Invasion The Eleventh Hour | BotM Invasion of NIO held Noris and Sharb

[Nuruodo'kal'brast]

FATE OF THE CHISS (PART. II)
• • •
THE ELEVENTH HOUR
OPPOSING | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
PINGS | Mattali Omenza DECEASED Remmel Karsh

IMPERIAL STORMTROOPER CORPS
IMPERIAL VANGUARD | EMPIRE OF THE HAND
117TH DIVISION 'THE INVINCIBLE' | TASK FORCE 'NERN'

<EQUIPMENT: 'STORM' UNIVERSAL COMBAT PLATFORM MK. V — AP-25I 'SIMP' PARTICLE-BEAM BLASTER — SFR-58 'BOZDUGAN' BLASTER RIFLE>
•••
<CODE NAME: NERN-ACTUAL>
•••​

<BEING CHISS: LAST HOUR, FINAL ACT -- PART. II>
Task Force ‘Nern’ was making its way among wrench and debris settled in the southwest of the FOB: Belisarius. The objectives and missions given by the 117th Division’s Command did not count anymore, and the commandos under DOKAL’s orders had to follow hers. It was more to those bucketheads than anything that any officer could have said to them, even for REAR, who was only newly arrived in the squad. The BLUE-GIRL led her men to the front, trying to help the last Chiss on the surface as they could but, more importantly, fighting for their lives and for the New Imperial’s supremacy on those territories. They ran as if they were surrounded and chased by enemies in this more-or-less calm zone of the battlefield. Despite the global situation in Primus and -- more specifically -- in the FOB: Belisarius, the NERNS were calm. They knew that their state could get worse at any time, but it wasn’t a problem for the moment.

“How long will we have to run like thhhhat?” REAR asked on the squad-link, “Don’t wanna die of breathhhlesssnesss, eheh…" The Trandoshan was trying to not appear scared, but he was confused as hell. He accepted -- without any shade -- DOKAL's proposal, and was regretting a part of his decision right now; his commander seemed to be driven by a strong will to live and to defend her nation, her legacy. In a way, he understood that, he would have done the same for Trandosha -- even if Trandosha brought him to the Maw to make a slave of him, so it wasn’t a good example but he really understood DOKAL.

DOKAL was all but about to answer REAR’s question, so HUKOR did it for her: “Erf, don’t really know, bein’ honest with ya. But according to my HUD… I’d say half-an-hour at this rhythm, an’ less than one hour if we continue this travel by walkin’.” The Zabrak wasn’t sure of all that. In fact, it depended on the enemies they would encounter on the path leading to the frontline, so a good estimation would be more than one hour and a half. To the soldier, he didn’t matter: they didn’t have any time limit and, right now, they had decided to not follow Command’s orders. “Roger that, NERN-TWO,” REAR answered. HUKOR hoped that the trip would be as calm as possible.

He hoped so.

<BEING CHISS: LAST HOUR, FINAL ACT -- PART. III>

<"All units southwest of FOB: Belisarius, this is Karsh! R-T-B!!!! I REPEAT, R-T-B!!!! TIME TO START FIGHTING YOUR WAY BACK!!!! Ember One out!">​

Those words were the last TF ‘Nern’ heard from Captain KARSH, an order on the coms to all the units in its zone -- the southwest of the FOB. “Damn it!” HUKOR exclaimed to his squad, “Can anyone tell me what’s goin’ on?!” REAR took cover behind an improvised barricade and answered: “Don’t exxxactly know but there’sss an ‘RTB’ to be ssssure! FREAKIN’ MAWITESSSS!!!”

“Bad news!” HUKOR groaned, more for himself than for his fellows, “DOKAL, what are we doin’?”

The Chiss put her gaze on her soldiers, not sure about what they had to do right now, especially after KARSH’s statement on the stormtrooper’s moves. She didn’t know what she would do, but sure that she wasn’t about leaving her fellows -- Chiss and bucketheads -- behind her, on Noris. “We’ve got a job t’do,” she argued calmly, as the repetition blasters were roaring all around them. “Sure, DOKAL, but we’ve got orders too -- and orders are more important,” the Zabrak answered, “don’t wanna go against your orders, but KARSH’s a captain, and we could be demoted if we disobey ‘em… Or worse.” REAR nodded as HUKOR was making his case. “SHORTY’ssss right,” he added while taking a thermal detonator from one of his pockets, “an’ y’know what thhhose ordersss mean -- ‘Return To Base’. That’sss a fallback manoeuvre!”

DOKAL inhaled briefly, still confused about what she would do after this period of time her troops gave to her. Retreating and following the last remnants of the 117th? Or holding the line alongside KARSH, risking her life and those of her brothers and sisters? But the soldiers’ job was to fight against their enemies, regardless of their fear. She had now decided. They would fight here, one the frontline. Maybe for the last time.

<”NERN-ACTUAL to Trill-Forn-Nern. We’re gonna hold this line, whatever the risk. We’ve got citizens to protect, and we cannot let them in this situation. Take any soldier that you could f-...”>

Before she could end her sentence, a bolt coming from a Mawites hurt HUKOR’s faceplate. He toggled back, falling in the mud behind him.

<”SHORTY!!!”>

<”Here’s NERN-FOUR: NERN-TWO’sss down! I repeat: NERN-TWO’sss down! Requessstin’ support on our posssition! Doesss anyone in thhhe southhhhwessst dissstrict of Forn-Osssk-Besh copy?!”>

“C’mon SHORTY, you’re gonna be a’right! Stay with me!!!” DOKAL exclaimed as the battle was getting wilder and wilder, “Don’t go!”

“Eeeh… DOKAL… We’ve got a… Job… Don’t we…?”​

 

[Anith Dorce]

S L A S H
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SW OF FOB BELISARIUS | NORIS
ALLIES: DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Ivan Sienar | Erin E-141 | Jack E-138 | Hiran Avola | Murraea Pharo | Cormac Thire | NIO | @whoeverelse (there's a lot of you)
ENEMIES: Darth Solipsis | The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Khamul Kryze | Erion Justeene | BOTM | @whoeverelse (seriously)
ENGAGING: Darth Saevius
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Rifle | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Explosives loadout

RISE​

<The hell are you doing, Anne?>

Evans' concerned voice pierced her concentration through her helm. Anith clenched her jaw.
<Winning you and the kids some time.> she finally said. <Get Jed back to the present and get them out of here, Danny.>
<Like hell I'm leaving you behind.>
<That's an order, soldier.> The toughest words that had ever left her lips as an officer.

There was a heartbeat of silence.

<If I don't catch you again for some reason, there's something I've been meaning to tell you earlier, Anith. Your sister is alive. I've found her> he then said softly.
It was like a sledgehammer in the gut, pushing the air right out of her lungs.
<How? When? Where?> was all she could manage.
<Called in a COMPNOR-buddy favour. She's at the Academy. She survived the initial shelling all them years ago. I'm sorry it took so long to reach us.>
Tears burnt her crimson eyes once more.
<Look after her, please Danny.> her voice broke.
<Yes, ma'am.> he said. <Give 'em hell, Anne.>

But then they were out of time.

"Is that really what you want?"

Right behind her.

The Streiter was out and flicked to full length as she spun around. But there was no one there. Instead....

"Your companion is at peace now. No anxiety, or reservations. And soon enough, you all will join him. You will join me."

Behind her again.

Spinning around, she was once again met with thin air.

Anith swallowed her tears. Focus on the here and now.
"Face me, you coward!" she called, straightening up, blade still in her hand.
Then the footsteps came from behind her and this time, the noise was accompanied by a red hue on the walls. Good. She wasn't a skilled swordsman for shits and giggles.

Turning her body sideways so her left side faced him, she rested her arms at her sides, blade seemingly pointing to the floor while she regarded the man that finally deigned to show himself.

"Nice of you to join the party, Sunshine." she said.

The pistol was drawn in a flash and a rapid burst of particle bolts fired in his general direction. Meanwhile, she was ready with her swordarm should she use it. She was no Force user, but she wasn't a rookie either. She knew how to move.

She just hoped the others would move too and not be sitting ducks.

Erin Davies was hunkered down some empty crates that were still in the warehouse. She had heard what was left of doors and windows shudder as an invisible force blew through the building. She had also heard Slash's call to a challenge.

She was shaken. It's horrifying when your squad partner for 6 years suddenly turned his gun on you.

Soon, she heard footsteps entering the area. There was no mistaking the sound - it was trooper armour. She gripped her rifle but remained deathly still and quiet.

Before long, Jed moved past the crates and into her line of sight as he kept searching for her. She didn't want to shoot her squadmate. There had to be a way to get him back. But how? Her heart was threatening to break out of her chest.

And then a second set of footsteps came from the other side of the room, out of her view once more.

"Jed! Let's get you home, buddy."

