Invasion Darkness Falls // NIO Invasion of TSE held Bastion

[IMPCOM]

OOC THREAD

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// NEW IMPERIAL ORDER //​

// STAFF //: Irveric Tavlar Darth Bellum Marshal Zovesa Tyrell Paxxus Crius Hannad Lucien Dooku | |

// THE SITH EMPIRE //​

// STAFF //: Hailyn Darth Prazutis Madelyn Lowe Telis Taharin Taeli Raaf Hont Atellies - -

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T H I R D _ I M P E R I A L _ C I V I L _ W A R
B R A X A N T _ R U N // D A R K N E S S _ F A L L S

OBJECTIVE ONE //: GOTTERDAMMERUNG //: RAVELIN
The ‘Great Imperial Ruling City’ of Ravelin is a sprawling, continent spanning metropolis with several objectives of importance being of significant landmarks or hard points to hold or capture. Chaos runs rife as the streets of Ravelin run awash with blood from the immensely important battle.

In media res, the New Imperial Order’s assault has begun to breach into the Administrative Sector of the city, where the bulk of the fighting within the thread will be occurring.

FORTRESS CARNIFEX
The palace of the Sith Emperor and the seat of power within the Sith Empire, the tip of the spear of the 501st and other elements of the New Imperial Order are heading the charge to take over Fortress Carnifex and gain a foothold over the rest of Ravelin and a symbolic victory over the Sith Empire.

IMPERIAL CAPITAL COMPLEX
Adjacent from Fortress Carnifex, the Imperial Capital Complex is one of the more fortified hard points in the heart of Ravelin. Breaking down the defenses here and at the palace will most certainly ensure New Imperial victory.

RAVELIN
Many other landmarks and strategic positions are scattered throughout the city, use them as venues for smaller encounters or stories if you so please.

Every inch paid in blood, give them no quarter.

OBJECTIVE TWO //: GUNS OF THE PATRIOTS //: IN-ORBIT
A battle rages in orbit above the throne world of the Sith Empire, after the bruising initial assault of the planetary defenses allowing for ground forces to be deployed to the surface the Sith and New Imperial fleets battle for a dominant hold of the orbital front. Both Imperial factions have brought their fleets in force into a perilous engagement.

Break their fleet, break their will.

// SETPIECES //:
> Bastion
> Ravelin
> Fortress Carnifex

Spoiler: OOC NOTE

DEDICATED TO RICH PIANA RIP THE MAN THE MYTH THE LEGEND
Marshal Zovesa the INSANELY powerful banners
Crius Hannad NIO Symbol and div
Fiolette Raaf TSE Symbol

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Melee | Grenades
D E S C E N D I N G

​

“I know my destiny General Tavlar. The force has one for you as well. You can’t hide from it, perhaps its time you embrace it.”

DISSIDENT AGGRESSOR
HOURS PRIOR

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TK-1878, TK-4602, TK-0447, TK-2718. A few of hundreds. Each of them etched in an auric impression into each plate of his armor. The visage of the Storm, an ode to the fallen. Each and every single trooper which had marched under the Imperial Sun, each and every brave soul who lashed at the gods in defiance. He revered them, all of them, their sacrifice. It was the greatest that could be asked of any man or woman, to march into the fray, to near certain death with that resolve, determination. The obligation that it all had to get done, flesh and bone be damned, they fought for something bigger than themselves.

For the first time in their lives, they were given the dilemma. A choice. Follow that steady path of obligation. Obiediance. Of enduring sleepless nights telling themselves it was their orders, not their choice. Or to defy and betray. To bite the hand that feeds and reclaim an identity, an Empire. In the end, none of that shit mattered anyway. What mattered was troopers in the trenches with them. High Command, political rhetoric all be damned.

It was war. The darkness.

Today, it had to be done. The end of all this struggle. To put the final sweep of the sword to the neck of the great enemy. The Sith. Their Empire. All of it.

No one else would do it for them, no one would be there to pull them from the fire. They could only hope the inferno burned brighter on the inside than the outside.

After his armor, the pragmatic and foreboding visage of the Imperator's rainment was secured over him, he prodded his hand down, into an urn.

The ashes.

The cremated remains of the dead, the fallen...but not the forgotten. History might make the light of their valor fade...but Irveric would never forget them. They were his brothers and sisters in the fire. They'd done their duty...all the same, he would take them with him into the precipice of this defiance.

The fading remains ran through his fingers before he'd bring the ashen dust to his face. The initial imprint left the silhoutte of his hand over his gaze before he dragged it slowly down to smear it into the skin.

He'd never forget the toll of this struggle.

The price paid in blood, finality.

All the same, it was time to finally slay these demons. All of this mental anguish and overthinking which threatened a schism of mind and body within the Imperator's head faded away when he slid his helmet over his gaze.

The peripheral reminder of his mortal bonds which chained him down from the delusions of a selfless suicidal march into the end faded. The gaze of Lyra, their children. None of it mattered now.

It was time to kill.

It was time to finish the fight.

Everything else be damned.

D R E A D _ A L A R M​

RAVELIN
CAPITAL OF THE SITH EMPIRE
ON THE APPROACH TO FORTRESS CARNIFEX

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He'd never set his foot on this world. All his time an officer, lieutenant, captain, colonel, lord general. He'd never come here. The city forbidden. He was never supposed to come here. It was a monument to the fruits of Zambrano, the Sith. It was not mean't for his dirtied peasant hands to ever tarnish.

Now he arrived, the enemy.

Each street, each building had been paid for in blood. The cobalt striped armor of the 501st not an uncommon sight among the disfigured, charred and nigh unidentifiable corpses which had been fastened into the city streets with the ashen silt from explosives and ruins settling over them to begin a gruesome burial amidst the salt and smoke of mortal life's primal authority. The judge, jury and executioner all the same in who would awake the ruler, the conquerer and who would awake, the slave, the subjugant.

War.

All too viscerally familiar. All too frighteningly comfortable. Just exactly where he ever cared to be. In the fire, in the fray.

It'd just come into their sight as something more tangible than the foreboding silhouette in the backdrop.

Fortress Carnifex. The throne. The seat of power. The nexus of darkness and tyranny. And now it was time to break it all down.

As short as the stretch seemed to be from the bloodied vanguard of the 501st, Warmaster’s own and the gilded gates of Fortress Carnifex, the short few miles might’ve well have been a billion in how long and how costly each stop would take its toll.

But this...this was it. It was the most straight forward dilemma any of these men or women had ever been offered.

Do or die.

All or nothing.

Needing a spike to pierce the resolute veil of Sith flesh, armor and fire, the Sovereign Imperator dialed in on one of the more reliable units in his selection.

The pilam had been thrown, it was time to unsheathe the Gladius and twist it into the bloated gut of the enemy.

<“Gladius. We can not stagnate on this stretch. Find a breach or make one, we must move forward. Only forward.”> The Imperator commanded through to Agrippa.

They’d rot and congeal like a carcuss in still water every moment they spent at halt. It was the final stretch before they assailed the Palace directly.

There was no time to waste. It was time to work.

The main way leading up to the fortress had an echo of agony to each inch. Each shuttering step paid for in the lives of dozens. The battle droids, slave rigged armor, artillery and air power could only do so much to offset the mortal cost to each stretch of gained ground.

Who was he ever doing right by with this as the toll?

<"Vexen."> Saying the name outright always drew a clench of his teeth. Even the authority he commanded over the Anzat now couldn't subside the bitterness he felt toward the man, as much as he respected his ability. No personal rhetoric mattered now. This moment demanded every fiber of his will in attacking the enemy.

<"You and Zovesa lead up mandibles with the Dragoons and Knights to cut through them."> The main causeway into Carnifex, stalwartly defended as it was by men and women who would've raised their arms in salute to the Imperator not a short time ago could still be broken. The New Order had proven that in spades many times over.

<"Zovesa. The same, on the right flank, lead your Knights and Auxilia into them."> Irveric spoke, ever frigidly calm in his tone. Three tendrils of attack, three breaches in their lines, three means of continuing to the heart of the Sith Empire, the pinnacle of this morally bankrupt cesspit.

All the while, the men and women who'd first ever marched in treason with Tavlar of the 501st and 12th Armored Assault continued the bruising advance. All the while, they fought side by side with the Sith once more. The Apostates. Whatever they were, they were soldiers, brothers-in-arms of the Order to their comrades and had proven their worth in the fray before.

Now was the time. Or their moment in history would be snuffed out forever.

V I D A G E
CAPTAIN ANTON CASSEL
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
Armor | Repeater | Pistol
H E R _ W A Y _ H A S _ C O M E

That cobalt striping over argent duraplast was a welcome change. Where the grey markings of the 908th were nothing but the reminder of a grim failure, the rainment of the Imperator's Fist came about the machination of a new beginning, a broken man turned revenant.

In the troop bay of the RDAGx being moved above the crowded street to street death and chaos beneath waited a detachment of twenty troopers and two users of the force. One of them was an Imperial Knight, a Zabrak. Their armor wasn't all too many shades off from the troopers around him and thus, he didn't really stick out. The Imperial Knights were an odd bunch, but they weren't so abrasive as the other brand of force user that embarked with them.

A Sith. No doubt one of the apostates, armored in black with a saber at his hip that'd no doubt ignite crimson with a horrid crackle as soon as they entered the fray. Donning his shoulder pauldron to signify his status as the unit leader, Vidage Actual waited with his carbine fixated on the paneled ground beneath as they were redirected to the tip of the spear.

Flak rattled the troop bay before soon enough the doors pulled open into choking air of warfare around them, the captain's feet hitting the earth in a puff of dust that instantly awashed his white armor in the urban ash, the congealed collective remains of the battle around them and the toll it took on the venue of its happening.

