Dominion Sacrilege on Cophrigin (Bryn'adul Dominion of Cophrigin V)

[Kad]

Post: Five
Objective: D - Behind Enemy Lines

The Zealot kicked the Sith in the armpit and staggered back, reaching for the Kukri and attempting to pry it from the gun. Yet his efforts were not enough, not quite quickly enough as the Sith rose once again; diving through the mud at his feet and taking him to the ground.

Gredak still held onto the broken rifle, but it seemed the Sith was more agile - rising to his feet quickly and using the Zealot as an anchor to pry the Kukri free himself. Gredak snarled as the Sith started hacking and slashing at him.

The Zealot used the gun as a shield, blocking blow after blow until he got at a good position, kicking upward with both of his feet into the Sith's stomach, knocking it back and allowing him him to rise to his feet.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Nine
Obj: D - Reap havoc

A grand emptiness filled the Primarch's eyes as he stared into the massive chasm, seeing the faint silhouette of the great serpent as it slithered deeper into Cophrigin. What would’ve felt like a great emptiness was instead a magnificent silence.

This was but another gift of the Titan's great victory at Ankhypt. They had crushed the Sith, a beautiful thing indeed.

A just end to the Sithling's of Cophrigin.

 

[Kad]

Post: Five
Objective: D - Behind Enemy Lines

Gredak rose from the mud, fists drawn and ready to fight. But his challenge was not met, an Axe ruptured through the chest of the Sith, the sith's body dropping down into the mud as a Zealot Elite made his way toward Gredak and his opponent.

Gredak lowered his fists, his guard loosening as the adrenaline rushed from him. His fight had been taken from him, a worthy enemy strucken down by a stab in the back. He didn't know why he didn't like it - he did it plenty.

Gredak snorted, wiping the mud from his face as he picked up the Kukri from the limp fingers of the Sith. The Zealot Elite spoke, suggesting they continue. Gredak put his damaged Rifle on his back, taking the Shredder from his thigh, he checked the clip. The Zealot Shadow hid his resentment well, but he didn't like being upstaged.

"Let's move." Gredak didn't wait his 'saviour' and rushed past the Elite toward the sounds of combat.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Post: Twelve
Objective: B

The horde of Bryn'adûl warriors followed their Chieftain into the fray against the straggling Sith. They were breaking them, a majority of those who remained in full retreat into the mountains. Their Gunboats circled overhead, oozing molten plasma down on the retreating Sith forces. The anti-air turrets and mortars long since abandoned as Tathra raised his Axe overhead.

Drop pods landed all across the beach head left behind, opening up to deliver thousands of Savage Drones to the battlefield. The ground quaked as the sea of black creatures came rolling over the hills - charging past the statuesque Juggernauts, Drones and Titan himself. They filled every trench, overwhelming numbers as they dragged around grown men like rag-dolls

The Sith had been an impressive foe in the beginning, fierce and devious - unleashing undead hordes upon the Bryn. But now? Nothing but a whimper.

 

[Osam]

Post 5
Objective C

The terrible work was begun with expeditiousness and efficacy. Room by room the squadrons of Draelvasier would maneuver themselves into position, breaching the crew quarters and assorted residences, and promptly exterminating whatever could be discovered inside. Those within met quick and painless fates - the need to go quickly meant that none of the Sraelvun had an opportunity to take captives for their bloodsports, and no Baedurin could utilize their tremendous strength in order to toy with the weakling humanoids.

Osam stepped into a new residence taking notice of the presence of a number of baubles and trinkets. Some of them gleamed with inset jewels and diamonds, and others shined with the sparkling touch of platinum bands. Artifacts of one form or another littered the room, and while at least a couple seemed to be relatively functional, there was little doubt in the hybrid's mind that all of them had been hoarded for their aesthetic value. Carefully, the Risen scooped up one of the more delicate pieces: a vase.

Why did the humanoids gather such things? Were they meant to be trophies of their work, or were they mere decoration? Someone had decided somewhere that these minor items would be valuable, worth currency and maintenance... but why? Had the vase saved its owner? What use were jewels in beautifying a corpse?

He allowed the vase to fall from his hand, watching as it shattered upon the ground, worthless to everyone now just as it had been worthless to the Draelvasier.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Ten
Obj: D - Reap havoc

The Primarch extracted via Gunboat, leaving behind the death and destruction of the planet below. They had done well to cull the natives of the planet so swiftly. He watched as the fires began to die out on the edges of the battlefield.

In the distance, Nimscall terraformers were being launched toward the surface of the planet and the Installations had begun construction. Copphrigin was theirs. The Sith had paid a heavy debt in their loses to the Draelvasier, this was just another in a long list.

The Galaxy around them continued to ignore the true threat. Just as they ignored truth and strength. Their undoing would come soon enough.