The relief was nauseating when she heard Evans' voice. She wasn't alone.
"He's under the Sith's spell, Sir!" she called.
A shot was flung in her direction immediately by Jed, clearing her helmet by a millimeter.
"Move, Davies!" Danny ordered as he sprinted at Gilead before trying to tackle him to the ground.

Erin moved. Not away, but straight at the struggle to either disarm or help pin if Evans got the upper hand.

There was no chance that her Corporal would just kill Jed. Not without exhausting all options.

Damn Maw and their Sith ilk.

 

[Jack E-138]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
21st Company "Cadaver Dogs"
Erin E-141 | DECEASED Remmel Karsh

Dust and embers rolled across the top of the trenches. Grime, soot, and humidity worked together as a dismal concoction, making the oxygen oppressive. A chime in Jack's helmet signaled the activation of onboard atmo-filtration. Sensors detected and displayed a myriad list of contaminants onto his HUD within seconds. Even the air itself was gradually becoming a casualty of war.

"Do you hear that?"

Erin's voice echoed in his helmet, cutting through the equidistant static. The message in question was mostly unclear, riddled with interference. Intelligibility was turbulent, the magnitude at which it was scrambled constantly dipping between minimal and inordinate. An open, armored hand raised, slapped palm against the side with an indeterminate barrage. No change. "It's spotty, but it sounds like no one is holding as well as we hoped."

"Sergeant Cantrell, report. What is the strength and disposition of the forces assaulting the spaceport?"

On the shared frequency, Jack was greeted with the same static Erin received in response. Behind the visor, the Elite's brow furrowed. Ever ominous in their austerity, the pair trudged wordlessly through the trenches toward mutual objective. All praises and abhorrence's might as well have been ineffective phantasms gone with the very wind that carried embers over the trenches.

Jack stepped onto a dugout ledge, lifted himself slighty with a hand against the leveled ground to peek over the egress of the trench. "See for yourself," he remarked after a sizable delay toward Erin's unanswered query. His grip tightened around his rifles grip and receiver. "We're gonna have to skip over this labyrinth if we wanna reach the gate in time."

The danger that entailed went without saying.

"15th will think we're a miracle."

 

[Morrow]

KNIGHT-ERRANT MORROW OSTARION
CALLSIGN "PALE RIDER"
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
——
OPPOSING: Darth Kalyptos and his Genestealers minions.

FEAR MY NAME
​

Symphonies of death and mutilation were silenced within the Knight's perception. Choked to the last note by his single-minded focus on the destruction of the fiend before him. Gray eyes sharpened with hateful scrutiny darted with erratic micromovements, surveilling every movement with an obsessive honing. It didn't let up even as the demon revealed his unabated repugnancies that had cowered beneath a cowl.

As supernatural senses granted small premonitions of movement, Morrow's scowl intensified in the fleeting moments between the present and the rapidly encroaching future. His leading foot slid to following, his blade arced one way and toward the ground. Sith and Imperial precognition at odds, their efforts culminated in a clash of crimson and ivory in place of mortal strikes.

Within a moment far more fleeting than instant, instincts of the physical and beyond recoiled at the sensation of his very essence being meddled with. His arms shoved in retaliation, blades of plasma hissing against one another as the slid against each other like firestarters. Morrow twirled himself beneath their clash, disengaging with a wild slash that reached for the the transitory point between bicep and forearm.

 

[Vesta]

I Spit On Your Grave​

Location	Ground Near Spaceport
Enemies	New Imperial Order | Marcad
Allies	Brotherhood of the Maw
Equipment	Lightsaber

She could see the blood pushing through his veins, the beating of the organ in his chest as he digested the words of warning she'd given him, and as she approached she could hear its tempo rise with his lightsaber - do or die. He was like the Sith of the fallen empire, the overconfident belief in a dogma that would abandon them just as quickly as the oxygen would rush out of their lungs with their final breath, and turned the tip of her blade up to strike against his as it fell down upon her. A body stepped out from the darkness, solid as the ground they stood upon, and she snarled at the man placing himself in her way with a primal rage - rage that cloaked genius with a façade of barbarity.

What had began as an insult to the civilized art of Makashi and transitioned to the savagery of Juyo ended in neither, inertia carrying her feet forwards as their blades clashed and the force exploded at her front like a shockwave, telekinesis propelled from below through the movement of her feet as they slid towards her opponent in order to push him back. There was nothing to be read here, the woman had not a single consistent step to take in the dramatic staccatos she planned to carry herself through the fight with. "You're out of your depth." She said, her eyes, black like coals, casting a heavy glare towards his face as she spoke. She could still taste her words on her lifts when she pushed herself further, to bridge the temporary gap between them, her lightsaber tugged back in order to thrust it towards him in an effort to skewer him on its end.

 

[Darth Ptolemis]

W O K E N F U R I E S

AT NORIS, NEAR PRIMUS
NO MAN'S LAND

ALLIES: MAW & ALLIES
ENEMIES: NIO & ALLIES

Equipment in bio.
1/3 smoke grenades remain.

ENGAGING: Kinoan

DEFIANCE AND UPHEAVAL
​

The angel of death descended with vengeance and cast his crimson saber down upon the Golden Knight.

The colliding sabers sent a sudden shockwave in all directions, scattering dust, dirt and debris away from them. The masked knight buckled to one knee, but held up the effort and kept the sabers interlocked, avoiding the Masked One's heavenly judgement.

“Your fancy tricks will have to be better than that.”

The emotionless visage of the mask felt surreal in these emotionally overcharged circumstances; which was compounded by the fact that his opponent also obscured his face. Before Ptolemis could reply, in a split second the brave knight let the crimson saber slide dangerously close to himself, successfully propelling the rage-fueled Sith Lord into a loss of balance. The knight immediately slashed upward upon feeling the slightest loss of stability, brutally splitting Ptolemis' already weakened duraplast chestplate in two and even producing a painful, albeit shallow incision vertically across his chest. The surreal, distant yet close, guttural roar of the Sith sounded like it arrived from a separate reality entirely.

He stumbled back and quickly threw a smoke grenade at his own feet, disengaged his lightsaber and sprung into the folds of the obscuring cloud. In a split second, he tore his only piece of irreversibly damaged armor off and stabbed himself in the thigh with a bacta shot. Although this had taken merely a second or two, for a knight wielding the Force, the lack of visibility meant nothing. Within the dense cloud of smoke, Ptolemis closed his eyes and allowed the Bogan to take over and foreshadow what his opponent would lash out at him with. Standing ready... to unleash his blinding hatred upon the man.

​

Meanwhile, the entrenched marauders further back ceased their fire momentarily, and each threw a volley of frag grenades at the stormtroopers behind the Golden Knight who were choking inside the cloud of smoke, attempting to take them out for good.

 

[Gavyn Berand]

Private Gavyn Berand
New Imperial Order
117th Stormtrooper Division
29th Company
South of FOB Belisarius, Noris
Allies: NIO | DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Murraea Pharo | Ivan Sienar | Morrow | Jalter Volff | Mav Ryburn | Kinoan | TK-8867 | Anith Dorce | Frajan Borjar | Greven Astor | Aerys Myrrine | Others
Enemies: Maw | The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Subject 54 Havoc | Erion Justeene | Romund Sro | Darth Kalyptos | Darth Ptolemis | Khamul Kryze | Electra-12 | Darth Saevius | Others
Engaging: Mawites, open to opposition​

The 29th continued to take casualties, but still it would not break. They stood their ground, pouring fire and explosives on anything and everything not wearing white armor, desperately stemming the Mawite tide as it surged relentlessly forward. Gavyn found himself in a sort of impromptu position of authority, marshalling others in his small section of the trenches. Here and there spotting, directing fire, and having soldiers move back and forth along the defenses. A few days before they would have balked to have some new kid telling them what to do; now in the chaos and confusion of the hellscape upon which they were fighting and dying many seemed content that someone was taking charge.

Gavyn ducked his head down to catch a breath and check his weapon when a trooper dropped in the trench beside him, one with insignia that indicated this wasn't the 117th. Then another, and then another; soon quite a few members of the 313th arrived to reinforce the 29th company.

"Private Myrrine, 313th we're still coming in, the Park to the south is secure. Where do you need us?"

He nodded curtly, returning the greeting. He had to almost shout to make himself heard about the whine of blaster fire. "Private Berand, 29th company, 117th. We sure are glad to see some friendly faces for once. Helmets. Whatever." The trooper paused for a second, taking in the tactical situation immediately surrounding them. He pointed a gloved finger off to the right. "We could use a little shoring up on the right, but really anywhere'll work."

