Dominion Blood for Blood [GE Dominion of Anobis]

[St. Thomas Barran]

It started with attacks on Archais' frontier garrisons, sparking a slew of finger-pointed speculations.
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Was it the local Arkanian-blooded Shamans, Novanians of savage repute? Was it a collective of the sector's GADF holdouts, forgotten soldiers? Or even elements from the Lightsworn, working behind enemy lines? None knew, as none could identify their foes in the night. Whoever had perished, and whatever wrecks had been made of the support-vehicles they used, nothing would be left behind for investigators in the morning, or at least....

Not until the Empire's assailants left a calling-card for the garrison.

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In the wake of the Calling Card Incident, all attacks ceased, and though Spaceport traffic (and starfighter patrols) would resume as if nothing at all had happened before, that lingering wariness, that hypervigilance still remained. That very same, narrow-eyed, brow-furrowed suspicion, however, has fortunately rubbed off on the right shoulders since, sparking an Imperial summit whilst commencing naval and military operations on Anobis.

The first of three suspected Protectorate strongholds, all resting just beyond Archaisian reach.

Our first objective has fortunately been completed already, and with a growing zone of control to maintain, it falls on combined-arms efforts to patrol and defend against incoming attacks, counting on the errors of our enemies in the pursuit of actionable intel. Dangerous though it may be, it appears that going in half-cocked will serve no use on Anobis either, and for all it's rich, extensive Imperial history, the planet could devour as much as she reveals on the sedentary plains.

Take, and HOLD the ground.
But ensnare whatever, and whomever you can.

The ISB will monitor this situation closely.

ENEMIES OF THE REALM

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Targets: Barran, Michael [68](Lord Imperator of the IMP)
Karidim, Yorunarr [64](Deposed Priest-King of Archais)
L'lerim, Tancred [21](Sainted Ashlan Princeling)

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As our Green Zone expands, expect to find resistance in the form of night-attacks, geared specifically toward the dismantlement of outposts and boundary forts alike, was likely learned from their time-spent among the masters of New-Imperial counterrevolution. Expect flash-quick storming attacks, and from an entire array of Myrmidon-trained operators, some of whom the Ruling Council require to be captured for questioning. They are proven headaches for all who cross them, and for as long as that cunning is retained, actions must be taken to stop our foes in their tracks.

We cannot doubt that our foes are doing more than holding on for dear life, and for the sheer weight of danger they pose to the average soldier, any and all information will prove useful, especially if it highlights weaknesses the realm is otherwise yet to discover. Since the end of the previous era, our New-Imperial adversaries have not lot their bite, and in consideration of their meagre-but-monstrous strength in war, our forces would be wise to heed warnings of asymmetrical concern.

These holdouts, dangerous as they are, must be brought to heel, once and for all. The Ruling Council do not care how long that will take, nor by the means you utilise to your favour - only that your progress reports continue.

 

[Michael Barran]

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BLOOD FOR BLOOD
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Underground Fortress, Smuggler's Grove,
Anobis, Mid Rim Territories (903 ABY)

Last chance to breathe it all in, all the fresh air you can get.
Won't be coming up for more until we exfil.
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Amid trees of orange-red bark, and silvery-blue leaves that were falling to the ground in the region's autumnal, deciduous season, the Tattered Regent sighed as he watched the planet's distant, setting sun through the gaps beyond. Taking one last moment to calm his mind before the storm, one last moment alone with his thoughts, eveything would spring to mind from home and statecraft alike, but not so badly that it could not be silenced. After all, such thoughts could not be allowed to cloud the mind, not even a good day, let alone in the midst of another high-takes gamble against the Galactic Empire, making it all the more important for the old Woad to fixate, with tunnel-like focus, on the task at hand.

'Preach, you're up! Take L'lerim with you!'

