Invasion Woken Furies | BotM Invasion of NIO held Nirauan

[Fiolette Fortan]

NIO PAGE CLAIM

I R O N_Q U E E N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IN SERVICE TO IMPERATOR RURIK FEL AND KING ERNEST ALBERT V
COMMANDER GALIDRAAN VOID STRIKE GROUP
CODE NAME: 'THE VOID LIONS'

MAKE OUR WAY TO HEAVEN
NIRAUAN

Spoiler: TL;DR

• RGNS Celestial Knights, RGNS Brighton's Briarwolves, and Northumbrian Nexu's along with House Fortan's Nerissa's Strikers and Paladins Escorted by but not pictured RGNS Sarissa's Chosen (Superior Fighters), RGNS King's Vanguard (Superior Fighters), with RGNS Thames Shield (Defenders), and RGNS Andrasta's Arrow (Interceptors). RGNS Voidhawks (Superior Fighters), RGNS Chargers (Superior Fighters), RGNS Rooks (Defenders), and RGNS Pyre Pikes (Interceptors). HFNS Wyldfolk, Tamsin's Tormentors (Superior Fighters), and HNFS Lancers and Knights (Defenders). All RGNS/HFNS TIEs are departing the combat zone, however; shoot at Mawite forces as they ascend/leave.
• 2nd Arditi Battalion and Clan McCulloch reaches Fort Imperium. 5th Battalion's descent is temporarily halted as the fleet moves to engage Mawite forces in the void.
• Rae Sloane targets Nightmare Eternal, fires all long-range weaponry; except longbow plasma railguns and hyperion solar lance arrays.
• Warspite and Warrior launch Pilum, variants of Javelin-type missiles via their Bishop Missile Systems. Both ships target: Forge of Laments.
• Warspite, Warrior, and Kimbrell launches all long-range weaponry, targeting: Forge of Laments
• Dowager launches Kopis, variants of Javelin-type missiles via its Bishop Missile System, ship targets: Oblivion's Hearld
• Dowager launches all long-range weaponry, targeting: Oblivion's Herald
• Task Force Kingsman moves, currently moving into flanking position on Mawite Forces keeping the distance at long range.
• Task Force Kingsman engages corvettes and frigates in defensive screen.

Spoiler: Task Force 'KINGSMAN'

TASK FORCE KINGSMAN
NEW IMPERIAL NAVY - ROYAL GALIDRAANI ARMADA
ROYAL GALIDRAANI NAVAL STRIKE GROUP | 29,912m
HOUSE FORTAN NAVAL FORCES | 9,634m
COMBINED STRENGTH | 39,546m

FLAGSHIP
RGNV IRON QUEEN | SLOANE-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 5000M

BATTLECRUISERS
RGNV WARSPITE |RESURGENT II-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 3000M
RGNV WARRIOR | RESURGENT II-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 3000M


STAR DESTROYERS
RGNV KIMBRELL | KIMBRELL-CLASS STAR DESTROYER | 100/100 | 2000M
RGNV IMPERIAL | IMPERIAL II-CLASS STAR DESTROYER | 100/100 | 1600M
RGNV ILLUSTRIOUS | IMPERIAL II-CLASS STAR DESTROYER | 100/100 | 1600M

CRUISERS
RGNV VINDICATOR | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
RGNV VALORUS | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
RGNV VALIANT | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
RGNV VITTORIA | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M

FRIGATES
RGNV ARDENT | ARDENT-CLASS FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV ARROW | ARDENT-CLASS FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SEAWOLF | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SPEARHEAD | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SWIFT | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SPARROW | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV DAGGER | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
RGNV DARING | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
RGNV DAUNTLESS | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
RGNV DRAGON | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M


CORVETTES
RGNV FIREDRAKE | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV FEARLESS | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RASKOVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RYABOVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RUDNEVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RASPOPOVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M

RGN 3RD CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
RGN 4TH CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
RGN 7TH CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
RGN 9TH CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M

HOUSE FORTAN NAVAL FORCES

BATTLECRUISERS
HFNV DOWAGER | DOWAGER II-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 4000M

CRUISERS
HNFV WYNELLE | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
HNFV WYNEVERE | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M

FRIGATES
HNFV ARMAND | ARDENT-CLASS FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
HNFV DUKE | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
HNFV DIONE | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
HNFV DANTE | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M

CORVETTES
HNFV FREOC | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HNFV FREDAR | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HNFV ROSE | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HNFV ROSALYN | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HFNV MAVRIEL | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M
HFNV MAREE | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M
HFNV MINERVA | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M
HFNV MATTIAS | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M

HNFV 1ST CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
HNFV 2ND CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M​

While on Nirauan, Clan McCulloch and the 2nd Battalion of Arditi made their way into Fort Imperium. The TIE Fighters began to make their ascent so that they could rejoin the fleet in the void. By this time the corvettes had already done so - and even as they left, the TIEs still made their presence known taking potshots at Mawite forces where they could. In the stars however the New Imperial Order's brutality was more than making itself known the Knight Admiral led the slug match in the black, and had regulated the other allying and New Imperial forces to other duties.

This would not be, not for long, aside from the Longbows and Hyperions which required more time to charge in order to reach their true ferocity. Fiolette Fortan was ready to remind the galaxy why it was the First Order's navy had been so feared, for it not had been the achievements of those who rode on her coattails for ages. Those who sought to make a profit and reputation from her work, creating poor imitations, weak versions of the true weapons of war. No, the reason the First Order's navy had been so feared was due to its organization, its precision, and the tools in which it used to do so.

"Galeway, have the Warspite and Warrior create targeting solutions for this vessel, here, it seems to have not been targeted... We should change that, same for this vessel and that, delegate their targeting solutions to the Kimbrell, Dowager. Let us craft a proper gun solution for this ship, let me know when we're ready to fire." Her orders were clear, "today they shall pay for their chaos with the blood that they're so eager to spill." Theirs. She hadn't said but the implication was there all the same. Fiolette held no doubt that right now on the surface it was absolute hell. As the New Imperial Order charged through Mawite lines, regular men and women had vowed to protect their nation.

Such a noble pursuit.

Fiolette shifted her weight as she moved to communicate to her fleet on encrypted lines. "Defensive screens to all corvettes and frigates, all fighters on interceptor and attack patterns." Galidraanis would not yield this much the Mawites should know. For every life that was lost was another martyr created, another patron saint to watch over their kind. The Rae Sloane's guns moved, the sounds of the batteries preparing to fire could be felt throughout the massive ship. Ordnance was moved, the durasteel floor beneath Fiolette's feet thrummed as boots and crates were shuffled against it.

The ink on her arms had come to life and the dark side of the Force had more than its share. The air around her felt more alive than it had before. She remembered the Battle of Castameer how she commanded the ships then such memories brought a sense of warmth to her. Taking in a deep breath she exhaled and smiled, an illustrious, blood-thirsty grin. Sulphuric eyes looked over toward the tactical screen there blips and shapes chirped and beeped on the screen.

"Targeting solutions acquired," Galeway stated matter-of-factly as she approached the command station.

It was Galeway's voice that took Fiolette away from the trance she seemed to be fixed in. The Galidraai naval commander looked toward her first officer and then toward the viewscreen. Where there, the carnage of battle unfolded like an orchestra - one in which death and war were careful maestros. "Fire."

The command was given and the ships acted as ordered, launching their munitions to reach out across the stars and touch the Mawite fleet. Task Force Kingsman would not be content to sit on the sidelines and simply burn the Mawites and Nirauan with it. Blood for blood.

ORDER
Wilhuff Krieg | Desarnte Harz | Commodore Albrecht Herlock | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Culas Vile


ENGAGING:
Tu'teggacha

CHAOS
Nyree Pavan | The Mongrel
​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

SIXTH POST
THE_WOAD
IMPAF-COMMAND

OBJECTIVE 1: GROUND ZERO

Alric Árheim Ortʹtʹo Mikla Dante Corvus Aurelian Sigismund Julian Qar

Aemilio Valaar Konrad Harrsk Aridius 'TK-1575'

Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh

Willan Tal DECEASED Aron Gowrie Inarin Lsu Shai Maji Alex Eldar Sturit Goan

Nukth Kelga'an Knight Mogra'teksa Fiolette Fortan

BOTM: The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Alars Keto Tor'r Tal'Verda
Maestus Halketh Khamul Kryze

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
FRAGARACH MODEL DISRUPTOR PISTOL
BASKET-HILTED VIBROSWORD CLAYMORE

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 8

Spoiler

Saffia District
The Hand of Thrawn's western far-boundaries
The Myrmidon Quarter
Fort Imperium
The Spaceport outskirts
Pellaeon District
Fiyarro District
Thrawn District
Outer northern suburban districts

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+03:02:11 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

*'SINN'SEARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!!!'
**'Ancestors!'

After roaring to the skies with all his might, seeking favour from the spirits of his ancestors as he unleashed his basket-hilted Vibrosword and his native language alike on swathes of undead soldiers and civilians, the red mist would descend as the Stormchaser began to cry out with his challenge for any marauder, raider, Skav King or any of their ilk who would venture to become perfect bait for his blade. The Woad continued to hold his ground, contributing beyond the Imperials' fiscal, strategic prerequisites required of Lord Erskine as IMPAF's Lord-General. The world around him, awash with soot, smoke, dust, rubble, blood-spatter and bright disruptor-trails of death, yet the Woad continued to scream with what could only be described as the deepest, most-gutturally primal exertions of vocalised fury he could muster. Barran, in this haze of frothy-mouthed psychosis, was proving to be quite the sight for the other Imperials to see, both scaring and encouraging his subordinates into letting such raw, unbridled aggression take over in their minds also, a barbarity that none of the lower-ranked troopers thought they'd ever live long enough to mete out in such a way.

*'CÀITE A BHEIL THU, SGUM? BIDH MI A-FÀS LEAMH DE CHINN A-RUIGHINN!!!'
**'Where are you, scum? I grow bored of reaping heads!'

Giving it his all beside the Lord-General, Aurelian's young Agema guardsman would smash, slash and shoot his way through anything in the breach next to the one Erskine was covering, even going so far as to use his weapon for a means of pushing back entire groups of twenty or thirty walking corpses and raiders alike, keeping the worst from Barran as any good bodyguard should. All the main breaches further along the line would be covered by Lord Alric's line-infantry, bolstered by the brave IMPAF and Myrmidon troopers who sallied out with them from Fort Imperium, though whether it would amount to anything in the end was anyone's guess at that point. Whoever wasn't shot in the head only rose again to keep advancing on the same Imperials, whoever wasn't in range remained defiant in their renewed assault on the Myrmidon Quarter, and whoever wasn't there to bask in the fruits of their works would remain out of sight.

*'THOIR DHOMH SABAID CHEART!!!!! SAMRADH!!!! THA MI GAD IONNDRAINN!!!!'
**'Give me a proper fight! SOMEBODY!!!! I dare you!'

None of the battle's next phase would be easy, nobody ever said it would be, but the fact the Woad and his temporary bodyguard were still struggling against the tide, and with all the vigour and rage attributed to the warriors of old, brought comforts aplenty to the defenders on the Myrmidon static-line. The Lord-General and his Vandemarian bodyguard would never know, but just seeing them carving through the undead as seeming epitomes of resistance (the likes of which counted for every defender to strive for) was working wonders for everyone else; word was being passed down the line of their ferocity, some were even stealing short glances to the right flank to see it for themselves, and all of it contributing to a visible increase in cohesion and stalwart dedication. Even as the occasional trooper or spearman fell to the onslaught, it was clear to everyone on either side of the struggle that the loudest, most vicious elements in play were the Imperials fighting what would later be referred to as,"The Battle of the Myrmidon Breach.", proving to negate the Mawite's psychological edge with every single ounce of strength and willpower they had.

'YOU!!!! AYE, YOU!!!! YOU AN'AW, ALONG WAE THAT SKINNY CLOWN NEXT T'YE!!!! THREE-ON-ONE!!!! LET'S FETHING HAAAAAVE IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!'

'Gladly, old man! But first, there is something my associate would like to show you!', the largest of the three Mawsworn exclaimed in reply, stepping to one side for the sly one hanging back behind his two comrades, only to reveal a glowing red-kyber lightsabre, no doubt plundered from one of the Sith-Maw theatres of war. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that their desired reaction was fear, but in seeing the look on Lord Erskine's face, it became apparent to Barran's three chosen opponents that the,"Getting in his head, his thought-process.", effect it was having on the Woad was working in complete contrast to that which the Mawsworn raiders were hoping for, looking set to be working against them as they looked into the expanding pupils of his eyes. What they saw when they gauged the Lord-General for his reaction troubled them in ways they never thought were possible of the Imperial caste, for what they saw wasn't fear, dismay, rage, disdain or disgust, what they saw looking back at the kyber-wielding raider instead was altogether more frightening under the circumstances.

Avarice.

'That? Aaaaaye.... That in yer haun's, it belongs to me now.'

Spoken as nonchalantly as one might after buying a cheap swoop bike, or winning prize-money at a low-stakes poker tournament, but with that same greedy excitement, expressed so unreservedly in the face of what looked like an unwinnable fight, could be seen as plainly as the daylight that had only just abandoned them hours before. But that was their first mistake, all eyes were on the dilating pupils of their Woad-born opponent when they should've been watching his nuances at chest and hip-height, surreptitiously cross-drawing his pistol left-handed to sever the entire lower left-leg of the largest, most-talkative raider of the three as he closed the distance between them. Baiting the other protector off his baseline, Lord Erskine would feign indecision just long enough to force the second Mawite error, lunging to stab with a machete against a swordsman with superior, trained lateral movements in his arsenal, especially with the particular counter Barran had in mind.

Thistle-shaped pommel ti the dome for you, pal.​

No full helmet-coverage, only a modern-halfhelm complete with fiber-composite gas mask, though the markings on his clothing suggested the second and third raiders to be more than just that, more than just third-rate cutthroats who survived a few key battles along the way, leading Barran to believe that the muscular,"Raider", screaming in agony on the ground was as far from third-rate as the other two were. The markings on their clothing matched as well, markings that the Lord-General had seen before, worn proudly as the stitching on the coats (and equally as proudly as ink on their left arms in absence of cloaks) displayed as the only things in their possession that had any value whatsoever. These weren't just raiders, these were marauders from the Mongrel's ever-growing clique, each man among them a warrior; but Lord Erskine knew warriors, fought them and alongside them just as fervently, so this fight would be no different to any other that he engaged in before. Different uniform, same man, and the Woad was in no mood for wasting any time in his heavy-hitting pommel strike to the temple-area on the second marauder's halfhelm, knocking him unconscious in one swift, fluid-motion impact as the third and final opponent poised to act next.

'Just you an' me noo, Marauder!'

However, just as the Woad was about to settling into a poise of his own, shoving the unconscious body of the second marauder to one side with his pistol-wielding left hand, an undead raider would seemingly appear from nowhere to bite a sizeable chunk of flesh from the aforementioned pistol-wielding left hand; and to make matters worse, the third and final opponent was closing the distance and heavily telegraphing and overhand hacking-motion swipe for the Lord-General's right shoulder, and if he didn't act quickly, all the muscle-tissue, flesh, blood-vessels and organs on the way down. It would've been quite the killing blow, and if it had not been for the biter who tried to get a second helping at the pinnacle moment, there would be no need for either to imagine how it would've ended for the Stormchaser, grabbing the undead raider by his flak-jacket and using him as a human shield as he threw the flailing zombie in the marauder's path, poised to counter from a lowered center-of-gravity as the red kyber sliced through the biter's skull.

