Invasion Death's Sting: SJC Invasion of BotM held Lao-Mon

[Liram Angellus]

GAME ON YAKHEAD!​

Spoiler: SHIP AND FIGHTER MAKEUP

SHIP NAME: ETHEREAL, SILVER CITY
SHIP CLASS: CARRIER, HEAVY CARRIER
FLAG OFFICER: LIRAM ANGELLUS
SHIP CAPTAIN: ZEV TANTOR (Ethereal), GYM HALPERN (Silver City)
COMMAND STAFF
EQUIPPED: 25x L4Vele Series Deployable Defense turrets.
CAPTAIN'S LAUNCH: "Amenadiel"

FIGHTER COMPLIMENT: 103rd Tactical Starfighter Wing "Angel of Death Squadron"
CALLSIGNS: Commodore Angellus "Maverick" is and will always be "Angel 1", Captain Rojuh Pouil "Starlight" is "Angel 2" Commander Scoht Pouil "Meteor" is "Angel 3". Each Squadron leader makes up the remaining "Angel" callsigns, their individual squadrons and make-ups are named below.

HIGH-SPEED INTERCEPTION

1. Angel 4(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
2. Angel 5(Jurat Squadron) Jackal Class Starfighter
3. Angel 6(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter

LONG RANGE INTERCEPTION

1. Angel 7(Gator Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor
2. Angel 8(Raguel Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor
3. Angel 9(Beak Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor
4. Angel 10(Turik Squadron) Archangel class Fighter/Interceptor

MULTIPURPOSE SUPERIORITY FIGHTER

1. Angel 11(Razorback Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
2. Angel 12(Voight Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
3. Angel 13(Jurist Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
4. Angel 14(Fi Squadron) NC-1000 X-Wing
5. Angel 15(Prac Squadron) NC-1 X-Wing
6. Angel 16(Tic Squadron) NC-1 X-Wing
7. Angel 17(Alcalde Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter
8. Angel 18(Kers Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter
9. Angel 19(Kyber Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter
10. Angel 20(Jok Squadron) Ashera Class Fighter

STEALTH/RECON FIGHTER

1. Angel 21(Requital Squadron) Azazael class Stealth fighter
2. Angel 22(Scimitar Squadron) Azazael class Stealth fighter

BOMBERS W ESCORT

1. Angel 23(Que Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
2. Angel 24(M'lud Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
3. Angel 25(Gatto Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
4. Angel 26(Hail Squadron) Demon Class Bomber
5. Angel 27(Leigh Squadron) Soverenignty Class Heavy/Assault Fighter
6. Angel 28(Vulcano Squadron) Soverenignty Class Heavy/Assault Fighter
7. Angel 29(Bulwark Squadron) Soverenignty Class Heavy/Assault Fighter

SUPPORT/TRANSPORTS

1. Angel 30(Artillery Squadron) Cherub Gunship
2. Angel 31(Ferret Squadron) Cherub Gunship
3. Angel 32(Ruzek Squadron) Cherub Gunship
4. Angel 33(Ferret II Squadron)Cherub Transport
5. Angel 34(Ferret III Squadron)Cherub Transport
6. Angel 35(Pulvin Squadron)Cherub Transport
7. Angel 36(Gundark Squadron)Cherub Transport
8. Angel 37(Terantatek Squadron)Cherub Transport
9. Angel 38(Ronto Squadron)Cherub Transport

Spoiler: ETHEREAL MARINES

Seraphim Marines
Powered Armor
Cherub Troop Transport
Cherub Gunship
Saraquael Fighting Vehicles
A-2319 Tanks
Jackhammers
"Mauler" Class Mobile Command Center
12x Skycranes

Spoiler: ANGELLUS LORE

Is here.

SECTOR: Lao-Mon
ORDERS: Kick Brotherhood Tail
WINGMATES: Gir Quee

It was not the Emerald Undertow that was coming in Full Force. the carriers "Silver City" and "Ethereal" soon dropped out of hyperspace in a snap of light. Within seconds as the auto-turrets deployed to form their energy curtain, Combat patrols began to launch as well. This was not a drill, although with the precision that they were performed it seemed to be. This was a result of Commodore Angellus and his ridiculously high standards when it came to his crew and staff. If they were going to fall today, it would be to superior forces, not due to unforced errors or mistakes,

Muster on the Well-Decks Colonel.

"Copy."

The "Ethereal Marines" were in the process of being deployed to the ground in full force, they would form a closing perimeter around the War Camp and keep everything going on inside. Anything or anyone that even remotely resembled something "Sith" in design or nature would be shot down. The Jedi have their rules, and so do the Marines. The Powell brothers were already getting to work, they had a new CAG that they were working with, he was another Angellus sub so all would be fine, it was just a matter of breaking the man in. That left the Commodore talking to his two Captains from the main tac station.

"Raider' is gonna be working with the GA, so let's get down what we'll be doing. Quee and Resh are bringing their goods, gadgets, and firepower. We're doing what we do best, but I want to utilize our guns too. It worked against the Bryn, it can work these Gundarks."

"Bombing runs?" Halpern asked.

"We'll hold off until Isaacs calls it. Them and our heavys'll stay on Ready-5."

"Stealth?" Tantor rebutted, always the Security specialist.

"Combat patrols. We'll bring them to bear when we know what we have. Ooah?"

"Ooah"

"Ooah"

Spoiler: SUMMARY OF ACTIONS

...

 

[Enyo Typhos]

Objective 1
Allies: Maw.
Gear: Armour, lightsabre, Shotgun, Grenades, Sidearm, Ion Paddle Beamer, Cryo-Ban Gun.
Inosuke Ashina

The sight of the gaping tumour that was the Goshen War Camp could arouse conflicting emotions. It could arouse righteous anger and pity, seeing the degradation of the natives and the destruction caused by the barbarians of the Brotherhood of the Maw. Those of a sadistic bent would probably revel in it. And then there was a Terminatrix, whose main thought on the matter was: this is inefficient and unhygienic. Blood and corpses everywhere.

The place reeked of death. She wondered when epidemics would break out. It was a sight of constant chaos. Emblematic of the Maw really. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the stench in distaste. The Maw was filled with fanatics, so surely they could find fanatical janitors somewhere. I suppose maids just aren't the radicalised bunch. The Maw might have to outsource before it becomes a health hazard. I think I saw black mould.

She also found their means of procuring recruits...very questionable. Beaten-down, abused slave-soldiers made good cannon fodder. For a while, the brainwashing would keep them obedient. As long as their master was winning. It did not produce original thinkers. Slavery was an inefficient practice. Far, far more efficient, not to mention cleaner, to simply process the malcontent into droids. She should know. She had been chained by cruel droids once. The fact that the Shi'ido were rising up against their bloodthirsty overlords just proved the point.

And yet the Maw had prevailed at Csilla. Enyo found the destruction of a planet to make a point terribly wasteful. Yet she found it equally contemptuous that the combined armadas of the 'civilised galaxy' had so comprehensively failed despite grossly outnumbering their savage foes and probably outclassing their fleet. Weak. It meant the Maw's promise of plunder and the organic materiel of the indigenous aliens was sufficient for now.
"Too bloody humid," Mönkhbat grunted. He was a Kraal, a species of ferocious lizardmen. He, like the other Sandstriders who had joined him in service to her, bore the scars of many battles. "But I'm eager for battle, Warlord. Can you feel it it? The Jedi come to us. Soon we'll test their mettle. Glory awaits us," he declared, then snorted. "If they're worthy foes. You said these Silvers are not fighters? That they ran away from their foes?"
"Yes," Enyo remarked laconically.
"Pah. On Karakorum, a leader who cannot protect his clan would lose his head to wash his people free of the stain."
"Maybe they've learned from their folly. Or will be relying on their allies and the natives to bear the brunt."

The Shi'ido rebellion was making a gamble...but what choice did it have? If they did not want to be led like lambs to the slaughterhouse. Better to die fighting than on your knees. She could understand that choice. Respect it even. It would have been hers, too. The Silver Jedi and their soldiers were launching an attack far from home. Even if they prevailed, the Maw would still be in a position to reconquer the planet and take vengeance. And it would not be the first time Jedi, regardless of what their colour was, had abandoned those they claimed to protect. A Jedi's life was sacrifice - often of others.

There was a jolt in her skull. Purely electronic communication was more efficient than verbal. "Report."
The clipped, professional voice of Agent Helga came through. An HRD did not waste time with platitudes. Which was good because Enyo's capacity for small talk was limited. "Security breach in the keep dungeons, ma'am." There was just the slightest hint of the assassin droid being close to animated when she added: "Jedi." When an organic was processed, elements of their personality always carried over. In life, Helga had held a grudge against Jedi and Sith alike. It had remained with the machine.
"Good. Deploy wasp drones to observe. I'll go down. Direct our assets for defence of the camp as is prudent. We shall do our part, but the Maw bears the brunt. Ensure the safety of the cargo."
"Yes, ma'am."

