Dominion Vinum Sabbathi | The Scourging of Dathomir | NIO

[Omari Cardon]

OBJ 1
Aemilio Valaar
CLOSE VICINITY: Kolson Vrask \ Aridius 'TK-1575' \ Nile Hark \ Knight \ Roi Lutador

ECHO-4
​

"Diamond Formation on me, let's move!"

The other men began to converge onto the Lieutenant's position to form the diamond-shaped formation. It kept them all close and bunched together, a good defensive move to a degree. All sides were covered, but they were all so close. All it would take to wipe them out is a loose thermal detonator that passes by and they're all gone. However, the chances of that happening on Dathomir were slim to none.

Cardon too started to take his position. He located the diamond and kept watch while he moved over. Then, a blunt object had hit him on the back. The force of the hit was so hard that it forced his rifle out of his hands and he fell right onto his face. The pain started to settle as he lay on the ground, causing aches of pain throughout his arms and legs. He tried to turn over to look at his attacker and to his surprise, he saw a Nightbrother cloaked in the shadows of the Stronghold. Sneaky bastard. The Nightbrother looked at Omari on the ground with a mean snarl and a tight grip on the club he brandished. He raised the club again, probably to deliver a striking blow, before Cardon kicked at the leg of the Nightbrother, making him fall to the ground as well.

He could feel the blood slowly trickling down out of his nose. His hearing had become a little faint. The right eye panel of his helmet had been shattered because of the fall. Heavy breathing came out forcibly as he stared at the Nightbrother. He had quickly gotten up again, ready to attack. The Sergeant picked himself up off of the ground and unclipped his helmet, throwing it to the side. At this point, the helmet would have been a distraction. Both Cardon and the Nightbrother did not go for their weapons but instead held up their fists. They were going to brawl it out, right there. Omari did a little gesturing motion with his arms. "You want to fight, huh? Well, come on!" He called out.

The Nightbrother came at him with a rushing right hook that the Sergeant quickly pushed aside, swapping the Nightbrothers advance for a right hook of his own to the left side of his face. The Nightbrother stumbled back a bit, but Omari left no open ground. He followed up with a strong uppercut to the chin with a left hook to match. The Nightbrother barely had any time to react. Omari went for a gut punch before the Nightbrothers knee came into contact with his wrist. The Sergeant grunted as he felt a little disfigured by the hit. The Nightbrother came back quickly with a palm strike to Omari's upper chest. He felt the air in his lungs escape quickly and started coughing immediately. And then, one after another, came the Nightbrothers assortment of punches and kicks, all of which struck Cardon. The Nightbrother sent a knee into his gut, which caused him to hunch over in pain. However, as the Nightbrother was going for an overhead hit on the back of his head, Omari saw the opening he was waiting for. He quickly regained his foot and sent a fist into the Nightbrothers jaw. The Nightbrother yelled in sudden pain, and the Sergeant did not spend any time hesitating. Left hook. Right hook. Duck into another strike into the upper chest region. The Nightbrother again stumbled with every hit and took every single one. Then, Omari grabbed the horns of the Zabrak and sent his face right into his knee. It was the final hit before the Nightbrother ate the ground of the Stronghold. But Cardon wasn't finished. As the Zabrak laid there with his body beaten, the Sergeant got on top of him and started punching his head repeatedly. He gritted his teeth. Anger started to swell within him, and he had an outlet to release it upon. Every negative thought that came to mind came pouring out with another punch. He felt the blood of the Zabrak start to cover his hands and face, but didn't stop. His punches got harder, his fist got tighter with every punch.

Every.

Single.​

One.​

Cardon was about to go for another blow to the head when a red bolt zoomed from the other side and hit the side of the Nightbrothers head. The shot started him, making him scramble off of the body and look for his weapon. He had found it laying on the ground and when he gripped it to see who was his attacker, he found one of the Staff Sergeants of the Black Hands staring dead at him. The Staff Sergeant spoke into his comm to relay what he had found. "Found him hounding on top of a Nightbrother. Beat the living kriff out of him." the Staff Sergeant replied. There was a bit of still silence before the Staff Sergeant began speaking again. "Yes, sir. I'll drag him back." Omari still looked at the Staff Sergeant from the floor puzzled and confused. "Come on, get up," Sarge replied, and Cardon followed it quickly. He took a look at the Nightbrother he had beaten to death and stared at his face. It was a pool of blood surrounding his head with an extra layer still seeping from the top. It almost made him indistinguishable. He then looked at his hands to see the red layer of blood slowly bead from his hands. It covered him from head to toe, the former white armor of the 501st covered in red dirt and Zabrak blood. All of this came at a realization. Dathomir had turned him into an animal. That somewhat tribal behavior came out of nowhere and caused him to lash out without any restrictions. He had become primal in nature. It was scary to think that a place of all things could cause this. But that was the unglorified nature of combat. It brought out a new person to fit the circumstance, one completely different from the regular version.

The Staff Sergeant grabbed Omari's helmet and gave it back to him. He stared right into the eye panels of the helmet, looking at the internals of it through the broken eye panel. "I don't need it. I hold onto it for now," Cardon told the Staff Sergeant.

"Now you know it's against protocol to not wear helmets in combat zones," The Sergeant replied.

Cardon stared back. "When have we ever followed normal protocol?" He replied back. He grabbed his rifle and slung it across his chest and started to walk, with the Staff Sergeant not giving him another reply as he knew he was somewhat correct. Seeing the group up ahead, he walked up to them with his eyes straight on the LT. The LT looked at him as the others did. They had more rooms to go before the Stronghold was truly clear.

"The left side is clear. Nothing else to report, sir," Omari told the lieutenant.

 

[Ghalric Rau]

B L I T Z H U N D
SPECTRE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
BEING A WITNESS FROM DOOR TO DOOR | DATHOMIR
TAG: Shai Maji | Open
GEAR: Armour | 2x Pistols | Sniper Rifle | Vibroblad | Vibroknife | Basilisk War Droid | Grenade loadout

WE DIDN'T START THE FIRE​

Blitz's elbow rested on the other arm that was still folded over his chest while he held his head, his lips cringely pursed behind his helm.
"Well that went swell." he said dryly as he watched the hut burn while Shai turned to face him.

He finally dropped his arms after she spoke and rested them on his own hips.
"If they don't comply, they get shot. Simple as that. The more peaceful negotiations are being done on the other side of the planet, Kid, if you want to join them rather." he said.
He had just drawn breath to continue speaking when a voice further down the street interrupted him.

"Leave this place, Imp! Your genocidal kind is not recognised here!" Her tone was deep and ominous.

