Dominion Battle of Coreesh Gulch [NIO Dominion of Veroleem]

[Imperial Warlord Zovesa]

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OOC NOTE:

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DOMINION OF VEROLEEM OVERVIEW:

Situational Background:​

New Imperial Order (NIO) military intelligence command had identified Veroleem System as “Darkside Influence Risk” due to the long history of Sith related cultist activity, orchestrated by the Council of Enlightened Elders. An opportunity to deal with this potential threat emerged when Lommite Mining Company Neo-Dorvalla reached out to NIO for assistance in removing Cultist Insurgency Cells (CIC’s) from their Coreesh Mountain Mining Operations.​

Representatives from Neo-Dorvalla had supplied intelligence reports that they had removed CIC and the Elder’s influence from the historical capital city of New Promise, but Outskirts Urban-Centers (OUC’s), such as the Lommite Mining Spaceport, Lo-Hold 3 (LMS), were becoming overrun with CIC agents. Darkside Telekinetic Force bombings were reported as well as entire companies of mercenaries vanishing (without any confirmed KIA reports) in the Coreesh Gulch Zones further north. Remaining mercenary companies have now retreated to New Promise to reinforce its defenses leaving LMS open.​

OBJECTIVES:​

OBJECTIVE 1: SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN [Escape From Coreesh Gulch Zone E]

• Escorted by TIE Sqaudrons Darkstar and Escort Squadron Esk, Trooper Taskforce Dread Hounds aboard a transport are flying over to Gulch Zone Esk (E) to purge the last remnants of a Sith Cultist military outpost that is believed to be the source of the CIC's bombing Lo-Hold 3. However, they are attacked and overwhelmed and will soon find they are outnumbered and isolated. Now they must fight their way back to Lo-Hold 3 in order to survive. This objective has a ground and air combat element so feel free to RP the relationship between the two and get real gritty in the desperate fight to escape.​
• Title Note: Senth-Isk-Cresh-Forn is a NIO Military informal Aurebesh Brevity Code which stands for Sith Induced Cluster Feth (inspired by IRL slang Charlie Foxtrot: meaning ClusterF%ck)​

OBJECTIVE 2: Ramparts & Onslaughts [Defend LMS from Cultist Insurgencies]​

• Meanwhile, back at Lo-Hold 3 a routine inspection turns into the NIO's worst nightmare as multiple bombs rock the city and cultist insurgents begin orchestrated and well organized attacks on the NIO military make-shift bases of command. Close urban warfare spreads across the city.​
• NIO are tasked with exterminating the insurgents from the CIC's and seeing to civilian protection and extraction.​
• Really lean into the RP of house to house, street to street fighting with insurgents how are, as well as being Force Sensitive clandestine Sith, are willing to Force bomb their enemies through telekinetic suicide force explosions.​
• This is going to get ugly!​

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WRITER'S OOC NOTE: I'll be posting in Objective 2 later on. Use the description of Objective 2 above as a guide to how the action there should start.

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[Cheapshot]

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OBJECTIVE 1: SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN* [Escape From Coreesh Gulch Zone E]

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//Location:// Flying Over Coreesh Gulch Zone E
//Objective:// Escort Troop Transport and Provide Air Support for Sith Cultist Purge Taskforce Dread Hound
//Accompanyment:// TIE Darkstar Squadron Kardev Byrric , Friendly-Nearby TIE Flights

//Starfighter:// TIE/INx Interceptor​

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“Alright, so…” said Cheapshot over the comms to a nearby TIE pilot from Escort Flight Besh.​

“I spy with my little eye…”​

“Darkstar 3, I swear to everything foul, if you…” Escort Flight Besh’s pilot, Esk-3’s, protests were interrupted by Cheapshot’s continued torture of playing “I spy” for the umpteenth time in two hours.​

“…something that looks like the newly sprouted sack of a randy Hutt,” said Cheapshot.​

“Darkstar 3!” Esk-3 barked, his voice rattling from Cheapshot’s TIE cockpit instrument array.​

“I’m not the answer, try hard Esk,” Cheapshot jeered.​

“The fething canyon we’ve been flying over for the last hour or so and the same canyon that’s been the answer to the other fething times we played this game?” Esk-3 said capitulating a dragging reply.​

“Bingo!” Cheapshot chirped.​

The Zeltron TIE pilot leaned back in her pilot’s seat as she congratulated Esk-3 on his correct and coerced answer. A few chuckles later the ennui of the escort mission sank back in. With the slow agonizing death of her final laugh, she drew in a long breath and spat it out in a heaving sigh. From the octagonal view port of her TIE she ambivalently eyed the trooper transport that was flying in front, flanked by a small contingent of TIE groups, in classic groups of threes’. Below, rapidly drifting by, and perhaps not fast enough for Cheapshot, was the barren uniformly craggy surface of Veroleem.​

Covered in wrinkled, jagged, and deep canyons, ravines, and arid plains, Veroleem was one giant canyon with a planet wrapped around it. For weeks, the New Imperial Military’s TIE Starfighter Corps ran bombing runs and trooper transport escorts over the parts of the Coreesh Mountains that hid that last remnants of the Sith Cult that had held the planet in a shadowy chokehold since the collapse of the One Sith Empire.​

Naturally, such a mission peaked the interest of the NIO’s resident Sith culling obsessed white knight, High Knight Marshal Zovesa and her Force Corps. Cheapshot didn’t mind being dragged along to run bird patrol for her forces, heavens knew she was nice to look at, but, any chance of seeing the Blue Maiden in action wasn’t worth the torment that Veroleem’s wasteland geography provided. Not to mention Cheapshot barely got to see Zovesa, mainly running pick up and drop off missions. In fact, most of the Force Corps was back at the Lommite Mining Spaceport, Lo-Hold 3, conducting entry and exit checks. A string of Force Powered bombings had killed several of the spaceports city security forces and command was on edge that a Sith cell was already inside ready to strike. So Coreesh purge actions were being done by another detachment of troopers, codenamed Taskforce “Dread Hounds”.​

Cheapshot’s blinked slowly as she stared ahead and pursed her lips, squishing them into pouting frown.​

“Imperator’s balls, someone just kill me now,” Cheapshot said.​

“Cut the chatter Darkstar 3. We’ve had a few shot down already from hidden battery installments, don’t let the empty canyons fool you,” said TIE Escort Flight’s Flight Commander, Esk-1.​

“We’re coming up on Zone-3 anyways, you’ll get your action, just keep it togeth…”​

“Esk-1 something’s locked on you! Dive!” screamed Esk-3.​

“What?” Esk-1 shouted.​

Cheapshot jolted up straight and leaned into her sensor array, “The feth!?”​

Something had, and now several other somethings had locked onto all of them. The lock on klaxon alarms ringed inside the ball of her TIE. Bouncing around it screeched and howled. The targeting display showed a rapidly approaching weapon the TIE’s tactical analysis subroutines identified as a swarm of homing missiles. Cheapshot pushed on the control yoke of her TIE and executed evasive maneuvers, sending her starfighter it a sharp dive and then a corkscrew jerk to the right, trying to confuse the path-finding of the missile.​

An explosion rocked her maneuver from above as a ball of flames ballooned and ripped a part in fiery debris. Esk-3 was gone, and she couldn’t see Esk-1. Levelling her TIE into a stable flight path, she strained to look from her view port to see where the transport and if it was ok. The rest of Darkstar, with the Squadron Commander was ahead of the transport. Pulling up, she commanded the TIE to fly up. Slowly the transport emerged, it was trailing heavy smoke and had a small fire spitting from its engine exhausts.​

