Private A Battle of Honor

[BobertEZ]

One Week into the Battle of Skor​

The dawn sun rose drenched in blood, and so too did the hearts of those that fought upon the shores of Skor, seeking to either continue or dismantle the rebellion of this lonesome planet. It had been some time since Lorale's forces had embarked on such a mission in the effort to destroy dissent. More often than not, they had continuously fought alongside the Imperial forces of the Empire proper, conquering and invading to extend the reach of Carnifex and the Sith. To return to the stamping out of dissent, the Ascendant's favorite pastime, was a welcome surprise and change of pace to many within the ranks, the Helgardi and Noxians especially. As such, they fought with an intensity held back for weeks, slaughtering their enemies indiscriminately, only avoiding killing innocents by command of the Phoenix and his Spawn. Even so, Lorale knew that by the month's end, the planet would have more bodies covering the landscape than actual land, and a part of him was okay with this. Lorale despised that part of him.

The fields in which the forces would fight once more was still laden with the bodies of hundreds from the previous afternoon, sliced and blasted into pieces. On either side, colds eyes watched and waited from within their encampments and outposts and armorweaved tents. Much of the lower half of Northern Continent in which the forces fought had already been taken by the Ascendant, yet that only increased the cluster of rebels that were prepared to fight to the bitter end, blades and blasters pointed at their invaders with impunity. Now the field of battle rested before them once again.

Lorale looked upon this patch of land destined to serve as a mass graveyard from the edge of the main encampment, standing within the open gates. He knew that the leader of these rebels would finally be present this day. He knew this for the aura of the Light Side radiated like a sun from the rebel cluster. A Jedi Knight of moderate repute, a rising star in the Order. Jaycel Krum. How he, of all people, invaded Sith Space and took over this world with words of deception, Lorale could not fully understand. The only reasoning he could develop was that the planet was on the border of both the Sith Empire and the Silver Jedi Order. Regardless, he would die with his rebellion and soon, the Jedi Order would suffer the same fate.

"My Lord Farmar," a young, squeaky voice blabbed out from behind the Phoenix. "Your Marshals request your attendance."

Lorale turned to see a Drall messenger standing at attention, "Very well. Inform Knight G'riev that I want full guard upon this encampment until I sound the march. I will not have these rebel scum launch an assault on us unawares."

The Drall bowed and scampered off to his new objective whilst his master marched off to meet with his generals, passing several hundred soldiers sharpening weapons and tinkering with blasters. Helgardi, Noxians, Dotouki, Aegirdi, the Firebirds, and even members of several other races who joined on to aid the goal, to find their own purpose, and to get paid handsomely with greater protection. Twi'Lek, Bothan, Cathar, Trandoshan, Kaleesh, Gen'Dai, and Drall. Some of them were even Sith. The Kaleesh, in particular, were promising new members of the Ascendant, given their culture. He had seen them perform admirably in battle, but nothing spectacular. He silently hoped that this coming battle would showcase them at their fullest.

"We need to attack now!" shouted many voices as Lorale entered the command tent to see a disorganized mess of differing opinions. None seemed aware of their master's presence, save for Anastasia Graves who silently nodded to her father.

"We must wait and act defensively!" others shouted.

One man, older than most in the Ascendant, stood and slammed his fist down onto the hardwood table, "We hold the advantage against the rebels. They are all clustered together, if we attack now, they can all be destroyed in one hit."

"It is because they are clustered together that we cannot attack at once," countered a woman dressed in all black with shades of red. "They have stronger defensive lines and a much stronger bulwark. We have to wait for a chink in the armor to form."

Another woman, young and freshly promoted, added: "What about our fleet? Marshal Uyoo is right. They are all clustered together. One strike and they all perish. Let us use our fleet. We have pushed them into where we need them to be. A barrage of turbo lasers and proton beams and they shall all die, their foolish leaders with them. We can then put this planet under the Empire's banner and be done with it."

