Dominion The Bryn'adûl | Scourge of Glottal

[Krael Vizkla]

Objective A - Destroy the Generator
Equipment: Barad Spec Ops Armour
Arsenal: 4 Barad Spike Rifle, Dual Barad Glaive
Forces: 8 Brute Squads, 4 Ravager Brutes, 2 Quilxyn
Tags: Weyland Castril

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Krael's eyes snapped from the blind swordsman to the sentry turrets that had begun slowly turning themselves to face his forces. He let out a weaker roar, when put in comparison to what he could produce if he truly wished, and his forces began a firing retreat, diving into cover just beyond the targeting range of the Sentry Turrets, the Ravager Brutes digging out a make shift trench with their massive appendages. Krael slid down, quartering his total height, the bloodied ground accenting his crimson carapace. He cursed himself a thousand times over for not accounting for the Sentry Turrets during the initial assault.

He growled to his two Captains, who relayed the order down the line. It was an unorthodox method of communication, but it had it's advantages. Short and concise, no need for the long sentences preferred by the meatbags that called themselves the dominant species. The order was simple, and fitting for the method in which the order was given. Give them hell.

The Grenadiers and some of the fodder brutes began by firing a heavy barrage of ammunition towards the Sentry Turrets, while the Heavy Brutes and remainder of the fodder focused on the soft-meat soldiers. Krael took the two Quilxyn he had been carrying on his back, and threw one to each side of the trench, taking seed in the ground and projecting their shields to cover the Brutes from a majority of hostile fire while, in turn, leaving a gap for them to shoot from.

The remaining 15 Brutes, not counting the Ravagers, that were left unshielded rallied with their General. He growled to a nearby Major, who swapped out a few of the fodder with the remaining Heavies. The less they reloaded in open fire the better. As Krael looked to the automatic weapon he once thought impractical for his command, he now thought entirely worthwhile. The spike rifles he had were entirely inadequate for him, as were the Barad Glaives, though they would find themselves hung up to pay tribute to their service soon enough.

He turned his head slightly from his crouch, delivering a growling order to the Ravager Brutes that served him, and they turned away, sprinting and jumping on top of buildings and ripping through into them, running towards the Sentry Turrets under the cover of the buildings. If the charging tanks that could have been miniature versions of the General himself were allowed to reach the Sentry Turrets, they could make short work of them.

Krael got down on all sixes, and began to crawl like a monstrous demon or spider through the trenches and duck behind cover, then squeeze through the alley between two buildings, a Captain and eight heavies following behind him, the Grenadier following, and the two fodder taking up the rear. through cautious peering between buildings when possibly. He raised a closed fist, causing his forces to halt behind a relatively sturdy looking building, with very few windows on it. Particularly unremarkable, except for the purpose it would serve in leading right out into the centre of the enemy's assault via their left side.

Spoiler: Summary of Actions

Krael's forces began a firing retreat out of the sentry turrets' targeting range, lost 6 regular Brutes. Quilxyn deployed shields to a majority of the squads while Ravagers made their way through the buildings towards the sentry turrets. Krael assembled eight Brute Heavies, a Grenadier Brute, and a captain with two regular brutes to side-flank the enemy forces while remaining hidden by the buildings, leaving a Captain to command the trench fight.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Objective: B - Defend Landing Strip
Bad Guys: Kad // Actively Engaging: Hrajlmak'Natok // Osam // Rahm
Good guys: Ryv // Maynard Treicolt ​

The ground beneath them vibrated forebodingly. Even with the barriers between them, a sense of dread filled the hangar the native militia and Jedi occupied. She cast a wayward glance backward to Maynard and his machinations. His efforts to get that ship running were paramount to their survival, it was up to Ryv, her, and the collective commandos to give him enough time and clearance.

"Okay Force buddy, let's do this." Loske spoke out loud to nobody in particular -- only her personification of The Force-- it was a rallying sentiment meant for herself and familiarity with the empyrean. The blonde Padawan inhaled sharply, giving her hands a shake and clipping her blade back to her hip while several of the guardians organized themselves to the vulnerable positions that Ryv pointed out, the very same ones that were undergoing fire. They quivered with strain, threatening the impending collapse. The construct gave way to the repetitive agitation, and in poured the spawn of something ungodly. The first wave of creatures were met with a bombardment of plasmic energy. Some recoiled, some dropped dead, some made it through.