From there, all it took was a well timed lunge for the Mawite's throat to finish the job, using the brutalised zombie's slow, lifeless falling descent as his pinpoint window of opportunity to strike; much to the horror of the kyber-wielding marauder, seen with eyes widening as the claymore punched through the flesh of his opponent's throat and out the the back of his neck to fall gargling on top of the definitively-dead zombie at their feet. Despite his dire predicament, Barran had prevailed over three seasoned warriors of the Maw, and looked set to prevail over more until he remembered what happens when zombies' bites reach the bloodstream, gritting his teeth and roaring wordless rage to the night skies above, the rage of unbridled anguish.

'Well, looks like I have no other choice but to- DAMN IT!!!! MAN UP, ERSKINE!!!! IF IRVERIC MANAGED WITHOUT HIS, YOU CAN SURVIVE - WITHOUT - YOOOOUUUURS!!!!'

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 9

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+03:11:10 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

​

The Woad wouldn't learn of it until longer after the smoke had cleared away from the walls of New Carannia, but calling out the three marauders was the best thing he could've possibly done for the defenders of the Myrmidon Breach, as it had created a distraction for everyone fighting before the Fragarach severed the first challenger's lower-leg, with most in their vicinity stopping as far back as the exchange of words between them and consequently starting a domino-effect along the static-line. Oblivious to all the developments around them, Lord Erskine would fight on as both lines disengaged and allowed for their wounded to be pulled away to safety, making good use of this lull in activity by rearming and reorganising for the last engagement of the battle; with neither side backing down beyond a certain point, the standstill only seemed to be buying time for the Lord-General's contingent, oblivious to the impending arrival of even more Mawsworn attackers bringing fresh legs into the fight.

Kneeling to gather his thoughts as he looked around at the developing situation, Lord Erskine and one of Dr. Qar's medics would catch each other's eye as the latter was loading wounded troopers and spearmen onto gurneys and stretchers, taking the injured, bleeding Imperials to the medical speeders behind the buildings at Barran's back as the Stormchaser and the subordinate doctor noticed each other's presence. The Carlaci junior-medic had very quickly noticed Erskine's pallor, wasting no time to check for wounds until his concerned, searching eyes stopped at the Woad's left hand, visibly snarling at whatever fate saw it fit to inflict the Lord-General with such circumstances before making full eye-contact once more. And yet, of all the expressions Barran expected to see on the face of a medic, the look of sheer daring, of utter mirthful goading, wasn't one of them, lifting his cybernetic left hand and flexing the composite-metal thumb and fingers in plain, showy sight.

'What? Cyberneti-'

The young doctor then, without warning, balled those moving cybernetic fingers into a fist, sneering with delight as he punched a massive, dusty chunk out of the protruding archway beside him; already sure this was the right choice, adamant that he'd give the Stormchaser's future personal cyberneticist a chance to find work, the medic couldn't help but do everything in his power to entice Erskine into choosing life over undeath. He knew Lord-General Barran deserved a more-dignified end than the one the Woad was on the verge of accepting, and like all good allies would in his shoes, the medic beamed with emphatic approval as Lord Erskine took his belt off and tightened it above the elbow, grinning from ear to ear as the Laird bit down on the belt's leather and lined up his first cut. Then, as Barran looked up to the medic one last time, with obvious desperation in his eyes, the two individuals exchanged a nod of trusting, endearing solidarity to seal the deal.

To survive and live to fight another day, the hand would be amputated - whether he willed against it or not.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUURGH!!!!! Why me, of all people? Why-COME ON!!!! ONE MORE, YOU FETHING PANSY!!!! ONE MORE AN' IT'S DONE, ERSKINE!!!! Come on.... Remember, if God can be found in the crucible - the Divine can be felt in the pain! Come on! LETS FETHING GO, OLD MAN!!!!'

First amputation attempt, partial-success - severe lacerations and exposed muscle-tissue above the wrist, blood-vessels opened. The pain had induced flailing and kicking in subconscious protest, but subsided enough for Lord Erskine to regain lucid, cohesive consciousness, enough to line up his next amputation attempt without the spasmodic responses to worry about until right after the next attempt.

'FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWK....'

Second amputation attempt, another partial-success - further lacerations, and exposed muscle-tissue but making solid contact with the radius and shattering it this time. Further pain-induced spasms and lashing out ensued, followed by futile act of cradling the half-severed hand in his lap, a telling sign that Lord Erskine's sense of lucidity had given way to hallucinatory, instinctive pain-driven reflexes that almost completely disarmed his much-needed survival instincts. Wherever his mind was in that moment, the agony Lord-General Barran was practically swimming in by then had carried him leaps and bounds beyond his pain-threshold, achieved only once before in combat.

But even worse awaited the next strike to his wrist, new plateaus of agony that none present would envy in that moment.

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!!! PLEEEEEASE!!!! Please, Dia! If it's anywhere near this bad for the cauterization, I- I don't think I can-SHUT THE FETH UP AND BURN IT AW'READY!!!!!..... GyaaaAAAAAARGH!!!! MAN UP, YOU FETHING DANDY!!!! GET IT FETHING DONE!!!!'

Third and final amputation attempt, definitive success - breaking through the shattered radius with such force that the Vibrosword completely severed the ulna bone and all the remaining tissue beneath it with the same forceful cut. Curling up into a near-foetal ball as soon as the hand itself was fully severed, the painful choice to live had been honoured for the most part, screaming through the pain in ways that made the hairs of the Woad's subordinates stand on end before finding at least some semblance of lucidity for what was to follow next.

Jamming the red-kyber lightsabre into a crevice in the bloodied rubble next to him, Lord Erskine would switch it on and steadily line up his splinted stump, making sure it lined up perfectly so the charring process would be precise enough to succeed on the first attempt to cauterize the arm; and though he did so without needing to encouraging himself, or to seek encouragement from the Carlaci medic for that matter, the pain would be too much to remain conscious as a result. Barran had slumped forward and his face had sunken itself into the gravel beneath as the pain-receptors of his brain robbed him of his waking lucidity, but the cauterization had gone as planned, and the chances of dying and turning into an undead denizen had been eradicated as a result, but this didn't stop his subordinates from worrying by any means. The first to respond was Stilicho, lifting Erskine and sprinting towards the medical transports to get the Woad the medical attention he needed, then personally loading the Lord-General onto the nearest of the aforementioned medical transports and ordering them to make haste, obviously horror-struck by the possibility that Barran's life hung in the balance.

<"All units, this is Stilicho of Vandemar! Lance One is critically wounded! FALL BACK TO FORT IMPERIUM!!! I REPEAT - FALL BACK TO FORT IMPERIUM!!!! WE MAKE OUR LAST STAND THERE!!!! GET MOVING!!!">

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 10

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+03:25:54 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

Unconscious, though unbeknownst to his doctors, his friends and his subordinates, not for much longer; it was certainly accepted by all who saw Erskine's willpower display that the Woad had expected far too much of himself, most notably in his perceived ability to withstand pain beyond the years of his fighting prime, but the fact he continued beyond the point where many would've needed assistance, beyond the threshold of a vast majority of non-Force Users, wasn't lost on the subordinates who sallied out to the Myrmidon Breach with him. Though they knew that their Lord-General would be disappointed that they retreated for his sake, the defenders of the Myrmidon Quarter knew he'd understand, so no lasting regrets would reside in any who held the line against the Mawsworn assault; especially not Stilicho, given validations aplenty from all who'd engaged in rear-guard actions at the Vandemarian's order, along with words of encouragement for the fight to come, none of which being words that Stilicho expected to hear beforehand.

<"Hoaching with blood bit aye duin tae murdurr mair, we git caught by th' deid near artillery - we're up oan yer bahookie noo. Catch up wi` ye at th' fort.">​

'Wait- a minute.... St-Stilicho! Am - am I f-freaking out, or did I j-just hear a Woadish accent on my comm-device?'

Under the impression that he was doped to the gills with painkillers and anaesthetic stims, the Stormchaser sat up with a frantic desperation, and though he was in fact doped to the gills with the aforementioned drugs and the likes, General Barran would be relieved to know he wasn't hallucinating through the pain in any way, shape, or form when the transmission continued. Reaching into the inside pocket of his coat with his only remaining hand, fortunate that the device itself rested in the inside pocket on the left side of the coat at the time, as when he brought it out, everyone knew that there would be no way to stop the Woad from seeing the battle through to whatever end awaited the Mawite and Imperial contingents. After all, war, through all the ups and the downs, the agony and the ecstasy and all the contrasting facets to life as a warrior in the Galaxy's most-recent wartime years, was the very thing that gave purpose to a man who would almost assuredly wilt and wither away without it in his later years.

<"Th' damn arditi ur oan th' front o' us as shields taken a' th' glory mynd ye, tae th' fort we gang">

<"Whoever this is, ah've nae idea wharr ye hail fae, whit clan ye represent, nor who they're affiliated wae.... But if you dinnae faw back t'Fort Imperium, an' right fething noo - there will be feth all we can dae t'help! The Myrmidon Quarter has fallen, an' we need every man we can get for this last stand! Better move it, bai! Lance One out!">​

'Last phase o' the battle noo, lads. Make-or-break, aw the way t'the finish line.... Just as I predicted- wait, where's Corvus?'

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

// Voidwalker-Actual // 501st Legion, Black Hands //
// Objective I : The Great Flank
// ALLIES: DECEASED Aron Gowrie - DECEASED Erskine Barran - Alric Árheim - Ortʹtʹo Mikla - Dante Corvus - Willan Tal - Sturit Goan - Shai Maji - Alex Eldar - Inarin Lsu
// ENEMIES: Brotherhood of the Maw, New Sith Order, Witches of Rhand, The Mongrel - Halketh - Khamul Kryze - Zachariel Steelblood
// Engaging :
// Gear : Tenebrae, Tidefall, Left-Handed Grav Glove

War.

It was what made the New Imperial Order -- this Empire -- what it was. War with the Sith Empire, War with the Brotherhood of the Maw. They killed and slaughtered each other just so that they may create a galaxy in their image. It all seemed so futile, Aemilio thought, caught up in his thoughts while eyeing the hgolographic board in AFV One. The battle shifted locales, showcasing the eastern front where Barran was said to be. His lookouts guess had proven to be true after all.

The eastern border of the Myrmidons Quarter was breached, and the Maw were rushing in to cleave the head of Imperial Command from its shoulders.

Death.

'I don't think he's making it out o' that one alive, Valaar. But he's chosen to go out this way, and in the process, taken all the worst pressure off the rest of us- so I suggest we let 'im, at least for now.'

'As much as I enjoy disagreeing just to piss aff the Captain - I'm inclined ti agree on this one!'

What shocked him out of his reveries was how calm the Free State soldiers were about leaving their Lord to the wolves.

He forgot, just for a second, that he wished for the man to be deposed.

They are closer to Imperials than I thought.

And if Barran was willing to die for the Empire as it seemed, then there was a chance he had underestimated the mans potential. That must've been the foremost reason why Rurik Fel raised him to such high status. Loyalty. The sort that inspired the same in those that followed.

"Hm. We are too close to our objective to turn away and rescue him, but should he survive long enough -- an enemy force stemming from the direction of their own drop site will surely rout them." Hopefully into Saffia as well, to see the district destroyed.

Rebirth.

Reinvigorated for the battle ahead, Aemilio rose up to his feet as the AFV rumbled through the street. Maneuvering to the front, he placed a hand on the back of the driver's seat and stared at the road ahead. He caught a glimpse of an object flying through the air overhead, but he had heard the infamous whines of the TIE engines lancing through the air above them, practically buffeting their compartment with its wailing.

"Sounds like it'll be easy pickings," he called out over his shoulder to Reed, before looking back to Muir, the driver. "How much longer?" He was getting antsy. But, even as the spoken words left his mouth, the Battlemind AI in his helmet was already in the midst of calculating time until engagement. Drawing from the observed holographic map, the altitude of the TIEs compared to standard protocol bombing runs - they were clearly on their way out - and the distance they had travelled paired with their current speed according to the dial.

"May I?" He asked, already reaching for the driver's commlink, clicking it on, Aemilio shot a look to Reed. The commlink in all of the AFV's burst to life.

"Once again the Black Hands and the Wildcats face the Maw. Once again we charge into the heart of the Enemy. For the first time in a long time, not in some far off system, or for the sake of the Jedi. We do it for rivals that have become friends, for our families, for sacred duty. Something greater than us.

Let's send these savages up to their gods, yeah?"

During his pause, the Woad-born driver took his chance and cried out the battlecry that had long since become familiar to the combined unit.

'WAR, DEATH, REBIRTH! HAHAHAHA!'

Lip curling upwards, Aemilio smirked before he shot a glance back to the occupants of the lead vehicle. Troopers and Free State, serving under a single purpose.

"For the Empire!"

Through the comm system there was a low chant which gradually became louder. First picked up by the Galidraani natives, but the Black Hands soon became caught up in the energetic chanting of the Woads. In tandem, they cried out to the heavens, their combined voices rising even above the din of the AFVs engines.

"WAR! DEATH! REBIRTH!"​

 

[Kolson Vrask]

G R U N G E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
TASK FORCE TRACHTA
1st GROUP | 'VANDAL' SQUAD

EYES ON FIRE
NIRAUAN
NEW CARANNIA
SAFFIA DISTRICT
​

It was getting heavy. He managed a moment of respite at the end of his sonic pistol, firing a brutalizing round into the chest cavity of the Mawite warrior before him. He slid his knee under himself until he could pick himself up to a kneel, firing a burst of the devastating magnum downrange toward another. He could feel the rhythm of those waning moments pulsing at the periphery of his being. The endgame.

It wasn't all too bothersome really. Adrenaline served as the main reins of command over each and every action. There wasn't an once of thought poured into any of it. Just pure instinct, pure hard run training. Each step from here was physically straining, yes...but easier than the last before it. If only in knowing...there probably wasn't much left in this sacred walk.

He was wrought with a brutalist tunnel vision. Shoot down the marauder in front of him, sight in on the next one, rinse and repeat.

That was until that shrieking not slammed him from the bloodrushing daze.

"This is for Kolson, you son of a b*tch!"

That voice was unmistakably her's. Pained, hurting, dying. Dying in his name. No. No no no. That wasn't how this ship was supposed to sail. That wasn't how any of this was supposed to go. He thought she was...gone. That fate would've been gruesome to live with, hence why he intended not to live much longer. He intended to go out like the ones before him. But her...alive, bleeding and falling into the cusp of death but yards away from where he staked his supposedly vaunted sacrifice. No...he had to move.

If they were going out like this...they'd go out together.

A violent slam of steel cracked his chin and shattered the duraplast of his helmet before sending him rolling off the side of the crashed gunship, only serving to irritate the active wound of the knife planted into his back further, drawing a bloodcurdling cry of pain from him, the first true indication of a waning, fighting will in this fight. He masked with a low, guttural groan of defiance immediately following as he picked himself up.

