Dominion The Bryn'adûl | Eat The Rich - Dominion of Dellalt

[Primal Architect]

The Bryn'adûl | Eat The Rish - Dominion of Dellalt

This planet is home to both Humans and massive reptilian natives alike. Dellalt's sole instruments of civilisation are hyper-focused on a total of three continents stretching across its open sea. A beautiful, tropical world with many dotted cities and resorts once used by the Sith Empire for its political elite as an escape.

Some of those political elite have been left behind on this tropical tomb, with only the world's retained garrison left to defend them. Dellalt is surrounded by Bryn'adûl warships on all sides. The nobles and rich alike beg for parlay whilst others prepare to defend these island resorts, futile as it may be; they must be eliminated.

In the name of truth, in the name of strength and the Draelvasier. Wipe them out.

Weakness is a cancer.

Objective: Eat the rich
Kill all of the nobles and the rich fools hiding in their porcelain houses, do not let the glorified body guards of the Sith stand in your path.

Objective: Bombard
The smallest of the three island continents, Cadinel - is home to the only planetside military installation belonging to the Sith. Ensure its destruction.

Objective: Be your own Drael
Do your own thing, kill whatever you want.

Spoiler: Tag List

Tathra Khaeus | Keldothera | Osam | Sylok'Vanari | Sethrak | Galak | Primarch Drek'ma | Ursa Antar | Hrajlmak'Natok | Amunra Khaeus | Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir | Kelmor |

 

[Sethrak]

Post: 1
Objective: Eat the Rich

Another day, another massacre by The Bryn. This galaxy was weak. It was pathetic, unbalanced, the weak became rich while the strong stayed poor. The leaders helped the weak and in doing so they weakened themselves. A society is only as strong as it's weakest member. This galaxy was as weak as water, shifting form at the weakest breeze. That is why The Bryn would destroy this place. The Bryn were strong and they deserved to control everything. The strong should rule. Very few had come close to stopping the Bryn'Adul. Today would be no different.

The opponent was a simple militia of swimming amphibian-like aliens armed with sharp teeth and a great swimming ability. Beyond these creatures were some Sith nobles using the planet as a resort. They would likely have guards but they were far from an army. The Warlock grinned at the thought of the fat, spoiled nobles scrambling as their false sense of strength retreated, leaving nothing but a ball of fear and fat. They would learn true strength. Hopefully there would be some challenge in the battle. He hated boring battles where he cut through foes like butter.

For the battle he had pulled half of his garrison, contributing a large amount of Drael to the effort. They would be baptized by fire and their experience today would create veteran troops out of them. His forces would be the strongest among the Bryn one day, and he would secure a higher position. Perhaps leader of The Warlocks? He pulled in his thoughts. That was the future. Right now he needed to prepare for battle, even if there would be no challenge ahead.

 

[Osam]

Post 1
Objective C: Dagger War

While the Bryn'adul closed in upon both the wealthy degenerates of the tropical paradise and their many servants and guardians, there was another target that had been selected by the First of the Risen. The knowledge had been granted to him by a frantic human who had begged for their existence, promising information in exchange for an opportunity to escape. Osam had taken them up on the deal, allowing them to spout whatever they knew in exchange for letting them run into the distance - they'd be cut down by another hunting band, he was certain.

Yet he had learned a great deal through the interrogation. There were a number of agents working for a variety of Imperialist factions who still remained upon the world of Dellalt. Whether any were directly associated with the Sith Empire or whether they were simply retainers for a powerful and autocratic benefactor was uncertain, but their presence upon the world was confirmed.