Blitz very calmly turned to face the witch further down the street, hands still on his hips.
"Now that we got your attention - how about a compromise?" he asked, his voice projecting easily enough through the modified helmet.
"Why one earth would I listen to you after what you have done?" she asked.
"Because if you don't, you'll get summarily booted along with those Sith lovers that openly oppose us." he said simply. He should probably work on his sugar coating skills, but didn't particularly feel like tiptoeing around all the Force Users' fragile emotions.
The woman's eyes narrowed and for a heartbeat, Blitz's hands inched closer to the grips of his holstered Hybrids. He knew he did not have to tell the Shistavanen Mando'ad anything - she'll be ready regardless.

"Fair point. What do you want?" the matriarch finally asked.
"Who all are backing the Sith? Give me the information I seek, and you can continue living on your planet under our protection and terms and conditions." he asked matter-of-factly.
"Terms and conditions?" the witch asked cautiously, still rooted in her spot.
"Fight alongside us when we require. Accept the Iron rule. If you and yours side with the Nightsisters and the Sith, their fate would be yours as well." Yup, his sugarcoating abilities are non-existent.

She glared at Blitz for a minute.
"Well if you put it that bluntly, allow me to do the same. You are already surrounded by my Sisters. We got a much more compelling offer from the outside. Consider yours null and void." she said with the wave of a hand.
The lights in the street went out all at once. Instant, deep crimson darkness befell the area. The Hybrids were out almost simultaneously.
"Yeah, I thought as much." he said as his HUD immediately adjusted to full on night and thermal vision.

The Spectre and his companion had landed themselves in a heap of crap. Thermal shadows converged on the duo in unison. Without hesitation, the Imperial spread his arms to either side of center mass and pulled the triggers of the disruptors, dropping two fast moving shadows instantly.
"Look alive, Kid." he said over the comms to Shai before his jetpack kicked alive and launched him into the air, where he continued to fire down at the witches that were almost invisible now with the shroud of Darkness upon them while ichor balls and energy arrows were shot at the duo.

This was really going well...

NOT.

 

[Marcad]

G R E E N _ I N Q U I S I T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
DATHOMIR
STARRING | Atticus Draco | Gail Weller

More sulfur consumed his left eye, almost subduing the natural iris of his eye. Cewr was merciless to the Nightbrother warriors, it showed in his approach and how he handled his lightsaber as each strike meant a killing blow with rage behind it. Filling that bloodlust of his, an endless void as he would probably have all of Dathomir drenched in blood as a means to erase the Darkside.

And then there was that voice of reason from his fellow Knight. Completely polar opposite to him as he was not seduced by the Darkside that plagued Dathomir. If Ara was not here, he would follow the Whitecloak’s advice; sadly the seduction of the Darkside was too strong for him to reject.

The Mirialan’s eyes saw some of the Nightbrothers that were alive, yet injured around Aenarion.

Unacceptable.

His entire left eye was bright sulfur, and already another small pixel of sulfur came to his right eye.

“I thought,” his voice shaking with rage, almost as if a part of him tried to release himself from the anger that took hold of him, “I said to kill them all.”

His rage needed to find something to lash out on. A hand reached out and formed into a knuckle as he began to choke one of the injured Nightbrothers through the Force. Almost persuaded to lash out on Aenarion.

Murder...

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

Obj 1 - Nightsister Stronghold
Direct: Omari Cardon
Proximity: Knight Roi Lutador Aridius 'TK-1575' Kolson Vrask Mav Ryburn Nile Hark

At the front edge of the diamond formation while traversing the threshold into the Stronghold, Aemilio had to keep his attention on too many things at once. Witches in the distance, too weak to protect themselves from the ruthless Black Hands' disruptor rifles. When two corners of his formation had been taken down simultaneously, before heh ad the time to turn and regard it for himself, he was ushered deeper into the Stronghold by none other than an immediate ambush.

The stormtroopers that had blown the charges were launched at him, heavy bodies in any other situation, if he were not wearing the powersuit armour.

He was knocked off balance, tumbling to the side just as he got a wild kick to the ribs. He gasped, but her somersaulted towards the source of the kick, the wei9ght from the armour and his legs coming around the Nightbrother's legs saw that they were shattered beneath him. Upper body dropping down onto the alien, he didn't waste time with a rage induced beatdown.

In the back of his mind, it reminded him of that time on Circumtore's Moon. When the Draelvasier had him pinned in the command room, gargantuan hands threatening to burst and shatter his helmet. All before the then simple Lieutenant of the Five-Oh-First's 5th Company's 3rd Platoon, had gained the name of Black Hand.

His eyes dropped, in momentary worry to the Nightbrother's hands, but they were non-threatening. Weakly crashing against his forearms before his gauntlet closed on the throat of the Zabrak. All signs of struggle vanished a moment later, and by then, Valaar was already rising to his feet. Grapple cord launching to a nearby hostile and punching through the meat of their shoulder. Unbalanced, a split second later the Lieutenant dragged him right off his feet, just as another cluster came sprinting around the corner.

No time to go for his rifle, he spared no time going for his vibrosword either. Cutting the grapple cord, with an outward thrusting motion of his free limb, the flamethrower activated. Dousing the group with the flames of retribution before they reached him. The pain and anguish was deafening, but it was no different in other alleyways and streets of the Stronghold.

These Nightsisters, Witches, Force-wielding mages, they got what their weakness earned them.

The third point of his diamond formation was taken down, a groveling clump of armoured plates that clenched at the parts of his body were skin was exposed.

Echo-4?

Voidwalker questioned for a moment before a rushing medic eased the body over.

<"Sergeant Cardon."> He called on the proximity channel. He had been there moments ago, he thought, looking back to the gateway. The battle went on, and in the brief intermission he searched. Though it only lasted for a handful of attentive eyeing of trooper identifications in his HUD before he gave up. If he was dead, then he was another scratched out identification co-.

There was an answering call, not the voice of Cardon, but they confirmed signs of life all the same.

"Found him hounding on top of a Nightbrother. Beat the living kriff out of him." the Staff Sergeant replied.

"Bring him to me," he said.

"Yes, sir. I'll drag him back."

LIttle more than a confirming click was response, Aemilio turned back to the business at hand.

The subjugation of the Stronghold.

Already, servile Nightbrothers and weak Nightsisters were being dragged into the streets. Some executed on the spot, others arrested for some future use. He had caught word of re-education facilities from his contacts in High Command, but they were beyond his clearance of knowing if the rumours were true.

"The left side is clear. Nothing else to report, sir," Omari told the lieutenant.

Turning around to regard the Sergeant when he arrived, he saw the clutched helmet, the bruising form on his face, even the blood that adorned his fists. He was truly a bloody tool of the Youth Group. One of the first spat out from the Academies and to his command. The apparent approval however, was not extended outwardly.

