Invasion Crumbling Castle | NIO Invasion of TSE Held Gravlex Med and Ibanjii (Generis)

[Lucien Dooku]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

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"Jedi."

"This isn't your station."

Luc smirked at the woman, spinning around in the chair to face the direction of the voice that followed her appearance into the room. He leaned back into his palms, his fingers having laced comfortably on the back of his head. "Well, yeah, you're right about that." Luc shot back, tilting his eyes towards the woman. "...But I guess no is accurate as well~" The words followed through an exaggerated yawn, his lips curling right back into a smirk once it was finished.

Despite revealing herself to Lucien, he made no overtly move to display the hostility that should've existed between existential enemies within the force. Instead his eyes followed the woman's movements lazily, watching her intently as she moved towards the wall, maintaining a safe distance between herself and the Jedi sitting comfortably at the console.

A moment of silence filled the void.

He sucked on his teeth, breaking the tension by letting loose an audible breath of air. He swung his legs down from the console, pushing himself up to his feet. Luc crossed his arms over his chest, taking a brazen step towards the center of the room, his eyes still locked upon the dangerous woman across from him. "It seems as if you've got me cornered-- assuming that's your intent. But i'm a little surprised that your superiors elected to send just you into the heart of the enemy's camp."

He chuckled, pulling his arms apart and giving the woman an exaggerated shrug. "If it was me in your shoes, I would've killed everyone in this room while the Jedi was stuck on the roof and unaware of the situation. Seems very... uncharacteristic of one of your ilk-- but don't get me wrong, i'm not complaining."

Luc's visage dropped into a cold stare for a moment. "Setting aside those corrupted eyes and that pretty face, though-" His hands dropped down to his sides, but still his weapon remained out of reach of his hand. "I'd rather we take this outside-- but the ball's in your court, sweetheart."

Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
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[Loske Treicolt]

WE HUNT
OUTER RIM | GENERIS | OUTER RIM COMMUNICATION CENTRE
WHO IS SHE?

​

Inhale. Exhale.

In through the nose and mouth, out through the shared nose and mutual mouth.

They could feel air moving through their throat and into the complex network of soft caverns behind their ribs. Each sense was enriched by what Generis’ jungle had to offer: Feeling the druxy grass beneath their feet, tasting the thick air on their tongue, smelling the natural musk of vegetation, hearing the wind, water, weather, animals... war. Seeing the soldiers that brought war and ruin with them. All of their silhouettes plotted out like glowing thrums on an emotional spectrum, occupying the coloured nuance of space between hope, avarice, and fear. They were faint, hard to see. Any technology –– or even the Jedi in her primitive state ––would have missed the interlopers in the weeds. Slithering snakes.

Sending in a task force ahead of time made sense. Something in the corners of her mind associated it to a lifetime ago, a tactic she might have partnered wi–– didn’t matter. Irrelevant. An ethereal, shadowy hand swept the attempt to make a connection away from her track of thought and into a void to be consumed.

The base was an obvious target to capture, and an obvious place to test their resilience under duress and how truly fortified their unholy union was. An obvious place for them to be deployed against those that were once allies. A true trial of the engineered bond.

Hyper accelerated beyond what was typical for humans, the medley of sentience tore from her waiting position along the perimeters of the base. Their movements were flawless. They moved as if they’d always been one, born to share bones, mind, muscles, flesh.

A huntress amidst the flora, countless minutes ticked down against the clock. They couldn’t get them all, but several agents had been uncovered and succumbed to incredible crushing power beneath the telekinetic influence of the monstrosity. Yanked, thrown, mangled, torn, twisted –– each met a deterrence from their advance of varying permanence.

Blood from others streamed across her skins as easily as sweat. The only immediately human thing about them was her inky, womanly silhouette. Certainly, there was something still human deep within, but it was so far out of reach –– focusing only on surviving and adapting. Taking advantage of the generous offer to grow into something far more worthwhile. Proving itself with one ruined advantage after another, the markings of agents against The Empire falling in a wake behind her.

They saw, then they saw no more.

There is strength within you. Accept it. Give yourself permission to take it, to use it, and become something the galaxy has never seen before.

Calibrations were still rendering, and there was a certain imbalance to the dynamic between the parasite and the host. The timeline since Ziost one and two had been spent nurturing the symbiosis between the two sentients, bridging the distinct psyches into something shareable.

Out of her wits, reality and misconceptions were entangled dangerously to misconstrue actualities with projections and suppositions.. Reality was bent beyond basic manipulation, empathy dancing around the perimeters of the broken Jedi’s psyche and it reached out, it recognized. In a frenzied, broken attempt, the struggle between two made a connection of familiarity. The validity behind her recollection was pathetic and marred –– selective only for the purpose of blame. Whatever tenuous grip the woman within had of the past, she reexperienced it in broken fractals.

Detestful venom burned at the back of her throat and behind their eyes. Irises faded into a milky haze of black and white.

Because he was a familiar of the past, a life not worth living, he had to be removed.

In the artifacts that are conscious, memories of a vanished life still flicker. Tissues that were changed without dying recall a moment of instruction and orders. Images and words and pain and fear, endless. An overwhelming sense of loss. Losing her connection to him. Losing herself. Gaining them. Consumed by the void that ate up anything other than the vague reflection of responsibility. Djorn, unfortunately, had been a part of the moment the meld had occurred.

He turned her into a nightmare, so they were going to be his.

There was another, a Twi'lek creeping amidst the overgrowth, likely keen to sabotage the Snake’s advances. A predatorial growl rolled through their throat, suddenly territorial over the need to eliminate.

The other wouldn’t get the chance to strike first. Their supernatural silhouette was far too quick, too furious, too ostensibly strong, to lay in wait. The air currents around the undercover agent changed on him, manipulated by the telekinetic wanting of the darksider, and creating a tunnel concentrated on punching him backward and off his feet, to be consumed by the jungle floor. Alongside the invisible force, they lunged after him, hands outstretched to choke the life-breath from his lungs themselves.

ALLIES | TSE
ENEMIES | NIO | GA | NJO | Djorn Bline [ENGAGING] | Eira Dwynwen

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

LOCATION: Chancellor’s Situation Room, Coruscant
OBJECTIVE: I - Generis Base
ALLIES: Adhira Chandra | Brama Tagge | Annasari | Caatua Ga | Donavon Arturo | Gat Tambor | Maou
ENEMIES: TSE - open, message to coordinate
KIT: Lesser Ring of the Protected Mind | Visions of Gold | Attire
POST: II

SAME ENERGY

Brama and Adhira both commented on the military might of the New Imperial Order, acknowledging their military might and how unusual it felt to be working alongside their once rivals. Tithe was just about to comment on how well the battle was going when the S-IMPs changed the rules.

A colossal fleet lead by Onrai decanted from hyperspace, and was soon joined by a massive dreadnaught commanded by Eldaah Aderyn - together the two formations added 55,000 meters of battlecruiser to the already impressive Sith Armada. Tithe leaned back in his seat. The tide of the naval battle had well and truly tipped in favour of the enemy. While Grand Admiral Caarlyle Rausgeber and Gallius Orcana continued to press the attack on the vital orbit base, firing on the enemy dreadnaughts as they went, it was near impossible to see how they could possibly hope to succeed in the face of overwhelming odds.

If the New Imperial spearhead was blunted or broken, the rearguard and supporting Alliance vessels dispatched from Coruscant would be next in line. Maybe it was time to entertain a preemptive withdrawal.

Brama asked if Tithe knew anyone participating in the battle. “Yes… a protege.” He nodded to the holoprojector which tracked the battle in orbit, where a formation of Alliance frigates was taking fire from the enemy. “Taberae…” He stopped himself. The young man had worked with Tithe at Arbitrage Capital during the early days, and Tithe had been a party to the seed funding which had seen Taberae establish his own actuary firm. For a short him, he’d even lived under Tithe roof when his condo was being remodelled.

Right not, the skilled liability manager was far from home. While Aargau was best known as a mecca for banking, the planet had a long and proud military history. For many young Aarguaans, a stint in both the banking sector and security forces was a right of passage and a gateway to later success in life. With the Alliance military expanding, Taberae was among the many throughout the Core who had answered the call to defend their borders and bring the Sith to their knees. And right now, he was facing certain death.

“Well, ah, everyone is down there is important to someone I imagine,” he finally added, struggling to maintain a neutral face. After his meltdown on Tiss’sharl, it would not do to sow any doubt in the mind of his colleagues as to his ability to perform under pressure.

The Vice Chancellor watched as Colonel Tantalus and Titan squadron launch escorted bombers toward the lines, harried by Sith starfighters which included Seela Leini . Reports came through from General Maynard Treicolt , who had boarded one of the Sith dreadnaughts and was fighting his way through the enormous vessel to seize control.

