Dominion Battle of Coreesh Gulch [NIO Dominion of Veroleem]

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Objective II : Get Out Alive
Location : Southern Sector Market , Lo-Hold 3
Focus : Davis Garrick Hadrian Javik Kardev Byrric @ Anyone else nearby

The comm channels were static in her ears, and when Lyra finally opened her eyes her vision had doubled. They had told her if she got hit by a second round of blunt trauma there could have worse results. Blood roared in her ears, coughing racked her chest and she sputtered rolling over on to her knees. The cement was painted red and she raised a shaking gauntlet; all blood. The market was devastated, civis and..

"Colonel, you have a cloak with a glowstick en route...” ​

“Copy that Davis…” Lyra finally answered, staggering to her feet, her head ducked as she picked through the massacre. She latched on to the nearest body of white armor that showed an ounce of movement, pulling them through the gore and shop remains, her HUD fizzling before reigniting with the coordinates of the incoming enemy.

“Squad report!”

There was a brief moment of silence until calls were ringing in from the troopers. Six blue dots read on her screen, Lt. Jissard’s name was absent along with a handful of others; she swore up and down under her breath helpless. They didn’t have more than a minute before blaster fire began dogging them down and the Colonel threw herself behind cover, hauling up the wounded trooper beside her. Those who could pick themselves up were weaving through the devastation trying to escape the wrath.

“Pair up, Simmoes get over here pull Lott out. We’re falling back, alley on our way in head there-” Lyra barked, the plate of her armor scraping the cement as she pulled up her rifle. Returning fire with several heavy bursts, heat blazing over head too close for comfort. “Popping a DAX, move move!”

Her hand had dropped from her rifle, hooking the grenade off her belt and tossing out into the remains of the square. The metal tinked and rolled out along the bodies, a small click sounding before a dark heavy smoke poured out of the canister; blacking out the market. Referencing the map, taking note of the cloak’s position. The map had gone static then there was a frenzy of neon red shoring up and she pushed the troopers hard under the cover; wading half blind through the smoke.

The blaster fire that crossed through the dark screen was dampened, it’d still pack a punch but they might just survive a shot at this close range. Lyra cleared a chunk of rubble, throwing herself over it as the remainder of the squad followed; stumbling into the alley. Bringing up the rear she leveled her rifle as they filed out of the market, blaster fire sounding off at the head of the column and, a horde on their heels. The first shadow to emerge she opened fire, dropping a cultist an errant bolt scathing past catching her arm and sprawling her out on her back; knocking the wind out of her. It burned and the tech sparked and hissed, the interface and her forearm scorched.

“This is Colonel Voi’kryt requesting close air support immediately south of my position, Southern Sector Market Plaza. Light it up!“

 

[Konrad Bolter]

​

// NOMAD ACTUAL // XT-60b 'Cataphract'
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // Coreesh Gulch Zone E
// FOCUS // Sturit Goan | Tarrik Kestis | Shaze | Darth Bellum | Lucien Dooku | Cheapshot | Vaulkhar

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<"Copy, Feral Actual."> Waylon said as his armored formation peeled free from the insurgent encampment, his visual scanners spotting the growing smoke plume of the downed transport. At the head of a layered 'keil' (wedge) formation his own formation of 'Cataphract's began to close down onto the surrounded position in tow with Feral.

<"We've just cleared out another post we're headed for exfil at the transport's position."> The Concordian said in the tinge of characteristic charm the rural accent brought with it.

<"Take your company and move in on the gulch from the Southern face, I'm looking for a full or partial envelopment of the area - keep in your formation we've got confirmation that these insurgents have heat on em -- keep an eye out there."> Waylon patched through the comms to his fellow tank command before eventually he switched the channel to communicate with the Sith Anzati Warlord himself (or whoever he might've delegated the task of communicating with subordinates to).

<"This is Nomad Actual copy, we've got armor headed to exfil, clear a path for us if possible."> Waylon patches through before soon enough he's commanding to his own company.

<" Get me Aurek keil on overwatch to that ridge at nine, drop down for siege."> The Tank Commander rattles off the order - one of the formations within his greater movement splintered off to provide an arc of covering fire to the ex-filtrating New Imperials.