<"On me! We're moving up with Gladius and the rest of the push! Lockjaw! As soon as we get a clean line of fire put the fucking heat on em with that repeater! Move!"> Anton shouted before he motioned forward with a wide sweep of the arm before his retinue followed in two.

<"Copy that, Captain!"> The gunner said before a bolt shrieked through the surface of his helmet and through his skull. His limp body ended up in the arms of the Sith Knight who let him down easier in a cold silence beneath his ebon mask.

<"Shit! Hey! Riggs! You with me?!"> ANton shouted out before he was knelt down at the man's side.

<"He'd dead. Leave him, we have to move."> The Sith said before he handed off the repeater to Anton. Someone needed to wield the firepower.

// ALLIES | NIO //: Agrippa | Darth Bellum | Marshal Zovesa
// ENEMY | TSE //: Djorn Bline

RIP RICH PIANA​

 

[Halketh]

user :// THE VULTURE
location :// RAVELIN, BASTION
local time :// UNKNOWN
objective :// CARNAGE
post :// i
allies :// Sion Alar // Asharo Madar
foe(s) :// Darth Zveris // Hailyn
[ showtime ]
[x]

EXPLOSIONS SHATTERED the air around the Warlord as he surged forward, rushing across the broken ground with his Silver and Ebon Savants in tow, flanked by scores of white-clad Carlaci troopers whose armors and drapes were all slowly corrupting and tainting with dislodged, tormented earth, the splatterings of crimson price, and the soot of their blitzkrieg. Scatterguns thundered in a harmonious boom, only to crackle together in reload, and start the choir all over again. Bodies crashed into the earth and were trampled underfoot. Smoke burned lungs. Ears rang in an ever-irritated whine. Blaster beams hissed and screamed past the army as Force Wielders scattered amongst the ranks batted them aside. They weren't slowing until this world fell under a New Order.

It was a showing of unprecedented passion from the Warlord and his forces, with nothing left to question their loyalty. He was not the impassive figure lurking around the debate table. He was not the silent, faceless sorcerer who appraised the worth of others by their eloquence. Not today. Today, he was in his element. Today, he was a predator leading a pack of rabid hounds, and before them, was the sole focus of their united desire. Resonate words bellowed across the near collective conscious of the unstoppable avalanche--

"What it is you expect from me?!"

"EVERYTHING!"

"And what is it I expect from you?!"

"EVERYTHING!"

"We have not come this far to be felled with Fort Carnifex within our grasp! All of you have sacrificed much to reach this point, show THEM why it was worth it! We've come to bleed them for their arrogance once more-- TSE can run, but the NIO will always be right behind, breaking whatever meager hold it is they claim!"

Lord Halketh's words echoed in the backs of steeled minds, seeming so far away despite only being chanted hours ago; violence had a way of dragging time out. It had a way of warping perceptions of basic passing, especially with each pounding second threatening to send everything the Warlord had built, everything he cared about, into oblivion. He refused to let it crumble. To be toppled and felled so early into his ambitions, especially by those he harbored nothing but bitter ire for. Yet, already, losses had started to stack amongst the troopers he had brought with him, and with each death, he felt himself growing stronger.

The very same could be said about any of the carnage raging around him; insanguination was his delight. The sudden, wheezing rasp of life being snuffed out only served to strengthen his pull from The Force; and thus, The Vulture fed his ravenous, insatiable appetite and only sought more-- and with The Force warping and flaring in near-constant, reality distorting fashion, Kezec finally found himself able to see more. He saw the rampaging NIO. The defending Sith. The crumbling buildings. The smoldering craters. Even as his ears rang despite him, he found it hard to focus on anything but the overwhelming ocean of brilliant, crimson red and black looming before him.

The Sith Lords.

More.

Something in his gut thrashed violently against unspoken restraint.

"Asharo, Sion, both of you push the lines there, give the troopers storming the fort some backup-" a gloved hand snapped from beneath his snowy layers, pointing to the west without the turn of his head, "-take as many of mine as you wish with you!" It was an order given to his Savants with the knowledge they were more than capable of command, so long as they stuck together. And with those two peeling off and taking troopers with them, Warlord Halketh fixed his vision towards the path ahead. Or, rather, the lack of path ahead. A wall of Sith stood between him and the prize his Order sought, and little would deter him from seizing it- and so, he would cut a path.

The voices of allied Warlords and their respective forces reached him as he extended his sway, growing influence into the environment around him. Before his armored, cloaked frame, hands wove and fingers threaded, spelling incantations aimed to unravel the very fabric of reality surrounding him, and tailor it to his design. Hair rose with the gathering energy his will alone charged, conjuring a lattice of all too familiar indigo webbing to engulf him; bottled lighting. Artificial thunder drummed with the time of his hurrying heart, and at once, hands untangled and overturned by his sides, held level to capture what it was he called upon.

Lightning arced between his fingers, gathering in rapid spiral central to his palms as energy manifested its own feedback loop, devouring and giving just as quickly in an abject cycle which would persist as long as he willed it to. A slow drawn breath was pulled through his mask.

And then-

CRASH!

Lightning splintered the smoldering air and careened into the rubble obscuring Halketh's warpath, decimating it to nothingness with the mere blink of an eye. Smoke hissed into the air, rising to uncurl smothering coil and carry ash with it. Smoldering durasteel and stone lay hewn before his forces, glowing with the heat of his efforts. "Move up! Push through! All the way to the back door!" The Warlord bellowed as he quickened his pace, lightning still licking his hands and heels, and surged into the settlement, leaving the struggled wastelands behind. He grinned wildly behind the thin veil of black which shrouded his face- a hidden expression of the maddened machinations at play behind his trump card. Oh, the nasty surprises you could hide in Stormtrooper armor.

And the avalanche followed, spilling into the gaps and filling the chasms with the rattling churn of A-52 fire and shouting of coded commands.

Rally the troopers, divide into squadrons, flank, and conquer.

Paralyze the spine and the arms can't raise in defense--

The legs can't flee,

And the head will surely roll.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Valeria Ragal (Ingrid L’lerim)
The Red Witch; sorcerer, master spy, agent, assassin, sniper, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Thaumaturgic Tower in Fortress Carnifex, Bastion
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Tactical Turtleneck with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | Stealth field generator | Holographic disguise matrix | G1 OmniLink | Actual look under the armour: link |
Allies: AMCO
Enemies: Caulder Dune | FN-999

Again at Bastion, though this time for no reason to rejoice. It wasn’t a pleasant vacation right now, or a pleasant pastime like that. The NIO could arrive at the TSE capital at any moment. Adrian definitely wanted to come here to oversee the destruction of important data that could not get into the hands of the NIO under any circumstances. That's why Ingrid was here, too, to take care of the Sith Lord. After all, the NIO had set a blood fee on her lover's head. And Adrian brought bodyguards in vain - as always - Ingrid was the kind of person who liked to oversee such things herself. It was enough to watch one of the latest invasions, where the woman was also injured because she was protecting her lover.

~ I don’t want to rush you handsome, but I’d be happy if you were done soon and we could set off for your ship. I know you so well that I know you don’t want to be on the planet either when the NIO arrives because you hate wars. ~

Urged the Sith Lord telepathically. She did not say these out loud, only on the telepathic connection between them. After all, the man was one of the Dark Councillors and a Sith, and well that was not the best option if he didn’t like war. It was possible that she was too worried about her lover, but she didn't show this to anyone else, at most Adrian could have known about it, no one else could feel it. Ingrid hid her emotions too well for that. She just wanted the other to be safe just because of her own feelings.

True, she feared her companion less from the Force users than from the soldiers. To that end, their training had not progressed so well that he could take up the fight with them. A few months and it won't be a problem. While Adrian was busy with his own business, Ingrid watched their surroundings through the Force to see if there were assassins near them hunting for the man. But for now, she felt nothing nearby. Fortunately. Actually hoped that no one from the Eternal Empire would help the NIO this time. She wouldn’t have been happy to face her own on the battlefield.

~ I’d rather spend my time on your yacht, or mine, with you, in far less clothes, in the company of some expensive drink. ~ she purred telepathically and also sent the right feelings through the Force to the man.

Here she brought her new weapons to Bastion, which had recently been completed. Ingrid wasn’t afraid to fight, just worried about her partner, so she hoped she wouldn’t have to try her weapons today. For now, she looked patiently, not urgently, at her lover to see how he was doing with the job. As her helmet was in her hand so her face was visible. If the Sith Lord wasn't so busy and wasn't working right now, she stepped behind him and hugged the man from behind, snuggled up to him, then gave a kiss on the back of his neck.

~ Hurry up a little! ~ she didn't say that out loud, just telepathically, but her voice was very gentle.

After a few moments, unless Adrian prevents her, she releases the Sith Lord and steps a little further. She didn’t really want others to see it all, even though they were the only ones here. Not even that she was disguised. But even then, it was there that very few could see this side of the woman. She had always been the cold, distant woman to almost the entire Galaxy.

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[Agrippa]

G L A D I U S _ A C T U A L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
C R U M B L I N G _ C A S T L E
ALLIES: NIO // Irveric Tavlar // Ravraa Vyshraal // FN-999
ENEMIES: TSE

I see through the bricks, to the sea, crumbling castle...
On this very day, in one thousand years
The earth will be relative to the sun and the moon
And a new world will be created
I know because it is written here​

The siege of Bastion, I felt, had been going on ages. Every inch of ground we took a heavy price in blood. Blood of the young, blood of the old, altogether the blood of the defiant. There, already closing in, the towers of the Fortress Carnifex. The edifice of tyranny. The last standing bastion of evil. From the greystreets of Muunlinst, to the green plains of Borosk, from the floating platforms of Mygeeto to the sandy beaches of Dubrillion we defied the wicked Sith.

