Dominion Blood for Blood [GE Dominion of Anobis]

[Agent Vigilant]

Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Ellayina L'lerim​

In the pouring rain, in the darkest reaches of the forest, the sound of two speeder bike echoed, growing closer together from across the vast wilderness. As though just a moment before colliding, the speeders swerved to a stop beside one another. Two hooded men, drenched to the bone, shook hands from across their mounts. One's hood was green, the other blue. Hot breath steamed out from under them in the cold air.

​

"They got Arneson." the man in green put it bluntly.

"That's a shame. He was a good one." the other man, in blue, replied without a hint of emotion.

"Saint's with Shaman. The Lion is in the den, but he can't sleep for long."

"Decapitation strike?"

"No, smash and grab. FOB'll take the hit. Saint is Target Aurek. Alive. Shaman is a bonus, wanted dead."

The second man nodded in understanding, and the two men clasped hands once again.

"His Will be done," the blue-hooded man offered a sort of prayer, empathic and sure.

"His Will be done." the green-hooded man returned the wish, a gesture of both good luck, and a subtle threat of what the contrary might be.

The two speeder bikes zoomed to life once more and careened off into the night, their repulsors tearing up the wet fallen leaves and mud behind them. Both men knew the plan, both men had the initiative, and the cover of darkness. They might have lost one of their own, but as the wind drove frigid against Agent Vigilant's face as he weaved through the trees, it didn't matter. This was the fight for civilization, The Imperial War. Losing one agent was a worthy sacrifice, and no setback would deter him from completing his mission. That was the oath the OIT had sworn during Operation: Cinder.

By any means, the Empire would rule the galaxy once more.

 

[Michael Barran]

-Tags-
Daro Kilaeon Ashel de Stilico

BLOOD FOR BLOOD
3

​

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

<"Sabretooth Four to Mask One. We reached the last blip before the grey zone, unchallenged too.">
<"Good - excellent, in fact.... Now you can fix bayonets, an' flank quietly, just as we hoped.">
<"Copy that, Mask One.... Here's hoping we can bait them forward.">
<"An' on the off-chance this fails, here's hoping you can make 'em backpedal toward the green-zone.... An' failing that, you may just have to withdraw. We'll be watching. Mask One - out!">
​

Questioning inwardly whether he was making the right choice, daring not to give voice to a concern so off-putting for ears of humble, soldiering ilk, the Tattered Regent would think for a while in silence before finally querying,'More preparations.... Are they needed, an' if not, is there still a way to slow OPFOR's advance?', with a calm, though-searching glance to his closest subordinates. What followed, however, was an unexpected silence, only made slightly-less awkward by the low-hum of the Holomap projectors, and in Barran's mind, this would not do. Standing up then, the nearest of the 4th Brigade officers would be presented with a tall, overbearing presence, such that brooked no quarter as he growled,'Thats your cue to start brainstorming, gentlemen. War is no place to be coy, so speak up!', widening his gaze into a glare.

'Well, we are awaiting orders for FPV-droid usage, best air-support we can get, considering the circumstances.'
'If you're gonna suggest that, then don't forget UAV droids. That way, we can track for movement, on a wider axis too.'
'Better, much better.... Good armies listen to their leaders, but great armies - they strategize, as one, cohesive entity.'

​

Positive reinforcement, though the old Woad believed it only worthy of those who deserved it, tolerating it not on the weak still permitted the Lord Imperator to impart it on those who would need it most that night, as the new generations of Sabretooth Troopers likely needed more than most for the last twenty years. For all the beleaguered troopers they would find after the Empire's downfall, for every garrison in the Galaxy who needed strong, competent officers to lead them, for all who actually stepped forward in acceptance of fated duty, Barran understood the latest generation would need every last reinforcing, solidifying reminder that they made the right choice. An assurance of which, the old Woad still felt he had no right to utter, but the merit of their choice of battle-brothers, however - that could be cemented quite easily.

​

The older Sabretooth Troopers, few-remaining though they were, were around to experience the Swarm's sieges of Nirauan and Bastion alike, thus were forced to witness the ream's downfall with their very own eyes. A trauma of which their sons would remember, a trauma of which was imparted as wisdom to all new recruits they found along the way, generational reminders that even the greatest of realms could fall to ruin from pinnacle, ascendant heights. It seemed as though the Galaxy refused to learn this lesson from the Lord Regent's demise, but for as long as Sabretooth Legion remained to fight, this lesson would not be lost on the ghost of yesteryear's IMPAF, the spectral shadow of the glory that was Defiant Imperium.

<"Sabretooth Four to Mask One. In position, awaiting the final word.">
<"Proceed.">
<"Copy that.">
<"Good luck, Sabretooth Four. Fight like you mean to fight another day.... Mask One - out!">

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.
On the Anvil of War, We forge our Destiny.

GE: Darth Centax | Darth Keres | Meliant | Ellayina L'lerim | Daro Kilaeon
IMP: Michael Barran | Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim

181st Stormtrooper Legion | Indomitus Legion

Anobis | Eshaton Manor | Imperial FOB

The Empire's interests came first.

Other than the mongrels who followed a person and not an ideology, He actually knew that. Their Emperor had left them, abandoned, vanished and yet they flocked to him like flies attracted by a pile of excrements. Of course everything was part of a grand design and not simple exhaustion or admittance that the path chosen was ill-fated. Hubris and pride were the common flaws among the 'great' Sith and ignorance a bliss for their blind believers.

"We serve the Imperial cause, Minister. Your reminder is a waste of breath. Consider that hereby confirmed." Cooperation, He reminded Himself, intending to leaving out the other thoughts. "As for alive, if they can be captured, we shall strife to do so. If the choice is between escape and death, I will not hesitate to end this threat."

The ISB Minister seeing the need to deploy herself here and looking at her family name, Imperius suspected some private matter being involved in this operation, especially with the comment to keep the targets alive. A comment, not more, not less. She may be sitting on the Council, but she would not command the Dark Side Elite or military now.