She cut the connection and looked at Mönkhbat. "Be ready for battle. Fight ferociously. Let our...allies draw first blood, then strike hard. Funnel the enemy into kill zones, use the new gas, use the slaves as shields if needed. Work together when you face Jedi. Concentrate mass firepower on them. Don't let lust for individual glory blind you. The victory of the unit is everyone's victory. When the enemy lies broken at your feet, all the glory and booty will be yours. The valorous will be rewarded, the cowardly purged." That was always a good way to motivate goons. She did not like being this dramatic, but the lizardmen had a liking for it.

The Kraal commander raised his blade into the air. "Kraal conquer and destroy! Kraal conquer and destroy!" The cheer was taken up by the Sandstriders. She had brought a bunch of them here for a reason. The prospect of a good fight animated them. Barbarians had their uses. She was no Kraal, but she had gone through the trials they set any warrior. She had proved herself. And so Enyo checked her gear and then went on her way.

 

[Noel Strasza]

I B R E A T H E F I R E
M A J O R S T R A S Z A
Unknown

​

The eruption of the meeting into primal carnage had caught all of them off-guard. It spared none of them its fire, its shrieking shrapnel, or the sudden force that had blown the interior of the safest room in the galaxy into disarray. It was fortunate her systems had been so critically damaged in her fruitless attempt to preserve Irveric Tavlar 's life, as she was not made to suffer the arrival of the Sith assassins who descended upon the remnants of the New Imperial High Command to finish the invidious job that the now hunted Lord Halketh had started. After her organic brain finally managed to process the damage dealt to her biologically engineered body, it had been overwhelmed, and thus, had forced a shutdown.

She was not awake to hear Irveric declared dead.

She was not awake for the crowning of Rurik Fel as the heir Imperator.

She was not awake for the descent of vengeance upon Carlac.

She did not stir beneath the mechanical limbs that fastened and welded her body back together until the toll of war-drum in the distance aroused her from her violent unconsciousness. Crimson lenses flared to life, their layers rotating about artificial pupils to adjust to the blaring light. How long had she been under this time? Beyond the monochrome ceiling greeting her, the cyborg glared about for any clue as to where she was. None of the crackling voices she processed through aural receptors were familiar. The stench of the room was as ripe with identifiers as any other sterile environment; naught but bacta, sodering smoke, and hot wires flooded the sole organic sense she still possessed.

She felt it catching up to her then, flooding her artificial body with its molten metal, unnatural in her veins simply in how natural it was. Unable to express it before her brain enforced a shutdown upon her, the rage had merely paused, unfettered by the interruption to her consideration no longer. She did not care where she was. She did not care whose lab she currently lay in. She did not care who had slaved over her body to repair her. Stretched out to her fullest wingspan, her right fist clenched tightly, accompanied by the charging whirr of mechanics feeding upon power cells. Myomer threads spiked with charge, tensing to a hollow semblance of muscle strand. Pressure mounted as she tested the hold of the heavy case pressing her to the table she lay upon.

Strasza's eyes darted to their lowest reaches, glowering at the heavy metals weighing her down, fitted over the mechanical body she had come to recognize, turning it unrecognizable. Beneath the heavy mask and cage fastening her head straight and down, the woman uttered a guttural growl. To either side of her head, in her forced blindspots, the wail of beeping machinery resounded its alarm to those who had worked on her. She was awake, at last.

And everyone would know.

Biochemical agents mimicking the hormones required for human function poured into her veins, accompanied by the rush of chilled coolant, counteracting the rising heat building in her limbs as she strained beneath the weight of her cage.

"Major! Major, it's okay, it's alright, you're under our care!" ​

Joints segmented to allow motion beneath the robotic arms looming overhead crackled, buckling as the lesser steel gave way to her exertion of strength. A hand lashed upward, stripping screws from their sockets and sending them clattering to the floor beneath, rolling out of danger. Across her vision her limb reached, digging steely fingers into the upper edge of the mask strapped over where her mouth lay, gouging at what little flesh she still held onto until finding purchase, and as easily as she had torn her arm free from the vice restraining her, she ripped the mask from her face- fibrous throat lit ablaze by the lengthy tube fed all the way down her esophagus as it was wrenched forth.

It too was hurled into the floor.

"Major Strasza, please! Take it easy- you're in the Fortress!" The unknown beseeched her again, calling much closer now.

Mismatched lips gasped at the sterile air, offering no response to the pleas. She had to get out of here. She had to find The Imperator. She had to fight. She had to kill. The Sith assassins. The bombs. The explosion. Carlac. The sedition. Fingers clawed at the apparatus caging her head down and before she could wrench it from her crown, blurry figures appeared in her pin-holing vision. The Iron Sun branded upon the collars and coats confirmed what the voice had shouted before, causing the cyborg to pause briefly before she could tear another tube from the socket it was bedded into her skull by. Pupils constricted to mere pin-pricks against the sea of screaming red in her eye sockets and she stared, trying to grasp the situation.

"You've been reassigned, Major. We've taken care of you and repaired you, please, take it easy. Here, we'll get you unplugged and get you sitting upright."​

F I G H T C L A W K I L L
R E V E N A N T
IMPERIAL SPECTRE​

Irveric Tavlar was dead. Rurik Fel had taken his place at the helm of The Order, christening his new title upon the bloody snow of Carlac in a quest to slaughter its traitorous Warlord and bring its people to heel. It had been a failure, so she had been told, just as her attempt to save the late Imperator had been. What she despised most, she was unsure of; failure or change. Perhaps it was the greater disaster that seemed to emerge from the combined sequence of the two, always setting in motion a chain of events that lead to catastrophe.

In a twisted sense, perhaps she would feel more vindicated about it all if she had been granted the chance to return to Carlac with only her newfound partner in Cromwell by her side, and seen to Halketh's destruction personally. Not once in her time knowing him had she foreseen him as anything but a snake in the grass, merely a patient traitor awaiting the opportune time to strike. Not only had he betrayed her, her unit had, her people had, and her entire world seemed to as well. All of them had risen against the New Imperials, declaring fate was their own to take when the very fabric of the galaxy was well at stake. It was something none of those people had been groomed to glimpse wholly, no, they simply drank whatever information it was their leader provided, never bothering to question or make judgments for themselves.

The blind leading the blind.

On the frontlines of New Imperial battles she had stood, fighting in nearly every campaign the New Imperials set out onto, regardless of the distance or price it was she had to pay to secure their victory- she went without question. Her personal crusade was without equal, her vendetta against the very likes of the Sith Order despite which mask it chose to wear next, was insatiable. Never, would she be satisfied. When her reassignment was completed and she found herself standing before the Iron Imperator directly, he had given her a sole order- one which she understood perhaps better than any order she had been dispatched in her years of military service beneath the Iron Sun: spare none.

Revenant was to penetrate the defenses of Maw emplacement and gut them from the inside, throwing wide the gates for their temporary allies in the Silver Jedi to advance, and ensuring not a soul remained alive within the depths of those jungles to even utter word that she had been there in the shadows to eviscerate them. A squadron leader she had been numerous times, tasked with the management of elite strike teams, now she ventured alone. She found comfort in herself and the reliance of only that, uncaring to swallow down the poison of grief for another collection of allies again, especially so soon after grieving the ultimate betrayal she had endured.

But if there was anything Noel excelled at more than most, it was bottling that grief into something far more lethal, far more refined and deadly- wrath.

And these Sith, this Brotherhood, they would know her wrath.

She skulked through the jungles alone, fully mechanized body buried beneath the new armor she had been assigned, forgoing the familiar once more in exchange for something fitting of her new title and position. Hand-picked amongst thousands, she was one of the few to call herself a Spectre. One of the few who answered directly to The Imperator and none else, and one of the few trusted to enact his will where it was he could not be. And here and now, it saw her moving far ahead of the Jedi at her back, far ahead of the other New Imperials, blazing an impassable trail through the jungles where only bodies splintered apart by her precise lethality served as breadcrumbs.

The first Sith loyalist scouts she had encountered had been dispatched with the mercy of their ignorance to her presence at all; merely she had killed them with swift stabs through the flank of the skull. Bone splintered beneath her strength, splayed apart by the edge of the blade fixed into her limb. Stacking up her kill count, however, failed to put even so much as a scratch upon the craving she felt for the culling of the herd. These deaths were necessary encounters, her reconnaissance paying off to expose their paths and outline the very same she would use to breach the sanctuary that hummed with power in the distance between the sprawling trees.

She had long since tuned out of the coordination frequencies of her allies and Order.