 

[Kolson Vrask]

​

// PULSAR // Task Force Gauntlet
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // Coreesh Gulch Zone E
// FOCUS // Tarrik Kestis | Shaze | Darth Bellum | Lucien Dooku | Cheapshot | Sturit Goan
// THEME // Monday Hunt

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---

After his self imposed solo assault unto one of the fortified turret positions Wirm wasn't long to be back at the flank of the Executor. Drawing his hybrid pistol he took aim with both hands clasped around the grip of the gun, sending flesh melting pulses of disruptor bolts down range into the robed cultists before soon enough they were over the entrenched turret position.

Well into the process of a cybernetic makeover - serving as one of the initial subjects of the New Imperial Order's newfound partnership in scientific advancement with the Maggots of Metal in the Sictis Order headed by the former Sith Emperor Caulder Dune the Chiss was growing into the metallic bonds he'd found himself in. In it his already withered individualism had been crucified in the face of cold killer instinct.

Surging into the pocket he flipped the pistol to its concussive firing mode, pressing it against the back of another cultist's cranium before squeezing the trigger to release a potent sonic blast, all but pulverizing his skull in a cloud of pink mist before he holstered the weapon and took the control of the E-WEB at the Executor's order. Gripping the handles of the weapon silence snapped the air before super charged rapid fire blaster bolts surged from the turret and into the soft exposed rear flanks of the encroaching insurgents.

 

[Volgin Alto]

​

// BUCKETHEAD - 2 //
// OBJECTIVE // Ramparts & Onslaughts // Breach And Clear
// ALLIES // Belisarius | Davis Garrick | Sam 'Tempest' Deckard | Imperial Warlord Zovesa
// ENEMIES // Kascalion Giedfield | Lord Kizash

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Posted up in an alleyway, Javik's section waited on the encroaching Sith Legionnaires to pass. Immediately, an odd feeling. Not months ago the sons of Kascalion in Cognis Legion would've been shoulder to shoulder with the very men lying in wait to ambush them. Even still, the troopers were victims to circumstances far beyond anything they had the power to control.

As soon as the green and black of cognis troopers concealed the view of the beating sun outside of the alleyway, the Storm sergeant started the throttling of the advance with a crushing shot from his concussion rifle which slammed into the chest of one of the Sith Legionnaires, sending him to the ground in a bloodied thud before the particle beam repeaters each kicked off their volley with a supercharged explosive blast before swapping to repeater mode and laying down a crimson buzzsaw of bruising firepower unto the squad, eventually dropping them all where they stood before making way for a cloud of dust and crippling silence which remained for the faintest of a moments before a far off blaster round cracked in the distance to make way for the symphony of war to continue its concert once more.

<"Alright, on the move."> Javik said, tapping the shoulder of one of the heavy weapons troopers before he made way down to the edge of the alley way, peaking his head around the corner on a swivel he patched through to the scout trooper on overwatch.

<"We dropped a section of Sith, what do you have eyes on now, Wraith I hear the music but we don't have anyone to dance with now."> Javik said in brazen confidence to the scout trooper - such was the cruel high of gunning down ten men before they had the chance to look your direction.

 

[Jackson Vernault]

Location | Veroleem
Objective|#2-Ground Zero
Focus | Ravraa Vyshraal | Hadrian Javik | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Davis Garrick | Belisarius | Imperial Warlord Zovesa | @Anyone i missed

Jackson stood over the analyst's shoulder. "Put this feed on the big screen." Jackson stared at the screen. "Alright.....pause here." Paused on the screen was the face of Kascalion Giedfield . An analyst spoke up, "Sir we're getting reports of some Sith in the area. It appears they are aiding the cultists. We're taking heavy casualties." Jackson nodded, "Call in air support, tell any units in the marketplace to fall back. Deploy Delta and Echo company to assist the other units in the battle, but recall everyone from the marketplace." A quick nod, and the agent went to work. "All units this is HQ. All units, I repeat this is HQ. Forces in the vicinity of the marketplace fall back. We're sending air support to bomb the place out. I report fall back."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Fall back? What the kriff! We can take the damn Sith on. We don't need no frickin air support." Captain Fandish of Alpha company muttered. "Alpha Company you heard HQ, get your frickin butts and high tail it outta this joint." Already, units were beginning to fall back. Fandish shot a sith cultist in the face and threw a thermal detonator before leading his men back to the HQ. "COME ONE! DOUBLE TIME!"