The targeting klaxons screamed again, this time, several bandits (enemy fighters) appeared on her sensory map. It was an entire squadron and some. The identifiers could not conjure up an exact model from the NIO reporting database. Either they were a new model, which was very resourceful of the cult’s military capabilities or some old model that was off any modern database.​

“Meathook, this is Cheapshot,” snapped Cheapshot, “I’ve got multiple bandits coming hot.” Kardev Byrric ​

Cheapshot spun her TIE around and she zoomed to meet the oncoming wave of enemy starfighters. Seeing them charge in spitting turbolaser fire and mayhem, Cheapshot saw they were old, very old. Antiques from the One Sith. The cultist must have made a large purchase when the One Sith had consumed the core and the regions close to it. They came in fast and whipped into Cheapshot’s position. She performed a jousting maneuver against them. Charging in straight dead ahead, playing chicken with the enemy pilot. Pushing each other to nearly crashing into one another. But, the enemy flinched and dove. Now exposed from above, Cheapshot followed and riddled the back with direct hits causing it to explode.​

A vain grin stretched over Cheapshot’s black lips, “They always flinch.”​

The lock on klaxons ringed again, another barrage of homing-missiles. Cheapshot blurted a curse under her breath and bent the controls of her TIE aside and sent the starfighter into another evasive maneuver. This time she skirting crashing into the plateau tops of the canyon below, sending the missiles into a death dive into the surface. All except for one, that banked early and clipped Cheapshot’s TIE wing. The hit sent the starfighter into an uncontrolled spiral that took all of Cheapshot’s weight on her controls to course correct.​

“I’m hit! Feth it!” Cheapshot called to her squadron.​

Looking to the side she could see the small streaks of smoke from the right wing. Half of the panelling of the flat wing was engulfed in a crackling fire that spat plumes of dark smoke. Warning alarms rang out in her cockpit and flashing signals showing damage reports overwhelmed her display screens. Her maneuverability was severely limited and there was still more bandits on their tail. Esk Squadron’s panicked voices on her comms had gone silent. It was all getting a little too exciting for Cheapshot and Darkstar Squadron.​

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[Darth Bellum]

K o r _ V e x e n

| Objective | SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN ​

| Location | Verloeem, Coreesh Gulch​

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Fire, smoke, wreckage.​

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All these flooded Vexen's vision as he recalled an explosion struck the rear of their transport, sending his ship spiraling down into the gulch. He felt a sharp pain in his upper right shoulder as he looked down to see a jagged shard of metal lodged into his armor, pinning him under some dented hull. He'd shift his left hand, sliding it up to his shoulder as he wrenched the sizable blood-stained shard of metal out of him, casting it aside as he tested his shoulder; There was limited movement, but it was still somewhat functional. ​

​

Vexen would reach down to his waist as he grabbed the hilt of his saber, igniting it as a purple beam flared to life, sparks flying as he cut himself free of the crashed transport. Some of the troops accompanying him were still trapped as he used his saber to cut out sections to let the trapped troopers out. The pilots had maneuvered the transport and stabilized it on their descent down into the gulch, having saved a majority of the personnel aboard, unfortunately, they had perished when the transport hit the ground.​

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The Anzati Sith reached down as he grabbed a soldier's hand, pulling him out as he spoke, " On your feet soldier... " The injured were dragged into cover while those who were largely unharmed moved to establish a perimeter. Vexen glanced off to the craggy terrain, gauging the environment as he stood watch. His transport and troops had been separated from the others assigned to deal with the Sith Cultists present in the area of operation. For now, he would hold his position until his troops were ready to move out and regroup with the main force.​

 

[Konrad Bolter]

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// NOMAD ACTUAL // XT-60b 'Cataphract'
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // Coreesh Gulch Zone E
// FOCUS // Cheapshot | Darth Bellum
// THEME // I'm Too Young To Die

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Sitting aboard the commander's position within the tight confines of his 'Cataphract' Main Battle Tank Waylon nearly bashed the fortified brow plate of his CAT helmet against the durasteel wall when he pulled the targeting computer toward his face.

<"Nomad actual - do you read?" > A voice patched out through the comms in the crew cabin of the tank. Patching through in return he angled his helmeted gaze toward the comms system in the tank, turning his command seat toward it as the servos in his cybernetic leg sounded out with the movement in a dim hiss.

<"Nomad actual, copy." > The Concordian patched through.

<"We have a Darkstar down - coordinate mark sector CGZ-E9 requesting exfil. Your detachment is closest to assail." > The voice sounded out in great distortion.

<"Understood ; we're enroute -/- Spearhead detachment copy I want wedge formation we're headed into Gulch Zone E to exfil a downed TIE, center up and we'll ride down the main corridor - eyes on your flanks it could get sketchy real quick, mark your movements and turret on the swivel now let's get it." > Treicolt said and soon enough the repulsorlifts of the Cataphract spearhead were rolling down toward the hot zone at full thrust.

< " Let me get two on overwatch - set up for siege." > Treicolt ordered out once more even as he headed into the fray.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

Location: Veroleem
Task: Objective Two - Ground Zero
Faction: New Imperial Order
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The NIO suffered from something that many of the new factions of the Galaxy had to adjust to. They had no proper holds to call their own on any of the planets that they claimed dominion over. They were new, freshly carved out of their little section on the galactic map and already they were marching on a crusade. That's what lead to the situation on Veroleem. Old schools, abandoned hospitals, and even barracks belonging to the planetary defense force were shelled out of their original inhabitants and stuffed to the brim with the NIO occupation force. Perhaps occupation force was a bad term, as it stood at the moment, it was hardly the entire NIO military. Even then, there proved to be not enough room for all of the equipment and personal, thus strings of tents were placed outside with barbed fences slapped together on the outskirts. It was shoddy, it was quick, but it was enough to establish a presence on the planet. Lo-Hold 3 was essentially an overgrown spaceport, well, that was it's entire point as a structure, but there was still the need to care for the populations that had settled there.

"How long did you say you've been stationed here?" Ravraa would ask a fellow trooper he was walking alongside. It was a brisk day for the planet, kind enough that the dry winds that scrapped through at least carried a coolness to themselves. His helmet was slung underneath his shoulder, as was the other trooper's. The man had a headfull of blackened hair that stuck up from this rather pale complexion like a light in the dark.

"About a month or so. It's not much of an assignment. Just here to make a statement really. At least until command decides to send enough." The trooper would reply.

"You don't seem like you enjoy it too much."

"Can't say I do. World's dead boring. Officers here, well, busy work seems to be the name of the game."

"Damned shame, say, you got a name?"

The shaking was the first thing that alerted them. Turning, looking down the streetway, and watching the expanse and then collapse of some form of seismic charge was the next. A brilliant flash of darkened red in the form of tendrils loosely wrapping around one another before slamming back down to some unknown center, causing the origin of the destruction to suddenly crumble and explode outwards with a fiery hate. It happened once on one of the taller mercantile buildings that formed the main T-junction at the end of the street, then on a lower level of the same building before one of the structures not a stone's throw away erupted as well. Again, and again. Echoing down the roads and throughout the city as the minor garrison force couldn't help but simply watched for the first couple moments. Destruction on a scale inhumane.

The explosion that sounded from behind the pair sent them stumbling and glancing around at chunks of flaming building and shattered glass as screams became all apparent surrounding them. An alarm was blaring now. The billows of smoke and dust began to cover the city streets with such a viscous quality that the only thing you were afforded to see was the licking of flames across the walkways. Coughs began to wrack Ravraa's body as he stumbled for a few moments. A sudden bolt of red streamed out of the darkness, he heard it slam not inches from his right and the nameless trooper tumbled to the ground. He didn't see the fall. He couldn't find his proper footing as more bolts began to come from the slowly clearing haze, his body violently wracking. He found himself kneeling behind a fallen section of duracrete. His helmet clumsily was brought up, snapped into face, his breathing starting to calm as he put his back to the stone and brought his rifle from it's sling. His HUD on his helmet coming to life as he heard the yells of officers through his comms, screaming distress signals to whatever units were in the area.