The sudden disappearance of Alliance assets down on Generis caught the Chancellor’s attention, and she ordered an explanation. A new burst of activity spread throughout the room as analysis scrambled to find an answer. Leaning forward in his chair, Tithe opened a secure com channel to an ally down on the ground - Commissioner Djorn Bline of COMPNOR.

“What’s the situation Snake?”

 

[Kaska Arden]

D A N C EㅤT H EㅤS P E A R S
R A K A T A NㅤT E M P L E
G E N E R I S

Lightsaber | Belmont's Resolve | JSTP Armour | Uproar Blaster

A L L I E SㅤG Aㅤ/ㅤN I O
A Bunch of People

E N E M I ESㅤT S E
Enyo Typhos

The apparent ease in which her opponent met her attack head on was humbling. As their blades crackled and danced along each other's length, hissing angrily at each other like a pair of irate nexu cubs, Kaska found herself scrabbling to obtain even a momentary advantage. Her jaw knotted with exertion. Teeth clenching so hard they felt like they were about to crack. Armor practically humming out a protest as it's physical augmentations were pushed to the absolute limit just to attempt to draw them even.

If it wasn't for her underhanded trick with the telekinetic attack, she doubted she would have even managed to score a glancing blow, let alone press the attack. Whatever flicker of satisfaction the Jedi might have entertained at disarming the woman of the sonic blaster was sadly short lived, however.

Securing the blow had opened herself up to a well timed riposte. Suddenly free from the press, the woman's purple blade thrust ruthlessly towards her now vulnerable exposed side. Unavoidable at this distance. With her shields still rebooting and her guard out of position, the best she could attempt was to twist her body to the side. Banking on the curvature of her armor's plates to deflect the attack away.

It was a sound theory, but Kaska's execution was... Somewhat lacking.

Her teeth flashed in the dim light as a painfilled, muffled curse rumbled in the back of her throat as she was only half-successful in her attempt to evade the attack. The mortal blow was downgraded, but not far enough. A wave of white hot pain lancing up from her side as the blade sliced through the outer inch of her armor. The enhanced, volcanic hot saber melting through the thin layers phrik and armourweave before searing a trail across her exposed flesh. Skin, fat and muscle abruptly vanishing in a sickly sweet smell.

With an un-jedi like anger flooding her system, Kaska's own counterattack was a decidedly less elegant, wholly more impulsive affair. Her head rearing back as if giving in to the pain, only to be brought forward with a powerful attempt to headbutt her kneeling opponent, once more falling back on telekinesis to reinforce the attack. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't smart, if anything it was possibly mutually destructive, but it would hopefully catch the woman off guard.

 

[SF-3335]

Location: Generis Base - Generis
Call Sign: Plasma Seven
Allies: TSE ( The Amalgam )
Enemies: NIO (Loros Kalaric Konrad Bolter Jax Sloane Arten Jinn Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran )

While the Nagnol gas she deployed had been effective in obfuscating her machine’s precise location, the sensor-disrupting cocktail worked against her to create a double-blind situation as her sensors failed to detect the incoming speeder bikes ( Jax Sloane ). The Indastra had no true blind spots, owing to the micro-photoreceptors and cameras on its hull, but an organic pilot could only focus on so much at once. At that precise moment, she was focused on cutting down a squad of stormtroopers with a salvo of large caliber slugs, cast forth from her walker’s chin-mounted machine guns. As such, the movement of the speeders and the danger they presented to her registered too late in her mind.

The first grenade went off, detonating in an explosion of ionic energy that for the most part was mitigated by her walker’s shields, which included protection against ionic interference.

Then came another.

And another.

Then, one more.

Her walker reeled over as the grenades went off, struggling for balance though eventually righting itself with some effort from the pilot. However, almost all of the explosions had been direct hits. Her shields were gone, depleted under the damage wrought by the explosive assaults. As such, Nixie immediately acted, in spite of the warnings flashing in her ears, telling her that due to the damage to her walker’s gyro-balance systems, attempting a high jump would carry a chance of failure. The neural connection told her the same, to the point where she could feel the “limp” in the servomotors of her machine, almost as if her own legs had been injured.

Nevertheless, she jumped.

The powerful leap carried her machine up twenty meters in the air, more than enough to get her clear of the smoke and the explosive destruction wrought by the speeder pilots closer to the ground. However, her next problem would be landing with damaged gyro-balance and suspension systems. Anticipating this, Nixie deepened her connection to the machine, assuming total control of the walker so that she could manipulate the legs almost as if they were her own.

The ground quickly grew larger in her perception, even as she deployed the jump jets to slow her descent. Nevertheless, injured legs slammed into the ground, hard, firing off agonizing jolts of psychosomatic pain that threatened to debilitate her senses, eliciting a cry from her lips as she fought to keep her walker upright. One step too soon after landing caused her walker to stumble, very nearly resulting in the machine toppling to the ground until she found traction in the earth. Then, with a deep breath, Nixie eased her neural connection. Phantom pain still burned in her legs, sweat beading across her brow as she worked to get the most out of the machine. While the nearby Nagnol gas still played havoc with her sensors, since she was no longer directly in the middle of it, her awareness was slowly restored.

In answer to the attack, Nixie fired off a salvo of eight high-explosive nano missiles towards the four speeder bike heat signatures within the gas. Since her targeting systems could not lock onto them, she would be lucky to get a direct hit. However, she hoped that her missiles could catch them within their blast radii or at the very least work to the effect of throwing the riders off their bikes.

Spoiler: Loadout

• “Indrastra” Sith Eternal AT-PW
  • Modular Internal Chin Weapon Hardpoint (2)
    • Korriban-II Heavy Machine Gun
    • Korriban-II Heavy Machine Gun
  • Universal Mass Driver Nano Missile Launcher (2)
    • High-Explosive Nano Missile (20)
    • High-Explosive Nano Missile (20)
  • Universal Gas Dissipation System (2)
    • Pink Vapor
    • Nagnol Gas
  • Cargo and Pilot Gear
    • DS-101 “Venture” Multipurpose Protective Attire
    • X8 “Gambit” Elite Disruptor Pistol

 

[Aaran Tafo]

Opposition: Saket Keane
Observer: Valen​

"Instead you just allow yourself to become a vessel of their hate? Not their hope for a better future?" He asked, brow quirking. His stance never shifting from relaxed. His tone dropping the mocking quality into something a bit more sincere. Eyes narrowing slightly. What a cruel way to treat one's descendants. Never allowing them their own chance to prosper, to live as their own person. Instead chaining them down to old grudges, forcing them to remain stuck in the past.

A practice the Sith would more than likely be more than happy to encourage. Ensuring the Ubese held onto their pain. Become too spiteful to learn and too hateful to prosper.

It was just another thing in this galaxy that refused to move on. Another grudge that just keep the cycle of pain going. A soft sigh was audible escaping Aaran as Saket raised his lightsaber in preparation for his incendiary attack. "A shame." The Ubese would faintly hear him mutter before the flame overtook him. The wave obscuring him from sight.

But they did not reach him. They were stopped a few feet away. The Jedi having raised his hand and called upon the Force for aid. His desire to end this conflict without violence giving him the focus of will to rearrange the air in front of him. Shunting oxygen away behind him. Leaving only gases that the flame would be unable to consume in a barrier in front of him. Halting the attack flat through careful manipulation of the world around him instead of relying on brute power.

But only the flame itself was halted. Not the heat, as physics was a harsh mistress. And while most of the damage was halted. The Jedi did not emerge from the inferno unscathed. The residual heat, while blunted, had scarred his palm. The skin peeling around it as first-degree burns were inflicted. A nasty wound that would require some treatment in order to heal properly.

But the Jedi in front of him did not so much as flinch. Instead looking at his palm with a sense of puzzled detachment. The pain not bothering him, more slightly annoyed that his technique had not been enough to entirely stop Saket's attack.

And he still did not attack. Simply remaining still in his position, a somewhat quizzical look on his face. "Well... I don’t want it to fall into Jedi or Imperial hands either. It’s way too dangerous." His unscarred hand moved to pat the satchel at his side. "It’s why I came here to blow it up." It was not exactly a part of his plan that he was looking to share with anyone. But i nothing else, it would throw Saket in a loop. And the Sith would find it easy to search the Jedi's feelings. The note of honesty easily found. So to deny his intentions would be an act of self-deception.

"I you want, you can come with. You can make sure I get rid of it. That way it won’t ruin anyone else's home." His unscarred hand then moved to reach out to Saket, an offering of peace, ceasefire. An attempt to bridge relationships and ease the pain. He could simply continue his assault against the Jedi. Or he could take the offer and ensure that never again would another world suffer the same fate as his own.