Her metaphysical ally sent a warning pulse through her system, and instinct took over. A large, thunderous physique broke through the hole and clattering into a stack of crates in the distance. A few soldiers scrambled from that area, their amphibious movements on land awkward and laggy. One was particularly slow, and Loske burst into action - leaping from her position between herself and a soldier, skidding in on her knees. Her hands were snapped up, curved slightly as if cupping an invisible sphere -- which was exactly what she was doing. The Force bubble manipulation she'd been using earlier was replicated here, on a smaller scale, contained within the scope of her grip right in time to capture the ball of fire belched forward by the shark-headed monster. The heat radiating from her catch was incredible, and she grimaced to contain the fire before flexing her hands with a gusto of force behind it to project the ball of fire backward to its source, right back to the Draelvasier.

"I can't believe that worked!" She gasped to herself, taking a second to look at her hands with disbelief. The gloves had been partly charred, but the ethereal barrier she'd erected preserved herself from additional damage.

It was in that moment, with the flames turning back to the creature and igniting the triangular shape of the monster that she realized she'd battled before. Did he barf that fireball out? Where did it come from? She drew herself up to stand and ready herself, physically orienting herself with the intent that she'd contend with the larger creature while the soldiers in the hangar continued to unleash barrages against the monsters that accompanied the Draelvasier.

 

[Kad]

Objective: A - Take out Generator
Post: Three
Tags: Weyland Castril | Krael Vizkla | Loske Treicolt | Velok Brokentusk | Hraelga Nacht |
Equipment: Kukri, Kasurigama, Armour, Spike Rifle, Shredder

Gredak had seemingly pulled the short-straw, his access point was either a vent or a door right under one of the Sentries. Vents always caught on the snags of his armour, why did his armour have snags or drags - he didn't know, for glancing blows likely. Gredak darted behind two humans, his Kurki turning the throat of one into a hollow holster whilst he snapped the neck of the second. A hand for each, a foot for each. Taking the feet out from under both to bring them low, out of sight - his own body acting as the muffle to their descent.

Two down. Countless more to go. Was there even any point in taking this much restraint in their stealth? All it took was one call in and they'd notice half a dozen not reporting in. There was his itchy trigger finger, again. He could feel it, gnawing away at him. Gnawing, he just wanted to fill their little heads with spikes. All he could do to stem his instincts was growl under his breath, like some rabid animal.

That feral nature would subside, eventually. For now he just had to restrain it, lurching out from cover to observe the movements of his prey. He yanked the Kukri from his foes neck, taking it into hand. It was all too late that he noticed the removal had decapitated the head, sending it rolling out in front of the other Guards.

The Zealot cursed himself, but honestly? He was happy, maybe it hadn't be such a mistake as a subconscious throw of the bone. Or so he'd like to think, thinking highly of himself was all he could do to better the slaughter. Gredak darted out from cover, Spiker Rifle obliterating the heads of the two closest guards, Kukri thrown into the rib-cage of a third.

Two more shots off into the chest of a fourth, darting behind a pillar as the closest Sentry Turret turned to open fire; its three repeating blasters littered the area around the pillar in scorched metal, its massive rounds slowly but surely melting his cover, and parts of his gear too. Though, to be his surprise the Sentry's fire stopped, hearing the all too familiar roar of a Ravager.

Gredak turned to look out of cover, watching as the beast pulled the Sentry Turret from its socket and flung it at the men below. Gredak's eyes widened, running into a leap towards the door, avoiding an almost instantaneous death as the Ravager above was obliterated by a dozen other Sentries turning their attention to him.

At the very least, its arrival had covered his - all deaths would no doubt be assumed to be by its hands.

 

[Weyland Castril]

Objective: Protect the Generator
Post: Twa
Tags: Krael Vizkla | Weyland Castril | Kad | Loske Treicolt | Hraelga Nacht | Hrajlmak'Natok | Velok Brokentusk
Equipment: Lightsaber, Oufit

The enemy forces did something Weyland didn't expect, in most other circumstances they would have accounted for the Sentries and if not would have dealt with the costly blow to their seemingly infinite numbers. But instead, he felt them retract from their forward deployments. The largest of them was the evident leader, Weyland could feel his [or its] mind, intelligent but entirely feral in instinct. It scared him, but he couldn't let fear delay him.

He picked up the scent of a Ravager rampaging through the buildings, he'd have to stop it before it got close to the sentries; otherwise it'd tear his Soldiers apart.

"Hold the line! I have to stop those things before they reach the turrets. I'll be back, I promise." Weyland smiled to his comrades, but that smile quickly faded; his focus now shifting to himself, to the force.