They recognized that escape was meaningless, but had planned to utilize the distractions provided by the wealthy and their garrison to unleash a devasting counter-attack... there was time to call for reinforcements, but there was greater glory in simply solving the issue himself. He would see it completed.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Post 1
Objective B
Tags:

Spoiler

Tathra Khaeus
Keldothera
Osam
Sylok'Vanari
Sethrak
Galak
Primarch Drek'ma
Ursa Antar
Amunra Khaeus
Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir
Kelmor

IN ORBIT

The tranquility of Dellalt's low-orbit, a seldom seen property of a planet in a sector consumed by conflict of nigh-incomprehensible brutality, was once again disturbed by the arrival of a bio-mechanical Bryn'adul frigate tearing itself from hyperspace. This frigate lulled on a slow drift across the tropical world's thermosphere. Inside, six eyes, of which five were any use, peered in their multitude at the harsh red tactical projections before them. Hrajlmak'Natok, the First Warlock of the Shaman caste had come to Dallalt from the Sith front, near Cholganna. Prior to these duties, tensions within the Bryn'adul itself had spilled over, bringing the Draelvasier uncomfortably close to a civil war. A number of warriors of his own kin, the Warlocks, had been guilty of such unspeakable behaviour. Hrajlmak had been thus consumed in these savage politics. It was a revolting matter. All involved were scum to him. Enemies of the highest order. Tenebrak. But the outward Sith front had been stabilised and Bryn'adul sociopolitics were.. acceptable. With these matters out of the way, further calls of war beckoned. And Dellalt was first on the list.

And so once again, an armour-clad carapace decorated with the tapestry of many years of non-stop war stood before the usual, mundane projections, all detailing the points of interest below them. Several Warlocks, Sethrak among them, had already made headway planetside. Each with a sizeable detachment of the Bryn'adul's myriad weaponry. Each Warlock mind fed into the other, interconnected, relaying vital tactical information to the other and to the select few Shamans fulfilling their duties well behind enemy lines, commanding the heftier sections of the assault force. But as usual, this would be a trivial matter. Hrajlmak's eyes studied the topography. Three continents, two were mere resorts. Residentials. Only one was worth any inkling of organised response. Cadinel, its surface covered by an array of military installations. Most of only local importance, designed to defend the immediate area and house nearby populations. One of significant size. Clearly the planetary fortress, equipped with everything needed to repel an assault force. An amused snort from Hrajlmak as he pondered its importance. an assault force of Kubaz he mused to himself. This world was comically ill-equipped to handle what stood before it. The population that had been left for dead were comprehensively doomed.

"Hold on the Nimscall carpet. We don't need another ambush before they're ready. We secure Cadinel first, carve out a wasteland big enough to accommodate the staging party with enough left over for, hmm. Twenty gigatons Nimscall expiration per standard month. Standard procedure. By the time there's an external response all our essentials will be in native atmosphere". Orders bounced across the deck and throughout the frigate in response. "Prepare the heavy armour for planetfall. Five Brumak battalions and drop me with the 22nd Legion somewh-" "Unavailable". Hrajlmak stuttered and paused. "Who? The 22nd?" His head craned upward to meet the eyes of a brute who seemed fresh out of the vats. "Yes. En route to Krinemonen." The looming Baedurin said matter-of-factly. Hrajlmak frowned, "Hm. Who's deployed here?" The brute manipulated a series of stones below him. The projections displayed a list of deployed forces. He took a breath and began to read them off. "A Risen detachment, First Risen leading. Marauder Galak 's men, the 102nd; planetside. The 85th, also planetside. The 75th are still in holding". Hrajlmak's brow continued to furrow. "The 75th. Some of the freshest in rotation." He sighed. Those still new to galactic war weren't what he had in mind. But this was a trivial assault. They would do. "I'll take them. Begin orbital shelling. Cease fire once we hit ground, we'll take it from there." Hrajlmak began a quick pace out of the bridge, adjusting his cloak as he went.

 

[Osam]

Post 2
Objective C: Dagger War

The Imperialist agents were doing their utmost to avoid detection by the encroaching Bryn'adul forces. No matter which portion of the residential sectors they were tearing apart, or what resort they had decided to annihilate, or whatever servant's quarters they detonated, they had seen no response from any of those spies. Osam had begun to wonder whether they existed at all, or whether he had simply been misled into believing the panicked words of a human when the next scouring search uncovered a significant cache of weaponry within one of the resort's many mini-bars.