 

[Darth Ahriman]

Allies: Saket Keane & The Sith Empire.
Opposition: Aaran Tafo , GA & NIO.
Inventory: Simple Jedi Robes, Jedi Training Saber.

​

The entrance to the Rakatan Temple was relatively clear, save for the bodies that hadn't made it inside. Further out surrounding the exterior of the infrastructure were those on either side engaging their opposition. Valen had found himself staring back across the battlefield, a ruined clearing separating the temple from the rest of the wilderness, listening to the sounds of blaster fire, screaming and what could only be described as the clashing of arms.

The Temple at his back was massive, and at the very least would offer some form of cover from any air to surface weapons fire. Pushing himself forward, Valen entered only to hear the echoes of yelling seemingly rippling down the corridor he had stepped into.

Within such a labyrinthine structure, it was impossible to know where or who the voices were coming from, at least from his position, yet the Force felt so strong within the ancient-looking structure and so he continued on hoping to find someone who could lead him back to the Sith Empire and disclose the knowledge he so desperately sought. Desperate enough to walk into a warzone and brave the sights that came with it.

Igniting his lightsaber, the purple blade Valen lifted the training weapon high above his head in need of better light to see his way forward. Compared to the outside, the glow from the wall-mounted sconce wasn't yet bright enough until his eyes would adjust. Even so, with his weapon ablaze in his right hand, the young man moved out in search of the source of the voices.

The further he moved, the louder they grew and soon enough the smell of smoke had reached him, causing him to move with a greater pace hoping that whoever he was about to find, would still be alive to tell him what he needed to hear.

 

[Ren-Hua Mant]

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Allies: Onrai | Seela Leini
Opponents: Caarlyle Rausgeber | Tantalus | Gallius Orcana

"This is where the fun begins.", Ren-Hua said excitedly with only a lick of sarcasm. As the masses of ships neared closer to each other, larger conflict appeared poised to break out. After some tactical positioning, the New Imperial fleet let loose a gargantuan display of firepower.

That was the signal.

"We get confirmation on the flagship yet?"

"Aye, skipper. It's uh, the big one."

Though the ships composing both fleets were of substantial size, there was one in particular that dwarfed every other vessel in the system: the NIV Tregessar. Though it wasn't a guarantee that the New Imperial Order's Grand Admiral would be aboard the Tregessar, it was more likely than not that fleet commanders would be at the helm of the largest, if not the most powerful ship present. Statistics aside, Ren-Hua was feeling confident; she couldn't quite explain how she knew he was there, but she could feel it. Perhaps it was luck, or maybe even there was a higher power at work, but Ren-Hua preferred to call it a captain's intuition.

"Bring us in, slow burn. Wait for them to board the space station. Prep the shuttles."

The Starling could punch well above its weight class, but it wasn't difficult to see just how outnumbered and outmatched they were. Should they become a target, it'd be a tricky situation. Fortunately, they had the advantage of size, stealth, and the inherent maneuverability that came from each to counter the brawn of the NIO fleet.

Rising from the captain's seat, she stretched before turning about and making her way to the Starling's modest hangar bay.

"You have the bridge, Miko."

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As the shuttle pilots sped through their systems checks, Ren-Hua gave herself a once over to ensure she had everything needed for the imminent hardship ahead. Loadout notwithstanding, she was ready, as were the ragtag marines who would be joining her on this escapade.

Fighting in atmosphere was one thing, but marine engagements in space were an entirely different thrill. The paramount importance of mindfulness of maintaining environmental structural integrity lest one sought to be ejected into the void was Ren-Hua's particular favorite. Spatial engagements required coordination, finesse, and caution - something not nearly as often seen amongst ground pounders.

"Oye, skippa! We all good to go, kay?", one of the marines informed her.

Meeting the brief with a smirk, Ren-Hua stressed the importance of patience, even as the pre-combat excitement began to take hold.

"Stand by, all. Wait until we're in position to launch.", she said as the smirk turned into a grin. "I've always wanted to meet the esteemed Grand Admiral Rausgeber...or his robot husk...whatever body he's rolling around in these days."

 

[Darth Daiara]

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed

Spoiler: The Story

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

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The New Imperial Order had surged forth from its nest once more. No longer was it poised to strike back , strictly in defense of it life and those who lived beneath its banner. The game had changed the New Imperials into a vicious tiger that could challenge the galactic superpowers head-to-head, and once more it ventured forth into the territory of the Sith. A salient was desired to allow their forces to continue their onslaught against the tyrants of Dromund Kaas, and so the 173rd were requested to accompany the Imperator's armies once more.

He owed it to the people of Nirauan, if not the New Imperial Order itself. Though he'd never admit to Tavlar that he respected the man for what he'd done, Lucien had showed it through his actions-- most of the time, anyway. Generis would be no different from those others, despite the fact that he currently wasn't at the vanguard of a formation, or dropping down from the skies with his Legion.

The Myrmidons had been deployed onto the world en masse just hours before the invasion of the planet had commenced. His Captains and their respective companies scattered across the planet to tackle tertiary objectives elsewhere, typically the kind which left the rank-and-file dead to a man.

While his Legion were kept occupied with sowing havoc through the Sith's ranks, Lucien would assume a secondary command alongside the Galidraani Commanders at the head of the operation. Officially he should've been leading men towards the facility, but his fellow commanders seemed more than willing to do the hard work on their own.

And as it wasn't his Leigon being thrown at the facility, he chose to remain compliant at the rear lines and monitor the battle through his comms. For once he was alone, given the state that the battle of Dantooine had left his companions. More than half of them had been lost, while the other half were still in recovery. It was a decision that left him open, but Lucien had never encountered a Sith who proved an opportunist on the field of battle. Then again, he'd never been in the rear-lines either.

With a bit of luck and surprise, perhaps even he was in for a fun time.

Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel | @Warposters
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Objective 2: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Aradia was done playing war games.

She was done with front lines and trenches and pleading. She had gone to Bastion a girl-- frightened and untested. She had walked away a little more refined-- A little wiser, a little quicker, a little better at holding her own. The jedi were unrelenting in their assults. She should thank them. In every loss was a lesson. Every break was chance to regrow stronger.

She sat braced inside of the station, no longer that girl with something to fear. There was no longer a master to fail. No longer an empire to serve.

Aradia had severed herself from everything. In that solidarity, she had found strength.

She heard the rhythmic fall of boots through the walls of the dark closet and knew what it meant. Infiltration. This station was a strategic command point. She had spent weeks studying the Imperials' habits. She knew they would utilize the war as a chance to overwhelm other more vulnerable points. The Imperials were always thinking forward. They were always laying down the foundation for their next attack. Aradia didn't delude herself, this wasn't stopping at Gravlex.

Stopping them from controlling this station could define so much.

She opened the maintenance room cupboard, her lean legs sliding out as she crept slowly to her feet. Like a spider. It was unlikely they could hear her from so far away, but she moved with caution regardless, her ears pricked for movement beyond the door.

Silence. Just her heart in her ears, erratic and distracting. She let out a heavy breath and let the door woosh open.

Could one person stop a war? She was prepared to find out.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

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It was easy to interpret his apathy, for an extreme lack of carelessness instead. He'd crossed plenty of battlefields by his lonesome before, but from his position near the Galidraani's rear lines there was an eerie sanguine to offset the combat in the distance. He could feel the violence permeating through the air, even from where he stood. It permeated through the air, carried by the winds of the force until it settled somewhere uncomfortably within his psyche. Lucien had forgotten the feeling of being on a battlefield alone, it seemed. He'd always maintained the company of his companions, relying on their presence just as much as they did his.

But Dantooine left his companions in shambles.

And the war effort continued on, leaving his men no time to mourn their fallen properly. His Legion dispersed where they were needed, and this time he was forced to watch them from afar. Reduced to receiving sitreps and delivering the occasional order, Lucien could only feel their struggle from afar. The malaise would eventually draw him back forth to the Brigade's Command Post, once more resuming his duties as the sole Commander on station whilst the Galidraani's were down range with the majority of their men. What few reserves were kept in the backlines were spread thin as it was, and to no surprise the same would ring true for the occupants of the primary headquarters as well.

He entered to a number of raised heads,, quickly waving off their salutes and allowing them to return to their posts. The understaffed HQ had an abundance of work, and a general lack of formalities was the typical way that he ran his own Legion. He lingered for only a few minutes, his attention returning to another incoming sitrep from one of his Legion's captains. It was a casualty report; only a few losses were sustained so far, but each man loss was a brother who couldn't be easily replaced.