Myrrine barked orders at her counterparts in the 313th, using words and phrases Gavyn couldn't quite place. Galidraani, perhaps? He didn't have time to think about it. A lightly-armored Mawite rushed forward, dropping into the trench near him and swinging a serrated blade at his head. Gavyn ducked below the strike and swung the butt of his rifle. It made contact with the side of the cultist's face, impacting with a solid crack, staggering him. A quick burst of blaster fire later and he was dead. Gavyn shook his head, wondering at the complete lack of self-preservation instinct in these marauders, then turned his attention forward once again.

<"All units southwest of FOB: Belisarius, this is Karsh! R-T-B!!!! I REPEAT, R-T-B!!!! TIME TO START FIGHTING YOUR WAY BACK!!!! Ember One out!">

The call from Captain Karsh had already come in a short while ago, but it seemed now the 29th might just begin acting on it. At least, there were words going back and forth, on and off comms, indicating that they might begin a fighting tactical withdrawal. Elements of the 29th prepared for that possibility, all the while continuing to hold their position. Wherever they went, the 29th was going to do as much damage as they could.

 

[Darth Saevius]

Objective: Woken Furies

Tags:

Maw: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Khamul Kryze Erion Justeene Keilara Kala'myr

​

NIO: DECEASED Remmel Karsh Ivan Sienar Erin E-141 Jack E-138

​

Engaging: Anith Dorce

Location: The Shadows

Be Mine​

With all the bluster, all of the bolstered courage masking the barely contained fear welling up within her, all that Anith would get in reply to her mocking and taunting was a heavily amused laugh from the hooded figure who slowly and deliberately approached. Even as she drew her pistol and shot a series of rounds his way, he was ready.

The first shot came in ‘hot’, with a quickness Saevius did not entirely expect from her, but was no less prepared for. He brought his lightsaber up within the span of milli-seconds before it would have impacted into his torso - instead ricocheting at an angle against the rusted lining of the wall. A heavy scorch mark blemished the area of impact, but would soon give way to a gaping hole in the heavily corroded durasteel as the second shot came in, and was deflected in a similar fashion.

When the third shot came in, Saevius had the timing down. He tilted the upper-half of his saber blade at a slight 15-degree cant, which caused the bolt to careen back at the source of the shot. Judging from the agility exhibited by his ‘opponent’ in this small window between them, she would likely have little difficulty in ultimately avoiding the shot. But that wasn’t the true threat that presented itself to her.

Shortly after deflecting the shot back to her, Saevius pushed off of his back foot and drew upon the force to accelerate the remainder of the length between them. Whether she simply was able to dodge out of the way or otherwise, he brought his blade down into a viscous slash toward her left shoulder. As he followed through, his voice spoke out for the first time without any augmentation through the force: ”Your mock-courage is amusing.”

He would follow up the strike by activating his second saber blade on the opposing end of the first, and bringing it into an upward slash to break through whatever guard or counter she was able to muster to the first blow. He would follow up with a brief step back as if to gain the measure of his handiwork. ”What do you think is going to happen, Chiss?”

The person formerly known as Jed was still within the mind of his body, but the most accurate explanation for what was befalling him would be that he was a prisoner within said mind. His limbs moved with a will of their own, and even his mind felt warped - clouded even. It felt as though his mind was held in the palm of another, stronger presence, and his body was being manipulated as if attached to imperceptible strings.

He tried to protest - tried to stop himself as he loosed a stream of shots at Davies. He wanted to cry out and warn her to get down; he wanted to explain that he was not in control.

But even his lips refused to part and give voice to those warnings. Externally, his face was a mask of complete and total impassivity, which drove him down the first steps of an unimagined sense of powerlessness. Just as he began to panic, Danny tackled him bodily, causing him to leave his feet and fall hard onto his back.

Normally, this would cause Jed to curse and jeer at his comrade, but he couldn’t even do that. His body struggled against the grapple, and Jed felt as though he could sense the malevolent consciousness in his mind as it commanded his body to do something he was horrified of.

He was not possessed of some enhanced strength or ability, unlike the rumors which abounded of those who fell victim to the mind control of those who were highly competent in the force. But it did not take much strength for his hand to reach for the knife at his hip. Again, Jedi desperately tried to scream out; to say ”RUN AWAY, WHILE YOU STILL CAN!” But the words would not penetrate past his lips. Instead, the knife would quickly be freed from its sheath, with his left hand jabbing hard near Danny’s hip.

​

 

[DECEASED Remmel Karsh]

7th post

FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE
117th Division

15th Company,"The Embers"

NIO: Cormac Thire Melvain Braxis Ivan Sienar Erin E-141 Jack E-138
Hiran Avola Murraea Pharo Morrow Jalter Volff Mav Ryburn TK-8867 Frajan Borjar
Gavyn Berand Greven Astor Aerys Myrrine Kinoan Anith Dorce

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast

BOTM: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Keilara Kala'myr Khamul Kryze
Erion Justeene Romund Sro Darth Kalyptos Subject 54 Havoc Electra-12
Kralmus Orr Darth Saevius Darth Ptolemis

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform
CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade
Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool

A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 2 (DEATH) - PART 12

Objectives:

• Hold the Line
• Die Like a Hero
• Make Your Escape
• Aid the Wounded

FOB: Belisarius, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)

<"Sergeant Cantrell, report. What is the strength and disposition of the forces assaulting the spaceport?">​

'Alright, lads. Ready up! Our Elites are close by.'

<"Wouldn't know, but rumour has it that our forces are vastly outnumbered.... Welcome back to the land of the living anyways, I know all this might be confusing but we'll make our proper introductions soon enough though. Ember Six out!">​

Standing ready as he Lazily leaned back onto the wall behind him, Ramon's helmet was clipped to his utility belt at the time, smoking what was looking likely to be his life's last cigarra as the other sharpshooters readied their loadouts for their last battle. Locked and loaded, bayonets fixed and helmets clipped on with airtight hisses all around him, but the Master-Sergeant was still trapped in the majesty of the enjoyment, understanding it to be his final smoke but regardless continuing to bask in it's bittersweet beauty - and all whilst the city crumbled in stark contrast.

<"Cantrell to Ember One! I don't know where you are, what you're doing, or even if you're still alive for that matter; just know that the Scopes intend to take the fight to the Mawites besieging the Spaceport, and we have Elites in tow.">

<"Keep fighting, Remmel. For all you're worth - keep fighting! Ember Six out!">​

'Welcome back, Sergeant one-four-one; I heard the docs patched you up good!'

Many of the Scopes were gathered at the gate, able to hear what was transpiring before they could see it, with some able to see Erin and Jack from atop the HASCO battlements; able to see their comrade before the others beneath and very much making a point of expressing their joy, and readying up the others as a result. It was time, and as the city was still falling to ruinous collapse around them, Scope platoon (and all the troopers gathered with them to sally forth from the east gate) were well and truly ready for an ultraviolent maelstrom, and ready to wield one of their own. And as the Tetan used his back to push off the wall-surface he was leaning on, all the Scopes would set to work in readying the gate in anticipation, excited anticipation that none were ever counting on experiencing so late in the battle - a forlorn hope that somehow felt more hopeful than forlorn with both Elites ready to fight alongside them.

'Phoaw, that's what I'm talking about, gents, a dead-set mark four! Show em' how it's done, Sergeant!'

Taking this as his cue to go and see them before they advanced on the spaceport together, Master-Sergeant Cantrell stepped out from the throng and made for the direction the commotion was coming from, but as Ramon was in the latter stages of closing the distance between them, one word was uttered by a trooper he couldn't see yet. Almost whispered, but still loud enough that Cantrell, Jack and Erin alike heard it with ease, the nearest Storm-Commando had muttered,'Freaks.', with enough ill-intent that just one syllable lashed their eardrums like a whip.

'Interesting.... Take your helmet off, trooper. I wish to see the face behind the remark.'

The Storm-Commando hesitated at first, but in seeing the Master-Sergeant rank strip, he knew he had no choice, obeying the order with careful, slow deliberation, almost anticipating what came next. However, it wouldn't matter in the end, as Cantrell's mind was already made up, though fortunately for the prejudiced commando, the Tetan's helmet was still clipped onto his utility-belt at the time. The only thing not adding to the tension was the fact that nobody else had taken notice beyond the vitriolic outburst itself, and to the extent that not even the Elites themselves had noticed Ramon's almost spectre-like subtle arrival, heard conversing between each other as Cantrell's quiet inquiry slashed the Storm-Commando's confidence to ribbons with ease. Then, as soon as the removal of the helmet revealed the sandy-haired human beneath, the Tetan saw his chance to act as according to his intentions, grabbing the top-rim of the commando's cuirass and headbutting the antagonistic trooper and knocking him out with ease an instant later, using momentum, weight and ill-intent to frightening effect.

'Sorry about that, 141. Glad to see you're alive, glad you made it in time for the finale.'