"The all clear has not been given, Sergeant. Any other planet, and that helmet in your hands wouldn't fit on your head. Put it on, until I say otherwise."

 

[Atticus Draco]

W H I T E C L O A K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
OBJECTIVE II
Imperial Knight Armour | Lightsaber
Marcad
Proximity: Gail Weller

In the wake of his moves, the Nightbrothers were decimated, though still lived. The other half of them were slain by the Green-skinned Knight. He was the image of a remorseless killer, better fit for the jails underneath the Fel Redoubt than traveling the field of battle beside him. A crazed killer, it was unfit, he thought, especially considering their mission.

By the time the advance group had fallen or fled, it was just the two of them. Trees and rocks dotted his line of sight, but only by a few metres, the red smog that permeated the planet obstructed much of his vision. It was battle intuition and experience that saw him through every field he visited.

It was not long before the stubborn Mirialan's voice assaulted his ear drums again.

“I thought,” his voice shaking with rage, almost as if a part of him tried to release himself from the anger that took hold of him, “I said to kill them all.”

He would have been stupid to say he did not recognize the sulfuric glow that burned in the Mirialan's skull. He had seen it often in the gaze of Sith. He had often slain them without second thought, but the Inquisitor was considered a superior to the Knight-Errant.

And yet, the Codex was clear. His beliefs were certain, and the proof were the actions the Imperial Knight took.

There was a chance of him calming down once the slaughter was over. They could slay all of the Witches and their servants, and he would return to the calm control that was befitting a member of their Force Corps. But, on the other hand, it was possible that he would not stop killing. Aenarion knew the latter to be true, especially for those that succumbed to the Dark.

Feeding it, made things worse.

His hand clenched tighter on his saberstaff as he struggled with his path, his masked gaze following the Mirialan.

The final straw that triggered the White Cloak's move was Knight Ara's brief shroud of violent intention falling onto the Knight-Errant.

The short distance between them was traversed in the blink of an eye, the vortex of plasmatic energy that had been Aenarion's blade descending in a downwards slash to the outstretched Inquisitor's arm. The front beam on a clear path to cleaving his arm off at the elbow. Though the follow-through was evident, for as the blade came down, the path was altered to slash horizontally with the back blade that would see to cleaving him in half without a moment wasted.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

BLACK SABBATH
THE GREAT CONSPIRACY vol. I
Issue #3 w/ @Auria Blackmoore

"It better not." he hissed as she snapped away from his clutch. She was, from what he'd gathered, not from Dathomir. Rather from some witch coven elsewhere - Konrad had never bothered to ask much about her and neither did she really spend her free time narrating her origins to him. These were not her people. That misconception had to go if she was to be a true Imperial. After Ishida Ashina , losing another capable asset to an impotent religious cult would be more than just frustrating.

What lectures on identity and affiliation lingered on the tip of his tongue were quickly swallowed at the deafening roar from up ahead. Withered trees crashed like match sticks in the wake of a colossal shadow.

Auria's fireball came in contact with the beast's thick hide, barely did anything to it than scratch an itch, and both Imperials lunged left and right away from its ravenous charge. Rolling into a crouch, he unsheathed the blade from the sheath on his back, sizing the beast in the process. Far bigger and uglier than it looked in the books.

"Great! It brought company!"

"Stupid witches and their repulsive pets." the assassin murmured. Orbital bombardment had truly been the right choice after all. Wipe out this useless planet from existence.

The equipment in his utility belt was vastly varied, carrying tools and gear to tackle almost any threat but as he mentally went through his inventory, Konrad realized that even if his blade could cut through its hide it was not long enough to reach anything vital. The size disproportions were staggering, really. Digits briefly halted on a gas pellet. It could knock out large creatures but the bigger they were the longer it needed to anesthetize them. And then there was the case of a post-action witch tirade he wasn't keen on suffering through.

The cryoban pellets were another option but with that ceaseless stream of fire coming out of Auria's hands, it seemed like an asinine play. But the second rancor was still further away and not in her spraying crosshairs. Plucking at the pouch, he produced three of the pellets and hurled them at the upcoming monster's feet. They exploded with an icy bang, planting the beast in place with its feet carbon frozen. It took the rancor a few blinks before it realized it could start chopping at it with its massive limbs. That should give the two a small breathing window to deal with the first rancor pursuing the witch.

In a blur of speed, Konrad rushed at the hideous monstrosity as it chased Auria through the grove and lunged atop its back. Its endless wail of pain from the walking flamethrower kept the assassin off its awareness. He was but a fly in the great scheme of things. A fly with a scorpion's sting, though. Electricity crackled to life around his gauntlets before the current went down into his blade as he plunged it into the rancor's back. High voltage surged through its vast nervous system, slowing down or completely baffling its response, slowing its pursuit and limbs twitching incoherently.

Sheer rage tore through the beast and one limb escaped the electric chaos, wiping Konrad off its back into a tree. The assassin crashed through its decayed trunk and tumbled into a crouching position. Teeth clenched against each other in pain. It felt like being hit with a hammer the size of a speeder.

"More fire, idiot!" he barked out noticing the other rancor was on the verge of escape and hoping she seized the moment against their first beast. If her spells couldn't melt a stupid beast, what use did he have of her?

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 4 Father and Son
Nearby: Detritus Ren

The Wrath of the Maw had long since missed his old world in some way. Kyrel never expected to be back to the world of Mist and Witches, and when he did return he found the world to undergo the same destruction as all that would face the Maw. While true that the Maw had arrived to this world, Kyrel could say that it wasn't the only ones taking part atrocities. The New Imperial Order had other plans, just as similar Sith Holdouts, those that gave resistance to the New Imperials were not met with mercy. Kyrel wouldn't expect anything less given his former First and New Imperial ties to it. Instead he watched from the shadows of the mists, watching as stormtroopers and imperial warmachines carved through the witches and the Zabrak kin as if they were nothing.

In a way it had all brought joy to the undead monstrosity. Yet it wasn't the wanton slaughter that Kyrel had sought out. He had no use for Dathomir beyond personal feelings, just like Mustafar it was a sanctuary for a time. No, what brought Kyrel here was a tremor within the Force. Something of which he hasn't felt in many years, and some of that feeling he has long since forgotten to an old life. Something that hadn't resonated so deeply, it eeriely reminded him of the last time Kyrel was around such progeny of his own. That familiar feeling is what had brought him here, as if something was seeking him out, and in turn wanted to be found. Guided by the will of the Force he just followed that path, until it came to a familiar temple.