Then he heard that descending beep and an explosion rattled her block. He froze in disbelief for a moment, the stiffness of his form nearly collapsing him unto the broken ground beneath only for a grasp on his shoulder and a jagged blade to the gut to disturb the surreality of the moment. He looked into the eyes of a killer.

He cracked a smile as he slowly held up a canister in his left hand, pressing the activation, it began to bellow a large, choking cloud of crimson smoke.

Through the broken visage of his recon trooper helmet, he spoke up.

"This is for Sephi."

That smoke was a visual signal for the gods to reap their punishment. The hammer of judgement to be dropped in malice and devastation unto Vrask's position.

He could hear the roaring scream of the twin ion engines veiled over the distance and nearing fast.

Broken Arrow.

He slowly closed his eyes, continuing to clutch the grenade that served as the target indicator in his bloody hand.

Who dares, wins.

THE EMPIRE
Sephi Karneh | Raus Garrat | Aridius 'TK-1575' | Aemilio Valaar | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Ortʹtʹo Mikla | Alex Eldar | Shai Maji | Keilara Kala'myr

BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
The Mongrel | SCAR | Khamul Kryze | @Zachariel Steelblood| Alars Keto
OPEN FOR OPPS​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent​

Objective II: Hand of Thrawn
Location: Hand of Thrawn, Nirauana
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Ragnar Bloodfist | Djorn Bline | Khroraic | Saaveina | Noel Strasza | Rurik Fel
Enemies: Tegan Starfall | Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren | Detritus Ren | Darth Mori | Lord Letifer | Zori Kapshan

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Uh, oh! It was something I didn’t expect after I went outside. And that was the sight of enemy tanks. I was reminded of a funny story about this, back from home. We were used to ground combat, melee weapon combats, firearm combats. Nothing more serious until the last day. One time, though, we managed to steal a tank from the Sith and caused trouble. And one of my companions spoke in the tank…

Drive me closer! I want to hit them with my sword!

I still smiled at the memory, every time it came to my mind; it was such an absurd situation. It was just a memory and I couldn’t make fun of a game of whoever did it because Aiden was already dead. He didn't live enough to see Serenno become free again. But returning to war. As soon as I got out, I activated my cloaking device. I didn’t want to give the enemy a clear target.

Even so, I instinctively walked in the shadows, at the wall of the building, to make it as difficult as possible to notice. I wanted to get to the roof to see better where I could go from there. Of course, MANIAC was a great help to me in all this, as I was able to avoid the enemy even more easily with his help. As I progressed I finally found a staircase on the side of one of the buildings. Perfect! That's exactly what I was looking for!

I quickly climbed the ladder, there was a total of one person on the roof, a marauder. Although I didn’t specifically consider myself an assassin, I knew what I was doing and what I needed to do. Last but not least, how. During the stealth, I pulled out one of my daggers. Last time I had to do so directly with Sith loyalist officers. I even did this on Lao-Mon with a firearm not with a knife. No, I wasn't bothered and I didn't hesitate.

Fortunately, he was very busy with something; he was hunting for one of the ones below. He didn't hear me coming, nor did he notice when I struck him. I cut his throat in one motion and then laid it down on the floor silently. One less enemy left…

 

[Sephi Karneh]

N O V A
TASK FORCE TRACHTA
1st GROUP | 'VANDAL' SQUAD
Equipment listed in char. bio.

GOOD NIGHT​

The scream of fried servos and collapsing structure gave way to the hiss of smoke and the stench of cooked wires, a smell she was all too familiar with, and in some ways, had come to dread. Electrical fire lanced through her, surging through the armor she was held by, the circuit closed by the cyborg clutching her where her boots could not ground her, she was left to face the same punishment she dealt him. Another howl of pain, this one guttural as her voice broke, at last, her cords too strained to carry on. Fire flowed through her veins, it drove nails into the beds of her teeth, it boiled the eye she had left in her skull. When the torture had ended, consciousness was lost to her, the commando finally slipped into the gentle grasp of the warmth reaching from the rear of her mind.

Down the two of them went, the dragon and his slayer, the vaunted knight no more than a broken woman with a half-baked dream of being a hero, and the beast a man broken until conquest was all that could redeem him. Two divergent paths, two children they had been once, with naivety and hopes, bright-eyed dreamers, eagerly chasing after the star trails of what the galaxy could offer them. She had been the scrappy little sister, the spunky tomboy who did everything she could to keep up with her big brothers and give them a run for their credits. She had been an artist, a writer, a poet. A hopeful musician with all the tonal key of wounded bullfrogs, but it had never stopped her from dreaming; from hoping. The mirialan had shot for the stars and landed amongst them, reaching the height of her noble dream when she graduated from training and was awarded the title she paid for in blood, sweat, and tears.

Her tormented body thudded in The Mongrel's grasp, clutched tightly in his dying hand, the shattered floor of their ruined building serving as the tomb which would entrap them both for all they knew; for all they cared. Mutually assured destruction was all Nova could promise him when he decided she was worth killing, and it was that very end she wrought. She could die now, content in the knowledge that he would never harm another again. That her brothers and sisters in arms would know his face and story no longer, that his shadow had foretold agony for the last. Her hands laxed from their grasp around his fingers, arms broken and scored by the war tumbling to the ground to lay by her sides. Braided hair bit the dust, scattering in its wild strand to obscure her slumbering features, hiding away the same smile she had worn as she introduced him to his gods. Stillness became her, the hollow two-tone rhythm of her chest's rise and fall the only motion spared between the two of them; soon it too would abandon them.

Two children, once destined for greatness, slumbered as the world fell apart around them.


ALLIES | NIO | Kolson Vrask Raus Garrat Aemilio Valaar DECEASED Erskine Barran Ortʹtʹo Mikla Alex Eldar Shai Maji Keilara Kala'myr Bastard @IMMOGS
FOES | BOTM | The Mongrel SCAR Zachariel Steelblood @IMCAELITUS

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

I R O N_Q U E E N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IN SERVICE TO IMPERATOR RURIK FEL AND KING ERNEST ALBERT V
COMMANDER GALIDRAAN VOID STRIKE GROUP
CODE NAME: 'THE VOID LIONS'

I VOW TO THEE MY COUNTRY
NIRAUAN

Spoiler: TL;DR

• RGNS Celestial Knights, RGNS Brighton's Briarwolves, and Northumbrian Nexu's along with House Fortan's Nerissa's Strikers and Paladins Escorted by but not pictured RGNS Sarissa's Chosen (Superior Fighters), RGNS King's Vanguard (Superior Fighters), with RGNS Thames Shield (Defenders), and RGNS Andrasta's Arrow (Interceptors). RGNS Voidhawks (Superior Fighters), RGNS Chargers (Superior Fighters), RGNS Rooks (Defenders), and RGNS Pyre Pikes (Interceptors). HFNS Wyldfolk, Tamsin's Tormentors (Superior Fighters), and HNFS Lancers and Knights (Defenders). ALL TIE FIGHTERS RECEIVE NEW ORDERS.
• RGNS CELESTIAL KNIGHTS LEAD THE TURNAROUND. 3rd RGNV Corvette Squadron and 4th HNFS Corvette Squadron double time back to Nirauan. All remaining TIEs and Corvettes bear down on Alars Keto .
• Shai Maji 's Sixteens are called upon, to aid in converging on enemy position.

Spoiler: Task Force 'KINGSMAN'

TASK FORCE KINGSMAN
NEW IMPERIAL NAVY - ROYAL GALIDRAANI ARMADA
ROYAL GALIDRAANI NAVAL STRIKE GROUP | 29,912m
HOUSE FORTAN NAVAL FORCES | 9,634m
COMBINED STRENGTH | 39,546m

FLAGSHIP
RGNV IRON QUEEN | SLOANE-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 5000M

BATTLECRUISERS
RGNV WARSPITE |RESURGENT II-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 3000M
RGNV WARRIOR | RESURGENT II-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 3000M


STAR DESTROYERS
RGNV KIMBRELL | KIMBRELL-CLASS STAR DESTROYER | 100/100 | 2000M
RGNV IMPERIAL | IMPERIAL II-CLASS STAR DESTROYER | 100/100 | 1600M
RGNV ILLUSTRIOUS | IMPERIAL II-CLASS STAR DESTROYER | 100/100 | 1600M

CRUISERS
RGNV VINDICATOR | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
RGNV VALORUS | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
RGNV VALIANT | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
RGNV VITTORIA | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M

FRIGATES
RGNV ARDENT | ARDENT-CLASS FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV ARROW | ARDENT-CLASS FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SEAWOLF | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SPEARHEAD | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SWIFT | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV SPARROW | SEAWOLF III-CLASS HEAVY FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
RGNV DAGGER | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
RGNV DARING | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
RGNV DAUNTLESS | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
RGNV DRAGON | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M


CORVETTES
RGNV FIREDRAKE | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV FEARLESS | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RASKOVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RYABOVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RUDNEVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
RGNV RASPOPOVA | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M

RGN 3RD CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
RGN 4TH CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
RGN 7TH CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
RGN 9TH CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M

HOUSE FORTAN NAVAL FORCES

BATTLECRUISERS
HFNV DOWAGER | DOWAGER II-CLASS BATTLECRUISER | 100/100 | 4000M

CRUISERS
HNFV WYNELLE | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M
HNFV WYNEVERE | VINDICATOR III-CLASS CARRIER CRUISER | 100/100 | 750M

FRIGATES
HNFV ARMAND | ARDENT-CLASS FRIGATE | 100/100 | 400M
HNFV DUKE | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
HNFV DIONE | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M
HNFV DANTE | DAGGER V-CLASS ASSAULT FRIGATE | 100/100 | 258M

CORVETTES
HNFV FREOC | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HNFV FREDAR | FORTAN IV-CLASS HEAVY CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HNFV ROSE | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HNFV ROSALYN | RASKOVA IV-CLASS ASSAULT CORVETTE | 100/100 | 200M
HFNV MAVRIEL | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M
HFNV MAREE | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M
HFNV MINERVA | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M
HFNV MATTIAS | MUHKTIAR III-CLASS ATTACK CORVETTE | 100/100 | 180M

HNFV 1ST CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M
HNFV 2ND CORVETTE SQUADRON | 12X BOLT-V CLASS CORVETTES | 100/100 | 720M​

Kinniak was in the rear of the formations when she spotted something on approach to the battle proper, a quick scan was all she needed. The small astromech with her screamed, "I know Bee, I know. Ready up, it's gonna be a bit bumpy to say the least." Niance Kinniak knew in a split second that the chance of her getting back to her grandmother's battlecruiser had diminished severely. However, she in good faith could not allow such a thing to slip by. Not when so many needed them to stop this, but it felt as if time had gotten by them. No matter, they would stop this or they would die trying. "This is Lieutenant Niance Kinniak, requesting support on target, all Royal Galidraani and House Fortan TIEs in area will converge." An encrypted radio call to Shai Maji and in general any and all support in the area to the extent that any NIO listening on their channels could hear. "Bogey incoming and it's a baddie. Kinniak out."

From there, Bolt Squadrons seemed to double-time it, they should have been well and away having been meant to rejoin the main Galidraani and Fortan Fleets. However at least two responded, making use of their speed to bee-line straight for the incoming MOAB. Admittedly Kinniak didn't like the pang that grew in the pit of her stomach the one that told her that there was no going back. "Kinniak to Fortan and Galidraani Forces, we have not come this far to reverse course now, we see what is ahead of us and we understand what must be done. We made our vow, our vow to our nation, and as such all earthy things above cannot compare to what it is we are about to do. To lay our lives down for another is an unmistakable action of devotion, Lord Barran has proven it thus far. Let us join the Galidraani honored dead, for we are Galidraan and we shall stay the course. We shall endure and for the Love of the Great Celestial, for King and Country. GALIDRAAN. FORTAN. CHAAARGE!"

Niance now could understand why it was her grandmother always sought solace in the nation's unofficial anthem. It's patriotic stance, its love the devotion to others and as it stood the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. So it was to be that once again, Galidraan would lay down its lives for the New Imperial Order. "It's alright Bee, we'll be good, we'll be good," it was a bold face lie she told herself, the young woman knew better and thought about her cousin, the one she had never met. He was Pierce Fortan the III and he died in the Ssi-Ruuvi invasion of Dosuun. She thought of all the other Fortans who had given their lives for Galidraan. Niance ripped off her facemask, and let only its comms near her face as she flipped open the communications to Galidraani channels. "the love that ask no questions, the love that stands the test. That lays upon the altar, the dearest and the best. The love that never falters, the love that pays the price."

At this point, there was no doubt that even the Sixteens could hear the song, someone among the Galidraani and Fortan Naval Air Forces. Niance stared down her target in the lead with all seventeen TIE Squadrons and the two Bolt squadrons that totaled twenty-four corvettes in all would converge on the single target. The hope and idea were that enough of them could absorb the impact of it all. "The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice."

The lines went quiet and what would happen next was ultimately in the hands of the Force, and any deities they so swore their souls to. Niance along with all that could be mustered fired all weapons toward their single target pushing their fighters toward it. This was suicide but the charge had to be made, needed to be done - for otherwise all that the New Imperial Order had been fighting for this day would be for naught.

ORDER
Wilhuff Krieg | Desarnte Harz | Commodore Albrecht Herlock | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Culas Vile


ENGAGING:
Alars Keto

CHAOS
Tu'teggacha | Nyree Pavan | The Mongrel
​

 

[Vesta]

X​

Location: Nirauan, Hand of Thrawn
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: New Imperial Order | Rurik Fel | Bastard · @Ragnar Bloodfist· Lucien Dooku · Waymar Geyer · Saaveina · Ignatius · Mogra'teksa · Khroraic
Equipment: Red Lightsaber
Objective: Retribution, First Step

To turn every weakness into strength, to take advantage of every disadvantage and swell of confidence in the enemy, that was what was required to truly grow - to give when the force opposing her was too great so that she could rise up again from the ashes stronger than she had been before, with a far deeper understanding of what had knocked her down so that she could break them at their peak, that was what it meant to be Vesta Zambrano. Loss followed by overwhelming victory, and here, in this moment, was no different. Her intention had been to sample the man's defenses, she'd merely slipped into the joy of the fight and let herself get too self-involved to draw back before the recollection of her purpose came back in the worst possible way; darkness, light, and space itself warping, bending, and curving around Rurik Fel 's enclosed fist as he took hold of the dark tendrils of power she'd flung at him and shattered it and the world around her like so much glass.

She had little in the way of defense at this point, truly the shortcoming of overconfidence in a surefire strike to not anticipate such a timely counter, than to lift the hand that had released her tendrils of darkness to meet his fist with the palm of her hand. She had no illusions of the consequence of this, but it was an arm for her life - who was she to complain? Her jaw clenched as she felt the force of the initial physical contact, her eyes water at the electric sensation of the very molecular structure of her limb being violated, and then screamed out in raw pain as the shatterpoint he'd struck caused her attempt to reabsorb the blowback of her power to instead course through the very arm that had released it in much the same manner - only for the destructive force of her attack to erupt from every vein and artery, tear apart every fiber of muscle, tendon, and cartilage, and disintegrate the very bones that made up the limb as she forced the doomed hand, and the arm it was attached to, down towards the ground at their feet.