Luc sighed audibly as he ascended up the stairs, cutting the link off and pulling the earbud out of his ear. He was heading for the rooftop to get a better view of the frontline, while also keeping close to their HQ in the off-chance that things went sour. He came to a brief halt upon reaching the top floor of the building, tilting his head in the direction of a room at the end of the hall.

He turned off the staircase briefly, but stopped in his tracks as his focus remained locked upon what was beneath that door. He projected his thoughts into the room, loosening the concealment that diminished his presence into the force. It was veritably a shot in the dark, or rather he could've been misinterpreting what he perceived through the force. "Could be nothing." He mused out loud, bringing his foot back onto the staircase and ascending up to the top.

"But it could be something." He continued, crossing through the doors on the rooftop and moving to the guard railing at the edge of the roof. The view provided him with a surprisingly clear picture of the situation at the front. Bodies were stacking up on both sides, but the Galidraanis were a group who were known to get the job done at all costs. He could do nothing but wait and see what the results would be., and if need be, intervene on his own accord.

But for now he'd continue doing the former, given the feeling, or rather the presence that he just moments before. It was an immediate concern for him to deal with, and if his senses were not deceiving him, potentially an opportunity to serve the New Imperial Order in a more direct way as well. With his presence no longer masked, Luc stood out amidst the sea of sentients who lacked any presence at all within the force.

The ball was moved into their court, ceding them the advantage, or so it seemed.



Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

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Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


The building was already lost.

It wasn't what Aradia was expecting, but she could sense it now. Countless imperial bodies controlled the sith facility, all inconsequential to her attentions.

Until one wasn't. She paused in the doorway, her head turning towards the signature that sang at the other end of the hall. Ice hit her veins, her throat tightening as she considered her options. She had come to keep this facility out of imperial hands, reclaiming this station alone was fool's job. She hissed in frustration, kicking the door jam.

She had spent weeks trying to outwit the imperials, and here she was, rendered as nothing more than a girl with backpack.

And that's why she brought back up plans. She shoved off the door jam, her pack bouncing against her back as she jogged after the force signature.

She unslung her pack, ignoring the siren of energy walking further away. It called to her-- the jedi taunted her, she could sense it. She did not bite, making further effort to smother out her spite as she pried open a door panel and jammed an electronic bug over the exposed wires. All her efforts to learn Mechu Deru and she could barely influence basic circuitry. That was fine, the driod would do the work for her. The jedi wanted to chill on the roof?

The door hissed, hydraulics releasing as the mechanisms that would open them fried.

He could stay there now.

A tinge of a desperation caught in her gut, her eyes tossing over her shoulder. How long would it take for him to realize she had trapped him? What good could she do in that time? She turned on her heels and ran away from the roof hatch. She skittered down the hall. A door stood open, exposing two white-booted feet resting atop a console.

Aradia slid in, the pin of a gas bomb resting in her hand. "Hello, boys."

The door closed behind her. She looked to the air vents overhead.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

A smirk raised to his lips. A few moments passed before anything of interest had happened. The bait had not been took, and the intruder would instead elect to drawing the Jedi into an environment of their choosing. He expected the individual to come for his head, if the opportunity was given. Most of the Sith he'd encountered were generally of that mindset, but in hindsight it was a generalization that quickly proved to be false. This one was cunning, or at the least they were level-headed enough to not muster to the challenge that the Jedi had put forth.

They had even locked the Jedi onto the roof through means that weren't in his forte to comprehend. Annoying as it was, it would only deter him from getting into the building temporarily. Meanwhile there was chaos being sewn into the HQ beneath his feet. The intruder had released gas into the building, catching the occupants off-guard in many cases. Helmets were off against regulation, a common trait seen among the Stormtroopers at the rear, and with it their immunity to the gas being taken away in an instant.

Lungs filled with fire, just as their eyes began to well up from the burning sensation that blinded them completely. Pandemonium ensued in their wake, something which Lucien found rather interesting as he inserted the earbud in and regretted it immediately. He pressed a finger to his ear, muting their frantic calls in order to respond with one of his own.

<"All personnel inside the building, head out immediately. Regroup outside and rendezvous at the secondary HQ until this...threat has been dealt with.">

He stepped across the guard railing, resting his arms against the cold metal as he paused in his tracks with his eyes focused into the horizon. Something called to him-- someone whose presence was so familiar to him that it could not be avoided even if he wanted to in the first place. He reached out through the force, singling out the woman with a hand extending out towards the horizon, trailing a path through the sky. His hand shut into a fist, and with it a message being sent out through the winds of the force.

"Lyra."

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt 's presence was unexpected. It took every ounce of discipline to not leap from the building and dash off into the direction he felt her presence in. A step forwards, and down the length of the building he went. "You're here...aren't you."

His descent was slowed by the force, and he touched the ground a few moments later without as much as scuffing his pants. A growing collection of Stormtroopers pooled on the outside of the building, waiting for the rest of their comrades to funnel out of the building. Luc walked ahead of the group, stepping past the retreating troopers and heading back into the building on his own. He was only spared from the burning properties of the gas through the application of controlling his breath with the use of the force involved.

He scanned the now deserted floor of the HQ, lowering his arms to his side but still not bothering to unclip the lightsaber hanging off his belt. He idled in the center of the room, leaving himself open once more in that nonchalant manner he carried himself.

Luc scanned the room once more, then sat himself down on a nearby chair with his feet being kicked up onto the console. "I'd thank you for not leaving any bodies, but I really don't get your angle, stranger." He called out to only other occupant of the now abandoned Command Post.

"...But how about we skip the games and chat face-to-face."




Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

Objective 1: The Station
Enemy: Lucien Dooku | closed


Aradia dropped from the vent overhead, her lithe form landing without a sound. A rush of wind lashed out around her, dispersing the heavy gas that had collected like smog along the space. She straightened, the sharp features of her young face leveling to hold his gaze.

There was no mistaking her for what she was, the kiss of the darkside rippling off her form.

"Jedi."

Was her expressionless greeting, her mind reeling ahead. The most obvious step would be to just leave-- but then the imperials would retake the station and resume their war efforts unhindered. She didn't want to place herself in an unmovable situration. Up until the evacuation, it hadn't looked good. Her nostrils flared at the reminder of the risk, the girl desperate to maintain the upper hand.

She could handle one jedi, she told herself. Serving as a distraction would just have to do. She took a step to the side, arching towards the walls as she held his gaze.

"This isn't your station."

Like that had ever stopped them before.

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Luc smirked at the woman, spinning around in the chair to face the direction of the voice that followed her appearance into the room. He leaned back into his palms, his fingers having laced comfortably on the back of his head. "Well, yeah, you're right about that." Luc shot back, tilting his eyes towards the woman. "...But I guess no is accurate as well~" The words followed through an exaggerated yawn, his lips curling right back into a smirk once it was finished.

Despite revealing herself to Lucien, he made no overtly move to display the hostility that should've existed between existential enemies within the force. Instead his eyes followed the woman's movements lazily, watching her intently as she moved towards the wall, maintaining a safe distance between herself and the Jedi sitting comfortably at the console.

A moment of silence filled the void.

He sucked on his teeth, breaking the tension by letting loose an audible breath of air. He swung his legs down from the console, pushing himself up to his feet. Luc crossed his arms over his chest, taking a brazen step towards the center of the room, his eyes still locked upon the dangerous woman across from him. "It seems as if you've got me cornered-- assuming that's your intent. But i'm a little surprised that your superiors elected to send just you into the heart of the enemy's camp."

He chuckled, pulling his arms apart and giving the woman an exaggerated shrug. "If it was me in your shoes, I would've killed everyone in this room while the Jedi was stuck on the roof and unaware of the situation. Seems very... uncharacteristic of one of your ilk-- but don't get me wrong, i'm not complaining."

Luc's visage dropped into a cold stare for a moment. "Setting aside those corrupted eyes and that pretty face, though-" His hands dropped down to his sides, but still his weapon remained out of reach of his hand. "I'd rather we take this outside-- but the ball's in your court, sweetheart."

Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

"Setting aside those corrupted eyes--"

Aradia's hand twitch towards her face. She stopped it short and redirected to tuck a fly away behind her ear. Her eyes weren't that corrupted. Just specks of gold starting to faintly circle a sea of blue.

Right?

Her gaze caught on her reflection on the screen, her throat bobbing as his approach snapped her attention back to him. She held her ground, the weight of her saber a comfort as she took another arcing step towards the wall. Every step forward he would take would be matched with one of her own, the girl making a slow but obvious movement around the wall.