All around the temple, signs of battle were shown. A few bodies of nightsisters lay strewn about on the steps, as if they were crushed via the Force. More laid along his path as he continued to approach with heavy steps. Much to his surprise he found more bodies given saber wounds of the like. He ventured deeper into the temple, all around him more and more bodies began to pile up. Signs were more clear that it wasn't a battle but more accurately a slaughter fueled by rage. Nightsister young or old were spared, and in violent rage they were dispatched in sights too gruesome to describe.

The hall of carnage finally met it's peak when he saw a being. Someone similar to him when he began his darkness through that of a suit. It appeared the man was enclosed in such similar designs. The robes themselves were all black, the gauntlets carried darkness, lit up in violet lines. Some mysterious power emitted around him. Getting a closer look at his face, he noticed a resemblance of sorts. His face pale, sickly looking, veins popping out as if under extreme dark side corruption had taken hold. He looked out, and called Kyrel Father.

Kyrel stood before him, all of it seemed as if Deja Vu to him as he recounted a similar time when he created a daughter. Now this man, this Son called him Father. He felt nothing, no joy, no sorrow. He was utterly indifferent to it. Even when he spoke his voice carried no joy. "I knew this day would come... Our long awaited meeting has come at last Jin Kyrel..." He said as the looming shadow stood before him.

 

[Michael Barran]

POST #5
OBJECTIVE 3: BYOO
DRUIDIC_LAIRD
TAGS: Khaostra Devoid

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: FRAGARACH DISRUPTOR-PISTOL
SECONDARY WEAPON: PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: BACK TO BASICS - MICHAEL'S WALK THROUGH DATHOMIR (PART 5)

Does the Dathomiri champion know?​

Of course not, Sàmhchair. Much too foreign to know, same for even oor closest neighbours in the galaxy.

Impressed though man and inner-voice were by Khaostra's revelation, this only served to cement the recurring theme of Cairnsmen declaring war on Witches, also showing plenty reasons why Donn would be interested in whatever Death-god this Dathomiri prayed to in the process; all of the puzzle-pieces began to click together, but the warning in and of itself worried the celestial raven for a moment or two, prompting the question of whether Devoid had known of the Goidels' long and bloody history of war amongst themselves. However, with all that left unsaid, Barran decided in his disdain for secrecy that he'd impart at least some insight on his conviction to see the blood-feud through, lighting a cigarette and tossing the match into fire between them as he thought on how best to respond. It was obvious that this was what both Michael and Khaostra had wanted since they met for the first time, though none quite so obvious in their conviction as the Wanderer was in that moment, with pupils dilating steadily as he eventually replied,'I know I want this.... Nearly a thousand years of total warfare between Goidel clans, an' it wasn't even five years ago that peace was made on my home-world.', pausing to enjoy a little more of his cigarette before continuing.

'War - is set deep in the very bloods of our peoples, Khaostra. Two sides of an eternal coin, an' our cultures' death-gods are also resolving to annihilate each other.... Interesting, isn't it? Old, animistic spirits made physical, battling it out in a realm we can neither see, hear nor touch whilst our hearts still beat with weak, corporeal pulses. In other words, what I have set into motion extends way beyond our families now.'

If the fight between gods had ended in Dathomir's favour, Michael would be doomed for all eternity, if the fight had ended to Dathomir's detriment, the Woad would've sooner grown too powerful for the Howling Crag; but the strangest result, and oddly the one everyone was half-expecting, was for the fight between gods to end in an inconclusive draw. If such an outcome was to transpire, then this blood feud between clans would likely draw a bloody line between pantheons of Shamanic and Arcane nature, taking the war between the Barrans and the Howling Crags to heights that neither cultures had ever known before - and leaving one or the other in dusty ruin by the time their feud had reached it's conclusion. The preparation, on both sides of the war between the two cultures, was finally being put in place, and it was plain to see for both opponents that their counterpart was verging on ecstatic, more eager than ever to get each other out of their heads once and for all.

'You're probably still wondering what makes a young nobleman declare a blood-feud on such a powerful race of beings to begin with, an' how it ended up becoming such a natural act to endeavour the impossible in such a suicidal fashion. Well, to put it in the best way possible-'

I see now why you wish this one dead, Cairnsman. Another arcane clan o' witches you should be slaying, aye?​

Taking another drag from his cigarette, then pulling his pack out to offer one to the fiery-eyed demigod, the Woad calmly exhaled as his gaze returned to the Dathomiri, letting plumes of smoke precede his insight into warlike clan-history as his stare softened to a curt, overall-sociable demeanour, putting the tension to one side as the winds rushed and battered against the hills outside. The Second Great Hyperspace War was already shaping up to be the wildest the Galaxy had ever known, and after his experiences on Carlac and Lao-Mon, Lord Michael couldn't help but dispense with the taunts and the ultraviolent thoughts for the sake of making the greatest rivalry in his life official, for the sake of binding a perfect opposite to his soul in the (soon-to-become) eternal struggle between cultures. As the young Laird exhaled yet another drag from his cigarette, he smirked once more, nodding respect for the first time as he said,'Many of these Goidel clans I speak of, such that mine own personally wiped out along the way were actually witch-covens, an' one of such originally ruled the Woad-Macushla for a time, holding out against any an' aw Cairnsmen who dared step forth to reclaim the bones of their ancestors.'

'An' not only did my lowly ancestors step forth to reclaim the bones o' their Sinn'searann, they called forth the old gods for guidance, an' slayed every last witch an' warlock who dared stand under the green Sawney banner! We awoke evils ancient an' new that day, an' fought on for twelve years afore we brought the clan wars to reason again - annihilating the world's dark ones so we could wage wars with other men once more, an' for almost a thousand years after that fateful day.... We're ready for you, Dathomiri. Hilariously outnumbered though we are, but we most certainly were born ready for challenges such as these.'

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL MILITARY ASSISTANCE GROUP
SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND | 1st GROUP | 'VANDAL' SQUAD
OPERATION BLACK SABBATH
Aridius 'TK-1575'

NAPALM
DATHOMIR
​

They were just settling into the rhythm. Huts and degenerates burning at the end of blaster bolts and ordinance. Hulking heavy metal washed away whatever dark mystique and horror this world had in store for them. The savage world thought unclaimable was buckling quickly under Imperial might. At least, in this specific peer into the scope of a greater conflict. This garrison was trembling like a grieving mother given a wrapped flag. Kolson was glad to let the 501st Units carry the heavy brunt of combat. They were the Imperator's best, as much as they'd already seen extensive use in recent days, the Sith Empire, the Maw, the newest of the brood needed their testing of mettle. The Commandos were there purely to ensure this operation went as damn smoothly as it could've.