Through spite alone she felt her lips moving as she struggled to retain control over the limb for as long as she could while still striking at his weapon to keep herself from being struck down in such an opportunistic moment --

"Remember this moment, Fel. You are powerless alone."​

Then the power ripping her arm apart was shunted from her arm and into the ground between them, the immense and destructive force annihilating the limb as well as the space between their feet in such a grandiose manner that the very footing they had began to crack and crumble. She forced herself back, imbuing her lightsaber with telekinesis to unleash a wave of kinetic energy in order to keep the man from crossing the gap as it quickly began to widen with their divide. Curiously she didn't simply grow another limb, perhaps exhausted by the exertion it required to keep herself going with the pain and shock that quickly began to settle in - a limitation that the dark side of the force had yet to afford her to surpass.

"Don't think you've won, Fel, this was just a taste - next time you won't have so many to give you your help."

Perhaps he'd take it as cowardice, and perhaps it was - but she wasn't stupid, self-preservation was a must. Steadily she began to withdraw up the steps she had backed up into, towards the throne behind her, as her lightsaber was disengaged, its hilt crushed within her grip as green smoke began to lift itself up from the ground at her feet to snake its way up her legs and body.

 

[Alex Eldar]

S H A D O W
SERGEANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NEW CARANNIA | NIRAUAN

ALLIES: Willan Tal | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Shai Maji | Sturit Goan | Inarin Lsu

SECONDARY: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Alric Árheim | Ortʹtʹo Mikla | Aemilio Valaar | Kolson Vrask | Sephi Karneh | Raus Garrat | Nukth Kelga'an | Knight | DK-03 | Aurelian Sigismund | Julian Qar | @anyone else I missed

ENEMIES: The Mongrel | Halketh | Zachariel Steelblood | SCAR | Khamul Kryze | Alars Keto | @anyone else I missed

ENGAGING: Open

GEAR: Armour | 2x Pistols | Battle rifle | Sniper Rifle |Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives | Basilisk named Hack and others | Grenade loadout

SOLDIERS​

Alex watched the exchange between her superiors with clenched jaw as she listened to the slaughter going down over her comms. A shiver of dread ran down her spine while Shai seemed to have an attack of conscience. Glancing over at the holographic map, it was clear it was madness out there and her comrades were in the thick of it.

Teeth ground on teeth as units took more and more hits despite the artillery support directed from orbit.

A pause in conversation drew her attention from the map and back to her superiors. Lex realised that what Shai was asking, was no simple thing. She was throwing strategy to the wind. On the other hand, her brothers and sisters were out there dying for the Empire. The very Empire that would sooner see them dead despite them bleeding alongside the rest of the Imperials. Yet, they kept bleeding and fighting alongside the rest of the Imperial Armed Forces to stem the tide of Chaos.

They were as much Imperial as the next guy.

And then the Colonel snapped her out of her seething.

'Eldar, left flank - an' stick t'the rooftops! Krayt, right flank - but stick t'the alleyways an' side-streets, aw'right? Ye both need t'pick up as much momentum as yees can, an' aw the way t'the spaceport....'

Lex lifted her head and nodded.
"Yessir." Who was she to argue either way when a Colonel gave a direct command? It was a chitshow out there either way.

And then the Colonel grabbed her by the helmet.

Her body tensed as he drew her and Shai close to look at him as he gave them a helluva pep talk. Despite his menacing tone, tears started to well in her eyes as she listened to him. Not only because of their expendability in the eyes of some of the big wigs, but that this man, despite all his bravado and rank and knowledge, actually cared what happened to them and theirs out there.

As he let go of them, Alex blinked a few times to clear her vision from the water that had welled up and swallowed hard to bite back the emotion that had built up.

'Good luck out there, an' use your environment against these fething Mawites ahead of us! Cunning beats brute strength every time, an' most surviving Goidels in the Galactic theatre of war can attest to this.... I hope to see you both at the spaceport gateway when we're done, get moving!'

Ah hell. Why the feth did he have to care?
She cleared her throat.
"Thank you, Sir. But like the Commander says - we make the rules. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur - today is a good day for someone else to die, Sir, and it will be Mawites falling to our bullets, not the other way around. Crack a cold one for us if you're first to the fridge, Sir." she said, giving him a salute before ducking outside to meet up with Shai....

...Who had the gall to bump her on the shoulder.

"You got the comms, Alex. Give Overwatch something to do other than just lookin' pretty. You take ten men, I take ten men, and we clean this mess up quick. Rest marches with the column." She instructed quickly as she shouldered her rifle. "Let's make sure Misha and the others didn't clock out for nothing."

Alex clenched her jaw.
"Ma'am, yes, ma'am." she said formally before turning to walk toward her squad. "And ma'am, I don't brush off their deaths as easily. I wasn't planning on it being in vain." she added as she turned back to face Shai.

She may be the Shadow's CO, but that didn't mean Alex would skip through daisies alongside Shai while men and women were dying. It would take a lot of convincing to brush off that first impression of how an Enlisted Officer's death was handled.

​

<Right, you lot, we got air. Eyes in the sky and rain hell down on those waste of space small town lifers. Up and out!> Alex said over squad comms as she made an upward circular motion with a finger before kicking her own pack into gear and taking to the air.
<Shadow to Overwatch.> she hailed Base as they touched down on the closest roofs to the column.
<'Ay! Good ta hea' ya voice, luv. 'Ow ca' we be o' service?> Arden's dismal accent sounded over the comms.
<Contingent of 6 Basilisks to my coordinates. And send another contingent to reinforce Hack's position at the Fortress.> she ordered as she keyed through coordinates.
<They'll be dar in a jiffy. Comin' in hot, luv.> came Arden's confirmation.
Alex pulled a face at the heavy accent mock-flirting. <Copied, Overwatch. Shadow out.> she merely deadpanned.

Straightening up, she faced the squad standing on the rooftops all around her. She drew in a heavy breath and exhaled slowly. Misha usually did this crap. She usually just listened. Now she was thrust into this unceremoniously and without compassion, Misha's cries of pain still ringing in her ears.
Well, here goes.
<It's chit all the way to the spaceport, Vode. I won't sugarcoat it for you. But we will be the dread from the sky, The galaar. They will feel the bite of our talons. And they would do well to fear it. To fear the Iron Resolve that runs through our and every other Imperial soldier's veins. We are one! We are Legion! AND WE MAKE THE RULES!> she ended up crying their creed while thrusting a fist into the air.
<WE MAKE THE RULES!> men and women echoed in unison, mirroring the stalwart salute.
Alex squared her shoulders. <Teyr, take five on left with three Basilisks. Anything that doesn't look Imperial or Galidraani, at least, cap it. The rest of y'all with me on right. Sweep the streets from above. Rain Iron hell down on them.> she ordered.
<On it, Sarge.> Teyr Kelborn confirmed before taking to the air as his support followed.

Alex waved her hand and her contingent took the air alongside her before spreading out some for sweeping runs.

The ominous howl of six Basilisks spreading out with their respective squads, echoing eerily through the smoggish cloud of war.

​

"Georgia, nuke those fethers inching to back up their fethin' buddies!" Teyr barked at Georgia Bralor who was closest to the group of Bloodsworn that tried to catch up with the brunt of the force that was banging on the spaceport door.

Georgia veered off to swoop down on the Mawites, firing off a rocket from her jetpack after locking onto the contingent. Zipping upwards once more, she just turned to return to her patrol line when a rocket from a block over tanked into the side of Teyr's jetpack, blowing a thruster. With one ion out, the jetpack span him out of control. It happened in split seconds as he first crashed into a side wall before spiraling into an alley where he solidly crashed into and almost through a dumpster.

Georgia halted her advance for a second as she watched with held breath and wide eyes to where Teyr had been seconds before.
"Feth!" she cursed, kicking into action. "Teyr!" She sped over to the alley where she touched down in a run to where the dumpster was puffing up smoke as trash still fell to the ground. Digging through the trash and broken dumpster plates, she finally came upon the white armour of the Corporal. Grabbing hold of the only limb she could find within the trash heap, she dragged him out by a leg.

His jetpack was starting to spew sparks as he groaned in pain. Without thinking, Georgia flipped him over and yanked the jetpack from his back and hurled it further down the alley. Just as she turned back to Teyr, the last remaining rocket on the compromised jetpack went off, shooting a hole through a building wall.
"Talk to me! Where are you hurt?!" she barked as she turned him back on his back.
"M-my entire le-left s-side." he gasped.
"Fethit." she said. "Are there any medics close to Block C?" she asked over the comms.

Seconds turned into minutes.

"You'll have to sit tight for a few, Vod. They running like mad. Your coordinates have been sent. Just sit tight and do what you can." came one of their comrades' voices.

Silence fell in the alley. The only thing was Teyr's laboured breathing.
"I'm sorry, Teyr. I wish I could carry you. Just tell me what to do." Georgia told him.
"N-not much you ca-can do." he stammered.

Through the laboured breaths, the sound of Chosen boots could be heard.

 

[DECEASED Aron Gowrie]

SIXTH POST
THE_TUATH
WILDCAT BATTALION

OBJECTIVE 1: GROUND ZERO

Willan Tal Shai Maji Alex Eldar Sturit Goan Inarin Lsu

BOTM: The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Alars Keto
Tor'r Tal'Verda Maestus Khamul Kryze


ARON'S LOADOUT
OFFICER-ISSUE DISRUPTOR PISTOL
VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

TUATHA'S WRATH: NEW SWORD, NEW MAN - PART 9

NORTH PELLAEON DISTRICT,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

'Hm. We are too close to our objective to turn away and rescue him, but should he survive long enough -- an enemy force stemming from the direction of their own drop site will surely rout them.', a most-competent conclusion on the matter, considering the circumstances that Valaar and Reed were driving themselves into, so the Miltoners onboard naturally grunted and nodded in agreement with the lad from Ravelin, quickly making peace with their decision as they prepared for the last push for victory over the Mawites once and for all. And yet, circumstances were proving that even if there were breakdowns in communication at any stage, the Black Hands and the Woads could still achieve strategic feats that would require decades upon decades of training and bloodying otherwise, entering the realm of strategic excellence with the supreme use of their combined natural abilities alone.

<"Reed to Guardian One! All going well for the main column still?">

<Scott to Wildcat Two! Mostly, resistance getting slightly heavier - an' the zombies are starting to multiply a bit more, but all in all? Going well, an' incurring no such losses on oor end. What about you then, Ginge?">

<"Mostly fine on oor end an'aw, Choochter! Keep pushing, an' burn yer hangers on. The rest are aw spillin' inti the Myrmidon Quarter noo, so nae use in baitin' any'mare in. Almost there anyway. Wildcat Two out!">​

Leaving Alun to gaze on the holographic display in peace for a while, Aemilio then turned his attention to the road ahead as TIE-bombers flew screeching overhead at low altitude, momentary peering over his shoulder to exclaim,'Sounds like it'll be easy pickings,', over the din of the AFV's rumbling engine. Reed would respond by widening eyes in surprise when he saw what the second Fortanist bombing-run was achieving, looking back up with surprised expression remaining and adding a double thumb-up gesture that all but confirmed Valaar's assumption, giving the split columns even more hope for the success of their two-prong plan. Though they would take longer to punch through the northern battlefront from the Suburban Districts, everyone was still very much on schedule to devastate the Mawite landing-zones, and Lieutenant Valaar was more eager than ever to get their real fight underway; turning back to Corporal Muir to ask,'How much longer?', as any self-respecting commander would in his shoes.

'See for yersel, sir.'

Muir then pointed out to the front of the AFV as they ventured south, and just as they crossed into the unused duracrete boundaries of the suburbs, their objective could be seen just outside of their effective range; lighting up the night sky from afar, with the more-lifelike hues of such that were expected of the landing-zones that sprung up around the Mongrel's crash site, the Wildcats'/501st's intended targets did little to conceal their defensive-positions from the mechanised Imperial contingent bearing down on them. Taking that as his cue to ready the others for the attack, Aemilio then politely asked,'May I?', receiving a nod and the driver's comm-link receiver as soon as Damien saw what it was that his new acquaintance needed, ready to instil some much-needed inspiration and focus alike as the AFV formations drew into position.

<"Once again the Black Hands and the Wildcats face the Maw. Once again we charge into the heart of the Enemy. For the first time in a long time, not in some far off system, or for the sake of the Jedi. We do it for rivals that have become friends, for our families, for sacred duty. Something greater than us.">​

The raucous slamming and cheering could be heard from the other vehicles already, allowing the young Lieutenant to work them into a frenzy as they all knew what awaited them next, they all knew what they wanted from this fight - even if it meant dying in the willing attempt to carve out some glory as individuals as much as they willed as part of the greater collective. This was the moment they had all been waiting for, with their hairs standing on end just as intensely as they were in the pinnacle moment on Korriban, mere seconds before they began their hard-fought climb to the top of Mongrel's Hill; everyone could feel it, giving credence to the belief that none dared spoil the moment by interrupting for any one of the dumb reasons to do so, with all revelling in the spirit and determination of Lieutenant Valaar in the spirit of nostalgia, rage and Imperial fidelity.

<"Let's send these savages up to their gods, yeah?">​

Quickly replying to Valaar's short moment of silence, Muir threw his head back, inhaled a fresh gulp of air and bellowed,'WAR, DEATH, REBIRTH! HAHAHAHA!', at the top of his lungs to the wicked, torturous delight of everyone chomping at the bit for Mawsworn blood. The Black Hand would hear the malice in the former-thug's laughter, unable to keep his lips from curling into a smirk that would not have looked out-of-place among other Woads like Reed and Muir alike, inducing the same quiet sense of malice in the driver after the mirth had finally been quelled. And yet, little did the occupants of AFV One know, but every other AFV crew overheard the Corporal's outburst, hearing the twisted irony in the Maw's war-cry and laughing as Damien was just moments before, granted even more courage by the men within their battalion's allocation command-vehicle. From dreams of the NIO, to dreams of an Imperium, and as of that moment, dreams of another Galactic Empire. Remnants no more, a successor-state no longer, just the beginning of a journey that would see dreams become hegemonic possibilities before long; and such prospects of supreme, everlasting order in the Galaxy would only feel more viable, more tangible as the years passed them by.

<"For the Empire!">

'WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!! WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!! WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!! WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!! WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!! WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!! WAR - DEATH - REBIRTH!!!!'​

Jeering, baulking, growling the Mawsworn war-cry in a rather revealing show of what they all had in mind for their enemies, all the Imperials in the north were giving vocalised approval for the timely passing for all the Mawites who prayed to the Avatars, and doing very little to conceal it for their own sake. Even going so far as to let all the local and compromised comm-links run amok with the cacophony of those three words, complete with all the jeers and insults in the background picked up by the small microphones in the receivers also, it was fairly obvious to everyone in on the joke that the Wildcat Scout-AFVs, and all the stormtrooper/Free State elements within them, were trying to use their Mawsworn enemies' creed and war-cry against them. For all there to witness and hear it, never before had such irony felt so liberating, like their mirth was the key to every shackle that bound them to the uncertainty, the anxiousness that followed them all the way there.