Shouldering his blaster rifle, Ravraa took notice of his motion sensor starting to click with foreign objects starting to make their way to the edges of the encampment.

 

[Merlon Assail]

Praefect-class Star Destroyer Scorn
Task Force 32
Geosynchronous orbit above Coreesh Gulch

Helplessness couldn't look like weakness. It had to look like watchfulness.

Captain Merlon Assail stood alone at the starboard bridge viewport, looking down the gravity well at Veroleem. The desert planet looked sick, to his eyes. He couldn't shake that feeling, even as he tried to compensate for his own cognitive distortions. The Sith infestation wasn't fatal. Down there, good people and less-good but still well-intentioned people were carving that infestation out of Veroleem a piece at a time.

The retreat at Coreesh Gulch threatened to undo a good portion of that effort. Protocol suggested keeping at least two of the Scorn's six TIE squadrons within easy reach of Task Force 32 - the Scorn and its handful of escorts. And the others needed to rotate for fuel reasons. He bridled at all of those restrictions but he saw the wisdom of them. Much as he wanted to send everything, absolutely everything, downwell to provide air support, the Sith had their tricks and Coreesh Gulch could easily bait the NIO out of position for...really anything else. And the ground engagement could drag on longer than a TIE could remain on station.

So in the end, he only sent three of his six squadrons, and kept the other three either on close patrol or on five-minute launch readiness.

The big ship thrummed as turbolasers chewed up isolated targets called in by all sorts of NIO assets. The gulch itself, though, the main combat zone, was too chaotic and tightly engaged. Again: helplessness meant waiting for an opportunity.

Down by his sides, his knuckles cracked as loud as any of the turbolasers.

 

[Volgin Alto]

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// BUCKETHEAD - 2 //
// OBJECTIVE // Ramparts & Onslaughts // Breach And Clear
// FOCUS // Belisarius | Davis Garrick

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"The Dark Lord will see your hubris be und- !" The gravely voice of the Sith Cultist was cut short as a concussive round from his CF6 slammed into the man's chest covered if only by a leather fortified robe.

<"Fuckin' cloaks man..."> Javik said, stepping over the corpse as he slung the CF6 Concussion by his chest, slowly drawing his side-arm service pistol with a metallic draw along smooth leather from his waist mounted holster as he levied the particle beam pistol up, slowly 'slicing the pie' as he turned the corner. His hearing was all but isolated except for his heavy breathing hissing against the helmet and bouncing back against his face as he narrowed his eyes until the corner was fully exposed to reveal nothing of note in its wake.

Calming once more he made his way forward before a vibro arbir axe cut through the wall beside him, sending another robed cultist rampaging toward him, turning on a dime his back slammed against the wall before he fired a five round pulse of his pistol toward the man's center mass - about three of them slamming into the wall around him before two hit dead on in his neck and chest.

<"That's two..."> He muttered to himself - regarding the mission brief which laid out the approximate number of cultists in this town and how many might be distributed in each building, numbering out to about five or six on average. An outright infestation. Closing his eyes for a moment he lifted the pistol up once more before patching through to his superior officer.

<"I've got the east face of the hovel clear..."> Javik sounds out.

<"Wraith, any action outside?"> He patched through the sniper on overwatch.

 

[Jackson Vernault]

Location | Veroleem
Objective|#2-Ground Zero
Focus | Ravraa Vyshraal

Jackson sipped the coffee from his mug. It had been two weeks since Major Vernault and the Lightning Battalion had been stationed at the small, no-name garrison. It beat fighting those bugs and watching fellow combat infantry get blown to bits by someone's idiocy. Truth be told, Jackson was still recovering from that operation. Kriffing nightmare. The report had been extensive. Now he and his men were off doing patrols and door to door searches in the small urban town, just because some garrison commander was jumpy about a few insurgents. Eh, beats fighting bugs.

"Major Vernault, this is captain Koski of Charlie Company. Reporting in that we are on patrol duty and relieving Delta Company. Over." Jackson nodded to the wall as if the captain was in front of him, a weird tick of his. He wasn't so fond of comm communication and favored face to face interaction. He'd even prefer a holo...nothing he could do. He replied, "Copy that captain, you know the drill. Anything suspicious call it in...you know how shaky the garrison commander is." The captain replied in the affirmative, and Jack put his comm away. Finishing the last of his coffee, he took a quick look around him. Confirming there was no one else in the break room, Jack stretch out his arms and let out a yawn. It wouldn't have mattered if anyone else was in the room, he was after all one of the highest ranking officers stationed at the garrison. He just didn't want to set a bad example for the new recruits.

Jack walked over to the sink to rinse out the cup when suddenly the entire building shook, "What the HELL?" The mug slipped from his hands and fell in the sink breaking. His comm chirped to life screams and frantic voices shouting over each other. Suddenly the garrison klaxons blared. "Damn it what now!" Jackson left the broken mug in the sink and ran to the base's command room. He barged in, several analyzts were busy at work trying to find the source of this new disturbance. In the center of the room was the garrison commander completely in shock. "What the HELL is going on DAVE!" The man jumped frightened at Jackson's tone. The commander was technically higher in rank than Jackson but was easily bullied...not fit for service. Something Jackson would keep in his mind. "Thhtttthere has been reportttsss of-" "An attack." A junior officer finished, obviously as annoyed as Jackson was at the garrison commander's attitude. "Great. If you don't mind Dave, i'll take over and see what's going on."

The screens showed everything....or what they could show. There was black and grey smoke everywhere. Bodies everywhere, whether dead or alive, Jackson couldn't tell.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

VERLOEEM, COREESH GULCH
OBJECTIVE SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN
LEADING CRESH SECTION
TASK FORCE DREAD HOUND
S H O G U N

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Pain shot through his body, mixing with the confusion as Lucien awakened from a state of senseless stupor in the aftermath of the transport's emergency landing into the gulch. He rubbed at his eyes, the sound of broken alarms and the injured drowning out the myriad of thoughts that popped in his head as his mind began racing with activity once more. "Fething hell..." He groaned, a hand moving to rub the dust from his eyes while the other explored its way across his torso and abdomen. There was no blood on his body, nor did his hand feel out any serious injuries aside from the occasional sting that accompanied a gash or two along his clothes. He was one of the lucky ones, and it was all thanks to the skill that was put on display by the transport's pilots in the moment that their complement needed their abilities the most.

He imagined the pilots didn't make it out in one piece, though, as their descent into the gulch provided little room to guarantee their safety upon impact.Lucien pushed the thought back into a far corner of his mind for now, his attention switching to the harness that locked him into place. While it had saved his life in the end, the deformed state of the hull had the unintended effect of trapping him and many others right where they were seated. But unlike the myriad of troopers who survived, Luc was luckily enough to be one of the few present who carried his own set of gear with him. He reached into his jacket, unsheathing the vibrodagger in his left-side holster and went to work on cutting himself out of place. It took him a few cuts to tear apart the fabric, but once he freed his constraints he was able to get a better view of the situation around him.