Yesterday's slaves were today's masters. I know because it is written here, written on the tiles of the streets, the walls of the buildings with the sanguine ink of our brothers and sisters. On this very day, in one thousand years a new world will be created.

"The spearhead's stalled." Hawkeye reported. The deadly marksman had just returned with the picket I had sent to explore avenues for breakthrough. "They've entrenched themselves hard into the Fortress. We've lost more than we expected. At this rate we're-"

"Anything we can exploit?" I cut him off. The defeat at Borosk still bore a sour taste in my mouth and a repeat was not in the books. All of us knew it well, scumbags or imperialists.

We do or die here.

"Nothing in particular, Captain." Hawkeye said. Even in his usually neutral tone I could catch the hint of despair. When a man like Hawkeye showed hints of emotion than the chance that we were massively screwed was extremely large. "It's a-"

"Hold on, Hawkeye. Orders from...the Imperator." the HUD flashed before me as the new batch of orders rolled in.

<“Gladius. We can not stagnate on this stretch. Find a breach or make one, we must move forward. Only forward.”>

<"Affirmative, Imperator.">

So it has, as we all expected, come to this. Gladius had to find the solution for the rest of the 501st, no...for the whole war effort. Yet, the grim news Hawkeye brought had put us into a dire situation. I looked up, my vision swept through entrenched streets we had taken over until I saw the gleaming runway leading to the palace. The Strip, as we had called it, was the grand entrance to the Fortress where the bulk of the 501st had been fighting over to puncture for a lifetime now.

It was impossible to take. The Strip - a massive and wide open path towards the Fortress, separating it from the rest of Ravelin, was a killing ground. No man's land. The 501st had tried numerous attempts to cross it and overrun the position of the Sith above but it was impossible. Not with the concentrated, superior firepower the Sith possessed.

Fortress Carnifex. So close, yet so far.

We do or die.

"Where's the standard? Jurgen!"

"Yes, Sir." a young stormtrooper, Jurgen, materialized himself.

"Bring the standard to Krayt."

"On it, Cap'n." and off he went.

A minute later, Krayt commed in, <"Fethin' finally, Captain."> I looked towards his position a hundred feet away. The New Imperial symbol, tattered, waved proudly in the air upon its vibropike and its bearer - Krayt, a man as big as a castle. An Imperial puritan. Only he out of the whole Company of degenerates had the right to be flagbearer.

The banner in the area immediately brought the attention I expected as Hooks and Bingo machine gunned straight into my comms:

<"Agrippa, you cannot be thinking this-">
<"-out of your mind"?>
<"...impossible.>

<"Shut it, karkers."> surprisingly Faceless reigned them in. His cold voice as sharp as a knife. <"Give the order, Captain.">

The burden crashed into me like a tide. The lives we sacrificed on Muunlininst, Captain Belisarius, the humiliation at Borosk in vain, the Dubrillion-Day where I sent my brothers and sisters through the gates of hell. That same order I had given rattled me, I had sent fathers and sons to their deaths and I was about to do it again.

Could I?

Impulsively I went for my pack of cigarettes as if to stall time from the inevitable. One last drag to steel my nerves and bid my farewell to the person I loved - Nima Appw'rii. I flicked the pack open only to find one single cigarette left. At least I have that, I tried finding some humor in it but failed. Closing the pack, putting it back and recalling the promise we had with Nima - we'd share that cigarette on top of the Fortress with the banner waving freely in the air. I guess all my promises and all my dreams were destined to be scattered in the dust. It was inevitable, wasn't it?

We do or die.

The vibrosword hissed out of its sheath and I raised it to the skies. A challenge to the Gods. We defied the Sith. We will defy death.

<"FIX BAYONETS!!>"

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R I P O S T E _ T W O
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
O N E

Nile Gillian, also known as RIPOSTE-TWO, the executive officer of Riposte Company tasked with holding the front at the Strip and breaking through the defense of the Sith-Imperials into the famed Fortress Carnifex never expected his CO to die before him. Captain Egress was immortal, both in Gillian's eyes and the rest of the Company. Morale was wavering. Limbs and torn bodies of their comrades chaotically filled the ground beneath them. The only man standing proudly was, ironically, a Sith. Lord Gremul, one of the first apostates who had defied the ruling Sith but more importantly - Nile's brother.

He'd saved Gillian from death at their last attempt to break through where their Captain lost her life. Lieutenant Gillian ceded command of the Company to Lord Gremul, despite all New Imperial protocols.

They had been here for ages. Dying. Bodies stacked upon bodies - unnamed, unknown and with no graves to part this wretched world.

And the sound of war. Gods, the sound! A cacophony of endless artillery pounding, missiles whistling through, explosions rattling the bones, rounds hissing through the air freezing the blood. Horror, horror! There was no sleep, there was no rest. Those of us not dead yet were simply going insane. Overdosing on drugs to keep us awake, eyes wide open behind the visors, our souls screeched for deliverance. Gods, please help me. Hold my breath as I wish for death.

"Nile, focus!!"

"Kill me."

"Do you hear me, brother? FOCUS!" Lord Gremul shook his younger brother hard bringing him back to reality with the aid of the Force. "Do you hear that?"

"Huh?!" he strained his ears to hear beyond the suffocating visage of Sith-Imperial missiles and shells.

"You hear it?"

"Uh-huh." Nile slowly turned his head back towards Ravelin where the new sound had been coming from. With each second it grew louder and stronger.

An endless roar.

He saw them.

A wave of white with a tattered banner proudly waving in the air leading it. A familiar symbol on it.

"I-it's...-"

"GLADIUS COMPANY!"

"G O T T _ M I T _ U N S!"​

Jumping over covers, stampeding over those who did not join, Gladius Company led the charge through the Strip into the Fortress.

The tidal white wave picked up with it all from Riposte Company to 19th Company to Dorn-2 into the fray.

"FOLLOW THE BANNER!"

"FOR THE IMPERATOR!"​

"FREEDOM WE BRING!"
​

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

Market: Imperial Capital Complex, Ravelin City, Bastion
Investment: Objective I - Gotterdammerung
Portfolio: Skystas Rieve iv Tave Daboti Dvasi | Vokti Mekn iv Siarbras Naudot | Vaizdas iv Auksas | Sith-Imperial Military Uniform
Assets: Hailyn | Allyson Locke | Cara Dorniarn | Quinn Varanin | Nida Perl | TSE
Liabilities: Auteme | NIO
Stocks: I

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Darkness had risen.

For Aerarii Tithe, this had all begun at Kintan. It had been the then Treasurer-General’s first time on the frontlines in aid of the Sith Empire. His briefing had been simple - escort a repulsortank full of bribery credits to a rendezvous with the local artisans guild to buy their loyalty. Things immediately - and predictably - had taken a turn for the worse. Facing stronger than expected resistance, the Sith Legion had struggled to break the enemy defences. Once inside the city, Tithe had been rerouted to assist Sergeant Karina Lowe, who unbeknownst at the time was the younger sister of his former boss Grand Moff Madelyn Lowe who was currently MIA. Together with H company, Aerarii and Karina captured the Jedi Elise before making their way toward the arena to process her as a prisoner.

Just as Tithe was about to let his guard down, the Sith betrayed him.

The Sith Lord Darth Bellum , then Dark Councillor and Lord General of the Sith Legion, had ordered then Major General Irveric Tavlar to carry out an artillery strike on the arena. Tithe enjoyed front row seats to Sith betrayal. Had his repulsortank arrived a few moments earlier he would have been slaughtered alongside captured the Silver Jedi civilians. Both Vexen and Tavlar had long left the Empire to form the New Imperial Order, yet the taste of betrayal by those who worshipped the Force had stayed with him.

But now was not the time to worry about the past - the Moff needed to worry about the future, and in particular, whether he would live long enough to enjoy his.

---

Like many around him he was attired in a Sith-Imperial military uniform - his Moff teal, emblazoned with his interim Grand Moff insignia. He had forgone the stark white uniform of his new station out of respect for its last occupant, Grand Moff Lowe, and to avoid standing out. The last thing he needed was a New Imperial sniper shooting him when he was so close to victory. Sweat, bought upon by his hurried transit and the accompanying fear for what he was about to do, tainted his usually pristine uniform. A gilded electrohammer, a gift from Grand Moff Lirka Ka , hung at his belt. He hoped to get through the day without having to use it.

Tithe hurried across the ornate plazas of the Capital Complex toward the Sith-Imperial News Network broadcasting hub. His task was simple - deliver a small data-wafer to the propaganda studio before heading to his awaiting shuttle. But a simple task could still go wrong in countless ways. His carefully laid plan, arranged over many weeks and reliant on all his cunning and owed favours, could come crashing down with a single mistake. He needed to keep his head about him - no an easy task given the enormity of what he was attempting to do.

The sooner it was done and was on his way to safety, the better. The pressures of the battlefield did not suit him.

The war between the Sith Empire and the New Imperial Order had gone on long enough and had already cost Tithe more than he liked to admit. His domain of Sector Group II was in flames, the bank vaults of Mygeeto and Muunilinst had been emptied, and the very capital of the Empire he had so faithfully served was under threat. His one opportunity for the prosperous future he had committed his life to hung in the balance, reliant on him seeing his mission through.

One way or the other, it would end today.

Darkness had risen. And soon, darkness would fall.