<"All AFVs, this is Reed! Gears one and two - low revs, every gear beyond - full fething throttle! Ready to move on my mark, an' good luck over there.... ADVAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!">

TUATHA'S WRATH: NEW SWORD, NEW MAN - PART 10

NORTH PELLAEON DISTRICT,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

'Heh! "We Make The Rules!", I like that.... McAlister, shut the slide-door!'

And just like that, the Mandalorian passengers were off in adjacent directions, playing to their strengths and those noted by the ancestral Chieftain of Tuatha as the Laird himself faced down Steelblood's active northern static-line, taking every last shot in stride as the XT-62s steadily fought against the erratic attempts to break their momentum. Some Cataphracts would perish in the process, either having ammunition-bays detonated by armour-piercing shells or having manifolds and hull-plating pulverised into scrap-metal with the crewmen crushed within, but the majority continued to brave the Mawite pressure with all their might and mettle; firing back at anything that remained in the open for too long, and at anyone they caught peeking around their little corners to strike out at the south-facing Tuaths, the periscope-optics on each and every tank would be able to make out their targets with clear, definable ease as they hurled every last shell they had at Steelblood's subordinates.

*'Tha an armachd air a bhith math, dha-rìribh! Ach tha na cairdean sin gu mòr a 'cur sin gu deuchainn an turas seo, mar sin tha iad!'
**'The armour's always been great, really. But these fellows are really putting that to the test this time, so they are!'

Nervous laughter ensued all around him, clearly as impressed and as frightened as their Lord-Colonel was in that moment, and just as determined to see it put to an end as soon as the distance had been closed between them. No amount of field-experience would ever prepare a soldier for the first time they embraced frontline mechanised warfare, and the Mandalorians of 16th Company were no exception, probably feeling just as unsafe within the AFV as they would en route to the Spaceport, but braving it with determined grins on their face like the Goidels who braved it with them. However, if Krayt and Eldar had decided to stay instead, they would be fast agreeing that braving the streets was much safer in a flash, as the Cataphracts rumbling along next to them would explode and pepper the slide-door with a canopy of scraping metallic punctures.

'Feth's sake, man!'

<"Proost to Wildcat One! Looks like jumping the gun's got you in a bit of a bind there, though fortunately for you - we're on the way. Keep pushing, bruu. We'll bolster the line as well as we can when we get there!">

<Any and all help is appreciated, old friend. See you soon. Wildcat One out!">

'NOW WE'RE TALKIN', LADS!!!! PROOST IS BRINGIN' BLUE-HEART BRIGADE TI THE FIGHT!!!! ABOUT BLOODY TIME AN'AW!!!!'

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: The Mongrel | Halketh | Maestus | Khamul Kryze | Alars Keto
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Aurelian Sigismund | Willan Tal | Shai Maji | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Alex Eldar | Aemilio Valaar | Fiolette Fortan
Fighting/Interacting: Yes
Links: Weapons | Ships | Chosen​

Maw Flanking Attack​

The Bloodsworn continued to push, continued to fight, continued to die. They all knew death was inevitable, but they believed rebirth would claim them and their places would be earned in the afterlife. All they needed to do is bring more down with them, to take more souls to hell, kicking and screaming against the cruelty of it all. But that goal was difficult, as the further they pushed, the more forces came against them. The more forces arrayed against them, the greater their losses.

Still they pushed, using the corridor to bolster themselves and dig in, losing marauders as return fire struck them. Above and from their sides came Mandalorians, strafing them and striking them. Before them stood yet more NIO forces, and from the other side came yet more fire. Marauders died and they returned fire, seeing the foe and seeking to strike them down, yet often unable to. In particular, the Mandalorians were prime candidates, seeming to take all the fire they could muster and still coming. By contrast, the numberless hordes of the Maw were dwindling. Oh there still remained a few thousand, but compared to the countless thousand before, a few was far easier to deal with, and they were far more spread out.

"Regroup, but don't cluster. Those blasted Mandos are hitting any concentrated group!"
One of the Bloodsworns Chosen was taking command, the same who had requested aid over the net. Unfortunately for her, little aid had come, as the Brotherhood's forces were being pummeled elsewhere too. What little fire did reach though would have to be enough. Cursing, the Chosen ducks under return fire, looking about for her fellows. She is not greeted by a pretty sight, most of her fellow Chosen here are dead, killed as they were recognized as leaders. Cursing, she looks back the way they have come, towards the main force. They are too distant to retreat too, and retreat is certain, painful death. The only way is forward.
"Not one step back you dogs! We take the spaceport and the guns, for the Dark Three, for the Bloodsworn!"

She locks her emotions away, relying instead on her wrath and fury, her hate of the foe. Fear has no place here, and she knows this. Emerging from cover, she runs forward, leading her fellows out of cover and onward. They know the spaceport is there, they can see their goal so close. Thus, they push on, taking fire and returning it in equal measure. It's a struggle, every step a battle. They are hounded from every angle, rushing headlong towards death.

In that final block before the spaceport, a small smattering of missiles hit the defenders lines, finally answering the Chosen's cry for aid. Pointing towards it, the Bloodsword rush forward, following in the wake of the female Chosen. They disengaging elsewhere and aiming only on getting into the spaceport. It takes them a few moments, but finally marauders are in the spaceport. The door slam shut behind them, leaving countless outside to continue battling, but enough are inside that they set about securing it. At their head, the Chosen takes a breath, looking about as her marauders secure the area.

Slumping somewhat, she laughs after a moment, breathless and shocked. Raising a hand before her, she glances to the number of the port, before sending a call out to Kryll.
"Chosen Kryll, we have secured a port for you to land in." Explosions are heard behind her, even as some of the AA guns are secured or destroyed. "The area is heavily contested, but we need those vehicles! We will hold as long as possible, out."

Her message sent, she sets about ordering the Mawites to set up defenses and prepare to fight back. This spaceport is vast and they've only taken over a part of it, but the section they have will have to be enough. Primarily for ships and passengers, there are nonetheless bay doors for vehicles to enter and exit. That's what they will use later, but for now they focus on getting ready. Beyond the walls, battle still rages, and more forces continue towards the port. There are those who make it, but countless more don't, instead remaining where they are and battling it out, seeking to take others down with them. With fire and flame they came to this world, with fire and flame they will leave it.

Main Attack​

They hold the line. Battered and bruised, the Bloodsworn still hold the line. Under constant pressure and even more fire, they cannot buckle, fear of their lord and master compels them to not fail. But even then, they can break, and cracks begin to show in their formations. In most locations, they are hidden away in rubble and debris, taking cover in the ruins of former buildings and the craters that dot the roads. But even then, they continue to return fire, offering prayers to their Dark Gods, seeking only to survive and kill.

Still, they are hammered down, under fire and ever greater pressure. They face tanks and air units, roving bands of vehicles, and worse. By comparison, they only have some anti-vehicle missile launchers, and no vehicles. A few commandeered civilian speeders do exist, but they are hardly noteworthy. they couldn't hide away vehicles across the entire city, thus it was only the Mongrels forces that had easy access to the smuggled ones, leaving the Bloodsworn alone for now.

Though their will was hard to break, pushed so hard it was only inevitable that it would. That is, it would have were it not for the forces of Aemilio Valaar and Aron Gowrie. Said forces came towards the entrenched Bloodsworn aboard AFVs and other vehicles. From them came the Brotherhoods infamous war chant, echoing loudly and clearly across the ruined city towards the Mawites. Those to the rear were startled by this, understanding quickly that this cry came from vehicles. Turning, they were witness to the NIO forces chanting 'War, Death, Rebirth.'

For a moment, their hopes soared, before plummeting as the vehicles engaged the marauders. Clearly these weren't of the Brotherhood, but the NIO. They faltered, some questioningly chanting back the war cry. This confusion spread for a moment, even as the war chant grew ever closer. Faltering further, confusion ran rife, before a call went out over comms.
"THEY SEE! THEY UNDERSTAND!!!!" Zachariel's mad words echoed out, his insane laughter following suite. "Join them my Bloodsworn, join those who have seen the future of the galaxy! WAR, DEATH, REBIRTH. FOR THE DARK THREE!"

As his laughter continued to echo from their comms devices, the Chosen leading this section also began to laugh. They saw what had brought such dark joy to Zachariel. The foe, the NIO, had embraced the truth of the galaxy. War would be waged, there would be Death, and Rebirth would follow. And the only way there, was total war, to hold nothing back and to embrace the change. Following the laughter of the Chosen, the marauders soon followed. They either understood the mad logic, or they were simply mad at this point. No matter the reason though, laughter echoed out from their positions. Soon they echoed the NIO, their war chant coming from a few thousand remaining throats.

"WAR, DEATH, REBIRTH!"​

From their holes and the rubble they came, that war chant rising out across the din of battle and to the heavens. Their war chant to the Avatars, interspersed with praises to the Dark Three, and oaths of blood. The foe had seen and understood, this was the new way of life, that of war. It brought a dark joy to the marauders, an evil and dark glint to their eyes. Madness took hold and they emerged from their hiding holes, rushing out to meet the foe. They attacked vehicles and defensive positions in equal measure, countless dying, but more coming.

The Avatars called to them and they would not be found wanting.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Location: City Streets outside of Hand of Thrawn Fortress
Enemies: Khroraic Imp Knights/NIO
Allies: Detritus Ren BOTM
Equipment: Kyrel's Armor, Kyrel's Necrochasis, Vader's Bane Lightsaber

Kyrel lied in the middle of the street, holes appearing out of several parts of his body, even a hole emerged from the death mask he wore. To the Imperial Knight he was facing it all appeared as if the Wrath of the Maw had finally been slain. The black infectious liquid still continued to pour out all around, and even when the Master of Ren seemed down for the count the dead still marched unaffected. The dark behemoth only remained on the ground while the dim glow from the force light infused bullets started to fade as it was embedded into his skin. Even the trusty saber of the Master of Ren was buried underneath some rubble knocked off from his hand during the hail of bullets that had pierced his form.

There was a quiet and eerie feeling to when the dark giant had fallen to the floor. As if in that moment Kyrel Ren last Master of the Knights of Ren was vanquished all in a hail of light side infused bullets. As if he had gone through hell and back just to be taken out by a mere dwarf. It was as if there was some poetic justice to be had by all this. All that was missing now was rain to set the ominous tone while chaos still reigned on the streets between the fanatic Mawites and the heroic New Imperials trying to save what would be a symbolic victory or defeat.

When the Dwarf approached with his light axe prepared to deal the killing blow it all seemed over. It was over until just when he was about to swing he was greeted by two flame burning irises snapping open. His arms reached out grabbing hold of the axe a couple inches of where he was gripping it. The walking corpse slowly rose up, as if what he had done to him the gaping holes in his chest were merely flesh wounds in comparison. He stood and faced the brave knight as the harbinger of death stories only said he was. Only watching to see what the shock on his face was, as he grappled the axe with him, before the undead strength had finally gotten a hold of it and threw it to the side.

"You really almost had me there, that did hurt quite a bit but as I said... I don't believe i'm on Hell's guest list today..." He said as he first removed the death mask with a hiss. His eyes once shown now appeared a stitched up face of a monster. A wide bullet hole appeared on his left cheek, and an ugly snarl emerged from what might assumed were a pair of lips among the other stitched up parts of his ugly mug.

Without his saber for a moment, he was mad enough to plunge a hand into one of the wide holes in his chest. Without as little as a grunt, he pulled out something hard and to the surprise of the Knight before him what he pulled out was a dark red shard. The dark red shard glowed among the grey tones of their surrounding into an illumination of crimson, the end of it was as big as a sharp bowie vibroblade. It wouldn't be hard to figure out what he had just pulled out was a glowing bled kyber crystal revealing that some of them were embedded into his corpse. Walking in a slow stride as if not in pain, first he launched a hard fist into his armor placing a massive dent into the plating, before trying to shove his bled kyber knife into the same impact area in an attempt to catch him off guard. "I have such sights to show you."

 

[Alars Keto]

Allies: The Mongrel

Zachariel Steelblood Alars Keto
Tor'r Tal'Verda Maestus

Khamul Kryze

NIO: Fiolette Fortan Kolson Vrask Raus Garrat Aemilio Valaar DECEASED Erskine Barran Ortʹtʹo Mikla Alex Eldar Shai Maji Keilara Kala'myr Bastard @IMMOGS​

Kryll gripped the seat of the Spider Cruiser pilot chair as they closed in on the target. He was surrounded by his brothers, hardened warriors, Bloodsworn. The Hivemind was quiet, his senses were sharpened by the relief of their absence, the anticipation of what was to come was exhilarating. The New Imperials were raging across the battlefield, their defense one for the ages, holding the line against the rampaging horde that dwindled against the nation of unbending iron.

His eyes narrowed, their target nearly in range.

“One minute!”

Kryll leaned in, gripping against the nearby seat in front of him ever so tightly. The sky lit up like a Life Day celebration, everything in view was becoming suddenly blurred in a hail of laser fire.

“Don’t you dare move!”

The pilot nervously glanced back, the marauder showing signs of fear, they carried the hope of the battle below in their grasp. To fail here was to fail the mission, to fail the Voice.

Boom! Rattle-Shake

Pieces of the spider cruiser ripped apart as the vessel rocked back and forth in the air, it’s escorting craft both exploding into flowers of fire, coming down like a comet towards the surface. Sensors roared, screaming to the interior of the cockpit as the pilot and his co-captain attempted to correct their course. Kryll gripped his seat and buckled in, eyes wide open.

“I am worthy of the galaxy to come. I am worthy of the galaxy to come.”

Scattered bolts suddenly would ripcord through the dashboard of the cockpit, scorching holes left in their wake as the pilot was lit up in a hailstorm of laser fire. The co-pilot screamed back, panicking.

Everything slowed down, nearly coming still. The marauder’s eyes scanning the emotions of all around him. Dead men. What was a man to do? What would the Heathen Priests, speakers of the great word ask of him? What would Zachariel Steelblood expect?

Both eyes fell upon a singular object, a mechanical lever that separated the legs and all traction to what was left carrying that bomb. That lone prayer to victory.

Kryll knew what he had to do. The Mongrel coming to mind, the once feeble slave soldier and the many images of his great sacrifices. There was only one thing that could be done. He snapped off his restraints and let gravity take its course as the vessel angled toward the surface. The marauder fell against the dash and drew his weapon, immediately throwing his favored Atrisian War Blade into the glasteel as the filament edge ignited.

As the glass shattered his left hand reached for the lever and pulled, his body nearly sucked out into the abyss. Wind against his hair he screamed as the cruiser dropped to bomb, his eyes staring at the nearby building coming into view as the vessel dead on approached with little signs of slowing down.

“War! Death! Rebirth!”

Spoiler

Kryll and Co. flying three

Spoiler

MAW Spider Cruisers above city to drop Supersonic M.O.A.B., preparing to drop. Cruisers shot down by NIO TIEs called in by Fiolette Fortan, Kryll drops bomb and

 

[Waymar Dathrohan]

ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
CHAPTER 'IRON CRUSADE'
THE EMPIRE
ARMOR | SHIELD | LIGHTSABER

DESCENDING
​

He knew of Errant only in name and stature. His tale was a common one uttered amongst the Knights, even if it paled the glory that was the victory on Bastion, many knew of the Crestfallen. Many knew what he did. It was an ode of warning to the rest more than a vow of damnation to the Echani at his side. Waymar was troubled himself, raised among the Acolytes in the Sith academy at Korriban before eventually slipping space to find redemption in the Order of the Imperial Knights.