More than a handful of the troopers had not survived the crash, and more than a few of the men around him were stuck in the same situation as he was before. For those who were free from their harnesses, they were greeted with the sight of just how bad the hull was damaged around them. Parts of the transport had caved in and warped to the point where movement through it was near impossible without outside help. Assistance came in the form of Darth Bellum , who proceeded to cleave out sections of the hull in order to free those who were trapped on the other side, including himself. With their final obstacle clear, the stormtroopers cleared out of the transport, carrying the wounded and forming a perimeter around their downed transport.

Lucien stepped out of the transport after the last of his accompanied section had exited off safely. He took off his jacket once he was exposed to the arid environment, throwing it off to the side after viewing a handful of tears in the leather that made it worthless, especially in their current situation. He could only guess that the insurgents weren't that far off from their location; close enough to have shot at their transport, but far enough to not have rushed their position the moment they hit the ground. Good. He thought to himself, his eyes moving across the armored troopers around them who diligently prepared for what seemed to be an inevitable assault onto their position. Perhaps it was an overestimation of their abilities, but to Luc it seemed like the sensible choice to make if he were in their shoes.

He shared a few words with the sergeants attached to his section, the group of men confirming the current number of casualties before dispersing back to their individual squads. Afterwards Lucien moved across the perimeter, approaching Kor Vexen with the intention of getting the veteran General's insight on the current circumstances. Of course it seemed simple enough, but the man at the helm of their task force was the former Lord General of the Sith-Imperial Legion, along with the closest thing that Luc had to a superior whilst attached to the Stormtrooper corps and stuck at the Gulch. Lucien walked up to him from the side, ensuring that he was close enough for the General to see him before he heard him from his peripheral.

"Excuse me-- General Vexen." Luc nodded once he'd gotten the man's attention. "Are we expecting reinforcements, or should we expect the insurgents to meet us here instead? I'd like to confirm my understanding of the situation we're in, if you don't mind me asking."

 

[Kascalion Giedfield]

Objective: Ramparts and Onslaughts
Location: Verloeem, Lo-Hold 3
Post Title: Introduction: The Best Laid Plans...

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\\ REQUESTING CONSORTIUM HOLOCHAT ACCESS...
Input Security Clearance: Processing...
Security Clearance Level: Vanta Black
Access: GRANTED
HOLOCHAT OPENED //

> The city just got hit by some damned cultist group, what the hell do you mean he's planetside already?

< You know the fecronj bastard has a vendetta against these NIO shoshuauks! He wouldn't even follow his own damn plan. It's like something took over him.​

> Contact the Major and have her and the Third go down after him and get him out!

< Sir, we're lucky they haven't detected that ship. How long can a prototype like that last?​

> We can't have our leader die because of these fools. This isn't our fight anymore. Contact the Major.

< But sir...​

> Just contact the fecronj MAJOR.

\\ HOLOCHAT CLOSED //

The commanding officer of the Cognus Legion's Third Battalion was not someone one would call pleasing to look at. Had she not been born with Anophthalmia at birth, where both the globe and the ocular tissue are missing from the orbit, as well as albinism, the lack of pigmentation across the body, Major Reiljess Norlee would perhaps be considered a beautiful human woman by Galactic standards by way of her body structure alone. As it was, she was a tall woman with an eyepatch over her left socket, translucent skin covered by a thick black-grey armored uniform, and bore scars beyond count across her body from the brutality of combat she thrived in.

Perhaps it was this reputation of fear and viciousness that she had built before her time in the Cognus Legion as one of the Empire's leading officers that made her the best suited to lead the 800 men and women into the fray of blood and fire. It was thus an undeniable fact that the soldiers of the Third were perhaps the Legion's best pure, unspecialized fighters through and through, capable of fighting in the open fields to cramped city streets. Fortunately for them, it was the latter, which they almost universally preferred.

Major Norlee thought on this good fortune as she took her place inside the Renegade Vixen, a Sith-Imperial Atmospheric Infantry Transport (SI/AIT) at the head of the wave of the Consortium's new breed of trooper dropships. Her single red eye glared out through the plasteel viewports of the sliding doors, watching the fellow dropships careen towards the planet from the cloaked destroyer in orbit, her lips curved into a ghost of a smile. Giving a curt nod to no one, the Major turned to the fully armored and armed soldiers she had chosen specifically for this mission, each awaiting the doors to slide open, and inhaled sharply, "Listen up, cholkrun, we're hitting the ground in five. Orders are simple: recover Lord Giedfield and get out. The use of force will likely be necessary and is authorized, so don't be afraid to clonk the old man on the head. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" the soldiers responded loudly and in perfect unison.

The Major smiled at this and checked her sidearm one last time to ensure it was set to kill, "Reports state that the city we're headed to is currently under heavy assault from some kind of insurgency. NIO forces are reacting accordingly, but, as it was originally our primary goal, I want each of you to kill as many NIO bastards as you can. That will ensure you get full payment from the Consortium's contractor. For extra rations, bag any cultists and bring me their heads for ruining our plans. Under-STOOD?"

"Understood, Ma-"

The stray shell hit the dropship without warning, blasting out one of the primary engines and sending it careening with rapidity towards Lo-Hold 3, far from the designated drop-zone. None of the soldiers inside screamed or even breathed for they were always prepared for this possibility. They were ready to die, awaiting it, some perhaps craving it from the thrill of possible disaster. Some would have that craving fulfilled when the dropship came to rest in the city streets, crashing through the sides of several small buildings and sending shards of debris and glass across the cityscape. It would roll a few times before coming to a stop upside down. Of the twenty passengers within the Renegade Vixen, three died in the crash and two were injured beyond available medical care, forcing the remaining fifteen to move on without them deep behind enemy lines in a city of chaos.

---

Luckily for the soldiers, their objective was not far. Having taken a spare boarding pod from the cloaked ship, the Devil Lion had managed to aim himself directly into the center of the city a mere four minutes prior to the assault from the insurgents, thus giving him more of a context as to what exactly was going on and more time to redevelop his course of action. Upon learning that the NIO were stationed on Veroleem by way of his scouts, Abaddon had made it his primary goal to find them here and eradicate them, a goal which those aboard his ship were more than happy to aid him in accomplishing, at least until he ignored his own intricate plan that he had developed en route to the planet and did the aforementioned.

Crouching in the shadows of a partially collapsed building, the grey-skinned titan attempted to recollect himself from the blood-red vision that had overtaken him upon entering orbit with his forces. He had been violently compelled to enter a mindless berserkers rage by something inside him, something worse than the demon he had felt for so long and believed to have exorcised months ago. It controlled his legs, his arms, his mind, forcing him to watch helplessly as he vanquished his own plan to attack the NIO forces by himself. It was suicidal, he would decide in that building, to come alone.

"That is cowardly thinking," a voice said in the recesses of his mind. "Are you a coward, Devil Lion?"

"Leave me alone," he responded, his grip tightening on the handle of the massive golden blade he had brought for combat. "You are not real."

The voice laughed heartily, "I am as real as the conflict between your puny Empire and these NIO fools. I am you, Kascalion. You know this."

"What do you want?" the Devil Lion finally asked. "Do you want me dead? Do you want my soul? What are you? What do you want?"

"I want you to stop acting like a fool. Like a coward. You claim these NIO forces betrayed you. Yet you now sit here in the shadows, away from the conflict, watching these...shameful cultists rush by in a bloody frenzy. You only just arrived, boy. Are you so weak you will break down immediately? Stop this. Be who you were born to be. Be Dayair Laiul once more and kill them all."