When the force generated new energy in his veins, he moved to leap through the air. It wasn't as if he had grown so strong as to propel himself, but as if the air around him had grown so thin and the gravity so light that he could almost effortlessly lunge across the distance, his intent to impede the path of the Ravager. Perhaps his own experience with it was merely perspective, or a different ability all together. He didn't know, didn't seem to matter - it got the job done.

Weyland glided through a burst window, landing on the floor above the Ravager. He could hear the wild beast roaring as it stampeded through everything beneath him. Weyland took both of the sabers from his belt, slashing the ground and dropping chunks of concrete on its head. The Ravager roared in frustration, it'd be on his level any second. The Jedi deactivated both blades, leaping up through a hole to the next floor. The Ravager burst through the ground, swinging for whatever it thought had been above it.

Weyland dropped down onto its back, his Lightsabers crisscrossing its spinal cord. With a single turn, the Ravager flung Weyland from his back; sliding across the concrete as the creature yelped in pain. He purposefully released his lightsabers from his grasp, allowing them to fall behind the beast as it charged him. Weyland was dripping in sweat, panting - trying his best to ignore the pain of being flung around like a ragdoll.

His mind forced silent, focusing solely on the hum of the crystals in his two lightsabers. Both began to levitate as Weyland called to them, telekinetically thumbing the activation as both came spiralling toward him, he just hoped they were faster than the Ravager.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: One
Tags - Ryv | Maynard Treicolt |
Objective: Take the landing strip

The arrival of the Jedi was not unprecedented, they had fought for short periods of time on their battlefields before; typically stemming the tide for a short time before they too were overwhelmed. The battlefield of Glottal would be no different, their window of opportunity for escape was dwindling and they would be forced to leave many behind in their attempts to evacuate the planet.

The Primarch's tactic was simple, he would exacerbate this issue. Apply pressure. As of the moment their own forces had been funnelled toward the last landing strip, pushing inward by land.

"A Shaman's touch, shall do nicely."

Deep underground, two Servitors carved through the earth below the landing strip. One to crumble their defences, the other lead Drek'ma and a detachment of forces to the side of the defending forces holdouts. The first Servitor tore into their front line, creating sinkholes along their front lines, the second would tear open a hole in the earth; billows of dust and ash rising into the air as thousands of Savage Drones poured out from the sinkhole, backed up by a hundred Brumaks, their spinal nergies compounding on one and other into a incredibly powerful vaporising explosion, culling hundreds of soldiers - turned into piles of ash.

Drek'ma ascended from the sinkhole at the back of their forces, carried on the head of the Servitor, unblinking golden eyes burning with a focused apathy toward the Jedi. The catalyst of his staff pulsed white, even from a distance the Jedi would feel the searing pain of his gaze.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: B
Post: 3
Tags: Loske Treicolt , Ryv , Maynard Treicolt Osam

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Everything after his initial attack happened blindingly fast. Hrajlmak had hardly composed himself when the ball had left his hand and so he was doubly unprepared when a Jedi came sliding between himself and his target. A bright sphere appeared around the young woman, catching his flame and throwing it straight back to its source. Hrajlmak threw up an arm in reflex. The ball smashed into his hand and engulfed his forearm briefly. The gutteral roar of pain and anger drowned out the noise of battle around them. The flesh of his arm quickly melted. Once his vision was no longer shrouded with flame, he locked onto his new target. Eyes as red as the inferno he had just thrown buried themselves in the young Jedi before him. A familiar Jedi. Although he could not quite place her, the gaping, charred scar up one side of his face came to mind.

Brutes began to reinforce the savage drone breach. The added firepower gave the drones some breathing room to make it further into the hangar and in greater numbers. But none came close to Loske Treicolt . Hrajlmak booted a crate out of his way and closed both hands around his staff. The sheer pain of the action in one arm couldn't be ignored and he visibly winced, but he was not to be deterred. He twirled the staff and swung the blade toward the Jedi's head with incredible force.

 

[Osam]

Objective B: No Survivors
Post 2
Allies: Hrajlmak'Natok | Primarch Drek'ma
Enemies: Loske Treicolt | Maynard Treicolt | Ryv

Osam had not expected quite the number of detonations that suddenly went off against the walls of the hangar. Of course, one or two detonations would have been well within the capability of a single Grenadier, but instead there had been nearly a dozen such explosions. With a glance behind him, the Sraelvun realized that a number of other squads had begun to coalesce together, and either having heard his command or seen what he intended to do, had gone along with his plan to breach the weaker walls of the facility instead of wasting time with the heavy blast-doors. Did the other Majors put such trust in him as an individual, or had they simply agreed with the tactical significance of what he had divined from his analysis.