Once treading the path of Darkness, he could not hold it against Errant to take the sacred march to redemption. This would be his moment as much as it was Waymar's. A moment of reckoning, of vindication. With his back pressed to his own, each swing of argent carried through the flesh of the profane with a tamed fury and despise for the enemy before him. The wretched undead, they who had returned in unholy reprisal to further curse the Empire from which they betrayed and murdered their Imperator.

It was in that righteous rage he wielded his blade and shield, stabbing, lunging and cutting the blade through each of the Perished that dared approach. The next to snap him out of his killing daze was the woman begrudgingly brought unto this place at all, Vollmond.

"I felt your lethality, Knight."

<"Steadfast! Warriors of the Empire! Their numbers wane before our blades and judgement...but do not falter! Do not suffer the darkness any longer! We will bring its end and its fall! Today!"> He barked out, his voice still ethereally entranced in the bolstering of power offered by the meld as he turned once to Errant and then down to Amaya and the rest of the Knights.

<"Join to me! We are retribution, all of us! Forward!"> ​

He said, beginning to coalesce a tangible burst of energy across the surface of his heavy metal shield held in front of him, expecting those at his side to contribute to its potency or lash back in similar reprisal to the profane beasts before them before eventually he lowered his shoulder, screwed his eyes shut and slammed the shield forward with a charge of foreboding footfalls of heavy metal in his wake.

The dead would walk no longer.

THE EMPIRE
Bastard | Amaya Vollmond | Aridius 'TK-1575'

REIGN OF CHAOS
Halketh | THE PERISHED​

 

[Rebirth]

Allies: Zachariel Steelblood | Halketh | SCAR | Maestus | Khamul Kryze | Alars Keto
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Kolson Vrask | Ortʹtʹo Mikla | Aemilio Valaar | Alric Árheim | Sephi Karneh
Nukth Kelga'an | Mogra'teksa | Aurelian Sigismund | Willan Tal | Sturit Goan | DK-03
Raus Garrat | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Bastard | Inarin Lsu | Shai Maji | Alex Eldar | Alora Vizsla
Knight | Rika Hiro | Dante Corvus | Fiolette Fortan | Julian Qar

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Supersonic MOAB goes off, sending a lethal-force sonic wave across New Carannia
  • Mawite forces don their Nihil Masque to endure the burst
  • All others without dedicated sonic protection are in grave danger

Coda: The Slave-Soldiers' Tales​

The Mongrel, Terror of the Galactic North, lay broken in a Saffia District alleyway.

As the airstrike called in by Kolson Vrask streaked toward his prone form, blackened and smoking in the wake of the EMP charge, he did not stir. There was no movement, no fire in his cybernetic eyes, no sign at all of the rapidly dwindling life within his shattered chassis, slowly suffocating as the oxygen-rich lubricant that served as his blood dribbled out through a dozen deep breaches in his armor. From the furthest wilds of the Unknown Regions to the heart of the Core Worlds, the alien cities of the distant West to this great Imperial edifice in the East, he had fought in the name of the Brotherhood - the very marauders who had destroyed his old life.

Across all those battles, all those foes of incredible power he had faced down - Jedi, Sith, Witches, the most elite soldiers of a half-dozen major galactic powers - he had survived... but each time a little more of him had been stripped away. He had become a little less of himself with every scar, the savage cunning developed by his desperation to survive steadily replaced by the brute strength of durasteel and synthmuscle. In the end, it was a soldier just like he had been - alone, outmatched, relying only on cleverness and sheer stubborn resolve - who had brought him down. Not a Jedi, though he had fought many, but an ordinary woman with extraordinary will.

He had never been a man of deep philosophies, but he appreciated the symmetry of it.

Every living being in the galaxy must ultimately pass from it. Such is the fleeting nature of life, of sentient existence held together by beating hearts and racing neurons. And yet, as Jedi Master Luke Skywalker once said, no one's ever really gone. Each person leaves behind a legacy, a lingering presence built by relationships and by deeds. Some legacies are like a warm blanket, bringing comfort to those who miss the warmth of a loved one's embrace, and remember it fondly. Others are like the radiation left behind by a nuclear weapon, the horrors they wrought poisoning the galaxy long after they are gone. Legacies come in many forms, manifest in many ways.

The old hound's greatest, direst legacy was the new generation of pups he had sired.

--------------------------------------------
​

Not far from where The Mongrel lay, Callym of the Scar Hounds crouched in a half-destroyed parking garage, scanning the street through his macrobinoculars. Beside him were a pair of his most trusted warriors, scavenger-soldiers from a Tarar Warband. One held a heavy PLX-2 missile launcher, while the other braced her and prepared to help her reload the bulky weapon. They were waiting - quietly, patiently, pushing down their blood thirst long enough to line up a good shot - for the Imperial walkers to come down the street... and hit the anti-vehicle mines they had laid. Could they destroy the heavy support? Maybe not, but they could slow it down.

Callym was The Mongrel's Second, a position of high honor he had earned after the heavy fighting on Coruscant. But his life had not always been this way. Years ago now, he had been a junk dealer on Jakku, back before its admission into the Galactic Alliance. His life had been simple. He had walked the dusty thoroughfares of Niima Outpost, examining the hauls of scavenged starship debris brought in by local desert salvagers and buying what he might be able to refurbish and sell offworld. He had never fired a blaster back then, for he had not been a violent man. He had fought his battles with words, an excellent haggler with a sharp tongue.

Until The Mongrel had taken him, and he had been reborn.

When the Bloodsworn had attacked Niima Outpost, Callym had tried to help, fighter or no. He'd taken up a blaster and shot at the onrushing marauders, desperate to save his friends. In that, he failed... but he did save himself. While those who cowered were slaughtered for their weakness, those who fought back were captured in electro-nets and dragged away. In the dungeons of Gehinnom, Callym had begged for death, a request he was denied day after agonizing day. Until he had found faith. Until his old life had been stripped from him like a reptile's shed skin, and he had become a warrior of the Maw, devoted to seeking paradise through blood.

Now he served the Scar Hounds. The Mongrel had made it so.

"Wait," Callym ordered, his gaze snapping to Kryll's falling cruiser... and the payload he knew it contained. At long last, after all their struggles, it was time. Time for the weapon that might just turn the tide, might give the ragged remnants of the Mawite forces a chance - just a slim, flickering hope - for victory on Nirauan. "It's time," he said, speaking reverently. "Never mind the launcher. Put on your masks." The three of them quickly opened the packs they carried, and each withdrew a Nihil Masque... their one chance at being protected from the sonic onslaught to come. The metal descended over their heads, giving them the same face. They were one.

--------------------------------------------
​

Further southwest, at the edge of the Myrmidon Quarter, Lugazag the Betrayer loaded another rocket into the Mongrel's Howl. He was one of the Gundanbard, the hulking aliens native to Mar'Zambul - once the capital of the Argandulaniux Empire and the throne of their Dark Lord, now the subjugated dominion of the Scar Hounds tribe. Lugazag was one of the few Gundanbard left. The proud warrior race had refused to bow to the Mawite conquerors, spitting on the offer to join the Brotherhood's dark crusade. They had paid dearly for that decision. Their cities had been taken, their temples cast down, and their population slaughtered almost to the last.

It was rumored that a few Gundanbard legions still remained, scattered throughout the Unknown Regions, still scheming to rebuild their lost empire. Lugazag did not truly believe it. The only survivors he knew of were others like him - traitors to their own kind, those who had agreed to turn and serve the Maw. They had been enslaved for their cowardice, spared only because they already knew how to work the dark foundries of their homeworld. That might have been the end, had The Mongrel not heard tell of Lugazag's strength and cunning. He had stood out among the forge workers for his brutal cleverness, the skills that would make him a perfect artillerist.

Now he served the Scar Hounds. The Mongrel had made it so.

The LuchsHai cargo speeder lurched as the driver made a hard turn, just barely avoiding a slash of a TIE Fighter's laser cannons as they blasted a steaming chunk out of the road. Lugazag kept his feet despite the swerve, experienced by now with balancing on the back of the moving vehicle, and continued to reload. But then the signal crackled across Mawite comms, and he put the last rocket back down. It was time. "Blood for the Dark Three," he called to the driver, and the man nodded, returning the chant. The two of them reached for their Nihil Masques. The metal descended over their heads, giving them the same face. They were one.

--------------------------------------------
​

Further Southwest still, at the breach in the walls of Fort Imperium, Sarnai of the Kagan-Jin led the charge. It was still odd to her, fighting on foot rather than striking from the saddle of an Orbak, but it had been impossible to transport her mount in the crash-landers... and the strength of her arm and the savagery in her heart meant she was still a deadly warrior. This moment, this crash as she and her squad of warriors met the NIO defenders in a burst of blood and shattered ceramite, was the moment she lived for. The plains of Tiantang had never been enough for her; the entire galaxy was a far worthier territory for pillaging, and the Maw had delivered it to her.

Beside her, Jrottu'lev'yairia - known to his comrades as Tulevya - tugged his vibro-shiv out of the gap between an NIO trooper's helmet and chestplate. With his other hand, the Chiss soldier fired his heavy blaster pistol into the crowd of defenders, the hulking weapon punching through ceramite like a hot knife through flimsiplast. Once, years ago, Tulevya had been a promising young cadet at the Chiss military academy on Rentor. But then the Maw had come, capturing them all - teachers, students, guards - for brainwashing into slave-soldiers. Tulevya had thrived as he changed, adding savagery to his budding tactical genius, hunting his own people.

Now they served the Scar Hounds. The Mongrel had made it so.

The signal rippled out among the ranks of Mawite warriors - a rippling sea, each wave crashing upon the NIO defenders, then breaking as they were slain or driven back. There was a lull in the tide as they recognized what it meant: their last hope, their possible salvation, their bloody road to final victory if the Avatars willed it. "Masks on!" Sarnai bellowed... though it was too late for Tulevya. In the time it had taken her to speak, an NIO sniper had shot him through the head. But there were others, countless other Chiss alone, now fighting for the Maw among The Mongrel's ranks. In the midst of the raging battle, they raised up the Nihil Masks hanging from their belts.

The metal descended over their heads, giving them the same face. They were one.

--------------------------------------------
​

All across the city, every surviving Mawite warrior donned those masks. Just in time.

As Alars Keto 's spider cruiser fell, smashing into one of the many half-ruined buildings now dotting the shattered city of New Carannia, the Supersonic MOAB went off. The weapon was the darkest and greatest creation of the cleverest scavenger-engineers, a unique bomb built through the combined expertise of the Scar Hounds and Bloodsworn... and inspired by the madness of the Vinesworn champion himself, brought to him by a vile dream, for no sane person would invent such a wicked and unstable device. The weapon was a sonic imploder, but on a massive scale. The detonation was wide enough to cover the entire battlefield.

There was no flash of light, no traditional explosion... only flying debris carried on a wave of lethal sound.

Artillery-weakened buildings, a few walls still standing after the endless barrages, were flattened by the pressure burst. Their duracrete blocks scattered across cratered streets, crushing warriors in sprays of gore. But that was not even the intended effect of the weapon, merely a byproduct of its terrible violence. All across New Carannia, the sound wreaked havoc. To the Mawit marauders, wearing masks specially designed to protect them from the deadly sonic frequency, it was nothing but a high whistle. They thought of it as the deathly song of the Three Avatars, a song of War and Death that would make way for Rebirth.

A dirge for the crumbling, corrupt old order. A song to scour the city clean of their enemies.

To others, who lacked the special sonic protections prepared by the Mawites, it was not a song. It was pain, and it was death. The sound ripped into the inner ear, pulping eardrums, ravaging nervous systems until bits of liquefied brain dribbled out of noses. The sound was the discord of the Maw made manifest, their galaxy-wide chaos concentrated into a piercing note, forced into a single sense. Eyes burst like popcorn. Teeth vibrated and shattered, leaving behind mouths full of blood and bone fragments. In a single instant, the battlefield was changed. Those closest to the downtown origin were most affected, but the wave spread everywhere.

It was over in seconds, but they were the longest seconds many soldiers would ever know.

What would be left behind in the MOAB's wake? That would depend on the brave soldiers of the NIO, on how they had reacted to the terrible weapon's impact and what protections they could find for themselves as it ravaged the city. For his part, The Mongrel could not know that it had even happened. He could not see, could not hear, could not even feel the pressure wave as it buffeted his broken chassis. And yet the thoughts that crossed his dimming mind as it slowly shut down, starved of oxygen, were thoughts of hope. Hope that he and his agents had bought enough time to bring the plan to fruition. Hope that they had truly bloodied their foes.

Hope that he had done enough to earn paradise, passing to the Galaxy To Come... and leaving a legacy of blood and fire.

​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent​

Objective II: Hand of Thrawn
Location: Hand of Thrawn, Nirauana
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Ragnar Bloodfist | Djorn Bline | Khroraic | Saaveina | Noel Strasza | Rurik Fel
Enemies: Tegan Starfall | Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren | Detritus Ren | Darth Mori | Lord Letifer | Zori Kapshan

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

I lowered the body to the ground softly and carefully. Out of habit, it's not like anyone here has heard it due to the siege. I did what I knew best in this situation, we collected data with MANIAC and sent them to the appropriate commanders. I know they could have done it too, but it was easier if someone did it remotely. I looked through the neighbourhood and the city from here using satellite images.

As if I had seen something and…

To the Avatars, how Ziare is incapable of doing her job properly. To tell you the truth, I’m surprised they haven’t been fired from COMPNOR yet. Even though she had the job, it was good for me. This is how the assassin was able to follow me and do their work. Perfect. But I didn’t have much time, so I quickly sent a message to The Mongrel :

<< Warlord, this is Mercy. The task is completed, the general is dead and I obtained the requested information. I'll be back to Maw soon. Don't answer, I'll give control back to Ziare so you don't notice anything about what happened. Mercy, out! >> I said and…

Where was I in my mind? I was dizzy for a moment and my headache. I asked MANIAC if he sensed anything, but not now. The medical records showed that I was perfectly fine. Probably the stress again, or that I sleep little. But in such times and circumstances, who has the time and opportunity to sleep? I took a deep breath and looked around.

It was time to win the war against the Maw…

 

[Shai Maji]

NEW CARANNIA | NIRAUAN
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | 501st LEGION
16th COMPANY | 1st PLATOON
50 TROOPS | 8 BASILISKS
WHATEVER IS LEFT
ALLIES: NIO | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Alex Eldar | Sturit Goan | Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Fiolette Fortan
ENEMIES: DA MAW | The Mongrel | Zachariel Steelblood | Alars Keto | Tor'r Tal'Verda | Khamul Kryze
ENGAGING: Come at me bro
GEAR: In bio | Basilisk War Droid | Standard loadout

​

CHARLIE DON’T SURF​

Shai and her men threw everything they had at the legion of Mawites clashing against the spaceport. Their rifles tore apart the collection of warriors and slaves, anything that simply looked like it deserved a particle bolt to the head. They kept moving around, through buildings and over roofs, across the streets and overhead. In a gutsy move, Shai zoomed over the width of the horde and left a trail of thermal detonators in her wake.

