Invasion Woken Furies | BotM Invasion of NIO held Nirauan

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR
Iron Skin | Lightsaber​

PENITENT
HAND OF THRAWN
Lucien Dooku​

Coruscant was a twisting dagger to the gut of the Galaxy. It unfurled as many questions as it did provide answers. The trial of the will was upon them. This short respite following the Third Imperial Civil War was struck down in moments at Carlac and the inhale that followed would see an exhale of struggle in its wake. Rurik Fel would have to lead the Empire in crusade once more. But even so- did the Empire’s wounds ache and continue to bleed.

In the Hand of Thrawn- the pinnacle of the Empire’s foundation, the halls of which the few gave their Declaration of Defiance- Rurik sought to speak of the former lord of this fiefdom, his half-kin, Lucien Dooku. He’d heard of his awakening from his bacta slumber recently and with it, his inevitable re-emergence into the sphere of the Empire- where he’d spent a length absent from be it at the side of his lover or in the dust and rubble of his native Carannia in Serenno.

Rurik summoned him to the Hand of Thrawn, as his First Crusade Fleet patrolled the local space, to speak with his brother once more of an Empire nestled in impending strife.

“I know I ask a great deal in the wake of your injuries...but the end of your reprieve is nigh, brother.” He said, glancing over a Galactic scale holomap with crossed arms before shifting his gaze in the direction of Dooku.

“You’ve recovered well enough, I can assume?” He inquired, arching a brow beneath his iron visage.

Lucien gave a nod, his hand clenched into a solid fist with little effort in comparison to when the prosthesis were first installed. “Yeah.” The reply that followed was accompanied with the removal of his lightsaber from his belt.

Clenched tightly within his hand, Lucien ignited the cobalt blade, staring into the beam of plasma that floated in front of his eyes. “I’ve got the feeling in my hands back. Just in time, it seems.”

“Good. You were at death’s door on Coruscant...I’ve been there as well. It is no small feat to recover in the time you have.” Rurik stated as he looked to the cobalt saber ignited in Lucien’s hands.

“None of us can falter in this fight to come. The Galaxy burns...the flames creep toward our Empire. If we will have any hope to stop the coming calamity...none of us can spare our arms, none of us can falter. Else...our Empire will burn all the same.” He states in foreboding coldness to match the iron visage clasped to his tortured face.

Lucien spared a glance in the direction of the Sovereign Imperator, a title that he'd need some time getting used to. It seemed as if so much had changed, despite such little time that had passed. Yet one thing remained a constant within the Empire they both helped build.

War loomed upon the horizon.

Another threat to the Imperial state came knocking upon their very doorstep, poised to strike at the very heart of where the New Imperial Order had once begun. Nirauan had evolved into the beating heart of the Pallaeonist cause, and for so long had Lucien been able to shield its citizens from the wars that plagued the Sith-Imperial frontier.

He'd never imagined another threat would emerge, far greater than the sycophants of Carnifex and his ilk, with a Sith'ari at their vanguard who just might have what it took to challenge the might of their Empire.

"Solipsis."

The name cut through clenched teeth, the light of the cobalt blade dissipating within an instant.

"I'll have his head, brother; For the Empire."

Lucien clipped his weapon back onto his belt. With a final nod of acknowledgement, the two would part ways. The Knights of the Angels of Defiance were poised to be mobilized for the coming battle, and Lucien would precipitate their readiness with haste.

"For Tavlar."

"For Tavlar...for the Empire."

"End them all."

THE WRITING ON THE WALL
HAND OF THRAWN​

At the inflection point of an Empire- words were like the wind without action to pay them heed. As much as Rurik was a careful, methodical man- there was only so much that could be done in navigating the winds of chaos before him. The Maw were those winds made manifest. Nirauan the next catalyst for tragedy in Imperial space. Had Rurik not noted this in anticipation as one of many possible targets the Maw would be next to strike. As much as they were an iconoclastic regime, they clearly sought the long standing symbols of the Galactic's greatest powers. With Bastion proven unyielding from Imperial grasp twice over now, Nirauan was a target just as fitting. The seat of the New Imperial Order's government in-exile at the command of Irveric Tavlar , there was no venue for destruction no better fitting to the rules of the game that the Maw played time and time again.

No level of planning or anticipation would win them this war. The struggle before them would be mastered purely by will of heart and arms. Darkness loomed over Nirauan for the first time since the Iron Sun rose in its first dawn over the world. It always carried a familiar stench, each scion of dark power tracing its unique signature in the Force. Unalienably unique in its flavor of profane.

One familiarity struck a nerve harsher than the rest. He remembered it on Bastion...Dantooine. The spawn of Zambrano marched with the bringers of chaos. Here. To him.

As the New Sith Order ruptured unto the Hand of Thrawn in force and fury, troopers and Imperial Knights spreading out to cross the gaps and bring reprisal in steel to the Maw who'd come to clasp its jaws unto the once Heart of the Empire.

"Once more to battle, my knights. No quarter to the parasite that defiles our. We are the bringers of vengeance. We are the will of the Empire. They will pay...and they will die." Rurik spoke in command to the Imperial Knights through their linked comms inbuilt into the argent steel each of them donned.

He sensed that presence growing closer. He would be at odds with that darkness at the end of his argent blade again. He would never unprepared for these moments of trial and strife, not any longer.

His vantabright blade came alight with a smooth hiss of the kyber ignition. He narrowed his eyes in harrowing silence as he sought out the presence in the Force. Through the halls of the Hand of Thrawn, he walked with foreboding, heavy, metallic footfalls with his blade clutched tightly in his cybernetic hand, blade secured in a grasp of heavy metal.

The door giving way to the hall of the Empire's foundation, the once throne room of Mitth'raw'nuordo opened before him. With the sense of his motion, dim lights came to life as he waited, his focus honed in on a growing darkness. Mori. Death.

MEMENTO MORI
Darth Mori​

 

[Willan Tal]

LORD PROTECTOR
GALIDRAANI FREE STATE
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

DECEASED Aron Gowrie Shai Maji Alex Eldar Sturit Goan Enedina Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran ​

Tals subordinate trod through the paved streets of New Carinna, whose streets that were once so full of life now stood empty in the face of the coming threat. Galidraani tanks rolled past, and soldiers and captains of the 1st and 2nd divisions of the Galidraani armed forces filed into formation or moved to unload artillery and other supplies. Then, finally, he found his commander atop a battle tank, stoutly watching the distant horizon through binoculars in anticipation and patience of what was to come.

"What of the reserves, my lord?"

"Keep them behind; they'll be called in when it is time," The Lord Protector of Galidraan looked at his subordinate coldly. "There will be nothing easy about this. But, make no mistake; this is a precarious situation. One wrong foot and our forces and by extension this blasted city will be destroyed like everything else these devils touch."

"Noted, sir."

Tal pulled the binoculars down and looked down at his man with a knowing smile, almost as if the situation was but a mere nuisance at best to him as if he knew something that the rest of his men did not that day. With Carinnias defence seeing the most significant commitment of Galidraani forces since the last engagements of the Third Imperial civil war, Tals own appearance and choice to directly lead his men was unorthodox and, in the eyes of some within the Junta, somewhat crazy.

"You'll see lad, you'll see it soon; I didn't come down here to watch; I'm here to show these bald knuckle draggers what a real opposition is."

He had other things to bury the hatchet with too.

​

 

[Sturit Goan]

// FERAL ACTUAL // LIEUTENANT COLONEL GOAN // BACK IN THE THICK OF IT
// OBJECTIVE // DEFEND NEW CARANNIA // HOLD THE LINE
// FOCUS // TASKFORCE TRACHTA // STRIKEGROUP DIAB // NEW CARANNIA PELLAEON DISTRICT // DECEASED Erskine Barran Willan Tal DECEASED Aron Gowrie Shai Maji Alex Eldar // ENGAGING // MAW HORDES // OPEN
// EQUIPMENT // Combat Assault Tank Armor Mk. 1, KXR SFR-58 'Bozdugan' Blaster Rifle, REC-DC/04 "Feverwasp" Pattern Particle Blaster Pistol, Miscellaneous Equipment
// BATALLION // 8TH MECHANIZED BATTALION "FERAL BATTALION" // x1 Command Unit, x5 Armor Companies; x56 XT-62 Cataphract-class Repulsor Main Battle Tanks, x14 All-Terrain Armored Shield Generators, Miscellaneous Support Vehicles // 495TH AND 496TH INFANTRY COMPANIES // x8 TXT XV-60a Armored Personnel Carriers, Accompanying Infantry // SAPPER SUPPORT COMPANY // x4 TXT XV-60a Armored Personnel Carriers, Accompanying Engineers // 66TH ARMORED COMPANY // x14 XT-62 Cataphract-class Repulsor Main Battle Tanks //

Sturit hadn't expected his next deployment to be defensive.

There was a reason it was called an empire -- at the core of the Imperial spirit, deeper than discipline and order, was conquest. By definition imperialism was expansion via military means. So, even after the Sith had been defeated, Sturit's few tours since had always been to yet-to-be-captured Sith worlds.