Turning round to talk directly to the Elites, the Tetan put his cigarra back in his mouth to smoke the last of it before speaking again, inhaling three draws and flicking it away as he exhaled the last, weighing the correct wording of his proper introduction whilst the the Storm-Commando writhed and groaned on the ground behind him. Though it angered Cantrell to rush the end of his last cigarra, time was of the essence, and none were quite so aware of the ticking clock as Ramon, Jack and Erin were in that moment. They were all poised to move, and troubled enough by the darkening general mood within the FOB that all three knew they were better off sallying eastward anyway, happy to veer off from whatever volatility such an atmosphere presented - even if it meant facing the possibility of a sooner assured departure in the process.

'My name is Ramon Cantrell, and I'm the one who answered your distress-call. I offer my sincere apology for taking so long, but we're here for you now, as we were then - and now we're ready to follow you both into the Crucible.... Shall we?'

A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 2 (DEATH) - PART 13

​

FOB: Belisarius, Western Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)

<"Cantrell to Ember One! I don't know where you are, what you're doing, or even if you're still alive for that matter; just know that the Scopes intend to take the fight to the Mawites besieging the Spaceport, and we have Elites in tow.... Keep fighting, Remmel. For all you're worth - keep fighting! Ember Six out!">​

'As all good sallying attempts ought to be.... Wish I could've been there to see it, but this is good enough.'

His ammunition was spent, and all he had was the bayonet at the end of his rifle, his Beskar bowie-knife, and the Beskar tomahawk he'd pried from the skull of his best friend. And yet, despite the fact the old Captain knew that all was lost, something was still urging Karsh onwards; keeping the warrior on his feet, in CQC-fighting stance, even as his foes closed in around him.

Glorious.​

But none of that would make any difference to the battered and bruised foemen who beset the Krieger before the moment of realisation, as each and every one of them were looking to repay every cut, scrape and gash in kind, and tenfold at that. It was time to die, time to let it all go once and for all, and gruesome though it was still fated to be, every ounce of the Krieger's willpower yearned for the quick release. And yet, an entirely-new circumstance would landed some distance ahead of the others, pushing ahead of the throng as he coldly remarked,'We will reach them soon. Break away, their leader is mine.', prompting a sizeable contingent of his subordinates to fly off in pursuit of livelier, younger prey. The sight the others would see as their jetpacks propelled theme skyward, as small as it would become before long, would be nothing short of iconic, like a fight that had been a long time in the making as differing postures painted different pictures in one.

'You chose the wrong field to die on, Imperial.'

One stood tall, with shoulders back, already assured of his victory, as the other, fatigued and poised from a low, knee-bent posture was sure of nothing any more, nothing but his own mortality.

This is the one, my real executioner.... The one who will send me on my way.​

Before the old Captain had any time to voice admissions of the fact the choice was out of his hands, and long before his boots first touched base on Noris' surface, Kryze's sword audibly snapped into it's active state, followed by the visible hue that caught Karsh's eye as he looked back up to his would-be killer. Faces would then be seen appearing across the front of Khamul's helmet as if by hallucination, firstly in a vision of his wife, then of his sons and his former commander, but then the faces began to sour his mood as they cycled into the last grimaces of the comrades Remmel lost along the way. In the minds of anyone else in Karsh's shoes, this may have broken even the strongest among them, but All-Heart was cut from a different cloth, readier to go out like a cornered beast than any other living Imperial that day - powerless but still fearsomely strong against the darkness that beset the very line between mind and matter itself.

'Die, dog.'​

Though the Mandalorian would be unable to hear the amiable snigger of agreement, the body language may have been there to read, almost as if the Krieger himself believed his last moments were more than feral enough to merit such an insult. Remmel's heart and soul were embracing the end that awaited at the end of Kryze's blade, but his mind and body wanted to make one last stand for the sake of his pride, his comrades, and the soul that was ready to embrace death meekly against the wishes of the man himself. With the sword slashing down at a diagonal angle, Karsh only had a split second to see the exposed flatside, and only an instant longer to react and counter accordingly, the old Krieger clenched his teeth and parried the blow with an outward, left-facing block that cracked the Vibrobayonet as it sent the offending sword careening out of harm's way.

'Ha!'

A simple switch in stance beneath the action would dictate which heel old Remmel would choose to launch himself with, pushing forward with a grunt as he threw every last ounce of his weight behind an attempt to stab through the weaker-segments of Khamul's Beskar'gam, but the latter was ready; dropping his posture and leaning into the blow, Kryze then let the stronger metal do his hard work for him, likely to be anticipating the timing of the blow to throw a counter of his own. As the Beskar and Durasteel clashed, the crack in the Vibrobayonet widened far enough to facilitate a shattering snap as soon as pressure had been applied on both sides of the impact-zone, a development of which that was distracting enough for both to give in to the surprise, but the desperate Imperial snapped out first - dumping the rifle and lunging for the Mandalorian's throat immediately after.

'A dog I am now-'

The Krieger's hands had found purchase, gripping around the Mandalorian's neck as his helmet-wearing head flew with weighty aggression towards the bottom side of Kryze's helmet, connecting his Plastoid headbutt with vicious intent as the head-protection the Mando swore by then bounced against the bridge of his own nose, forced to break in three separate spots from the external exploitation of physics and anatomy alone. Remmel wouldn't hope for much, but to see that the impact had sent Khamul reeling in a velocity-driven backpedalling reverse was good enough for the old Captain, and despite the fact the younger Mandalorian was still standing in the end, there was enough room to move. Yet more importantly, there was space between himself and the extremely powerful sword Kryze was wielding against him, space to speak his final words to a foe who still vastly outmatched him, space to make the realisation in spite of the early damage he had inflicted on the Mandalorian already.

'However, with this here Beskar bowie-knife, and the axe that killed my friend - I NOW RETAIN THAT ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME HONOUR OF DYING LIKE A MAN!!!!'

Repeatedly slamming the spine of the Beskar axe-head on the left pectoral of his Plastoid cuirass, Karsh then opened his arms out wide, firmly gripping his bowie-knife in his left hand whilst the tomahawk extended out in the firm grip of his right, taunting his foe as he silently goaded Kryze into making the first move again. All-Heart was tapping into something else by then, as the boisterous youth within would need to be stifled for the fight's closing segments, so whatever was standing proudly before the Mandalorian was something altogether closer to ancestral origins than before; seemingly primitive, primal, perhaps even deep enough that the Krieger was tapping into the primordial roots of humanity itself. Yet, more credence would be gifted to this notion as the old Captain threw his head back, inhaled aggressively through his nostrils and roared with the purest of adrenal furies, letting his voice echo with the joy of deathly wrath as his Mandalorian nemesis poised to attack again.

 

[Xuan Vo]

Location	Deep Space -> Outer Orbit
Enemies	New Imperial Order | Koda Fett , Ghorua the Shark
Allies	Brotherhood of the Maw
Equipment	Blaster Pistol
Ship	Jagged Maw
Supporting Ships	Several - Crucifix-II Handful - Ascendant mk-II Fighter Screen - TIE fd/H

"Ma'am, Marlon Sularen has requested that we direct the bounty hunter towards his ship." Her communications officer said as they typed away something on the on-screen keyboard, something which caught the admiral's attention as soon as she'd understood the ramifications of the order. "Wait, what're you-" Xuan started to ask, about to order the officer not to send the request to Koda Fett before cutting herself off with a groan of irritation. There was an echo of static across the bridge, the faint buzz of electrical damage from the ion blasts directed into the side of the destroyer by Ghorua the Shark . "There's a fighter unloading ion blasts into the side of the Jagged Maw, Ma'am." One of the engineers on deck said while another one cursed loudly right after. "The bounty hunter is walking along the ship's hull towards the hangar, I don't think he's on the Grand Overseer's good side." They added.

Slowly starting to get up, her eyes closed and nose wrinkled up with disdain, Xuan reached down to her hip for the blaster pistol held in place by the belt loop at her waist. "In the future, officer, do not relay messages out of this ship without first getting permission from me, understood?" She said, her metal thumb flicking off the safety on its side while she wiped its side with the palm of her other hand. "Ma'am?" One of the other members of the bridge said, to which she lifted a brow and answered with a questioning stare. "Keep the ship upright, continue pressing into the planet's atmosphere." Xuan ordered as she started towards the hyperlift that would lead her to the hall connected to the ship's hangar. "Understood." Her communication's officer said meekly, likely understanding where they went wrong.

"I'll be back before we have the surface in our sights, I need to deal with our.. visitors."

She frowned.

"And get someone to deal with that fighter, box them into the hangar if you need to or put a tractor beam on it - I don't care."

Then she was gone, the lift doors closing behind her shortly before the hiss of it carrying her down to the hangar corridor filled the bridge's temporary silence.

