a Pure Galactic Order with the goals of ensuring that the Galaxy would never devolve into a constant-state of Warfare. However as one could expect most of the Galaxy had united to challenge the Maw especially during the Battle of Csilla and subsequent conflicts with some having even grown bold enough to directly attack Mawite Territory. However these feeble attacks only delayed the inevitable , something the Maw had been preparing for months and perhaps years now : The Conquest of the Core.

Since he joined the Maw shortly before being overthrown as the Lord-Imperator of Byss , Marlon Sularen had seeked to re-establish himself in the Core Worlds and given that he was a Persona Non-Grata within both the Galactic Alliance and New Imperial Order , the Maw was the only Faction capable of helping him do so. Having pledged himself to the Final Dawn and worked hard to ensure it's success , Marlon Sularen had begun preparing for his Ultimate return to the Core Worlds via the Shadow Hand Initiative by recruiting dozens of Former Sith-Imperial Officers , Ex-Zweihander Union Officer and other individuals who could serve his needs and now moving forth to expand his Organization by establishing a Clandestine Paramilitary Force known only by a select few which would enforce Sularen's Will under the guise of serving the Final Dawn's Interests , one of many assets in which would ensure that his Rule in the Core Worlds would never be interrupted : The Hand of Judgement.

Now the Grand Overseer stood in a meeting room within a secret Final Dawn outpost in Tsoss Beacon located far deep within the Deep Core , awaiting for his guests to arrive. For weeks the Politorate had searched far and wide for potential candidates for the Hand of Judgement and today some of these candidates would be brought to him , where soon they would serve the Grand Overseer and by Extension the Final Dawn. These Candidates would soon be the tools in which would be utilize to destroy the enemies of Sularen and that of the Final Dawn , the very instruments that would maintain order to a Humbled Core Worlds. Soon they would meet the Grand Overseer and they would be given new a purpose within the Final Dawn , something that they would not , could not reject.

"The Final Dawn is not without it's enemies. Those who have yet to open their eyes and embrace our Vision of a Pure Order. Those who have dared challenge us on numerous occasions only for us to triumph at every occasion. Yet despite that , our enemies still lurk in the Shadows thinking that they can strike at us whenever we emerge into the Light. The Politorate had deemed you all as worthy candidates to be inducted into the ranks of the Hand of Judgement whether it be as Field Agents , Intelligence Operators or simply as Coordinators. So do tell me , what sets you all apart. What makes you worthy of serving under me?" the Grand Overseer inquired coldly

Tags | Captain Clemon | TBD ​

 

[Captain Clemon]

A muddy explosion coated Clemon's face as he and his company lay fetal in a trench, artillery pounding around their location. A younger man, simply a private squeezed his eyes closed and held his free hand over his unoccupied ear, using the other to yell into the handset of the Galac-tac radio system he had set up.

The entire field echoed of artillery bombardments and blaster fire, men screaming in the distance and and the load roar of slugthrowers down the line. Clemon, hunched over approached the boy and motioned for him to hand the handset over.

"Spirit Home, this Is Blackout 4-1, We have the package, I say again, we have the package. We need evac immediately. I say again, we need evac Immediately. We have a platoon sized element preparing for and assault on this position. They are stacked up on the northwestern side of this valley with heavy weapons and mortars, with heavy artillery pieces out of view but hammering us with indirect fire."

"Roger Blackout 4-1, get low, Fast-movers in bound to deal with enemy positions. Friendly evac shuttles inbound, ETA 5 Mike."

"Roger Spirit Home, Blackout 4-1 Out." Clemon clicked the handset into place on the metal rail of the top of the radio and grabbed his rifle. He looked at the scared private with a straight face and yelled, "Throw the radio on your back and grab your rifle, we need to hold this position!"