"Well, that's what makes us different." she started, her tone matter of fact. She could feel the coying tease that dripped off his words, not unlike a cat lazily playing with its mouse. He spoke of being trapped, but for a moment she questioned just which of them was the prey.

Goosebumps riddled her arms.

"Unlike you, I don't kill just because I can." She reached up, yanking the exposed circuitry from a panel she had set up while waiting for his arrival. His senses were correct. This was a trap.

Every door in the building slammed down, tons of steel closing off and locking. The evacuated storm troopers wouldn't be able to come to his aid even if they had orders to. The only way this station was opening was if one of them let it.

"I kill when I have to." Her saber snapped to her hand, the red length hissing to life.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Allies: TSE
Enemies: NIO/GA
Kaska Arden
Equipment: Armour, Rifle, Grenades, Sidearm 1, Sidearm 2, Sabre, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.

The Jedi twisted her body, aiming to let the purple blade sweep past her exposed side and hit thin air. But Enyo had the satisfaction of seeing Endurance melt through armour plating and sear flesh. The Jedi's response was not long in coming. The anger surging through the woman was palpable and it drove her to slam her head against Enyo's. The collision produced a sound akin to a thunderclap. The manoeuvre had been unexpected for the Terminatrix. Headbutting was often as painful for the attacker as for the one being attacked, if not more so. And in this case the latter had a skull made out of Phrik. Presumably the impact would be rather painful for the Jedi.

However, she had not merely relied upon her thick skull, but also the Force, having reinforced her attack with a powerful telekinetic blow. The attack rattled Enyo, stunning her for a moment. The skull might be made of metal, but her brain was still human. Her HUD was overrun with information and there was a moment of static. The sheer force of the impact crushed part of the orbital bone, or Enyo's equivalent thereof at any rate, and busted an eye. The damaged eye flickered like crazy. Skin was busted and ripped. If one were to look into the cracked visor of Enyo's battered helmet, one would see ripped skin and metal.

She made no sound. Her off-hand was still feeling the effects of the electrical surge. But Endurance, wielded in the strong, mechanical grip of her primary hand, launched a precise slash towards the Jedi's leg, intending to cut her at the knee. She aimed to slice through a joint and either maim or cripple her. The Terminatrix got to her feet.

 

[Loros Kalaric]

LAIGREK ARMOR SQUADRON 3/3

KALARIC'S SQUAD 2/2

ALLIES: Konrad Bolter | Willan Tal | Jax Sloane | Arten Jinn | DECEASED Erskine Barran

ENGAGING: SF-3335 | Marimax Mortui ​

From the moment the walkers had landed onto the jungle floor and linked up with the Blue Hearts, it had bled into near nonsense from the driving view of Loros. The deathsticks weren’t helping of course, but the Sith assault came varied and sudden. Infantry bursting from the bushes here and there, lighter armor that came rumbling through the treeline only to be slugged at by a symphony of blaster cannon fire from the Laigrek Walker Squadron, sending bursts of flame echoing through the foliage.

The wide line of walkers, tanks, and other armored elements of the NIO advance was churning through the hostile forces as if they were nothing, the sheer amount of firepower that they were able to sling in any given direction when the call came made quick work of normal armor. However, there were bits and moments here where there came something much fiercer, something that dug it’s claws down and demanded the full attention of the line. Occasionally, one of the Blue-Hearts comms would scream out, reporting casultities and KIAs, the reality of the situation becoming more and more apparent to the walker commander as his feathered grip tightened around his control sticks. Scanning the jungle over and over as the wall of steel moved.

<”Keep calm, boys!”> The birdman muttered over comms to his squadron, rubbing a bead of sweat off of his forehead.

Damn was he nervous.

His thumbs fiddled over the edges of the control sticks, seeing imaginary threats in the bramble.

More comms chatter, he was operating rather far from the rest of the armored column by this rate, his walkers focusing on their flank. And the brave fighting men of Blue-Hearts were securing carbonite for some advanced walker that was harrying their speeder support.

<"Moran to Blue-Heart Bravo! We lost Walker Nine and Seventeen! Crews are presumed KIA!">

<"Shugg to Walker One! Keep pushing through like ye want ti trample 'em aw t'death, Moran! We knew it would be a scrap advancing in Oblique-order, we're the closest ones ti the center o' the vanguard's line after all.">

<"Copy that, sir! Makes it easier knowing Kalaric's walkers are stickin' it oot wae us. Trust me, we'd have lost plenty mare by now if Loros hadn't dropped in when he did. The Sith-Imperial R&D for their armoured-vehicles is nae joke, sir. Walker One out!">

<”If we don’t keep this advanced walker busy, it’ll just rip through us wing-to-wing. Fill the hole, leaving three of my boys here. Not going to let our support get gutted on the field.”> He spoke calmly, as calm as he thought he could manage in the moment.

He wasn’t used to command.

And with that, and commands related to two other walkers in the six man squad, the squadron burst into the brush. Screaming durasteel knocking trees aside as they rushed to the direction of the speeder assault, HUDs being filled with locational information for the Sith-Imp walker that was giving them so much trouble.

<”@Jax Sloane, we’re closing in! Hold on, walker support ETA…”>

He had to think on it for a second.

<”Five minutes! Max!”>

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

OBJECTIVE ONE: ONE LAST KNIFE FIGHT

ALLY TRAITOR: Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
​

War was Hell.

And he was beyond tired of burning.

Ravraa brought the Judicator blaster rifle to his shoulder as he shouldered his way past the curtains of shrubbery that made up the floor of the Generis jungle. Checking each and every last corner as he brought himself around it. Scraping his armor against bark and kicking up small planets as he took from section to section of covered areas. The entire brunt force of the Shili Auxiliary Forces were being deployed into this conflict, they were within breathing distance of Kas city, and thus, the entirety of the best of the NIO had to be rallied to the cause. Even if the men and women of the Auxiliaries would have rather been at home, there was hardly a soul that didn’t rush to the recruiting agency when they heard that the war may, finally, be reaching an end after all. Moff Ravraa had to send thousands back, lest the youth of Shili and Corsin be lost in the war as well. There still needed to be another generation of young hopefuls to push forward the ideals of Shili society, there still needed to be bright eyed dreamers that one day would run for his office in the first Democratic Elections that the planet had seen on a national scale in years.

That was why he cut through the brush like a reaper. That was why each Sith-Imperial he came across he dropped an extra bolt into, that’s why, for just this once, he shut off all of his thoughts.

He hated the sound of that blaster rattling off shots, he hated the thought of life vanishing from the lungs of each and every dying soul found on this world, he hated the idea that he was trying to channel that old stormtrooper, clad in betaplast on the surface of Bastion. But if he wanted to survive this world, if he wanted to survive this war, and return home to Jeresan, to finally have that backcountry wedding he had been dreaming of, he had to turn off Ravraa for a moment.

As of the moment? He was the Peacekeeper, the Moff of Shili, he was the Hero of Bastion.

He was the scourge of the Sith Empire, if he had anything to say about it.

The Auxs squad he moved with was quiet as ghosts, charric rifles bursting shots into whatever targets they located. Sending Sith-Imperial Legionmen down in a heaping suit of charred betaplast, singing in the air with hate and disdain. Grenades were chucked over fallen trees before positions were rushed and entire squads decimated. They were a singular rolling force of destruction, mimicked over and over again throughout the entire Auxiliary support network. This was the push, they would finally reach the Devil’s Home, they would finally be able to go home and retire. The people here, the soldiers that still fought for this decaying realm, were no longer the sad, worried conscripts that they had been familiarized with in the Braxant Campaign. Lunatics, fascists, and demagogues the lot of them. His reputation as someone that took prisoners, his reputation as someone that sympathized with the average Sith-Imperial, was a choice that each of the Legionaries made when they raised their blasters against him, though, the few that dropped them upon sight of upon realization they would simply be left for carrion were hit with a stun round and left for the sweepers.

And then he vaulted the wrong tree, the wrong moment, directly into a series of bursting flash grenades thrown out by a gathering of what seemed like to be elite Sith troops.

His visor, thankfully, was still of the Storm Armor make, but his infantry? His Auxs? Durasteel helms and fancy goggles can’t do much against proper flashbangs. He covered his eyes by instinct before raising his rifle once again.

<”Fall back, get to cover! Remember your trainin', damnit!”> He shouted out, letting a burst of rounds fire off at the direction of the Sith troopers, eyes catching on one in particular, for the moment, a nameless demon to him.

He reached out, grabbing one of the dazed Auxmen and threw him over a fallen tree behind him as he threw himself over it as well, hugging the cover as a flurry of blaster bolts followed.