 

[FN-999]

LOCATION: BASTION, PLANETARY SURFACE (I'm in the same boat as Ingrid - no specific location yet, but presumably headed in the direction of Fortress Carnifex)
ALLIES IN VICINITY: NIO | Caulder Dune | Agrippa
ENEMIES IN VICINITY: TSE | Ingrid L'lerim | AMCO
EQUIPMENT: IN SIGNATURE + LS-1 Light Sniper Rifle + SBR-60x Particle Rifle
19TH COMPANY COMPOSITION: 143/200

War truly was hell.
​

For every meter of territory that the NIO had gained, a dozen troopers had fallen. The Sith defenders were deeply entrenched, fueled by patriotism that rivaled that of the troopers of the 19th. As defenders, the Sith had plenty of opportunities to launch ambushes, plant explosives, and generally obliterate the advancing Imperial forces. And it had been this bad ever since the 19th followed the 908th Legion onto the planet's surface.

TWO HOURS PRIOR

Close to a hundred dropships descended into Bastion's atmosphere from the 908th Legion.

Instantly, they were set upon by anti-aircraft weaponry.
​

Hundreds of flak shells, missiles, and plasma bolts showered the air around the shuttles in seconds. Under such heavy fire, even the veteran pilots of the 908th could not keep their entire formation intact. One by one, shuttles were shot down. Some turned into clouds of fire and plasma, killing their crews instantly. Others had their wings or engines destroyed, causing them to spiral downwards at an uncontrollable speed. FN-999 watched in horror from his dropship as a burning shuttle crashed into the one to the left of his, creating a massive explosion that engulfed both dropships and instantly killed thirty troopers of the 19th Assault Company.

"This is insane!" yelled a trooper next to FN-999, who had also seen the explosion. "If we don't find another way onto the surface, we might be next!"

"We don't have time." replied FN-999 harshly. "If we give into fear now, we'll all die. It's better if we lose some troopers now if we can get the rest onto the surface."

Truthfully, FN-999 was deeply anguished the loss of so many troopers in such a short span of time. It was likely that the image of the two shuttles colliding would be one that would haunt his dreams for years afterwards. However, to preserve the rest of the 19th, he would have to put on a solid, unrelenting front.

The surviving shuttles reached their landing site, a vast open plaza near the center of the city. Reaching to the numerous weapons on his waist, FN-999 pulled out his particle rifle in sync with the ramp of the shuttle opening up.

"CHARGE!!!! FOR THE IMPERATOR!!!" yelled FN-999, and his company followed without hesitation.

PRESENT

FN-999 was thankful that he had brought so many weapons with him.
​

Already, he had used up roughly half the gas in his particle rifle, and twenty bullets in his Angry Owl. He hadn't used his new sword much, but he also hadn't met any Sith. Instead, the 19th Assault Company had pushed through line after line of Sith troopers. Some of them had dug trenches, which they had used as shelter to temporarily halt the Imperial push. However, an airstrike had been called and the trenches were quickly cleared.

Then, Sith snipers started picking off stormtrooper officers. FN-999 was nearly shot by one, noticing the flash of the sniper rifle's muzzle seconds before the bullet hit the wall behind where his neck was once located. The captain had pulled out his own sniper rifle and returned fire, eliminating the sniper. However, there were still plenty, and the 19th had taken extra precautions. They leapt from cover to cover, gaining ground while avoiding the hidden snipers to the best of their ability.

Ahead, the towers of Fortress Carnifex were visible. About two kilometers of heavy Sith defenses separated the 908th Legion from the fortress's walls in a vast line known as the Strip, and the fortress itself was likely heavily defended. Already, hundreds of stormtroopers had been broken along the vast strip. However, for the sake of their cause and the Imperator's will, the horde would smash through the Sith ranks and shatter their walls.

With other units of the 908th covering their flanks, the 19th continued their relentless charge towards the center of the Sith government. Upon arrival at the Strip, a fearsome barrage tore through their ranks. However, the 19th Assault Company was not alone in their charge. A unit FN-999 recognized as the Gladius Company of the 501st Legion lead a vast offensive, unrelenting even as the Sith gunners continued to tear through the front line. The 19th geared themselves up for a new push, guns blazing in response to the Sith barrage.

"KEEP UP THE MOMENTUM!!" yelled FN-999. "AS AN ASSAULT COMPANY, WE SHALL DO WHAT OUR NAME TELLS US TO!! ASSAULT!!!!"

​

 

[AMCO]

​

Location: The Conduit, beneath the Thaumaturgical Tower, Fortress Carnifex
Objective: Preserve the Empire's secrets.
Equipment: SIB-14 & G1 OmniLink | Shield Talisman, Empyrean Gland, & [2] Jin'Pins | 6/6 Karza'Arana Darksworn
Writing With: Caulder Dune (Opponent) || Ingrid L'lerim (Ally) & FN-999 (Enemy)

Despite the fall of Borosk, the New Imperial supply lines had held, as had their resolve. Pushing up the Braxant Run with inexorable determination they had succeeded in severing in twain what had once been the beating heart of Sith-Imperial territory, prompting the evacuation of much of the civilian administration to the Stygian Caldera. To Dromund Kaas, where empires had risen and fallen in times long past.

Trotting back and forth in an energetic display of annoyance, it was clear enough that the Sith Lord did not need his lover's urgings to want to leave what would soon become aggressively contested territory - but alas, the help was being particularly slow today.

"What do you mean an hour? Press the delete button, or something?" Who knew erasing every last trace of thoroughly backed-up data would be so hard. Force be damned, he should have dragged Aren D'Shade along - or better yet, studied the weirdness that was Mechu-Deru himself.

Frown morphing into a mischievous smile at the redhead's telepathic comment, he glanced over at her. <Less clothing, more drinks, and significantly less incoming hostiles sounds especially heavenly right now. This needs to be done right, however. Wouldn't want to leave them a puzzle.>

Clearly determined to cheer him up and move him to whip the technicians into even greater urgency in one fell swoop, the woman snuggled into him from behind, the high collar of his extremely posh outfit seeming to bend out of the way to allow her access to the back of his neck.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Compared to the thunder and roar of the battle blossoming overhead, the inner sanctum of the Dark Lord of the Sith was as calm and tranquil as an autumn breeze. Miles of reinforced sound-dampening permacrete separated the chamber from the surface level of Ravelin, the entire subterranean complex hermetically sealed and virtually cut off from the outside world. The only entrance was located in a single narrow corridor that opened up into a walkway over a vast curving depth, support struts lining the ocular walls in a grid pattern. In the center of the chamber was a platform suspended over its center, anchored to the wall by two reinforced beams of turadium. Circular in design, a large sloping dais had been erected at its center upon which the throne of the Sith Emperor was raised. Stairs connected the main pathway to the throne’s seat, which was currently occupied by the Emperor of the Sith Empire.​

​

He sat rigidly in his seat of power, his left arm draped over the armrest while his right held aloft his terrifying runeblade with the tip angled down towards the floor. His large and imposing body was draped in the tapestries of Sith power and grandiosity, armor forged in the blackest pits tightened over spun silk and plated cloth. A hood had been drawn over his brow, obscuring most of his features in a veil of utter darkness. Only the halos of his molten eyes pierced the gloom, unblinkingly staring straight ahead at a temporal point in space and time.​

​

The doors to the sanctum opened, sliding open to allow the light to spill around and illuminate the silhouette which stood at the threshold. Taller than the Sith Emperor by a slim margin, Joycelyn Zambrano, Princess of Dromund Kaas, was just as an accomplished warrior and towering figure of pride and reverence within the Sith Empire. She had faithfully executed the will of her father without hesitation or reservation, rising to such an exalted status that she was bestowed the title of Darth Vornskr the Second and recognized as the Emperor’s principal heir. ​

​

She strode forward, confident and resolute, before falling to one knee at the base of the Emperor’s throne. The cloak which hung from her broad shoulders, woven from interlocking rings of chainmail and angular scales, fanned out like a shimmering pool on the floor behind her.​

​

“Father.”​

​

The word hung in the air, pregnant with meaning.​

​

It was some time before the Emperor of the Sith answered his favored daughter, his body sitting so still upon the throne it could have been mistaken for a statue.​

​

“Daughter.”​

​

Acknowledged, the Princess of Dromund Kaas would be permitted to rise. The similarities in their features were stark, Joycelyn possessed the sharp cheeks and strong jaw of her father, though some of her mother’s genes still bled through in her nose and lips. The eyes, however, were the true hallmark of a Zambrano; solid emerald, without imperfection. ​

​

“What is thy bidding?”​

​

“Our enemies gather at our gates, I have dispatched the Blackblade Guard to defend the Palace while the rest of the Empire’s forces concentrate on meeting the enemy in the field. Take the Varanin Legion and hunt down our kin who have betrayed us, you will know them by their mark.”​

​

Through the Force, the Dark Lord of the Sith had identified those of his genetic lineage who had rebelled against his authority with a peculiar mark which could be sensed by other members of their family. Who better than the scion of his bloodline to exact terrible retribution against those who had deviated, an adherent of the cleansing flame of Vahl no less. ​

​

“They will break here on Bastion. I will see them fall, and then they will be made an example of before the whole galaxy. If I may ask, where will you be?”​

​

A daring question, there were few who would so boldly ask the Emperor such a thing. But Joycelyn was not like other people, she was raised at his side and had been groomed to take his place. She alone above all of his other progeny to merit his full attention, so great was her potential and so great was his pride. He could sense her curiosity at what burdened his mind, a project that he had designed to keep hidden even from the majority of his own family.​

​

“I will remain here, there is much to oversee and prepare. I place my faith in you, daughter, to succeed at the task I have laid out before you. When you return triumphant, I will tell you everything that I have set into motion.”​

​

He would take her to Remnicore, he was certain of it. He would show her all of his plans, induct her into his inner circle, the deepest recesses of his confidence. ​

​

“At your leave,” she spoke with an inclination of her head. The Emperor granted it with a gesture, and he watched as his heir strode forth from his throne room, towering and resolute in her convictions of faith, and disappeared beyond the closing threshold. The Emperor was then again alone, comforted only by the shadows which clung to every surface.​