The First made certain to approach the cache himself after news of its discovery had been reported. It was vital to understand what their enemy might have in mind if they were going to sabotage it. After all - understanding the level of equipment that they had been granted by their patron would be indicative of how cautious the Draelvasier needed to be in their pursuit.

Military hardware was evident in significant quantities. There was a set of fifteen blaster rifles, and twenty slugthrower sidearms, enough to arm a squadron of insurrectionists when the time arose for the Imperialists to realign the world with their benefactors. A trio of thermal detonators and a pair of grenades of another unknown variety finished off the armaments. Perhaps most important to Osam, however, were the series of breath masks and strange devices he recognized as dealing with oxygen. Were they tanks? Refiltration devices? What was the plan here?

 

[Keldothera]

Objective: Eat the Rich
Post: One

The Sith Commando skid across the marble balcony, crashng through the glass railing before falling down and snapping a marble table in half below. Behind Keldothera, another civilian ran by. She thrust out her right hand, breaking the mans ankle as he tried to run by.

He kicked and screamed, his wife falling into a corner as Kelda dragged the man by the foot before swinging him like a bag of coal into the wall. She turned to the wife, grabbing her by the hair and throwing her into the pool below.

It was just beyond where the Commando had fallen. Keldothera leapt down, crashing into the water, the shallow water barely covering her knees as she grasped the wife by the back of her golden locks, shoving her bleeding head into the water.

 

[Osam]

Post 3
Objective C: Dagger War

It didn't take a scientific genius to understand that whatever the Imperialists' plan was involved operating in an area with an atmosphere that was incompatible with their own. Yet, there was a lingering question as to why they had brought such equipment to Dellalt. After all, the world itself had been designated as paradisaic by most races, and it housed a substantial population of wealthy visitors and tropical structures. What necessitated the use of atmospheric defying equipment in a place that was by all accounts perfect for humanity and its fledgling allies?

A realization struck him as a distant detonation reminded him of the presence of others of his kind. While it was possible for the Draelvasier to operate in the atmospheres of their enemies, that same ability had not been granted to their foes. Once the terraforming of the Nimscalls had begun in full, it would become nearly impossible for any non-Draelvasier to live on the world, even if they were busy hiding in unforeseen bunkers or tunnel systems. Osam had been responsible for flushing out his fair share of such underground compounds, but he'd discovered that most of the denizens who hid away in such facilities were incapable of returning to the surface, and instead relied on filtration within the base itself.

The purpose, then, of these devices was apparent. The Imperialists had likely received a shift in their orders at some point, an anticipatory commandment that had filtered down to them, and which had changed their directive from maintaining control to a more belligerent capacity. They were planning to wait until the Nimscalls had terraformed, and then they would orchestrate guerilla strikes upon the weaker labor forces that were leftover, distracting valuable military resources in the process, and disrupting the construction of a Bryn'adul superstructure.

 

[Galak]

Post: One
Obj: B
Tag: Hrajlmak'Natok

The Gunboat docked aboard the frigate, the Warlord strode out with Juggernauts in toe. All baring a pare of white markings round their bicep as he did. Loyalists, their devotion was given to the Titan and his sires. The frigate was an old, outdated model. Still utilising older weaponry and comparatively archaic technology.

It was true what they said, the First Warlock had been gone some time. Galak looked about the ship as he moved through it, their Juggernauts still wore old Brute armour - verikast was sparse and Malabsst armour seemed common. It was like travelling five years back. He had often wondered how the First Warlock and his forces on the edge of the Sith perimeter had faired when they were overrun and attacked by the Sith when they ventured to Ankhypt.

But it seemed now he had he answer.