With a tap on the console in front of Him, Imperius closed the connection, turning His attention to what was before Him. The blue-hued holo-map of the planet with its green markings showing Imperial forces, outposts and FOBs and red markings for suspected enemy activity aas well as orange markers for past engagements.

The void-like eyes looked up as the figure of Darth Centax entered the command center with two his followers, briefly eyed by some of the Imperial staff officers that were busy with their duties. Most wore the uniform of the 181st Stormtroopers, few were liasions to ISB, Navy and even a Reclamation Service Lieutenant was present, though mostly in the background. Those that stood out was the robed small figure in one of the corners that carried the helmet of Imperius, its face deep inside a hood - if it had one. The other was the red rboed and black-golden armored Knight that stood to His side. Her helmet directly moving to glance towards the newcomers, standing silent guard.

The Master of Zakuul eyed the man as they approached, the presence of the Dark side within him vibrant, alive, controlled. There was no visible reaction on the face or in the behaviour of the tall Pureblood, only cold calculation. His red skin was deep with ridges of ritual encarvings, the eyes as endlessly black as the void itself, the ravenblack hair neatly tied to the back of His head.

" Darth Centax . Welcome." He intoned, the voice without warmth or actual welcome. "I do not know your name - yet your announcement and record shows old allegiances to the One Sith. I expect you are here to reinforce the Empire. Be warned that this imperial incarnation, as ironic and moronic it may seem, does not look entirely kind towards the public bearing of Sith insignia."

"A care or disposition I do not share or care about. What assets do you bring to our battle here?"

 

[Darth Keres]

​

[]

​

Objective: Hunt Down Karidim, Yorunarr(Deposed Priest-King of Archais)
Tag: Imperius Indomitus / Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim / Ellayina L'lerim

Darth Keres gazed into the valley where the ruins of the Priest-King's domain lay entombed beneath the moon's funereal pall. The air below seemed thick with centuries of unspoken blasphemy, a miasma that coiled like smoke from the cracks between broken temples and shattered idols. The followers of the soon to be ldead Priest-King moved within that desolation—pale, silent, and grotesquely devout. They were shrouded in tattered vestments of dried skin and tarnished metal, their faces hidden behind masks that bore no mouths, only the imprint of sorrowful eyes carved in bone. In their trembling hands, they held relics made of marrow and rusted circuitry, whispering hymns that were less sung than exhaled, as though the words themselves feared to live.

They gathered around pits of blackened flame that offered no warmth, only a cold illumination that bled the color from everything it touched. Darth Keres saw them kneel in circles around these unholy fires, their bodies twitching in unison to the pulse of some unseen rhythm buried deep beneath the earth. The ruins themselves seemed to breathe with them—crumbling walls exhaling dust like sighs of regret, while the statues of forgotten saints wept rivulets of tar. Amidst it all, she could sense the echo of the Priest-King's will still lingering in their bones, compelling them to worship the rot, to praise the decay. It was devotion stripped of meaning, a cult bound not by faith but by the terror of ceasing to serve. And as the valley stirred under that ghastly ritual, Darth Keres realized that the dead, here, had not merely been buried—they had been trained to remember obedience.

From the ridge of black stone, Darth Keres raised her hand, her gesture as deliberate as the drawing of a blade across a throat. Below her, the Silencers stirred—hooded figures clad in armor that reflected no light, their presence devouring the faint moon-glow that dared to touch them. They moved like smoke given purpose, each step soundless, each breath a secret sworn to death itself. When Darth Keres' command rippled through the air—a whisper more felt than heard—the Silencers descended upon the valley like shadows cast by a vengeful god. Their blades hummed with restrained hunger as they fell upon the Priest-King's followers. No cries escaped the masked devotees; only the soft tearing of flesh, the muted collapse of bodies upon consecrated dust, and the faint metallic scent of faith unmade.

From her vantage, Darth Keres watched the massacre unfold with the stillness of a statue carved to mourn eternity. The followers' ritual fires sputtered out beneath the tide of death, their black flames snuffed by the blood that soaked the ashen ground. In the gloom, the ruins themselves seemed to recoil—the idols cracking, the air thickening with the scent of decay and scorched incense. The Silencers moved through it all with the precision of phantoms fulfilling prophecy, their silent slaughter a kind of sacred hymn. When at last the valley fell quiet, the only sound was the whispering wind that wound through the corpses, carrying away the last breath of devotion. Darth Keres lowered her hand slowly, her crimson eyes gleaming behind her hood—not with pity, but with satisfaction. For in silence, she found worship; in death, she found obedience.

Darth Keres descended into the ruins with the slow, deliberate grace of a specter claiming her inheritance. The chill that greeted her was not the common cold of lifeless stone, but a deeper, more intimate frost that clung to the spirit. It breathed from the walls like the sighs of the long-condemned, seeping through the seams of her armored robe and brushing against her skin like the fingers of the forgotten. The corridors were narrow and cruel, adorned with cracked effigies of saints whose eyes had been gouged out, their mouths stuffed with dust and prayer ash. Each echo of her footsteps was devoured by the silence, leaving behind only the faint hum of the Force murmuring its unease. It was a place that offended her sensibilities—too barren, too bereft of passion, a mausoleum that had lost even the dignity of its dead.

Yet beneath that stillness, the ruins were not entirely forsaken. From somewhere far below, faint chants coiled upward like threads of smoke, wavering and mournful. The voices were distant but unbroken, reciting verses that seemed to have outlived their own meaning. Darth Keres paused, tilting her head toward the sound, her crimson gaze flickering with cruel curiosity. The air grew colder, carrying the scent of mildew and burnt tallow, and the stones beneath her form pulsed faintly—as though remembering the touch of blood long spilled. She drew her cloak tighter, though not from fear, but disdain. "Devotion without vitality," she murmured, her voice low and edged with contempt. "Even their ghosts have grown complacent." And with that, she pressed onward, the dim light following her like a reluctant servant into the heart of the ruin's decay. And toward her date with the Priest-King.

