Location: Hoth - Outpost Veers - Improvised Imperial Trenches.
Allies: The First Order, The Galactic Empire, [member="TK-4261 Strain"], [member="Shaydae Desmaris"], [member="Chron Terix"], [member="Rexus Wenck"], [member="Hatori Ikari"]
Enemies: The Galactic Alliance, [member="Sol Stazi"], [member="Aver Brand"], [member="Tomas Yarrow"]. [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"], [member="HK-36"], [member="Naomi Carolina"], [member="Ryan Korr"], [member="Xel"], [member="Rusty"].
Personal Loadout: See Signature and Squad Loadout Below.
Squad Loadout: FO-02 Stormtrooper Armour - Snowtrooper Variant,
Z6 Riot Control Baton,
SE-44c Blaster Pistol,
Charric/
Maser Rifle,
FWMB-10 Repeating Blaster,
MPL-23 Missile Launcher,
Concussion Grenade(s),
Bio-Metric Thermal Detonator(s),
G-20 Glop Grenade(s), Combat Vibroknives.
Directly Engaging: [member="Tobias Wrynn"]
"What is the strongest weapon of mankind? The Star Destroyer of the Imperial Navy? No! The Stormtrooper Corps? No! The Tank? The Blaster? The Fist? Not at all! Courage, and courage alone stands above them all!"
- Lord Commander Solar Macharius, Amended for SWRP. Necropolis by Dan Abnett, Chapter 12.
The waspish sting of magnetically sheathed fusion-fire rolled across the armourweave pauldron, sparking several micro-fires as it’s energy poured into the tightly woven fabric. It was a stray shot from a blaster weapon, one that had caught the Stormtrooper Sergeant off-guard and had instinctively forced the soldier into cover.
With a gauntleted hand, Torian brushed the scorched fibres from his shoulder and cursed himself for being so reckless. He shouldn’t have been greedy. What he should’ve done, was leave that Alliance soldier to bleed out from his wounds. The man had been shot by the crouching Walker, and nearly half his body was vaporized from the power of the blast. One unlucky step had seen the hand of fate cast it’s die, and the saving throw failed. He was too far away to hear clearly, especially with the raucous sounds of combat and shouting voices, stealing away any hope of hearing this man’s mewling words. Had their places been switched, and it was him with his innards painting the frozen surface, Torian was confident that he’d call out for the parents he never knew. An ignoble way to embrace oblivion, but when one’s life was slowly ebbing away in tantalizingly sweet trickles of pulsating blood, nobility became a distant and utterly foreign concept. Thus, as the soldier’s mouth parted, agony forcing his lips to tremble, the Stormtrooper gave him the peace and placed a particle bolt between his crossed eyes.
That was when he took the blaster to the shoulder and ducked further into the metallic embrace of his improvised bunker. He wasn’t one for mercy, but no man deserved to endure such cruelty. It was unlikely that his people would enjoy the same courtesy, but that didn’t mean the First Order had to stoop to such lows. They were more honourable in that regard. They even went as far as decimating an entire company for their uncouth actions on Skor. Innocent people, who were caught in the wrong place at the worst possible time, suffered at the negligence of those that acquiesced to disorder. Those Stormtroopers were no better than Alliance troops on Kaeshana, or Mustafar. Their fate was sealed. Brushing the thought of those disgraced souls away from the forefront of his mind, as more small-arms fire rattled against the armoured exterior of the Walker, Torian slapped the pistol against his thigh, allowing the magnetic surface to grasp his smoking weapon. With his hand free, the Sergeant unslung his rifle and returned to his post. An entire lifetime of training had prepared him for this. As he shouldered his rifle and sighted a target, the Stormtrooper exhaled and pulled the trigger. Centre mass. Less of a chance of the shot missing. Even with the exceptional accuracy given by the molecularly stimulated particles discharged by his Charric, it was a force of habit. One that had seemingly paid off, as the enemy soldier fell back into cover with trails of steam hissing from his armour. He didn’t have time to confirm the kill, and there were still more foes to engage.