​

Suddenly, the walls of the sanctum warbled to life in a cacophony of light and sound. Images from across the throne world blinked into existence on every panel separated by the supportive struts, the New Imperial ships meandering into battle against the Sith armada, Mandalorians warriors launching courageous assaults against Legionnaires, and warriors of the Dark Side charging headlong into the bristling porcupine of an Imperial shield-wall. The Emperor of the Sith regarded each vision with equal measures of apathy and disinterest, his eyes lazily moving from each panel to the next. He had made the conscious decision to not partake in the defense of Bastion directly, he left such tribulations to those beneath his command. His mind was focused far beyond the struggles of the mere soldiery, his ambitions finally coming within his sight. ​

​

When the Dark Vergence was at last in his grasp, all of this would be of no consequence.​

​

Let them bleed and scream their vocal chords ragged if they wished, he would allow them to embrace the futility of their existence before all was unmade.​

​

He pressed a key on the armrest, and multiple screens flickered to form one singular image. That of a pair of Mandalorian soldiers fighting against the Empire in the chaos and turmoil above, ones that were intimately familiar to the Dark Lord of the Sith.​

​

Vilaz Munin.​

​

Koda Fett.​

​

Once they had served his aims as soldiers for hire and even as useful pawns to destroy the Mandalorian people, but since then they had fallen from his favor by throwing in their lot with the foolish Sons of Mandalore. A lost cause for a lost people. Feeling the warmth of cruelty stoked to life in his belly, the Emperor sent out a command to his most trusted devotees in the war above. These two warriors, these lost sons, were to be herded, guided, coaxed, into the depths of the Imperial Palace. By any means necessary, they would be brought before the Emperor in all of his power and terrifying awe. Passages would be opened, a singular path weaved through the twisting labyrinth that lay beneath the city of Ravelin. Their retreat would be blocked by similar machinations, the purposeful destruction of sub-surface levels, and junctions to keep them moving forward on the path laid before them.​

​

And only when they had reached the Emperor, with whatever forces that had followed them into the mouth of hell, that he would speak with all of the indomitable authority that he had used to shackle countless trillions to his insidious will.​

​

“At long last, you have arrived.”​

​

“Welcome.”​

Joycelyn Zambrano | Vilaz Munin | Koda Fett ​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Bastion: Fortress Carnifex
Tags: Darth Carnifex Vaulkhar

Spoiler

Lightsabre pike, Zaudraka, Jin’wodasir x2, Imperator’s Raiment, SIF-7 Minos, Dwomotchwûq

Black plates of wrought phrik chanted with the rhythm of her steps, accented by the barely audible whistle of the songsteel in her hand, and carried on the deep thrumming of the sword at her side. The cloak of rings and plates that draped behind her made a meandering trill overlaying the rhythmic march as she crossed the threshold into her father’s throne room.

She stepped into the throne room, her shadow stretching out to the base of the imperial throne like a carpet rolled out for her welcome. Her black hair had grown longer as of late, but was slicked back, close to her head, with the single, longer braid wrapped over the crown of her head and fastened at the nape of her neck. Her face was anointed with the oils of epicanthix and the bloody blessings of Vahlan priestesses, and it carried the confident expression of a warrior fully believing in the victory at hand.

Her eyes set upon the Emperor as she made her way to the throne, then dropped to a knee. The chant of metal seized in expectation.

“Father”

While her head was bowed, she did not take her eyes entirely off him. She could see his feet and sense his movements, maintaining awareness of his movement like two sharks in the sea circling one prey. Except, of course, while she was animated, he was still as stone and seemingly lost in deep thought.

“Daughter” he finally broke the silence.

She raised her head first, setting her eyes on her father’s burning orbs, then she stood up fully. She held her head high and proud, the heiress to the Sith Empire, the child in closest resemblance to their patriarch, the one who aspired to take the throne and all that came with it; Ambition, it would seem, was a heritable trait.

“What is thy bidding?” Archaic, but traditional.

“Our enemies gather at our gates, I have dispatched the Blackblade Guard to defend the Palace while the rest of the Empire’s forces concentrate on meeting the enemy in the field. Take the Varanin Legion and hunt down our kin who have betrayed us, you will know them by their mark.”

The Varanin Legion, an army she had gathered from their Legion and bound to her will, not by force, but by persuasion and inspiration turned to loyalty and zeal. They would defend the Sith Empire to their last breath, so long as she stood to lead them. They had fought with her wherever she went, from Azure to Csilla, Moridinae to Mygeeto. She had named them after Ashin Varanin, the first ruling Empress of the old Sith Empire.

They were stationed in Ravelin and elements were already engaged in the defence of the planet as needed, however, most awaited orders from the Princess.

“They will break here on Bastion.” “I will see them fall, and then they will be made an example of before the whole galaxy.”

She had become familiar with this mark during this crisis, if only through the sensation that had since come to be; their recipients were like stains upon the Zambrano name, dirt smearing their dynasty of true Sith. These siblings had languished in obscurity, unable to strike out and claim a name for themselves, so they rebelled. Now, like the purging flame of Vahl, she would cleanse them.

“If I may ask, where will you be?” She asked, toeing the line.

“I will remain here, there is much to oversee and prepare. I place my faith in you, daughter, to succeed at the task I have laid out before you. When you return triumphant, I will tell you everything that I have set into motion.” He answered her.

It was unusual for her father not to participate directly in the defence of their lands, particularly when Ravelin was under threat. Something was on his mind, something big, something that deafened out the cries of war and thumping of artillery. She was concerned, but knew the time to discuss it would have to come later, when she returned.

“At your leave.” She made a small bow of her head, requesting to be dismissed. It was granted with a silent gesture, and Joycelyn turned on her heel, the scaled cape swishing behind her in a new trill.

She strode out with purpose and determination. As she stepped past the threshold, with the screens behind her flickering to light, she took the vornskr-shaped helmet presented to her and placed it over her head. The red eyes lit up and plates locked in place around her. She flexed and rotated her shoulders to confirm that she had as much range of movement as the armour could afford her.

With a signal from her com-unit she commanded the Varanin Legion to engage, their task: To assault any landing effort and keep the rebels from successful landfall and to report back if they encountered a force user. She closed her eyes to focus, shutting out the chatter and the ambient light of the elevator that carried her away from her father’s throne room. She cast her presence out like a net, searching, trawling for the mark her father had mentioned.

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

ACQUIRE DATASETS
16th SOM Expeditionary Force "Pre Vizsla"
ALLIES: NIO // Tulan Kor
ENEMIES: TSE // Cara Dorniarn Nida Perl
WOLF TOTEM

​

DATACENTER,
CAPITAL COMPLEX

A lifetime of war. This siege.

Broken, beat and scarred, they, the soldiers of the 16th SOM "Pre Vizsla" carved into the Sith-Imperial defenders protecting the capital complex. Each time they hit, each time they paid the price. The pursuit for retribution boiled his blood, the fury for vengeance lured Amon Vizsla to keep hammering at the Sith bulwark without regret, without a second thought. There, somewhere inside, lied databases full of information about all responsible for the death of his sister. The list of names, names to hunt down and make them pay.

In the midst of the melee stood out the Mandalorian with the notorious darksaber in one hand hacking and slashing, barking orders and covering his comrades. More died than lived, he had unleashed them with no regard for life. He had one goal and one goal only - get that list.

"Captain, we can't hold this off longer and we can't push through. We have to retreat." Sgt. Hardin reported. Her voice piled with anger.

"No retreat." Amon retorted, the shield flickered as a blaster bolt made its way through it and into his armor. Kark. "Where is Tulan?"

"Dorn Company? They've been radio silent since we pushed into the datacenter. I don't think they've made it."

The T-visor glared at her.

"They always make it."

Punished, scorned and hunted. Once the hero of the Silver Jedi, Sergeant Tulan Kor had deserted to the New Imperials after being disavowed by the Silvers. If there was one thing he was good at that was killing Sith.

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

Caesar

​

Location: Outside of Fortress Carnifex
Task: Bring Down The Sith Empire - Objective One
RP Partners: Dorn-2 PCs, OPEN
Faction: New Imperial Order
Narrative NPCs: Dorn-2
Ammo Count: 9/15 (2/3)

​

Dorn-2. It was a simple concept, just a letter followed by a number, an alphanumeric designation, if you would. Something so incredibly simple. In the machinations of the New Imperial warmachine, there would be thousands, if not billions, of Dorn-2s out there. Maybe they would go by Cresh-5, maybe Senth-1, or maybe even Xesh-2342151345, who could say? What was it that mattered about Dorn-2, what was worth telling their story over all of the others? It was simple. It was because that was who we had come to know. It was simple for Ravraa to understand that. What did he matter compared to the endless rows of lives that he marched alongside every parade? He knew himself, he knew his squad, and he knew what had brought him here. Why wouldn’t he? He was living his own life afterall. Perhaps that was all it ever had to be. The exposure of experience that made the reality worth pushing through. Perhaps that was all that any story required. Would you relate to the endless masses of statistical tragedy? He hardly did himself, he hardly could look at the crumpled forms of betaplast around him as he faded, if just for a moment, into the background of his own life. No. Those numbers were so hard to count, so hard to make matter, in the infinitesimal timelines of the Galaxy, however, he was just the self-same to his brethren in arms. Should one of those crimson bolts manage to find it’s mark, scorch his chest, send him to the floor, he would be replaced, another NCO would cycle in to garner control of Dorn-2 and keep them on the path. That was good, was it not? That was how wars were won, that was how the wheat was separated from the chaff, that was how soldiers were hammered out of people.