Being on the defensive was a mixed bag. They were in an urban zone, so far easier to defend, even if the mobility of his units was cut down. Still, his briefing on the Brotherhood told him any certainties of conventional warfare should probably be thrown out the window.

He'd have a bit of time to adjust, though. Serving as reserves to Lord-Protector Willan Tal as part of Strikegroup Diab left him and his battalion sitting at the northmost edge of the Pellaeon District. There would be more than enough time for him to adjust to more unpredictable -- feral, perhaps -- opponents.

Then again, maybe Tal or Barran knew better. Their service records basically made them legends to Sturit, and the Galidraani had far more experience with the Brotherhood than he did.

The tacmap in the command center of the AT-ASG pinged. He double checked their positions, then gave the command for the Cataphracts to enter siege mode. He then flicked on the comms.

<"This is Feral Actual to Strikegroup Diab, we're bunkered down and ready for fire support missions, over.">

But no matter how far he was from the front line, there was a sense of encroachment. His eyes wandered the interior of his vehicle, wondering if soon those safe walls might be breached by some terrible monster.

It was a bad way to pass the time.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

B R O K E N A N G E L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE PRODIGAL SON

ANTISAINT


"I'll have his head, brother; For the Empire."

"For Tavlar."

He meant it, even if he would never say it out loud to anyone else besides Auteme . The former Imperator's death was...unexpected, or rather, it hit him harder than he'd presumed such a thing would have done in the first place. Lucien had always presumed that the old man's death was inevitable. He led the grand crusade of the New Imperial Order from the start and possessed the unique quality of being a leader who ordered his men from right beside them. Death had almost claimed his life on several occasions, from what Luc could remember. Dantooine being one them, and perhaps the closest he'd come to see the father of their Empire fall in battle.

But it didn't happen, of course, and Lucien served the Imperial cause with loyalty, despite what grievances he grew to have as their rebellion turned into a fully-fledged Empire. No matter what propaganda could be levied his way, not even COMPNOR beneath the ever-vigilant eye of Jaeger Harrsk could deny that Lucien had always been a loyal son of the Empire.

A loyal son of the Imperator.

Though the two shared no blood, Lucien came to regard the man who took in the spacer kid and gave him a path that he could follow. The Prodigal Son of the New Imperial Order, tasked by the Imperator to reach out into the stars and reclaim the lost planet held by their enemies. It took them years to even reach the height of their power, positioning them within striking distance of his beloved homeworld. It was Tavlar who greenlighted Lucien's invasion, and it was him who stood vigilant as the influence of House Dooku continued to stretch through Imperial stars.

For what it was worth, the impending threat of Nirauan's sedition would not come true, despite Jaeger's insistence on the opposite. Whether it was the reconstruction of Carannia proper, along with Serenno as a whole, or the time he spent far-flung from Imperial space with his beloved, he'd become nothing more than a sleeping tiger in the eyes of many. Content with his ambitions being achieved, Lucien focused inwards on himself, and those beneath his rule. No longer would he throw himself into the fire, watching his men die pointless deaths in the never-ending conflict between Imperial and Sith. For a time it would seem that all would be well, and he was content with the second life that he'd been living on Coruscant. It almost seemed like a dream, being able to live a relatively peaceful life with his future Queen.

But all dreams must come to an end. Such a shame that this dream would come to a bloody, fiery end, right before his vision went dark.
​

---

UNTIL THE WORLD GOES COLD
Darth Solipsis | Hand of Thrawn

“Pull on the new flesh like borrowed gloves, and burn your fingers once again.”

Lucien reflected on the words, spoken off-handed by his brother, but resonating far deeper into his psyche than he presumed the Iron Lord of the Empire would imagine. Their enemy had come straight to the gates of the Empire's western frontier, and already the savage forces of the Maw could be spotted descending onto the city. He felt worried-- not about himself, nor the men and women who patiently awaited behind him for their Lord's order. Nirauan had spent many years in relative peace, far from the war front and shielded by the Order's many defensible systems. None had ever dared to try and breach the impenetrable Hand of Thrawn, protected by the full might of the Dominion of Nirauan.

The flames now rising through the sky, coupled with the subtle shifting in the force, had shifted the attitudes of those who were once too overconfident to assume such a thing would happen. Collateral was all but inevitable, and many of his citizens would undoubtedly lose their lives in the coming conflict. It was an impossible task, to save them all, to muster the defensible power of Nirauan whilst they simultaneously scoured the city in search of those who were caught in the conflict. Many would blame him, regardless of the outcome of the coming war. Lucien could only accept this reality, and do what he could to ensure the worst outcome possible would not be their future.

"I've said this before, and I'll say it again. There comes a time, when you must take what you're given." Lucien repeated the mantra over open comms, letting his words reach out to all those who fell beneath his Knight Chapter, the Angels of Defiance. Combined with multiple elements from across Nirauan and the greater Empire as a whole, it was more akin to a Legion in size and scope, with several Legion-classified elements of Stormtroopers being placed underneath its banner. Dispersed throughout New Carannia, the majority of the Legion had been sent to assist the greater Imperial war effort. All but his honor guard, the company of Knights who descended from the Myrmidons, the Elite stormtroopers who fought for Lucien, and Nirauan first. "...And even if the future still seems bleak, it must be enough."

From atop the massive fortress, the company of Knights who were gathered behind Lucien erupted into a frenzy of revelry and displays of their steeled determination against the coming foe. All who were gathered were witnesses to the enemy coming down to seize their home from beneath their feet. Lucien had felt a familiar presence, long before their arrival onto the Landing Pads that would inevitably lead them into the bowels of the Hand of Thrawn.

One amongst them, whose presence brought Lucien to the brink of exploding with anger himself, had the gall to defile their home with his savage legion of misfits and the deranged. He would kill them all for what they've done, given the time. But it was Solipsis who would die first, and his defeat would hopefully bring the savages who came with him into disarray.

The defiler's shuttle skidded across the platform until it finally came to a halt, signaling that their arrival had been presumed to be a one-way trip. Overconfidence at its finest, it all but amplified the tension pulsating through the air, coalescing around Lucien and the Knights who formed a chevron to his rear. The Myrmidons' had never lost their bloodlust, even after their transition to Imperial Knights. It took a hand by their Lord to stave off their desire to charge forth and let the bloodletting begin. There was no rush- not yet at least, but even his insistence could not stop the symphony of cobalt blades from being discharged behind him.

Lucien joined the chorus of superheated plasma with his own, lowering his arms to his side as he strained to remain patient, perhaps even more so than his men, as the Sith'ari made his grandiose exit from the burning wreck of a shuttle.

"Solipsis."

He strained not to spit the man's name out from across the rooftop, his prothesis going white at the knuckles from how tightly he gripped his lightsaber, revealing the robotic circuitry beneath the synthskin.

Lucien stepped forwards, and his men followed behind. A slow gait moved the formation of Knights towards their enemy until eventually, his men took the initiative to charge into the Dark Lord's ranks with a fervor that could only be achieved with their Lord once more leading them at the front. Lucien followed the wave of emotions that engulfed them all, surging past his men with an incomparable speed to his best Knights, focused upon the Dark Lord, and him alone.

"Your head is mine."​

 

[Khroraic]

M O U N T A I N - C O L D
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
Engaging: Kyrel Ren
Opposing: Detritus Ren
Allies: Saaveina | Ragnar Bloodfist | Djorn Bline | Keilara Kala'myr
Imperial Knight Battle Armor | Contained Energy Axe | Tof Soren Slugthrower Pistol

---

​

Claxons were blaring before the Dwarrow had an idea of what was going on. He had managed to prepare himself for the oncoming conflict, he had collected his panoply of warfare, prayed to the Gods, and centered himself in the Light of the Force. He should have seen this coming. Why didn’t he? The Light of the Stone had done many things for him and his people, and by the time the Morning Light had been struck down with a black scythe, he was already on his way out of the facility. The roaring of anti-air guns pummeling a vessel that just wouldn’t go down as it hurtled itself to the Hand of Thrawn was quickly mirrored by the slam-slam-slam of the coffin-pods that the Mawites used to transport themselves. The squadron of stormtroopers he was traveling with were torn between sending shots to the sky to try to send whatever damage they could to the descending carriers, or actively engaging the red-blade wielding wraiths that emerged out of them. They moved as shroud throughout the Hand. Blades dancing and arching through plasteel and defiance like a hot iron struck by a smith. The entire run-up to the Hand of Thrawn, which Khroraic was moving through by the time the alarms set off, was being quickly consumed with a blanket of the darkside.

The Maw were something beyond the Legends. Something no Epic had ever prepared a Dwarrow for. The Knights and the Stormtroopers that assaulted them fell as easily as pieces in a game of Dejarik. Blaster shots rang out as the hiss of sabers quickly followed. Staring around at the carnage quickly unfolding around him.

He nearly felt lost.