"First Warlock, a pleasure." Galak announced himself as he entered the command deck of the vessel. Red lights shun down on him as he and his Juggernauts spread themselves out from the centre of the deck.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Post 2
Objective B
Tags: Galak

The starboard blast doors to the bridge hummed open. Hrajlmak spun to see the party emerging from the boarding section of the frigate. He laid eyes on a most pleasant surprise. Marauder Galak strode through the shadows and into the light. The dim reds fell on an imposing figure, one that could hardly be made any more intimidating by the morbid shades of the bridge. A terrible grin stretched across a war-torn face and he spread his free arm, the other leaning ever so slightly on his battlestaff. "Galak" Hrajlmak growled with pleasant welcome. His eyes scanned the men behind him. Their armour gleamed with modern sleek and his mind briefly pondered the span of time without proper stimulation. Their presence radiated the cutting edge. Oh, how the Warlock missed the thrills of engineering. His own Er'gerak, which itself separated these noble beasts from the oblivion of vacuum now as it lined the frigate's hull, had quickly been made redundant. "The pleasure is my own. But why you're here in this.. rustbucket and not painting those beaches the many shades of alien blood is beyond me. What brings you here?" Hrajlmak shifted and approached the Marauder's unit with deliberation. The muffled thuds of orbital bombardment pounded through the frigate's body.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: Sink the Island
Post: One

A Servitor Guardian cut through the grand ocean floor, aiming for one of the island resorts unoccupied by their own forces. The Primarch watched from atop of the Ra'mak Alpha as the Guardian cut through the beach. It acted as an extension of his will.

The Servitor drilled into the island, tearing apart the foundations as its pronged maw crushed the foliage and mountainous terrain under its weight, forcing it to crumble into the sea. He could feel the lives of those wretched curs on the island.

They were crushed under their own roofs or pulled down into the sea to drown slowly and in fear. The Servitor Guardian could smell it, sense it.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: BYOD
Post: One

There was no honour nor glory to be found in the killings of the putrid. But, it was necessary - though that did not mean the Titan had to partake. He watched from afar as the resorts of the political slime burned. These rich, fat and pathetic creatures were the source of this Galaxies sins.

Weakness was spread as those with capability horded wealth, strength and materials of value, they gave nothing back to those beneath them. No tools to rise up on their own, as he did. He saw his children and wanted them to be beautiful, to be strong. Family by species, family by blood. They were his kin, even the most addled and strange of them.

He reclined as the Divine Brutality sat in high orbit, settling into an anechoic chamber. Alone with his thoughts, this was one of the few times he could think. He activating the private terminal in the centre of the chamber, looking over the numbers again. Hundreds of billions, the exact number was never exactly up to date.

 

[Osam]

Post 4
Objective C: Dagger War

Understanding the reason behind the presence of the cache did nothing to sate the curiosity of the Risen. Instead, he found himself questioning other aspects of the Imperialist's operation. How many caches like this one had been placed throughout Dellalt? Were all of them located within the civilized portions of the world, or was it possible that some had been hidden in the wilderness? Were each of the different Imperialist squadrons meant to be outfitted with roughly the same equipment, or was it possible that other caches contained heavier weapons?

It would be an irritation for the local garrisons to deal with a force of hit-and-run strikes performed by a hand of fifty soldiers in the wild, but it would be a tragedy if they were able to wait until the defenses of the Draelvasier were down and then strike them with heavier ordinance. Mortar strikes into crowded bands of laborers, or E-Web fortified positions would make dealing with the local insurgents a logistical nightmare. They would need to call back at least a battalion's worth of warriors to deal with such a threat, and that would mean weakening their offensive onslaught.

No. The Bryn'adul could not afford more setbacks. They had only just recently refound their spirit and vigor, and they couldn't afford to throw it all away because they had been beset by interlopers waiting to stab them in the back. Osam raised his communication stone, contemplating the words for a moment before issuing his order: "Risen Majors - gather to my position. There is a crisis that must be prevented. Leave the frontline to the others."