Nevertheless... the feeling of power felt good.

The commandment came for the savages and the other drones to begin their assaults in waves, forcing the enemy out of their hiding places and fortifications by means of massed numbers. There was a significant numerical advantage associated with the Draelvasier, and given enough time and bodies spent on the assault, victory was all but assured. All that left hanging in the balance were the number of lives that would be taken by the Crusaders. Seeing the breach, the savage and bestial drones immediately swarmed into it, joined by a hulking and fierce figure who would no doubt cut a bloody swathe through the internal defenders. Nevertheless, the bottle-neck caused by having only a single entrance was causing severe difficulty given that it allowed the defenders to strike only at a single chokepoint.

The Sraelvun major was not a strategic genius, nor even a master of tactical adaptation, but he knew that only a set number of bodies could fit into one hole at a time, and reasoned that the greater number of holes, the better the assault. Casting a glance over the remainder of the landing strip and the micro-wars occurring therein, he discovered that a large number of Brumaks and Rhumaks were doing excellent work in clearing out other areas of defense, and the rumbling beneath the feet of many suddenly reached a climax as a cloud of uprooted dirt and duracrete were forced upwards by the might of a Servitor.

The higher-ups would clearly be distracted with their own conflicts, but Osam was not yet under the pressure of enemy fire, having allowed the savages entry into the hole, and awaiting an opening for his own squad. Perhaps... he would seize that feeling of power again, test whether or not the spark of command could be held close to his soul again, and taste the sensation of glory. Directing his fingers towards another of the Majors nearby, he shrieked, "Make holes. Surround them!" There was a pause between the two, as if though sizing one another up to determine who ought to lead... it was the Sraelvun way, after all, but finding no apparent flaw in the plan, the others began to obey.

With the crack of Grenadier fire re-ignited, more holes were punched through the walls of the hangar bay, allowing Sraelvun squads access to different portions of the hangar structure, and allowing the savages all the more places from which to end their gnawing hunger.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Objective: B - Defend Landing Strip
Bad Guys: Kad // Actively Engaging: Hrajlmak'Natok // Osam // Rahm
Good guys: Ryv // Maynard Treicolt​

The staff was almost as tall as it's wielder - keeping a safe amount of distance between the Padawan and the Shaman.

The jaws of a wolf-like relic remained fixed in their snarling position, leaving a stream of crimson vapour in it's wake as it arched through the air and downward to Loske's fixed position. Solid in her footing, she gulped while pragmatism assorted the options she had while the massive staff came bearing down on her. With each heartbeat came a new approach - Catch it: Too much strength behind it. She'd probably break her arms. Block it: She'd feel its pressure and be driven into the ground. Or knocked unconscious. The final thunderous throb from her chest made the decision to just dodge it.

With a grunt, she stretched to the side - narrowly avoiding the strike. The avoidance gave her a clear view to the successful breach orchestrated by Osam 's team, and her eyes widened with panic. "No!" Was all she could muster, with an outstretched hand. Clenching her teeth, she turned back to the leader of the drones in her immediate vicinity. She'd deal with him, then help the others. She needed to concentrate.

Her right arm tightened and stretched out, exhaling out her frustrations in an intense stream before igniting her golden blade. Coming in with an undercut simply wouldn't do - she'd be bashed to the ground in no time.

Within seconds, her feet were pounding the duracrete to close the seven-foot distance between herself and the red-eyed oppressor. Eyes the colour of blood. When th kiffar was within four feet, she planted one foot to assist her trajectory, leaping up to one of the crates the Drael had kicked to the side and using it as leverage to give her more height to jump from and toward the creature.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: B
Post: 4
Tags: Ryv / Maynard Treicolt / Osam / Primarch Drek'ma
Engaging: Loske Treicolt

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Nimble, the Jedi only just managed a sidestep. Hrajlmak's staff smashed gracelessly into the ground. He quickly brought it up, ready for the next attack but his concentration was briefly thrown off by a gust of energy. Nothing to throw him off his feet, but enough to take his eyes off her momentarily. The young Jedi was small and fast. But Hrajlmak was just as quick. She closed the gap between them and bounced off a crate. Hrajlmak's concentration renewed but yet again, time was too short, a blade was coming down on him rapidly. As she leaped from a crate, Hrajlmak brought his free hand around quickly and spewed an arc of fire from his palm in her direction. It seemed she had no choice but to fall into it.