If it wasn’t for the guidance of Grulaz, whispering through the empyrean, he would have been. It was difficult to pick apart from the great dying around him. It began as a whisper, someone miles away. Closer. Closer. Closer. The distance between the impossible and the real seemed to close with an impossible certainty.

Even in the darkness, there is a Light.

Hold the line, Son of the Empire.

Khroraic’s eyes narrowed as he regained his sense of composition. Looking over to the troopers gathered with him, he stamped his lightaxe once on the ground as the snow-white energy beam sprung to life on it.

“Listen here and listen well!” He roared, his voice filled with jubilation and might.

“We are the sons and daughters of Fel! We are siblings! Hold the line, for all those back at Bastion, all those we saved from the Sith before, let us do it again. One more time! Relocate to the courtyard, set up positions. Any of those kren-rhe come stumbling through, light them up!”

The troopers looked between one another, before the commander of the squad gave a nod to the Knight.

<”Understood, Sir-Knight.”>

---

Somewhere inbetween swinging his lightaxe through cultist after cultist, somewhere after spending round after round of his slugthrower into desperate duels, and somewhere between hope and darkness, in the slaughter, he saw him.

If the Brotherhood of the Maw’s invasion was the scythe cleaving the life from the neck of the New Imperial Order, this was the rot that grew at the heart before the execution was even thought of.

He knew the man, though he had never met him. He had spent months pouring over the list of the Crestfallen warriors who had left the Knighthood for one reason or another, along with researching any relevant family. Only one of them stood out among the rest in the mind of Khroraic, a relative of the Knight Ren who served with the NIO. Someone who had given themselves to the very nature of Chaos. The Heir Apparent to Darth Vader, the Fist of the Knights of Ren, and the Desecrator of Oaths. He stood in the field, more than a simple figure clad in armor. For the brief moment when Khroraic first saw the man, he did not see a Maw Knight. He saw the reaper itself, standing atop of a mound of corpses laid bare. Blade dripping with sin and hellish eyes scanning the wastelands for every last soul to claim as it’s own. He saw something less than human. He saw something that he had no true desire to understand, to make peace with, to reason with.

He saw something that no Dwarrow could walk away from.

He saw a thring-rhô. False kin.

And just like that, he began to laugh. A small thing at first, before it bounded into a hard, echoing, belly-first laugh. Tears weeping at the corner of his eyes as he called out.

“Oi, False-Knight! You’ve got some nerve showing your hrekmel around these parts! Come see what a bit o’ Dwarrish brawn will do you for!” He challenged Kyrel Ren .

“Aye, he’ll make for a fine story back at the hold…” He whispered to himself.

 

[Noel Strasza]

TEMPERANCE
THE_IRON_MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR
Nephilim | "Doombringer" | Shockgaunts | Sidearm | Grenades

​

Distant, dead eyes stared through her reflection, peering beyond herself as the tide of inevitability seeped through her bones. Carlac was dead, its citizens dead, its memory forever tarnished by the graven fate it had suffered at the hands of a traitor warlord who had gone on to orchestrate atrocities all across the galaxy. Yet that one, what he had done to Carlac, had punched further through her steel exterior than anything else had managed to. She had surrendered everything she had known decades ago to see the world thrive and to help grow The Empire from little more than a fool's dream. Her family, her people, Dar'manda, she had become- surrendered the traditions of her clan and homeworld to adopt a new one. She hadn't belonged anywhere until she had enlisted on Carlac, where purpose found her- a servant and protector of a people displaced and abused by the war.

Augmented eyes shifted, roving over the alien features of her face, of the body she had been rebuilt into to accommodate the destruction of her former. It mattered little how the years passed her by, how many times she realigned her self-image with her reality, it would always feel foreign. A nobody, she had been, another cog in the war machine set on expanding and protecting the galaxy from the dangers of the Darkness. The same machine which had made her into somebody. It was not her choice to become what she had, she never asked for it, but it was her unyielding resolve that would see her through until the bitter end she had come to expect. Take it in stride, shrug it off, get back up, that's all she knew. It's all she needed.

And now more than ever, it's what was needed of her.

The cyborg shifted, turning her head down to the metallic hands pressed on either side of the sink, allowing her eyes to close in a moment of appreciation for the quiet she was rarely afforded. It was not so long ago now that it was the very thing she despised the most; solitude. It made her feel anxious, aimless, as though she was doing little besides sitting on a shelf when there was too much to be done for her to hope to accomplish even with her unnatural lifespan. It was not just her squadron now, who depended on her, it was not just her wrecked family who needed her safe return from each battle, it was The Empire in its entirety. She could no longer throw herself into suicidal operations or lie on the wire for those she fought beside, no, The Imperator needed her. The New Imperials needed her. This galaxy, needed her.

"Feth, I hate this sh*t." the woman sighed aloud, shaking her head to rattle it clear of the thoughts plaguing her.

She found herself reflecting back on her venture across the surface of the world she had come to love as her home, the icy planet that had risen from nothing to become something. The smoldering slag left behind, the boiling slush, the skeletons, and the shadows of her people who had been turned into horrific creatures. Skeletons had blanketed the charred ground, blasted to its very bedrock. It was unrecognizable, all of it, the fiery ruins of the great cities, the distant weeping of the mountains that had witnessed it all and barely endured it themselves. The base-delta-zero had stripped Carlac of its entire self and left it with only its stillborn ambition for greatness. It was a graveyard, nothing more, a world perverted and twisted until there was no choice but to score it out of history. A tombworld. It had felt deconsecrating to walk there, to feel the crunching snap of dusty bones beneath her boots, to breathe in the annihilation from the very earth it had struck.

And all of it would serve as a grim reminder of what would happen if The Sith were allowed to prevail.

DON'T LOOK BACK
'THE HELLHOUNDS' - 6/6​

Recalled to The Hand of Thrawn, the Lord Executor found herself gazing down upon the raging battle from a vantage point in one of the structure's five towers. The crash of Imperial Knights and Sith Knights, acolytes, and the infiltrators who sought to do what it is the Maw did best; raze and loot. She wasn't particularly fond of being so far from the direct line of engagement, nor was she content with being kept from infiltration operations to cripple their assault from their own backline, but it was her duty to The Empire that bade her remain here to safeguard The Hand. A glance was spared beyond the tunnel vision of her scope, afforded to the rest of the 501st marksmen who she had selected to join her in sniping duties.

It was a call back to the days before, something comfortable, and left her available to run interference and direct combat operations from her vantage point. It wasn't a trench excursion, but with any luck, despite her bloodlust, she would not see direct combat during this defensive effort. The whining screech of fighters overhead earned her attention, affirmatives given to the orders she had dispatched, telling their fighters to keep tight eyes on the skies over the fortress in the event of dropships plunging into the towers. Another explosion rocked the tower, the distant AA guns popping another craft before it could deliver its living cargo. Strasza allowed herself a moment to soak it in, assessing the changes on the field, and returned her attention back through her scope.

<"Sh*t it's annoying that they don't mark their officers,"> a voice sighed across her helmet, one she did not immediately recognize by design.

<"It doesn't matter who you shoot, just don't stop shooting."> she retorted, compressing the trigger of her rifle to spew another high-caliber dose of New Imperial 'hello' to the throng of advancing shock troopers. Her target dropped with a clean through-and-through, left to break under the charging soles of his allies. <"They thrive in the chaos, the best we can do is to just shoot them all."> Another compression of the trigger, another body dropped.

Along each side of her, the sniper squadron picked off targets with expert ease, dropping line after line of advancing soldiers until there came a brief pause to reload. They were a well-oiled machine, eliminating the daring soldiers who made it through the frontmost defensive line, and swiftly executing those who mounted heavy weaponry to safeguard their allies.

The Lord Executor patched herself through the commo, addressing one spectral soldier in particular: <"Agent-Z, ( Keilara Kala'myr ), give me a SITREP of the frontal approach of The Hand, over.">


ALLIES | NIO | Rurik Fel Ragnar Bloodfist Khroraic @IMSAAVEINA Djorn Bline Keilara Kala'myr
FOES | BOTM | SITH | Kyrel Ren Detritus Ren

 

[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'

ON HIS ORDERS - BLOOD FOR BLOOD
NIRAUAN​

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​

The drums of war continued to sound for the New Imperial Order. Thusly, Fiolette was sent once more unto the breach this time on behalf not just Galidraan's free state, but on behalf of its Royal Family. King Ernest Albert realizing his fate under Willian Tal's rule, led his family to safety. Once secure in a secret location the King joined Fiolette aboard the Iron Queen, officially it was RGNV - unofficially it was coded as HMS, and the Iron Queen was in truth Fiolette's very own flagship; the Rae Sloane. "Barran's a good man, let us hope he'll accept our aid," remarked the King as he looked at the helmet in his hands. "It has been quite a long time since I've stepped foot onto the field."

"Ye wull nae be alone," a rather familiar Galidraan III-accent sounded across the bridge, both the King and Fiolette who for the time being was simply a Commodore. "Bruce McCulloch, Clan McCulloch wull help ye oan this day. We've brought oor men fur th' rammy if ye'll hae us."