 

[Tarrik Kestis]

Objective: 1
Nearby: Vaulkhar Shaze Kolson Vrask

First Brother looked at one of the troopers with agitation. While he considered himself superior to just that of Purge Troopers or even Stormtroopers. He did recognize the usefulness they carried in the grand plan of the New Order. It didn't mean that they had to like each other though. Different branches of the New Order had squabbles from time to time. It was a necessary evil in the pursuit of Order. If you wanted something you took it, but suffering rivals and overall annoyances was fairly common that was how it was. He did admit that it did bring him some enjoyment sensing the disdain he had for those that followed him into battle.

Seeing Vaulkhar move cutting a path of carnage across the battlefield. It was as if watching a force of nature, as he had never seen such power. Never encountered such power, and in moments like these, he found his apprenticeship to be a worthy honor. For he himself dreamed to take the place of Grand Inquisitor one day, and then if he worked at it enough perhaps not until many years. The role of the New Order's Executor. Besides all of his aspirations in his mind. He found himself cutting his own bloody swathe as he used his saber's spinning mechanism to absorbs blaster bolts as if a shield that protected him. Even sending a few flying.

When the first stage was done, First Brother had nodded towards his Master. "As you command Lord Vaulkhar. Let us finish this rabble." He said moving from behind, leading the troopers behind him Still batting blaster bolts away. The chaos all around as if hell had engulfed them The pain, the explosions. The fear that he could sense through the force was palpable, the rage that took forth in the midst of battle. His saber striking into the nearest cultist in front of him. The pleas for mercy nonexistent as he carried out his duties. For conquest was the right of the New Imperial Order. Through conquest, they were on the road to peace. This was the road to great things to come.

Batting blaster bolts, and pushing any explosives that come his way, the pain the apparatus was feeding him was just heightening his senses. Letting it take ahold of him, guiding his actions through the dark side fight side by side with the stormtroopers. While they disliked each other, they both agreed that they had a solemn duty in life and death to the very nature of the New Imperial Order.

 

[Vaulkhar]

// EXECUTOR //
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // TURN THE TIDES
// FOCUS // Tarrik Kestis | Kolson Vrask | Shaze

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Like a moth to a flame, the cultists nearest to Vaulkhar and Tarrik turned and marched to their doom. Whether it was an odd showing of faith towards dark powers or acceptance of an approaching end, they raised their weapons and faced their death with honor. The Executor could not help but feel a sense of respect for them. While he considered it foolish to so willingly accept their demise, they lacked an escape route. Choosing to face it head-on earned them a swift death at the hands of the fallen Jedi. Heads rolled, and necks snapped as he pushed through the last defensive position between him and Vexen's men.​

​

Vaulkhar surged forth and thrust his blade into the chest of an approaching cultist before pushing out with his off-hand, sending the body tumbling across the dirt away from him. The fallen Jedi lifted his weapon and deflected an incoming blaster bolt and sent it back into his attacker's chest. Vaulkhar watched the body crash into the ground a dozen feet away. Another body added to the growing count under the Executor's name. By the end of his previous life, he would've been appalled by such a battle. The actions of the cultists and the retribution enacted by the New Imperial Order could only be described as horrific by onlookers. Unfortunately, peace only came about through the actions of superior firepower. The ways of the Jedi no longer worked, if they ever did to begin with.​

​

With many of the soldiers under the Imperial Order regrouping, the tempo of the battle had completely flipped. Cultists were gunned and cut down left and right, leaving the battlefield littered with a mix of black-cloaked and white armored bodies. Vaulkhar strode through the corpses; his gold-plated mask grinned down at each limp body. Behind it, Vaulkhar snarled. Once again, the Sith had claimed the lives of others for no reason beyond an ancient philosophy that meant nothing in the modern era. He reached up and slid the skull mask from his face, the gauntleted hand gripping it tightly. An involuntary tear crawled down his cheek, perhaps a symbol of unquenchable rage or maybe a fragment of who he once was peeking through the cold shell of death.​

 

[Kolson Vrask]