Having baited the Coruscantine response, it fell to the Protectorate's ringleaders to hold together in a slow, fighting retreat, and in their intent to defend worlds Michael aptly named,"The Abandoned Cluster", every cunning trick would be needed to survive the struggle. But the old Woad found himself feeling as if his Novanian subordinate had achieved that (and so much more-) in the campaign already, and when the white-eyed stepped out to stand within his leader's periphery, the fact he was wearing his Godseer mask only seemed to confirm his findings at the time, seemingly ready to embody that brazen guile his Lord Imperator needed.

'Quick as ye can, Preach.... Don't ruin a good streak, eh?'

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

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BLOOD FOR BLOOD
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Underground Fortress, Smuggler's Grove,
Anobis, Mid Rim Territories (903 ABY)

'Antlers, we both knew I'd be brought on to take risks.... Let me work, man.'
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'Define,"Work", in your current state. You're in no condition to take risks, nor were you - last time.', the young Aavenian quickly interjected, ever at the ready to keep hubris from becoming a factor in their proceedings, maintaining humble power over all-things lofty. It was then that the young Saint leaned forward to catch the old Woad's attention, prodding at his own head with his index finger as he quietly promised,'I'm not dumb, your Majesty. Even Priest-Kings have limits.... So come what may, I'll double my efforts to get our resident Shaman, here, back to HQ, safe and sound.', before straightening his posture once more.

'Yeah, yeah, yeah.... Come on, lad.'

Marshalling his duelling student away, and all whilst casting a cursory nod to his Lord Imperator, the old Novanian would chuckle as they parted ways without another word said on the matter, though this was a norm among Barran's inner-circle. To the speeder-mounted infantry they were approaching at the time, they would never have guessed that such matters of conspicuous gallantry were mere routine to men like Yorunarr, but after giving everything, time and time again, their quickness to endeavour only seemed to come naturally to the freshest of legs in the fight. An elite few among them were alive to see what such bravery could cost, and even fewer alive to retell these events in detail, but the Protectorate were fortunate, lucky that the Lord Imperator's ilk were cut from the cloth of thrillseekers.

'ONCE MORE!!!! FOR TAVLAR, FOR BARRAN, AND FOR RURIK FEL - THE ONE, TRUE EMPEROR!!!!'

'WE BLEED FOR THE GLORIOUS DEAD, FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE GLORIOUS DEAD, FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE GLORIOUS DEAD, FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE GLORIOUS DEAD, FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'
'WE BLEED FOR THE GLORIOUS DEAD, FOR THE NEW ORDER!!!!'

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[Imperius Indomitus]

LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.

Open

Anobis | Eshaton Manor | Command Center

Eshaton Manor was the center of a large latifundium, a great agricultural estate that was surrounded by vast fields of crops, subsidiary farms and even an own forest that once was used by the rich as recreational hunting grounds. Its vast houses and workshops could house an entire town worth of farm workers and usually was busy all year round to provide for the export market and supply food to the entire Bright Jewel sector.

Lord Eshaton, the owner of the manor and head of House Eshaton, had been entirely out of his depth as the Imperials landed. Believing that his local importance meant anything to the imperial warmachine was a ridiculous miscalculation. Yet he smelled the profit that cooperation with the Empire could potentially harbor and therefore quickly adjusted his tune. He had removed himself and his family to another estate, as the entire manor had been occupied to serve as command post for 181st Stormtrooper Legion.

The Stormtroopers had immediately begun to dig in, trenches, sandbag barricades, prefab walls and towers were set, patrols started to be sent out to raise sensors and establish eyes on the ground. Fighting other Imperials was not uncommon to them, even though the idea of killing fellow soldiers was not enticing, it was what was necessary here. And what was necessary was generally what was called duty.