"I would be so honored," a smile came across the King's face, "let us join forces, House Albert and Clan McCulloch shall ride into battle together. I hear these Maw fellows are quite brutes, or someone was being more than generous with their tales in the Taverns on Galidraan IV."

Fiolette kept her bearings, "we're soon to be reverting over Niaruan soon, Your Majesty. Ser Bruce."

"Dinnae be callin me sur, lass. A'm yer kin," he all but waggled his finger in her face, "sae chap it aff."

"My apologies," she gave him but the briefest of smiles while sparing her cousin a nod of acknowledgment and turning her attention back to the fleet.

Clan McCulloch and other branches of the Fortan family who were more familiar with ground combat would be accompanying the King. Although on this day, he looked no different than any other soldier serving Galidraan and the New Imperial Order. "Exiting hyperspace in three, two, one." The operations officer called out and warned everyone to brace as they dropped from hyperspace. The battle was in full swing, the King's eyes grew wide, meanwhile Bruce all but shouted with excitement.

"Aye it's aboot time c'mon lets gang chap some heids aff!" Bruce clapsed his armored hand on the King's shoulder and happily exited the bridge rallying Clan McCulloch over the comms as he did so. "If ye hae hauf a brain git yer bahookie tae th' hangars 'n' lets go!"

The King only chuckled and followed after him with Cerridwyn and Ranald Fortan in tow.

"Get me in line to the Knight Admiral," Fiolette ordered her somewhat merry tone gone. Replaced by the stern and forward attitude she had been known for. "All hands battle stations, let's get a screen going - patch me into Barran as well."

The klaxons wailed throughout the corridors of the Rae Sloane, turned Iron Queen. Galidraan's enigmatic lion on each ship, the sigil of the New Imperial Order mirrored it on the other side. Starlight of the void gave light to the ships as they began to shift into formation. The sound of boots against durasteel plated floors could be heard, along with the busying of hangars as TIEs were scrambled and sent out of their bays screeching in their iconic screams right into the black of space. The Maw had dared to strike at the heart of the New Imperial Order, and they would face the whole wrath of the New Imperials and their Galidraani brethren.

"Encrypted lines secure to the New Imperial Order."

"Fortan with Galidraan, where do you need us."

The communications officer was quick to switch the lines, disconnecting from the interfleet coms to Barran.

"Lord General, House Fortan has arrived, we're ready to lend a hand - you have my full support for operations on the ground."

ORDER
Wilhuff Krieg | Scourge Harz | Albrecht F. Herlock | DECEASED Erskine Barran

CHAOS
Tu'teggacha | Isabella Pavan​

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Tags: The Mongrel | DECEASED Erskine Barran
Fighting/Interacting: Open, let's fight!
Links: Weapons | Ships | Chosen​

War and Death came, Rebirth would follow. This was the belief of the Brotherhood, of Zachariel. Every battle, every slaughter, another step towards everything they wished for the galaxy. New Carannia was another step towards that final goal, another offering towards the Avatars. It was also a testament to the galaxy, to their foes, that they would shy away from nothing and no one. They had proven their ability and willingness for destruction with Csilla, now they would prove more military targets were just as likely to be attacked and destroyed. At least, that was the plan, one they would seek to fulfill in full.

To that end, the Brotherhood attacked New Carannia with calculated and reckless abandon. In a ship identical to the Mongrels, aside from the symbols of allegiance, were the Bloodsworn, with Zachariel at their head. Within these 'landers' oaths of war could be heard, cries and promises to the Blood God, with vows to add significantly to Zachariel's skull throne. Within Zachariel's lander, such vows were voice twice as loud, for they swore themselves once more to Zachariel himself. And their warlord simply stood at the head of the ship, even as it plummeted in tandem with the Mongrels ships.

All around other ships fell as well, and Zachariel could both sense and feel the anti-air streaming towards them. A sudden, echoing explosion rocked his 'lander', even as he felt dozens of lives be extinguished nearby. Frowning beneath his helm, Zachariel steadied his stance as the ground rushed closer. Other ships died as they fell, but his own survived, and that's what concerned him in the end. Eventually they crashed into the ground, smashing through a building and landing flat on a main thoroughfare.

Doors flew open, from explosives or flung wide, and out rushed the marauders of the Maw. And stalking out of his lander came Zachariel, flanked by several of his elite Chosen. Looking about, he was given a beautiful view, one of death and destruction. Not only that, but they had landed relatively close to their target, somewhat South of the Northern suburban district. This meant plenty of Death Cult cultists and even more offerings for the Avatars.

"FORWARD! Secure our targets and kill for the Avatars! For the Dark Three!"

His warcry echoed out, directing the slaughter and inevitable battle. Landing zones had to be secured and outposts and checkpoints of the NIO had to be destroyed. All with the end goal of entering the main fortress of the Imperials, and desecrating it for the Avatars. Grinning a bloodthirsty grin, Zachariel set forth to bring war and death to the foe. War came with the Brotherhood and only death would follow.

Let the galaxy burn.​

 

[Halketh]

REVELATIONS
DARK LORD OF THE SITH
DARTH CAELITUS
The Aegis of Woe | Ace | Lightsaber
The Perished | 7000/7000
GROUND ZERO - NEW CARANNIA

​

For a moment, the Dark Lord considered the poem of his presence against the New Imperials, and he wondered how it was they may have interpreted it; if they found the irony as delicious as he did. Poised in the south of the city, closer to the spaceport, Darth Caelitus tipped his head upward to draw a breath through the carved masque sealing his scarred visage beneath, savoring the stench of fear riding the unnatural winds of the carnage. To his flank, legions of unnatural horrors arranged themselves into task forces and teams, orchestrated by the appointed leadership within their vile rank to enforce their creator's will. The semantics of it all was of little interest to him, though their ruthless efficiency in slaughtering the soldiers he had once considered comrades was the true treat of the eve.

Devoted acolytes beneath his thumb rushed to his sides, eager hands already drawing lightsaber hilts from slings and stow, igniting the choir of blades with a melodious tune. "Ensure the Scarhounds secure the spaceport so our allies may join us," his voice resonated, "the rest of you will march with me, we will overrun and overwhelm their defenses to force a collapse." His resolute stride onward snapped the undying legions gathered to do the same, each thundering plant of boot heel echoed deep into the duracrete to rattle the city.

The Dark Lord unfurled his dusky wings, casting armored hands out to each side of his gait, and expanded his senses beyond his immediate vicinity, reaching through The Force to touch the minds and hearts of his opposition, poisoning their courage with an icy disease; doubt. His dreadful aura unraveled to its fullest, his madness manifesting in the temporal anomaly that guided the winds and razed the spirit. Unnatural darkness chased the sun, smothering out the intensity of its rays beneath clouds of blackened haze, plunging the city into cloudy grey obscurity. Beside him, his sorcerous devout clasped their hands in gesture, keeping stride and finding a rhythm in black-tongue chants of incantation. Through his influence, his presence, that parasitic touch he provoked everything with, their own spread.

Caelitus honed his focus, latching onto the fleeting streams of life force fleeing from the dying soldiers of both sides. He leashed it, trapping it within his spidery grasp, until the very spinnerets of his sorcerers cast their web at last, projecting it far and wide. Corpses littered upon the broken streets jerked unnaturally, flesh and bone wrenched by invisible summons to rise. Slowly, all across the Dark Lord's vicinity, the dead arose, heeding the call of The Divine. It was a mere glimpse of what was to come. Slain New Imperials lunged on their former comrades, ripping and tearing through armor and flesh with unnatural strength. Dead Mawites turned right back on their killers, severing veins to wash the streets in blood. The air turned sour and dead swiftly, ruined by the putrid stench of Forceful perversion, the very magic itself reeking of rotten flesh.

The graven smell ventured upon the shifting wind, carrying deeper into the waiting defenses.

"Leave none standing, slaughter them all." The Dark Lord commanded, returning his hands to his center now that his spell was cast, "This is their end, their apocalypse. Flank their infantry squadrons, crush the artillery, and leave the armor to our own. We will systematically punch holes through their line to expose the fortress within, and once we do that much, our allies will aid us in overrunning and claiming it for ourselves. From there, we will press onto The Hand of Thrawn and destroy their foundations permanently."

Beneath his silent order, the thousands of undead brought to crush the New Imperial forces swarmed from his flank, pouring around him like a river of hellish carnage. He heard it long before he could witness it unfurl in his Force Sight, the ambush of his forces into the southeastern flank of the Myrmidon Quarter. The sky seemed to tremble as thousands of weapons roared to life, rattled further by the unholy howls and screeches of the undead.