The strip was crumbling rapidly. The last line of defense was quickly being whittled away as hangar after hangar was overrun. Hrajlmak's own task force had begun opening new holes to relieve the initial bottleneck. What seemed like an earthquake underfoot was all too familiar. The arrival of servitors was nothing short of an assurance. Insult added to a gushing injury.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Objective: B - Defend Landing Strip
Bad Guys: Kad // Actively Engaging: Hrajlmak'Natok // Osam // Rahm
Good guys: Ryv // Maynard Treicolt ​

Airborne, her course plotted and fixed, Loske couldn't do much to counter the angry burst of fire from the hand of her opponent. Both her hands were overhead, gripping to the hilt of her saber and she'd left her front exposed. Hot, burning flames splashed around her; engulfing the girl in their heat. "AUGH!" Other than the meager defence of her space suit, the only protection she had was the thin ethereal barrier she constructed each time she engaged in combat. It did little to disperse the flames though, only preserved her from erupting into a fireball herself. The smell of burning hair was strong as the flames skittered about the fibreplast of her skin suit.

Blinded by the heat and overwhelming brilliance of angry orange and yellow, her saber fell short of connecting and she was on a collision course with the ground now. She landed in a tight roll, which helped extinguish the flames, and an arcing sweep at the shins of the creature's legs with her blade while she fervently reached to pat out any residual flames attacking her ponytail and more internal-layers of her suit.

 

[Ryv]

Objective: Slow the Horde
Location: Aegis // Point Defense of the Hangar
Tags: Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt
Rahm | Primarch Drek'ma | Hrajlmak'Natok ​

Bodies piled up en masse beside the singular entrance to the hangar, put down by either a swift saber strike or a stream of blaster shots. The Jedi Knight and his squad fell into a smooth rhythm, taking out the narrow-minded drones efficiently. With a break in the flow of battle, Ryv fell back to catch his breath, surveying the hangar and shuttle.

"How we looking, captain?" Ryv stepped up to the man who distinguished himself early on as the officer beneath him.

"As long as they continue this linear approach, holding them off should continue to prove simple. No injuries to report either," Captain Climshedis reported. "Communications with Alpha and Beta squadrons have been lost. I believe we are alone out here, sir."

"Well shit, that's not good," Ryv peered past Climshedis to the shuttle. "How much longer, Maynard?" he asked his fellow Jedi before shifting his attention back to the door. More of the drones lay dead or dying, put down with a precision fostered among the Alliance's soldiers. "I bet we can hold em off for hours if they keep throwing themselves at us like this, but if anything organized comes our way, I'm not too sure what we'd be able to pull off, at least without a miracle."

"Sir!" a voiced called out, catching Ryv and Climshedis's attention. "They are pulling back!"

Ryv turned and pushed towards the entrance, peering outside. He could see the hordes drawing back as some form of charges were planted on the exterior of the hangar. He ducked back inside and reactivated his lightsaber, drawing the attention of the soldiers inside.

"They are planting explosives all around the facility; this is gonna get helluva lot louder, people!" Ryv positioned his men to prepare for the onslaught and took up a position at the massive durasteel blast door that would soon shatte. He took a deep breath, his eyes closing as he fell into the force. Like a single drop falling into an infinite, azure sea, he focused on expansion. His aura reached out to those within the hangar, rolling over them like waves of warmth and reassurance. Hope, determination, and calm fell over every one of them in the hangar, while a sense of dread and despair crashed against the oncoming hordes. Pushing even further within the empyrean, Ryv sought out the conscious of Loske and Maynard within the tremendous cosmic sea. Taking hold of them both, he connected the trio in a meld, bringing them into a near-perfect synchronization.

As the explosions sounded all around them, the beacon of hope raised his saber, stepping forth to singlehandedly stem the tide of one such entrance. Feeling the pain and desperation stemming from Loske, he willed a portion of his squadron to break away and race off to support the ace-pilot.

"Do not give in to fear. We will overcome these beasts and escape! Fight on, men of the Alliance!"

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: B
Post: 4
Tags: Ryv / Maynard Treicolt / Osam / Primarch Drek'ma
Engaging: Loske Treicolt

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The meager defense he could manage threw the Jedi off-course, protecting him from a critical blow. But she was not in disarray. The Jedi fell into a roll and slashed at Hrajlmak's shin. The blade carved a gash through his armored leg, searing his carapace. A heavy Drael curse was his response as he tracked the Jedi's movement. He spun to face her, staff in a combat ready position. The hangar rumbled with explosions and Drones began to poor in, followed closely by Brutes. Hrajlmak stared with deadly intent at his Jedi opponent. The atmosphere changed. Dread. A dizzying sense of fear and weakness filled the air. A Jedi trick no doubt. He had seen other heretical blades of energy in the brief moments he had to glance the rest of the hangar. But who was doing it didn't matter. He fought back. His own presence served to sharpen the minds of his troops. When they felt dread, fear or weakness, Hrajlmak forced confidence, bravery and savage strength upon them. But the Jedi were no trivial matter. His efforts struggled against whatever pathetic being was demoralizing the Drael under him. This would only add another layer of stress to the fight ahead.