Alliances be damned, the Spectre was on a crusade.

And all would know her wrath.​

ALLIES | NIO | SJC | Cromwell
HOSTILES | BotM | IF IT'S RED, IT'S DEAD | OPEN FOR OPPOSITION

​

 

[Kiara Ayres]

Objective: 3
Location: NIV Antares Draco
Allies: SJC | GA | NIO | Rurik Fel | Bernard of Arca
Enemies: BotM | Darth Solipsis​

The galaxy demanded retribution for the horrors inflicted by the Maw and with the waning war on their Eastern border the Concord would oblige; though they would coin the act as justice rather than revenge.

There had never been a time, in her memory, when the Concord hadn't been at war. However, emissaries had become all but obsolete as some were drafted into war and Kiara herself turned from diplomat into warmonger upon her acceptance of the role of Grandmaster. Hopefuls in the galaxy looked to the Concord for peace but the Jedi were not naïve enough to believe words could achieve all.

The bonds they shared with other major powers were growing. In some cases, growing more strained. They worked to settle differences they had with the New Jedi Order through various means of uniting the two orders and thus strengthened their bonds with the Alliance as a result. Their relationship with the New Imperial Order was not nearly as warm, with the two groups merely tolerating the other in the name of war.

As much as both weren't particularly friendly with the other, they had still found allies in each other and as such Kiara was presently in the company of the Imperator, the man who took the mantle in the wake of Irveric Tavlar's assassination. Today, the battle the Imperials fought would bring gratification while the Jedi continued on their perpetual path for peace.

It was no surprise that Rurik sought to headhunt Darth Solipsis, to return the favour that had been bestowed upon them. The Imperials had come back in strength following the death of their leader but only time would tell how the Maw would fare such a fate. Not all could take the fall of a figurehead in their stride.

Talk of justice would woo the Jedi onto his side and she would nod solemnly in response. Jedi would not revel in the death of an enemy but rejoice at the lives saved through his loss.

Her gaze followed the Imperator's movements before following his beckoning. She knew not how he saw her, though she expected it was unfavourable, but she saw them as equals. They would need to put success ahead of pride to make effective allies in their upcoming battle which was easier for some than others.

"It's my duty." She gave a short response to his question but it should have been enough to quell any doubts. To be duty-bound was a powerful commitment that she expected the Imperator to understand. Many had committed unspeakable acts in the name of war but their battle today was not out of anger but necessity. It was imperative that they cut off the festering wound that was the Maw before it infected the rest of the galaxy.

The Grandmaster paused for a moment, as if pondering on his words, before accepting his hand with a gracious bow of the head as they boarded the gunship.

No mercy. An uncomfortable concept for the Jedi and an ideal that had been exploited many times in the past. Many Jedi and innocent people had died at the hands of merciless enemies. The Imperator was right. The Maw would scourge the galaxy if given the opportunity. Taking a life was never easy but some comfort could be found in each loss, knowing that ten more lives would remain as a result.

"We will do what we must. Nothing more." She replied. There was no need to prolong any suffering or create unnecessary casualties which was not a sentiment that all of their allies would abide by. Still, she made her stance clear and consequently what could be expected from Concordian troops.

With a pensive glance out to space as the forces of the amalgamation of allies moved to meet their enemies, she was reminded of how not too long ago such a feat had not been possible for the major powers when tensions between them had been at an all-time high. The effects of such a disastrous relationship, or betrayal as viewed by the Imperials, were not lost on her.

She looked back over her shoulder towards him. "I hope you can trust me and the Concord, Imperator."

 

[Thurion Heavenshield]

GOSHEN WAR CAMP
VANTAGE POINT

Lying in wait atop a cliff overlooking the brutish War Camp, a camouflaged Thurion observed the situation from above through a pair of electrobinoculars. Jacen Nimdok had successfully infiltrated the camp by allowing himself to be captured; a dangerous plan to be sure, but Master Nimdok had both suggested and insisted upon it. The Brotherhood of the Maw was a relatively recent enemy, one which Thurion personally knew little of other than it being another Sith cult. From the looks of it, their methods appeared far more crude and... messy, than those employed by the Empire.

He'd also closely observed the Slave Quarters. The sight of children in bondage was greatly upsetting to he who had both children and grandchildren of his own. Watching their suffering through his binoculars, their anguished faces tore his composure apart. His first stop.

Fighting had broken out. Starlin Rand had joined the leader of the Shi'ido rebellion in attacking the south entrance, while Caltin Vanagor and Sergeant Omen attacked the north and west side respectively to divide the Maw's attention. Time to move out.

Crawling away from the ledge, Thurion stood and stowed away the binoculars before handing them to a blue astromech droid of an obsolete model chirping back at him. He sighed. Ever the pessimist.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be careful. This is hardly my first time infiltrating an enemy encampment, you know. You just have the ship ready for take-off, alright Teetoo?"

More worried protests from the droid had him rolling his eyes.

"No, he's not going to wake up," he stepped over to an unconscious body hidden behind a rock, prodding him with his boot. "See? Nothing. And if by any chance he does wake up, just give him a zap and he'll go right back to sleep. It'll be fine."

Patting T2's domed head, the droid relented as a hatch opened to reveal the hilt of a lightsaber. Thurion plucked it from the astromech's "skull" and clipped it to his belt. Before he turned to leave, Teetoo let out a familiar phrase of beeps and boops which prompted a smile and a nod.

"May the Force be with you, old friend."

While the droid saw to his ship, Thurion stood at the ledge and simply took a step out into nothing as he dropped the height of the cliff in a controlled fall. A gentle thud as his feet touched the ground below, using the momentum to drop into a crouched position and hide behind a rock formation close to the War Camp's perimeter.

Scanning the wall for potential weaknesses, as well as any troop movements, he waited for the opportune time to act. Leaping out of cover, he proceeded to scale the wall by simply running up it until he reached the top, whereupon he grabbed hold of the ledge and pulled himself up the rest of the way. Dropping down the other side, the hooded Jedi Master kept out of sight as the camp came under attack, hoping to avoid attention while making his way towards the Slave Quarters.

 

[Darth Solipsis]

​

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Tartarus-Class Battlecruiser, Throne Room

​

Resistance. Rebellion. Defiance. Concepts that could not be allowed to persist, words that echoed across the vast scope of time and space millennia ago. Those words could not ring truer than here, now.

The Silver Jedi Concord, the Galactic Alliance, and the New Imperial Order had banded together in an effort to strike first, to strike hard. It was a bold plan, a strategy that would make sense with aims to strike a heavy blow to the lifeblood of the Maw's War Machine. Lao-Mon sat at the heart of the Brotherhood's slave distribution network, it fed the industry that kept the Dark Crusade moving from system to system, devouring all the natural resources from the planet's surface it could get it's hands on. Year by year, the Maw fed on the planet like a parasite, eventually the rich jungles and bountiful fossil fuels would run dry.. and they would simply leave for another world. Another people, to do it all again.

The Shi’ido were becoming a nuisance, a troublesome insect that had been swatted away countless times. It was only a matter of time before they collected the wrong sort of attention, garnered the worst of humanity to their plight. The Dark Voice, Darth Solipsis , had seen the struggles of these shapeshifters of Lao-Mon and heard great tales of their resistance against his faithful on the surface. Only one option came to mind, one solution.

The complete eradication of the Shi’ido, a genocidal wipe of their pathetic race from the planet’s surface. Anything else would be unacceptable, their time had come. From his throne onboard the newly minted “Tartarus”, the Dark Lord of the Sith sat amongst his faithful. The order had been given, the Wretchedness was being prepared, the beasts readied for war.

His holographic image was splinter to life over all MAW communications, a blackened void personified over digital image, seatened over an obsidian throne.

“The Shi’ido have shown us their resistance to the idea of a Final Dawn. Their reluctance to participate in the glory of War, Death, and Rebirth has been followed by petty acts of rebellion, defiance against the Dark Gospel. They spit on your faith, Children of the Maw, they do not deserve to witness the Second Genesis. They have been rejected by the Avatar of Rebirth.”

His hands rose into the air, his energy electrifying both metaphorically and literal as faint red sparks leapt between his fingertips. “All Shi’ido must die. Like the Gundanbard, show no mercy. PURGE. THEM. ALL.”

The image fizzled out, ended in its transmission as the declaration to begin the genocide of Lao-Mon would commence. The arrival of the enemy had little bearing on his decision, they would bear witness to the next great atrocity and know full well that they were next in line. His eyes fell over to the nearby Sith Cultists that served as attendants, “Bring the ship to them and bring THEM to me.”