She touched down and scrambled as bolts collided with her armour all the way, bouncing off and knocking her around before a line was torn through the legion of barbaric skugs. It didn’t take long for the rest to move up and soon more blaster fire was turned towards her and her men. In another leap she blasted back to her group, only for a rocket to smash into her and send her through a wall.

”Commander, you alright?!” She heard one of her men next to her as she sat up with wide eyes behind her visor. With a blink and a shake of her head she got back up with a cackling laugh. ”Never better! If that’s all they got to throw at us, let’s keep going!” She roared maniacally as she dusted the soot and debris off her armour. ”Come on boys, did you see that?! That’s it! That’s all they got for us! They’re nothing!” She barked with an enormous grin as she returned fire. With a few snorts and snickers her men joined in on the action. More missiles and rockets flew from the Mandalorians as they flew out of the ruined building and zoomed into another one. ”Commander, they’ve broken through!” Came the concerned voice of a trooper beside her. ”WHAT?!” She barked, focusing on the spaceport where a bunch of the hoodlums filtered in. :: Colonel Gowrie, this is Krayt. Troops are breaking through the defenses, I repeat, troops are breaking through. :: She radioed her commanding officer, making sure that Alex would hear as well.

It was only a matter of time, of course. Eventually the defenses would crumble… but that would not help them, not if she had anything to say about it.

It seemed that Gowrie agreed as well. Several loud booms drew her attention to the armoured column as they advanced towards them. ”Oh now they’re in for it.” She cheered, drawing her pistol to dispatch an opportunistic schutta taking aim at her. The symphony of turbolasers and mass driver cannons roared over the cacophony of the battle, the shots landing in the legion of soldiers, heavy troopers and light vehicles.

It was a glorious sight to behold. But in one moment the sight was ripped apart as her comms exploded with activity.

"This is Lieutenant Niance Kinniak, requesting support on target, all Royal Galidraani and House Fortan TIEs in area will converge."

"Bogey incoming and it's a baddie. Kinniak out."

:: Commandah, tha’s a big one comin’ in! :: Arden chimed in as well. Rushing to a window, she saw the enormous engagment happening just above the battlefield. She didn’t know what was coming, but it was obvious that the Maw ship wasn’t allowed to make it.

Shai quickly opened her comms to the rest of the Company as well as Gowrie. :: All units, this is Wardog! I want every Basilisk in the air and shooting at that karking Maw ship. Any artillery to spare as well, it MUST NOT survive! :: She barked into the comms, her eyes wide and brows furrowed as she stared up at the ship in shock and awe. The Basilisks in the area raced up to fire at the Maw ship with everything they had. And when the bomb emerged, they went after it as well. But no matter how many hundreds or TIE’s or dozens of Basilisks fired at it, she knew that it was too late. Shots impacted the bomb, tore panels off and exposed the dangerous internals, but there was no stopping the hell it was about to unleash.

Even their enemy stopped fighting for the moment to slip on some kind of mask. They knew what was coming. ”What are they doing, commander?” Krel asked next to her. ”Get back.” She muttered as she stepped back, her eyes glued to the ship as it came down.

”Get out of the building!” She ordered and turned to get out of it with her men as quick as they could. :: All units, incoming! :: She radioed to any and every imperial or Mandalorian her comms could reach out to.

:: GET DOWN! ::

The bomb went off in the air… then the shockwave came for all of them. No matter if it was on the ground or in the air, there was no stopping the wave of destruction it released. Sparing a glance behind her, she saw no explosion or flash. Only buildings crumbling and debris flying in all directions along with people and vehicles.

A sonic bomb.

This was her fault. She failed her soldiers.

She helped to design the standardized armour for the 16th company. It was immaculate. Built to withstand explosions, blasters, slugthrowers, even challenge the Force with nothing but good engineering and a lot of sneaky tricks. A suit of Beskar built to carry its wearers through the battlefield and to keep them alive against all but the harshest of weapons.

But a sonic bomb… there was nothing. The helmets had good protection against immense noise and lights. But the body had nothing between it and the wave that enveloped the battlefield.

And as she and her men scrambled through doorways and reached the exit, all she could think of was the fact that every single death from this was on her hands.

She was a failure…

And now she would die with her soldiers knowing that her failure was the cause of their deaths.

Shai woke up in the rubble of the building she and her men were in. The shockwave tore the building apart before they could get out of its area, came down on and around them. Her comms were static and her eyes took a bit to bounce back from their static as well. Her ears rang and her body felt weird. Where was she?

She was back on Mandalore.

For a moment, the Graug echoed outside the building. She looked around for Aerith, but she couldn’t find her anywhere. The sky was blood red and the roar of the Hydra pierced her ears. With a cough she shoved a piece of debris off her chest and heaved a deep breath in. Tears formed in her eyes as she felt small again, the horrors of her first time in a warzone gripping soul and body alike.

Another cough close to her brought her back. The Maw’s shouting and firing echoed on the other side of the enormous pile of rubble. Trying her comms, there was nothing but static to answer her mumbles. She dragged herself out of the rubble and crawled towards one of her men to help him out from under a support as well. With him free, they moved onto the hand sticking from the rubble.

In total, only four of them remained. The rest were either crushed or had their innards erupted. Shai yanked her helmet off and took a deep breath. Her men did the same, though the damage was done. One’s eye was gone along with a mouth full of blood, the other was coughing up what she could only suspect was his guts. The last had blood from an eardrum and blood dripping from his nose. Checking herself, her teeth ached something fierce, her mouth tasted like a mixture of blood and some synthetic substance. Some of her replacements were likely damaged. Her breathing was ragged and drawn out. Her eye sockets felt like they were drilling a hole in her head. The part that worried her the most was the trail of blood coming from one ear.

With another cough she slumped against what remained of a wall. Her battered gaze stared up at one of the men as he shouted at her. The whine finally cleared up slightly and his voice came through.

”... said what the hell do we do now, sir!?” He shouted at her.

A hand raised up at him as she kept staring. What was there left to do? The Company was likely decimated. The column was gone. The enemy remained unharmed for the most part, aside from those caught in and around buildings. Her unit was but a fraction, all but her seriously injured.

What the hell was there to do?

Her hand gripped his cuirass and brought him closer. ”We make the rules.” She muttered, a viscous fluid mixing with blood as it dripped from her maw. With a heaving grunt she got up and slid her helmet back on. ”We… keep going… they can’t get through.” She mumbled with a raspy voice. Drawing her pistols, she flipped the safeties off.

”Not one step further…” She muttered as she stumbled around the debris and found her way in a back alley. ”That port is not going to fall. Not as long as we still live. We make the rules…”

LIGHT OF AIDAN​

16th Company was a disaster. Arden picked himself up from a wall in the tower while the rest either did the same or tried to salvage whatever equipment still remained. ”Wha’ the KARK was tha’?” He barked at his men. ”Sonic bomb, sir. We were on the outskirts of it. Didn’t hit us so hard. But… the rest… Sir, the vitals. They’re…” Arden rushed to the man and checked the cracked screen of his terminal. Only less than sixty were all that was left of the total vital count for 16th Company. Arden stared long and hard for a moment. His unit was nearly forty or so in Overwatch.

”What now, sir?”” Another asked him.

Arden’s grip on the table continued to tighten. ”Our boys’re ou’ there. We ain’ leavin’ ‘em to those scum.” He growled as his brown eyes glared at the rest gathered in the room. ”Saddle up. We go’ a wa’ t’ win.”

Gira rolled over as she came to, yanking her helmet off before giving a heavy cough. Blood spewed from her mouth along with something else. It looked… odd. If she could remember her biology lessons right, it looked like a piece of lung. That was not possible. That was supposed to be inside her.

Her entire body ached, her eyes burned, her vision was dark and blurry. But through the haze she could see the destruction around her. Through the ringing in her ears she could hear the clattering of helmets, the piercing screams and bloody coughs or vomiting. With a raspy grunt she slowly managed to push herself to sit up. She rocked and weaved about as she tried to make sense of it all.

What happened to the column? To the men? To her vode? ”No…” She blurted out, almost impossible to understand. In the distance she could still see the Maw… but what else? The buildings around them were gone. The wrecked vehicles laid against the ruined buildings next to the streets.

This couldn’t be it.

Several jetpacks echoed around her, and through her haze she saw the white armour of her Company. ”... up! Ge’ up! The figh’ ain’ ovah!” He roared as he fired with his rifle. Others joined in as well.

Gira stared up at him before she mustered the courage to stand. When she finally got it, she limped over to another. Then another. What remained of First Platoon by the column slowly got back up and looked to the new arrivals. ”Come on, boyos! It’s no’ ovah ye’!” He shouted at them. She couldn’t remember his name, but she remembered he was a Kryze like her.

Looking at the remaining dozen or so soldiers, they were just in bad shape as she was. But as they picked up their rifles, so did she. She slid her helmet on, ignoring the blood dripping from her mouth and seeping down onto her cuirass. ”Come on!” She shouted at the top of her battered lungs.

With grunts, moans and groans, the remaining fighters limped back and took their positions again before they opened fire. They had a column to protect, they were going to protect it. ”Not one step further!” She cried out as her rifle kept spitting at the enemy. They weren't going to just lay down and die. They would face the lead again and push back with whatever they had left.

 

[Alex Eldar]

S H A D O W
SERGEANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NEW CARANNIA | NIRAUAN

ALLIES: Willan Tal | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Shai Maji | Sturit Goan | Inarin Lsu

SECONDARY: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Alric Árheim | Ortʹtʹo Mikla | Aemilio Valaar | Kolson Vrask | Sephi Karneh | Raus Garrat | Nukth Kelga'an | Knight | DK-03 | Aurelian Sigismund | Julian Qar | @anyone else I missed

ENEMIES: The Mongrel | Halketh | Zachariel Steelblood | SCAR | Khamul Kryze | Alars Keto | @anyone else I missed

ENGAGING: Open

GEAR: Armour | 2x Pistols | Battle rifle | Sniper Rifle |Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives | Basilisk named Hack and others | Grenade loadout

LAMENT​

Georgia barely breathed.

Even Teyr tried to breathe as softly as his injured body allowed as the heavy footfalls of Mawite scum multiplied with every minute that ticked by.

Georgia chewed the inside of her cheek as she kept an eye on the entrance to the alley. Where the kark was that medic?
"Georgie." Teyr breathed.
She turned her visor back towards him. "No, I don't want to hear it. I'm staying here." she told him.
He coughed a laugh before groaning in pain. "They n-need you out there." he struggled, still half chuckling.
"Yeah, cause you can so fight a contingent of freaks yourself right now. Totally." she said sarcastically. "You need my gun here more. There's enough artillery out there to shoot holes all the way through the core and to the Southern Systems. They'll be fine for the time being."
"I still have one good arm, you know." he groaned with a smile.

:: All units, this is Wardog! I want every Basilisk in the air and shooting at that karking Maw ship. Any artillery to spare as well, it MUST NOT survive! ::

Georgia froze mid formation of a teasing response.

The order brought a chill to her blood.
"Teyr..." she began.
"I heard." he interrupted her, his body as tense as hers.
"What do you think..." She trailed off, too scared to think further.
He was silent for a heartbeat as ion engines whined overhead in droves in an opposite direction from the 'port.
"Something big if the C'mander is making s-such an urgent call." he finally said.
"Yeah no chit, shabuir." she said.

Teyr strained his neck as best he could to look at her.
"Georgie, if we...you know..." he began.
"Don't talk like that." she said.
"N-now let me finish, damnit." he said. "Whatever happens, I want you to know I - I always liked your smile." he then soldiered through.
"Damnit, Teyr." she began.

But couldn't finish.

Instantly her rifle snapped to her shoulder.

Bootfalls crashed just outside they alley. Before long, a contingent of masked Marauders appeared across from the entrance. They froze for a second when they caught sight of the Mando'ade rising to her feet.
"Not one step further, motherfethers!" Georgia said.

"Georgia..."

The trigger was pulled.

She had just lifted her cheek from the rifle to look at Teyr for a second.

And then hell reigned supreme.

She was thrown through the one building, driven even further by the rubble that slammed into her from the other building.

Touching ground in another building, her mangled body had little chance to move before the building crumbled in on top of her.

​

Alex's head was pounding.

Even her rifle was getting hot from the constant hellfire she rained down on the Mawite forces that just kept crashing onto the 'port.
"Gut that pig, Frankie!" she barked at a Private to her right who had latched onto some Mawite on a rooftop that was spraying plasma down on the units below.

Even as she herself gripped onto another from above.

Instantly, she drove a vibrodagger into his jugular.
"Not one step further for you, shabuir." she growled before jumping from his shoulders.
"I need help!" Elise cried as she wrestled with two while a third converged on her part of a roof.
Alex instantly took to the air to hop over to Elise's roof, peppering the converging Marauders with particle bolts as she descended into a run, still mag dumping as she went. With a kick swinging from far, she hit the Mawite on top of Elise with a beskar boot in the gut, lifting him into the air and off her comrade.

As the Marauder spun back around to face her, she had both particle pistols in his face.
"Eat chit, chakaar!" she sneered before blasting him in the face.

:: All units, incoming! :: S

Alex's head snapped up to see the Mawite ship hellbound on their general location.
"Feth!" Panic started to build up. <EVERYONE GET TO THE GROUND NOW!> she ordered her and any other units while she rose into the air to see them all.

She had just angled her body to head to the ground herself, when everything went to Haran in a handbasket.

There was no bright light.

No fire.

Nothing but waves of destruction.

The consecutive waves caught the Shadow mid flight.

It flung her wide and wild, rupturing what it could reach while driving her through buildings and glass and support beams.

She crashed into the ground along with debris and durcrete blocks and other bodies.

And then everything went dark as consciousness faded.

Cries of despair rang through the air.

There was a TWEEEEEEEEEEEE in his ears as Teyr clawed his way out from under some rubble. He couldn't feel much of his lower body as he dragged himself forward with the one good arm he had left.

Everything around him had been flattened. Vehicles and TIEs and Basilisks lay crumpled all over or halfway up against half walls.

A Sixteen approached his blurry vision. At first he couldn't hear anything. Eventually he tore off what was left of his helmet. The dirty-white was smeared with blood.

"I said, can you walk, sir?" the shocktrooper asked.
"I don't..." he started, barely audible before he coughed up all manner of fluids. "I don't think so. I can't feel chit. Orders from above?"
"None that I heard. What do we do?"
Teyr pulled himself into half a sitting, half leaning position against a broken piece of wall. "We fight. Everyone that can still hold a gun or knife." He pulled his own pistol that had miraculously survived from where he had been mostly covered on the ground.

He looked back at his comrade, who's armour was also smeared with blood and all manner of gore. He just hoped Georgia was still alive somewhere. But for now, they still had work to do.

"We make the rules, soldier."

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

WOKEN FURIES
BORN TO RULE vol. I
Issue #5 w/ Auria Blackmoore & Jester

​

"Bacta. None of those primitive concoctions your barbaric kin uses. Welcome to the 9th century." he grumbles, despite the irony that the mutagen running through his body was a 'primitive concoction' in its own right. "Clearly you're unstable as your recollection of events is imaginatively arbitrary. You were the one picking up your dress and running for dear life and I saved your sorry hide, then you chose to have a hysterical fit and leave the premise."