No. That was the dogmatic view that this was a hard Galaxy, that there was something inherit in the Galaxy that made it hard, that demanded that it bat you down into the floor with a durasteel bat until your teeth were charms for the rats. That was not the nature of the Galaxy. It was men who made the Galaxy into this. It was the ploys of men, and their fretting and worrying about their own ill-begoten power that drove the Galaxy to such acts of depravity. War, genocide, starvation campaigns, mass matter harvesting. It was the will of men, people just like himself, that could send the Galaxy tumbling down a path that there would be no resurrection from, no spell that could bring the corpse shambling back to what it was, only a hollowed husk, drenched in the blessed spirits of intoxication. Hopes to not see the facade for what it is. It was also by men like him that false constructions like the Sith Empire would be undone. It was by the blood and toil of his hands that the shackles of so many worlds had been liberated, it was from his blood, his kith, and his kin. These men were as far as they could be from his blood. He was a stranger in a strange land, Togrutas were a foreign concept to most of them. Basic was not his mother tongue as it was to so many of them, and he hardly knew the cities they claimed to be from, but it was their blood they shed in tandem through the war wearied epochs that led them all here.

The Sith-Imperials had dared to take so much from the Galaxy, world after world was burned and churned into the military industrial complex. City after city, home after broken home, poor lost souls. They were living in the Hell that the Sith had constructed for them, convinced that the Galaxy on the otherside was the twisted mirror of normalcy. It was easy to other them. It was easy to pretend that they weren’t the same as himself or his squad. It wasn’t what he wanted to do. They were victims, just as he was. Perhaps in the beginning, they were willing. Perhaps in the start signed into service with gleeful faces as they were handed tools of destruction and sent loose upon the Galaxy, but those years must’ve been far lost beyond what Ravraa had known. The men and women he had fought had been tired. They weren’t the energetic last ditch fighters he was expecting. They were the last support of a rotted dungeon. The gilded cage they had been grown in was falling around them and there was no clear answer anymore for what was right. They would be buried, he hoped, there was no promise. But a different time, a different life, he could have easily been any one of them. Any one of those shuffling forms clad in black armor. The Legions of the Night were fading at the Morning Sun.

When he had signed up for the Stormtrooper Corps, he was far from a loyal man. Honestly, his plan was to sign the papers, hang out for some time, and find a moment to slip away with a set of brand new armor. If anything to just tell his father that he could. Though, with the war, with the loss, the armor felt less like a joke. The conflict felt much more weighing. And the idea of abandoning the men and women he marched with so much more impossible than he would like to think. He was a jokester when he had arrived, taking pot shots at officers to piss them off, see their collars get ruffled as they came to write him up, he never had the good assignments either. He had watched the Imperator at parties with unmentionable higherups, he had delegated between Mandos with a blaster, and as clear as the day, his hate for the Sith had sparked into a passion. From the start, he was a guard outside of the old Hand Palace, from the start, he took defensive roles, and now, the only thing that made sense was the assault. Was the push. This was how the defense of the Galaxy would be taken, with direct action against the Dark, with a weapon in hand and a charge against the end. What other way would make sense? He promised father he would be in and out as soon as he could. Now? He was fighting for him. He wanted a safe Galaxy for him to enjoy his retirement in, not to have to worry about his homeland coming under assault by the ravenous states that dared to consume it from all corners. To destroy that slice of paradise that the Galaxy had to offer. It was through the spirit of men, through the desire to live, to protect, that the Sith Empire would fall.

And what of those that had fought to drag him here?

G’hecran, the pilot of the gunship was a direct replacement for the losses that were suffered on Muunilinst, so many of the new members of Dorn-2 were. What was he to Ravraa? A friend, someone that always knew what the best spices to throw on a dish was. Someone that could chuckle in Huttese with him behind the other’s backs. A damned lightweight when it came to drinking though. Haupont and Mellfols, the twins, were as indispensable as anyone else in the squad. Haupont had managed to prove herself through the fire and flames to be worthy of command on her own right, several times Ravraa had wondered if she deserved the spot more than he did. Mellfols was impossible in her determination, endlessly fanatic about the wellbeing of the squad. A storyteller at heart, spinning tales he had never heard of. Thavimar, when he wasn’t cleaning his blasters could talk podracers for hours on end. Dormyle, while generally quiet, was the only person that Ravraa had ever met that could accurately identity the sex and weight of most species just from a distance. He used to slaughter animals for a living previously.

And Jeresan… what couldn’t Ravraa say about Jeresan? Was it the way he never wanted to admit the small moments between shifts because it would be against code? Was it the fact that he was a human and Ravraa was far from? Could it even be that the war itself threatened too much for that final push over the edge? He couldn’t say. He couldn’t say a lot of Jeresan that he hadn’t mulled through his sleep to. Walking through the endless infinities of possibilities, what to say and when, why and how, and if it would even be worth it.

He loved them all. They were his family. He’d like Zohlees to meet them, someday.

Now came the Twilight of the Gods, the final push, the single moment that would define him for the rest of the eons.

They were in the same mess that every last member of the 501st had found themselves in. A killzone between them and the target, the Sith-Imperials suddenly finding whatever left in actually competent reserves to send at them. The entirety of Dorn-2 was held down in a trench, a trench that in reality was more of several shelling holes through the duracrete, but details like that hardly mattered at this point. The barrel of his rifle was glowing hot, burning in rage as the cycle rate that Ravraa was pushing it through was becoming nearly too much for it to properly bear. He had already went through an entire magazine, letting it drop to the floor as he brought a new one up and slammed the charging handle back. He brought himself back up, waist level as he shouldered the rifle. Sending more bullets flying down the causeway. Dorn-2 joined him in sinful orchestra. Sending bolt after bolt flying into the fray.

A wave of white with a tattered banner proudly waving in the air leading it. A familiar symbol on it.

The sight caught Ravraa's eyes over the gunfire and brutality. A smile came under the helmet.

<"Who are we?"> He shouted to his men.

<"We are Dorn-2!"> Came the reply.

<"Why are we?"> He shouted to his comrades.

<"To bring freedom!"> Rang out.

<"And what do we do?"> He shouted to his friends.

<"Dorn-2 leads the way!"> The defiant voice demanded.

This was where he belonged.

The tidal white wave picked up with it all from Riposte Company to Dorn-2 into the fray.

"FOLLOW THE BANNER!" "FOR THE IMPERATOR!" "FREEDOM WE BRING!"

 

[Lirka Ka]

Location: Bastion, Fortress Carnifex
Tags: Aerith Castiella

Fortress Carnifex. It had been this very place where Lirka had sworn herself to service to the Emperor, but that was a laughable thing now: a maelstrom of disappointment surrounded Lirka, for the traitors to properly set foot into the capital? It was pitiful. It had seemed she had overestimated her naive peers, crossing her arms over her chest as she gazed out to the approaching battle from one of the Fortress's many balconies; the Dark was strong here, it surged and pulsed, it had brought this suffering down upon the weakness of the very Empire she served.

And it amused her to no end.

In truth, Lirka wanted this world to burn. A grim reminder of what the cost of weakness is, her fellow bureaucrats had brushed aside the Sephi's suggestion of a purge of the ranks. Now it seemed she would get what she wanted, in her own small little way: the weak would die today, and it filled her with a glee that the Sephi could rarely muster these days. But her own grim tidings and desires were irrelevant here today: it was time to serve the Empire as she had done since she first step foot on Bastion, abandoning the Confederate weaklings that dwelled in the south. Letting a grin appear across her lips, Lirka leapt to battle.

Taking her two blades from her hips and connecting them into a larger and more familiar form the Sephi took a running jump as she threw herself from the balcony: hurling herself towards the frontlines Lirka landed with a large thud before rising up to her feet, her powersuit taking most of the impact. Igniting the electro-plasma filament of her blade, she began to stalk out to find the frontlines.

Heads would roll today.

 

[Decimus]

​

Post: 1
Location: In Orbit over Bastion

[Theme Music]​

A chaotic battle raged over the Sith Capital. The full naval might of the Sith Empire and New Imperial Order had been unleashed against one another in a battle to determine the fate of Bastion. Grand Moff Aut-X had been coordinating his own fleet, comprised of vessels from the Sith Imperial Droid Navy under his command, from the bridge of his Vanquisher-class Heavy Battlecruiser, "Malevolence".

The Malevolence fought at the head of the mighty droid fleet, unleashing devastating volleys of turbolaser fire from it's forward weaponry at any smaller vessels stupid enough to get in it's way. Swarms of Vulture droids engaged New Imperial TIEs in deadly dogfights across the battlezone, while squadrons of Hyena-class Bombers probed the defenses of the larger New Imperial vessels with salvos of proton bombs, escorted by Droid Tri-Fighters to keep enemy interceptors at bay.

Meanwhile, the Grand Moff gazed at a holographic display of the massive battle raging across the system from the bridge of the Malevolence, mechanical hands clasped behind his back in thought. He transmitted to his fellow fleet commander, Vanessa Vantai. "Miss Vantai. Bring up your ships and engage the right flank of the enemy offensive line. We shall keep these traitors held back while you carry out your assignment."

Fleet Composition:

Spoiler

1x Vanquisher-class Heavy Battlecruiser "Malevolence"
2x Lucrehulk-class Battleship
6x Providence-class Carrier/Destroyer
12x Recusant-class Light Destroyer
30x Munificent-class Star Frigate

Onrai
Melia Siari
Thaelius
Moon Seo-Yun

 

[Rurik Fel]

P A R A B O L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT OF THE EMPIRE
Armor | Lightsaber | Pistol | The Vane
P S Y C H I C _ W A R S

​

It was intoxicating blur that took place in the cold metal as it passed over his form. It had never implied anything by now. This new shell. All the same as it could've ever mean't war as it could peace.

Within his secluded chamber of the Crusader Fleet's Battlecruiser he contemplated once more as the armor was secured over his mortal shell.