There wasn't any reason for a tactical disaster here, as formidable as the Night Sisters were, they were still bred and raised among the Sith, which mean't- as much as they could display savage power, they could match it in equal with petty groveling and deceitful cowardice. Perhaps that was why in all the Sith Empire's long reign of terror over massive swathes of the Galaxy, it wasn't the ever patient and ever forgiving Jedi who were keen to slaughter Sith troopers by the dozen to try and redeem one of their vaunted Lords on the field of battle, only to be cut down in kind themselves.

No- it was the Imperial who ended the reign of terror. The reign that saw about the vicious bastardization of their principles and philosophy in fetishist obsession to whatever Sith of the season managed to claim the title of Dark Lord or Emperor. Kolson couldn't even remember who was last. Prazutis? Carnifex? Who the hell cared. As the troopers moved on past him, the bloodied Kolson was content to lean back and take in the sight. He reached up under the chin of his commando helmet, prying it off his head as he took in the fresh smell of smoldering gore and smoky tibanna.

With the distant thunder of total war the lullaby symphony of destruction, he slowly made his way up to the ramparts of the fallen garrison. Well within view of the continuing battle, he sparked a cigar and brought it to his lips. After months spent at command, managing other field operations on behalf of IMPSOC and IMPMAG, it felt good to be in the thick of it again, a calm in the bloody, smoky storm. He could only hope there'd be more of this soon.

 

[Khaostra Devoid]

Post: 3
Objective: Funeral March for Dathomir
Location: Dathomir Howling Crags, Cave Near Abandoned Howling Crags Village
Equipment: Red Midnight Duster | Red Sith Armor | Sith Mask | Grav Boots | CrushGaunts | x2 White lightsabers | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | Variety of Explosives | RSKF-44 heavy blaster | X-21 shock glove
Tags: Michael Barran | Lord Letifer

​

Khaos looked into the flickering flames as he spoke on of his reasons and desires for this war and feud. As spoke a slight flicker came to the flame and a ghostly image only Khaos could see stepped from it. The flicker of blue that stuck the flame for the briefest of moments as the man lit his cigarette was the only indication that someone knew had eyes upon this meeting. The Image spoke out to Khaos as she stood there listening to Michaels need for this fight.



“He really wants this; he is truly fanatical about it his Gods must love him a righteous pawn.” The tone the image that now stood at Khaos’s side spoke in, of God’s was dripping with sarcasm. “I wonder if he realizes yet, that his gods and our gods are probably one an the same and they just want to play their sick little games.” The image moved around Khaos backside to her other side and then moved through the flame right next to Michael so close she could have easily whispered into his ear but quickly it pulled away. It started to move around looking at all the materials that had been used in the ritual that had been held here not too long ago.

Khaos just watched her aunts projected image move around as she listened to Michael speak. Sending a mental thought to the image. “I came to warn you of New Imperials arrival.” The Image nodded at the words as it continued to look around. “Most of our people returned Necropolis awhile ago, there is only a handful of us left here. Even after the Sith’s defeat we knew it wouldn’t be long before the Imperials descended on this world. We wondered if the Sith Witches would stay and fight for it, but like the cowards they are they fled into the nether."


The Image didn’t face Khaostra but instead knelt down near the fire peering into it. Noticing the stem of a something left behind. The image stared for a moment looking with a very curious look drawn on their face. “This Imperial has made a pack of some kind, dangerous magick. Death or soul Magick if I am reading the signs correctly. Also Melarria's Root, powerful hallucinogenic never tried it myself know a few people who have cant say they were the same afterwards.” The Image of Ryn remarked as it stood up and moved back to Khaos’s side.


“He wants a feud or war, I guess you have two options here. Go with the rebel’s path deny him what he so desperately seeks let denial eat at him like the worms eat at corpses. Go with the path of Despair, give him his war let him lose everything. Lone Wolf I honor your chose and will stand by you, even if that means I will have to talk to your damn mother again.” The Image let out a sigh at that thought, oh how Ryn hated her eldest sister Tegan.



As Michael words finished and the image of Ryn began to fade away telling her that they would meet up again soon as Ryna had some business to attend to in Confederate space. Khaos attention was returned fully to Michael. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes chewing on his words staring at him through the flames. She was thinking over his words and the advice her aunt had just given and the permissions she had just given her.


“You aren’t even close to ready; you have no idea what my people are capable of.” Khaos said in all seriousness a hint of sadness in her voice. “Your declaration is accepted may the gods have mercy on your people’s souls.” With that Khaos turned to leave as his declaration was accepted and she knew from Rn’s confirmation they were leaving the planet.

 

[Enlil]

They do not respect kindness.​

​

Of all the things that Enlil had learned as a Warlord in the New Imperial Order, the hardest to face was the departure from general human action. Moffs and world leaders in the Imperium by and large lacked for anything beyond personal aspirations toward power. Those who wanted to expand the reach of the Empire did so to line their own pockets, or to expand the scope of their own control. They balked at anything which deviated from that common mendacity. When someone wanted to bring forth the truth, they sought to smother it. He was so, very tired of fighting against that crushing tide. It had robbed him of sleep for months. Even where people still loved him for his actions, a score more still conspired against him in the shadows.

They respect only strength.
​

It became clear after the death of Ravraa that the more radical elements would not simply stand by while their plans were foiled. When Enlil took actions, they responded with force of their own. The death of a sociopathic murderer, or the embargo on trade with Prefsbelt, both were met with exceptional displays of disharmony. This was not the singular Empire that they strived to build.

The trek toward where the Iron Imperator awaited left him alone with his thoughts. Every step echoed through a hallway lined with Stormtroopers who did not stray even a centimeter from their post. They spoke only when addressed. Their faces were uniform masks, in keeping with Imperial doctrine. These people craved sterility. They did not want to consider the human element.

He saw his face reflected in a panel, and the bags beneath his eyes called him back to his final memory of his father. A man too tired, too seized with making life good for his people and not enough with leading them. He watched the tired eyes of the King close for the last time, and realized that he was on the same path. Worked to death, with ingrates who did not respect him at his funeral. The Grand Vizier found sobriety in that imagery.

No.

He looked on the face of Rurik Fel with a tired smile. Today, in those next few moments, he would finally put that tired King to rest. "Imperator." He greeted the man stiffly. Theirs was still not a firm bond, not the relationship he had with Tavlar. They were wholly unknown to one another save for several appearances on the killing fields. "It is well that Bastion is finally in a place where we can meet like this. A testament to the might of our Imperium."

What will I show you, Rurik Fel?

What will you see in me?
​

"Barran counseled me to make myself scarce in the days that followed Tavlar's death," he wasted no time cutting through to the meat of things. "And as things have played out, I fought with myself and acquiesced. To the detriment of the Empire. For that, I have no excuses to give."