The woman in black disagreed, "We cannot use our fleet in orbit lest we ruin the landscape we seek to cultivate. This is fertile farming land that will suffer enough from the bodies laid upon it."

A fully-mechanized Dotouki grunted and stood as well and spoke in a monotonous tone that somehow still had a questioning emotion, "What is one patch of land compared to victory for our forces? We have been on this planet for a week. Should we not move on by now? The Imperials conquer planets in a mere day."

A Helgardi, one of the Phoenixbred, laughed heavily and shook his head in clear disagreement, "If we use the fleet to destroy our enemies, our soldiers will revolt. Remember what happened the first time we did such a thing? It took our master himself to quell the growing anger from such a disgusting display. We should just attack them head-on, like warriors."

The Dotouki clanked towards the Helgardi who stood swiftly to meet the possible challenge, "It is your people that find using effective tactics such as the fleet disgusting. I say we use the fleet and be done with this planet and save our soldiers' lives."

Anastasia finally spoke before the tensions could explode, standing and motioning towards Lorale, "You all requested our master to be here. Please respect his presence."

The Marshals turned to their master in surprise and knelt immediately, save for the Dotouki who could only slightly bow. Lorale gave them permission to stand and return to their seats, of which he took his own and placed his open palms on the table, "I take it...that you all have disagreements over how we should approach this battle."

"We have been using straight forward assaults for the majority of this quelling, Lord Farmar," the Helgardi spoke up. "We can do it again here, no matter the defenses they have."

"That would only slaughter your divisions of Helgardi," the Dotouki stated, to which others at the table agreed. "As much as I hate to say it, your forces are the most numerous in this battle, save for the Noxians who are not even present."

"They fight upon the Eastern Continent with my Spawn, save for Anastasia here," Lorale informed once again as he had for the past seven days.

The Doutki nodded to Lorale and then to the Helgardi, "Without them, an assault on a cluster such as that before us would be foolhardy and take more lives than is acceptable. Let us use the fleet, Lord Farmar."

The table fell silent, waiting for the answer of the Phoenix who simply nodded at each statement. What to do, my child? Do you march forth with those that desire death and glory? Do you use the fleet and be done with it? Your artillery lines are with the Noxians. Your Spawn are leading them. All you have are fighters, mercenaries, zealots, volunteers. What do you do, Son of Noxis?

"We improvise," he suddenly uttered to the confusion of those at the table. "Our numbers are lessened by the lack of the Noxians, but we still outnumber them, three to one. We are looking at this linearly. The battle has gone quite well from a front line assault, up to now. We have hundreds of thousands of soldiers occupying varying specializations. The Helgardi, masters of the blade. The Dotouki, masters of the strategy. The Aegirdi, masters of the shadows. The Imperials, my Firebirds, masters of adaptability. And then we have the volunteers, the mercenaries, even some Sith who joined for their own reasons. Differing skill, differing power. A full-on front line assault is foolhardy, but so is holding back behind the Warfleet. We are here for a battle of honor. That is who we are. That is who we will always be."

All Marshals present pounded their chests three times with deep, tribal grunts, much to the joy of their master who cracked a very rare grin.

He continued with: "We will divide our forces in the assault on the encampment, to a degree. I will call for a parlay with the leader of the rebels, to ascertain who they are as a military leader. Whether or not I get one does not matter. What matters is the second phase. After the parlay, I will lead the main attack with a contingent of Helgardi, Dotouki, Firebirds, and the volunteers. This should hopefully draw most of their attention, and with me at the front lines, we will hold. Simultaneously, the second and third contingent of the same composition, minus the volunteers, will lead assaults on the West and East sides of the encampment and break through their flanks. I will need the Aegirdi and Dotouki to plan these two assaults perfectly. They cannot have any flaws. Understood?"

The Dotouki and Aegirdi Marshals nodded curtly followed by three more chest pounds.