The name clicked something in his mind. Something old and primordial, from long before anyone's time. He had felt it before, after the battle against The Network, in orbit before this assault. He could not resist it again for his resolve was now too weak, his desire for vengeance too strong, his curiosity for what this feeling meant left unsated for too long. The Devil Lion only gave off a deep grunt as he unwillingly and willingly left the shadows of his hiding spot and walked into the beaming sunlight of the city streets, the gold plating of his sword and armor shining like a planet's core. It was perfectly crafted armor, shaped to resemble a bipedal lion with the appropriate iconography, and somehow fitted flawlessly to the physique of his body despite clearly being armor of an archaic origin.

The Devil Lion lowered his gaze from the blinding sky towards the road in front of him and sighed heavily upon finally noticing the half-dozen cultists standing before him, gazing upon him in both idiotic confusion and awe for they could feel that he was Sith, yet he did not look Sith. His posture made him look like a conflicted man, one without confidence yet one bearing a surging rage that could consume the holiest of priests. Lifting up the visor of his helm, Abaddon's green eyes glared out with sorrow and contempt. Sorrow for his inability to control himself, and contempt for these insurgents thinking they were serving a valuable cause. Kill them.

He could not fight the urges anymore.

He needed to kill.

Kill.

Kill.

Kill them ALL!

The Devil Lion silently rushed forward like a neutron star, his visor slamming shut as his blade sliced through the torso of the first unlucky cultist, bisecting him diagonally from his right shoulder. The rest of the cultists responded with immediate return fire, gasping as they found their bolts merely deflecting off the armor's plating. The next two were decapitated by a single swing, blood spraying across the streets like paint as the final three attempted to run. The fourth victim was pierced from behind, the blade skewering his gut before being lifted into the air and flung into a nearby building.

The fifth was gripped by his neck with the Force and a light crack spelled his doom; his corpse was simply left in the street where he died. The sixth made it the farthest with his flee but he too was gripped by the Force and pulled towards his killer who appeared a golden demon against the reddening sky. He could only utter a series of high-pitched wails and gasps as the golden blade was risen above his head and dropped with such force, his head split in twain alongside the ground beneath him.

These six were not enough, he immediately and depressingly deduced. He needed to follow the voice's orders. He needed to kill them all. "Fairhd NA!" he roared with such fervor that the buildings around him shuddered, the Force itself carrying the challenge citywide. He would fight everyone and he would slay everyone. It was his purpose this day.

It was his purpose in life.

 

[Merlon Assail]

Praefect-class Star Destroyer Scorn
Task Force 32
Geosynchronous orbit above Coreesh Gulch

Merlon turned from the viewport and went over to a sensor display. He snagged his lead commscan officer's eyes and tapped a set of contact dots. The holo rippled around his fingertips. "Those. What are those? Mark four-eight?"

"Light transports, sir, heading down to the city. No NIO telesponders."

"Have they fired on anyone? What was their decant vector? Rewind it on the secondary screen."

The officer rolled back through the sensor logs efficiently, back straight, unsure if he'd made a mistake. "Ah...no decant showed up, sir."

Another anomaly showed up on the replay. Merlon squinted. "This?"

"Sixty-four percent probability meteorite. Rewind shows...huh."

"Is 'huh' a technical term, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. The object appeared from nowhere, like the transports." The commscan officer looked up. "Recommend sweep with the gravitic sensors, Captain."

Merlon gave him a fraction of a smile for coming to the right conclusion and turned back to the viewports - and the probability cone that held a cloaked ship. Unless the unknown ship had a gravitic modulator, the Praefect's specialized sensors would detect it. And if that failed, there were other ways to untie this particular Gordian knot.

"Do it. And notify command elements that potentially hostile ships are in orbit and have reached the city."

Kascalion Giedfield

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Objective II : Secure and Protect
Location : Southern City Sector, Lo-Hold 3
Theme : Reflection
Tags : Sam 'Tempest' Deckard

---

---

“You know it’s really not that hard to move a speeder, that guy was an utter sha-”

There was some faint yelling from the man in subject, and one look back down the roadway proved the dingy old speeder was being parked back in the middle of the narrow roadway. The civilian man tossing in an ugly gesture to boot. Simmoes who had spoken up pointed with a finger as if to show the others his point. Plenty of city dwellers eye’s trailed after the squad over the squabble and Lyra picked up the pace from their boot dragging. Sighing to herself as they patrolled up the dusty street, caged in by looming durasteel complexes. The southern sector was considered a poorer district and was a shoddy area. In her mind a classic place to feed on distrust, and it left her wary..

Empty streets were one thing, but there were businesses and families along the lane; collateral damage. No one was in a good mood at this point, general discomfort and fear plagued the civilian base. The heat didn’t help the trooper’s own moods, the climate arid, it had got Lyra with a bloody nose only a half standard hour after they landed on the ground. The woman was still a little sore about the awkward encounter after a Private had pointed it out.

“Simmoes we get it, drop it already. It’s stressful, for us and for the civs!”

“They could try to work with us at least, we’re here to help!” The man’s voice whined and she thought about banning him from the comm’s channel. The electric screech, vexing..

Lyra’s ventilators hissed as she let out another heavy breath, shaking her head to herself.

“I dunno my man, we’re faceless steel buckets to them and look we’ll be gone in seven cycles? Forget him, he’s just some industro looking for a fight..” Lt. Jissard’s voice buzzed over the comms, trying to play it off. They weren’t necessarily sore thumbs, like the white legions aside from the dark visors and guns. They had tried to toss in varying ponchos and cloak to soften the edges of the armor but the rifles were unsettling to the masses.

“Yeah well I was ready-”

“You know if you worked as hard as you complained, we’d already be done,” another trooper snapped.

“Doesn’t matter we’re going in circles anyway..”

“That is the premise of a patrol Simmoes,” Lyra chimed in, calling for a slow crawl as she raised a bulky hand. The woman turned on her heel walking backward with practiced ease as she faced the squad of ten men, a few tack ons from the other assigned forces.. Her rifle bounced against her armor with a hollow thud when she dropped it, caught by it’s worn leather sling. Raising her gauntlets, the Colonel drew a circle in the air for the trooper barking at the back. “We patrol..in an area that is sometimes circular. Next time I’ll teach you about quadrilaterals, you’re not going to like it.”

That shut him up and gave the rest of them some much needed silence. Sniffing her nose, there was still the faint taste of iron in the back of her throat and she hoped her nose wouldn’t start up again; it had already left her with a headache. The Colonel turned back to the road pushing on, stalls were jutting out into the path the further they patrolled into the sector. An NIO transport rumbled overhead and they watched it pass over. Their boots had been on the ground maybe and hour and they were locking down on security.

Lyra referenced the HUD, a few streets over and another patrol was on route, the Bird Dogs were out on the hunt. Not too far to call in for back up either. There were whispers as crowds tried to give them a wide berth, the lot of them drab and street rats. The area up ahead was slowly devolving into a street market, her eyes roaming over the moving bodies and sea of faces. Close quarters were always a bad combination. She considered the buildings, picking out a nice vantage a complex over and Lyra pointed to it.

“Lets push on up through here, we should take up point there and dig in-" Lyra’s voice crackled over the comms, cradling her rifle as she entered first. Strolling down the row of merchants. Calls were tossed over their heads as the populace did business and she felt the eyes crawling all over them. Raising a hand she guided loiterers aside with ‘gentle hand’ to make a path pushing up. The lot of the stalls were selling varying metal scrap, a booth or two decorated with rugs and textile but otherwise sparse pickings.

“I’d hate to live here..” Lt. Jissard’s words bordered on sympathy.

“Not a twi’lek in sight I know, the absolute shame,” Simmoe’s voice left drifted in, a disgusting sensation shooting up her spine.

“Maker help me Simmoes no more.” Lyra hissed, sucking in a sharp breath as pain richocted from behind her eye. Stalling, she felt a solid bump at her back and a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

“Ma’am?”