Enlil's eyes were closed as he recalled the faces of those men who hated him. Jaeger Harrsk. Carlyle Rausgeber. Surely, there were more who he did not know. There were always men who did not agree. There were always those who dissented. "I came here today to give the people the assurance they needed that our resolve has never wavered. Nor will it. This Empire wants for unity. It is past time I work to deliver it to them."

He looked past Rurik. The chambers were familiar, yet foreign. In the time since being ordained as the new Imperator, Fel had brought his own image to them. The Grand Vizier smiled at that. Change was inevitable. Enlil placed a hand on the desk, still the same sleek, hard, cold metal. Austere and sterilized, so much that it shined.

"Rurik, we all have visions for what we want the Empire to be. Perhaps that is why we struggle to blend them together. Everyone wishes to leave their own cut in the fabric, not mindful that they may shear away the proper shape and fit of what we aim to craft." He glanced back toward the man, his smile almost sad. "You labor to bring order to the stars. I am a more modest man."

"I want order for men, women, and children of the Empire as much as I want it for those we have yet to reach. I want peace and prosperity, under the Iron Sun."

And only now do I truly understand what that means.
​

"I have tolerated, and taken part in dissension for too long. I wish to entreat you for permission to abolish warlords and establish a Moff Council in earnest." His face gradually transformed into a deadpan as he spoke, gravely serious. "I want no more room for interpretation, and no tolerance for derision. And I will commit to that to you right now, with this."

Enlil wore a satchel over his shoulder from the address all the way to this meeting, but no one had asked him about it. When he finished speaking, he pulled something gray from within, and unfolded the Imperial uniform as he slide it over his previously uncovered torso. Now clad in proper Officer's garb, he folded his hands behind his back and stood for Rurik Fel to look him over. His gaze fixed straight ahead.

"I formally submit myself for inspection, Sir."

Rurik Fel

 

[Shai Maji]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
RECRUIT SOME WITCHES | DATHOMIR
TAG: Ghalric Rau | Open
GEAR: In bio | Basilisk War Droid | Grenade loadout

WOULDN'T IT BE NICE?
​

Shai glared at him with annoyance over his pestering for a moment. "Nah, I think I'm good here. You might need to go, though, wouldn't want to put so much strain on that heart of yours." She snickered as she looked around. She was about to make another comment on his rather advanced age but an ominous voice interrupted them. A rather decent reminder that they were there for a reason.

Didn't mean that the mission was going to go swimmingly.

She watched him take point with the negotiations and started to think that maybe it was worth getting between them before things escalated. Unfortunately that chance flew out the window when the matriarch didn't exactly like Blitz's offer. "Ah kriff, here we go." She grumbled as the lights blew out and darkness fell around them. "This is just bull, honestly are we seriously gonna struggle with this?" She groaned as she switched to thermals and drew her pistols. She joined him with her jetpack and blew upwards after him. "I take it we can say this negotiation didn't go smoothly?" She asked him.

Her pistols fired one round after the other, but as the witches adapted and adjusted, they got harder to hit. With a growl Shai came to a halt in the air and hit a button on her vambrace. "Kark this I ain't gonna struggle with this." She grumbled. A hiss started to come from the Basilisk, soon followed up with the buzz of its rotary cannon as it cleared out the entire main street of the little town. Yellow bolts sprayed forwards and lit up the area while the bolts tore anyone and anything apart with its explosive yield.

Shai touched down on its back and simply watched with a visible cringe hidden behind her T-visor as the Basilisk tore the place apart. When it stopped firing, a silence laid over the town for a moment. "Next town, then?" She asked with a nervous chuckle.

 

[Michael Barran]

POST #6
OBJECTIVE 3: BYOO
DRUIDIC_LAIRD
TAGS: Khaostra Devoid

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: FRAGARACH DISRUPTOR-PISTOL
SECONDARY WEAPON: PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
SECONDARY BLADE: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

PROVING GROUND: BACK TO BASICS - MICHAEL'S WALK THROUGH DATHOMIR (PART 6)

We're not alone. And neither is Donn.... It has begun, Cairnsman.​

'You aren’t even close to ready; you have no idea what my people are capable of.'

Breaking the silence after a few minutes of introspection, one such that Barran honoured with a thoughtful silence of his own, Devoid's eyes searched his own for a sign, a clue, even the slightest hint of a tell that his breed could go the distance and meet the Howling Crags in the middle every step of the way; and though she knew this man to be a proficient killer and a budding strategist, seeing his power for herself when he force-choked one of her subordinates on Lao-Mon, Khaostra still couldn't see that near-demonic level of conviction required to match them at every ebb and flow of the impending clan war. However, it wouldn't be long before Lord Michael made those thoughts a mutual opinion, as a slight shift in emotional expression would raise eyebrows once more, further taking the adversarial edge off the nature of their parley as the reality of the situation steadily began to weigh heavily on both Woad and Dathomiri alike.

In that moment, Erskine and Khaostra knew they'd remember this day for the rest of their lives, understanding with absolute certainty that their fates had been in celestial hands since long before they first crossed each other's paths.

'Your declaration is accepted may the gods have mercy on your people’s souls.'

Detecting a hint of sadness in his opponent's voice, Lord Michael took the raven's notification into account as his gaze searched Khaostra's, seeing it as hubris all the same in the beginning, but realizing soon after that she understood the sacrifices that were being offered up on both sides of the Barran family's first proper clan-war engagements in almost forty years. Assuring eternal war on the Howling Crags, though it would surely infuriate Lord Erskine to no end, would cement the Goidelic peace between Clans Thrast, Gowrie and Barran for what would be a thousand-year truce as a result. The Woad-Macushla, in all their farthest-travelled prestige over the the other two Goidel tribes, would rally all their neighbours together once more; a Barran Cairnsman had risen to his ancestral mantle for the first time in centuries, bearing great significance in their efforts to retake Cridheachan province, and great significance in their will to annihilate any and all witches who dared to stand against the Woads' ruling clan.

'If the Barrans aren't ready, not so sure the Crags will be so ready either. Perfect feuding conditions really, couldn't ask for better.... But in any case, you have my thanks. Keep an eye out for a double-spiral symbol in the future, for that is where we claim our duelling arena.'

'See you soon, Khaostra.'

 

[Auria Blackmoore]

TAG: Konrad Harrsk

O~~>BAD RELIGION<~~O​

"More fire, idiot!"

Auria pulled a face. If he was spewing insults like that, then he was fine and not hurt enough. It was probably a good thing. But that also meant she had to sit through more of his idiocies on a daily basis.

With a sigh, she pushed her abilities to the limit. The inferno intensified substantially, the heat scarring the earth irreparably as the torrents hurtled into the beast. The stench of burning flesh was horrible, almost smothering. The shrieks of pain from the reptomammalian was heartwrenching but made Auria's ears ring.

