LOCATION: Juran Region - Bluff Overlooking Juranno
OBJECTIVE: Support Sith Organics
ALLIES: TSE | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Imogen Daniels"] | [member="Vaylin"] |
Sebestev Szradislav |
Xerrzyk the Ghastly
ENEMIES: FWC | [member="Harper Kade"]| [member="Alden Belmont"] | Jurrano
GEAR: Cylix Pistol |
HPB Pistols x 2 |
Magnetic Reaper |
CF6 Concussion Rifle |
SIF-71 |
YVHa-60 Chassis
Like massive daggers, the Towers of Juranno stabbed upward from the soil of Alderaan, clinquant trimmings and ornamentation, gleaming like extravagant jewels in the first blush of morning light. Resting dreamily within an extensive valley, it was a sprawling, peaceful metropolis, that had become distended over the years, but never excessively obscene. Rather, it remained remarkably salient in it's fantastic beauty, clutched in the hungry jaws of the Juran Mountain Range, but never devoured. Those alpine fangs flanking it in a picturesque sort of frame.
However, on this day, the tranquility of this placid City seemed as though it would be woefully disrupted. As evidence of the arrival of Sith became exposed by the rising lantern above the Mountains whose peaks and teeth were left black with the decay and cavities of conflict, white snow smudged with foul browns and deep reds from the losses of life on their rocky faces.
For dozens of Kilometers in every direction the Mountain Assault could be witnessed, pillars of multi-colored beams cast off aimlessly from numerous cliffs and summits. Down on the ground and in the City the fury being unleashed above carried in as a faint, nearly unhearable, sort of murmur. The sort of whisper only heard in seedy Cantinas and backwater Shadow Ports, a caress meant only for those ears that were keen and attentive.
In the heart of the swarm, however, it was an entirely different sound.
Deafening, an intense variety of aural torture, howls of agony, commands shouted, bursts of stone that left the ears abuzz with painful ringing.
The Last Fathers had ascended to the very zenith of these peaks, half frozen, weary from battle - but not broken. They weren't fighting some End of the Week Retreat Force, but rather Veterans not entirely unlike themselves. Hard, grim, old dogs unwilling to turn around and surrender. They would defend and protect these emplacements with their lives, the allies of the Sith would assault and take or destroy them with theirs.
Sebestev was painted in frost and gore, depthless, cosmetic wounds, sketched shallowly across his face. His was frayed in to an awkward and uneven style from a multitude of close-call Blaster misses, with looser strands coated in ice from the wind and wetness of this snowy peak. The agitation of his bones from the arctic chill persisted on endlessly, by now, the warmth of an enemies life spraying from their wounds was even more motivation to kill than completing this Objective.
Here, another one came for him, stepping over bodies, boots slumping through slush and muck. In his hands the man's malfunctioned Blaster Rifle was clung like a Club, waving it with aggressive, lively, strokes that meant to batter the Sworn Sword out of existence.
The Sith Ally waited, moving accordingly, and cautiously until finally he found his opportunity to strike. The man had been following the heavy momentum of each violent flourish, hurling the Rifle around and around so as not to waste more energy in this effort than he simply didn't have in the first place. Waiting for the extension to start rearing upward, Sebestev suddenly flung his left hand forward capturing the side of the Blaster while he forcibly chopped with the edge of his blade catching the man across his forearms - close to the wrist.
The rifle was released immediately, Sebestev too, letting it fall to the ground. The cut cleaved entirely through the dominant arm of the man, and nearly severed three/fourths of the way through the other, all that kept the mans hand dangling was a small strip of flesh and sinew. As the Maenan aggressively shouldered the fool with the full weight of his body, casting him aside to bleed out and succumb to the elements while he howled and sobbed.
All of this transpiring, and down in the valley, all they knew of it was the strobes of light, the whisper of combat, and the soft mist of crimson that was carried off in the snowy gusts of Mountain wind to be deposited as a
red sheen on the landscape below.
At least, until the Artillery Barrage began.
[member="Matsu Xiangu"], [member="Imogen Daniels"], YVHa-60 stood upon the crest of a bluff some distance away from Juranno, their backs to thousands of Sith and Allied Mercenaries as well as the Juran Pass. The foul Haruspex had mobilized her Armor Units also, sending all AT-PATs, AT-HAWs and 10 WG-211s on a
Starblossom East approach. While maintaining 30 of the WG-211s in a Fixed Firing Position 75 Kilometers from the City; Known as
Battery Snow Owl.
It was just about that time, Kronos Agem thought idly, checking his synchronized Chronometer.
"
Two minutes, lads!" A Sith Operator shouted, checking his trajectories on their WG-211. It'd taken electrical damage on the descent through the atmosphere, forcing them to manually operate most of it's Artillery applications.
"
Hit it, Schutta. . " Kronos, a Karkarodon said through that grin of deadly teeth. Signaling for the radio to be tuned in. "
Oooh, yeah! Think big!" The creature growled, popping a sealed bag of blood against the side of it's Shark-like face.
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BN5Z28Dfl7o[/youtube]
Focus. Adrenaline. Heart pounding! The reaction was instant as it's senses were flooded with predatory energy.
"
Here we go, boys!" Said the Operator, flooding the interior of their rig in tactical light as red as the blood that dripped and clung to the Alien. "
Let's go!"
"
Breach open!" A third shouted, opening the chamber of the main cannon.
Kronos snarled wildly, heaving the massive shell from rack to cannon. Former 4 Time Mr. PanGalactic Bodybuilder, his solid muscles bulged under the weight, veins pumping up from beneath the beasts flesh, thick cable map ways that fed strength to the incredible bulk and power it possessed.
The third of the crew rifled in the shell with, clacked everything in tight, then shouted again. "
Breach closed!"
"
Fire!"
Theirs was the first to unleash in the barrage, and no sooner than that incredible boom echoed across the valley, another round was piped in, crew moving in absolute unison with the music that blared from within the metal gut of their 211.
And for the next hour, the intensity of the shelling would only grow boom by boom as 30 WG-211 Howitzers unleashed a destructive torrent of death upon that beautiful city between the mountains.