 

[Marcis Sorr]

Objective: Secure the catalyst; eliminate any hostiles.
Equipment: Sorr's Shatterbracers | Close-Fitting Combat Suit
Writing With: Dagon Kaze and Violet Horne

His sudden attack finding some success, Marcis moved to keep up the momentum, to take down whatever it was he was facing - but then she caught him off guard once more by suddenly grabbing ahold of him and pulling him closer with surprising speed. Damn it, what was she?​

Exposed as he was, the male took that moment to strike, slashing down at one of the Sith's hands while he struggled to free himself; acting on instinct, Marcis blocked the blow with his bracers, gritting his teeth as the vibrations travelled through his wrist. That was the least of his problems, however, as the emerald woman spit in his face - to make matters worse it was not human spittle but a strange greenish ooze that burned his skin.​

Freeing himself from her grasp at last, he fled backwards, barely-suppressed noises of pain leaving him as his focus split between desperately trying to get the damned substance off his face while keeping the lightsaber-wielding from cleaving him in twain.​

Earning himself a grazing hit or two, he nonetheless managed to flee behind a pile of rubble, panting heavily. Karking hell, this was bad. Very bad.​

Retrieving a small pellet from a pocket in his suit, he hurriedly flung it at the ground, releasing a cloud of opaque, foul-smelling smoke.​

 

[Lucien Dooku]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER // WARLORD OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I // Darth Daiara
[VIBES] | [DRIP] | [LEGION]

---

---

Lucien stepped forwards once more, trailing her own gait with a slow saunter of his own, all the while ensuring his eyes would never leave her sight in case she decided to put her cunning to use. Brazen as he was, it was clear that not a hint of fear lingered beneath his playful gaze. Even as the building entered lockdown, separating the two individuals from the outside world as a whole.

His attention only briefly shifted upon the activation of the trap, his head tilting away for just long enough to view the display as it happened. His lips curled even further, a devilish grin taking its place upon his face as he refocused his eyes back onto Aradia.

Another step curved inwards towards the woman, and he continued on the path that brought him closer to the woman's bubble. He raised a eyebrow by the time the last few words had exited his lips. "Interesting to hear you say that." Luc commented, a thumb being nonchalantly jabbed in the direction of the plasmatic weapon that now hissed to life within her hands. "See I thought that you Sith were pretty uniform in your desire to kill for the sake of pleasure, power and all that other good stuff that comes with your ideology~"

His shoulders jerked upwards with a shrug, falling back down to normal in unison with his hands entering the comfort of his jacket pockets. Again he continued forwards, moving ever so closer to the woman, seemingly unfazed by the sight of the lightsaber she now wielded. His own weapon remained clipped to his belt, lazily swinging with his movements, tapping against his pants.

"Oh don't tell me--" Luc leaned forwards, centering his gaze onto her at a distance which now proved rather dangerous if her desire was to remove his head. "...You're different, huh."

He chuckled, straightening himself out and finishing with a final step that left him rather exposed, given the circumstances. "I'm not like the other Jedi either, y'know. I'm sure we could reach some common ground, especially since you've up and decided to lock yourself in here with me." He winked at her playfully. "You've got a name, or do you want me to just keep callin' you Sith."


Willan Tal DECEASED Erskine Barran | Rurik Fel @Warposters
​

​

 

[Arctus Silmar]

The Shaper

The Iron Crown|| Whilstone of Prowess|| Whilstone of Acuity
Whilstone of Power|| Acharn|| Urfael|| Mithralian
Voice Sample

A Sith is never late, for he arrives exactly when he means to.

That saying held never so true a time as when The Shaper's armored feet touched down outside the Rakatan temple. His countenance, though the same physically, was much different in the Force. His emotions, usually restrained and refined to a cool, tempered edge, boiled and frothed beneath his cool exterior like a volcano threatening to erupt. The Shaper had, upon initial report, found this next skirmish with their northern neighbors to be both uninteresting and especially uninspired. Like a stampeding bantha full of pomp and self-righteous hypocrisy did they continue onward while The Shaper had his eyes set not on mindless violence against his enemy, far from it. He had willfully chosen a section of the temple entirely unmarred by the pitch of battle. His eyes were fixed not with deadly intent, but on the singular prize of the Crucifixion Engine. He did not care to engage anyone or anything lest it attempt to impede his progress, however, given that his stride carried him forward to Phase through the wall of the temple inside.... such an event was unlikely, to say the least.

Striding forward, each step a resounding rhythm in his ears that promised glory and power, to claim an artifact that would allow him to see the Dark Moon to completion.... such an opportunity was too tempting to pass up. Once inside the temple The Shaper closed his eyes and drank in the darkness that drenched this ancient place, that all but bled from the stone and walls like a river of pitch black blood to comfort and empower him. The Whilstones of Power and Acuity flaring on his brow as his senses spread across the battlefield. Sensing each and every individual he cared to take note of and their ensuing struggles for life, glory and limb before he simply continued forward. Let others fight, die and bleed in their conflicts, he was here with singular purpose. Hardly hidden, as the Iron Crown and Whilstones made such a thing all but impossible for any extended period of time, no. Instead the Shaper drew Urfael from his hip, using the ancient, primal, powerful blade and his Whilstones to send surges of Dark Side energy to all those engaged in their struggles, should they accept it.

This was not Battle Meditation, this was not mental inspiration or encouraging words, The Shaper simply moved the Dark Side energy seeping from the ancient temple to coalesce around certain enemies and allies. Obviously he would avoid moving this energy to any enemies that also drew on the Dark Side, but Jedi? Followers of the Light? There he would flood the ancient, dark energies of the Rakatan temple to empower the Sith facing them. All the while never breaking stride as he once again phased through another wall barring his path. Unlike that savage Enlil who saw fit to tear at this ancient, venerable structure, the Shaper left it entirely unmolested. His attention all but solely focused on claiming this artifact to further his own grand design. His excitement and inspiration humming, burning and blazing like a great white star as his hands reflexively clenched at the prospect. To bring forth such a being as to make Darth Prazutis 's own Nochna Mora pale in comparison. Something to threaten WORLDS and rip the still-beating heart of resistance from their enemies. That singular purpose, that sole obsession and inspiration, made The Shaper's usually uncaring and unfeeling grey eyes smolder down to a deep, ancient and unholy hellfire. The Darkness in them swirling and writhing at the brink of control as his very breathe was darkness, spilling corruption and ancient power with every movement of his stolen lungs.

Soon.

A small part of his mind whispered, coaxing him back into something more resembling his controlled demeanor, his eyes still alight with perfidious intent. Drawing himself back to paying mind to his outcast senses, wherein he could sense Ingrid L'lerim doing battle against Rurik Fel and he took a slow, contemplative breathe. A breathe so slow, laborous and delayed it reminded him all too much of the fact that this body was merely a facsimile. From Ingrid he could sense sorrow and regret, but restrained into cordial respect and a imperious, almost professional demeanor cultivated for years. She did the title Empress pride. From her iron-willed opponent The Shaper sensed a solemn, resolute duty. As implacable and unbending as iron, and as cold and lacking in outlandish ostentatiousness as the cool surface of that selfsame metal. A confidence born of a lifetime of war and struggle, that his cause was just and right, that he and his crusade would bring order. The Shaper could only smirk as he thought to himself.

"Remind yourself, Fel, that overconfidence is a slow and insidious killer."






Allies: Darth Strosius Ingrid L'lerim Marcis Sorr Enyo Typhos @Ariea Valen Saket Keane Quinn Varanin Xeykard Calruss Shiman

Enemies: Dagon Kaze Kainan Enlil Areyon Alina Tremiru Rurik Fel Auraya Irath-Ur Viera Kaska Arden Cotan Sar'andor Marcad Paz Koon Violet Horne Viers Connory

Special Interest: Kascalion Giedfield

 

[Dagon Kaze]

RAKATAN TEMPLE
NEW JEDI ORDER
TO ENGAGE: Marcis Sorr
MURDER OF THE NONAGON FUZZ

...make sure they get back home safe and sound.​

Sparks exploded as the blue blade struck impenetrable steel just as Violet spewed viridian ooze over the Sith. The assassin retreating back like a feline, Dagon's lightsaber giving chase but its reach out of range. He didn't follow the man escaping behind rubble, pulled back by the troubling foreign presence enveloping his friend.

A mistake.

A small pellet landed near his feet and a cloud of smoke erupted, its foul stench stinging his lungs driving them into a state of perpetual coughing. Wincing, tears forming in his eyes, Dagon hurried back away from the smoke pulling Violet with him hard. Escaping the contaminated area, the Jedi brought her before him. A stern gaze locking with her eyes as he shook her with one hand.

"Snap out of it! We need to find the Crucifixion, Vee!" he barked through a series of coughs.