Spoiler: Gear Loadout

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

 

[Darth Centax]

Anobis | Eshaton Manor | Imperial FOB
Tag: Imperius Indomitus

No immediate answer given, a steady pressure built around them as he read the man. Hunting for weakness beyond the void Imperius showed him. Living in that tension. Satisified for now. Centax cared even less than Imperius did about the men's appearance. "Put them in any shell." Blood remained the same; their will would carve new conflict into whatever colors they were painted in.

His own armor was the record.
The Long Conflict above all.
Untouched by any hand but his.

"I am the One Sith." His helmet hung at his side. The last of them, at least the last general with enough will to endure. Others might argue: scattered Kethenites, pretenders in other orders, or Keth himself. All Irrelevant. Centax turned his palm upward to motion. One guard approached as far as he was permitted, offering a datapad containing their force structure.

"Two paths," Centax declared.
"We burn your enemies from the map. The old way." As the datapad was revealed, it showed the 777th legion and their aging fleet composition, with vague references to an elite gladiator starfighter squadron.

"Or we build anew." A nod and his guard continued, "From Byss, Tython and Coruscants underbelly. Recruiting the lost. Forging them into a stormtrooper legion aligned with the Empire, under the Darth's command."

The guests didn't mention how they would do this, the Sithwatch: something the Alliance foolishly never purged, that had always quietly grown amongst those discarded by society, or Keth's experimental tombs, especially those on Byss, their weapon suppliers, or any other assets that were in play.

"In return for our alignment," Centax said, "our fleets restored, and a quarantine zone for testing. Tython will suffice." Their fleets, though scavenged and cannibalized for parts, had never been eliminated in a pitched battle.

A pause, and the faintest hesitation as his guard spoke.

"The former Jedi temple grounds, preferably." Whatever was left of them. The words struck like a hammer. Centax reached out through the Force, seizing his underling and crushing him to his knees. The man writhed into a heap, left alive only to avoid staining the floor. Revealing too much, too soon was failure. And failure was fatal.

Centax lifted his gaze to Imperius.

"Do we have terms?" his voice gravelly and pressing.

 

[Daro Kilaeon]

Michael Barran | Ashel de Stilico​

Consciousness returned to me in a trickle. It started with a humming noise off in the distance, that at first I didn't think much of. Then the stiffness of my body waking up after god knows how long sitting curled up in an alcove, wet and cold. I slowly roused myself, wishing I was dead as I stood up back into the rain, which hadn't seemed to let up in the slightest. My bones and muscles cracked as I stretched, and then I found myself lingering on that distance noise again. It sounded closer this time, much closer.

The realization sent my heart beat racing. I practically jumped up to the edge of the trench to look over. I didn't even need my binoculars to see the shadowed shapes breaking from the tree line, the noise of their repulsorlifts roaring over the plain, the sound now longer muffled by the woods. The alarms began to go off. I wasn't the only one to notice the attack, but it was too late.

The trooper carriers closed the gap between forest and FOB faster than most of the defending Stormtroopers could get up and ready themselves. They stopped just short of the forward trench and disembarked. The first glimpse of them I caught was as one of the Sabretooth troopers lept into the trench , spearing one of ours through the chest with his bayonet as he descended. His armour... it was like ours, but it was adorned with decals, paint, tactical gear, and mismatched pieces of other armour they must have salvaged. On the side of his helmet was the figure of a blue lion roaring...

I scrambled backwards hoping he wouldn't notice me, frantically reaching for the little alcove I had just called me own. My right hand reached for my blaster, my left hand fumbled for the syringe. With both in hand, I stabbed the stimulant into the spot just between my armour plates above my right elbow. Any restful wooziness dissipated instantly as I felt the jolting wave of energy spread through my body, starting at the stinging pain in my bicep. I dropped the syringe. My vision seemed as though it zoomed in, like when you've had one more than one too many coffees.

I swung around to see the Sabretooth closing the distance with a bayonet charge. With the stock of my rifle I knocked his bayonet out of the way, then brought it back hard into his helmet. His visor smashed, sending him stumbling backwards, when I shot him as many times in the torso as I could. I unloaded six shots before I was certain he was dead. I quickly grabbed one of the blaster cartridges off his bandolier and slipped in in my own, then I just ran.

"HOLD THE LINE!" I shouted into my commlink instinctually, like Officer Varnels was speaking through me. What the hell am I talking about? I immediately realized. Ahead of me more of our guys were getting gutted by the bayonet charge. There was no line to hold. I veered right around a corner leading deeper into the trench network.

Hiding behind a bulwark I stopped for a moment, catching my breathe, the stimulant lighting up every nerve in my body, I felt like I might have a heart attack. What a way to go...

I opened my commlink once again, and with something of a clearer head, though not by much, I shouted another command to my squad, with not a clue as to how many of them were even alive or where they were.

"This is Squad Leader TK-5150! Fall back to the next trench! I repeat, fall back to defensive positions, fall back to the next trench!"

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

TAGS
Ellayina L'lerim Meliant Imperius Indomitus Darth Keres Agent Vigilant

BLOOD FOR BLOOD
5

​

Batwing Forest,
Anobis, Mid Rim Territories (903 ABY)

'Tancred, there might be a chance we'll be captives before sunrise. Make your peace with that.'
'Here's the thing.... Even if we do, I'm surprised they don't know how bad an idea that is.'
'I'll wager Ella knows, and I'll wager she has something - particular - in mind. Evil always finds a way.'
​

Young though Tancred was, enough time and preparation had been devoted to such situations that Yorunarr fully-understood Tancred's allusion to unruliness in captivity, with discussions of torture-room disruptions being a recurring feature in previous lessons. But even the old Novanian could tell the Galaxy that the lad's only tortures had come long before they ever met, and with so much time of reverent, healing peace until that night, the tutor could not deny that no such training in resistance to torture had been endeavoured. The Priest-King had a choice to make, and though the young Saint always implied he was ready for such a day, the choice it left with Yorunarr would not reflect that sentiment, and rightly so.