The New Sith Order surged across the streets, charging to leap into the slaughter as eager pack hounds, slicing and crushing the stormtroopers unfortunate enough to catch their eye before triggers could be compressed. And with their charge, came the undead soaking and tanking the slew of defensive fire that was lain down. It was the same tactic that had broken The Sith Empire to face, the same horrific realization would wash over the defenses then- these soldiers were unnatural. Caelitus smirked beneath his helmet as he pondered the expressions on his former allies' faces to realize they were now facing the very same nightmare they had come to rely on in times of conquest. He hoped they would see their fallen brothers and sisters, he hoped their sons and daughters were amongst his army, their families, their lovers.

None were spared from the Dark Lord's influence, all could be raised to serve.

He pressed onward personally, finally exposing himself at last, and it was a thunderous crash of arcing electricity flashing from his extended gauntlets that served as his greeting. His hateful power cleaved a hole in the line from his safe distance, and The Perished capitalized immediately, rampaging through the narrow gap to slaughter any living soul they crossed.

The Traitor Warlord had returned to his New Imperial brethren at last.


ALLIES | BOTM | SITH | THE DARK SIDE | The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Laoth
FOES | NIO | DECEASED Erskine Barran Kolson Vrask Willan Tal Sturit Goan Enedina Tal Rika Hiro Alric Árheim Ortʹtʹo Mikla Aemilio Valaar Raus Garrat Shai Maji DECEASED Aron Gowrie Alex Eldar Nukth Kelga'an Knight

 

[SCAR]

Tor’r Tal’Verda | Death’s Hand
DISABLE The Spaceport Anti-Air Defenses

The Kamikaze-Class starfighter rocked violently against the New Carannian sky as it pierced the veil of clouds like a dagger through the heart. The force of the vessel ripped away the center of the impacted transparent layers dragging them off with the plummeting starship. Sensors screamed, lights flickered, the controls stiffened as pressure built against the hull. Despite the obvious handicaps adding up, the Mandalorian stayed silent and still. The Heir of the Dreadguard, the wayward son of the Tal'Verda glared through the visor of his Beskar'gam helmet as the sky lit up in laser fire and Mawite vessels fell into view all around him.

"Adjusting course 3 degrees from center. The rabble will be torn to bits by Anti-Air."

Sure enough, as the Mandalorian veered slightly away from the pack several Mawite starfighters exploded into balls of flame. The Mandalorian scoffed, shaking his head softly.

"Converge on me. I'll handle the spaceport, once the defenses are down we can bring in the heavy artillery."

His hand gripped hold of the throttle and yanked back, the Slammer snapped back with a roar, a sudden spinout as it nearly stalled out in the air above. He toggled a few switches and slowly pressed forward on the throttle again, the starfighter screaming as the engines roared once more. The cockpit shook violently, he leveled the beast out as much as he could before it closed in on it's target. He aimed for a nearby tower in the large New Carannia spaceport as a nearby shot from a heavy Anti-Air emplacement peeled apart of the durasteel coating away, a second lucky hit shattered a piece of his hull. A third, a fourth grazing shots.

He tightened his grip, his mind racing with thoughts of glory to the future, to Death's Hand, to Mand'alor.

"For Mand'alor."

The ship pierced violently into structural steel and duracrete, shattering forth through the wall as it staggered into place. Smoke. Debris. A lone wolf who managed to survive the intensive wave of crashing ORDER imposed against the forces of chaos made manifest. The New Imperial line that would be held at all costs even as the Mawite hordes rained down from the skies like a plague.

The piercing tips slowly parted, dust kicked up as they sprung open nestling against the strudy but damaged wall. The cockpit chair shot forth on a railway inside the cabin, jolting out of the opened breach came the horned warrior etched in the crimson markings of his leader Khamul Kryze . His boots slammed against the ground, knees bent as he landed on his feet and rose upward.

"Death to the Empire."

Khamul Kryze | Rath Kelborn

​

 

[Vesta]

Take You Down​

Location: Nirauan
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: New Imperial Order | Rurik Fel
Equipment: Red Lightsaber
Objective: Retribution, First Step

Memories of a simpler time, of lingering nights with Quinn Varanin on Eshan, of clashes of her saber against her father, Darth Prazutis , in their home on Maena as she completed what training her could give her - as she communed with her cousin, Darth Carnifex , in his dreams, lured him into the trust she had needed to begin a path towards dominance in an Empire she knew was falling. Each had been given a different piece of her, a face to recognize as true, as one they saw that others couldn't possibly have been given witness to - one that was no more as true as the rest, and equally false. The harbingers of chaos, the Maw, arrived on Nirauan to accomplish what the dead Empire had failed to accomplish, to leave a wound on their pride that would more than dwarf the momentary setback that the New Imperials had been given at Borosk and Traska.

This was their former capital, their home.

The shifting, changing, nature of the Shi'ido was one with her personal axioms, the belief in a shifting perspective, of chaos, freedom, over the restrictive binds of order that Empires shackled themselves with, and her gaze had been set on no one other than the head of this gluttonous snake chasing its own tail - Rurik Fel himself. Like two hands reaching out through the shadows, into the dark abyss, to feel out for something to touch - to recognize - the two discovered the other, one perhaps by accident while the other was very much intentional.

She wormed her way out from the wreckage that their landing had created unnoticed, leaving Darth Solipsis and the rest of the Sith to their own ends while her appearance, from its stature all the way down to the swirl of grooves on her fingertips, changed with every step of her approach. In one moment she was a man, tall and with blazing red hair, while the next she was shorter, mousy, with hair that was unkempt and brown. She slipped into the shadows when mere appearance wouldn't deceive the minds of those looking for someone such as her, her knuckles going white around her lightsaber's hilt as she thanked herself for not bringing something as unwieldy as a sword on this mission.

She felt Rurik's presence growing closer, a natural consequence of her deliberate stalking of the man, and her mind wandered, as she crept closer, to Bastion - to the moment that the Sith of the Empire had proven themselves dotards with their unwillingness to look beyond the aging scheme of an Imperial rule, instead unintentionally acquiescing all of their efforts to a new era of Imperials that knew quite more of how to move in the binds that order had shackled them with than the failure of a council leading the Sith of that time, that had adopted the notion of an Empire more than anything, ever would. It was because of that conflict, remembered now as little more than history, that she had been robbed of a childhood, robbed of proper parentage, but it was also because of that very same war that she had become who she was now.

A door opened as the two found the other, she standing beneath the fabled throne of Thrawn himself and he at the mouth of the great room. Light slowly filled the space between them, her lightsaber igniting in a white-knuckled grip as she turned her face to glance at him, face shifting towards the one she wanted him to see - to remember - when she left this world, dead or alive. Brown hair tied back neatly, intense eyes glaring, cheekbones high - proud.

"Fel." She said.

There was an unmistakable hunger in that voice, the hunger that threatened to devour the planet whole if unrestrained, and anger that could only be experienced with the resentment of a creation with its creator - as she regarded him, and his Empire, as one in the same. Personification, conflation, the word didn't matter so much so as the deeply personal importance she placed upon this meeting, this crossing of paths, of fates. Iron will, unrelenting tyranny, made man standing opposite to the woman that steadily became the very nature of chaos she prescribed to - freedom from the shackles of life. He was larger than life, known the stars over, while she was obscure - a weapon devised for crueler times that had yet to rear their ugly heads.

She turned to face him, her saber lowering to drag against the ground, and she spoke again with an ominous warning.

"You will never forget this."

Then she was upon him, fury in flesh.

 

[Sephi Karneh]

oopsies.

 

[Sephi Karneh]

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

BOOGEYMEN
​

In her typical fashion, the combat engineer sat in her seat on the transport, humming quietly to herself the melody scratching the anxious edges of her thoughts. Gloved fingers slid down the stock of her disruptor rifle, her right hand strumming across the barrel in the midst of a guitar riff, the mirialan swept up in her silent musical musings until she felt eyes on her, and she paused mid-strum, turning her helmeted gaze toward Grunge.

<"Usual joint in Ravelin once this is all done and over with, ey Nova?">

The woman grinned wide, nodding her head enthusiastically, "Do you even have to ask me anymore?" Fingers resumed her silent jam session until it was time to pay attention again. She was thankful that she hadn't been separated from him, though the loss of the rest of the squadron was rather unfortunate, she was relieved to find he was still with her. One of these days, maybe, she'd tell him how she felt to at least get it off her chest, but until then, she was more than content to keep an eye on him how she had been and spend the time she was given. He was a tough read, as were most of Vandal Squad, but she felt awfully lucky for some reason or another. Everyone found their seat, Nova playfully smacking the plate of Grunge's right leg after he situated himself beside her, and off they went- the combat engy still busy tempering her nerves with her apparent playlist of readily available tunes.

It was all going so well.

Until it wasn't.

A thunderous rattle shook the gunship, forcing her to gasp softly, and she shook her head, rattling her nerves back into alignment. Seeking comfort, the woman hugged her rifle tighter to her chest and pressed her weight into her heels, anchoring herself to the floor of the craft to stop from being jostled so violently. Her visored gaze met Grunge's, and she nodded only once, a half-baked attempt at reassurance. The second shake of the ship saw her relinquish her grip on the stock of her rifle and seize his arm instead, something done without any given thought, out of reflex and fear alone. There were few things worse than being shot on the ground and being shot out of the air was the first on that list. The chances of surviving a fall depended on the height, and right now, she had no idea how far off the ground they were. She said nothing to him, or anyone else, merely she sucked in a shaky breath, and held it fast, praying it wouldn't be her last.