Emerald eyes of the abyss glared back.

"Vee?!"

Dagon's eyes furrowed deeply coming to a dark revelation. He yanked her intimately closer to him staring back defiantly, even if despair and concern danced and pranced faintly in his leer.

"Where. Is. She?" the padawan asked it.

GA | NIO | ALLIES | Ryv | Violet Horne | Kaska Arden | Viers Connory | Viera | Zaavik Perl | Auraya Irath-Ur | Rurik Fel | Kainan | Enlil
TSE | ENEMIES

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

POST V
THE_CLAYMORE

1st GALIDRAANI ARMOURED-VOLUNTEER BRIGADE
2nd BATTALION,"THE BLUE-HEARTS"

OBJECTIVE 1: Generis Base | ORCC

ALLIES (NIO/GA): Rurik Fel Djorn Bline Willan Tal Lucien Dooku
Konrad Bolter Jax Sloane Loros Kalaric Nima Appw'rii Halketh
Jiosha Relawny Rika Hiro Don Belkora Arten Jinn Sol Stazi

ENEMIES (TSE): Marimax Mortui SF-3335 Eira Dwynwen The Amalgam
Darth Daiara

CALLSIGN: BLUE-HEART ALPHA

Custom Blaster-Pistol | Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore

A QUICK MEETING

As the battle raged on around them, Willan Tal's Fighting-First were pushing their perimeter outwards together with Nima Appw'rii's Red Riders, and the Lord-Commander and Major Barran approached each other as if they'd spotted each other on an afternoon stroll through the countryside. Shockwaves, stray blaster-lasers and shrapnel were sending friend and foe alike to the afterlife all around their position, and all the Galidraani high-command could care about was exchanging pleasantries and discussing the reason for Lord Erskine's unexpected (though timely) visit; and those from G-Company still assigned to defence duties, like the others, would be joining the counter-attack until news of the enemy vanguard's retreat trickled along the allied defensive-line.

Continuing with the trend of aristocratic levity, General Tal threw up a sniggering salute to Major Barran, exclaiming over the clamour,'I'm glad you're optimistic about the situation, my dear fellow.', with all the confidence of a suchlike leader of Lord Willan's calibre. When their grips met in a formal handshake, Tal then proceeded to pat Barran on the back with encouragement, nodding emphatically before continuing,'Take as much as you can, we're all in the same boat Major Barran. Bring these karking walkers toppling down!'. It was a verdict the Lord-Major had not quite expected, though one that Erskine was inwardly hoping for, and to a degree that he almost prayed under-breath for the Lord-Commander's assent and personal-blessing just minutes before making contact; seeing that he we was right not to pray for the Brigadier-General's generosity, Erskine relented on himself as Lord Willan took a moment to properly frame the conclusion of his response.

Tal turned behind him, looking in the general direction of the foxhole he'd climbed out from, but Barran couldn't get a read on what the Brigadier-General was thinking as he looked back to the woman in command of the allied Red Riders legion, still shooting at targets near-and-distant whilst under fire. However, the blank-faced glance didn't last long after Lord Willan said,'If you and your boys are up for the challenge, we're going straight for their base and we're taking it before evening dawns upon us.', suddenly turning back to Erskine for his response; and in that moment, (much like his Blue-Heart Major) looking very unsure of what answer to expect. Whether this was the result of the curse of the unorthodox or the tactician, neither the Major nor the Brigadier-General had the ability to know for sure, but both knew that the random nature of war, and all it's contingencies, had a greater part to play every time.

'A proper morale-boost for both Battalions, Milord? Of course I'd say yes, unless an unexpected change of plans draws our contingents apart again, but I genuinely can't foresee anything of the sort yet. Even if it's just G-Company and myself who split off from our majority, it's a safe bet to assume most of the Blue-Hearts will push southwards with the Fighting-First either way.'

CHANGING PLANS

<"All personnel inside the building, head out immediately. Regroup outside and rendezvous at the secondary HQ until this...threat has been dealt with.">

'Whose voice was that, Milord?'

With the fully-loaded APCs ready and refuelled for the next phase of the battle, the Lord-Major's column of smaller-turret vehicles were vectoring towards the frontlines when the voice of Lord Dooku rang out over one of the local-channels, picked up by Corporal Baird in his search for information on Loros Kalaric and Leftenant Moran's location. Erskine did not recognise the voice, but the Guard-Corporal had triangulated it to the NIO's primary command-post for the objective, leading Barran to study the holographic layout of the friendly battle-lines on his own monitor. Seeing a depleted presence stationed there at the most-recent reading, Barran enhanced the hologram around the command-post itself, drawing closer to the blips in and around the redoubt to see if there were any unit-tags (or commander callsigns) of note that he recognised.

'By the looks of it, Lord Dooku's.', Major Barran finally replied, recognising the callsigns tagged on both Lord Lucien's and his Myrmidons' holographic blips, accidentally bringing up a short series of flashbacks from Bastion and the roster called in to defend it from the Sith Empire. Looking around the projection for the command-post again, then counting the blips for the 173rd's leader-callsigns, the Lord-Major's concerns had been confirmed; before long, Barran had found that the fighting numbers of Dooku's Myrmidons had been drastically depleted, giving rise to the reason for their being deployed with a reserve-force role in the operation.

'Yer no planning on doubling back, Are you? We only just loaded up t'take down the Sith-Imperials' Advanced Walker-'

'-And we're still takin' it down, Baird.', the Lord-Major snapped back, interrupting his Guard-Corporal to stop him from rambling on with indignance. A new plan was formulating in Erskine's mind, and he didn't want to be dragged off-track by a guardsman who ought to have known better than to doubt his battalion-commander in such moments. Looking back to Baird, Major Barran relented slightly, understanding his subordinate's ceaseless will to prove himself in the crucible, as so many others in Blue-Heart Battalion did just as intensely. Whilst beginning to reload his baster-pistol, Erskine looked warily to the highly-thicketed treeline ahead and informatively grumbled,'It just means that the tanks we have wae us will be joining the others wae Kalaric to push on the ORCC, without us. An' when that moment comes, all we'll need is G-Company, the APCs an' eyes-peeled for that. But first - We have allies in the south to help out, an' that advanced walker to destroy. Still game for it?'

'Yes, Milord.'

BARRAN, KALARIC & SLOANE: PART I

<"Sloane to Major Barran. I've got eyes on an Advanced Walker -- I'm taking it -- now!">
Absolute madman, fair play ti ye! Helping me out twice in one day, eh? Seems the Blue-Hearts owe this man a wishkey or twelve....

Moving in on the giant Sith-Imperial vanguard's retreat, all the support-purpose Cataphracts (given tactical leeway by the enemy vanguard's retreat) were loaded out completely with carbonite ammunition, and the small contingent of tanks, APCs, ACVs and walkers were drawing nearer to the sound of motorbike-engines, blaster-fire exchanges and the sonic thud of explosives when the Sith-Imperials' advanced walker was spotted lumbering along the back of the nearest bushy thickets. Sloan's contingent were seen bursting into view soon after, with their bid to overpower the Sith Empire's latest engineering marvel proving wildly difficult to withstand, even though conceivable measure was being implemented to disperse them for the breathing-space it's pilot so-desperately needed.

Whether the smoke bombs were deployed by the enemy-vanguard's commander or Sloane's squad, none could tell, but it was seemingly working to the benefit of both conflicting elements, as Sloane's units could slip out of view whilst the Advanced Walker could regain it's footing with ease; an inconclusive, time-buying maneuver that would be a safer bet for observers to assume was implemented by both walker and bike-squadron alike, and probably at the same time to boot. A furious fight, with hostilities yet proving still to sway in the Sith-Imperial's favour, but Lord Erskine correctly assumed Sloane would've been quite the balancing factor if his unit had been fully-staffed for the occasion.

<"Sloane! We're closing in, hold on! ETA-"
Nicely done, Kalaric. Your heavy-hitting turrets are exactly what we need for this to work.

<"-Five Minutes! Max!">
Oh, kark! Ah hope he can shave a minute or two aff that ETA, we could be doing with some punctuality. Especially now!

'Barran to Sloane! I've got eyes on you and the Advanced Walker, approaching to surround the walker's position from the north! All we need are Kalaric's walkers and we're as good as golden; so bait that thing westward, and we'll do the rest as they expose their side to us. Good luck, Sloane! Blue-Heart Alpha out!'