'Tancred, please don't judge me for this, but I'll be needing you to slip the cordon, R-T-B.'
'And do what, exactly?!'
'Initiate mass-exfil protocol, you get the honour of telling our glorious leader that this operation is compromised.'

​

The movement back to the Protectorate compound would take some time, especially if they had to divert-course for another, safer way toward the Sabretooth defensive-line, unfortunately presenting more risks than assurances, and Tancred's sudden silence was not helping to assure Yorunarr of his decision's merit. But if this sudden move were to fail, the old Novanian was still making his peace with the pain-threshold his student would take with him into captivity, and if Ella was wise enough to separate them upon successful capture, there would be no further coaching on the matter. The boy would suffer agonies so great that the pains of yesteryear would pale tenfold in comparison, pains so great that they flayed the soul beyond the point of insanity, beyond the realm of flailing, manic screams.

The boy earned his spurs, but I don't want him to experience this yet.
I don't want this for someone with a future.

I don't want this for anyone.
​

'If I don't make it out.... I want you to know I'm glad I accepted the offer to teach you - I regret nothing.'
'Yorunarr, please. You don't have to do this.'
'I do, but I also want to.... For all thats good in this Galaxy, I'd let them flay me alive.'

With a cursory nod to the closest Brotherhood subordinate, the Priest-King would turn his back to the sudden roars of the speeder-bike engines behind him, better that than to let the young Saint see the look in his eyes. It was the look of horror-struck realisation, an understanding that an era was drawing to a close, marking the beginnings of the realm's true downfall, an ending of which not even the Lord Imperator was capable of delaying. Such glories need not have ended by these bloodied means, but their fates had already decreed for glorious ends, demises befitting the ones who climbed so high before the end of the Second Hyperspace War - for only great sacrifice could assure their rightful place in Galactic History.

The time for restraint had passed, and with Tancred soon to be out of sight, there would be no judgemental, Ashlan disapproval to hinder Yorunarr's true nature, just like his previous, near-death showing on the Death Star III. However, this time there would be no reservations towards calling on the Ancients of his homeworld, for even under the Coruscantine yolk, none could possess the mystic knowledge required to reach it; not with the means duly destroyed by DEAD Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran already, thus assuring the unending safety of the gods to whom Yorunarr still prayed, the wellsprings of power of whom would sustain their Priest-King in his impending struggle.

'If you would cage me like an animal, a wounded beast - then only one, feral outcome befits you. Bastards all, bastards to the last gun-barrel!'

'IA - IA!!!! LET NATURE'S BITE BEFALL YOU!!!!'

​

 

[Ashel de Stilico]

Ashel de Stilico, Stormtrooper Medic
Equipment:
KXR SFR-58 'Bozdugan' Blaster Rifle
Imperial Strike Force Combat Armor Mk. I

Pushing the grav-sled, stocked up high with full medkits, Ash pressed forward as quickly as possible. The anxiety in her rebreather grew with every step closer to the front-lines, with the occasional snide remark from a passing Trooper or Medic grabbing a spare Medkit. The trenches held plenty of nervous troopers with the occasional squad lead barking them back into shape. This was always the issue with waiting in a defensible position, Ash felt comfortable in a duracrete bunker reinforced with steel rebar, but there was something to be had with holding the initiative in a combat scenario.

All in all, if I can get out of here without needing to pull my trigger then bully for me.

She noticed the growing emptiness of her grav-sled, nearly all the medical supplies had been passed around and confirming with the Medics up forward, Ash figured it would be best to grab more. Right when she figured that she dodged a blaster bolt with her timing an emergency broadcast rang in her helmet with the HUD displaying her next orders. Unfortunately for her it wasn’t to head back to gather more supplies or other medics.

“I had to think it didn’t I?” Ash should have known the Galaxy was a mind-reader.

She quickly double checked her supplies and reupholstered her rifle around her back before taking off towards the forward trenches. The distant sounds of blaster fire sounded far more closer as Ash continued her run through the trenches, other Stroomtroopers had also begun to pile on ahead but quickly disappeared through the rest of the trenches and other defensive entrenchments.

Ash had already lost track of the multitude of troopers that swapped ahead of her, everyone either with orders to advance and take back any lost positions or told to hold and brace for a continued enemy attack. It wasn’t until she had finally reached the furthest forward position that she finally became unable to distinguish between the sounds of friendly and enemy blaster fire. Fortunately for Ash all she needed to do was keep her head down and drag back any wounded.

While in a battle there was hardly any lacking need for wounded, as if waiting for Ash to arrive a pair of Troopers tossed a wounded comrade into Ash’s direction as they returned back to the fray. Heaving the trooper further back into the trench her eyes found the wound, a nasty bayonetting that pierced through the exposed part of the armour. Ash removed her gloves and clipped them to her belt, in the next moment she pulled off the armour and exposed the wound completely and placed a bacta-patch while searching for the trooper’s vitals.

A careful examination of the heartrate, she nodded and carefully placed the armour back on and administered a small amount of pain-relief. He’s going to need it.

“I need a carry-back for a transfusion.” Ash spoke into her comm-link, her hand patted the wounded trooper gently on the helmet. “Further scanning needed for potential internal bleeding.”

Ash rolled her shoulders and placed her gloves back on, she refocused back to the battle and began to hunt for more wounded.
​

|| Michael Barran | Daro Kilaeon ||​

 

[Darth Keres]

​

[]

​

Objective: Hunt Down Karidim, Yorunarr(Deposed Priest-King of Archais)
Tag: Imperius Indomitus / Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim / Ellayina L'lerim



The Mistress of Silence moved among the corpses as one walking through a gallery of failed prayers, her crimson gaze lingering upon the warped expressions that death had frozen. A strange geometry clung to the bodies, as though their very arrangement tugged at some invisible principle of dread. The valley's shadows thickened around her like a congregation holding its breath, leaving her to stride forward shrouded in a reverence born not of worship but of fear too old to name.