"The Helgardi with those contingents must listen to orders and follow with the plans the Dotouki and Aegirdi develop. Understood?"

The Helgardi Marshal nodded, albeit begrudgingly.

"Good. Next, we will use the fleet, to an extent. Uyoo, contact Admiral Lore. Inform him that I want two squadrons of fighters and one squadron of bombers down here to provide aerial assaults and destroy any and all artillery the rebels may have that we have yet to locate."

Marshal Uyoo nodded with a respectful smile.

"I want all of you in this. This battle will be long and it will be bloody. But we can win. Many lives will be lost, but if the plan works and we can get the element of surprise...we will move on soon." The meeting ended and with its conclusion, the Phoenix departed the tent and found, to his surprise, that no rebels had attacked and all was calm, to some level.

By midday, the plans were set and the contingents formed and the parlay denied. The sun was high and beaming red as an indication of what was to come. Lorale's contingent stood at two hundred thousand strong at the front of their encampment, ready to charge, ready to fight. Before them stood a welcoming committee of innumerable rebels. The Jedi was not amongst them, hiding within his base. He would still die by this battle's end.

Little did Lorale realize, however, that in all of this planning and all of this preparation, he would still be caught unawares when a new apprentice would reveal themselves in the battle by being the one to take that Jedi's life. A Kaleesh warrior nonetheless. Of course, it would be the same Kaleesh warrior Lorale had noted in previous battles, fighting with his culture's pride and coldness. His shocking survival and unexpected slaying of the Jedi would be feats that made him the newest apprentice of the Phoenix after the planet had fallen to Order.

"Cmsilshi!" he shouted and the battle began again.

Thorzan san Shovis

 

[Thorzan san Shovis]

“Honor the gods. Through battle we are forged, through combat, we are claimed by the gods. Honor the gods.” Finished the wizened elder, lifting an ancient arm up to sweep an indicative set of claws at the assembly of Kaleesh warriors. The elder unclenched his balled fist, a healthy amount of ritualistic ash flying out from his hand and getting caught on the wind. It propelled forward, touching rank upon rank of battle-hardened and readied fighters.

“Honor the gods.” Those warriors repeated, finishing the ceremony. It had been a week since they had come to this planet. A week of fighting for a new master, a week of death and honor won in the face of tremendous odds. For these warriors, these Kaleesh of the Intertribal Kolkpravis. They had been assembled from many tribes, representing many corners of Kalee, and the several thousand strong warriors had proven to be a force on the battlefield. With Lig sword, Shoni spear and Outland rifle, they had proven to be capable shock and ambush troops. For many, this battle would be their last. For others, it would be one in a long string of fights they would continue to participate in. For one, in particular, it would be a battle that would provide the catalyst that would change his life forever.

The warrior in question stood, adjusting the strap that held his Outland Rifle in place on his shoulder. His hand checked the Lig sword at his hip, securing the straps that kept the sheath in place. Establishing that he was ready to throw himself into the fight, the warrior turned and began to fall in line with the rest of the moving kolkpravis. He looked amongst the assembled beings of his species, noting the distinctive color schemes and aesthetic styles that marked the different tribes from each other. His own, the Jelaali, wore their distinctive red and white and carried their rifles with honor. No words of wisdom were exchanged amongst the warriors as they marched to where the charge upon this rebel formation would begin.

They knew their job. No speeches were necessary.

The grim warriors waited. It was always the calm before a battle, Thorzan san Shovis mused in his head, that was the greatest part of a battle. So many beings, on both sides, united in the tumultuous feeling of awaiting a great catastrophe. There was nothing quite like the fear and anticipation that accompanied it. He cast his gaze forward, to the positions occupied by those rebellious forces. Surveying them, he clicked his tongue and shook his head. There would be no battle. This was going to end in slaughter.