Nova paused in her rapid thoughts, her gaze narrowing behind its shield. What was that sound?

One moment she looked at her brother in arms, someone familiar in a sea of nerves, and the next, her eyes were blinded by a hellish fire she couldn't place. Weightlessness became her, armor doing little to dampen the immense heat she felt. Her mind ran haywire, her hands groping pointlessly after the air she sailed through, and she, at that moment, realized she was going to die. She was falling, no, she had been thrown. Ejected. Too muddled were her senses to figure out how far she was off the ground. She only had the time to make her peace, and she struggled to do even that before her armored frame crashed through a transparisteel pane and bounced off the floor of a structure.

She shouted, crying out at last in fear and pain both, her armor tanking the brunt of the collision, but not enough to spare her the force. The concrete enforced wall that caught her battered body put an end to her tumbling mercilessly. In a tangled heap of busted armor, she lay there stunned, unable to breathe, let alone blink, as the shock of what just happened hit her head-on. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips, spurring them to move, vocalizing the sharp grunts of pain earned by the bacta injectors embedded in her armor. Nova bared her teeth, realizing she'd bitten her tongue something fierce, and fought the pain wracking her frame to sit upright. Hands shakily brushed the dust and blood from her visor, allowing her to absorb her surroundings at last.

She was up high, that much she could glean by the view from the window she had unceremoniously entered through, though it was difficult to gauge exactly how high. Cubicles rose around her- an office space of some sort. Her next instinct was to check the tac-pad bedded into her vambrace and when she did, only a busted screen and exposed components greeted her. "Sh*t." the miralan spat, there went her comms.

Slowly, Nova struggled up to her feet, staggering against the disorientation that threatened her balance still, and gripped the rifle thankfully still cradled against her chest by its sling. It was a careful creep forward that allowed her to peer over the broken window and gaze upon the smoldering wreckage of the ship that had been carrying her squad and task force. "C'mon, c'mon... someone... move..." she breathed quiet pleas, unable to make out any distinguishing features from the crash at this distance, she relied only on her ability to see movement. "Anybody... c'mon, I can't be the last one..."

Through the smothering haze, someone shifted, though she couldn't quite discern who it was. "Grunge!?" It was pointless to shout, the carnage of the city swallowed her voice, but she tried regardless, some stupid hopeful part of her praying it was the man she knew still alive and kicking down there. She watched the operator fumble away from the wreck, toting a bag across his chest- the explosives.

Wait, that was her job.

The combat engineer turned, sweeping her environment to gather her bearings, and started the grand search to find the stairs leading down to the ground.

And it was about the time the distant 'EXIT' sign at the far edge of the office space caught her sight that the sounds of strange mechanical footsteps caught her ears. Hushing up, Nova darted to take cover in the space, pressing herself flat and low against one of the cubicle walls.

"One of them crashed here, my Lord." She didn't recognize the raspy voice speaking and it certainly didn't sound Imperial. "Well find them and take them! We need information!" She didn't recognize that fiendishly distorted warble either. Mawites, they had to be. "Bring the hounds here, they couldn't have gotten far." F*ck. She was cornered with more enemies on the way.

'You'd better still be alive fucker, I'm not doing this for nothing.'

Sephi swung out from behind cover, tucking her rifle into her shoulder and slammed the trigger back without thinking further.

​

ALLIES | NIO | Kolson Vrask Raus Garrat Aemilio Valaar DECEASED Erskine Barran Ortʹtʹo Mikla Alex Eldar Shai Maji Keilara Kala'myr
FOES | BOTM | The Mongrel SCAR | OPEN FOR ENGAGEMENT

 

[Lord Letifer]

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
HAND OF THRAWN
KILL Djorn Bline
INFILTRATE The Hand of Thrawn


PEACE IS A LIE​

The veiled masque of the Sith assassin emerged from the wreckage. His mirrored visor reflecting the chaos unfolding as the sky rained fire and the rooftop landing platform became a battleground between the Sith from the shuttle and the Knights from the Hand of Thrawn.

Letifer scoffed openly, gripping his head ever so briefly from the impact of their less than pleasant landing. He looked upon the battle and back towards the Hand of Thrawn itself where Darth Mori, Sith Mistress of Death herself walked on course to a date with destiny. She had found a way in around the chaos, as she flew threw shapes, one he could exploit to infiltrate the fortress.

Won or lost. This battle was merely one of many to come, the Second Great Hyperspace War would rage across the galaxy tearing apart everything in it’s wake. He needed to gain access to what they knew, and if necessary sabotage their grand archives. Anything to give them an edge over their New Imperial rivals.

He let the Force envelop him, shield him and muffle his movements as he entered. Sticking to the shadows he moved from corner to corner, shikkar in hand as he did so. Troopers came and went, he passed by in their wake.

Deep down the rabbit hole he’d go. Little did he know, closer and closer to a foe in waiting. A challenge in the wing.

 

[Culas Vile]

​

NIV Squalor
In Orbit - Aeten II
HEROES: Fiolette Fortan | Scourge Harz | Albrecht F. Herlock | Wilhuff Krieg
VILLAINS: Tu'teggacha | Isabella Pavan
Currently: Entered the system. Awaiting Further Orders.

Spoiler: Task Force 'Faithhammer

TASK FORCE FAITHHAMMER
NEW IMPERIAL NAVY

IMPERIAL TASK FORCE 'FAITHHAMMER' | 4,500 m


NIV SQUALOR | PRAEFECT-CLASS STAR DESTROYER - 100/100 | 1,500 m
Currently: Entered the system. Awaiting Further Orders.

TORRENT | VALIANT-CLASS STAR DESTROYER - 100/100 | 1,000 m
Currently: Entered the system. Awaiting Further Orders.

SANDSTORM | VALIANT-CLASS STAR DESTROYER - 100/100 | 1,000 m
Currently: Entered the system. Awaiting Further Orders.

TSUNAMI | VALIANT-CLASS STAR DESTROYER - 100/100 | 1,000 m
Currently: Entered the system. Awaiting Further Orders.

THUNDER | VALIANT-CLASS STAR DESTROYER - 100/100 | 1,000 m
Currently: Entered the system. Awaiting Further Orders.


STARFIGHTER COMPLEMENT

TIE/INx INTERCEPTOR - 14 SQUADRONS

​

​

Far above the volcanic world of Aeten II, the NIV Squalor rested in silence. A single dropship flew up from the surface of the planet and entered the hangar bay. Several troopers jumped from the passenger bay of the dropship, carrying with them a durasteel crate as they quickly moved from the hangar and towards the bridge of the ship.

On the bridge, the captain of the Squalor, Lt Culas Vile, awaited the troopers return from their dangerous mission on Aeten II. Soon, the doors of the bridge slid open, revealing the nearly breathless troopers and their haul. The Lieutenant turned on his heels and looked upon the troopers as they walked up to him. They laid the crate at his feet and stood up straight before saluting their commanding officer. He returned their salute in kind and dropped it almost suddenly.

"Dismissed." said Vile calmly. At his word, the troopers left the bridge and prepared for their debriefing and some much needed rest. Meanwhile, LT Vile crouched down and undid the lock upon the chest before opening it. Inside were several crystals covered in dirt. Vile picked one up in his hand and inspected it briefly before gently placing it back in the crate.

Suddenly, an urgent sounding alarm rang out from one of the consoles on the bridge. The personnel on the bridge quickly moved about the bridge, returning tot heir stations as this alarm meant only one thing.

"Sir, it appears Nirauan is under attack. It's ... The Maw." reported one of the comms officers.

"Oh? Hmm. Very well." The Lieutenant was calm and collected. As he had always been in the face of battle. He returned to the center of the bridge, leaving the crate of crystals where it had been left by the troopers. He stood there silently, hands folded behind his back as the bridge was alive with action. It were as if he were a massive star and the bridge was his system.

"Take us there when ready." Vile commanded.

The Squalor was prepared and entered hyperspace at his command and came out in the invaded system. The battle had already begun as the carcasses of some of the stationed system defense fleets ships floated through space in the planet's orbit.

"Connect us with the Ferrata. I don't want a single communication missed." Vile commanded of the comms officer.

"Yes, sir." he replied. Once a channel was opened between the Squalor and Ferrata, Culas looked on at the battle, strategizing with each passing moment he awaited further orders.

"This is only the beginning.."