The fight continued. Hrajlmak placed his hands near the head and center of his staff and stormed forward, intent on unleashing a flurry of tight attacks. Raw strength and power had proven inferior with this particular Jedi. His first was an upswing of the staff's sharp tail, to be followed by a hasty push of the head's blade toward the Jedi's shoulder. They were both agile, but he had strength on his side. Strength he would use to overwhelm defense.

 

[Krael Vizkla]

Objective A - Destroy the Generator
Equipment: Barad Spec Ops Armour
Arsenal: 4 Barad Spike Rifle, Dual Barad Glaive
Forces: 8 Brute Squads, 4 Ravager Brutes, 2 Quilxyn
Tags: Weyland Castril

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Krael could feel the beat of the Ravager's Warpath being carved. They had passed him and his group by now, and Krael's head turned as he heard the distinct grunts of pain, and felt a distant ache as if the wound had been dealt to him years ago. The Jedi had turned his attention away from the main battle. This was good.

He shook his head, severing the ties, however weak, he held to the beast that he held so much in common with. He raised himself back up to his full height, a hand grasping a spike rifle each. He raised his right leg and delivered a fatal kick to the building's side, the wall crumbling under the force of his foot. He then charged forward, crashing through the unstable remainder of the building. As the wall fell, his arms raised and his fingers pulled down on the triggers, sending a barrage of spikes whistling into the sides of the force that been locked in combat with his own.

The small group he had taken with him took cover in the rubble of the building their titanic General had barged through, and began to unload into the unsuspecting crowd. Though the barrage of searing hot metal from the Generals' hands was short lived. As each weapon ran out of ammo, the heavy chunk of metal was cast aside into the crowd, taking a weak fleshbag under the weight of each.

The two glaives remained sheathed on his back, however, for they would be useless against this crowd. As the last of his weapons was discarded and Krael began to feel more and more blaster fire being turned to him as his forces ducked down into the trenches to reload and recover. As he was slowly peppered with plasma, Krael turned into a savage beast, his fists slamming into the ground, crushing as many as five soldiers at a time under them, his feet stomping down regardless of terrain, flattening both stone and flesh alike.

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The Ravager roared an unholy sound, and charged forward. All objectives were lost to it, for all it knew now was pain and destruction. This tiny speck of useless flesh had attacked, and would suffer for it's idiocy. Durasteel beams were bent as the beast's bloodlust invigorated it, not knowing or not caring for the damage it caused or the pain it suffered. It's clawed hands lashed out, swiping in both directions at the glow-stick wielder.

Meanwhile the remaining ravagers grew ever closer to the sentry turrets, slowly, one by one, they leapt out of the buildings that had shielded them, and onto towers. Sharpened claws plunged into metal, ripping it open. The durasteel that would seem nearly impenetrable to the regular species of the galaxy was ripped apart like paper. One ravager per turret, it would be a slow process, but once started it could not easily be stopped.

Spoiler: Summary

Krael smashed a building. Emptied his rifles into the enemies from a side flank, and started to go feral with his fists.

Three ravagers began attacking sentry turrets while one attacked Weyland Castril

 

[Weyland Castril]

Objective: Protect the Generator
Post: Qwatra
Tags: Krael Vizkla
Equipment: Lightsaber, Oufit

The Ravager appeared little more than enraged by the damage done, but perhaps that was for the best. All the more momentum to throw it off course, he had to deal with it. Weyland pulled, hard. The two lightsabers spun towards him at incredible speed; slashing the Ravagers legs apart at the knee joints. The massive creature would find its upper torso flung forward, partially burnt stumps squirting out a horrible black liquid as the Ravager bounced through the Durasteel floor, crashing to the ground as Weyland called both sabers to his hands, leaping into the air as he dashed down onto the Ravager, both blades penetration the base of its skull.

He didn't have time for mindless beasts. His men were getting slaughtered down below, taking a moment to ready himself defensively; Weyland leapt from the building high, streaking through the air down onto the battlefield; carving through half a dozen Drone warriors. His focus turning to the massive leader who now moved to flank their forces.