​

// PULSAR // Task Force Gauntlet
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN // Coreesh Gulch Zone E
// FOCUS // Tarrik Kestis | Shaze | Darth Bellum | Lucien Dooku | Cheapshot | Sturit Goan
// THEME // Monday Hunt

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The New Imperials had dug themselves a hole in the initial occupation of Veroleem. By sheer will, they dug themselves out of it. Fierce fighting on the field of battle seemed to turn the tide quickly against these cultists. As men like Kor Vexen and Lucien Dooku clawed their way from the crash site, the Purge Commandos originally aimed to kill force users joined the Inquisition in line with freeing the pinned down Imperials with sheer horrific force in line with the industrial mechanized brutality of the 12th Armored Assault Army's armored spearhead to close down unto the area led by Major General Waylon Treicolt and Sturit Goan . In this action, the New Imperial Order showed that it was multi pronged terror capable of dealing death and disposing of its enemies with an expansive panoply of war.

Pulsar showed this with concise yet brutal efficiency on the field when dispatching of the cultists, be it from destructive Charric fire or power armor enhanced crush gaunts the prime subject of the initial wave of 'Dark Trooper' tests certainly merited further development into the project headed by the affiliate Sictis Order. Even to the Chiss the sight of Vaulkhar's bare face was a rare and haunting sight, to see the Executor make himself appear so vulnerable willingly...an alien and unexpected gesture. Even so the crashed transport and the troopers inside would eventually be secured as armored wedges arrived in force to relieve the battle fatigued stormtroopers who'd been surrounded in the throes of battle for hours prior.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

VERLOEEM, COREESH GULCH
OBJECTIVE SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN
LEADING CRESH SECTION
TASK FORCE DREAD HOUND
H E A V I E R
-​

Gravel and dust filled the air surrounding Lucien as he hung for dear life amidst the insurgents insistence that he die by blaster, or fall to his death. Even with the support of the stormtroopers on the ground, their combined weight of fire was only enough to deter the cultists from acting against him, and the increasing number of bolts coming his way were starting to pick up rapidly. To his advantage, Luc was expertly deflecting most of the shots that came his way, but the number of close calls were far too great for his liking. He needed to move quickly, to get back on the offensive and even out the playing field before it was too late to pull through. He swayed his body even harder, focusing his concentration into preparing for the final leap to get up on that ridge.

Luc gritted his teeth, setting aside his fear and hesitation as another volley of blaster fire rained down on his position even harder. He continued gathering his momentum as the shots seared the earth around him, blasting past his body and obscured his vision with more debris in the air. A final swing forwards ended with him into the air and towards the top. The visage of a bolt flashed past his face as it skimmed past his head and singed the top of his shoulder on its way towards the ground. The pain was numbed from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he followed it up with a hand moving for the pistol-grip of his blaster, drawing the weapon forwards in time for the sights to line up on the first of a group of unfortunate cultists in his line of sight. A pair of bolts pierced into their unarmored flesh, and he followed down the line center-mass until they had all dropped and his weapon hit its limit.

​

"I guess you folks weren't expecting company so soon." He said with a grin as he landed at the top to the surprise of the group of cultists around him. The pistol dropped from his hand immediately, an open palm being directed towards the closest cultist who moved to raise his rifle. Lucien dragged him into his grip through an effective use of telekinesis, dragging his body across the line of men to absorb an incoming salvo that were meant for him and not their friend. The now deceased cultist was flung towards two of them as Luc dashed towards the biggest one of the group, sliding beneath his guard and thrusting the lightsaber right into his gut. He kicked off his feet to the right, dragging the lightsaber through the man's body and transitioning into his next attack without pause. The blade carried through the next cultist, the butt of his rifle becoming just as ineffective as their attempts to shoot him up close.

Excitement burned visibly in his demeanor as he began catching his groove with each successive strike and thrust removing a cultist from the battlefield. He didn't even bother to look back once the next wave of defenders moved in to engage him with actual close-combat weapons. Their attempts were appreciated by the Jedi with a hint of blood-lust on his mind, but their efforts were shown to be in vein once he carved through their friends without seemingly breaking a sweat. It may have been the case towards the start, but by the time the ridge line had been cleared he was running on fumes after fighting with all he had till the battle was brought to a close. He only came to a halt once the morale of the cultists was shattered, with their 'leaders' and a substantial portion of their regulars laying cut down -- or apart -- around the scene.