 

[Greven Astor]

GREVEN ASTOR - "SAXON ACTUAL"

New Imperial Order
Strike Team Saxon

Engaging: Kralmus Orr

In Keeping Secrets

Pain continued to sear through Greven's torso, causing him to tense up as he did his best to keep his head in the fight. At least, he managed to get one hit in. Their helmets clashed with a resounding thud, allowing Greven enough time to get at least some distance from his attacker. He could feel the muscles in his side tensing up from the pain, making it difficult for him to maneuver efficiently. He stumbled back, hoping to at least catch his breath for a moment. Despite this, that moment of reprieve would not come.

Greven saw the detonator as it flew through the air, though there was no way for him to reach it in time. He assumed it would land at his feet, either remaining a dud or taking him out in its delayed explosion. His intuition was wrong, however, as the detonator landed behind him. It was only then that he had realized the true cause of the detonator's malfunction, causing him to feel like a fool. He attempted a curse, only to find his body launched forward by the blast.

He slammed into the ground in front of him, his face now resting against the planet's soil. It wasn't close enough to take him out, but the fall had left his entire body aching from the impact. His armor was strong, and more than capable of cushioning the fall under normal circumstances, but the pain was heightened significantly from the wound in his side, the blood loss causing his head to begin to spin. He pulled his knife from its sheath as he got up to one knee. Greven stared at the ravenous harbinger of Death's Hand, holding the knife out in front of him defiantly as he remained on one knee.

If he was going to die, it was going to be with blade in hand...

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Engaging: DECEASED Remmel Karsh

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

Spoken Words of Venom

The slash cut toward the imperial's torso as black and crimson plasma arced through the air, only to be parried by the man's bayonet. The riposte came soon after as the imperial attempted to thrust at the weak spots in the Unchained's beskar'gam. Khamul wouldn't allow any such attack to find purpose, and soon the two blades clashed once again. Khamul refused to relent, channeling his hatred into the dread blade that he grasped in his hand. He continued pushing against the bayonet as Mandalore's Lament began to slowly force his opponent's blade to give way. The blade shattered, and Khamul hoped that would be the end of it...

It was not.

The man dropped his weapon, lunging at Khamul an grabbing him by the throat. A desperate tactic, but an effective one. The impact sent Khamul backward, his head ringing from the unexpected maneuver. Thankfully, his helmet held, and though his face would look worse for wear tomorrow, the Demon Mandalore was at least, for now, intact. He took a moment to get his bearings, staring down the man that remained ever-defiant. His opponent began rhythmically slamming the axe against his chest, one final act of courage as he stood in the shadow of the Demon Mandalore.

Khamul's rage began to boil within him once again, causing the Sarrassian iron that ran throughout his mask to glow with a deep crimson light. His blade followed suit, pulsating in intervals of black and red as the hate continued to flow freely through him. These damn imperials... a thorn in the side of progress, yet a thorn nonetheless. One that would be removed at the tip of a sword.

Khamul tightened his grip around the blade, his masked gaze falling once again on his opponent.

"Yes... a dog... AND NOTHING MORE!!!"

His jetpack ignited, launching Mand'alor the Unchained through the air, sending him straight toward the imperial that was so hellbent on defying the will of death itself. Mandalore's Lament cut across, aiming directly toward the man's neck. The momentum of the strike would be increased by the force of the jetpack, more than enough to sever the man's head from his body, and likely enough to send the head itself flying through the air from sheer force alone. This man would tempt death, but the brutal reality of the galaxy was one simple truth...

Death comes for us all.

 

[Cormac Thire]

T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
NIO | Ivan Sienar | Baxter Weyland | Gwyneira Krayt | OPEN
MAW | Rannan Kol | Skorge the Bloodied | Kyrel Ren

FINISH THE FIGHT
NORIS '75

THE WINTER CONTINGENCY
DEFIANT 'TILL THE END​

Nothing else mattered now. Life or limb, he would do what need be done. It was, in the end, looking like a one way trip. These moments of chaos and fire ever vindicated the weeks of agony leading up to it and the pit in his gut he felt the entire ride through the electric blue starfield of hyperspace they sailed to Noris. A proud Chiss world resorted to an abject waste, a symphony of agony and despair across the fields of mud soaked in the stench of death.

Little did Thire know the weight of his arrival. He crested the last step to pull himself into the view of the marauding sycophants defending the bomb, firing an automatic burst in their direction that sent several of them to the ground only for a brutal flechette to dig into the negative area between Thire's breastplate and left pauldron, jagged metal shrapnel digging into his flesh as he was sent back to the ground with a painful thud that only served to agitate the fresh wounds. He bared his teeth and clenched his jaw into the impact as he managed to keep a death grip hold of his carbine. A nearby trooper, his armor awash with mud pulled the Sapper from the pillaged earth and with the adjustment of his own weight he was back on his feet again.

The dark, bubbly crimson ichor running from the armorweave underlayer served as a stark contrast from the otherwise color-washed silhouette defunct of color around it. The stimulant and bacta auto-injectors served to wash away a majority of the pain and shock of the impact to put him back squarely in front of the mission at hand. The MOAB.

<"Cover me!"> He barked out in command to his troopers before he let his left hand slip from the barrel of his carbine and sprinted toward the bomb, ducking down and slamming his shoulder against the battered metal. He was just where he needed to be. He dropped his carbine to throw his pack into the mud from over his shoulders, grounding his teeth together as the violent, jostling movement aggravated the wound even more as he pried open the pack.

He produced a thermal torch, high powered, dangerous tool able to burn off the fastenings of the warhead compartments of these heavy duty explosives. The access panel hatch was tightly closed but it was nothing he couldn't force open. He activated the torch and began to sear away at the metal with a patient draw of the tool, keeping his head down and posture ducked behind the enormous explosive as he meticulously went about disarming it.

Though the true work had only just begun.

Blaster bolts and flechettes were screaming and shrieking mere inches from his head as he worked over the explosive, acting apathetic to the chaotic surroundings. He had to be the calm in the storm, to break down or be so easily whisked into the winds of war in a situation like this would mean his death. He had to act calm under duress with steady hands and an unbreakable focus.

As soon as he forced the panel off he was able to discern the activation system and mechanism of the MOAB. Of course, it was originally destined to be an airborne ordinance, dropped from a starfighter from high atmosphere, however, last the MAW did that it stuck out like a sore thumb for the Imperial Starfighter Corps to knock out of the sky. To deploy it on foot was equally as risky but, left matters more in their own hands and out of the whims of a lucky Imp ace. He understood the reasoning but, with him able to stare down the activation mechanism here and now, clearly something was at fault in that plan.

Well, at least, until he began to work.

The first step in any disarming procedure is to isolate the charge, the material by which the bomb would tap into to create its explosive effect from the activation mechanism to render itself. In improvised devises it was simple because the construction was crude, in artillery shells it was simple because all of its mechanism was analog and not remotely activated. But this MOAB was a fare more difficult prospect.

He set his hands into the mechanism again before a searing pain lurched from the gaping wound in his shoulder.

He darted one of his hands to apply pressure as he saw the dark red blood seep through his fingers. Were it not for the adrenaline or the peaking of his fight or flight sensations...he'd be conscious of the unavoidable fact.

He was dying.

But that didn't matter. The mission was sacred.

But the mission too...mounted and mounted to look more and more...impossible.

He discerned quickly that the bomb's mechanisms and systems were beyond his understanding or at the very least, could not be disarmed by the equipment at his disposal. He lacked the time nor means to truly render the bomb safe.

There was no hope of defusing it on the field. Its systems were layered in redunancies and hard coded locks and stopgap. He needed the remote control over the detonation systems to truly disable it...and that wasn't possible. Dejected, he turned and leaned back against the monolithic device, clutching the burning wound as he peered up to the plastered grey sky to the machines of apocalypse suspending in dismotion in the atmosphere above him.

Like reapers, omens of death, they loomed in the distance peering over the disastrous fate of the mortal peons beneath, the Mawite star destroyers.

The crack of the defense planetary gun within sight managing its procedure and firing another round in the distance might've been the last avenue Thire had to jog his senses fully awake before the slow, creeping march of death fully enveloped them.

There was only one true option left.

To mount the MOAB into the cannon...and shut close the Maw of the apocalypse.

To give them back their bomb.

He slowly rose himself to his feet once more, his shoulders rising above the silhouette of the device only to catch a blaster bolt to his head. All be saved, the stormtrooper helmet ate the blast and retained all function. He was hardly phased by the impact as he slowly rounded toward the back of the bomb.

<"On me...we're getting this to the cannon."> Thire said to the nearest troopers that accompanied him, managing to clear some ground to cover his disarming procedure.

<"Are you fucking insane?! What?!">

<"We're giving the Maw back their bomb."> He said, planting his hands into the back of the MOAB and offering a harsh thrust forward of the device along the paneled metal flooring, managing to move it a foot before the pain jolted through the fibers of his muscles and nervous system to yank him back from all-out exertion.