He didn't want to fight the massive creature. But he would if it meant someone else didn't have to. Weyland darted across the open plain with great speed, he'd get its attention. His off-handed lightsaber spun outward from his hand, spinning through the air in a semi-circular motion toward the beasts foremost arm.

 

[Krael Vizkla]

Objective A - Destroy the Generator
Equipment: Barad Spec Ops Armour
Arsenal: 4 Barad Spike Rifle, Dual Barad Glaive
Forces: 8 Brute Squads, 4 Ravager Brutes, 2 Quilxyn
Tags: Weyland Castril

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The General's bloodbath paused. For a mere second to the outside world, but an eternity to his emotions. He felt the beast's pain. From the cuts to it's legs that left it invalid, to the fall into the durasteel that would be it's last movements. He felt it writhing, it's arms clawing to pull itself up and fight, he felt the heat of the glowing blades at the base of it's head, he felt the foreign objects pierce the body that wasn't his, and he had felt the consciousness of it's life fade as quick as a light being turned off. For half of that second, Krael pondered many things, why could he feel that pain? Why did this planet truly have to be taken through such violent means, why did he fight, why did any of them fight?

The heretical thoughts, however, were crushed as soon as they came. They were then added to the burning pile that produced the never-ceasing fires of the General's rage. The rage that fuelled every punch to the infidels that defended a world they had no right to occupy. With every punch and the sting of every blast bolt that struck his hardened carapace there came a harder punch and a softer sting. He lifted his gaze as a faint whistling noise filled his ears. He felt the impact before he saw it. A small rocket, a rocket meant for dealing with infantry, a rocket that stumbled the General back, leaving a notable scar to the right most portion of his face.

A rocket that was the worst mistake this pitiful fighting force could muster. The titan of a Brute straightened himself, and grabbed a nearby building, tearing a chunk off and hurling it towards fool that had fired the rocket at him, crushing him and a group of organics beneath the duracrete. As he turned his body to deliver another fatal, ground shaking stomp to the forces, his eyes caught a spinning mass of light, hurtling towards his gigantic frame. He leaned backwards slightly, his immobility betraying him and forcing him to reach his hand out and catch the lightsaber.

The blade charred his carapace and made a uniquely shaped scar to the flesh beneath after a multitude of seconds of holding it, more than a regular organic could last. He was quick to correct his mistake, holding the tiny hilt between his fingers, gripping it tightly. He threw the blade down into the masses of the Jedi's forces, his uppermost arms reaching to his back, and pulling the glaives out of their holsters. Holding the large weapons by the lower end of the handle, he began to step forward, towards the blind human.

He had killed a blind Krayt Dragon. What was this blind fleshbag to challenge him?​

 

[Weyland Castril]

Objective: Protect the Generator
Post: Sanq
Tags: Krael Vizkla
Equipment: Lightsaber, Oufit

It could resist a lightsaber, that was good to know. Before the creature could hold the lightsaber for much longer, Weyland telekinetically silenced its blade; freeing it from the beasts grasp before pulling the hilt back into his grasp. Weyland reignited the blade, bursting forward to reach the massive creature. It had weapons too, two Glaives not all dissimilar from the ones used by the Brute troops he'd fought before.

This time were was no room for mistakes. Weyland couldn't strike first, a counter or crossing of blades would be idiotic - like trying to fist fight a Terantatek. The Jedi Knight stepped within range of the beasts weaponry. But as a Jedi, he did not seek the first stroke. He had no advantage, not at this moment.

"Come on then." The Jedi spoke under his breath, raising both of his Lightsabers.

 

[Krael Vizkla]

Objective A - Destroy the Generator Make an example of Meatbag Filth
Equipment: Barad Spec Ops Armour
Arsenal: 4 Barad Spike Rifle, Dual Barad Glaive
Forces: 8 Brute Squads, 3 Ravager Brutes, 2 Quilxyn
Tags: Weyland Castril

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Krael's eyes trained on the Jedi as a glaring glance set his troops back into fighting. He would not lose this battle for the sake of his own honour on account of his troops. Their hesitation when they first found the Jedi had been one time too much. He readjusted his arms, raising his glaives, pointing one down towards the blind man. His vocal chords thrummed with a low growl that bounced off the walls of the broken buildings, a growl that was soon echoed by the roars of his ravagers as they began to dismantle the sentry turrets with an unsated bloodlust.