 

[Galak]

Objective: C
Post: Two

The Juggernauts carried the Brumak Charge into the mid-section of the ship as Galak covered their retreat. The hallways were once again flooded with spiked round fire, cutting down the Sith as they ran to disable the Brumak charge. It was beginning to expand, the supercharged black hole becoming apparent at the end of the corridor.

"Into the Debaucher! Quickly!" His words ran through the halls as the Drones and Juggernauts retreated onto the vessel, however their bulwark of Savages was left behind.

He was the last in, falling against the biomass interior of the Debaucher as the ship was cut in half by the bomb.

"This is Galak, the last of their Cruisers have been destroyed." He spoke into his stone, sending out the call as several more Debaucher groups reported their success.

 

[Keldothera]

Post: Two
Objective: Kill the crazies

Keldothera cut through the forest, fighting them fist to fist or blade to blade. It led her into a swamp, drenches thick with water as her movement was slowed. She narrowly avoided traps, built for animals twice the weight of a human if not more.

She finally made her way to what looked like a wooden platform, lit torches accentuated the edges of the walkways as a crowd of primitive looking warriors crowded round her. Above them on a staircase, a painted man in a headdress with two woman beside him, themselves doused in paint.

Keldothera understood the nature of the challenge. They carried no weapons, and so she threw her kukri aside. The tribal leader grunted, a meek verbal order as the warriors around her rushed her from all sides.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Post: Thirteen
Objective: B

It only lasted an hour longer, and the fighting was finished. Tathra alongside a handful of Juggernauts entered his personal Gunboat; joined by the Honour Guards whom had fought in proximity to them. All of their armour was scorched, burnt and battered. But, he honestly thought it looked better that way.

The Titan couldn't help but grin, dawn came as night ended. The sun was rising, gleaming through the horrors of war. The beauty of nature was unmatched, or so he thought. He placed the Axe between their seats, leaning back slightly as he took in the slowly fading scenery.

There were hundreds of Gunboats in the air, crossing over the sea at a slow pace. Across from him, he saw another Gunboat with its bay open - two Ashaka were tending to a wounded Juggernaut as Risen and his squad mates looked on. It gave him a spurt of energy, sitting forward.

Tathra raised his gauntlet, linking his voice comms to all their forces no longer in combat.

"Brothers, Sisters. This is your Chieftain." Tathra began, rising to his feet - his free arm taking hold of one of the bracing handles.

"You all fought well today, take pride in the sacrifices of your brethren. Not only on this battlefield, but the hundred before it that allowed you to be here - Today. Take pride in your strength, in our truth and our mission to share it. Together, warriors! Apathy for our mission requires it! Balance for our lives to be meaningful! Accountability, for us to keep each other in check, to help one and other not stray from the path! Battle, as to test ourselves is to cultivate power! Weakness for to be truly strong, one must accept their flaws! Strength, as it is what we strive toward! Unity, for it is what binds us together! Together, Draelvasier are STRONG!"

 

[Keldothera]

Post: Three
Objective: Kill the crazies

It would've been painful, if she were human. Bones snapped and organs were crushed as Keldothera brutalised the group of men. Pulling one to her as she slammed her elbow into his face, crushing his skull and throwing the ody at her the feet of the tribe leader.

The two women came next, taking small daggers from their backs and charging at her. Fine, Kelda thought - two can play at that game. The General took the Pulveriser from its holster, blasting holes in the two woman before they even reached her.

She'd had quite enough of this, firing off a final shot - exploding the head of the leader as he drew some strange bone weapon. The body fell, rolling down the steps to the ground.

That was the freaks dealt with.

 

[Sylok'Vanari]

Post: # 3
Objective: Decipher the Creed & Break Them.
Location: Cophrigin V, "Bulkhead" Central Bunker.
Allies Nearby: Sethrak

Grek Fal stepped forward, his black robe drifting across the hardened ground with grace. It had been a long time since the services of a Scripter were needed, it would mean the death of their sect if he were unable to render a sliver of some success. This could even lead to more records for the Scripters to collect and document. Still, it weighed heavily on the older Aeravalin, he knew what the seers had enducted them for and with little historical fragments recovered over time, many of the scribes found work in the present historical accords. Even so, Grek Fal wasn't scared of failing here, but rather the unknown. Only a fool would be overly eager to strike what they did not know. Perhaphs it was this process of thought that lead the old Drael to the sect of Scripters, rather than the judgemental ushers of the seers. It was a wound that the old man felt a deep burn from, but granted no resentment for. He was what he was, by the decree of seers.

And now... He had a job to do for the first time in years.