Clemon quickly made his way to the edge of the trench, placing his rifle on the mound for stability and looking side to side at the men down the line. The Squadron of 15 was rattled but ready. As the young radioman joined on the line the captain turned his head. "Give these bastards hell. Hold the line and transport is on the way!" He racked the charging handle on his blaster rifle. In the distance was the sound of whistles followed by a horde of about 50 men charging down the hill, all while artillery continued to clam around Clemons position. Clemon screamed for the men to ready and then, following another explosion that coated Clemon's armor, there was an explosion of blaster fire. Clemon and his men opened up on the horde as they very quickly dispersed behind scattered cover. A few of them went down in the initial Volley. Clemon sighted in, firing and downing one of the advancing troops, all while barking orders over the deafening roar of artillery and blaster fire. One of the hostile troops chucked a grenade, flying over the trench and exploding in the air right above. One of Clemon's men went down as shrapnel flew through the air and cut a hole straight through his leg.

There was a distant road that grew closer and closer as Clemon watched the silhouette of Close Air support arc over the valley. The roar got closer and closer then "Boom!" As massive explosion pounded the enemies, throwing several of them in pieces into the air. Clemons yelled at his men to get down as two more explosions hit, danger close. One of which causing a collapse on the trench and injuring another of his men. In the distance was the sound of whistles as the enemies began withdrawing. Clemon turned around as the all two familiar noise of the modified LA-AT lowered to the ground just behind his command tent. The doors of the Modified LA-AT opened and a trooper in heavy armor opened up from inside with an E-Web heavy repeater. The men quickly set up positions, and covered their buddies as the wounded were pulled out. Clemon personally charged the command tent, grabbed a large brief case and picked up a detonator from the make-shift table.

The LA-AT Stalled for a moment as Clemon and his men climbed aboard, and as the last man hoisted himself off, the lights turned red and the shuttle began to lift into the air, Clemon clenched the handlebar on the ceiling tightly, and just as the LA-AT engaged it's thrusters, he flipped the switch, setting off an explosion which completely decimated the FOB that he and his men had established.

Not long after the LA-AT docked in the Modified Raider, Clemon and his men cleaned themselves and began repainting and polishing their armor. The ship was quick to jump to hyperspace and off to their next destination. Clemon knew that he was late for this meeting, and he hoped that the fresh wounds would tell a story that would buy him some credit. After a few hours in hyperspace, the ship came out, And Clemon and a small detachment of men, all rested with repaired, repainted armor, and clean clothes, boarded a shuttle and made their way down for planetfall. Clemon wore, atop his shoulder pieces, a fine pelt from a beast he personally slay on one of his expedition. Hanging from his mouth, an expensive cigar.

The ship landed, the men unloaded, traveling lightly with only blaster pistols with them, they lead the way to the meeting room. There was some initial chatter, but before long the buisness began.

"The Final Dawn is not without it's enemies. Those who have yet to open their eyes and embrace our Vision of a Pure Order. Those who have dared challenge us on numerous occasions only for us to triumph at every occasion. Yet despite that , our enemies still lurk in the Shadows thinking that they can strike at us whenever we emerge into the Light. The Politorate had deemed you all as worthy candidates to be inducted into the ranks of the Hand of Judgement whether it be as Field Agents , Intelligence Operators or simply as Coordinators. So do tell me , what sets you all apart. What makes you worthy of serving under me?"

"Well, simply put, I get things done. I'm sure you have all noticed my late arrival, and that was due to me completing a contract with another. Now, I can't promise you that my work will be pretty, or that you'll like it very well, but I get my job done. I worked in the Red Guard in the Fel Imperium as a member of the military council for years, and following that, I began recruiting my own men. My men are hardened veterans. Baptized in fire, and good at what they do. We can do anything you need, from recon to a full fledged military Operation. I personally can work as a field operative as I was trained in espionage. I can give you plenty of reasons why you may need someone like me, or why I'm a step above anyone else you may find, but I have a question for you. I put it all out there, what could I be offered? Can I be promised stable income? Can my men be promised food and the tools to upkeep their weapons and gear good sir?" Clemon paused momentarily. He pulled the cigar from his mouth and blew the smoke from his mouth, then placed it back between his lips. "And can I be promised the action I desire?"