By the end of the fighting he was left alone to idle on a stack of sandbags, his head angled towards the sky and his eyes shut closed. His chest heaved from exhaustion, beads of sweat rolled down his face, and several areas of his body were aching from hits he didn't even realize he'd took. It was an unfortunate side effect of tunnel vision- which he was definitely planning on working on eventually. But for now he'd take advantage in the opportunity to catch his breath while the rest of the Task Force made their way to the high ground. The war for Verloeem was far from over, after all, and Lucien still had responsibilities until the planet was subjugated and cultists were put down.


Vaulkhar Tarrik Kestis Darth Bellum Konrad Bolter

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

Objective II : Get Out Alive
Location : Southern Sector Market , Lo-Hold 3
Focus : Davis Garrick Hadrian Javik Jackson Vernault

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“Ma’am! Bird Dogs won’t respond, there's another squad a few blocks up but roads blocked-”

Lyra didn’t turn her back on the alley for the sake of her life, bent at the waist she struggled back, her rifle trained on the smoking alley; figures dashing past through the haze. Getting blasted in retreat was no way to die. Command’s response to the airstrike was just noise between her ears when the heavy bolt repeater went off.. Risking a glance back, the troopers were locked at the mouth of the alley, laying down a suppressive fire. Their path out was turning into a bleaker situation and someone tossed out a thermal. There was relative silence until a smaller explosion sounded on the road.

“Path’s clear, oh shav-”

“A little help here please!” Lyra yelled, cut short by a second blaster bolt passing catching her shoulder; flinching. Caught in the middle of a firefight, her heart dropped.

“Colonel hold on we got you!”

She vaguely registered Simmoe’s voice buzzing through the comm. The insurrectionists plied with blasters had holed up behind the corners of the buildings, bolts of angry red energy flying to and from, some hitting the cement around her. The heat left a sizzling on impact.

Lyra gritted her teeth, turning her fury on them unloading ammunition back on the corner, a shout bubbling in her throat. Each bolt chipping away a small piece of the concrete, trying to catch one of the cowards by an inch. It was sloppy, firing blindly trying to muscle the weight of the brick of a weapon with her one arm.

Her left was nigh useless, reaching behind blindly she tried to find purchase to drag herself out. There was a trashcompacter the lot of the squad was positioned behind but they could risk stepping out. The smoke was blowing out, and the insurrectionists plunged out from the left.

Throwing her leg into the rifle desperately, it was the heavy repeater that met the fool tearing him apart. If was vindicating if only for the briefest seconds, she was on borrowed time. The repeater continued to lay down cover fire. In the distance an ugly scream rumbling in the air, followed by a bootfall sounding behind her. .

“Birds are here! Everyone take cover!”

A shadow descended upon her and she braced herself, expecting a hands to haul her out. It never came, instead a weight fell on her and the woman found herself smothered under the body of a trooper. Anything she had to say about it was drowned out by the payload dropped on the market meters off. There was little else she could do but close her eyes waiting it out or for the inevitable pain of the flames as the ground shook. Glass shattered out of the surrounding buildings and debris was thrown by the explosion, they were cased in darkness. The noise deafening as fire engulfed what had been left of the plaza. They hadn't even got a single civilian out.

 

[Davis Garrick]

// BUCKETHEAD - 3 //
// OBJECTIVE // Ramparts & Onslaughts // Overwatch
// FOCUS // Hadrian Javik

---

"You've got two separate groups of sithlings moving to regroup on the western end of your street. It looks like fifteen in total. Rookie numbers," Wraith stated as he shifted his attention to the opposite end of the street. "Looks like you've got five more moving up on your position from the east as well. Marking em on your HUD," he stated, shortly before small blips of red lit up the various enemies lining both ends of the street. "Colonel Voi'kryt is pinned down about half a kilo to your north, and there are no other troopers in your area. You're going to be on your own for this, but it shouldn't be an issue. You've got a few residential speeders you can blow to slow em down lining the street if need be. Stay frosty, Sarge."​