Grek Fal lifted his hand and placed the tips of his strong, yet nimble fingers against the eastwall. A sudden jerk lifted his head upward, a surge of energy coursing through him like a river. Grek Fal's eyes turned solid white. Then a calming wave of images began to flood over him. Words of foreign language flooded into his mind and before he could latch onto their meaning he was rebuked from the vision and shot back into reality. One thing imprinted on his memory, the motion of the engravings and a key piece of paper, each stroke standing for a letter of the monks own language. It was the only thing the Scripter needed, everything else - the emotions, the actions, the screams and laughs...all of it was extra, all of it eventually used to be placed into the compendium of lore. A truth that only the Draelvasier would know of these ancient people. A truth that would allow them into the bulkhead.

"Here." Grek Fal turned to his right and as if to float across the floor made way to a marking. "It starts here, come Sylok."

Tathra Khaeus | Reidun Amersis | Argaloth | Gordrak | Galak | Targant Howlain | Tolfik Aenon | Thogfer Kórdak | Osam | Krarolk T'manu | ​

 

[Krarolk T'manu]

POST: V
OBJECTIVE: B
LOCATION: Urban center, southeastern Cophrigin
EQUIPMENT: In Signature | Five grenade-sized Refined Dramedius Prime Ore Shells | Driller Submachine Gun | Equipment on other Zealots varies
UNITS: Zealot Elite Squad (Krarolk, Abvor, the Zealot Commander)
IN PROXIMITY: TBD | Open to interaction

The vision of the Zealots were consumed solely by fires and the distant hill.​

Buildings had long ceased to become distinguishable from the surrounding inferno, which now shot up over a dozen meters into the air. The fire had grown so vast and smothering that Abvor placed his arms around Krarolk and their Commander, hoping to shield their Aeravalin skin with his heat-resistant Baedurin bulk. The three marched forwards in a single line, following the only landmark that remained visible through the flames and smoke. It was the outline of the vast hill, a hill built by Death himself.

Even as the flames grew ever larger and more unbearable, the hill loomed undamaged, its components writhing and occasionally forming ashes that rose into the sky before falling down to land on top of a new victim. Undoubtedly, the hill had been formed from thousands, possibly even tens of thousands of lives, rising far above any other structure in the vicinity and almost matching the fires in height. As the Zealots and their guides grew ever closer, the hill’s presence became increasingly ominous, consuming them in its shadow. The group walked in the newly exposed riverbed underneath a half-destroyed bridge, finally within a hundred meters of their destination.

“Our prophet lies on his throne just ahead.” exclaimed one of the guides, bone staff still in his hands.

The trio only nodded, too focused on their destination and warding off the forbidding presence of the hill of flesh. Ahead of them lay a great pile of large chunks of marble, the remnants of an even larger pillar. On its summit about three meters up stood a lean human male naked above his waist, a bone staff similar to the ones carried by the guides in his hands. His eyes and body locked onto the Elite Squad the moment they came close enough to be seen through the smoke, no semblance of sanity felt in his presence. This was an individual who had gone truly insane, a heretic who no quantity of purification could ever clean. The most merciful fate for him was a quick death.

Yet even the man behind the cult of heresy and his throne of shattered marble was dwarfed by the abomination behind him. Its slope rose up gently for dozens of meters, revealing the bloodied corpses of countless individuals of countless species. It was likely that fully half of the city was within or would soon be within the depths of the hill, subjected to a fiery and gory death worse than the underworld itself. The thought of perishing in such an unpleasant manner sent genuine fear through the spines of all three Zealots, and they suddenly felt a note of sympathy for the Drones who went through this much and worse in the major campaigns. Still, the trio would not be deterred from their mission. They would kill the prophet and leave behind his monstrous creation within the next few seconds.

It was Abvor who was the first to lose his patience. He pulled out his two Spitter Utility Bows, firing an explosive arrow directly into the head of the prophet about twenty meters away. It burst open like a smashed fruit, instantly ending his life. Abvor swiftly turned around and began to bolt away, firing his second bolt directly at the center of the hill. An explosion shook the vast pile of flesh, ending the misery of dozens of the still living and disintegrating just as many of the dead. Still, it was barely a dent in the sheer mass of the hill of the dead.

Krarolk and the Commander sliced their glaives through their guides in quick succession, ensuring that they would not be pursued. Then, the entire trio bolted. They bolted under the bridge, clearing the riverbed just as the last foundations of the structure collapsed in flames. They bolted through the ruined streets, burn wounds soon marking all three Zealots. The flames grew ever larger, surrounding the trio on all sides. Still, they bolted, desperate to escape their fiery hell and the vast hill that still loomed behind them. The fires alone were more demoralizing than a thousand foes, providing no sign of exit or reinforcement. The trio hung on by a thread, racing against the anarchy that was rapidly bringing down the city.

The Elite Squad did not stop running until sunlight breached the outer edges of the cloud of smoke.

THIS POST CONCLUDES THIS THREAD