Rurik Fel | Kiara Ayres | Bernard of Arca​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp
Allies: Halketh | Darth Tennacus | Bendak Crail | Romund Sro
Foes: Starlin Rand | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Liram Angellus | Noel Strasza | Thurion Heavenshield

With The Mongrel gone to hunt Jedi infiltrators, stalking the keep dungeons in search of would-be heroes, Hetzen was in command of the warcamp's defense. She was tall and lean, wiry muscles corded beneath her scarred skin. An arm, a leg, and an eye had been cybernetically replaced, ravaged flesh swapped out for the cold, unfeeling perfection of the machine. The cybernetics looked slapdash, skeletal metal frames swathed in cables, hoses, and wires, but they granted her abilities far beyond what a normal human could achieve... and they hid a variety of implanted weapons.

Hetzen was a veteran of many battles - Csilla, Ilum, Felucia, Enenpa, Carlac. She had risen to the position of The Mongrel's right hand through sheer battlefield endurance, following her warleader since long before he became a warlord - and surviving nearly as much. This was the first time she had been left in full command of the Scar Hound forces, and she was determined to make the Thrice-Born Hound proud. If she emulated his legend well enough, perhaps she would become the second slave-soldier to rise to such lofty heights. It was what they all aspired to.

But there was no more time to consider dreams and aspirations; the battle had begun. Once again, the Brotherhood was besieged by several of the great powers of "civilized" space at once, the enemy led by their vanguard of Force-wielding mage-knights. These Jedi were little armies unto themselves, little gods even, who could kill and kill and kill without taking a scratch. The Brotherhood was not full of Force-knights. It would have to hold back the little gods with conventional force, defeating them through tactics because they lacked the power to wave their hands and kill.

It wasn't long after The Mongrel's departure that the enemy made their move. Bombers streaked in overhead, headed for the south side of the camp. Hetzen was amused to see that these were no starfighters; through her macrobinoculars they resembled nothing so much as giant models of bugs made from carved and painted wood. Their hellcaster cannons were anything but toys, however. The heavy weapons were known to shred duracrete, and were clearly aimed to form a breach in the camp's walls. But the Shi'ido had miscalculated. This was what Goshen was built for.

The thick walls of Goshen War Camp were made of the debris of the city beneath it, tumbled down stone held together with wood and durasteel. This looked ramshackle and inconsistent, but it had been done with a purpose. For one thing, the wall could be built extremely thick (eight meters!) without much expenditure of labor. For another, it was somewhat self-repairing... sort of. Each time a missile of heavy weapon blew a chunk of wall away, more rubble tumbled down into the gap. The wall some height, but not thickness. Clearing a path through it, well...

That would take extraordinary concentrated fire.

In the meantime, the dozens of 3t3 missile system emplacements embedded in the walls took aim at the fragile-looking bombers, intent on shooting them all down. Goshen had few defenses against orbital bombardment - save that bombarding it would kill the slaves housed there - but it was well-defended against atmospheric attack. Both the Shi'ido bombers covering Starlin Rand 's advance and Liram Angellus 's incoming fighters would soon find the air full of anti-vehicle missiles. Still, the bombers had accomplished one thing well - keeping the heads of the E-WEB gunners down.

Hetzen watched as the sneaky Shi'ido burst from the trees to the south, led by a huge Galidraan tank - and many a lightsaber. As the guns and missiles on the wall turned toward the oncoming armored vehicle, Tarar Warbands poring volley after volley of plasma fire out of the gaps in the wall in an effort to breach the heavy attacker's armor, those saber-wielders were doing the seemingly impossible: scaling the fifteen meter perimeter wall in a single running leap. But these were Jedi, after all, and nothing seemed to be impossible for them. How great would be the glory in defeating them!

Another Jedi was leading an assault on the eastern wall, cloaking the attack in smoke and flashbangs. Some of the Scar Hounds, with their cybernetically augmented eyes, could see through the smoke, using the infrared spectrum or other wavelengths of vision. Some even had automatic sensory dimmers to protect against flashbangs. Most, however, just fired blindly into the smoke, hoping to thin the ranks of those charging there. The walls were heavily manned with eager Marauder Aspirants, freshly-converted slave-soldiers hungry for glory. Not skilled, but enthusiastic.

Many threw themselves at Amelia Venthyra with bloodthirsty cries, trying to push her back from the wall with sheer numbers.

While the Jedi could scale Goshen's walls with the power of the Force, for no obstacle seemed to be much of a barrier for them, ground forces were going to have more trouble. Their best hope was to breach one of the gates, as the walls were thinnest there by necessity... but that meant passing through the beast pens deliberately placed around the base of the camp's walls. Lao-mon was home to many of the Brotherhood's chosen warbeasts, and they were at Goshen in truly teeming numbers. "Unleash the creatures!" Hetzen ordered, and the beastmasters sprang into action.

Cages were thrown open, and strange grenades arced out toward the charging rebels. These grenades were not full of explosives or shrapnel. Instead they sprayed out a thin film of chemicals... a synthesized version of a natural prey-marking pheromone. The air was filled with the sound of high-pitched chittering, and leathery wing membranes beat the air. Suddenly the ground itself seemed to move, the cleared jungle floor around Goshen's walls becoming covered in tiny arachnoid forms that ran, jumped, and glided toward the oncoming rebels, hungry for blood.

The Skitterwing swarm had been unleashed. The little arachnoid horrors could do nothing to the tanks, but against infantry... Whenever they reached living prey, half a dozen of them left at the unfortunate soldier, latching on with eight-inch, bone-crushing mandibles and then biting with their ring-like mouths. Each bite injected a potent neurotoxin, causing dizziness and nausea, making it all the more difficult to fight off the spider-like creatures swarming over the soldier. Even a child could kill one skitterwing, stomping on the fragile creature's head... but could even a Jedi survive thousands?

Hetzen didn't wait to find out. She had to get off the walls, partly to get into the fight and partly because the Shi'ido bombers were still blowing big chunks out of them, taking out groups of marauders with each explosion. She mounted her Gore Wasp, and her chosen elite of beast-riders did the same behind her, becoming a buzzing, flying hit squad. With a drop and swoop that never failed to make her blood sing with the thrill of it, the wasp dropped from the wall and took off, spreading its gossamer wings. Hetzen howled with exultation... then readied her heavy repeater.

Hetzen and her wasp-riders would both coordinate command of the defenders and hunt those who were attempting to scale the walls, aiming to keep them back. Their high vantage point would also allow them to see the perfect time to unleash the second wave of warbeasts, those that the Dark Voice had... improved through the use of sinister alchemy. Yes, many foes remembered the horrific Branchlurkers from their attack in the trenches of Csilla, but they would have no idea how much more horrific the Maw could make them through dark science. Soon it would be time.

"Prepare the second rank of cages!"

 

[Sakadi Marathi Sinvala]

Location: Dungeons of the Central Keep
Objective 1: The Goshen War Camp.
Opposing: The Mongrel

The Shi'ido's raspy breath echoed through the dark cell, illuminated only by the soft pinkish glow of her fingertips. She could no longer save him. But through her healing, she could alleviate his pain. "P-please." It took him every bit of strength to make his voice audible."My daughter…" She wanted to shush him, tell him it was going to be fine. But she couldn't. "She's in here somewhere." His emaciated body was growing cold. She gently kept his head stable in her lap with one arm, while the palm of her other hand gently rested on his chest where the Shi'ido's skin had been sown back together. "Don't worry. I will find her." She reassured him, her projected voice warm and gentle. His blistered arms and legs already lay motionless by his side, dried blood coating them where the blisters had opened. "Th-thank you." She felt his consciousness fade away in the Force. Finally, the tortured prisoner would have his rest.

Sakadi kept him in her embrace just a while longer, ears lowered as she worked through her own brief stage of mourning. Her assigned squad had, with her blessing, already moved on. She, however, had stayed behind upon finding the dying Shi'ido. The Jedi were peacekeepers, champions of justice and beacons of hope in the galaxy.

But so many of them forgot that they were also supposed to be empathic beings who cared about all life equally.​

Perhaps the rangers and younger Knights could leave the dying behind for the sake of the mission. But Sakadi Sinvala, High Councillor of the Silver Jedi Order, never could.

She closed the Shi'ido's eyes, gently laying him down on the cold stone tiles of the dungeon's cell. There were more beings to save. Far too many beings to save. She didn't even know how or where to begin.

Sakadi took a few steps back, letting go of the grief, pain and sadness that had reached her through the Force with a deep breath. The Cosmic Force would guide her, like it always did.

With swift strides, Sakadi left the prisoner's compartment behind her, returning to the dark corridors of the dungeons beneath the central keep. The battle had already begun, and she had no time to waste.