Finally, the gigantic beast came crashing down, the most vital parts of its body scorched black as smoke swirled from it. Auria swayed slightly, exhaustion washing over her.

A crack sounded as the other rancor finally broke free from the cryoban around its feet. The deep growl rumbled through the earth as it turned its attention to the one who had placed it in its predicament. Auria dug through the haze of dizziness to summon what strength she had to hurl a large molten fire ball at the beast as it charged toward Konrad.
"Oi! C'mere!" she yelled at it.
The rancor let out a howl as the molten ball hit it on the side of the head. As it spun around, half it's face had no flesh left. The picture was one of horror as the zombie-like appearance of a beast came at her, eyes wild and teeth bared.

Auria let loose with more torrents of fire, but they were substantially weaker than before. There was something warm on her upperlip and when she wiped at it, she realised her nose had started to bleed from the strain.
"If ever there was a time for you to be useful, it's now!" she yelled at Konrad as she soldiered through the stars that had started to dance in front of her vision.

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR
BYOO | MATTERS OF STATE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Enlil

​

Before Rurik spoke, he listened. Ever the man of few words he was regardless, his most long winded speeches coming in private or in opposition to a Sith Lord who ever reveled in the dramatic spectacle that such encounters wrought. His gaze never rested unto Enlil, more fascinated with the mechanical workings of the surgical droid going about meticulously repairing his cybernetic hand, swapping out joints, laying over new cortosis webbing and running diagnostics unto each muscle process as he listened.

"I'm sure the Empire needed to hear it. I have never been a man for speeches myself...thus...it is good you addressed them personally. I do not have the human face that Irveric did, I never will, what they saw in him was a mortal man where his flaws shined as bright as his strengths. The damage the Sith have done to me have all but severed that aspect of my mortal coil. I am not a man who could endear himself to these people the way he could...but sometimes, it is not the relatable man who makes the best leader, Grand Vizier." Rurik remarks as the surgical droid finally eases from the cybernetic hand.

"The Sith Empire was a vaunted dragon to slay, the existential conflict that would determine unto us if our Imperial dream would last...and we persisted...however, I fear it was a threat lesser than what we will face in the coming days. This New Sith Order is a great deal more powerful than the degenerates who clung to the mentally deranged fools of the House Zambrano. Carlac was proof of that, the Sith still have the capability to slip beneath our skin. And of course...as you acknowledged, the more our Empire is split, the means of infiltration grow in number with it." Rurik suggests.

"The trials that await us will strain the sanctity of our Order far more than the Civil War ever could. The deals and alliances we have strung together...their days are numbered. A Moff Council however, is no solution in itself. Even when my forefather, Roan thought to consolidate his fiefdoms unto a Moff Council- his Empire was still burned at the hand of the Sith, it is no true and definitive solution to this concern...but, it may serve to alleviate our anxieties over further betrayal." Rurik remarks, leaning back into a nigh slouch in his seat, stroking his chin with the bare metal digits of his cybernetic hand.

"I had wondered when the next war would come, when in my meditation at the head of the First Crusade Fleet...and that war has already begun, Enlil. The Galactic Order will be remade once more...we need only ensure it comes under an Iron Sun and not the same follies that brought us into crisis to begin with."

 

[Aridius 'TK-1575']

ARIDIUS, TK-5324 'Crimson'

OPERATION BLACK SABBATH
ALLIES: Kolson Vrask

"ALL I REMEMBER IS HER FACE."

PART 5

Her face. Kolson said before that he wouldn't forget her face; Aridius didn't. He took a break from the carnage; watching the invasion turn from warfare to an execution. Burning bodies, the planetary garrison left behind by the Sith-following Nightsisters to be slaughtered and disintegrating as a force. Stormtroopers doing what they do best- gathering Nightsisters and Brothers that pose a potential threat to Imperial rule and executing them on the spot. The muted swarms that may have posed a threat to isolated Stormtroopers within the forests were annihilated by bombardments and the Imperial might of the Navy that orbited the planet. Leaving only the last few Strongholds on the planet. Aridius' importance faded from view overhaul in the campaign- for he was one of the many thousands of Stormtroopers that invaded the planet's sector alone. Yet, his story was not ever on this planet.


TK-5324, Aridius, was in close proximity to Kolson as he watched the mayhem unfold. It was organized chaos; the TIE-Fighters hovering overhead, the distant flames of bombing runs and walkers of both the smaller variants and the towering ones firing into the red mists of the huts. The scorching of buildings as Flame Troopers burned the occupants inside alive and the overwhelming sounds of Stormtroopers rushing about doing their job. Aridius, being the Heavy-Trooper, was assigned as the executioner. They would line up surrendered or wounded Nightsisters and Brothers; it didn't matter who they were loyal to. Aridius, turning his Heavy Blaster-Cannon on cyclic would lay waste to them. And he saw HER FACE IN EVERY ONE.

​

<"Sister- sister!"> He said in a loud yet hushed tone. The call demanded the Night Sister's attention, her gaze flicking toward the Storm Commando who immediately responded with a shot from his pistol into her brainpan, killing her immediately. The muzzle of his blaster pistol was still smoking when he slid it back into his holster once more, looking the way of Aridius. <"You hesitated, next time you hesitate, could get you or one of the others killed, you understand? None of this is easy and trust me, this won't be the LAST TIME YOU SEE HER FACE...">​

Aridius felt like he watched Kolson blast away the Nightsister over and over again. The scene played out in his head every time. How could he cope with this? This pain? These memories plagued him. It will follow Aridius throughout his entire career; and even as he was blasting away even more of these surrendered insurgents, these witches, he wondered what the other Stormtroopers were thinking.

Memories that he will carry for a long time, memories that will haunt the Stormtrooper; but will mold him into a machine of war. For with his Rotary-Blaster, all that was left before him were CRIMSON bodies.

 

[Enlil]

Divide et Impera

​

"Unity begins in the hearts and minds, Imperator," the Grand Vizier replied, now vaguely curious over the treatment being administered. He watched as the machinery ground and creaked in time with subtle movements in Fel's musculature. "We stand at a crossroads now, in the wake of one war and on the cusp of another- with leadership that has been divided by useless notions of personal identity, of ambition, of abject greed. Infighting that has led to disputes over how to proceed, or how to rule. I am not the only one among my peers who has been recalcitrant, but I am the first to recognize the folly in my actions up to this point. We require solidarity. Uniformity across worlds with how they should conduct security, taxation, justice. I am not simply suggesting a Moff Council- I am suggesting that we remind these Moffs that they are instruments of the Imperial Will, not the leaders of "free worlds."

Enlil glanced up now to meet Rurik's gaze. A ruby blaze against cold iron. "We have laid the groundwork for a strong economy. We have the manpower to keep the war-machine mobilized for two of our lifetimes. How do we synthesize the two if those we have entrusted with enforcement of those aspects of our infrastructure cannot act in a streamline?"