Another trooper joined his flank, letting the blaster rifle hang from its sling before Thire began a countdown, the blood continuing to gush through the armorweave underlayer.

<"One, two, three-!"> They pushed it again, a bit farther this time.

Not much left to go. Were they not in control of the device, whatever was left of the Legion Unbreakable and the Chiss they were supposed to defend would've been all but certainly felled by the devestation.

It was another few feet before they'd reach the access port of the orbital defense cannon's magazine and they could mount the bomb into the cannon to fire back at the Maw's dreadnought.

He could hear less and less of the chaos around him, honing in only on his breathing, his heard beat. There was only so much time left.

But all the same, there was ground to cover.

<"Again...c'mon."> He said before the pair pushed the device further along, easing into another heave forward wordlessly before Thire urged for a respite with a groan of pain and an intake of heavy, desperate breathes.

Every man had that moment.

It was something taught to him by his old man at a young age.

That moment where a man had to do what needed to be done, where he'd face the weight of the moment, knowing it may very well teeter between life and death, where he could walk away to fight another day...or do what needed to be done.

It was hardly a decision for Cormac.

As it goes between the bomb squad troopers, there was initial success or total failure. He wouldn't live to see the latter. He would expend every fiber of effort for this decisive aim or die trying.

But he could feel the inevitability in each pulse of defiance.

They pressed forward again until a blaster bolt bit into the head of the trooper at his side, sending him to the ground.

<"Corp- ...fuck."> The weight rested squarely on him again.

He pressed his hands against the heavy machine, grounding his teeth together as he tried to push. Strained bones and muscles refused to exert and he collapsed before the bomb.

One more push.

One.

More.

Push.

He thought to himself before he belted off a violent scream of defiance and managed to press it forward enough to where it could be mounted into the magazine of the cannon. Rounding it he made his way to the control panel, imprinting his security codes only for a flechette to bite into the back of his knee, sending him down he snapped back in the direction of the marauder, seeking to draw his pistol only to recall him offering it off to a trooper who later eight six'd himself with the very device.

Looks like it'd get two troopers killed today.

He dove down behind the bomb again as he reached for the fallen trooper's carbine and sent a burst center mass toward the marauder.

Slowly managing to rise to his feet once more, pressure on that shot knee threatened to make him collapse again as he stood behind the bomb, mustered the last of his adrenaline and thrust it into the magazine of the cannon to which the mechanical guiding arms locked into the place.

It was ready to fire.

After that moment, it all seized ahold of him and he fell to his knees again, catching his upper body with his hands before he totally collapsed. Slowly crawling his way toward the wall, he set his back against it as the MOAB was loaded into firing position, another marauder coming to sabotage the gun.

He took aim down his carbine to send another burst down range only to eat a flechette in the chest.

Another appeared, he brought him down as well to buy himself a moment's respite.

The last he'd ever have.

It was then, he peered down to set his hand into the newest wound.

The blood was nearly black, it was so dark.

There wasn't much left of him.

The rest of him was spent, on Noris.

He slowly pulled the helmet from his face with his other hand, turning it to view into visage of his truer gaze, the gaze of the Stormtrooper.

His features beneath it didn't matter. The life he led before didn't matter.

He was a Stormtrooper...one of the best.

And as the rest of his brothers and sisters in arms.

Defiant 'till the end.​

 

[Aerys Yvarro]

313TH STROOMTROOPER LEGION
"SABERTOOTH"

1ST BATTALION
1ST COMPANY

MYRRINE'S
"ASTRAL LIONS"

South of FOB: Belisarius


Gavyn Berand | Ivan Sienar | DECEASED Remmel Karsh | | @NIO
The Mongrel | @Mawites​

Berand and the 29th wouldn't be alone, as Myrrine and the 313th shored up on the right. By the time Karsh made the call the Mawites were all but spilling into the trenches. Their blood soaked into the ground beneath her boots, "PYR! HOLD-REGINA!" Fire, hold the crown - the line, they would hold, "Regina!" The Dosuunian term for Queen now symbolized the crown that was to be held there within the blood-soaked ground where bits of armor and shrapnel lay haphazardly. "We'll hold the line, you and your mates need to go!" Myrrine shouted to Private Berand over the cacophony of violence that swirled around them like chaos in a storm.

Whether or not he heard her, would remain to be seen, however, Aerys gave the order to her troops. "Fall Day, Regina Hold." A simple reference to when Sieger's First Order fell to the Ssi-Ruuvi and every matter of trooper raced to hold them so that the civilians could evacuate. Those with Myrrine and Mathur the other Dosuunian private were quick to form up. Myrrine by that time was oblivious to the fact that she was still recording for Barran. A clock to the helmet distorted the feed, but even through the noisy and grainy feed - he would see the crack of her rifle. Upward into Mawite chins and then the thrust of her bayonet.

A sharp cry of pain as she felt the stab of the knife into her back, the exposed joint where armor had fallen off. She seethed through her teeth turning around kicking back the blasted cultist and firing her rifle at him at point-blank. "NONE SHALL PASS! 313TH! HOLD!" Shouted the Daughter of Corellia and Galidraan who would take the last bloody stand against the fury of death that now approached her. "FIGHT THEM BACK!" The basic she spoke was marred by her deep Dosuunian accent, which of itself was a slanted version of Galidraani. Wave after wave, Myrrine was sure would be there to fight them to do as much damage to any Imperial that they could.

"FIGHT UNTIL YOU FALL! HOLD THE LINE! 313TH! HOOOOOOLLLLLLD!" The last word held out as she felt another, piercing pain - sharp to the same side, and her knee threatened to buckle beneath her. She elbowed back and turned on her feet - her fist meeting with the Mawite's palm as the cultist defended against her strike. A headbutt later, the devoted Mawite staggered backward as Aerys staggered forward. Mathur's blade appeared through the Mawite's chest. Not another moment to lose, Aerys' attention was drawn by the sound of more Mawites flooding into the trenches.

 

[Anith Dorce]

S L A S H
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SW OF FOB BELISARIUS | NORIS
ALLIES: DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Ivan Sienar | Erin E-141 | Jack E-138 | Hiran Avola | Murraea Pharo | Cormac Thire | NIO | @whoeverelse (there's a lot of you)
ENEMIES: Darth Solipsis | The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Khamul Kryze | Erion Justeene | BOTM | @whoeverelse (seriously)
ENGAGING: Darth Saevius
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Rifle | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Explosives loadout

THE CALL​

How in the hell did he deflect that?

Particle bolts exploded against the walls just before one came whizzing back at her. There was nothing else to do except dive to the floor without grace. The bolt exploded just behind her.

Rolling over, she was just in time to see the crimson blade coming down at her prone body with vehemence. The phrik-blade was literally just brought up and held in place to catch the saber as it came down. Not wasting time, she tilted her body in order to roll over just as the second blade extended, singing off a piece off the sergeant's pauldron and the graze of it biting her shoulder as it burned past and into the ground.

On her stomach now, Anith thrust out her free arm and the grappling line shot out of the vambrace, intending it to wrap around at least one of the Sith's legs. If successful, she would yank back on the line to try and pull him off-balance.

Either way, she would jump to her feet, blade at the ready. She had to stay alive as long as she could. There was no chance that Danny had gotten the other two out yet. Time. That was all she needed to buy. Just a bit more time.

"What do you think is going to happen, Chiss?"

Always so full of bravado - the lot of 'em. They had swept into Chiss-space with no intent but to destroy. They had taken so much away from people as far as they went. Now they would do that to the last homeworld as well, devoid of civilians as it might be at this point. Her own world suffered through it as well, her family destroyed.

No more.

She ripped off her helmet and threw it to the ground.

"We'll just keep getting back up, that's what. You'll keep coming, and we'll keep fighting. You can't take away our will to live free." she said, crimson eyes burning as bright as the Sith's saber.

"YOU CAN'T TAKE AWAY OUR DEFIANCE."​

Drawing her pistol once more, a switch was flipped and the sonic blast was shot at the Sith. Not wasting time to see if it hit or not, the Stormtrooper-Sergeant holstered the pistol as she sprang forward, the phrik-vibroblade slicing up from below, aiming to open him up from hip to opposite shoulder. One hand left the blade at the end to strike as fast as a viper to try and land a crushgaunted-fist in the Sith's face.

Please be on your way out, Danny.

She knew her time was running out.

She felt it in her bones.

Danny had Jed in a grapple.

Trying his best to try and pin Jed's arms, but the young man was, as always, strong as an ox.
"Jed, c'mon man! Snap out of it!" Danny gritted as they tussled on the ground.

Erin had just reached the duo when she saw Jed pull his knife. A shock went through her body and she dove without thinking. Grabbing hold of his arm, she let her momentum carry her over, pulling his arm along and away from Evans' hip.