For there were people to save, and she would let no one stand in her way.​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

LAO-MON , UNKNOWN REGIONS
Within the Goshen Keep Dungeons
Focus | Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen

As Sularen prepared to leave Colonel Rackham and a few Crimson Stormtroopers to hunt the Shi'ido who were attempting to escape the Dungeons , the HDand-Held Holoprojector in his pocket started to vibrate. Taking the Holoprojector our , Sularen soon received a message from Darth Solipsis himself , the man who had given Sularen newfound purpose within the Maw , who had given him the power to take what his enemies had denied him for nearly a decade. Without Solipsis , Sularen would have faced imprisonment in the Alliance , to be forgotten and treated as an insignificant prisoner of a corrupt regime which plagued the Core Worlds with it's decadence. Soon enough the room went silent as Solipsis spoke.

“The Shi’ido have shown us their resistance to the idea of a Final Dawn. Their reluctance to participate in the glory of War, Death, and Rebirth has been followed by petty acts of rebellion, defiance against the Dark Gospel. They spit on your faith, Children of the Maw, they do not deserve to witness the Second Genesis. They have been rejected by the Avatar of Rebirth. All Shi’ido must die. Like the Gundanbard, show no mercy. PURGE. THEM. ALL.”

Then , at that same moment , the Raptor Squad an elite Spec Ops Team comprised of Cybernetically enhanced Supersoldiers arrived at the scene led by Agent Phantom , another Politorate Operative just like Colonel Rackham. "Rackham , stay here and protect the Fleshtakers at all costs. Phantom , you and the Raptors are me." Sularen then took out a commlink to contact Vice-Admiral Hamilton who was currently onboard the Subjugator which was positioned in low orbit of the Lao-Mon Jungle a few clicks away from the Goshen War Camp escorted by two Ascendant-Class Pocket SDs , ready to provide Mawite Forces at the Goshen War Camp with Close-Air Support against anyone who dared strike at them. "Vice-Admiral , what is your status?" Sularen said into the comlink. "Sir , our drones indicate that the Shi'ido have begun a major offensive towards the Southern Entrance of the War Camp. Should i deploy the Fortresses?" the Vice-Admiral replied. "Yes , deploy a single airwing. Have them annihilate the Shi'ido with their Chemical Bombs. Soon victory would be ours"

With that the Grand Overseer left the area followed by Phanom , the Raptors and the Crimson Guards in search for the escapees. Once he would find them , he would proceed to put an end to the treacherous Shi'ido who had dared defy the Will of the Maw and ensure that this Act of Defiance against the Maw would be their last. The Maw would prevail as always and nothing not even the combined might of the so-called Triumvirate and Concord forces could stop them. They would lay waste to the Galaxy one way or another and ensure that all who stood in their way would be swept away by the tides of death and destruction.

---

---

Focus | Vice-Admiral Kaine Hamilton
Objective | Annihilate the Lao-Mon Defense Force

A few clicks away from the Goshen War Camp , suspended in low-orbit of the Jungles of Lao-Mon stood a group of 3 Warships , 1 Subjugator-Class Assault Ship , the first of it's kind dubbed the Subjugator and 2 Ascendant-Class Pocket SDs. Ever since the skirmish at Sharb , Grand Overseer Sularen always brought a bit of extra firepower just in case he found himself in the crosshairs of massive engagements and foes that surpassed his own men and forces. Sularen's Paranoia was well justified today as recently Concordist and Triumvirate Forces had launched a major assault on Lao-Mon with the goal of liberating it from the Maw , and with Hamilton's Small Flottila having already positioned itself a few hundred meters above the Jungles of Lao-Mon , the Final Dawn would put and end to this futile attempt at resistance.

"Yes , deploy a single airwing. Have them annihilate the Shi'ido with their Chemical Bombs"

Within minutes , a total of 40 StarFortress Bombers emerged from the Hangars of one of the escorting Asendant-Class Pocket SDs and headed straight for the Goshen War Camp. In just few minutes they would soon emerge from the clouds of Lao-Mon soon coming in view of Mawite and enemy Concord and Triumvirate forces aside. As they flew over the Goshan War Camps , their Bomb Bays opened and only seconds later once they had located their target , the advancing Shi'ido Rebel Army headed towards the War Camp , they unleashed their entire compliment dropping large amounts of warheads filled with the Bioweapon known as the Wretchedness upon the advancing Shi'ido Rebels.

The Shi'ido Rebels , the Silver Jedi , Alliance and New Imperials all thought they could vanquish the Maw right here at Lao-Mon. Now it was the time that these powers were reminded that here the Maw was an unstoppable Juggernaut unable to be tamed by anyone regardless of size , strength and influnence. Victry would be theirs and nothing could stop them now.

Tag | Garven Piarcos | Sssar Taszzn | Starlin Rand
​

 

[Zoraya Ives-Ayres]

AD ASTRA
COMPNOR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Objective: Destroy the Slave Quarters
Allies: NIO | SJC | GA | In proximity Lyra Vent | Thurion Heavenshield | Amelia Venthyra | Sergeant Omen | Noel Strasza | Sakadi Marathi Sinvala
Enemies: BotM | Open
Equipment: E-11 Blaster Rifle with Grappling Hook attachment, SE-14r Light Repeating Blaster, Vibroknife, Thermal Detonators x 4, KXA ABDG-01x 'Null' Grenade, Wrist-mounted Personal Energy Shield, Commlink

Vengeance is a monster of appetite, forever bloodthirsty and never filled.
​

The New Imperial Order had been wounded after the assassination of their leader but today their enemies would suffer their pain. Their allies would not hold them back and the they would not be undermined. Zoraya knew what she had come here to accomplish and nothing would stand in her way. With a wealth of Imperial allies to stand beside, they would enact their revenge.

Aiming to take the path of least resistance, she opted to take a different route to the majority of the ground troops who would use brute force to break through the War Camp's defences. As their allies charged into battle, accompanied by her fellow COMPNOR agent, she darted towards the wall which provided the camp with some protection for now. It would be no matter when it was destroyed from the inside by the few who had managed to slip through the metaphorical cracks.

Once at the base of the wall she cast a skywards glance at the towering structure. She could see an array of creatures in a swarm not too far from them but not close enough to be concerned yet. Similarly, there were other winged creatures soaring the skies but noticeably they had riders and they were much more of a concern to those scaling the walls. "The Maw are literal pests." She commented in a tone of both anger and disgust.

As a Jedi began to scale the wall a little way away from them, she saw the opportunity to use him as a distraction. It may not have provided them with completely safe passage but it should at least allow them a head-start. "Come on!" She shouted to Lyra over the sound of the nearby battle, not offering much more encouragement or explanation than that before she fired her grappling hook towards the top of the wall and began the ascent.

Her other blaster remained in her free hand and her eyes were trained above on any of the mounted attackers who sought to shoot them down. Once at the top of the wall, she pulled herself up onto the structure and was scarcely missed by a blaster bolt which scorched the wall beside her. She quickly turned around and returned fire towards the wasp-creature, attempting to suppress it if nothing else, expecting her comrade to be behind her.

 

[Glossa]

Location: Western Walls, Goshen War Camp - Lao-mon
Objective: 2 - Tip of the Spear
Allies: BotM ( The Mongrel Marlon Sularen Halketh Romund Sro )
Enemies: SJC ( The Dark Inquisitor Sergeant Omen Starlin Rand ) │ NIO ( Noel Strasza )
Slated Direct Engagement: The Dark Inquisitor Sergeant Omen

“War, death, rebirth! War, death, rebirth! War, death, rebirth!”

In answer to the Dark Voice’s proclamation for the purgation of the Shi’ido race, countless bloodthirsty slave soldiers chanted their savage anthem, which echoed within and even beyond the walls of Goshen, heralding the end of the Shi’ido as righteous punishment for their rejection of the Dark Gods and continued insolence. All the while, the final few arrangements for the defense of Goshen were set in place, primed to repel the unenlightened armies of the Silver Jedi and their allies, via blade, blaster, and sheer, uncompromising violence. However, this invasion, while doubtlessly a threat, was no surprise to the marauding hordes of the Brotherhood. Having run roughshod across the Unknown Regions and beyond, they had managed a feat which had not been done in almost a millennium, since the fall of the First First Order.

Csilla.

Ilglossa was not yet even alive at the time of its destruction, but in the wake of its fall, she had borne witness to the meteoric rise of the Brotherhood, once on Kinoss, then Carlac, and now Lao-mon. Both Kinoss and Carlac had been crucibles which she had endured, killing, learning, and salvaging, all in pursuit of strength, glory, and finally later, perhaps on some unknown battlefield while caked in the blood and guts of countless enemies, paradise. On Carlac, she had looted the duraplast plates which supplemented her bodysuit from a fallen stormtrooper, having the plates cut and molded to fit her frame by an marauder-armorer, who she now owed a favor to.