She entered the tunnels beneath the ruins without slowing, their mouths gaping like the broken teeth of a colossus long buried. Within, the walls pressed close with a dampness that tasted of mildew, rot, and forgotten rites. Her boots disturbed ancient dust that recoiled like living ash, slithering into cracks as if fleeing her presence.

The narrow corridors twisted in impossible angles, their architecture defying mortal comprehension—passages that seemed to lengthen behind her, alcoves that shifted when unobserved, whispers that murmured out of stone seams as though the rock itself sought to confess its nightmares.

Yet Darth Keres walked unafraid, for to her the oppressive darkness was but a familiar companion.

Then a shiver not born of flesh crept along Darth Keres' spine as she strode deeper into the ruinous tunnels, her mind still steeped in the echoes of slaughter above. It began as a faint pressure—an almost imperceptible tightening at the edges of her consciousness—but swiftly grew into a deliberate tug, like a cold, skeletal hand drawing invisible claws along the threads of the Force.

The sensation was not merely darkness; it was older than darkness, an ancient, dreamless chill that seemed to seep from beneath the bedrock of reality itself. Her breath stilled. The stones around her pulsed with a malign rhythm, as though something buried in the deep soil had awakened to her presence and wished to be known.

She halted, crimson eyes narrowing, and the decision formed with an inevitability that felt nearly ordained. The Priest-King and his tattered remnant of faith could wait; their demise was merely a task, but this… this was a calling.

Spoiler: Gear Loadout

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

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Ellayina L'lerim
​

Vigilant's speeder bike roared through the midnight forest, his cloak billowing behind him. Speed was paramount, time was of the essence. In the far distance was the unmistakable klaxon blare of the FOB signaling it was under attack. He wondered if Michael was leading from the front, or if their Lion would be holed up in his den further. Either way, the charade was ending tonight. The hammer was coming down on these rebels, the unfaithful would be awarded for their heresy with the punishments due.

His commlink beeped.

"I've got eyes on Shaman. Looks like they split up. Saint is heading north, deeper woods." his comrade reported.

"Engage, delay at least, lethal force if possible."

"Roger."

With a whine the bike veered northwards, where the woods became thicker, but it didn't take long until he had a visual on the breakway speeders. Vigilant pushed the pedal down further and flew on a straight shot towards Tancred, unleading a volley of blaster fire on his escort, scrapping a speeder immediately in a ball of flame that lit up the forest for a moment like it was a Life Day celebration. The traitors kicked their speeders into high gear, yelling something over the noise that Vigilant couldn't catch, but he nevertheless fell in behind them and the chase began.

Across the forest, the same move was being executed by the other ISB agent, a lightning strike against Yorunarr's entourage, but this time with much less discrimination. They wanted Tancred alive, but Yorunarr was the big fish they'd be frying up...

 

[Ellayina L'lerim]

Information

Minister of Intelligence, Director of SHADES, Torture & Interrogation Officer​

"Galactic Common" | <"High Nelvaanian"> | ["Essonian"] | ~ telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Objective: Monitoring the situation
Location: Orbit around Anobis, Mid Rim Territories
Equipment: White uniform | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit || Empyrean gland || OPBC-01m

Tags
Meliant | Michael Barran | Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Imperius Indomitus | Darth Keres | Daro Kilaeon | Ashel de Stilico | Agent Vigilant | Open​

Ella did not particularly concern herself with his rough chuckle; she had spent enough time among Force Users to know that most of them - whether Lightsider, Darksider, or anything in between - tended to treat ordinary people with condescension if they were not part of their own circles. On the other hand, most Darksiders enjoyed resorting to intrigue and playing their little shadow games. She did as well, even if she was not a trained Force User herself. For this very reason she did not allow herself to become nervous or irritated. The man simply was not worth such a reaction.

"Brilliant. And should he decide to commit treachery again, you may kill him." she said at last, once the man accepted the task of keeping an eye on Imperius Indomitus.

After he left, the woman remained alone in the conference room where she had spent her time thus far. At this point, Ella had little else to do but wait for results. For a few moments she wondered whether she should go down by herself and search for her brother, but eventually she discarded the idea. Ella could not hide her presence in the Force, and she was certain her brother would sense she was on the planet. If that happened, he would undoubtedly avoid wherever she was. And that would be most inconvenient.

For this very reason she chose to remain aboard the ship in orbit, watching how the Imperial troops progressed with the planet’s occupation. After all, someone had to coordinate these operations and observe whether a command was needed at any given moment. As far as she knew, none of the Ruling Council or the uppermost circles were present besides her, so the task had fallen to her alone. Even if she would have gladly been on the ground herself.

And for coordination she needed information; more precise information than the drones on the surface could provide. For that reason she opened a channel on the Imperial general frequency and addressed every Imperial unit and individual on the planet.

<< This is Minister L'lerim speaking. I request a status report from all units regarding your progress with the operation. Over. >> she said into the comm line.

 

[Michael Barran]

-Tags-
Daro Kilaeon Ashel de Stilico

BLOOD FOR BLOOD
4

​

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

<"Sabretooth Four to Mask One! We've taken the first trenchline, but we're still taking casualties.">
<"Seen. Our UAVs are up, so you should be able to track movements.">
<"Thats the point, Sir. We've seen what comes next, and it ain't pretty.">
<"Bolstered lines, hm? Have you not got beacon-darts there? Use your brain, Bronzie!">
<"Feth off, Silver! Of course we do! Better be worth our time, damnit! Sabretooth Four out!">
​

The Leader of 3rd Brigade's taskforce had arrived on the scene, and though he was sensing impending exfil-orders on the horizon, the seasoned Mirialan was ready to step in whenever, and however he was required. Likely sooner than expected, but with his armoured backside already touching base on war-room cushions, it served the Lord Imperator to greater effect to keep Major Marban in place for the time-being. His long-running rivalry with Major Maric would need to take a backseat for a while longer, perhaps even to the next operation, as the medevac procedures would surely put a dampener on their perpetual, comepetitive tiff, as any reminder of their predicament was likely to do.