Somewhere down the line, the kaleesh heard one of his kindred begin to sing. It was a throaty, humming sound, a form of throat singing native to Kalee. He, his comrades next to him, and most of the assembled Kaleesh, began to hum along in tune. The low pitching sound rolled from their section of the line, as it had on every battle so far. Thorzan sang along, watching as the troops began to get more and more restless, more and more hungry, more and more consumed with the need to kill.

The call to charge split the din of the anticipation. The Kaleesh, en masse, charged forward with controlled frenzy. Tribesmen of the Lig, Shoni, and Tur raised metal swords spears, and electric shields above their heads, running to the front of the line to provide some protection. Thorzan, along with several other volunteer groups of Kaleesh, took their rifles from their shoulders as they charged. When they reached optimal range, they began to fire off shots. They only had 16 rounds, enough to take out key resistance leaders, but not enough to devastate entire companies of men.

That was work for his sword, Thorzan thought, as he saw the screaming streaks of artillery fire collide into the ground all over the battlefield. Too many voices cried out, too many suddenly were caught off by artillery fire and blaster fire alike. The Kaleesh pushed them all out. Now was not the time to think of others. Only him. Only his rifle.

Only the ones he needed to kill.

 

[BobertEZ]

The charge into the grouped mass had been successful. The Phoenix, adorned in his finest armor and wielding the massive Wolfblade of the Dlukav, a heap of metal more akin to a ceremony blade than an actual weapon, had broken so far through the front lines of the rebels that he was now without his army who fought as brutally as they could to get to him. It was only him and a mass of humans and aliens all vying to take down the Lord of Conquest.

Lorale would not allow that to happen.

Instead, he cut down foe after foe with gigantic circular swings that decapitated and bisected every being it touched, showering the field and those standing upon it in waves of crimson. By the fiftieth rebel slain, Lorale's visage was little more than a snarling mask of blood, teeth and all, his boots slapping against the growing puddles and sinking in the increasingly wet ground.

"Give them no quarter!" the Phoenix shouted over the drone of noise, locking eyes with several members of his army, barely flinching to the impact of the blades and blaster rounds pelting him from afar. "Show them no mercy!"

The Helgardi, who had dressed in freshly crafted ultrachrome armor from their homeworld, gave tribal hoots in response, thrusting their spears into the chests and stomachs of rebels with furious passion; a few were pierced through their heads, brain matter and teeth strewed onto their comrades. The Dotouki gave chirps and clicks in their responses, blasting the rebels apart into bloody sinew with their arm cannons and slashing open their flesh with their wrist-swords. The Aegirdi remained in the back with the Firebirds, both groups firing with their blaster rifles and proton rifles that rent the rebel army into puddles of bone and melted muscle. The volunteers merely fought, having no reason or unification to respond to his words.
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It was a glorious sight for many, this battle of attrition, even as the artillery, which Lorale had deftly predicted was hidden beyond their scanner range, rained down upon the field, killing several hundred in the Phoenix's forces and several dozen in collateral damage from the rebel forces.

Roughly half-an-hour into the fight, many of the rebels realized the pointlessness of attempting to strike down the Phoenix who was by that point so coated in rebel blood, every inch of his once gleaming armor dripped and shined to the point of nearly being reflective. Even his face, the only visible part of his body, was caked in crimson, dripping like syrup, his hair stained and matted to his scalp. Only his widened eyes, a bright luminescent green, were visible against the backdrop of red, darting from victim to victim every second.

Once, this would have brought euphoria to the Phoenix unlike any other, a consequence of him being possessed by the demon Kehotu-Yshi. Now, it brought only the drive to kill and continue the slaughter of those that stood against him, for it meant that he was winning. Even as the rebels actively attempted to flee and face his army rather than him, the Phoenix still slew, the Wolfblade so empowered by those it had consumed that it felt almost weightless in its owner's hands. It was also around this time that Lorale began to take notice of the Kaleesh once more, their efforts in taking down their enemies strong and their success stronger. Several dozen fell to the volley the Kaleesh unleashed upon them, clutching their wounds or simply falling over dead.