Taking position behind a battlement and peeking her rifle out of the gap, Glossa watched with wide, hungry eyes as the Silver Jedi forces and their allies approached in the distance. Before long, the discordant harmonies of battle began to fill her ears, manifesting soft whistles as bombs descended on the southern section of the walls, beats of blaster and slugthrower fire, howled war cries and screams, and the shrieks of skitterwings as they were unleashed on their prey.

The Jango Jumper contributed to the chaotic, blood-soaked orchestra with her own melody of violence, slamming a magazine of explosive rounds into her rifle, before taking aim at an Antarian Ranger in the distance, some 100 meters away. Her rifle cracked off a quintet of projectiles in two separate bursts, striking the unfortunate soldier twice in the chest, before punching two into his head after the man fell to the ground, stunned by the kinetic force.

Already, blood had been wrought from weak flesh, but there was yet more primed to spill as the crucible was set alight...

Spoiler: Loadout

• White Pulsiva Bodysuit
  • Supplemental Armor Plating
    • Scavenged Duraplast
      • Vambraces / Greaves / Cuisses / Rerebraces
  • Energy Shield
    • DS-102 “Aegis” Personal Energy Shield
  • B-11 “Greitis” Class Combat Boots
    • Whimsy Knife (2)
• Hekler’Kok FR-01
  • 30-Round Magazine
  • Ammunition
    • Hekler’Kok Polymer Cartridge Ammunition-Explosive
    • Hekler’Kok Polymer Cartridge Ammunition-Armor Piercing
  • Sonic Scope
• FAE/M-01 "Scherezade" Energized Vibroblade
• Flash Grenade (2)
• G-20 Glop Grenade (2)

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Slave of the Maw​

Objective: Try to escape from captivity
Location: Prison Block, Goshen Keep Dungeons, Lao-mon
Equipment: N/A || OPBC-01m
Writing with: N/A
Allies: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Jacen Nimdok
Enemies: Tu'teggacha

[ Dream of home ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ ​

Eventually, I had a hard time getting to the edge of the energy wall to try to look around out there. Here in the cell there were walls on three sides; and one energy field, the fourth wall. Nothing window. So far, I didn’t know if this was a ship now or not. It took me a few moments to remember that I would know this. I didn’t get Biochip that long ago, sometimes I still forget what it is, and also how many useful properties it has.

~ Am I on a planet or in space? ~ I asked.

~ On the surface. Based on the data and your location, in a place called Goshen War Camp. ~ I got the answer from MANIAC.

I managed to get to the door, that is, to the energy wall. I touched it carefully, but luckily there was no electricity in it. I was positioned so that I could look out from here to both sides of the hallway. I had a wall on the right side, the corridor was over, but I saw several other cells on the left. I think the energy wall worked there too.

However, there was silence, deadly silence. This is more disturbing. Although I think I should think better about what I wish because the next moment I heard a well-known voice. The prison block is under lockdown. No, no, no, no! Why?! I asked this most of myself, yet the AI answered. And his answer gave him a lot of hope.

~ A combined army of SJC, NIO, and GA has arrived on the planet. ~ the AI answered my question.

My heartbeat accelerated and a smile appeared on my lips involuntarily. Hope! I knew they didn’t come for me, but still, a little luck. Maybe that's why they brought him here, because he had to retreat to here? It had no significance; but it was a great chance to have a chance to escape. I mean, I'll try it. I’m looking at the possibilities at the energy wall, but unfortunately it did not look like being able to get out of here without help.

~ Are you able to deactivate the energy field? ~ I asked because I had no better idea.

~ Possible. Do you want me to try? ~ I got the answer.

~ Yes! Try it! ~ I ordered.

Now, I just had to wait to see if it would succeed or not. Please, please, please! Let him succeed!

 

[Amelia Venthyra]

Objective 1

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen War Camp

Equipment: 1 Lightsaber (Purple - Regular), 1 Shoto (Purple), Jedi Robes

Tags: The Mongrel


It was quickly proven that Amelia was a capable bladeswoman. Even she realized that the numbers were simply too much even as she redirected a blaster bolt at the shooter. Using a mixture of deflecting blaster Fire, dodging, and even using the dead bodies as cover from one side before hurling the body violently into the mass. A few more deflections later Amelia redirected a blaster bolt to strike at one of the nearby E-Webs thermal tanks, causing a fiery explosion that damages a portion of the top Eastern Wall. However that's where things grew intense as she deflected more bolts with a lightsaber in one hand, and the other focused on controlling and manipulating the fiery eruption.


With a swipe of her free hand, Amelia unleashes a sheet of flame that washed over a dozen of slave soldiers in front of her. Most might burn, some might even become incapacitated, but it wouldn't be enough to kill someone directly. Amelia used this opportunity to fall back to the northern section of the east wall. Where she deflects a few stray blaster bolts at nearby marauders. Once she manages to get to the third E-web, Amelia hastily sliced it off the mount before deactivating her Saber, stowing it, and then grabbing the E-Web with both hands. Her arms strained from the weight as she picks up the anti-personnel weapon and proceeds to aim the barrel at the approaching wave of Maw. With a click on the trigger, Amelia unleashes a volley of blaster fire as she slowly walks forward. Her arms quiver from the recoil as the E-Web shreds through a good portion of men and women on the east wall. The tank that connects to the E-Web moves alongside Amelia at the same pace.


As to where she was moving? Just sweeping through the East wall and trust that her allies can handle the other sides of the camp. The south seems to have been rewarded with a greater defense compared to the other sides. Amelia held onto that trigger as the volley never seemed to cease, until the barrel of the weapon glowed red hot from the lack of cool down. Instead of waiting on it, Amelia tossed the weapon with the tank still attached over to the inside of the camp. After the weapon had begun to descend upon some of the ground forces.. Using the Force, she amplifies the heat built up in the E-Web to flare up in flames, which in turn sent fire into the attached fuel tank causing another fiery explosion in the process.


Amelia felt lighter now that the weapon was out of her hands, but she still reached for her lightsaber and ignited the blade as she observed what needs to be done. That's when she began hearing voices over the communications, panicking, and Amelia recognized some of those voices to be her squad. The Silverblade turned her head with red locks following her motions to look outside of the camp, and she saw the blanket of vermin and squirming amongst themselves as they headed to the majority of the rebellion. Her own squad would be caught in the crosshairs so to speak, so Amelia looks around of what she could use around here, and that's when she spot a peculiar launcher in the distance. It wouldn't be enough to stop thousands of them, but it'll thin out the numbers at least.


"Silverblade here, Red Team retreat from the swarm. Use explosives to thin them out and don't let them catch you." Amelia spoke over the communications to her team, and she was given a verbal confirmation as they begun to do just that. Amelia rushed over to pick up the launcher and noted that it was already used at least twice. So Amelia does her best to aim at the encroaching swarm before she fires as many proton missiles at the swarm as the launcher allows. That was, until a bolt struck her left forearm.

 

[Dakrul]

Location: Aboard the “Prophet”
Equipment: Staff of Dakrul, Cursed Gen'Dai Flesh Armour, Dread Blade
Allies: Halketh
Enemies: Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore Starlin Rand

​

Dakrul was deep in thought. It's not salt, not like blood no, more like iron, yes like the iron from the factory. He recalled the shipyards of Exegol to his mind's eye. Hhmmm also sour, yes sour, sour like the chamber beneath Korriban. And it was intense, even more so than the freezing winds in the halls of the Crown of Ice on Carlac. The Halketh, his presence, so close now he had a much much richer conception of his flavor. Still, even after witnessing all these places, all these conflicts, he hadn't yet sampled enough of life's nectar to give an accurate depiction of the Dark Lords' aroma. It was frustrating really.

Maybe this next place, this next conflict could help him find his answer.

The Master would know. He would know for sure. He prayed the Voice was well off, cradled by the Avatars, protected by their holy intervention. The mutant had no idea where he was truly, only where he would be going and that he was in the presence of the newly crowned Shadow Hand. The direct second to the Master. The man formerly known as Lord Halketh now dubbed Darth Caelitus. An external to the Maw, not a heretic to the Avatars yet no self-proclaimed believer. The terrifying monster was sentient enough to comprehend that this fiend was important, an archdemon among hell dwellers. He also understood that it was an honor to be tasked alongside him.

He felt a touch. The giant undead laid flat in a large chamber of iron. One of many flying rooms that brought him from task to task, by far not the Gehinnom no, much smaller and in this case crammed with the dead. Figures of ice and glass, dressed in armor as white as the snow from which they hailed along with his own pack of followers clearly differentiated in shape, order, and state. The touch originated from a disfigured New Imperial Order soldier. A former front-line warrior who Dakrull has disemboweled in their latest conflict. It occurred sometimes that the dead approached him, they were but moths in a world in which he was the light, it was only natural for them to seek him out.