Immensely-violent though Sabretooth Legion had been over the decades, there was always the good grace of retaining heart enough to give a damn when it mattered, and though all were seeking a death with meaning, many still sought meaning in their lives, as they were in these moments. The time had surely come to put all their bravado aside, and for all their punchy, confrontational fervour, all Sabretooth Troopers under Barran's command would be among the first to understand the gravity of their situation, and with it, the first to prepare for the heaviest of wartime reprisals. In suchlike times, Barran could always rely on his military commanders to put it all aside for each other's survival, as it was no secret that they would feel lost in the wake of each other's passing.

<"Trenchline marked. Sitting tight.">
​

'Alright, lads. Send in some FPV-droids, cheapest drones you can find.'
'Yes, your Majesty.'

<"FPVs are inbound. But if OPFOR doesn't budge, don't bother. Survival first, remember?">
<"Copy that. Sabretooth Four out!">

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

LORD INDOMITUS
Through Fire and Blood.
Through Justice and Strength.
On the Anvil of War, We forge our Destiny.

GE: Darth Centax [Personal]] | Daro Kilaeon [Indiect] | Ashel de Stilico [Indirect]
IMP: Michael Barran

181st Stormtrooper Legion | Indomitus Legion

Anobis | Eshaton Manor | Imperial FOB

One Sith? He was the One Sith. Sure. Imperius was Zakuul. Did it matter? Was it an identifying introduction? Most certainly not, neither in fact. While Imperius was firstly and imperatively loyal to what He perceived as the duty and legacy that He inherited - this was a warzone of the Galactic Empire. One that was against no less than previous brothers in arms who were among the best soldiers of the Galaxy, who He had stood and bled with on countless battlefields against Sith, Maw and Alliance alike.

And what was the One Sith? An idea that died even before the Tenth Sith Empire rose. Apparently still breathing due to this lost claimant. A curiosity. Just like Himself. But sadly not of immediate concern or interest. Nor was his request.

"I have nothing to offer to you. I am not a representative of the Imperial Ruling Council and its planetary administrations. The only proposition I have is blood and mud. And the death of Ashlan-Imperials mongrels that have lost touch long ago. Join me, the Empire, here and everyone doing their duty will see it rewarded in one way or another."

The Zakuulan Sith spoke with cold clarity, His voice a measured tone of dominance and wrath, contained in His perfectly immaculate expression and body language. Offering just enough that it was barely a glimpse at the tip of the iceberg. Therefore He did not regard the display of authority even with a glimpse.

"If we have terms on this aspect is entirely up to you, One Sith."

A beep started, several pings from various consoles around them could be heard ringing in their various tones. The old stone halls of the Manor suddenly were illuminated by red light that replace the cold white that was previously adding a sterile atmosphere to the Imperial headquarters. There was a very short moment in which the business of the place ceased and the officers looked around before they got back to work. Voices rose and several officers approached the holomap where now red signals flared.

Not far away, but in immediate hear range. Without delay the first shots could be heard as well.

Imperial discipline kicked in. Duty called.

Anobis | Imperial Trenches | Forward Command Post

Together with other Stormtrooper units, the Dragonguard manned the Imperial trench lines. Spending days in mud and rain, harrassed by nature as much as by the cuts the hit & run tactics the Ashlan-Imperials inflicted upon them. The 181st had not even returned to half strength after the Invasion of Coruscant and the subsequent battle in the Old Galactic Market district, but was nevertheless deployed by their commander here.

Half awake Stormtroopers in darkened armors were ordered into position by the shouts of their officers. The air was charged with tension and increasing humidity as distant thunder announced itself, bringing a storm of nature to the already arrived storm of blood and tears that devastated the Forward Trenches.

Platoons and Companies run towards designated zones, HUDs displaying precise orders and deployment zones. The commanders receiving short memos from the HQ, all detailing minor action plans and directives as they attack silently but violently unfolded.

"FIX BAYONETS!" The order was picked up along the entire second trench line as Stormtroopers put the vibroblades onto the barrels of their carbines and rifles, preparing for a fight that was neither pretty nor desired. Imperial tanks slowly awakened, their engines requiring some well spoken words and kicks to quickly heat up as the intended QRF was delayed by broken comms and awful mechanical maintenance.

Blaster fire, screams of the wounded, roaring engines and a general noise of combat filled the air two clicks away from Eshaton Manor. A stream of wounded from the forward trench line started to clog up several trenches as reinforcements tried to push forwards while those that had been broken by the Sabertooth tried to rally somewhere, preferably Coruscant's cantinas.

Dragonguard units engaged in the vicious assault the old Woad had envisioned. But orders flowed steadily out of the HQ, directed by Imperius Himself.

A loud howl filled the air as a group of six black-golden speeder bikes appeared in the darkness. Without position lights or any markers other than the banner of the Indomitus Legion, they descended upon the area between the trenches at high speeds. Their twin concussion rifles firing with devastating effect - merely intending to make the attackers hesitate to cross the no-mans-land before turning their attention towards the assault transports.

 

[Daro Kilaeon]

Michael Barran | Ashel de Stilico | Imperius Indomitus
​

The sound of their charge was close behind me. As I rounded another corner I heard the whoosh of something fly past me and the squish of it embedding in the mud wall of the trench. I looked over to see the dart sticking out of the mud, then watched as it painted the entire corner of the trench and myself with a pulsing wave of blue lidar. Like a hunted animal my legs carried me further and harder than I knew I could, like the stimulant had taken full control of my body and I was just watching from the inside.