One Kaleesh, in particular, drew his attention more than others and it was only when he looked upon him with sincerity that he understood why. He was a young member of his species, perhaps no more than thirty years, but older than twenty. He possessed a cold aura about him that reminded the Phoenix of his brother, and with that aura came an inner hatred that any trained Sith could sense. It was a deep hatred. While it was a Kaleesh trait, this type of hatred was personal and advanced. It was a black hole, an emptiness that only a battle of honor seemed to fill for the time being. Of course, any trained Sith could begin to theorize as to why this was when they finally grasped onto the key factor of the boy: he was Force Sensitive, and with him came a raw, untapped power Lorale had not seen since his first apprentice in the Kudon. Whereas the Kudon's power lay in the Light, this Kaleesh sat in the Dark, growling, waiting to be unleashed. As the boy furthered his position up the lines, slaughtering the rebels in a cold wrath, the Phoenix began to wonder if he had just discovered his new apprentice.

Of course, he would not fully decide that until the battle's end almost an entire day later. Regardless, he watched with a new interest, giving those he killed only the bare minimum of attention as he waited to see if the Kaleesh boy would survive the battle.

Thorzan san Shovis

 

[Thorzan san Shovis]

The crack of rifle shots echoed out in the space around the Kaleesh warriors. The front lines were moving in a mass now, providing a mobile cover force that allowed the practiced snipers of the back lines to take apart the command structure of rebel squads and groups. It was a tactic honed from seemingly endless wars with the Yam’rii Huk and their allies, and it was as effective on those battlefields as it was here. The kolkpravis came closer and closer to the rebel lines, losing scant few of their own number in comparison to the amount of damage they were causing amongst the ranks of their foe. They advanced forward, covering their casualties with the blood and fallen corpses of their opponents. Minutes would pass, until the warriors reached the lines of the enemy.

With the snipers staying back, Thorzan charged forward to meet with the line of warriors that had been providing the distraction. He readied his Lig sword and fixed a bayonet upon his Outland rifle. Like a monolithic being, the implacable Kaleesh waded through the crowd of his fellow Kaleesh. Standing head and shoulders above his fellow tribesman, he was a sight to behold for all who would lay eyes upon him. A cold, relentless machine of death. When he reached the front of the line, the warrior stepped out from his fellows and began to sprint at the enemy. Clods of dirt threw up behind him as he raced for the nearest rebel. A human, with streaks of grey in his beard and a blaster in his hand.

The look of terror in the eyes of this rebellious being filled the Kaleesh’s heart with malicious happiness that would only be satiated with more death and blood. The kaleesh bounded forward and speared the man with both sword and bayonet. He lifted the human into the air and then flung his corpse into the crowd of rebels behind them. The collection of horrified rebels that caught the body would have very little time to react before a flood of kaleesh warriors began to carve into them. Wholesale slaughter was wracked upon this section of their line as the warriors began to enact their bloody work.

Thorzan was amongst their number, tossing around the rebellious forces with the precision that years of fighting had taught him and his comrades. Rebel after rebel fell under a murderous gaze and sweep of finely honed metal, bodies deprived of the life that the Force breathed into them by an enemy they were not at all prepared for. Thorzan finished off a small pocket of rebels and then swept his gaze around the battlefield. Gun emplacements were being overrun, and the Kaleesh were making their way to the camp’s artillery installation. Sweeping his gun around, the being aimed his gun up at a rebel commander and fired. The man fell, an explosion coming off as his thermal detonator he hadn’t thrown ignited. The resulting explosion knocked out a gun emplacement. In the process, however, the fire from the explosion claimed three Kaleesh warriors who were just a little too close.

Acceptable losses, he thought. The closer they came to their objective, the better.