 

[Scourge Harz]

Nirauan Orbit
NIO: Wilhuff Krieg | Fiolette Fortan | Albrecht F. Herlock | Culas Vile
MAW: Tu'teggacha | Isabella Pavan

Spoiler: Task Force “Ruinbreaker”

TASK FORCE RUINBREAKER
NEW IMPERIAL NAVY
ADVANCED ATTACK GROUP |

FLAGSHIP
NIV THE FLYING DUTCHMAN | Praefect-Class Star Destroyer | 100%/100% | 1600M

CRUISERS
BULL I | Dragoon Escort Frigate | 100%/100% | 500M
BULL II | Dragoon Escort Frigate | 100%/100% | 500M


FRIGATES
JUGGERNAUT I | Vanto-class Escort Carrier | 100%/100% | 500M
JUGGERNAUT II | Vanto-class Escort Carrier | 100%/100% | 500M
JUGGERNAUT III | Vanto-class Escort Carrier | 100%/100% | 500M
JUGGERNAUT IV | Vanto-class Escort Carrier | 100%/100% | 500M
STARCRUSHER I | Tirailleur Class Frigate | 100%/100% | 500M
STARCRUSHER II | Tirailleur Class Frigate | 100%/100% | 500M


CORVETTES
STRIKER I | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER II | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER III | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER IV | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER V | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER VI | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER VII | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M
STRIKER VIII | Vandal Class Corvette | 100%/100% | 180M


STARFIGHTERS
Type | Fleet Distribution

Screen
TIE/OTx Outlander Space Superiority Fighters | Multiple Squadrons

Pursuit
TIE/INx Interceptor Starfighters | Multiple Squadrons
TIE/Vx Vanguard Defender All-Purpose Starfighters | Multiple Squadrons

Strike
TIE/GA Mauler Ground Attack Heavy Starfighters | Multiple Squadrons
TIE/HF Slasher Heavy Fighters | Multiple Squadrons
TIE/HB Heavy Bombers | Multiple Squadrons
Petard-class Droid Starfighters | Multiple Squadrons​

The fleet’s war game would be put to the test.

Receiving the transmission of Maw attack less than one standard hour ago, the Moff gathered his fleet from their simulated battle. They had been out here training for this exact situation. Maw forces have been attacking almost every nearby system, and it looked like the Imperials were no different.

Good, as they would treat them with no kindness back.

The task force now know as “Ruinbreaker” exited hyperspace and right into the heat of battle. Admiral Kreig’s message was beginning to be transmitted onto the man’s flagship, The Flying Dutchman.

“Open up a connected line to Admiral Kreig’s ship.”

Looking down onto the bridge members, a single nod confirmed that the line was active.

“This is Task Force Ruinbreaker. We are here to assist in the engagement. There are two Tirailleurs in my fleet, and I believe they could be most useful in our assault.”

Out of the viewport the Moff watched as TIEs began to surround the fleet. The Vanto Classes would provide great support as well hopefully overpowering the enemy. For now though, the soft humming of turbolasers firing up would assure him that the battle was only just beginning.

 

[Bastard]

Blood.

The metallic scent flooded the air for miles all around. It roared to life in a fiery inferno, heralded first by a wave of pitch-colored smoke. Bodies lined the streets on either side of the Crestfallen, his cloak a tattered mess, stained red from a trail of death in his wake. His evil blade left a groove in the earth where he stomped. It yearned to partake in the slaughter, to taste those foolish enough to face the White Death garbed in Endless Oblivion. His eyes burned crimson, drinking deep of the dark side's perfidious influence. Shadowy might flowed through his spirit and met only an iron will capable of shattering that dark schism.

It fell away from him, his mind unbowed, his body unbroken. The Crestfallen held tight to Grievance; the blade bequeathed to him on Bastion. The weapon hungered for more. It felt the same pains flourishing around them both as the fallen Knight did. Whispered words sank deep within his conscious mind, pushing the Albino forward, demanding more bloodshed.

He looked down at the blade's crossguard. A splatter of blood stained his pale fingers. The stench became worse. It rolled over him in waves, followed by buffeting winds of black smoke. He raised a hand and squinted through the dark haze passing around him. Silhouettes drew nearer. They howled their inane ramblings, hooting calls to whatever dark god pushed them onward. The Crestfallen scowled. His eyes burned a brighter shade of red, cutting through the burning smoke with a warrior's intensity.

Errant surged forward with a growl. He lifted his blade high and brought it down in a planetary arc towards one of the many marauders coursing through the city streets. His blade sheared through an outstretched arm and battered the invader's weapon aside. Another step carried the Crestfallen forward. A sickening squelch brought an end to the barbarian's howling jibberish as Grievance pierced through his back and exploded in a spray of crimson. It painted the marauder's face behind him in thick, viscous liquids.

A single thrust of the Crestfallen's hand sent the now limp body tearing into the men behind him. Bones snapped in twain as their forms rolled across the stone beneath their feet. Errant fell upon them, hacking left and right with reckless abandon. Limbs flew free into the surrounding rubble. He buried his blade into a downed marauder's back, reached out with both hands, and gripped another's jaw. Forcing the invader's mouth open, he took hold of the upper and lower halves of the woman's mouth and pulled with all his might. Her flesh tore as bone gave way, ripping an unsightly path down her throat, ending at her collarbone.

He threw aside the sopping wet flesh, looked her in her crazed, drug and pain-addled gaze, and slammed his fist into the center of her face. What remained of her skull caved inward. Errant withdrew his fist and threw her to the floor.

Others began to surround him, the fires of war still burning within them. He took up Grievance once more and stared out at the horde.

 

[DK-03]

Location: New Carannia
Objective: Defend the City
Allies: NIO


DK-03 tugged on the lower jaw of a Taun-Taun skull he had strapped to a wooden stick. "You have only two options," his metallic breath emanated, as his Watch Commander observed dubiously while blaster fire flew over their heads in the street. They were currently holding a makeshift fortification on one of the main streets in the upper Carannia districts.

"DK-03, what even is that," the Watch Commander growled, stepping up to tilt and fire a few shots before crouching down next to the Darktrooper once more.

The massive half-droid trooper quirked his visor in the Commander's direction, tilting his head and pointing to the skull. "This is my friend," he said dejectedly, turning his helm back to focus on the dead puppet and play with it's jaw.

"No, the two options thing, why do you keep saying that - is it like a motto or something?" A few more shots fired, holding their encampment.

"We have two options, he says so."

"Right, okay, but you understand that doesn't make sense, right? Of course we have more than two options, what an absolute moronic and binary thing to say."

"Dee-Kay not dumb... what is binary."

"Ones and zero's, man. Yes or no. Black or white, up or down. Literally nothing in life is "only two options", there's always a third option, or more. You should never feel backed into a corner to the point that you feel there's no middle ground to be had. The right mind, the right voice, can always find the least trodden path."

The gallant philosophy was interrupted by a well-timed grenade that only served to be temporarily shielded as men in the back of their fortification switched on the shield generators.

"NOTHING's binary. It's only that way if you make the choice to let it be. If you want my job one day, if you want to lead these men, if you want them to turn to you in their times of need, you need to understand that "only two options" is a fallacy. Drop it, soldier, clear that childish nonsense from your head."

DK-03 seemed to lean into the Taun-Taun skull as if he was listening, and solidly nodded for a few seconds while remaining in his seated position on the ground like a child.

"Dee-Kay was told to come here and shoot."

More blaster fire.

"Yes, and you're remarkably failing right now with this simple instruction."

Screams in the east.

"And if Dee-Kay don't shoot, Dee-Kay die."

Smoke rising over the residential district two klicks south.

"It's pretty likely, yes."

Burning men and women began to plummet out of a high-rise to their west.

"....So Dee-Kay have two options?"

"Alright, look, well... see.." The Commander appeared stun locked for a second. "While we're addressing your problems, here, in the field, while brothers of ours die - I've always wanted to tell you. This whole deep-seated "insanity plea when you want to be but serious when it serves you" meta vibe you give off? Not everyone is into it. It's actually pretty offputting to a lot of the men, and most prefer to not actually interact with you. It's got nothing to to do with the intimidation factor, it's really just who you are as a person.

Also, drop the skull and pick up your gun. Where'd you even get that thing, anyways."

DK-03 looked sad for a moment, doing as he was told. He placed the skull under some garbage to his right, and began to heft his large mass up to a shooting position. Bringing his gun up to his shoulder, he peaked over the barricade and began to ring off shots. A moment of pride and resolve came over his Watch Commander's face, but it was short-lived as the slow metallic breathing of the Dark Trooper was heard inbetween the shots.

"DK only have two options, Commander only have two options, too."

 

[Maestus]

The magnificent Praedo Mundos entered orbit shortly after emerging from hyperspace. The massive battle cruiser was one of many in the vicinity. The fleet of the Maw had arrived. Today would be a reckoning.

On the bridge, the Great Beast stood motionless. Her robed form, black with crimson stitching, was motionless as she stared out the viewport towards the planet below. Her mind ran at lights peed. Considering the delicious possibilities that awaited her.

Today, the Brotherhood will rain fire on this dusty ball below. The reign of terror would continue, invading the minds and hearts of man, woman and child. The weak would perish. By her hand or one of the others of the Brotherhood.