The trench lines twisted and turned. Coming upon an upward ramp, I dug my heels into the mud to avoid sliding down, coming out on top of the trenches. I was in a machine gun nest, dormant it seemed, until I saw the corpses of its operators. I dove for the heavy repeating blaster, grabbing a hold of it and taking stock of what was happening. I could see some of our own bold troopers charging with their own counter attack. The forward trench was a cacophony of close-quarters combat, soldiers stabbing one another, sending blood and viscera up into the air. It was impossible to tell who was winning.

I pulled the trigger of the heavy blaster, unfamiliar with the recoil. A wild spray of pink plasma bolts flew out into the darkness until I could get a handle on it. I pointed the barrel in the direction of their transports, just over the lip of the first trench, still being used as cover for the enemy. I unleashed another round from the MG, firing for suppression more than damage...

 

[Darth Centax]

Anobis | Eshaton Manor | Imperial FOB
Tag: Imperius Indomitus

The galaxy needed a reminder of their name.

"So be it. We march where the conflict is thickest," came the graveled reply. As they always had. The old way.
The Long Conflict endured.

While Centax admired the strict doctrine, unfalteirng loyalty, and need for control. Imperius had missed a trick. Centax regarded warriors, those of strength, as the true center of power. With a strong gesture, the Imperial could have claimed the legion already here, painted them in his colors, then filed the paperwork later. A matter of numbers and bureaucratic dominance. Instead, the Sith replaced his helmet, and a blight upon the galaxy remained. Somewhere far off, Keth was pleased at the chaos that followed in Centax's wake.

The man gurgling on the floor fought for breath, struggling upright. Centax watched him for a moment. When at last the Centaxian earned his stance behind him, the Darth was satisfied; the new wounds would become a battlecry, albeit a painful one.

"My third will remain here to coordinate." His gaze locked on the underling now wheezing through every word he would speak, a reminder burned into his lungs. Centax turned to leave, heavy steps cutting into the stone and metal. There was nothing more to gain here. Only the field of battle mattered now, where blades were sharpened and blasters tuned. The men hungered for new wars and this would sate them, for a time.

Both guards remained behind, should the assigned officer fail to speak without collapse. Outside, the Centaxian vanguard and the greater Codex Legion marched towards the sound of blaster fire, their sonic drums booming their approach. The greater legion made the earth around the estate tremble as its walkers advanced and its shuttles descended, aging starfighters screaming overhead. Their alignment to the new battlescape was slow, but once complete, overwhelming firepower would follow.

The One Sith had arrived.
As a new piece on Imperius's board.

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

TAGS
Ellayina L'lerim Meliant Imperius Indomitus Darth Keres

BLOOD FOR BLOOD
6

​

Cresting Meadow, Batwing Forest,
Anobis, Mid Rim Territories (903 ABY)

'COME OUT, COME OUT - YE VILE, HEATHEN CHARLATANS!!!! COME OUT AND FIGHT!!!!'
​

The rain had been cast across the land, but by the cold biting winds the Shaman had whipped up above, and in those twilight-dark skies, a brewing storm had been writhing around in the light pressure of a gusting vortex. What may have been a poorly-directed intention just minutes before (seemingly aiming for something more shocking, more immediate until a certain point) quickly met with Yorunarr's approval, by then understanding enough of meteorology to discern what kind of weather he was instigating. After the change of attitude towards this happy little mistake, the change in the air would soon follow, dropping enough in temperature that the ground was already beginning to frost over, with the first droplets of snow following soon after.

Snows of the sort, however, would take time to accumulate, this the old Novanian knew, but still had faith enough that the blizzard would ensue eventually. For it's small area of planetary affectation, the weather was certainly brewing into something of wider-reaching potential, and after that late-autumn Raindance, it would not take much patience at all to find some signs of success. After a long time with the New-Imperials, many a new season had befallen the Priest-King, a nightmare as much as it was a dream for a Shaman of his sort, but it taught him much of what he was to expect in the event of biome-related miscalculation.

Thus learning means of adapting to said-miscalculations, using the weather he was left to explain to his superiors - and these were abundant for all the inconveniences they caused.

'I can work with this.... Been a while, though.'

​

Seeing the fog on his breath, Yorunarr would chuckle for a moment of absentminded whimsy, only to find his thirst for battle was in no such mood for child-like wonder, grimacing to sneering extreme behind the mask as his darling blade whistled through the air. Casting aside the awakened mentor in the process of latching onto that excited anticipation instead, as even in that silence, the old Novanian could sense all the approaching foes around him, and all the stronger foes farther afield. There was no time to goof around, but nothing was stopping Yorunarr from exploring his usual brand of erratic aggravation, nothing keeping him from fighting like the Shaman he always had been; and when this revelation finally befell the Priest-King, his feet began to dance, practically skipping between pivot-foot stances.

'WHO WILL IT BE?!?! WHOSE BLADE MEETS MINE?!?!'

​

 

[Agent Vigilant]

Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim | Ellayina L'lerim
​

The speeder zoomed out of the deeper woods towards Yorunarr, unleashing a volley of blaster fire erratically towards him, missing, shots going wide and splintering the trunks of trees. The Shaman was shouting up into the sky. The ISB Agent turned on a dime and stopped just short of him, drawing a pistol and aiming it square at him. He wouldn't miss this time, he was certain.

"The ISB sends their regards" he mocked, pulling the trigger.

Halfway across the forest, Agent Vigilant lept from his own speeder bike and tackled Tancred L'Ierim to the muddy forest floor. One of their speeders, he couldn't immediately tell which, crashed into another burst of flame and shrapnel as the two men hit the ground and rolled with their momentum, immediately caught in a scuffle, caking themselves in mud. Vigilant fought to detain the Saint, who fought to get out from his assailant's grasp. Vigilant leveraged his initiative to end their roll on top of Tancred, his elbow pushed into the young Ashlan's throat as he pinned him into the mud.

"Don't make this harder for yourself, kid. I told your sister that I wouldn't hurt you."