It was at that moment he heard something. It sounded like a low humming, and it was getting closer. The kaleesh raked his eyes around, attempting to find the source of the humming. He eventually did, just as the lightsaber that caused the sound he had heard cut down three of his fellows in a single swing. The Kaleesh’s eyes went wide as the Jedi turned his gaze upon Thorzan. Thorzan brought up his gun and fired his last round, hoping beyond all hopes that he could claim this kill by the end of this day.

 

[BobertEZ]

It as not the Jedi that he sought, but it was a Jedi nonetheless, perhaps a Padawan to the man Lorale looked to slay this day. The morning sun had neared its climax of ascent, high above the field as the clouds of a storm had begun to roll in with distant cracks of thunder. This would hamper the arriving fighters from taking out the artillery in the distance, but they were skilled pilots and would do whatever they needed for victory. In the light of the sun that was drenched in a million droplets of blood, the Phoenix gazed upon the charging Jedi's visage and admired her simplicity in the face of the exotics in the Empire. She was a young, light green Mirialan likely in her second-to-third battle, wide-eyed with a brash aura radiating from her soul. She was clearly attempting to prove herself by aiding her chosen comrades in the defense of this rebellion, meaning that she had likely disobeyed orders from the Knight who would not be far behind.

Regardless, Lorale had watched her carve her way through his ranks, showcasing a relative decent proficiency with Djem So as she rallied her troops in the fight against the Ascendant. She was quick and harsh, slashing and stabbing with a greater force than most of his own soldiers and was swift to block attacks from the brazen Helgardi and volunteers. Many were cut down in seconds, unable to block against the Lightsaber she wielded with a ferocity uncharacteristic of Jedi.

She was skilled, admirably so, and better than those she carved through like paper. But the Phoenix was better, and her death would bring out his true target and their duel would occur properly. Her death and the target's entrance into the battle would additionally mean one other thing: he could send in the other contingents without the worry of encountering the Knight.

And so, Lorale began slicing his way through the rebels, sinew and bone and muscle flying across the battlefield as the bloodsoaked beast of the Sith waded through the ocean of bodies as though they were water. His heart pumped ferociously as his blade brought on the end of dozens in the minutes it took for him to get to the young Jedi, his eyes so green that they appeared as stars amidst the red canvas that was his face. None could halt his approach, bisected length and width wise, decapitated, and crushed under his massive boots and grip. He drew closer, closer, closer to her, his ears ringing, his heart pumping. She was facing away from him and he held the Wolfblade high in the air, ready to strike down on her.

Suddenly, she moved and shot blasted out from the crowd before him and a deep impact hit him square in his gut, and for a moment all the surroundings went black and white and all the noises became a single continuous drone. It was as if he had transported himself to a field of snow, the horizon a lightless, chaotic void. It was strangely peaceful for those milliseconds that seemed like an eternity up to the point that Lorale's vision cleared and his blade barely blocked the responding slash from the Jedi who sought to kill the soldier that fired upon her. Only then did he notice just who it was he had saved from death: the very same Kaleesh who caught his attention earlier in the battle.

"Very good," he muttered simply before raising his blade violently, throwing the Jedi's lightsaber away into the crowd.

The young woman's once brash expression switched to fear and doubt and thus she fell upon using the Force to defend herself, backpedaling away whilst attempting to Push the Phoenix into his forces. Such attempts were folly and bashed away by his sheer willpower and stature; her attempt to pull her weapon into her hand was similarly folly, uttering a light gasp when the Lightsaber was picked out of the air by the Sith Lord who simply hooked it onto his belt. With a quick slash, the woman's legs split in to, sending her to the ground screaming and blubbering.

Turning back to the Kaleesh that had intrigued him, Lorale merely uttered "your kill," before resuming his assault upon the lessening rebel forces, briefly pausing to look up at the sky as the requested starfighters began their descent and travel to the artillery that had continued their barrage upon the field.

Thorzan san Shovis