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: Sink the Island
Post: Two

The massive Servitor roared as it bulldozed through the interior of the mountain. Everything was shattered as the Servitor burrowed through, with such unimaginable force. Those inside witnessed something glorious yet terrifying in their last moments, Drek'ma understood that. He saw with the Servitor's eyes, he felt its grandeur intimately as it carved its way through.

The ground was swept down with it, like cutlery atop a cloth pulled from a table. Such much lost in a manner of seconds, the sheer power in his grasp was nearly overwhelming every time. The Primarch's eyes burnt a gaseous gold - steaming out from the confines of his helm.

"Everything they built, must fall."

The Servitor aimed for the depths, cutting through the foundation built into the depths of the sea. The entire island would quake as it continued. But, sinking even an island would take time.

 

[Sethrak]

Post: 2
Obj: Eat The Rich

It hadn't been long since the battle had begun yet to The Warlock it felt like a lifetime had passed. As he had expected, there was no challenge, and slicing through the weak foe had become quite dull early on. Sethrak was yet to see a single Bryn around him fall apart from an odd one or two that had been injured, but not fatally.

The others seemed to be having fun with it. From above a Bryn ship was bombarding an island's base, with time the island would collapse. In his own formation some Drael laughed, killing the foe in outrageous fashion. One poor amphibian had been torn apart by two Drael, limb by limb. Another foe had been decapitated, his head -still attached to his spine- had then been used as a whip.

He had killed so many that he was numb to any guilt. He would take part in these games, honor wasn't an issue today. His first kill of the "game" was a Sith noble that had come out to fight rather than hiding with the rest. The Sith had drawn a vibroblade to strike Sethrak but it was in vain. The experienced Warlock blocked the strike with ease, using his offhand to punch the Sith's face. The force of the blow forced the man to stumble back. Before the man had a chance to recover the Warlock was again upon him. This time it was a kick to the Sith's chest, surely crushing his ribcage. Yet again the Warlock dashed forward before his defeated prey could move. The Warlock thrust his Khukri forward, impaling the man's shoulder and pinning him to the ground.

Sethrak raised his fist for the killing blow but was interrupted by an older Srael's words: "Warlord...you shouldn't play with your food." Sethrak waited for a moment, replying "Food?" He knew the Srael sometimes ate their foe, but the statement had surprised him. It was not the Srael's place to suggest such a pointless idea to his Warlord. The Srael didn't respond as it moved to its' next foe. However the suggestion had sparked curiosity in The Warlock.

He ripped a meaty finger off the fat Sith noble, examining it for a moment. It wasn't particularly appetizing but he wasn't disgusted by the idea of eating it either. He waited one more moment, then bit down on the fleshy area. Instantly his mouth was filled with juicy, salty meat. Nope. The Warlock nearly vomited, spitting the flesh out.

He had fought slimy creatures. He had been soaked with blood before. But this? This was something he would NEVER do again.

The disgusted Warlock rose, ready to continue the fight, but the fun had been spoiled by the disgusting act. He would never see Srael the same again.



Osam

 

[Galak]

Post: Two
Obj: B
Tag: Hrajlmak'Natok |

Galak shrugged, his response seemingly indifferent as the massive pauldrons sat weightless on his massive arms. The regrown one was still slightly smaller than his original. But nobody could notice it, it took hours of staring for even him to notice. Galak hadn't seen the Warlock in half a decade, of course he was going to be social.

"Haven't seen you in what, half a decade? Had to come see how you were holding up."

He looked him up and down, even his battlestaff looked worn. Everything from his boots to his chassis looked like it had been put back together a few dozen times. He leaned in slightly, speaking in a lower tone.

"You could do with an upgrade. The First Warlock shouldn't be tucked away in a corner of our territories. As a Warlord, you're welcome in my systems anytime." Galak's face was hidden, but his genuine nature shun through.

 

[Keldothera]

Objective: Eat the Rich
Post: Two

The Command leapt on her back, vibrodagger aiming for her neck. But the General was too quick, grasping his arm she threw him over head, crashing into the water a top the wife of the rich man. She tried to squirm away.