Lyra looked over her shoulder trying to shake the feeling, a drop of blood hitting her lip. It wasn’t often that paranoia came to play and Lyra’s form shuddered under a deep breath, the woman felt she was missing something and she jerked her head toward the gap in the crowd.

“Take point leftenant-”

A chain of explosions shattered around them, debris and black smoke caught over the tops of the buildings a street over. She regretted the words as they poured from her mouth as the trooper had pushed up past her, the others falling in line. The rangers tensed and Lyra’s screen lit up with warnings, the communications pouring in reports of insurrection. The hovel they stood in was not immune and panic set in as bodies pushed past them trying to flee.

“Back out, back out!”

She only got a glimpse of a dark figure landing at the center of the market street. Lyra felt the pull and snap of the force and she tried to reach out and rip back the nearest trooper, the whispers of something sinister on the horizon-then the being imploded taking half the market with them. Lyra's jaw unhinged and she yelled after Jissard. Impact gel and layers of durasteel their only shield against the warp and explosion, heat rolling over the squad and bystander. Lyra's feet were stolen out from beneath her and she was flung back, the concussion punching through her chest. There was a high pitch ringing, a weightless sensation carrying her, and then she hit the ground. From the skies above, it was just another cloud of desolation rocketing up over the city in terror.

 

[Davis Garrick]

​

// BUCKETHEAD - 3 //
// OBJECTIVE // Ramparts & Onslaughts // Overwatch
// FOCUS // Belisarius | Hadrian Javik | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Sam 'Tempest' Deckard | Kardev Byrric

Davis "Wraith" Garrick ascended to the top of a fire escape running up the side of a towering building. He dropped to a prone position and mounted his sniper before him. He scanned the streets, taking a mental count of the darkly garbed cultists rampaging up the roads with a snarl. If there was one thing, THE Davis "Wraith" Garrick hated more than Sith Lords; it had to be their braindead following striking out for whatever scraps their craven masters left them. He considered laying one low with a quick pull of the trigger but kept his cool and maintained his vigil. Soon enough, his scope paused on Sergeant Javik and Captain Belisarius's position.​

​

"You've got four cloaks moving up from the north and two pushing from the southeast," Wraith reported as he marked each of the six cultists. Each of them would pop up on the stormtrooper's HUDs. Corporal Davis lined up a shot on one of the cultists approaching from the north and pulled the trigger, dropping the cloaked individual in a single shot. "Make that three approaching from the north. I see standard Sith-Imperial battle rifles, and it looks like the leading figure has a glowstick at his belt. Keep your heads down, boys."​

​

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the marketplace several blocks over. Wraith's focus switched from the duo holding their own, to instead study the ruined market square. His thermal scope provided a clear sight of the dozens of bodies blown apart. The sight of a downed patrol left Davis cursing under his breath. When cultists began to flood into the market, Garrick marked a number of them for the battered squad, then blasted one of the cultist's heads clean off. ​

​

"Captain," Wraith's voice called over the commlink to Belisarius. "It looks like our patrol squadron, keeping an eye on the market, is under fire. Going to keep my eyes on both of you, stay safe," he reported to the duo in danger of cultist activity and returned his sights to the firefight taking place in the market.​

​

"Colonel Voi'kryt, this is corporal Davis with Buckethead squadron. I've got eyes on your position, and you have three dozen cloaks moving on your position. I recommend you fall back and take up a position in the nearby park. We've got birds in the sky. Meathook should be able to deliver quite the payload on these boys."​

​

Wraith dropped another of the terrorists before marking a small group moving up with rocket launchers.​

​

"Oh shit, that doesn't look good."​

 

[Konrad Bolter]

​

// NOMAD ACTUAL // XT-60b 'Cataphract'
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // Coreesh Gulch Zone E
// FOCUS // Cheapshot | Darth Bellum

---

---

---

<"Set down, set down." > Waylon says, slapping a hand on the driver's shoulder before the tank rattled with the legs settling down unto the arid earth near the mouth heading into the gulch, Treicolt pulling the targeting computer against his face once more, slowly notch the dial along the side before he flashed to the lifeform scanners.

Being able to paint the silhouettes of at least a section's worth of cultists holed up within a building as they seemed to be manipulating a heavy weapon unto a supporting tri-pod to levy toward the escaping troopers.

<"E-WEB in that building lookin' at second level, confirm?"> Waylon sounded out, tapping the back of his fingers against the gunner's shoulder before he nodded once.

<"E-WEB, second level building at eleven, copy."> The tank crewman offered in return.

<"Copy - two volleys, M6, mark."> Treicolt ordered out before the unmanned turret of the tank gave away its intent, instantly snapping toward the gunner's view in sync with his targetting computer, the barrel of the MegaCaliber Six turbolaser threading the needle between the corner of two buildings between Nomad and its target.

Unphased by the thunderous power of the gun on its fortified position the M6 turbolaser snapped at the air around it in faint silence before it released a thunderous crack with each thud of the cannon against the hovel. Screeching into the air with each blast there was no mistaking the mailed fist had arrived in exfil. Within seconds, the building was pounded to dust.

<"Alright let it cool down and then we're off the legs."> Waylon ordered to the drive once more, the repulsorlifts humming to life once more.

 

[Vaulkhar]

// EXECUTOR //
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // TURN THE TIDES
// FOCUS // Tarrik Kestis | Shaze | Kolson Vrask | Darth Bellum | Lucien Dooku | Konrad Bolter | Cheapshot
// T H E M A T I C //

A dropship descended through the black night, racing away from Epitaph II towards the Coreesh Gulch. Flack shattered all around them, threatening to overwhelm their ship and send them tumbling to the earth alongside Kor Vexen. The Executor seemed unphased as if his very will would carry them safely to the planet below and deliver them onto the battlefield unscathed. Beside the skull-masked fallen Jedi, the First Brother and a Purge Trooper occupied the vessel. When Vaulkhar ordered the dropship prepared to disembark, the Epitaph II's crew considered the decision foolish, suggesting a different course of action. It wasn't until he and his party stepped aboard and departed did their complaints die down.​

​

"The LZ is too hot, Executor. I can't put down until they handle the artillery," the pilot called over the thunderous exploding surrounding them.​

​

"You will not be landing the ship at all," Vaulkhar's hollow voice escaped the helmet.​

​

"What do yo-" ​

​

"Get us about twenty meters above the hot zone and lower the ramp," the Exeutor ordered before stepping to the side, taking his customary place at the foot of the ramp. "First Brother," his burning gaze settled on the Inquisitor beside him. "Our men are under fire from nearly all directions, and the cultists are holding a heavily fortified position. You and your partners," his gauntleted hand lazily motioned towards Shaze and Wirm. "Will take down the artillery encampment raining down on our men and making our pilots lives hell. When you complete this task, report to me. We'll be holding the line to give our men enough time to regroup and reengage them."​

​

"Ramp going down in ten, nine, eight," the pilot counted down carefully, lowering the ramp once he sounded off five. "Four, three, two, and one!"​

​

Vaulkhar stepped from the ramp without a second thought, his cloak whipping up around him from the strength of the wind. For the first time in a long time, the Executor released his grip on the mental wall put in place to stifle his darker emotions. An explosion of dark side energy announced his presence to the warring cultists below. Some stopped and looked up in awe, the raw dark side power rocketing to the earth as if the monstrosity were some malign angel, sent to deliver death unto the New Imperial Order in their stead. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Fear welled up within them as the falling horror crashed into the earth nearest to a line of anti-air guns.​