He could only feel, that now, it might be the last he ever feel its rigid embrace, its cold imposition cooling his already chilled demeanor to a frigid death knell as all but his tortured eyes were concealed beneath the masque.

A face all its own. His eyes closed.

RAVELIN
THE GARDENS OF PELLAEON

---

---

---

It was a bloody swathe cut by the exact and precise slice of the scalpel. As much as he was fit for the commander of the front lines, acting in a more surgical manner suited him all the same. There of course saw no respite in the battle, the raging fires which enveloped Ravelin, Bastion. The rock of Empire which threatened to crack and crumble at the seams. What seemed then so invincible, behind layers holo screens, planning, analytics. It was postured to be the impossible task.

Now, here they stood.

The corpses of Sith Legionnaires strewn about the entrance to the sacred garden. In spite of the fires that burned around him, here...here was a peaceful place. Not only the place of tranquility but of great vindication.

He knelt, his gauntlet-ed hand grazing his finger tips along the pristine surface of the horrid symbol beneath. What was once the Imperial Sun, the very same which the Order flew in its banners was now the jagged malfeasance of the crimson saber, the stark red blade of the Sith within its splayed fury.

All the same he had a duty.

Crossing his legs under him he placed his hands unto his knees before soon enough, his eyes closed once more. Within the center of the symbol, he waited in meditation. Calcifying his thoughs, burning his ego and seperating the body from the mind as he centered in to the venue of Sith desolation in itself.

Then, hearing the pulsing beat of an echo long passed, he reached and grasped it in his mind to fully encompass himself in this vision.

​

A vision of a stranger, though a man...eerily, vaguely familiar, occupying the same space as he but in a world so vastly different than the den of deceit he'd occupied now. That vision however...brought him peace, that he was not alone in this tribulation. As he honed in on The Vane, isolating his thoughts for a few brief moments reaffirming himself that would trials awaited him, would pass be it by his conquering or his failure. Such was the course. There was no bickering with fate.

All the same, he waited. He waited for the enemy. He could only so precisely pin in what form it would assail him. In his burial into contemplation he reached out and grasped the very voice that assailed his thoughts on Mala.

"Far too long you'd hidden as the rest of them did. And...now we've found you...just as we have before. I will see your end."

So be it. The enemy was out there...and he could only sense him growing closer. They were going to meet.

And when they did, Rurik would be ready to do what must be done. Or die in the attempt.

Until that moment, he honed in on the battle around him, indifferent for what awaited him.

For he would know no fear and the Order's will be done.

// ALLIES | NIO //: Errant | Vella Forte
// ENEMY | TSE //: Darth Prazutis

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

T A L K​

It was embarrassing, how long he spent outside her door.

He dillied, he dallied, he evaded, dodged, shifted, shuffled, until all he could do was do it again. He knew she was in her room; he could sense her sitting just past the wall. She could probably sense him, too. Probably chuckling to herself, how pathetic he was. Tripped up by some green girl. Couldn’t even knock. Words filling his head and getting caught in his throat. The light hum of someone in one of the rooms playing some music distracted him for a few minutes, but after that he was left to his thoughts again.

I might be better on my own,
I hate you blowing up my phone,
I wish I never met your ass,
Sometimes it be like that,
But I’m not myself the nights you’re gone,
There ain’t no way I’m movin’ on,
I’m not afraid to need you bad.

Maybe he’d serenade her. Not with that song, obviously.

No, that was stupid.

All of this was stupid. He was an adult. A man. Something like that. He just needed to go in there and say what was on his mind. What was on his mind? Nothing. No thoughts, head empty, dipshit. Anything he had to say was probably incompetent drivel or something to her. She was so smart, always reading, studying, learning. He was just a fighter, driven by his emotions to do stupid shit in the name of pride, glory, or simple desire. What did he offer?

The image of her face flashed into his mind; the way she’d looked on Dubrillion, her silver saber flashing, eyes dead as the Sith troopers she left in her wake. She’d protected him, fought beside him, but did she feel anything? Even now, did she feel anything? She fought with an unbreakable resolve. She had nothing to lose. She was to destroy the Sith and that would be the end of it. Bastion was so close; so close to the end of that brutal road.

Nothing to lose. Dorian had fought like that once. All he had was a worthless little life making no difference in the galaxy. He had nothing; even when he joined the knights he’d had nothing. Only then did he realize that he’d been searching for something the entire time: belonging. Care. Love, even. And there he was, standing with only a wall between him and it. He was so close he could taste it, but his chest tightened at the thought of losing it.

Bastion was so close. What if he died? What if she died? She was still so stoic, even as he chipped at her walls. What if she stayed like that? What if he couldn’t handle it? And he, he had so much fear and darkness. What if he ruined things? What if he let it slip away in his fear?

Man, no. As ever he was the little boy, and in front of him stood that ruined door. It always opened. She always went through. That was done, but here -- maybe he could do something here.

Maybe that was why he finally knocked. All he knew was that, when the door slid open and he saw her, he knew nothing. His brain fried for a hot few seconds. Had she said something? Didn’t matter. He just had to talk. They just had to talk.

“I, uh… hrm. Can we just… talk?”

Mavia | Vaylin​

“I’ve never used one of these before.” Dorian kept fiddling with the straps on his rocket pack. How tight was it supposed to be? He should’ve just taken it off. Not like he actually needed it; he could land the jump on his own. (He did need it.)

The transport rocked from the flak from below; Dorian grabbed onto the crash webbing to keep himself steady. He was thankful they didn’t have a view of the hellscape below -- the height was one thing, the brutal war scene was another. Soldiers on both sides being killed off in droves. The citizens of Ravelin, caught in the crossfire. War was a horrible business; yet there he was, about to drop right into the center.

His gaze instead focused on the Mirialan beside him. He worried. He was afraid. There was so much he didn’t know, so many ways they could die. Occupational hazard, he supposed, but what scared him most was that he knew he cared.

“If you’re safe, I’ll be safe too, right?”

He might be an idiot but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

<<”T-minus twenty seconds. Prepare to drop.”>>

While the other Imperial Knights in the group got their game faces on, Dorian just grinned at his battle buddy.

“Race you to the ground,” he said.

<<”We’re above the drop zone. T-minus five, four, three…”>>

The dropship’s back ramp began to lower, all other noise drowned out by the sound of air rushing past them. Still, Mavia could probably tell that Dorian was laughing under that helmet. Without a moment’s hesitation the knight sprinted down the ramp and did a flip off the end, beginning his descent to Fortress Carnifex.

The transport shrank in the distance as Dorian tumbled towards the surface, but he could make out the small grey specks following him down. He looked back towards the ground, pulling his legs together and his arms to his sides. The only way to go in was headfirst. Else he’d spend a few hours dillying and dallying outside the door again.

Of course, a moment of consideration wouldn’t have hurt. Dorian broke through the cloudline at breakneck speed only to realize that his aim had been a little off. As it was he was probably going to go splat at the foot of the tower he’d meant to land on. He spread his arms and legs a little in an attempt to angle his fall, but he’d simply gathered too much speed. When he didn’t have control it just wasn’t the same.

He managed to flip himself such that he was falling feet first and activated the jump pack, again shifting his body in an attempt to make the landing. The approach of the tower slowed, and slowed, and slowed, but the ground kept coming. “Come on, come on, come on-”

The top slipped by. He swore he saw the confused face of a Sith trooper watch him fall past. Not that he could see the face of the trooper. Why did they wear helmets, anyways? Protecting the head was important, but he’d so much rather see people’s faces.

Anyway.

The boost topped out, pushing him up and over the railing and into the tower.

He dropped and rolled; as he got on one knee he pulled off the jump pack from the mag lock and whipped it at the trooper who’d been at the railing, nailing them in the head and sending them off the edge. In a flash his spear was in his right hand. The other soldiers on the platform were now aware of his presence -- he had a second to react. A second was enough.

A deafening boom followed him into battle. Dorian was a lance; the soldiers were thin pieces of cloth. He seemed to flicker in and out of existence, returning to corporeal form for brief moments before his weapon pierced the armor of the next trooper.

It wasn’t long before the other Imperial Knights arrived and joined him; not much longer before the platform was cleared. Their end, anyways -- the tower was so enormous that he could barely see to the other side. At least, he wouldn’t have been able to because of that, but instead an enormous set of blast doors leading into the center of the building blocked his view. Whatever. Not like he was navigating. His partner in crime was leading this one. When she walked over he just grinned again. “Beat you.”

An ominous hum filled the air as the blast doors ahead began to open.

 

[Olen Halcorr]

BASTION, BRAXANT RUN
SPACE OVER BASTION,
Unit: Red Squadron (Temp)
Ship: X-Wing Space Superiority Starfighter
Allies NIO/GA:
Aeson Keel Max Darksun Westenra Mina Serenity Cynthia Alucard Jin Kyrel Hiram Voss Vitani Azumi Orssos-brel
Enemies TSE:
Onrai Melia Siari Thaelius Moon Seo-Yun Grand Admiral Vel'alari Grand Moff Aut-X

Spoiler: Music

​

A lump formed in Olen's throat as streaks of light returned to stellar pinpoints from the viewport of his X-Wing. You were supposed to go mad staring into the depths of hyperspace, but he felt more safe in that endless blue tunnel than in this realspace. The battle was fresh and so were some of the fighters. He jumped in with his unit, a wedge shaped A-Wing peeling away to join the formation. The Phantoms had decided to fly any vehicle of their choosing, so the unit was made up of ships of all sorts. A-Wings, Y-Wings, E-Wings and the odd B-Wing.

