Private The Storm

[Pyppa]

The camp. It clung to the dusty stones for dear life. A mish-mash of tents and pre-fabs, filled with the leftovers and detritus from the Maw advance. Wherever and whenever they came, countless millions fled for their lives, trying desperately to keep ahead of the brutal advance. They all feared death... or worse. No people knew this more than the Chiss. Their homeworld, annihilated. Their race, hunted. Their people, shattered.

Pyppa had kept to this camp for a while. There was a somewhat sizeable Chiss refugee population there, easy enough for her to fade into. Nobody she knew or recognised, but there was a simple solidarity between them. The bonds between the people who were left behind, with nowhere to go and nothing else to cling onto. It had, for a few moments, started to feel like home. Maybe started to feel safe.

Until that day.

The alarm cut through the camp suddenly. Confusion pulsed through the refugees, quickly twisting into fear. Whispers of raiders, of criminals, of violent animals. Then, beyond them all, a piercing cry.

"It's THEM!"

The camp descended into chaos as the refugees grabbed what little they could. Pyppa scrambled into her tent, collecting her bag. Stuffing whatever she could inside, constantly watching over her shoulder. By the time she was back out, the pre-fabs were trashed. The tents half-ripped in the stampede. Nothing but screams and terror.

The Maw had come for them, again.

Kyrel Ren

 

[Kyrel Ren]

A decade passed and still the Chiss were hunted by the Brotherhood of the Maw. Forced to run since the Csilla Cataclysm, there were only two choices ever offered to the Chiss, convert or die. Even as the Second Great Hyperspace War carried on forward towards the Core worlds it seemed that no one was safe. Planet to planet, from the borders of the Unknown Regions to as deep as the Outer Rim. Some of them started to call the Maw’s extermination the “Annihilation line” always staying one step ahead, and the man that had took charge of the operation, Kyrel Ren would make certain that an example was made.

With another camp found the Wrath of the Maw was eagerly behind with his death squads. With the alarms blaring the first that emerged were the Crimson Hands, Stormtroopers only knowing in barbaric ways, appearing covered in blood, horns, and hide. They served as the Ren’s personnel army as when they came death followed. Wielding both hook and blade, they struck those that tried to defend against the monsters only to get cleaved in two, or sometimes ripped in half.

They didn’t hesitate to even start feasting on some of the corpses, as they began a senseless assault on the refugees carefully picking who died. Slowly what emerged behind the blood stained troopers was the Master of Ren, standing taller than his troopers, he looked to the carnage with an impassive face. Walking by as his men were devouring children as if it was nothing to the dark warrior. “Let’s not kill all of them… We still need to offer them a choice.” He said to the trooper commander, slowly going on to see what his carnage would bring.

Pyppa