"Do noooot feaaaar litttttle oneeee, shaaaall we praaaay together?"

His massive chitin-plated body sprung to life as his trunk rose upwards bringing himself into an upright seating position. Four appendages reached for the corpse and placed his bisected form in the Mawites lap. Voiceless only spewed forth into the mind of whoever close enough to listen Darkull began to chant.

"Ohh dear Avatar of War, look upon as we deliver conquest onto the galaxy, Avatar of Death, let us stay upon this plane as we cull the worthless, and lastly ohh Avatar of Rebirth, please accept our offers, please let us usher in the apocalypse, so that you may reshape all in your image"

The consciousness of the soldiers before him slipped into the distance. Not to worry Dakrul will call upon you when the time has come.

That moment had arrived. Dakrul the Faceless Hunger and a horde of the dead rained upon the lush jungles from above the conflict.

The Necromancer regained his footing, twisted and wrangled appendages reformed and molded themselves into shape until the over three-meter monstrosity was able to rise to his feet. Around him the dead moved just alike, they would crawl, drag, worm themselves along the ground towards their enemies if they had to. Anything to fulfill the overwhelming obligation brought upon their souls to annihilate all those that would oppose the Maw.

He sensed opposition, unable to hear, smell or see like others did he sensed their presence. A creature bound to two planes of existence his image of the rainforest and the ongoing battle was very different. He lived in a hellscape of fire and fiends, perceiving a clash of worlds, the living and the dead. The zealots marveled at his surroundings with so much life growing inside the tropic biome an abundance of living force energies were at his disposal. With his three-fingered digits tightly wrapped around his weapon, the Cha'ta'ri raised his staff. Like a parasite upon its host, he began to siphon energy, from the trees, the leaves, the fruits, the bushes, the grass. It would sustain him, sustain the terrible hunger all of his kind felt, even in death. From it, he would draw the power necessary to command the horde of the undead, and more importantly to raise many many more.

Now the golem of flesh and iron stood at the center of a disk of dead flora, a single circle inside the jungle utterly ruined by the presence of the Darkside, the beginning of the end for those in opposition of the Avatars will.

 

[Ewan "Raider" Isaacs]

Hesitation is a Hole in the head!​

Spoiler: SHIP AND FIGHTER MAKEUP

SHIP NAME: ETHEREAL, SILVER CITY
SHIP CLASS: CARRIER, HEAVY CARRIER
FLAG OFFICER: LIRAM ANGELLUS
SHIP CAPTAIN: ZEV TANTOR (Ethereal), GYM HALPERN (Silver City)
COMMAND STAFF
EQUIPPED: 25x L4Vele Series Deployable Defense turrets.
CAPTAIN'S LAUNCH: "Amenadiel"

FIGHTER COMPLIMENT: 103rd Tactical Starfighter Wing "Angel of Death Squadron"
CALLSIGNS: Commodore Angellus "Maverick" is and will always be "Angel 1", Captain Rojuh Pouil "Starlight" is "Angel 2" Commander Scoht Pouil "Meteor" is "Angel 3". Commander Ewan Isaacs is "Angel 4" but also goes by "SCAR 1" Each Squadron leader makes up the remaining "Angel" callsigns, their individual squadrons and make-ups are named below.

HIGH-SPEED INTERCEPTION

1. Angel 4(SCAR Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
2. Angel 5(Jurat Squadron) Jackal Class Starfighter
3. Angel 6(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
4. Voodoo 4(SCAR Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter
5. Voodoo 5(Jurat Squadron) Jackal Class Starfighter
6. Voodoo 6(Retribution Squadron)Jackal Class Starfighter

SECTOR: Lao-mon
ORDERS: Issue orders, meet up with GA squadron
WINGMATES: Tren Chaar

All SCARs report in.

"SCAR/Voodoo 4 standing by".
"SCAR/Angel 5 standing by"
"SCAR/Voodoo 5 standing by"
"SCAR/Angel 6 standing by"
"SCAR/Voodoo 6 standing by"

Heads up on your HUDS, be informed or be sorry. Jackals have the longest non-hyperdrive operational distance which means in this case we have the most diverse responsibility. This space station is home to some six hundred fighters. They're said to be deadly in skill, let alone numbers. They never met us, how copy?

"Copy!"
"Charlie Delta!"
"OORAH!"

My guys... we meet with the Gary Alberts... Everyone else, your orders are to begin painting all landing and launch bays with targeting beacons for the long guns of our capital ships. Oorah?

[collectively]"OORAH!"

The Jackal squadrons broke up in their respective assignments. The Asheras and X-wings would begin their engagements, but the Jackals would soon begin theirs. Forming up, SCAR/Angel 4 squadron followed Isaacs to the designated rendezvous coordinates. The classic lines of their fighters gave an image of a time long past, one that they may take heart in simply admiring.

Alliance Flight. This is Commander Isaacs of the SJDF "Liberation" Flag group. Sending authorization codes.

Spoiler: SUMMARY OF ACTIONS

...

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

IT'S ALWAYS DARKEST BEFORE THE DAWN...​

Location: Optional

Spoiler: Lightsabers

"ELOAH" (Primary - Long Handle)

"ELOHAI" (Secondary - Long Handle)

Spoiler: GEAR

Comm-link, Rebreather, Custom Robes, Battle Armor,Toraynor-Henkan(mind crystal added)Advanced Jedi Utility Belt

Spoiler: STARSHIP/COMPANIONS

Starship: Starlight Sentinel, (Dilorian and Bike both in cargo bay)
Companion: Astromech R01R - "Roller", Pilot droid Mu51c - "Music"

Tag: Kyrel Ren

“Consume!” “Devour!” “Destroy!” He could hear the mantra before the ship even landed and as the loading ramps of the dropships opened, the direct frontal assault seemed to be anything but intelligent as many of these dark warriors and minions seemed to be ready and waiting in ambush. They were lying in wait like a spider waiting for a fly, ready to close in on the trapped insect who wanted little more than to live out its time. This “Brotherhood” was lying in wait.

Just like Caltin had counted on…

He was not some “cape and tights” “Truth… Justice… and the Kashyykk way” type of Jedi, no, for much of his time as a Jedi, he thought like a Sith because this was his position, his station. He knew that the Jedi needed a diversion like this so that they could execute their mission. No, Caltin was not delusional enough to think that something as simple as this would draw everyone on him, or them and away from the others, but there was the hope that some would be pulled away, enough to keep the fight manageable.

The Maw fought like demons, but these were not the Rangers or Jedi, alone. There would be no backpedaling and almost a constant pushback. Those who engaged directly were holding their own, and those Sith who were preparing ambush were engaged as well. Caltin was bringing down lightning, a lot of it. The powerful bolts of energy might stop none of them, but it would slow all of them long enough.

Then it hit him.

The aura, the stench of death, it was on the other side of the camp all wrapped up in black masks.

Gripping his lightsaber, Caltin took a breath and walked that way. He didn’t know what he was getting into, but did those in front of him? There was something new about this scene unfolding, Caltin had faced more Sith, more Dark Side Warriors, beasts, and monsters than more than his share of Jedi, old or new, could probably name. He was nothing close to a stranger when it came to single combat, yet there was something unfamiliar. The Sith before him, there was an aura, but, there was no sign of life. and looked to be none of the others around him. This could mean that those around the big guy were in for a world of hurt, or it could mean that they did not have to hold back.

Knowing full well that some of the Rangers were Force Sensitive and would be able to hear him, the massive Jedi Master reached out.

~If you remember what I told you about giving quarter, forget it.~

... YET THE DAWN ALWAYS COMES.

 

[Damsy Callat]

PLAYING MASTER // OUTSIDE OF GOSHEN WAR CAMP
STREET CLOTHES // ELECTROTRIDENT
// Artemis Lu | Starlin Rand | Ripley Kühn \\
​

Damsy and Artemis had swept up in the rouge tide of war. Tour of the Silver Rest barely finished, the mismatched two had been loaded up onto a transport bound for Lao-mon. The rest was too much of a blur for Damsy to recall; never in her military careers had she experienced more shell shock before even seeing a shell. Gracing the periodic glance Artemis' way, Damsy assumed the feeling was mutual in a similar kind of way. Certainly not the relatively carefree first few days of a padawan swap the two had been expecting.

In any case, here they were: deep in the luscious jungle, making their way towards a slave camp they had been hastily briefed was called Goshen and controlled by the Maw. Nice, Damsy had thought; a chance to fight on her actual side, so soon after Korriban to boot, where she had been left to piece together intel and find her literal and proverbial footing in a surprise war, which had left her fighting technically on the wrong side for a good deal of time. Still, it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things—or so she kept telling herself.