Holding onto his arm, Erin tried to slam his hand against the ground repeatedly to try and get him to drop the knife.
"How the hell are we going to get him out of this?" she cried.
"One...FUCK!" Danny cried as Jed's free fist connected with his chin. "One of the Knights." he then gritted as he still tried to pin that free arm. "We need to get moving, Davies."
"Bit hard to do right now!"

A resounding shot rang out through the building.
"Shit, that sounded like Slash's sonic." Danny gritted. With that shot, he knew they were running out of time. Sonics were only shot in desperate times. Although it went against everything he wanted to not be by Anith's side while she dealt with a foe that seemed beyond their skills, he had an equally important task. He would want nothing more to get Anith out as well so she could see her sister, but the two Privates under his command deserved to see another sunrise as well - they had their whole career in front of them still.

There was only one thing to do.

"Jed, I'm sorry for this, mate!"
One hand released the young man's arm to be able to try and plant a fist to his subordinates helmeted head. He didn't hold back and the enhanced crushgaunt would definitely do it's job to knock out Jed upon impact.

He would not kill his brother in arms. Not yet.

Not if he could get him to an Imperial Knight.

 

[Darth Saevius]

Objective: Woken Furies

Tags:

Maw: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Khamul Kryze Erion Justeene Keilara Kala'myr

​

NIO: DECEASED Remmel Karsh Ivan Sienar Erin E-141 Jack E-138

​

Engaging: Anith Dorce

Location: The Shadows

Duel of the Fates​

As Saevius primed himself to land a killing blow upon his prone opponent, her grapple line found purchase around his left ankle. The move caught the Sith off guard, so much so that when she tugged on the line, it caused him to tilt off balance to the point of having to grasp the wall to remain standing. Without hesitating, he cleaved the line with a swipe of his blade, regaining his composure as Anith rose to her feet.

He could feel it; the barely contained rage bubbling to the fore in lieu of the fear that had almost paralyzed her. Her transformation into an ideal subject for his machinations was almost complete. It was only when she stood firm in the face of certain death, and uttered the following words that the tide appeared to turn in the engagement...

"YOU CAN'T TAKE AWAY OUR DEFIANCE."​

Suddenly, she loosed another shot from her weapon - but this one was very different. Saevius had only but a moment to react to the attack, his impulses guiding him to create a barrier in front of him of pure force energy. He had no time to duck, nor any time to even think about what to do. The barrier was raised just in time as the blast impacted against it, which resulted in a pronounced explosion of energy. The barrier failed just as the blast dissipated, but the force behind it launched Saevius back down the hallway nearly three meters, with his lightsaber skidding backward an additional two meters out of his grasp.

He quickly kipped from his prone position into a forward crouch, yet he did so once again just in time. The Chiss soldier had managed to close the distance between both of them in a startling span of time, with the Sith halfway wondering if she possessed some level of training or attunement in the force. Such thoughts were cast aside as he again had to act on impulse. His lightsaber sat uselessly out of his reach, with hardly any time remaining for him to summon it into his hand to deflect the blow.

He brought his left hand up defensively, just barely grasping hold of her blade with the force as it was brought down upon him. So close in fact, that the phrik-edge hovered mere millimeters from the side of his face. He struggled from the kinetic force behind the blow, as the seemingly diminutive Chiss female had thrust all of her weight behind the attack. He could feel her spirit deep within her - the determination to fight on despite the odds set before her.

The knowledge that this may well result in her death. A certain admiration flashed across his mind. He had spent much of his adult life in the pursuit of bending the will of others into his image. While he had secured the forces he required in so doing, none of his minions fought for him with the same zeal as this woman did, on behalf of her soldiers.

No, not just soldiers. Through his link with the one they called ‘Jed’, he knew these men and women were more than just soldiers to her - the name fixed on the surface of Jed’s mind identifying her as ‘Anith’.

No, to him, and to Anith - this was a... family.

Family.

The word hung in his mind with the veneer of disgust - of loathing. He had liberated himself of the bonds which constrained him from true power the moment he turned his own father into a husk of his former self. He would do the same for her.

Or, she would die.

They hung in the balance, in this struggle for dominance for only a few moments, but it felt like an eternity as both of them were locked together in this moment. Finally, his response to her heroic declaration would come in the cold, warped voice she had experienced earlier with a very simple statement.

”Watch me.”​

Saevius face contorted ever so slightly while he allowed his own emotions to flow through him, and give him power. He felt the rage coursing through her, the desperation in the hearts and minds of her soldiers down below - and he let it funnel through him like the lifeblood in his very veins. He tilted his outstretched hand to the side, guiding the blade down to impact on the durasteel alongside of him. In so doing, the blade was close enough to carve through the side of Saevius’ face, blood caking the blade, and streaking down the left side of his otherwise unblemished features. He let the pain wash around him as he allowed the blade to slide past.

Then, he acted. He opened the palm of the same hand that had moments prior held the blade at bay, throwing the full power of the force into her exposed form. Lightning burst from his palm, and as he opened the floodgate; through his very fingertips. The force behind the blow, if successful, would push her all the way down the hallway and pin her to the far wall. He used his other hand to summon his blade, and activate one end of it with a violent hiss. Then, he launched himself with the full might of his anger-fueled attunement behind him, the blade jutted in front of him with clear intent to impale through her center mass and into the wall itself.

Provided nothing happened within the gap of a few seconds to interrupt him, his blade would find purchase, and his eyes would glare straight into hers. It was only then that his anger subsided, and he had realized that he had chosen her fate himself.

A pity.

He would have enjoyed breaking her indomitable spirit.

Instead, he would have to find fulfillment in her final moments.

His face contorted into a bloodied, battered smile; the entire left side of his face awash in blood and crimson light as his own voice spoke once again: ”It appears our dance must come to an end. I will have to pay a visit to your little friends down below. And... your sister?” His grin broadened at the very mention of her sister. Danny’s words were heard by Jed as he chased down the other woman, this ‘Davies’, and therefore were a part of his own knowledge base as well. ”Perhaps she would be an acceptable servant of mine.”

If in fact his attack was successful, he would twist the blade as he said his last few words, his senses feeding upon whatever agony or distress he was able to cause in this moment.

​

 

[Kralmus Orr]

Location: Noris, Wartorn Trenches
Engaging: Greven Astor

Spoiler: TL;DR

​

The improvised attack went exactly as Kralmus had hoped; the shockwave of the grenade threw Greven to the ground, giving the cannibal time to get back to his feet. He wasn't seriously hurt; the only major blow he'd taken so far was the headbutt that'd cracked his visor, and that hit hadn't quite been strong enough to push his helmet back into his face, so nothing was bleeding or broken. He was winded, though, and bruised from his tumble into the trench. Without time to catch his breath and regain his footing, he would have been at a tremendous - and probably fatal - disadvantage. Now, though, he had risen. His armored boots squelched in the mud. His armor dripped brackish water.

Greven, on the other hand, was looking somewhat the worse for wear. He'd managed to get up on one knee, but was struggling to fully rise, the wound in his side where Kralmus's serrated dagger had slipped in still oozing blood. He'd fought hard, nearly killed the cannibal with that suicide grenade attack... but his strength must be flagging now, flowing out of him along that crimson stream. Perhaps he wished he still had his men with him, as they might have turned the tide, finishing the cannibal off. Or perhaps he was glad that he'd sent them away, because they would survive. Surely they'd made it back to Imperial lines by now. He'd traded his life for theirs, given them a chance to escape.

Kralmus didn't particularly care. His blood was up, thrumming with the fire of adrenaline, and all he could think about was finishing this fight. Greven still had a knife in his hand, and the cannibal knew he could use it; he wouldn't go down easy, even now. Scanning around, the Mawite Mando caught sight of his axe, which had tumbled from his grasp and embedded itself in the mud of the trench half a dozen paces away. Well, it didn't look like Greven was going anywhere in a hurry. He might as well get his primary weapon back. Circling around his foe, keeping his distance from the Imperial warrior's blade, Kralmus stalked over to the axe. There was a wet schlorp as he pulled it from the mud.

"You fought pretty good for an Imperial lapdog," the cannibal said, advancing toward Greven. "I'm sure your men will remember you, name their sons after you or whatever. I'll remember you for a different reason, though." He raised his axe, towering over the crouching Imperial, his reach with the long-hafted weapon far greater than Greven could counter with that little knife. "I'll remember you because you're gonna taste great." Behind his cracked visor, he grinned, his yellow eyes flashing with the anticipation of blood and death. Then he brought the axe down in a thunderous blow, propelled by gravity and his two muscular arms, aimed at Greven's collarbone...

 

[Anith Dorce]

S L A S H
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SW OF FOB BELISARIUS | NORIS
ALLIES: DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Ivan Sienar | Erin E-141 | Jack E-138 | Hiran Avola | Murraea Pharo | Cormac Thire | NIO | @whoeverelse (there's a lot of you)
ENEMIES: Darth Solipsis | The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Khamul Kryze | Erion Justeene | BOTM | @whoeverelse (seriously)
ENGAGING: Darth Saevius
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Rifle | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Explosives loadout

EXALTATION OF BATTLE​

Time.