"...as for your undead cousin--" the assassin stood back up on his feet, throwing a glance back at the window from which they had emerged crashing, "--I am assuming he's still after us. Seeing as your magic has proven to be fruitless. Once again. We'll have to formulate a plan to stop him. Permanently."

"...or at least keep him away from the Hand."

"He clearly has the fancies for you - as egregious as that isis, even for a walking corpse - you shall play bait and I will strike from a concealed position." he explains, casually gesturing at the numerous protrusions on the rooftop that provided ample cover.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

SEVENTH POST
THE_WOAD
IMPAF-COMMAND

OBJECTIVE 1: GROUND ZERO

Alric Árheim Ortʹtʹo Mikla Dante Corvus Aurelian Sigismund Julian Qar

Aemilio Valaar Konrad Harrsk Aridius 'TK-1575'

Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh

Willan Tal DECEASED Aron Gowrie Inarin Lsu Shai Maji Alex Eldar Sturit Goan

Nukth Kelga'an Knight Mogra'teksa Fiolette Fortan

BOTM: The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Alars Keto Tor'r Tal'Verda
Maestus Halketh Khamul Kryze

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
FRAGARACH MODEL DISRUPTOR PISTOL
BASKET-HILTED VIBROSWORD CLAYMORE

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 11

Spoiler

Saffia District
The Hand of Thrawn's western far-boundaries
The Myrmidon Quarter
Fort Imperium
The Spaceport outskirts
Pellaeon District
Fiyarro District
Thrawn District
Outer northern suburban districts

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+03:33:01 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

<"Gorman to Lance One! All artillery-pieces resting, sir. Ammo-stores are officially dry on all counts.">

<"Good job, Lance Four! Return to the command centre at the double! Lance One out!">​

Entering the room with Dr. Qar, unsure of what to expect until he saw that Lord Erskine was sitting up and conversing with Árheim, Stilicho and Wyll, the Myrmidon would enter with Barran's black and gold Lord-General's baton in hand, gladdened at the fact he wouldn't need to be the one to lay it on the Woad's funerary casket after all. Silently laying it on the bedside table next to the Lord-General's bed, Corvus would then nod his greetings before standing to one side for the sake of the others who had come in to check on the Woad's wellbeing, letting Erskine grasp it in the hand that remained before seeing the man in question standing and beckoning for the others to follow him out, a sure sign that the commander of the defence efforts was far from finished yet. Then, as everyone was filing into the dusty hallway, Barran reached into his pocket for his hipflask, drinking from it in three heavy swigs before putting it back into his coat-pocket, muttering,'That's the stuff....', as he felt the warmth reinvigorate him like it always had before.

<"DT-874 to Lance Three! I think you're gonna want to see this.... North wall, covered for now. What's the status on Lance One and Two? Any new developments?">​

'Wait, Frayne's down?'

<"Lance One is on his feet again, and Lance Two passed away a few minutes ago. We're on the way though. Lance Three out!">​

'Damnit! Losing Special-Forces, my hand, the Myrmidon Quarter, an' now my 2-IC? This - this is brutal, man.'

It had been one of Lord Erskine's worst days as an officer, and in many aspects, the absolute worst; but his patience still held despite it all, and though it looked set to reach it's absolute limit in the following minutes of the battle, Lord Erskine still smirked at the fact he still had plays in his mind that were still very much workable in the final phase of the battle itself. But first, the Lord-General had to see what had gotten the Death-Trooper on the comm-link so spooked to begin with, turning back to the others and grumbling,'Might as well see what's so urgent, eh? Not like it could be anything else but Mawites, but it seems to be worth our time anyways.', with back straight in full, stern confidence in the Imperials' ability to hold against the last assault and do something meaningful with it. And yet, nothing would prepare the Stormchaser for what he saw next, passing through the northern courtyard to find what the DT was fretting about when he reached the battlements atop the northwestern portcullis. A mass of Mawsworn, standing in wait for something, but stopping their lack of motion soon after word had been passed down of Lord Erskine's arrival, only then did they begin cheering and parting ways for their commander.

'Oh, would you look at that! The one I never got around to finishing off, intriguing to say the least, but being perfectly honest - not at all surprising.'

'LORD BARRAN!!!! PLEASED TO SEE YOU'RE STILL ALIVE - NO, HONESTLY!!!', the Marauder roared, bowing his head with grace and humility before switching on the red-kyber lightsabre Barran had left behind in his loss of consciousness. Completely contrasting gestures of both peak respect and disrespect alike, at least to the untrained eye, of which Erskine's were not. The Lord-General saw the man's challenge like he was reading it in a historical book on Bastion, seeing the specific way the Marauder's gesture was given, it didn't take long for the Woad to realise that the Mawite in the distance thought himself a more-suitable opponent for Barran than the previous owner ever could be; and in a way, the Mawite was correct, as it had appeared that the machete he wielded before had been a poor tool to match up against his Imperial opponent. Exchanging nods, the Marauder took his validation as his cue to continue,'THE NAME'S ROOK, AND I SEE NOW THAT THE MONGREL WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOU!!!! BUT I MUST ASK - JUST TO BE SURE!!!!', pausing only for effect.

'WILL YOU STAND AGAINST US - OR WILL YOU ATTEMPT AN ESCAPE?!?!?! AS WE BOTH KNOW THAT WORDS LIKE,"SURRENDER", NEVER WERE A PART OF YOUR VOCABULARY!!!!'

'AYE, THIS MUCH IS TRUE!!!! BUT BEFORE I ANSWER - WHERE IS THE MONGREL AT THIS VERY MOMENT, ROOK?!?!?!', the Lord-General shot back, finding himself intrigued by the fact he hadn't seen or heard tell of his rival since the reports of the durasteel warrior's crash-landing in the city's northern inner-districts. Receiving a shriek of laughter in reply, Barran knew it wouldn't be anything lacklustre, given further credence by recalling the fact that,"Lacklustre", and,"The Mongrel", were as far removed from each other as Barran was from surrendering or accepting surrenders in turn; all the Woad could do was brace himself for the answer as the Marauder's mirth steadily subsided, glued to the spot as his foe removed the mask that obscured his face to answer, further expected to be a morale-testing answer judging by the unbridled wickedness in the way the Mawite so confidently measured his next, most-destructive reply of the parley.

'LAST I CHECKED - HE WAS PERSONALLY MOPPING UP THE REMNANTS OF YOUR SPECIAL-FORCES UNITS!!!! PROBABLY MOVED ON BY NOW THOUGH!!!!'

Whether the statement rang true or not, Barran knew he couldn't let such careless lack of respect for the Lord-General's favoured IMPAF unit stand, not if the Lord-General had any ambition to become the greatest living battle-commander in the Galaxy, and especially not if the Woad wanted his trophy back. 'AYE?!?!?! IN THAT CASE, I'D LIKE TO SEND YOU BACK TO THE MAN IN QUESTION WITH A MESSAGE!!!!', Lord Erskine began, pausing to unsheathe and lift his Vibrosword overhead for all to see as the Marauder listened intently, assured that the Woad wouldn't disappoint. Folding his arms and paying close attention to the wording of Barran's message for the Mongrel, Rook found himself mesmerised by the fearlessness on display as Lord Erskine concluded,'TIME AN' PLACE, MONGREL!!!! TIME - AN' - PLACE!!!! I'LL BE READY EITHER WAY!!!!', a statement that both excited and frightened everyone who was there to hear it, a statement that had much greater implications than Erskine had initially realised.

'CONSIDER IT DONE, BARRAN!!!! THOUGH YOU SHOULD STILL BE WORRIED ABOUT THE THREAT RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!!!!'

That wisdom cuts both ways, lad. Shame you'll be too far off in the distance to see it in action.

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 12

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+03:39:57 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

'I'M BEYOND PISSED THAT I'LL MISS THE BEST ACTION - BUT GOOD LUCK, ERSKINE!!!! YOU'RE GONNA NEED IT THIS TIME!!!!'

Watching as the Mongrel's man left at a leisurely stroll to find the Mongrel, in no rush to relay the Stormchaser's message as the masses outside Fort Imperium readied themselves for the fight of a lifetime, as Rook, despite seeing the Woad's capabilities in the crucible with his own eyes, (still feeling it from the sword-pommel strike after the fact) still didn't believe Barran could hold out against such odds and prevail to see such a duel come to fruition. It was pure chance that the most prolific commanders happened to cross paths on Ilum, just as the Mongrel's had with Gowrie's on Csilla, pure chance that these same epitomes of cunning and strategic brilliance happened to birth a duelling rivalry in this chance encounters, leading Rook to think it was pure chance guiding Lord Erskine to survive for so long, pure chance dictating all his Woad-born enemy's victories. However, Rook wasn't about to make any such errors that would see him eviscerated by a gang of fellow Marauders, and so made the wise choice to leave behind the only subordinate he trusted to lead the attack in his stead, keeping everything on track as he lazily searched for the Mongrel in the warzone.

<"Greetings from the Maw, Lord Erskine. Rook has left me in charge of proceedings for now, and I must say, I'm genuinely looking forward to this.... As you can tell, I'm not one for shouting, screaming or hollering - errr - but I get the job done all the same.">

<"What's your name, Marauder?">

<"Name? None, Lord Erskine. No birthname I could ever recall anyway, but I know they call me,"Dreamer".... Enjoy the festivities.">​

Within seconds of the transmission's conclusion, just mere moments after the strangest correspondence Barran had ever received from an enemy, the assaulting contingent started their attack, gleefully confident in their ability to finally chop Erskine down to size as they jumped, bounded, and sprinted over the rubble to make for the walls of Fort Imperium itself. PLX Ones and projectiles of almost every noteworthy variety would be hurled at the north wall in the attempts to open breaches all along the side they were attempting to rush en masse, but the Imperials firing back from within wouldn't slouch or shirk in the face of their ever-darkening duty to hold until the last man, and Erskine had every intention personally seeing to the Dreamer's demise, and hopefully, a timely death for Rook on Nirauan also. Turning to Corvus, Barran would smirk and mutter,'Ready the swoops, the power-lances and all the heaviest-hitting weaponry we have left. I intend to sally out and meet this Dreamer fellow in person.', gladdened by the relieved expressions and body-language he saw in the Myrmidon's commander in that moment.

'All of us, sir?'

'Aye.', the Stormchaser started, walking down the stairwell to the gatehouse ahead of the others as he continued,'Every last fething warm body we have left, an' we're putting you all on swoop bikes to ensure we hit them harder than anybody else would in our shoes.', completely unwilling to be convinced otherwise, though also very much aware that none around him were trying to do so. Lieutenant Wyll, despite his questioning, would then take this cue to lead Lord Lucien's best subordinate to the garage, beckoning Corvus to follow him as he increased walking pace to bound out in front of the others at the bottom of the north wall's main stairwell; understanding that dissent or disapproval would do no good here, understanding that Lord Erskine had every reason to adopt an all-or-nothing attitude to the last stage of the assault, it would be quite easy for Martin to acquiesce to the situation at hand.

'Lieutenant Wyll, if ever you harbour doubts on such matters - remember this.... The key to our successes never rested within the realm of convention, that's how they'd want us to fight after all. Convention is easy to adapt to, always has been! "For even the most eloquent fools remain as such in the eyes of others, fools.", an' don't ever forget that fact!'

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 13

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+03:25:54 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

Three counterattacking layers had been set behind the portcullis in Barran's makeshift formation, and all with specific purposes in mind for them, a sign of maintained cohesion that gave heart and courage to all Imperials who could see it, one that brought out a sense of finality in the attackers also. The staggered mass auditory roars making crescendos from behind the cast-beskar protection was heard very audibly by the Mawsworn on the other side, bringing about a desperation that had the trimmed down garrison fighting doggedly to keep them from climbing up and over the ramparts, remembering well of what they had been taught of mass swoop-bike formations, and of the damage they were capable of doing in wedge-formation in particular. Riding on the back of Lieutenant Wyll's swoop, General Barran had every opportunity of jumping off as soon as the lines engaged, but before any such happenings were to be enacted, the Woad had a few things to say to the brave men and women holding Fort Imperium first.

'IMPERIALS, LISTEN UP!!!! This is the moment we've all been waiting for, the moment we've been begging for under our breaths! For what Imperial do you know of, which among those braves would ever just casually stand by as their comrades died around them? The answer is,"None", isn't it? I don't even need to wait for an answer to know what you're going to say on the matter! And so I say this, while there is still time to say it.... WE DO NOT HOLD ON, WE DO NOT STRUGGLE FOR DEAR LIFE!!!! WE ADVANCE, WE STRIKE - WE TRIUMPH!!!!'

The savage cries of raucous approval echoed off the walls of the northern courtyard around them, screaming bloody murder into the night skies like a pack of wild animals, letting the Maw hear and feel what was going to spill out from underneath the rising portcullis as it clanked and ground its way upwards in front of them. Nothing would change this upward surge in morale, not even as they saw a MOAB flying across the skies overhead, destined for the southwestern approach to the Spaceport as both contingents stopped in their last powerplays of the battle to watch it descend and explode with earth-shaking impact in the distance, a sight that none would forget for as long as they lived. Even with the shockwave kicking up enough dust that it slightly obscured everyone's view of their opposing contingent, and the wall of wind-force that swept across the fort with it, Lord Erskine couldn't help but laugh maniacally as the gust blew through his greying hair, setting the tone in style for the last segment of the assault on Nirauan.

'CORUSCANT MAAAAAANTRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!'

'MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!!'​

'ALL UNITS - ADVAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCE!!!!'

Kicking up abundant dust of their own, the swoops roared out into the northern Myrmidon Quarter in wedge formation, followed by a steady advance of line-infantry and stormtroopers bursting through anyone trying to get between Alric and Erskine's lines in the attempt to kettle the Imperial contingents apart from each other, fortunately bolstered by Stilicho's third line consistent entirely of troopers with rotary-cannons blasting away at every Mawite who dared try to encircle the Imperials in the second line. All this would cause quite the brutal domino-effect for the besiegers, completely unprepared for the sheer force and momentum gained in the process, but it didn't stop them from attempting to envelop and annihilate the sallying defenders of Fort Imperium, contributing to a sickening maelstrom of bloody, gore-filled ultraviolence that perfectly depicted the many hidden horrors of war. Fighting with everything they had on both sides, losses would be felt across the board, but great things awaited the strongest, sturdiest hearts in the crucible, and such hearts Lord Erskine knew were Imperial in moments like these.

'AAAAAAAAAVEEEEEEEEEE RUUUUUUUUUUUURIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK!!!!'

Whether the Imperium had prevailed in the face of defeat, or not, wouldn't be known until the dust, smoke and fog had cleared; but all knew that in the end, whoever was left standing would forever be seen as a demonic force of destruction by the comrades of the vanquished. And quite rightly so, for all who fought in New Carannia that night would at least be deserving of that epithet in some regard or other, one of the many expected lessons that follow an epic battle between archetypal chaos and order.

'REVEAL YOURSELF, DREAMER!!!! YOU CAN'T HIDE IN THE DUST FOREVER, SCUM!!!!'