 

[Darth Keres]

​

[]

​

Objective: Hunt Down Karidim, Yorunarr(Deposed Priest-King of Archais)
Tag: Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim / Ellayina L'lerim

Drifting toward the flame like a curious moth, Darth Keres descended into the secret chamber, chasing the whispering echo; her breath stirring the dust of centuries. Cold torch lights faintly licked at the carved walls, revealing script etched in strokes so jagged they seemed to bleed shadow.

Tracing a finger across the ancient text, she felt the echo of forgotten malevolence asleep beneath each rune. A slow, predatory smile curved her lips, an expression that did not warm her face but hollowed it, as though delight itself were something corrosive.

Behind her, the Silencers stood motionless in the threshold, silhouettes cut from darkness itself. Without turning, Darth Keres lifted a hand, the gesture soft yet absolute. "Sit," she commanded, her voice a velvet whisper that carried the weight of an executioner's blade.

They obeyed instantly, folding to the stone floor with ritualistic precision, the air thickening around them as though the chamber exhaled in anticipation. Her eyes deepened, for the text promised ancient revelations: tales of myths and fables and legends based off winded perceptions.

Standing before the weathered script, her back to her followers, she wondered briefly if this Priest-King ever truly grasped what is carved here; or if it's existence was even known to the heretic. A thin curl of amusement slowly touched her mouth as her fingers drifted from the ancient glyphs and turned, her eyes gleaming like lanterns in a crypt.

"Now," she murmured, her voice soft as grave dust, "it is time for a history lesson."

Spoiler: Gear Loadout

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

 

[Michael Barran]

-Tags-
Daro Kilaeon Ashel de Stilico

BLOOD FOR BLOOD
5

​

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

<"FPV-droids have hit their targets, but their line still holds!">
<"Thats the least of your troubles, Sabretooth Four. I can see them like you can.">
<"Say the words and we'll start a fighting-retreat, Sir.">
<"Do it. I'll bring medevac speeders to the rallying-point.">
<"Copy that, Sir. Sabretooth Four - out!">
​

'Alright, Maric. We're up.'
'Lead the way, your Majesty.'

​

Even from his comfortable seated position, the rush to his feet seemed like a lightning-quick flurry of movement, and for as long as old Maric was quiet in his process of watching the situation unfold, it appeared as though he was waiting for the Lord Imperator's final order from the start. Sabretooth high-command were the farthest thing from blind, however, Barran was beginning to see their proficience in holding their tongues, and the old Woad was already feeling that need to break that regimented conditioning, recalling (and from first-hand experience) all the reasons why it served no purpose beyond the recruits' selection-training patterns.

'These - uh - habitually-pursed lips o' yer subordinates, I like it not.... We will continue this discussion on Nirauan.'

Without even so much as another word said on the matter, the Lord Imperator stepped out to endeavour the task of returning Taskforce: Bronze to the safety of friendly territory, rallying a readied battlegroup to retrieve their comrades, completely unaware of the madness that awaited their return. Strong though that fighting-retreat would become by the turn of it's second phase, the news would doubtlessly give the old Woad his reason to pull the plug on the operation, but there would be more than just Tancred's arrest to consider by then, especially with rumours already rife within the Coruscantine sphere that his old friend had been assassinated.

All news for which the Lord Imperator would need to wait.

[EXIT THREAD]

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

TAGS
Ellayina L'lerim Meliant Imperius Indomitus Darth Keres

BLOOD FOR BLOOD
7

​

Cresting Meadow, Batwing Forest,
Anobis, Mid Rim Territories (903 ABY)

'The ISB sends their regards.'
[Thwack - Thwack]
'Euunnnngh!'
​

Dropping to the ground, the old Novanian had been caught with arms outspread, presenting an open target for his adversary to exploit, and exploit - the young agent most-certainly would.

The Coruscantine adversary had driven off almost as soon as his shot was fired, clearly seeing no sense in gloating beyond the perceived completion of his task, and in these moments, Yorunarr genuinely believed the agent really had completed his mission that night. With both shots hitting true at center-mass, the Priest-King could feel, see, and even smell the burning wound as it hissed on the wet, frosty ground below, it would have taken a grander, wilder delirium to believe he had somehow survived. Even before the pain knocked him out cold, the Shaman could feel his heartrate dropping, slowing his breathing until it became little more than an agonal rattle, even a child could see this predicament was worse than those that preceded it.

'Tan - cred.'

In true adherence to form, a true mentor would think of his student in moments Yorunarr assumed were his last, hoping beyond all hope that Tancred had escaped, achieving his warning of a compromised operation. Sighing dejectedly by then, the old Novanian had hoped for an ending with more dignity than this, but hoped all the more that the young Aavenian had escaped a fate far crueller than his own, leaving it all in the hands of the Ancients, Ashla, and the Force as he weakly groaned,'Ia - Ia.... Let my soul - return.... Home.', one last show of strength before his consciousness slipped away. After that, the Priest-King would acquiesce to his fate, lying mask-down on the ground, and all the while, the snowfall continued to intensify, sensing he was gone before ever seeing the fruits of his late-autumn raindance.

But Fate had other plans for the old man, for there were tests yet to be endeavoured - all that was needed was for Yorunarr to....

WAKE UP!!!!
WAKE UP!!!!​

With an almighty, howling gasp of air, the old Novanian found himself covered head-to-toe in the snows he had instigated before, the second proof of which that asserted the fact he was still alive; but when the pain returned to his chest, the shrieks he unleashed on the snow-covered meadow would leave no illusion of passing onto the next life, for only reminders of life's obligation could inflict that sort of pain. Making matters worse was the sudden, dawning realisation that many hours of inactivity had passed since he passed out, bringing about a gut-deep, sinking feeling, an early inkling that he was, in fact, alone, and far from the aid of anything resembling an ally.

'Can't you just let me die, already?!'

[EXIT THREAD]

​