So many, in fact, that the Sergeant hoped that he had enough plasma cartridges to fight them all.
“Sir!” One of his trooper’s called, drawing his gaze away from the advancing Alliance lines.
“They’re swarming the skies with droids!” That brought a curse from the Bakuran’s lips. Yet, another echo of history brought to the fore. No wonder he had the inkling to pack Droid Popper’s this morning before the muster.
“Yeah, I supposed they would,” Torain retorted.
“With all these unregulated Mercenaries and Synthetics, it’s a wonder they’re able to sustain their military, let alone pay their allies!” A few chuckles ran about the squad as they choose their targets and fired. Following their Unit Commander’s example, they exhaled before slamming an armoured finger back against the firing mechanism. There were others amongst the ten Stormtroopers who slammed their gauntleted digits against triggers of weapons stronger than that of simple charrics. Heavy repeaters, pulsating with the coalesced fury of a storm, raked the enemy armour - probing their combined surfaces for signs of weakness. Enemy troopers had doubtlessly ducked behind their hovertanks, searching for whatever scrap of cover they could find. It was admirable but unlikely they would be saved by what came next.
Another salvo of laserfire erupted from the chin-mounts of the Imperial walkers, turning vehicles to slag and spontaneously combusting those that sought to cower behind their allies. He couldn’t say how many died, as the onboard computer built into his helmet had been distracted with more pressing matters.
“Sergeant!” One of his squad had called out, once again. Their name rune flashed on his tactical display, but Torian couldn’t bother to pay it any mind.
“Alliance tank on the bluff, barrel’s sighting our - “ Before the woman had a chance to finish, the heavy laser cannon from the Alliance armour had fired. Upon impact, it rocked the entirety the venerable Walker, spilling spent cartridges and unsecured cargo down into the snowy wastes below. Several of the Stormtroopers were thrown from their feet, with two of their number dropping over the improvised parapet to join the spilled innards beneath the armoured carapace. There were cries, warname’s shouted out in surprise as those who were lucky enough to fall forwards sought to reach out take hold of their comrades. Sadly, they fell and landed badly.
The twinned song of flatlines rang across his tactical display, as Stormtrooper clambered to his feet, and peered out over the edge. He felt his heart skip a beat, seeing their mangled forms below. They were dead. There was no question about it. But, in the midst of these newly found casualties, there was another soldier who needed his help - one who had caught their foot on some exposed cabling and was trapped by their own, rapid descent. With the rising pressure mounting, and the air filling with spent munitions, Torian had to act quickly. He had to think fast. Without even grabbing his forcefully discarded rifle, the man surged forth with Chainaxe in hand and vaulted over the lowered compartment door. As he became weightless, the hand not clenched around his unconventional weapon, wrapped around the exposed cord and guided him towards the tangled trooper - and the surface below. In a moment, as the twined cables brought him ever closer, the Sergeant squeezed the gene-locked activation trigger and sent his weapon howling. With a swing of his mighty axe, the cable came free, and the two troopers fell to the snow below.
Darkness enveloped his sight as the pair crumbled atop one another, sending ripples of fresh agonies throughout his armoured form. His visor was blinking furiously, alerting him to the multiple contusions that dotted his form. The suit was already working to repair the damaged flesh and stabbed at his frame with a plethora of stimulants that would keep him up, and keep him in the fight. He was thankful for the care that the Order placed upon its Stormtrooper Corps, and relished the sensation of his world narrowing to a point. His sight became stained by the motions of mortality, where each enthralling moment bled into the next. He had nearly missed the notification blaring across his visor’s display. Incoming Hostile. The Stormtrooper’s instincts screamed at him, yelling at him to get up - to get moving. He couldn’t fight this battle on his stomach. Rise! Rise damn you, the Bakuran cursed. His muscles quivered in agony, despite the pain nullifiers flowing freely through his veins. They needed more time. He needed more time.