But Kelda had her, raising her overhead as she squealed, the Commando rising from the water as Kelda threw the wife at him. The Commando ducked low, darting underneath as the woman slammed against the edge of the pool - blood pooling out from her limp body as it dropped into the water.

The Commando charged for her legs, caught by Keldothera's right hook as he was sent careening into the side of the pool with a thudding splash. She grabbed him by the back of his helmet, pulling him to her before slamming his head into the poolside, cracking the marble.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective B
Post: 3
Tags: Galak

A somber growl of agreement bubbled up from Hrajlmak's diaphragm. He splayed his left hand fingers and rolled them over in the air. He was a relic of a bygone era. The teething years of the Bryn'adul. His hand, or what was left of it, was nothing more than three fingers held together by the most rudimentary organics. Tendons, a simple musculature. Even that was still black as coal, having suffered the same fate as the fireplace fuel. "The fringes of our territory are a simple place. There isn't much from the war-machine that gets out to those far off fronts." He smiled, a faint chuckle escaping his jagged teeth as he returned his gaze to Galak. "Just the dregs". He drew a long breath, "But enough reminiscing. We're here now. And this body doesn't let me down. But Khaeus knows you're right. We'll rinse this system clean of pagans and heretics, and given the time, your offer will be most welcome. I'd be lying if I said I didn't admire those alloys that adorn you." His eyes darted around the massive frame opposite him. "This echo of a hand needs some work."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: BYOD
Post: Two

He reached into the interwoven straps of his waist garments, plucking out a trinket. It glowed dully, his old body suffering minor endorphins at its healing touch. He felt old, slow and soft. At least, sometimes. In quiet moments of reflection and most insincere doubt born of anxieties and irrational troubles. That was when he felt so soft and replaceable. Tathra knew that his importance was like a flame to those around him, a source of warmth once extinguished will bare no more relevancy than the passing time of day.

He sighed, arms resting against resting thighs. Hunching over himself, he looked to his hands. They told many tales, perhaps they would find their strength again. Tathra released himself from the chamber and its dowry sombre impressions. As he stood, his eyes looked to the wall ahead - trophies of his own adorned it. Opposite that, his armour.

It glimmered brilliant gold Kraelmundr hidden underneath the thick pearl-grey steel Verikast. It was, emblematic of how he felt. The golden age, his prime had left him. Now what remained was wisdom and a strength born of duty. His hand took to the hilt of the Axe, bronze curves, like an extention of himself as it rose from the stand; blade glimmering in the natural light peering through the observation windows.

Purpose.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: Sink the Island
Post: 2

The Serpent dove under the island, its spiralling form made a drill of its pronged maw, cutting through everything in its path. The Guardian whipped its tail around as it turned onto its back, its clawed mouth looking upward to the vein of earth under the island.

For all their efforts, none could content with the sheer power of the great serpent. The massive creature lunged forward with its grand maw opened; on the surface of the island; everything would shake as the Servitor would begin to chip away at the foundations of the island.

The serpent bellow shuddered through water and stone, the Primarch's ability to spread fear echoed through its roar from the depths of the water. The fear of the incomprehensible, the fear of the unknown.

 

[Galak]

Post: Three
Obj: B
Tag: Hrajlmak'Natok |

Galak shrugged, distance was no excuse. Almost all their forces were swapped out for another when their equipment became outdated or even before then. The First Warlock's isolation was irregular, but what he wanted to know was whether it was enforced or not. Depending on which, would determine whether or not these Warriors should be under his command.

"Still, five years is a long time. Too long." Galak shrugged off the notion.

He moved to the command table in the middle, raising the red glyph'd visualisation of the planet below. There wasn't much sport in killing rich nobles and sith pretenders with a miniscule garrison.

Whilst Hrajlmak seemed content with his current position, Tathra had other ideas. And thus, he'd reveal the purpose of his visit.

"Once you're done here, you're to return to Draemidus. Decommission this vessel and see yourself and your troops outfitted properly. By order of the Titan."