​

The earth groaned in protest, fissures spreading out from the crater centered around Vaulkhar, once Zambrano. The force of the impact sent a wave of smoke and dirt up and over the cultists. A vermilion saber surged from a lightsaber hilt clenched tightly in the fallen Jedi's hand. His body blurred as he cleared the distance between him and a trio of cultists. The gold-plated mask grinned excitedly as the weapon flashed in a visceral arc, decapitating one before bisecting another. His free hand shot out and clenched tight around the mortal man's throat, violently squeezing the life from the man, echoed by the sound of a sickening crunch from the cultist's spine. Lazily, Vaulkhar's lightsaber flashed out and cut through the nearest anti-air gun's battery source, sending a rippling explosion outward, claiming the lives of another nearby group.​

​

Vaulkhar stepped out from the fiery explosion, entirely unphased, and lifted his commlink to his grin.​

​

"Lord Vexen, my men and I will take out the northern artillery encampment. Take this opportunity to regroup on higher ground and reengage the enemy."​

​

Without looking back to check on his accompanying allies, Vaulkhar surged forward and began cutting his way through a group of cultists moving to reinforce the anti-air guns.​

 

[Apollo Kurze]

VERLOEEM, SKIES ABOVE COREESH GULCH
OBJECTIVE SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN
TAGGIN' AND BAGGIN' BANDITS
FLIGHT ONE, ROYAL SQUADRON
M I G H T Y W I N G S
-​

Cassian rocked his head to the beat of the music blasting over the speakers within his cockpit. After the debacle over the skies of Krieg which ended with him and the rest of Flight One spending a stint in the brig, the boys of Royal Squadron's premier flight were back in their interceptors doing what the fly-boys of Flight One did best. There was an overall feeling of excitement by the time the quartet were allowed in their cockpits and given a mission to support the ground-pounders down on the surface. The Army and Stormtroopers had their work cut out for them; urban expanses, insurgents and a high chance for telekinetic bombings if the cultists were clever enough to get the drop on the troops down on the ground. There were already reports of entire groups of mercenaries coming up missing by the time the ground forces were hitting the cities in force, and everyone with half a brain expected more than just the minimum of casualties if the situation continued to escalate as it did.

Frightening as it may have been for the grunts beneath them, the men of Royal Squadron were hoping for the chance to experience their own trials and tribulations in the skies above ground. Jester lead from the front of the formation, which was a tight Finger Four being maintained at a high enough altitude to give them a birds-eye view over the wide expanse of canyons, ravines and dusty ground all around them. Smoke billowed up from their northeast a few minutes in their patrol as squadron-wide comms lit up with reports of a transport being shot down and a Tie Pilot from Darkstar meeting a similar fate around the same period of time. "Stay frosty, boys. We've got confirmed reports coming in of hostiles in the area-- Air and Land." Jester sounded off to the rest of the flight.

"You don't say, Jester?" Sirius called back as a number of unknown blips pinged across their radars from their northwest. "You know the drill, boys- Move to intercept." Jester replied back with a level of confidence that was matched by the three men that made up his flight. In unison their four Interceptors shifted course to the left, the formation shifting into a combat spread as their vector turned on a dime to match the trajectory of their prey. "Looks like the idiots -finally- noticed us." Duke commented once the swarm of fighters they were intercepting began shifting their course to prevent Flight One from intercepting them from the rear. Cassian turned down his music, his comms activating with the start of a laugh. "Can you believe what they're flying?! They can't actually be flying the Aleph's from way back when. BOREX, boys, let's close in and gun 'em down."

Cassian's interceptor veered out of the formation on a bat-turn, the boresight of his weapons lining up with the first of the pack of the Aleph's that had failed to veer off-course and prevent the far more maneuverable flight of TIE IN/x's from catching their group at the rear of their formation. Laser cannons spooled up and lit the first one's rear with enough fire to reduce it to slag and debris in seconds. "Fangs out, boys, they're soft in the rear!" Cassian weaved his sights across to the left, his guns still blazing out shots that lit up another pair of fighters who weren't quick enough on the sticks to swerve out the way. The rest of Flight one moved in behind Cassian to angle in on the squadron of Aleph's, a mixture of Laser cannons and 'Brilliant' Missiles firing off in unison from the now reformed group of Interceptors. "Slag 'em all while they're pissing themselves, boys!" Jester called out. Sirius joined him on his flank, veering off to the left to pursue the stragglers breaking off that direction. Meanwhile Duchess and Duke sectioned off into their own two-man formation, heading to the right in pursuit of the other half that remained after the flight's combined alpha-strike had decimated their ranks.

"I've said it before, and i'll say it again-- Now this is what I call a target-rich environment."

​

 

[Darth Bellum]

K o r _ V e x e n

| Objective | SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN ​

| Location | Veroleem, Coreesh Gulch​

| Company | Lucien Dooku ​

​

The Anzati General's cold gaze shifted as he scanned the ridges for hostiles. For the time being it was quiet, though that was likely to change as the cultists closed in on their position. They were already being watched. His attention was briefly diverted by Lucien Dooku, a man the Anzati was not familiar with until the New Imperial Order was formed and had followed along with Vexen on this operation. He would respond in his heavily vocoded voice, " No... We will secure this sector to prevent any further losses and then rendezvous with the main forces. " His commlink would beep as he raised his left hand up to his chest as Vaulkhar 's voice flared to life. The Executor was taking his troops to handle the artillery encampments that had been established by their enemies. ​

​

There was a shift in atmosphere as Vexen terminated the communication after a simple response of acknowledgment. Blaster fire would rain down on their position from above as Vexen's instincts were once more proven, his purple saber flaring to life in his left hand as he deflected a flurry of blaster bolts directed at him. The stormtroopers under his charge would scramble for cover, using the wreckage to shelter themselves while returning fire. Vexen glanced to his side as one of the medics had basically thrown his body over one of the wounded to ensure they were safe. ​

​

Vexen would grunt as he raised his right arm up, feeling a burning sensation radiating from his wounds as he lifted a section of the hull that had broken off with the Force and lodged it into the earth to cover the wounded before his vocoded voice was once more heard, " Prove your usefulness. Take to the high ground and neutralize those insurgents. " The purple saber hummed as he once more swung the blade with his left hand, deflecting a blaster bolt back to the rocky ledges, kicking up dust and debris. It was disadvantageous being in the low ground, but his troops had been pinned down and forced to take cover.​

 

[Tarrik Kestis]

Objective: Senth-isk-cresh-form- Turn the Tides
Nearby: Vaulkhar Shaze Kolson Vrask Darth Bellum Lucien Dooku Konrad Bolter Cheapshot



Tarrik had accompanied his Master once again, standing his presence, this time a dark apparatus around his face. The mask that he wore constantly fed him pain, as per the suggestion of Vaulkhar. Constant pain would test his resolve in high stress situation, and gaging to see how he would handle in future missions. Gritting his teeth from the pain that was reminding him of it constantly be there this time the pain had distracted from Vaulkhar's petrifying aura. He had all but listened to orders being issued. The constant boom from outside of the gunships, he could sense a mixture of fear, dread, and adrenaline. Some men were afraid of being blown from the skies, the others were ready to die in the midst of battle.

Since the events of the New Order's declaration. First Brother's resolve had increasingly become solidified. His faith in the vision of Sovereign Imperator and the ideals of the true Empire were becoming apparent with each passing day. With increasing support mounting, it was only a matter of time until War were declared. The Sith Empire would soon meet it's a crippling end with the support for the New Order mounting, remnants from both the Core Imperials and First Imperials soon coming to the fold.