It wasn’t until he had heard the shrill of a Tauntaun that his body had found its purchase. The sound of that beast of burden drew ever closer, drowning out the din of battle and the chaos that threatened to engulf the Outpost. Rousing himself from the snow, and gently placing the broken form of his comrade aside, the Stormtrooper unsteadily stood to his feet - feeling the ground beneath his high-traction soles giving way with every passing moment. “So,” the Sergeant said to none other than himself. The fall had jarred the internal circuitry of his combat helm, rendering the communications system all but worthless. He couldn’t hear what his comrade had to say, nor could he hear the shouted pleas from his fellow squadmates above as they sought to cover their commander. Instead, all he heard was the static droning of an active, but the non-transmitting noise of an active comms feed.
Useless.
Had the distant cries of a Tauntaun not drifted closer, the Sergeant would’ve taken the knee and began inspecting his fallen soldier - seeing if the woman was able to return to the firing line after that nasty tumble. However, as the mist-shrouded figures emerged from the residual heat-haze, such an event would have to wait. Fanning his fingers around the haft of his partially buried weapon, Torian brought the axe before him and held it tight with both of his gauntleted hands. Whoever they were, whatever they stood for, it didn’t matter anymore. Ideals meant little when the whirlwind of violence took hold. The experience of combat was nothing, and so too was one's skill. Melee Combat fell upon one’s relationship with luck - and in the Sergeant’s case - divine fortune was on his side. He had seen the worst that this galaxy could throw at him, and yet here he was, on another battlefield fighting against the impossible odds. Some would say that he’s gifted, or even blessed by the mystical field that binds all living things together. Though, wrong as they would be, Torian had found himself walking away from things that others would’ve been crippled or slain from.
Now, with his axe held tight and howling with ethereal fury, couldn’t help but smile. Fortune favoured the bold. It was why he had joined the Assault Company of the First Legion. It was why he had this unconventional beast fashioned from some of the rarest metals in the galaxy. It was why he charged forward as soon as his paired foes had come into view. Howling in time with his massive weapon, the Stormtrooper nearly skipped across the surface of Hoth, before his feet sunk with every step. He would never be able to match these beasts of burden for speed, but as they gap between the two lines began to close - Torian readied his axe to swing. And swing it did. In one fell swoop, the howling weapon cleft apart flesh and bone, showering the snow in a gruesome spray of arterial spray. His armour was stained red by the Tauntaun’s spouting arteries, and chunks of matted white fur spat out on the back-turn by the massive, unconventional weapon.The first rider was thrown from his now headless mount and landed against the bent leg of the walker with an audible thump. Without even seeing the first rider, Torian knew that the man was dead. He didn’t even bother to take the chance and glance to see what had been done. It was when the Bakuran had swung around to take care of the other rider that the impossible happened. He missed. The weapon took more force than was needed to send it hurtling towards its destination, and took, even more, strength to guide the modified-vibrosaw along its path.
Instead, the fanged maw spun wistfully over its target but would scrape against its hind quarters as the rider inevitably turned the best to charge the Stormtrooper once more. He wouldn’t be able to get his weapon up in time, and should the soldier propped atop that graceless beast of burden, press his advantage? It would spell the Sergeant’s doom as he was trampled under a heavy stride. That couldn’t happen. He went to draw a pistol but stopped inches away from ‘unholstering’ his weapon. That wouldn’t work either, not at least in the way he had expected. No. Instead, the Stormtrooper decided to improvise - knowing full well that his arse was in hot water should his superiors ever find out - and decided to give the Tauntaun a kiss as it nearly gored him beneath his armour plating. That kiss wasn’t in any way romantic. Nay. Instead, the Stormtrooper had elected to use a new method - and kiss the exposed fur of the beast’s skull with the hardest portion of his armour’s helmet.
He gave the Tauntaun a kiss alright; Keldable style.