He remained at attention, rigid from the distaste he felt, a lingering reminder that change was brutal. A King bowed to no man- but Enlil was a Grand Vizier now. If things continued down the path they spoke of now, even that would change. "Which brings us to that which you have alluded to," he took a breath, held it, and exhaled loudly. "The matter of 'allies.' Our situation is not so precarious in those terms. The Alliance was a convenience, a tool to be utilized against a common enemy. Their Jedi are skilled warriors that blunt themselves with dogma. In a drawn out conflict, they simply create a liability. That, and our doctrines are diametrically opposed. Inevitably, should we continue to cultivate a mentality of interdependence, their ideologies will poison the Imperium. I believe that with the fall of the House of Zambrano, so too should our agreements with Coruscant be severed. We owe them nothing, yet expend resources in defense of their worlds. Our war is won, and our resources now stand to serve us better at home, and on our own fronts."

With a step forward, the Grand Vizier made a short sweeping gesture and a droid floated out from behind him to project an image of New Imperial space for them to review. From Bastion, the hologram of their holdings panned out to encompass the vast array of worlds now flying the iron standard. "To now, our military has been unquestioned. The might of the Empire eclipses any power in recent history. They lack the capacity to penalize us for reneging on the agreement, and should it be your whim, I will handle the role of diplomatic envoy personally." The image moved to the border of Galactic Alliance space. Enlil froze it there.

"In summary, I suggest a foreign policy more in line with Imperial isolation to complement your aggressive expansion."

Rurik Fel

 

[Amaya Vollmond]

OBJECTIVE II: Inquisition
THEME: Dirty Women

Waymar Geyer

Sharp Fangs and Shimmering Scales

Amaya's face slowly fell, a stern look on her features before turning abhorrently bitter. Even now, knowing the fate she would soon meet, she held her head high. It was clear he had misunderstood her words, claiming she found the women inferior as well. Which, in truth, was not entirely the case, but just as she was about to provide rebuttal, she too heard the calamity outside the door.

Her face almost mechanically fashioned itself into a cold expression, calculations going through her head at an incredible speed before leaping up from her seat and moving into action. As Waymar stood to counter his combatant, With a quick jerk, she dislocated her wrist, popping it back into place as the rope fell to the cold concrete ground. An uncanny haste took her form as she stole back her saber from the nearby weapons table, activating it with haste as the hiss of it's blade filled the air.

Within the short span of a simple blink, a Night Sister was on her. They were set to spare none, not even the other captives, and they knew Amaya's lethal potential. Their Sabers clashes violently, sending sparks and smoke plumes into the air.

"You were always too proud, Witch, but where is your Master to protect you now?" The Night Sister hissed out, her horned visage seething with pure hatred as she circled her prey.

"You've no idea how long I've waited for this." They had lost all sense, completely taken by their own allegiance to the dark side. She lunged forward and struck once more, Amaya parrying and taking a few steps back, their sabers singing through the air as they clashed again and again. Screams of chaos and death filled the air.

From the corner of her eye, she spied another Sister approaching in silence towards Waymar's back, attempting to catch him off guard.

"Behind you!" She called out with a gravelly yell, distracted just long enough for the Night Sister to charge her once more, but she gave no opening. Amaya countered once again, the heat of the sabers singing the thin hairs on her forearm. Amaya kicked out in front of her, sending her leg towards the Night Sister's shin as her saber fell into a guard lock. With a quick shift of her wrists, she disarmed the woman, sending her saber deep into her abdomen before grappling her and breaking her leg with relative ease. She was downed, but not dead. Not yet.

After the swift dispatching of her enemy, she ran to Waymar's aide, clashing with the Night Sister that approached behind him. She pivoted, positioning herself between the Knight and the Sister, ensuring his back was covered.

"You owe me for this, Knight."

​

​

 

[Marcad]

G R E E N _ I N Q U I S I T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
DATHOMIR
STARRING | Atticus Draco | Gail Weller

Silence and the hum of Aenarion’s lightsaber followed Cewr’s question as the two Imperial Knights stood apart and staring at each other intensely. The witches that came with them left the two alone as they battled whatever warriors and sorcerers defended the village meant for purging.

The void of silence continued until the Whitecloak was the first to ruin its harmony.

A sprint of silver dashed at the Inquistor, one strike came down on his arm with his lightsaber. His arm simply moved out from the line of attack, repositioned to block the attack meant to bisect him. A tint of purple, a lavender, came from the clash of purple and white of their respective lightsabers.

Red was all that the Mirialan could see; red as the black sabbath above them. Anger and hatred blinded, making him to believe that all were his enemies. Too weak to reject the sorcery and magic that exploited his past.

His free hand delivered a quick, yet soft Force Push as a means to bring a gap again between the two.

“Traitor!” he yelled with venom at Aenarion, Cewr’s face displayed nothing but raw anger. He believed to be morally right as condemned Aenarior’s mercy to those that practiced the Darkside.

“They do not deserve mercy!”

And quick on his feet he ran at the Imperial Knight, jumping over the Crusader and land a blow on his shoulder while in the air.

 

[Atticus Draco]

W H I T E C L O A K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
OBJECTIVE II
Imperial Knight Armour | Lightsaber
Marcad

The strike that would've otherwise cleaved the Mirialan's arm from him was blocked, his arm pulling back to neatly block the strike. But that was only the first part of the attack. As the front end of the blade slid off of the lavender beam, the back end of the blade came to the front -- too late, as the Inquisitor's Force push sent him sliding back and away.

“Traitor!” he yelled with venom at Aenarion, Cewr’s face displayed nothing but raw anger. He believed to be morally right as condemned Aenarior’s mercy to those that practiced the Darkside.
“They do not deserve mercy!”

"Put an end to this folly, Cewr, lest I name you Crestfallen, and your way of living changes forever. Witches are not worth your Fall."

Aenarion stood ready, the silver saberstaff rotating in his hand as the alabaster beams illuminated the space around him at either end.

"You do not possess the skill to best me." He warned.

Though, he was blinded by his rage. The White Cloak could sense it as he lurched at him, leaping over him which caused the Knight-Errant to drop down.

In all the battles that he had faced Sith greater than him, he had matched them, even impressed them with superior, or even comparable dueling skills. But after his recovery, he had learned to adopt new skills. Or rather, technology.

Rotating around on his knees as the Knight's blade soared past him, his left hand shot out, firing the grapple cord at Cewr's legs - or rather, where he would land. A two fold attack meant to restrict his movement, before he triggered the charge to send the electricity racing up the wire to shock him, should it find purchase around a limb.