The mission, it was simple and to quench his thirst for justice against the crimes of the Sith. The mission being to take out the Cultists that were below. The problem was.. The karking load of artillery that was constantly being shelled through the sky. Ships being blown out, they were all lucky if they made it to the ground without losing a bloody chunk, or even a limb at least. It was times like these that he had all but welcomed the apparatus to his face to distract him from the situation entirely.

When his Master had explained the situation, Tarrik had nodded, speaking with a bow to his head. "As you wish Lord Vaulkhar." it was time as soon as the pilot announced they would be out onto the hot zone. He was ready. The first to go was the executor himself. Feeling the waves off the dark side amass around him. The First Brother had done nothing but watch, his mouth agape. Awe had paralyzed him, awe of his raw strength through the Force. With the power of the dark side his master had launched himself like a slingshot through the air.

Watching him, he had seen him use his fear to his advantage. The fall, the guns that were firing at them. First Brother spoke as if annoyed. "Sure as if free-falling through karking shells blowing you out of the sky is easy." His horror once again resumed when he saw his Master land, immediately cutting a bloody swathe through where they would be landed. Letting out a deep breath, he soon jumped from the craft. Not possessing the strength to amass such dark power yet. He used the Force to aid in his freefall from the sky. He made his landing only slightly easier with the activation of his saber. Using it to hover and land beside his Master. Deactivating one of the blades and waiting for those that were behind to soon follow, as he blocked any fire coming around. Destruction all around him. He reveled in it as he followed his Master closely through the carnage all around them.

Just another day in the life of the New Order.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

VERLOEEM, COREESH GULCH
OBJECTIVE SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN
LEADING CRESH SECTION
TASK FORCE DREAD HOUND
R I O T

-​

Lucien was inwardly surprised at the General's response to his question. A part of him assumed the man would view his question with disgust, with him being one of the Sith's former elite, and a man who rightfully had more important things to worry about than a fresh-to-command exile who was picking things up as he learned. It didn't help that the man spoke with a synthesized voice from beneath that intimidating helmet which he wore. Yet his assumptions were proven wrong as the inquisitive General took a moment to respond briefly, yet even with the few words spared, it was enough to depart a concise amount of wisdom into the Prince's analysis of their situation. "Thanks, General." He replied with a grin before pivoting away from the man to return to his men.

He returned back in the direction of his section when all hell began to break loose across the perimeter. Lucien stopped in his tracks when the initial wave of bolts rained down on their positions from all across the high ground above them. The stormtroopers had dug in properly, yet none of it would matter at the onset of blaster fire which overcame their defenses through their strategic use of the high terrain surrounding them. He swiveled his sights towards Kor during the volley's beginning, his gaze being entranced upon the General's response out of admiration for the surreal scene which the man put on display. He brandished his lightsaber in defiance, deflecting the hail of bolts that gravitated towards the stand-out figure which he cut in a sea of uniformly-armored soldiers. The scene was enough for Lucien to lose track of his bearings, which proved an almost fatal mistake for a rookie commander who unfortunately stood out as well.

"Sir, get your head down!"​

One of his sergeant's tackled him a moment later, throwing their bodies behind a piece of the transport's hull that some of his men had been using for cover. Lucien's attention snapped back the moment the man impacted with his unarmored body, and he lifted himself to a kneel as he shifted his focus back to the battle going on around them. "T-thanks, sarge." He offered, only to receive a nod as the man dragged his back against their defensive position with a hand covering his shoulder. The smell of burnt flesh and material wafted into his nose right when he spotted the wound that the stormtrooper received from his admirable move to save his commander. Teeth gritted beneath sealed lips as a medic dashed to their position to provide aid and determine the level of triage needed. Fuck. It was the only thing he could muster up to say, but the words weren't able to leave the recesses of his mind.

They were pinned down and Lucien had accomplished nothing but a lapse of his own command. It was an error that almost costed one of his men their lives, and a mistake he didn't want to repeat again. Opening up his comms to the section beneath his command, Lucien peaked from his cover to get a fix on the majority of the shooters on the ridge. "Cresh Section, throw everything we've got at them! We're taking the high ground before this gets any worse!" He called out to his men with confidence. It was mostly anger at his mistakes that fueled the aforementioned confidence, but he wouldn't let the men see or hear any hesitation from the man who was supposed to be leading their group.

Lucien reached to his right-side holster, the charcoal-black hilt of his weapon entering his hands as he lifted from behind their cover in full view of the men upon the ledge. The stormtroopers behind him immediately followed up with a fusillade of rifle and repeater fire aimed at the enemy combatants up on the ridge. The aqua-blue blade of his weapon beamed into existence, a two-handed grip onto the hilt being used to deflect the bolts being sent in the general direction of him and his surrounding soldiers. He slowly stepped forwards, the lightsaber within his grip being weaved through the air to intercept the bolts that were meant to put down him and the men behind him. The combined efforts of his presence and the suppressive fire provided the smallest window possible once their returning fire had slowed down to a trickle at the precise moment to move.

"Don't let up on them!" Lucien called out as he dashed for the base of the cliff at a speed that the armored troopers could only hope to of matched. He twisted his body around the stray bolts that came his direction, only coming to a halt once he'd reached the base of where he needed to be. His legs were brought to a bend right before his body leaped high into the air with the use of a force-assisted jump. It wasn't high enough to reach the ridge, and he was forced to grab ahold of a piece of rock jutting from the rocky wall in order to keep the ground he'd made so far. The insurgents weren't going to let him keep the ground that easily, though, and he found himself swinging the lightsaber with one-hand to deflect the sporadic bolts that managed to be aimed his way when the stormtrooper's fire wasn't enough to pin them down from moving.

Lucien pressed on in spite of the recklessness, bringing his body to a swing as he threw himself even higher, a hand catching onto another piece of rock a few feet above him. It wouldn't be long until he reached the ledge, but he hoped his presence was at least the distraction the men needed to regain control of the situation. One way or another, they were taking the ridge, and Lucien wouldn't give up until he repaid the debt he owed the wounded sergeant back down there on the ground.


Darth Bellum Vaulkhar Tarrik Kestis Konrad Bolter

 

[Lord Kizash]

OBJECTIVE 2: Ramparts & Onslaughts [Attack: Aid Cultist Insurgencies against the LMS]
Location: City streets, Marketplace
Tags: Davis Garrick Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Jackson Vernault Hadrian Javik
Ally: Kascalion Giedfield

A savage strike glided through the air. Crimson blade super heating the very oxygen surrounding it. Cutting through the torso of two white plastoid covered chests with ease. Like a knife through butter. Why am I here? Kizash couldn't help but think to himself. A tall physically built man in cultist cloak attire. He bore leather bracers, baggy black leggings and a bare chest scarred from previous combat. Carbon scoring, scorch marks, bruises and open cuts. It was amazing that Kizash was still stand. Yet here he was.

A telekinetic boom burst knocking a squad of stormtroopers on their arse. Masked faces ridden with the guise of shock. They never saw it coming once they turned the corner. They were the prey, Kizash was the predator.

" ENEMY CONTACT!" Calls and shouts erupted in panic.

Fear.

A flurry of red blades surrounded the Dark Jedi's form in a blur of movement. He pressed forward into a ravaging assault. Hacking, slicing and deflecting blaster fire toward adjacent objects. There was no accuracy only fury and rage. In his enduring carnage a retreat was signaled from the Imperial order. He gave no quarter nor relented. Shifting his movement into a jog he persued ignoring the cull of a high pitch beep on the ground.

BOOM

A thermal detonator. A device that had no respect for any living being. Kizash included.
His last movement was of him being thrown back three meters into a wall.

Ragdoll.