Time slipping away fast now. Anith knew she would not be able to keep this man at bay for much longer. Keep him focused here instead of on her troopers. All she could do now was hope that they were on their way out. She had long since given up to try and listen what was happening on Imperial-wide comms.

All that counted was the here and now.

Before she could land her punch, time was ripped from her fingers.

"Watch me."​

An unimaginable pain slammed into her. Anith was flung against the wall a few feet away and held in place as electric currents scorched through her body. All the training in the world could not prepare you for pain of that magnitude.

Held in place against the wall, she could not even convulse. Forced to face the brunt of it with her full body was even worse. She was no transcended being incapable of feeling pain and not reacting to it. A scream was unceremoniously torn from her lips - her only means of giving release to the pain coursing through her.

Danny, while flinging the now-unconscious and bound Jed onto his shoulder stopped mid-turn from where he was about to lead them out of the warehouse. Anith's scream was bone-chilling and very very real. His entire body went cold at the thought of what it was she was going through in that moment.

He must have taken an involuntary step in the direction of where his OIC's screams were coming from, because Davies suddenly blocked his way, hand gripping his free shoulder.
"We need to go now, Sir."
In that moment, the horror of the truth spoken was crippling. He wanted nothing more than to race to his comrade and friend's side and help her fight off the monster that was torturing her. But over his shoulder hung a young man that need his help equally as much.

A silent tear rolled down his hidden cheek in that moment.

With immense willpower, he turned around and led them out of the warehouse. Once outside, he would turn and trembling, would call upon his best friend one last time.

<We're out, Anne. Send him to hell. AVE RURIK!>

The comms could clearly be heard from the helmet that was lying on the floor not far from the dueling pair, just as the currents stopped and the Force held Anith's pain-limp body in place against the wall.

Relief had the Chiss woman hang her head as tears of both pain and elation ran down her face. It was done. She could stop now. She could let go. Her friend would take care of those that remained.

But the Sith wasn't done.

One final blow. The crimson blade pierced her lower abdomen, pinning her in place, yet she felt nothing - the electricity having numbed her receptors. The bloodied face of the Sith smirked at her.

"It appears our dance must come to an end. I will have to pay a visit to your little friends down below. And... your sister? Perhaps she would be an acceptable servant of mine."

His words sunk into her fogged brain and horror took hold for a second. Of course he would. It's what the Sith and the Maw did best. In the wake of the realisation of what would come to pass, the horror made way for the feeling that has carried numerous troopers through both the Civil War as well as carrying them through this one.

Defiance.

"Like hell you are."

Her voice came out stronger than she thought possible in her numbed state. But that state did not stop her from unclipping the thermal detonator on her belt just as the Sith twisted his saber in deeper against her insides.

"You're coming with me, fucker." she smirked.

"AVE RURIK"​

With that, the button was pushed before the Sith would be able to react.

Her people were safe.

Her friend would take care of her sister.

So Anith allowed the vaporising flames to engulf her. She had done her duty.

Defiant to the end.

For her people.

For her family.

 

[Darth Saevius]

Objective: Woken Furies

Tags:

Maw: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Khamul Kryze Erion Justeene Keilara Kala'myr

​

NIO: DECEASED Remmel Karsh Ivan Sienar Erin E-141 Jack E-138

​

Engaging: Anith Dorce

Location: The Shadows

Duel of the Fates

"You’re coming with me, fucker."​

Up until this point, Saevius had, in a manner of speaking, basked in the triumph of overpowering his prey. Granted, she was no Jedi, or force user of note. But for some odd reason, he found a sense of satisfaction over watching as the life began to ebb from Anith’s eyes. Yet, that all changed rather abruptly.

First, the feelings he had sensed within her had shifted in a matter of moments. What at one point was the searing pain of her nerves frying in agony from the electricity coursing through her veins, to the dull ache of defeat coupled with the knowledge that she would never see her soldiers again, was rapidly replaced with a different feeling altogether. It was akin to the resolve she attempted to use to bolster her fear near the outset of the engagement; but was at the same time something totally new.

It was defiance.

Defiance is what led to the ultimate collapse of the Sith Empire. It stoked the embers of rebellion which erupted into the very ‘New Imperial Order’ that had laid waste to all that Saevius had known. He sensed that same level of defiance within her. And when those words escaped her lips, in an instant, he knew what was about to happen. Time seemed to slow tenfold in that moment as she brought to bear the thermal detonator, and her thumb flicked off the safety. Although his body urged him to run, or to try and push her away, he knew there was no time for such an escape. He realized this right as the words left his own lips.

”You little bit--” HIs words were interrupted by the devastating eruption of both fire and concussive energy which unfurled from within the explosive in Anith’s palm. The dull pain he felt from the slash to his face was nothing compared to the searing flames which now engulfed him. He had never felt the sensation of actual burning up until now. He had always assumed it felt similar to the effects of Force Lightning. That assumption was very, very wrong.

It felt as though someone had taken the sharpest, and most jagged of knives, and began to flay every inch of his flesh at the same time. At the moment of detonation, he instinctively attempted to replicate the barrier he had used prior to narrowly save himself from the sonic blast, yet it was too little too late.

Whatever barrier he could have made in that infinitesimal amount of time did not spare him from the pain, nor the damage the detonator inflicted. His vision was overloaded from the brightness of the explosion, and his hearing had faded and reduced to an overpowering ringing noise. His mind was fading, in part due to shock, and in part due to a concussion that quickly washed over him. His instincts, which never led him astray before, had failed him in the moment which had mattered the most.

For most, it would be a humbling experience to die such an ignominious death. But most people were not Saevius - a former Sith Inquisitor of the late Empire, and now a Lord of the Dark Side within the New Sith Order. He may have been awash with unspeakable pain, but for a man who normally went to such great lengths to keep his emotions sharply attuned at his disposal in measured bursts; he could feel himself being overcome with pure, unmitigated rage.

Both the pain and rage fueled his abilities, sending a “beacon” to those in the area, but most of all to those aboard his ship nearby. But he would not remain conscious to await his fate, whether it be a rescue, or a lonesome death.

Instead, a singular thought would remain fixed within his mind until he faded from the world as it stood - a name which was engraved upon the surface of his mind. He felt it on top of Anith’s too when she resolved to do what she did. It was a name he would carry with himself forever.

’Rose Dorcer'oseal'emui...’

Then, he faded. His fate would likely be decided in the coming hour of the madness surrounding him. But if he lived through this; however unlikely such a thing would be - he would find her.

And he would kill her, like he did her sister just moments prior.

~Fin

 

[Erion Justeene]

​

Objective: Pick a fight, win at all costs!
Location: Noris, The NIO Trenchworks
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM
Enemies: NIO
Tag: The Mongrel | Subject 54 Havoc | Romund Sro | Darth Kalyptos | Darth Ptolemis | Khamul Kryze | Electra-12 | Keilara Kala'myr
Engaging: Murraea Pharo

BOOM!

BOOM!

Mud flew from the impact point mingled with the screams of the dead and dying as the final push nears, there were shells everywhere crashing into mounds and caking everything in quagmire and plant matter. Superious had to turn his attention away from his quarry to push away a stray shell towards a hub in the far opposite trench.

He could have aimed it at the Imp, but it would have hit him too and he was too busy to die. He would go on his terms. That is what he figured out as he refused a new apprentice. He would never be at the height of his greatness if he had to divide his attention in half. Thierry was a decent apprentice, but it was not going anywhere, so they separated.

The shelling was coming in thick and fast; the loud explosions were the calling card of bombs, they are dropping bombs. This means he can't stay idle for long, there he noticed something, the Trench works were empty, at least this side of them. So, he will be able to secure something for The Maw, even if he wasn't part of the super major Invasion force. He'll need to correct this when he gets the chance, maybe after this Invasion. He may forget to by the end of it all.

Using the force, he made sure the mud obscured Murraea Pharo's vision so that he can escape or at least get around without being seen so that he can head to a bunker, not to shelter, but to commandeer, even if he too have to back out afterwards at least he knows he took over the trenches and fought with the fury of the dark side.

A shell hit nearby, covering the Ubese in thick mud and sending him stumbling a few feet across the trench and a severed head of an Imperial landing on the top of the trench he was in. Still, he refused to turn back, he used his Saber to burn off the security lock and took out everyone inside the structure, pity these were not a challenge, he hated easy kills, less fun.

He sent out a morse coded message to the Mongrel, it simply says, 'Trenchworks secured at the furthest point, advice on proceeding requested'. All he had to do is make sure he stays alive for the next fight that could come, he was ready for anything.