As the tank-crews set to work in surrounding the Advanced Walker's position, their drivers would have the auditory hustle-and-bustle of the turret-duos behind them to deal with, as they spread out from east to west and curled the line into a near-horseshoe formation; wrapping the entire support-tank roster of seven cataphracts around the form-obscuring treeline, as Sloane's contingent sped and darted around the Sith-Imperials' latest walker-production, every crew and guard-platoon watched on as the delayed action of Sloane's weaponized motorbike-squadron eventually set to implementing Barran's idea with desperate urgency. However, when they'd driven in to fire on the walker for another barrage, they'd driven past the Sith-Imperial to escape behind it in the smoke residues; an action that troubled some of the Blue-Heart observers, though the rest remained unperturbed and ordered the turrets to aim for the walker's legs, rightly disregarding drama for the sake of the task at hand.

'Either he's getting out the karking way, retreating or genuinely leavin' that 'hing ti us. There's obviously mare t'consider in this op than just a bunch o' Blue-Heart tankers, granted; but that walker needs to be taken down, one way or another.... ALL UNITS - OPEN FIRE!!!'

Unleashing the carbonite supply down the smoothbore barrels of their turrets, the Blue-Hearts would begin their attempt to make the Sith-Imperials steely legs more brittle than old, rusty iron floortacks. Though their task seemed much too monumental to endeavour on their own, Loros Kalaric would be quick in vectoring to the hostilities, bursting through the treeline as the Carbonite started to effect the walking cadence of the Advanced Walker's legs; much to the 2nd Battalion's collective relief, who were all adjusting their angles (with some conscientiously lowering their rates-of-fire also) to accommodate and cover the timely arrival of the Rishii's walkers, and to set the frost-covered stage for Kalaric's impending wall of anti-tank firepower.

'KEEP AIMING FOR IT'S LOWER-LEGS!!!! KALARIC KNOWS WHAT HE MUST DO, SO KEEP FIRING FOR ALL YOU'RE WORTH!!!!'
​

​

 

[Kelig Ward]

Generis Base AO
Tag: Rika Hiro | Don Belkora
Opposition: None, but feel free to oppose!
General Loadout: Storm Recon MK.II | LS-1 "Angry Owl" | Glie-50 Sidearm

[THEME]​

The silence was in the aura of the sniper, as he watched the HRD unit stride across the trees of the Jungle. Or at least, the most silence he can afford. Due to the ensuing battle happening a distance away. From the scope of the rifle, he'd click the side. Zooming in on Agent Yubari's position, losing sight of her once she made it to the fence thanks to a tree that was in the way. It was Agent Ward's cue to bound up and resume his overwatch at a better post. With some movement over the hill to adjust, he could get a bit of Yubari's person onto his view but not much.

As communications were exchanged, Ward gave his fair share of it. "Copy on your last Agent Yubari, I'll be the last one to move. Chief Belkora, I'll ping you a route and take out any guards that get too close to your path. Advance on your 1 o'clock." He stated, shuffling about in the humid dirt. His rifle zeroing in towards Belkora this time. Raising his abdomen slightly to take out a magazine with one hand, as the other was ejecting the old one. With a swap of the two magazines, Ward racked the bolt back and slapped it in. The sniper was loaded and ready to fire. Before work could be done Ward turned to his side and held an arm up, a finger drawing across the screen of his device. A phase line for the Chief to follow, roughly the same path that Yubari took.

"Phase line sent, I got eyes." Ward stated, shouldering his rested rifle once more. A visored eye going over the scope and turning ahead of Belkora's path. One that did not contain many enemy patrols that would intercept.

But there was one patrol team, a team of four. These next set of victims to Agent Ward's long rifle were in the clear, out in the open, and away from trees. A mistake given what's about to go down on their end. A gloved hand went over to the dials on the scope. A few turns here, a turn there. Everything was fine-tuned, except the shooter. Ward took his reticle over the lead Patrolman, directing it over to three others behind the lead, keeping note of the movement needed. He bit his tongue for a moment and took in a sharp breath, as the singular red dot hovered over the lead patrol's head. With the exhale, the trigger was pulled once more.

The shot was quiet and when it zipped through the enemy, it was precise. A quick adjustment was made to move onto the next target, the fire rate of his weapon was put to the test. A few well-placed shots were made afterward, and only one patrolman managed the attempt to even flee in the exchange. But it was all for naught, as there was no cover closeby to protect him from the sniper. With a conclusion to the shooting, Ward shuffled away from the hill's edge and began rotating the suppressor module out of his barrel. Beginning some field maintenance, for the path was cleared for Belkora.

"Route is fully clear, swapping barrels. I'll rendevous with you two ASAP."

 

[Laertia Io]

The Nanite Droid was hit by a wave of energy that blast her and the other Nuetralizers with her backward by Marcad . Her form bubbled and rippled as it took the kinetic impact, which wasn't insignificant and she hit the ground, her whole form destabilizing as it took the blow for a split second. Gobs of her fell off from being stunned in this manner, only to quickly rejoin her body. The wave destroyed her Lightsabers though, leaving her with only arm blades.

Wait, Lyssa thought. Mother encouraged pragmatism in war when possible. It was the whole reason she was unable to see eye to eye with the NJO and NIO...she viewed their myopic focus on an enemy that was practically guaranteed to always be around to fight rather than focusing all their efforts on an enemy that killed every society it encountered as short sighted and selfish. (In particular she didn't trust the NIO not to go around and do the same thing the NJO and Laertia 'knew' the Sith would do the moment the aims of the Alliance had been achieved.)

Lyssa spotted a scattergun on a fallen Stormtrooper. She picked it up. Not caring for notions of honor as others did she aimed right at Ara's back as she advanced up the steps, and opened fire, accidentally blowing the head off a Stormtrooper who leapt in the way to protect Ara. Cursing, she fired again, while the Nuetralizers, her beloved brothers, viciously murdered Stormtroopers with Ion Disruptors. She hoped Mother would be proud of her as she fired at the one who thought one of the Deadliest Droids in the Galaxy would collapse and fall back at one use of the Force.

"And you get a Bolt, and 'you' get a Bolt, and YOU get a bolt..." one of the Nuetralizers mocked as it gunned down three seperate Stormtroopers

Meanwhile...

Nuetralizers that had been making their way to the position of SF-3335 began to uncloak, opening fire on those attacking her.

"DUBSTEP HATERS! WE WOULD HAVE WORDS WITH YOU!" The Nuetralizers shouted as they dual wielded grenade launchers at enemy personnel...

 

[Enlil]

ANNIHLATE, ANNIHILATE

​

He strode through the chaos wrought by his own hand, indifferent. The Sith had ventured ruin upon themselves by coming to this place. They sought to turn back the pages of time and reclaim an ancient evil for their own perverse purposes. It was nothing more than Justice that drove the King now.

No one would be allowed to lay claim to the Crucifixion. Not while he drew breath.

Dust still rolled in the air, choking and stifling. Enlil's eyes burned with the conviction of countless innocents made nothing as he lifted his gilded hand. Fostered in his palm, the spark of the beginning and the end stirred. It wavered and waxed like the sunrise, growing in effigy.

He stepped beneath the geological monoliths that brought low the wall of the temple, a meager but sufficient entrance. Within and without, the world of Generis drew a deep and baleful breath, awaiting the wrath of the Titan.

The King snapped his fingers, eyes fixed forward. His fingers stretched out toward the interior chamber where waited his quarry. Inside, Imperial Knights, Sith, and Jedi bled each other in hopes of claiming His prize.

But as in the Ancient Times, the King's duty was to abate the Greed of Civilization by taking the burden of ownership on Himself.

With the Rakatan Calamity safely under His scrutiny, security would return.

The blast of fire that followed was a flash of light behind rock that quickly gave way to explosive, molten shrapnel. Boulders of all shapes and sizes, from massive to miniscule richocheted off walls and tore through the room, lodging themselves in anything with the strength to endure their heat.

Some in the floor, others in the ceiling, some through walls that quickly heated up and melted, leaving large bore entry wounds in their wake. His hand still shivered from the overwhelming, scouring inferno he'd incited. The terrible price of the Sun's power exacted, the King remained dauntless.

Ahead of him, the monolithic monstrosity had been revealed.

Enlil cared nothing for what got in the way. Not now. Not when this thing dared take on the shape of a thing that haunted his dreams for countless generations. This was the day where he would make peace with the death of his Kingdom.

It was the Dawn of the Empire over the Sith, and the end of their over-long tyranny.

All around, the room still burned. Carpets and tapestries were ablaze from the attack. Soon, he would see the scope of the damage he'd done... and he would be indifferent to all of it.

Rurik Fel | Ingrid L'lerim | Kainan | Zaavik Perl | Kaska Arden | Dagon Kaze | Auraya Irath-Ur

And a bunch of other people I probably missed on the ImpSide, feel free to respond if you want, or be out of the blast zone.

Arctus Silmar in particular.

That's mine.
​