​

Wraith swept his scope over to the marketplace, visibly wincing at the firefight taking place. Fortunately, Lyra and her men were beginning to retreat. He popped off a few more rounds, dropping some of the trailing cultists to buy his allies enough time to put distance between them and the pursuing party. With that situation mostly handled, he lowered his gaze from the scope and took a deep breath. So much had happened in such a short time, it was hard to even think about how many of his comrades he wouldn't see when he stepped foot in the barracks.​

​

"Ah shit, Wraith, they're on m-" a voice suddenly burst over his commlink, before the connection cut out.​

​

"Narrow? Narrow, come back to me!" Wraith nearly shouted across the com, only for static to answer him. "Oh, son of a- Rapture? Rapture, this is Wraith, do you copy?" his question was met with only static once again. "This isn't good," he pushed himself to his feet and slung his sniper over his shoulder before the telltale snap-hiss of a lightsaber ignited behind him. "Oh, you sonuvabitch," he growled out as he turned to face his assailant. "Are you the cloak taking out my men?"​

​

From beneath the gray-black hood, a smile lit up by a crimson saber, answered Garrick's question.​

​

"You soldiers are all the same. Mindless drones following one corrupt government after another. Why? You can be free, like my brothers and I. Like our masters! Free to take whatever you want from those weaker than you," the cultist began to circle along the rooftop, mirrored by Wraith as he kept his brown eyes trained on the crazed force user.​

​

"You call your leader, master. I call mine a hero. Just because you have a big glowstick and some special powers don't make you free. They make you a damned psycho," Davis accentuated the point, quickly drawing his sidearm to pop a shot off at his enemy. It was met with a clumsy backhand, narrowly batting the blast away. "I've seen those of your kind who know what to do behind a lightsaber. You're just a pretender trying to claw his way up from the bottom, like all the other filth I've put down tonight."​

​

With an animalistic growl, the cultist rushed forward, swinging the lightsaber in a wide arc towards Garrick's left side. He drew the beskar bowie knife tucked into his belt, blocking the strike before surging forward. He swept his forearm out to the side, knocking the lightsaber away from his body, before pulling back to slam his fist into the cultist's nose. On impact, the scout trooper followed up his punch with a double leg takedown, bringing them both to the floor. Crawling atop the cloaked enemy, he took hold of his knife's hilt with both hands to drive the weapon down into the man's chest. Instead, he was met with a sudden blast of telekinetic energy, sending him up and away from the downed sithling. Garrick's body hit the rooftop and rolled towards the ledge.​

​

Wraith shakily pushed himself to his feet, only to hastily duck and avoid decapitation at the hands of the cultist. While rising, the trooper slammed a fist into the force user's kidney and wrapped his arms around him in a bear hug. Without hesitation, Garrick moved towards the ledge and threw both himself and the cultist over it. As they fell, the scout slammed his fist into his foe's jaw once for good measure before both of their bodies slammed into the roof of a wooden stall, and the world went black.​

​

After what could've been seconds, minutes, or hours, Garrick's eyes slowly opened. He felt warm blood running from a burning wound over his right eye, all but blinding him as it began to harden. He tried to push himself to his feet, only for white-hot pain to shoot up his side, likely from a series of cracked or broken ribs. His hand tentatively rose to activate his helmet's inlaid communicator, only for a familiar crimson glow to light up the surrounding shadows.​

​

"Shit," Garrick muttered as his hand went down to his belt, searching for his missing blaster pistol and bowie. "That's not good," he turned his head and watched the limping cultist work his way towards the downed scout trooper.​

​

"For all your bluster, you are but a man. A weak one at that."​

​

Wraith reached around beside him, eventually wrapping his fingers around a piece of wooden boarding destroyed during the fall.​

​

"Any last words, imperial dog?" the cultist asked as he stepped over the downed trooper, taking the lightsaber hilt in two hands in preparation.​

​

"Yeah, just two," Garrick sputtered out, coughing up a mixture of phlegm and grime. Before the cloaked apprentice could act, Wraith surged up and drove the wooden stake directly into his foe's meaty thigh. At the sound of his assailants scream, Garrick twisted his body and slammed the bottom of his boot into the butt of the stake. The human's scream echoed through the empty streets as it broke through the back of his leg. Garrick kicked out once more, this time catching the cultist's knee. A satisfying crunch followed the blow before the man fell to his other knee beside him.​

​

Wraith pushed up, wrapped his forearm around the cultist's throat, and dropped to a knee behind him. As Garrick's knee hit the ground, he pulled the cloaked head down and over his shoulder, snapping the already broken man's neck on contact.​

​

"That'll do."​

 

[Lord Kizash]

Hours later...