Behind her, stood 2 of her Chosen. Her elite. She maintained a tribe of 40. Miniscule in comparison to the other warlords, but just as deadly and effective. They were worth 10 times their weight in gold. They each knew that about themselves, that few could pose them any threat. And yet, they are utterly devoted and loyal to their Dark mistress, the Great Beast, Maestus.

She turned her head ever so slightly, and her Chosen stood aside, creating a path. Words were unnecessary between mistress and minions. Long had the Chosen served her, learning and anticipating her desires. She shifted her gaze towards her captain for the briefest of moments.

The bridge is yours. Pray you do not disappoint me.

Whiring on her heels, she strode from the bridge. Black robes swirling around her feet fluidly. Gracefully. Through the halls she marched, her mind and body determined and resolute. Today, destiny would be made manifest.

Into the hangar bay, trailed by her Chosen. As they had moved through the ships halls, each of the Chosen they passed had fallen in line wordlessly. Whether they lived or died was irrelevant. All that mattered, was the will of their mistress. And today, her will was battle, fire and death.

Once in the shuttle, she took her place in the cockpit, standing between the seats of the pilot and co-pilot. In the hold, all 40 of her Chosen took their places. They stood in multiple lines. Each holding onto overhead bars with their right hands. In their left hands, each wielded a Beskar pike. The pikes glistened in the ship light, accentuating the deadly sharp tips. All were stained with the blood of countless victims, creating a disturbing image.

The shuttle ripped from the hangar, escorted by a squadron of starfighters. The fighters gave the shuttle a wide berth, performing their escort duties perfectly.

As the descent into the atmosphere began, Maestus gripped an overhead bar with a bare hand. She wore no armor as her brethren did. She would live or die according to her own strengths and weaknesses. Not relying on something artificial. Something dead in the Force.

On her belt, she carried 1 weapon. It was long and ornate. Decorated with peril and songsteel inlays. The hilt was longer than what one would expect of a lightsaber. Something different. This was her light whip, Maestus Fury.

Around her neck, tucked beneath her robes, hung a talisman. Beautiful in its simplicity. Lifesaving in function. Her Dragon Shield Talisman. Won in an auction on the holiness of all places. Today, it would be tested to the utmost.

As they descended through the atmospheric turbulence, the shaking of the ship did nothing to shake her resolve. In her black heart beat a drum of war. Of hunger. Hunger for blood and victory.

As they flew closer to the surface, her pilot proved his worth once more. She managed to evade most of the defenses of the planet and city below. But even one skilled as she couldn't avoid everything. The shuttle took a hit to its starboard wing. Alarms rang through the ship, yet there was no panic or fear. Not a word was uttered by anyone. The Chosen accepted their fate as their mistress dictated. The pilot was too focused on saving them all to have time for fear. And the great beast? Her eyes were honed in on her mission. Nothing would prevent her from reaching the surface and destroying all who stood in her way.

Try as she might, the pilot had a hell of a time maintaining control of the damaged shuttle. Navigation was useless. She would have to land completely manually. Unfortunately, the shuttle was heading straight for the city. It came crashing down in the city center. Civilians and Imperials alike scattered or were smashed. Inside the shuttle, the Chosen kept iron grips on the bars above. Sure, they were thrown this way and that. Crashing into each other. 3 of the Chosen lost their grips on their pukes, and the weapons flew recklessly around the hold.

Finally, the ship slid to a halt amidst smoke and rubble. Maestus slowly released the bar, turning slowly to maintain balance. She stepped carefully through the ship, back to the hold. 37 of her Chosen stood ready, weapons in hand, eyes and hearts fixed.

The 3 who has lost their weapons fell to a knee before their mistress, trembling. Terrified yet they said nothing. No excuses, no pleading. Nothing. Maestus scanned the hold, taking stock of the situation. Eyes landed on the 3 knelt Chosen, then she found each of the weapons laying scattered about.

Without emotion, she held one hand out. Each of the 3 knelt Chosen were thrust into the air. Gasping for air, their hands went to the throats in am effort to remove the invisible vice crushing their necks. Maestus lifted her other hand slowly. She clenched both hands into fists, and brought them together. In one swift, fluid motion, she ripped her hands apart. As she did, the heads of the 3 floating Chosen were torn from their bodies. Blood washed over everyone in the hold, coating them with viscera and innards.

No one batted an eye. No words of protest or shock. Each knew the price for failure.

Dirty work done for now, Maestus studied the lifeless bodies. Peak of physical perfection, yet still flawed. They could not maintain their weapons, they were weak. Useful information for her breeding program. One her heel, she turned and exited the shuttle.

As she stepped outside the shuttle, her senses were assaulted mercilessly. Blasterfire, screams of fear and agony. Surface to air defenses screamed all around. It was glorious. Maestus drank it in like a thirsty woman on her deathbed who had been given the Elixir of Life.

Her remaining 37 Chosen descended the shuttle behind her and formed up. The commander of the Chosen stepped to Maestus side, staying 3 paces back. Maestus gave no acknowledgement of his presence, other than 2 words.

Die well.


Mogra'teksa


​

 

[Tegan Starfall]

Post: 1
Objective: Bullet Proof
Location: Hand of Thrawn, Heading for Strasza and her snipers.
Equipment: Mind Crown | Black MidNight Duster with Hood | Echani shield suit | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Defender | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | x2 FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X4 Daggers | Pack of Death sticks | Various Explosives | Holopad
Allies: Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren | Detritus Ren | Darth Mori | Lord Letifer
Enemies: Khroraic | Ragnar Bloodfist | Djorn Bline | Saaveina | Keilara Kala'myr | Rurik Fel |
Engaging: Noel Strasza

Moments before impact Tegan's eyes remain closed as the ship rocked and the temperature spiked slight from the friction on the outer platings and the plasma blast scoring the outer hull. Her face ever stained in the paint of war of her people of Dathomir. Tegan hadn't been on Dathomir when the Imperials sieged it and slaughter the few that remained there. In Truth Tegan hadn't been to that world in a long a time, the day the world had been sold hole sale to the sith by the Traitor witches was the last day she had laid eyes upon that place she once called a home. For a moment though they were free, but Iiron Imperials stole that from them. Yet Dathomir falling didn't bother her it wasn't the first tiem nor would be the last, she would fight for the world when the Dark Coven Choose to rise again.


However, there was something that happened on Dathomir that had drawn the Goddess of Destructions interest. One thing the consort of Rhand need to address, some young arrogant fool imperial by the name of Michael Barran choose to declare war on her family, her clan, and by extension her Coven. Tegan wasn't someone one would think would be trustworthy or loyal and she had turned her back and betrayed many in the name of her own personal goals. Yet even the sisters of her Coven who called her out for acting like a sith had to now admit despite her ruthless acts she had never turned her back on her Coven. So this ingrate who wanted war he would get and he would regret it, this would not end until ever last drop on Barran blood was extinct.


So, when the call came for war for this world, The Dark called out and told her to seek all the information in the Hand of Thrawn. Every Mawite was given word Tegan Consort of Rhand Elder of the Sorcerers would pay for every head of ranking officer taken on this world. Every Mawite was told they would gain immense wealth and something special if the head of any Barran would be taken. The Barran's declared war on her family, for that all of the New Imperial Order would pay. Even if the Maw should fade like the Sith and Bryn Tegan was now making it her personal vendetta to see the Imperial Order destroyed.


The ship shook furiously and the bones of the frame creaked and twisted in ways it was not meant to as the ship came skidding across the ground. Tegan boots kept her firmly planted until the ship came to a complete stop. Then the Hatches exploded open as Hordes of Maw alongside Darth Solipsis poured out. Tegan took a deep breath and then open her eyes those orange burning sulfuric eyes flared the outward sign of just how tainted her soul was. Then the diminutive figure took her first steps and exited out one of the hatches. As fights began to break out Tegan looked around taking the chaos letting it fuel her. The Imperials represented order but Tegan represented pure chaos and destruction the primordial fuel of the Galaxy. Everything tried to push towards Order but in the begin and end Chaos was the natural state of everything order was an abomination of man despite the fact life itself was an act of chaos.


she watched as many Maw quickly got cut down around her, but not by the forces they were engaging. She looked up and as she saw fire coming from one of the upper towers of the Thrawn Complex raining down fire. A few shots even came near her barley missing. "SNIPERS!" She screamed and pointed towards the tower the fire was coming from. She then on instinct took ff running in the direction of the tower. She had other Mawites that were going to help her carry out her mission collect all data on the Barran Family that might exist here and find out all information on the Planet Galidraan. Nirauan was just the first world that would burn.


Tegan began sprinting Towards the Tower fearless little gremlin that she was she rushed head long trying to make it closer to the snipers location. As she rain she managed grab a helmet of a fallen trooper and she plopped it on her head. As she did her mind crown began invading the hud the comms in it so Tegan would know what was going on. As she ran several troops tried to confront her and stop her but Tegans speed was altered by the force and Magic around her and she became a blur one second there and the next gone. She expected to run into anti force tech sooner rather later but her thoughts changed as she saw imperial knights, that would hinder their own units not just the Maw.