Imperius was walking amidst their busy preparations. His black-golden armor and red surcoat in stark contrast to their dark metallic-blue Stormtrooper armor, camouflaged for the planet as best as they could from the briefings. His soulless eyes glided over the horizon, full aware that somewhere out there a former ally, comrade and companion dwelled. It left Him cold. Barran had lost his mind long ago, clinging to a past that was as dead and buried as the next Emperor would be. Rurik had died for nothing, Solipsis returned and the Empire rose again, a different shade of Imperial and yet all the same.

Behind Him stood a group of Indomitus Knights, their gear reflecting Imperius' warplate. Next to them were large, elaborately detailed speeder bikes, enough for them and their master to ride on. They were here to strike when the opportunity arose. When their enemy showed themselves.

 

[Darth Keres]

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[]

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Objective: Hunt Down Karidim, Yorunarr(Deposed Priest-King of Archais)
Tag: Open


The night on Anobis was a slow, suffocating breath of ash and frost, drawn in by a world long forgotten by warmth. The planet's ridges were black as funeral glass, jagged with the bones of its own tectonic grief. No stars dared to show themselves above; only the glimmer of red lightning behind the heavy clouds marked the heavens' own resentment. It was here, in the hollowed basin of a ravine that still remembered ancient bombardments, that Darth Keres had made her base camp—a shrine of dark purpose and mechanical austerity. The camp was not built but conjured—a geometry of black tents that pulsed faintly with amethyst light. The canvas structures hummed with the resonance of her will—the air trembled with static, as if the very atoms feared to exist too close to her.

Darth Keres stood at the heart of it all, framed in the dying flicker of the camp generator's violet glow. Her armor—black with a sheen like oil spilled upon deep water—caught no light, it devoured it. Veins of faint purple current crawled across the plates, marking the breath of her dark alchemy; her eyes gleaming like wounds in reality, cold and consuming.

Upon an obsidian slab lay a map, not of stars or coordinates, but of souls—etched into animal hide by a former priest's trembling hand. The chart shifted faintly under her touch, whispering in dead tongues. Each mark represented a pulse of the Force warped, a scream lingering across light-years. One mark pulsed faintly red: Yorunarr Karidim, the Deposed Priest-King of Archais—her quarry. Once he had been a keeper of sacred texts, a ruler whose chants could call storms from the bones of the planet. Now, corrupted and cast into exile, he had made covenant with something beyond flesh or faith. Around her stood members of the Order of the Silencers, draped in funereal garb of varying design. They were living echoes, trained in the arts of erasure, where sound, thought, and identity bled away like color in decay. Their robes stirred not with the wind but with the trembling of the Force itself, for silence to them was a weapon, not an absence.

One of them, a thin figure named Saphen, knelt and offered a sealed reliquary—its surface crawling with sigils that writhed when observed.
"The coordinates are confirmed, my Lady," he murmured using the Force to speak directly to Darth Keres, a voice like paper dragged across a tombstone. "The Priest-King slumbers in the ruins beneath the western ridge. His acolytes… still breathe." Darth Keres' lips curved into the faintest shadow of a smile.

"Let them breathe," she said, her voice low, the edges sharp as glass. "Breathing is a luxury of the damned. They will need it… to scream."

She moved to the edge of the camp where a cauldron-like engine roared softly, burning with violet plasma. Within it, fragments of shattered idols, bone dust, and powdered kyber crystal mixed into a luminous slurry. With deliberate grace, she drew her hand through the rising energy and whispered an invocation in the tongue of Voidlight—a syllabic atrocity that made the air fracture. A storm of silence rippled outward, suffocating the hum of machines, the hiss of air, even the beating of hearts.

Every Silencer dropped to one knee.

"This is the Silence before the hunt," she intoned. "The stillness before entropy reclaims the false priest. He took the songs of the cosmos and tried to make himself a god. We will unmake his music."

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Spoiler: Gear Loadout

• Melee Weapons​
  • XIII​
• Armor​
  • Black Caskan Wolf-Snake Armor​
• Accessories​
  • k​
• Ship​
  • Taciturnitas​