Kizash opened his eyes in shock. Bursting forth into the light of vision from the voids from which he had resided. A hand fell over his chest in anger. The last thing he remembered was the grenade, his grievous injuries, his attempt to recover and then his death? What is this? He scanned the area for his lightsabers but could not find them anywhere. The market place was in ruin and it seemed whatever conflict he was assisting with was now over. Imperial occupation was soon to reign.

Everything was wrong.

When I came to, everything was different. The area was cleared. Imperial soldiers and cultists alike dead in the streets. The last i remember was myself getting shot in the chest and then nothing. Nothing more than darkness, fear, anger, hate, despair and rage. Fear for dying and not taking my revenge. anger for all that had gone wrong my my life, my fathers abusive ways and the death of my family at his hands. Hate for myself, I was too weak to protect them, I was too weak to protect myself and too weak to defeat my foes. Despair in the void that had taken me after my wounds, I was alone and forever would be in that singular moment unless I at least tried to fight back in my rage. Rage for everything I felt. Everything I had become and everything I knew. An amagamation of sorrow, self resentment and pain. It almost took me to the gates of Chaos itself it felt like.

But...

I conquered it. I seized it and controlled it all at once.

Here I stand now.

Kizash examined his body. His chest having been previously blown apart was now whole. His skin held a pale complexion to it and scarred areas of his body showed signs of weathering. Open festering wounds like fissures but yet the pain only gave him more focus. Sheer will.

 

[Sturit Goan]

// FERAL ACTUAL //
// OBJECTIVE // SENTH-ISK-CRESH-FORN
// FOCUS // Konrad Bolter | Tarrik Kestis Vaulkhar Darth Bellum Lucien Dooku
// EQUIPMENT // Combat Assault Tank Armor Mk. I, KXR SFR-58 'Bozdugan' Blaster Rifle, REC-DC/04 "Feverwasp" - Pattern Particle Blaster Pistol
// COMPANY // x14 TXV XT-60B Cataphract-class Repulsor Main Battle Tanks, x4 Miscellaneous Support Vehicles, Infantry Complement (2 Companies, Transported in TXT XV-60a Armored Personnel Carriers)

---

Sturit listened intently. Waylon's tactics, as usual, were sound. He might've preferred an inverse keil, going for more of an envelopment of the area, setting up the tanks in siege mode on the ridge to perform overwatch... but managing an exfil was still unfamiliar to him. This would be fine. He had confidence in the abilities of the soldiers under his command, as well as the soldiers who were not. The New Imperial Order would crush these cultists, and Sturit would go back home to eat his grandmother's stew on Sunday.

<"Yes sir. Out."> He switched to his company's comms channel and quickly began to relay the orders to them. <"This is Feral Actual. Keil formation, we're taking the south side."> A short cacophony of affirmatives from the staff sergeants and lieutenants followed. The scouts had loaded back up into their transports, and the convoy began to move again, forming up as ordered; the APCs staying a little behind for now until the infantry were needed. The Cataphracts moved as quickly as they could to catch up with the other side of their formation, the far tip moving along the ridge on one side of the gulch.

He was reminded of his early days of service; once he'd actually operated a wheeled vehicle. It'd been very unpleasant. The smooth movement afforded by his current 'wheels' were much more comfortable, and much faster -- they came in line with the other wedge soon enough. <"Two klicks,"> he reported to no one in particular. <"Prepare weapons."> Repulsorvehicles were remarkably fast. In less than a minute they'd reached the one kilometre mark, and the wing began to slow down. A few more flicks and targets began appearing on their radar. The crash site was another kilometre, but the outer edge of the camp was coming up soon. Sturit got back on comms. <"Nomad Actual this is Feral Actual, preparing primary weapons for fire support. Over."> The MegaCaliber Six turbolaser's barrel began to glow a soft red, but he held off for now until further orders were received.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to mark a few more targets. He opened up the channel to the men stuck in the gulch. <"All New Imperial forces, this is Feral Actual. Marking targets, please advise for fire support. Over.">