The New Imperials had come prepared, which was good to see. He touched the stick to the right, traversing his way through the bulk of the joint fleet. The fighters were assembling to assist their friends who weren't exactly in dire straits, but were going to need some assistance. Meticulous planning had gone into this engagement. Especially from Defense Force High Command who seemed to be wetting themselves over this, he couldn't blame them. In a way, he felt like his whole career had been leading up to this moment, even though he'd done this several times before, this battle felt different, felt significant.

He calibrated the com unit just as the roll call came in. He managed a deep breath as the call came in. <"All Wings report in.">

​

"Red Leader standing by," He replied, just as the other status reports came in from the wing commanders. He'd been reading up on his military history and the plight of Red Squadron, a unit that had been serving the GA for over seven hundred years. It seemed right to honour them.

Olen switched the com frequency to the shared frequency of the squadron so that they could all hear the order. "This is it people, lock s-foils in attack positions and accelerate to attack speed." He hit a button to the right of him, which opened up his strike foils to their signature shape. He noticed that the button was not where he'd intended and he grimaced. That was his beef with brand new fresh off the line models. Must have given the engineer a migraine.

He pushed the throttle to 80% efficiency as they jumped headfirst to their final test. Mighty swarms of vulture droids, hyena bombers and droid tri-fighters, which would be a problem. hyena bombers had joined in, but they had tactics to combat the bombers speed. "Fighters coming in! Bearings eight-one-fifty."

"I see 'em Red Leader, moving to intercept." Came the voice of the twelfth member of the unit.

Olen veered out of the way of an exploding New Imperial fighter. Pumping up the throttle, he was pleasantly surprised by the speed this newer model provided. He hounded two Sith Imperial fighters. It became increasingly difficult to pinpoint them in his crosshairs as the two split and he followed the first, breaking hard to port. He knew the fighters would attempt a team kill so it was paramount that he kept them apart, the fighter Tallon rolled in a quick descent, Olen descending with him as the two went into a dance. Analysing his options, he pulled up sharply and made a quick snap roll to the right as the enemy juked into a break.

Just as he'd anticipated..

He pulled down again and brought the stick back, coming out behind it. He moved into the sweet spot, his HUD went red, and he unleashed four darts of fire into the solar collecter, the ship imploding as he cut past the explosion. He went into a snap roll, vaping another who was more unsuspecting. "Stay sharp Red Five, three marks at point three eight." He warned his somewhat callous colleague who was about to be tailed by two bombers and a vulture droid. Olen grimaced himself as his early warning system told him he had heat on himself. He jinked into a slow ascent, hoping it would confuse the Interceptor enough for his wingman to take the kill.

​

 

[Ra's]

Location: Bastion Fortress Carnifex
Near: Lirka Ka
Objective: Protect the Emperor and kill traitors and invaders

Blood, war , hate, anger, frustration , battle VIOLENCE but most importantly Love, yes love. A true Sith power remain in the deep love of his hate, the love of his emotions of frustration and revenge, and today the Kaleesh is going to show those fuckers how much love he have from his anger and suffering. Today they will pay the price, today they will face the justice. From a lost and banished child on Kalee mountains to one of the most powerful warrior from his kind the path of Ra's was more than interesting and it will not stop today, each battle was a new experience a new feat to be add and a new step till the top of the universe, and Ra's knew it. As he launch in the ground just after the demon which seems to be his ally Ra's advance with a sadistic laugh behind his mask forward, forward to battle forward to kill, as his left hand Grab a TSE banner his right hand is raising his weapon the Electro-Bisento and the Kaleesh charge with a war cry .

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Ravelin; Imperial Capital Complex.

Spoiler

Armour / Sabres / Wrist / Tsaisibola / Vibroknife

A bloody waste of time.

That was what Darth Ophidia thought of the battle as she watched the candid recordings of the attacks on the city in the chambers afforded to her as the Pyramid of Sith Doctrine. Her fingers were intertwined, elbows planted on the desk, and the second knuckle of her index finger rested on her lower lip. The New Imperial Order, as they called themselves, were storming the very complex she was in, as well as the Emperor’s fortress.

The Sith-Imperial Legion and the Emperor’s Blackblades were pushing back.

And it all culminated in a cacophonous racket she would rather be without. A racket she would rather have brought to the Jedi, to the heretics, to the true enemy, rather than maul these mere malcontents.

“Darth Raust, are your students ready to test their mettle?”

Darth Raust’s tentacles curled in a sneer, then looked over at one of the kneeling sith assassins in attendance. He then looked back at Ophidia and nodded.

“The hallways will work to our advantage; divide and conquer.” His head cocked a little to the side “However, we are dependent on the military.”

Ophidia’s eyes closed as she leaned back in her chair, letting her hands settle on the desk. The gloved fingers settled on the black surface. A battlefield was not the ideal place to dispatch assassins. Yet, there were no holds barred in the defence of Bastion. This foolish war had gone on for long enough.

“Coordinate with the Legion, take out their leaders and their force-users first. The legionnaires can more than handle the rabble.”

Her eyes then set on the hologram of Darth Acier, in the process of securing data formerly saved on the servers here in Ravelin. Servers that, in the event of defeat, would have to be purged. The Besalisk looked to Ophidia, and in a wordless, shared acknowledgement, the Pale Assassin rose.

“Raust will hold this command-post, coordinate our agents, and follow Acier’s progress.” “I will personally lead our agents from the front.”

She seized the black helmet placed on the desk and placed it against her hip, then looked to the assassins present. She surveilled them, visually and through the Force, peering into their minds in a search for weakness, of doubt. This new generation was hard trained, well tested, but they were not all trained by her. She had made those who trained these, and those who had trained those before. Now, age and responsibilities forced her to focus on other matters.

“Do not disappoint me. Success or death.”

Adorning her helmet, she waved a hand to dismiss the briefing.

 

[Asharo Madar]

user :// THE SILVER SAVANT
location :// THE APPROACH, FORTRESS CARNIFEX
local time :// IRRELEVANT
objective :// REINFORCEMENT
dyad :// Sion Alar
allies :// Agrippa and FN-999
foe(s) :// Lark
[ headrush ]

There was no time for Ash to gather himself before he was here. No moment of solace which could afford him much-needed meditation, bitterly, not even a second to arrange his thoughts- or what he hoped were his own thoughts- before the impacts of anti-airship efforts struck the side of their transport and rattled him from his seat entirely. He grunted, clawing after the outstretched arm of his Other, who reached for him in surprising aid. Perhaps it was the prospect of their annihilation which forced reluctant hands to cooperate. Regardless, Asharo did not have time to bask in this quiet victory, nor savor whatever implication could have possibly manifested then.

It was time to go.

And as swiftly as all of them had loaded onto the transports, they crashed down in a stunning blur, rattling the guardian in a way he had not felt in some time. The war drum already kicked in his chest; thrashing against his ribs and stirring the misty clouds of his calm. Deeply, he drew breath and grasped the refined hilt of his lightsaber, preparing himself for the countless hours of trekking through the meatgrinder he knew were to come. But feel fear, even here, in the heart of where most would yearn for him to, he did not.

Even as his Other swelled with channeled rage and erupted into a violent flash of fury and sinister plasma, Asharo was calm and collected. That was his role in their duality. He scripted his memoir in crashing, starry wave of his silver saber, getting lost in the ebb and flow of the war screaming in every perceivable direction. It was nothing new. Not to him, and not to his Other.

"Asharo, Sion, both of you push the lines there, give the troopers storming the fort some backup-"

Lord Halketh shouting his name caught his ear and swiftly he turned, adjusting himself to attention. With the distance between them and the ringing in his ears, he was unsure if he held the capacity to be heard over the wailing airships colliding above and raining debris down in thunderous finale, so he didn't bother. Ash nodded swiftly, twisting himself around to beckon metallic fingers towards a battalion of specialized troopers; the ones he and Sion had been embedded within for as long as he could remember.

Doom Division.

How appropriate.

"He really expects us to lead a charge right into a firing squad while he flanks around? Typical." The all too familiar, snide voice leered in the back of Asharo's mind, earning a twitch of his lip and a jerk of his head in chiding scowl.

"And we will persist, as we always have-"

"-together."

The involuntary finishing of the statement in unison forced Ash to smirk, even as Sion's ever-persistent scowl deepened.

And without needing to exchange another word, Ash led the charge, rushing with saber hilt in his grip along the rubble and debris blazed by those before, ducking and weaving as blaster bolts ricocheted off the reinforced steel structures and scorched the ruin in his path. His cybernetic hand finally rose as he slid around the corner and into the grand promenade where he quickly spotted the squadrons he had been instructed to safeguard. Doe eyes hardened at the realization at what a monumental task this would prove to be.

"There are so--many of them." The Guardian started in surprise, but the Ruiner finished bored, both thinking nearly the same thing as they laid eyes upon the surging tides of armored soldiers.

"On me!" Asharo wasted no more time in boggling, not when there was a war to be won. He could overthink all of these things later. For now, he needed to do what he had been forged to do. Unnatural swiftness overcame him as he channeled into his latent binding, urging him headfirst into the battery with reinforcements and Other in tow.

Both hands raised once he had caught up and the troopers he had brought laid down heavy suppressive fire from the far wedged flanks, affording both Gladius Company and The 19th more time, and immediately the onslaught of artillery and plasma which had assailed the group lessened. The Guardian's will manifested, bolstered by his courage, spewing Lightside calm into his conjuration to form a protective barrier that could hold so long as his focus did. His brows pinched together harshly and he bared teeth in snarling defiance to the forward gunners he felt staring the battalion down and scorching him with their gaze.

Not today.

Not while he was still standing.

The knights woven into the ranks of the ice-clad troopers emerged from the collective, lifting hands to aid The Savant in his sculpting of the barrier, feeding their own energy into the Force shield to protect the soldiers' rallied formation within.

"Keep pushing!" Ash shouted, "For The Imperator!"