Krael's large steps thudded against the stone ground as he began circling the Jedi, until he faced his own forces once again, their fire purposefully aimed low. Five steps backwards and then he lunged forward with a downward strike, then feigned. His right foot stomped into the ground, sending a shattering shockwave of force towards the Jedi. A shockwave that cracked the very ground they stood on, sending it 6 inches into the air in a circular radius of 4 feet from the original kick.

The stomp was not intended to cause true harm to the Jedi, however, only discombobulate it. He then side stepped to his right, then stepped to the left again, slashing diagonally at the meatbag's torso. A weak blow in comparison, but it could get the job done. He then retracted the glaive once it had completed it's arc, and spun, stomping on the ground again, sending a lesser shockwave towards the jedi, one that barely cracked the ground yet shook it in a similar radius.

He lashed out a final time, stepping forward and closing the playing field between him and the Jedi, cutting horizontally across the Jedi's midriff.

 

[Weyland Castril]

Objective: Protect the Generator
Post: Six
Tags: Krael Vizkla
Equipment: Lightsaber, Oufit

Even as they circled one another, Weyland did not allow the distance between them to grow; staying on the edge of the suspected range of the Glaives held by his opponent. The first strike was a feint, but it thinly veiled an attack that would have received an essentially familiar response; Weyland side-stepped, dashing left and forward within the guard of the massive Brute.

The Brute stepped left and swung. Prepared - Weyland brought his right-hand saber behind the incoming blade, pushing it further right and side-stepped inward with a reverse gripped saber in his left; slashing at the wrist carrying the saber with both blades.

One arm at a time, he was taking away this creatures offensive capabilities.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Two
Tags - Ryv | Maynard Treicolt
Objective: Take the landing strip

In one fell swoop the forces of their enemy were pushed back into the confines of the hangar, yet even still the boldness of the Jedi persisted. The Primarch placed an open palm on the head of the Servitor, wordlessly commanding it to surge forth. Its hide was too strong for anything these creatures could muster, carving through the ground as it burst toward the main entrance, following the pulsing signature of the Jedi.

Massive chunks of duracrete were flung through the air, soldiers falling into the depths of a seemingly endless pit. The Servitor coiled itself around the hangar, the ground outside giving way as its massive head slowly lowered into view, staring right at those inside with hunger. The beast roared, its screams like a hard wind throwing loose cloth dancing in the air.

The mssive Servitor pulled back; hundreds of plates of hardened flesh flashing by the entrance as it pulled back; lowering its head once more as The Primarch would now come into view of those within the Hangar. Drek'ma glared through them, unblinking golden eyes stung their souls. He raised his Staff in his off-hand. The white orb pulsated, a whirlwind of fear inducing energy would overwhelm any sense of hope.

Once again his gaze was refocused on the Jedi. White currents poured out in swaths, florescent waves in the air conducted a horrifying sound that would bleed the ears of all in its vicinity.

 

[Kad]

Objective: A - Take out Generator
Post: Four
Tags: Weyland Castril | Loske Treicolt | Velok Brokentusk | Hraelga Nacht | Krael Vizkla
Equipment: Kukri, Kasurigama, Armour, Spike Rifle, Shredder

Gredak moved through the facility, mostly shuddering under its own weight as both Ravagers and Brutes reinforcing the Drone onslaught outside. The facility was mostly empty, allowing the Zealot to pass by the few soldiers within with relative ease. They were on high alert - true, but Humans were never creatures of great endurance.

The mapping of the facility they had uncovered from the military garrisons datacore seemed to be out of date. New additions had been added in the last decade, however the Zealot hoped the Shield Generator had not been moved. He was getting close now, and according to the map there was a vault door protecting the entrance. No doubt guards as well.

He was close now, spying around the corner the enemy had two turrets. Two turrets and a squad of soldiers, not an easy target to take head on. Luckily, he didn't have to. Gredak took a pair of Impact Grenades into his hand, raising his Spike Rifle - ready. The Zealot leapt from cover, throwing two of the Impact Grenades at the left turret, firing a single spiker bolt into the head of the rights gunner. When the Impacts collided, the turret was suddenly buried in a hardened cement that captured its Gunner as well.

The Squad of soldiers opened fire on the Zealot, blasting at him; managing to take off his left shoulder plate in the process. Staggering behind the adjacent cover he'd moved from, the Zealot snarled in pain as the stinging sensation of plasma numbed his senses, pain overwhelming the areas the blasts had hit with a stinging heat. Through gritted teeth Gredak moved from cover, throwing another Impact Grenade to the ground thusly providing himself cover.

The Zealot managed off two shots before being forced to duck low. He'd killed one, four left.