She had laid some really bad Sith to rest, just as a pretend Mawite. Oh no, whatever would the Jedi do?

And she had managed to get Arisso and his archeological team off of the dust ball and subsequently smuggle them onto Coruscant. If the NJO ever found out, they surely wouldn't chalk that bit up to a win either, but in her grand scheme of things, slavery was the real enemy. It wasn't Arriso or Sen or Motina or any of the others' fault they had been born twisted and tainted into a cage.

But Damsy was doubtful she'd get so lucky again as to find recruits for the Sanctorium here. Shi'ido were natural beings, not Sithspawn. Though she was, her alchemized beginnings had nothing directly to do with half of her blood being from the shifting species. Sorcery had simply been needed to bond that DNA to human and squeeze life out of the resultant strand.

Damsy stayed a pace or so ahead of her unlikely Atrisian friend as they walked on, in order to both keep her shielded and scout a few seconds ahead. As she noticed flora and fauna interspersed with the local biodiversity that didn't smell quite like what they looked, Damsy found it necessary to slow her breathing. Truth be told, she didn't like pure-blooded Shi'ido, though she only knew one: her half sister. It was petty, she knew, but couldn't deny her feeling either; there was something about the ability to change shape into whatever they desired that set Damsy's worldview to a neon red filter.

Trying to distract herself, she telepathed to Artemis, <Doin' ok?>

 

[Inosuke Ashina]

OBJECTIVE I
ALLIES: NJO, SJC
Enyo Typhos [CLOSED]

---

---

​

One swipe of murmuring azure smote a final Sith assailant across the neck. Two skipping thuds of severed skull against dirt echoed across dungeon walls. Three times, the head rolled, settling with the black stump of cauterized cruor facing Ashina. Four bodies lay at his feet with flesh-scented smoke billowing from various fissures and stumps. Inosuke turned, noticed a fifth, although it wasn't Sith. Steps rushed over, checked Knight Nyrian's neck for a pulse.

Dead.

Some vague, light semblance of a frown overtook Ashina's features as his eyes were drawn to a smoldering hole in the Jedi's chest. How many did I slay? Inosuke tried to recall. Three, he remembered. Three out of four. Nyrian gave as good as he got. Two fingers rose and gently closed the lids over Nyrian's eyes. As he stood, Inosuke scooped up the fallen Jedi's weapon, clipped it to his belt coupler for safe keeping.

<"This is Ashina,">"he began, contacting central command over the comms. <"Strike Team Windu is separated. Knight Nyrian has fallen.">

<"Copy, Knight Ashina. Stand by for-">

<"Negative.">

<"Huh?">

Command protested when Inosuke didn't reply. He was close, he could feel it. To what? Captives? Sith? Jedi? Bogan's overcast made it unclear. Whatever lied at the end of it, it was the path Ashla willed him to follow. That much was clear as day. Any consequence to come of proceeding could be worried about later. Some authorities took precedent above others, this wasn't any different.

<"Ashina, you're going to get yourself killed.">

It must be your own choice, son. Warriors are those who are prepared to perish.

<"I am prepared.">

After several minutes, Inosuke came across a departure from the claustrophobic corridors he'd traversed since his arrival; A large octagonal chamber lined with cells. A crude cage lay in the center, housing fearful faces that huddled away from the edges. Murmurs of fear sprouted when his saber ignited, louder ones blossomed as he struck the cage in a distinct pattern. A rectangular broke loose, fell flat onto the ground with an ear-rending thud. Even the ever impassive Inosuke flinched at the sound.

"Go free," he instructed. His saber pointed whence he came. "You will find my colleagues this way." Reinforcements were coming, courtesy of Command's insistence. That made the way he took the safest direction to send them. "Go!" he shouted, not allowing them to heistate. Prisoners, slaves, captives, hurriedly shuffled from the cage and disappeared into the cramped tunnel he came from.

Inosuke could sense more elsewhere. He searched.

 

[Mrurh'en'lase | Hel]

Equipment: Hel's Lightclub | Robes
Objective: Engage the Brotherhood
Targets: Darth Tennacus
Enemies: BotM | BotM Allies
Allies: SJC | SJC Allies

​

Mrurh'en'lase opened her eyes - crimson and heavy with memory - to see the bleeding sky of fumes, fire, and chaos. On instinct, she tried to move, to roll, but her muscles cramped under the pressure of something hot, heavy, and metallic. Attempts to sit up only left her head screaming in pain as the veins in her temples throbbed and the bridge of her nose spasmed with old injuries flaring up. She could only turn her head to the sides, which at least allowed her to ascertain that the containment armor on her cursed arm was still intact. With that relief, Mrurh'en'lase laid herself back down, arms splayed to her sides, and chest heaving with breath. A warm substance touched her cheeks and ears. Was that blood running down her face? Possibly, given what had just happened - again.

But, of course it happened again. It was as if she was cursed to never join a battle properly. No matter where or when, the shuttle carrying the Hybrid Jedi would always - without fail - be shot down and careen into some structure or landscape. This would, most of the time, leave the others dead or injured, and her somehow only slightly wounded yet within full combat capabilities.

Perhaps it was the Force at work, defending its champion. Or maybe it was just luck, a series of variables aligning each and every time. Improbable, but not impossible in the veiled lie that was reality. Her tutelage under Allyson Locke had taught her that nothing was impossible. Not the improbable, the unlikely, the dubious. With pure luck, chance, and a little bit of skill, the most impossible things could be accomplished. Hell, in the grand scheme of other events with this line of thinking, surviving multiple shuttle crashes ironically seemed much more likely to occur. And this luck surely had to carry over eventually into battle.

It had to today.

With a grunt of effort, the Hybrid flicked her right hand up off the scorched earth below her and attempted to lift the hot, heavy, and metallic thing pinning her down. Once more did her head scream and her vision blurred for a moment. The exertion of the effort was straining on her rebuilding reserves of energy, and the bleeding whitened and darkened all at once. Attempts to use Telekinesis with only a vague awareness of the target had been a study of the Hybrid's for the past couple of months. Minorly successful attempts, if that, to emulate the greatness of Jedi Masters of eras past such as Plo Koon. Still, it was something better than failure, and failure would not be her legacy.

A greater surge of effort burst forth from her hand and the creaking of metal gave way to hope. Fingers bending into symbolesque shapes, the Hybrid pushed forth with the Force, trying with as much might as she could muster in this predicament to free herself and join the war. The hot, heavy, metallic thing was shunted off of her and flew back into the dead trees, allowing her to rise with a frightening - almost animalistic - swiftness. She looked to that which had been pinning her down and grunted when she saw it was only parts of the shuttle that had crashed, pierced by some hypervelocity blaster round. Was it from anti-air defenses? She was uncertain, but also uncaring. She lived, and with no signs of other survivors, she was alone in her vicinity. That was all that mattered.

The wider world was another story, and it was that story that she would soon enter so as to join her comrades in the Order and do battle once again. The sounds of action both distant and near raged with unbridled fury. Damaged peace fled with smoke in its lungs, sprinting from the fierceness of righteous warriors and their dastardly foes who sought subjugation of all life not their own. It was sad, really, that this was still the case even with the fall of the Sith Empire and their compatriots. The Dark Side would always exist, always fight, always invade, always slaughter.

That was made none more apparent than when Mrurh'en'lase, after ensuring one last time that the containment armor covering her curse was intact and that her lightsaber still functioned, walked through the forests of Loa-mon. Dozens of Shi'ido, torn to shreds for their rebellion or left to die with no chance of healing or rescue. The emotions of those that still lived were incursive upon the Hybrid's mind, a bleeding plague lesion that threatened to spread across the entire body. Such was the burden she had yet to truly develop an understanding of dealing with - Zeltron genetics that only seemed to be developing further and further as she aged and grew stronger in the Force. However, she refused to let it run her down and throw her into the very pits the corpses lay in. No, she merely apologized to those she could not save and moved on, further and further through the destroyed, ruined forest of the Shi'ido's homeworld, listening as the battles of individuals and groups waged on all around her, yet too far for her to join immediately.

It was not until she finally broke through the edge of this horrendous place that she finally lay her eyes on something that she could join in on immediately: the war camp of the Brotherhood. The name had been passed around in briefings for this mission: Goshen. Once the capital of the poor Shi'ido people, it had now been reduced to a pile of rubbled infectious evil. Enough rust to give a Rancor tetanus, and enough sickening oozing darkness to make even the Shroud feel ill at the sight if it was active at this time. The same righteousness within Mrurh'en'lase that many of her compatriots felt compelled her to utter a growling roar as a challenge to the masters of corruption within this fortress-monastery of iniquity. Yet, she restrained herself, as taught by her Master. She would have to reserve that virtuous fury for the battle to come, and even then she had to keep herself within the mind of a Jedi and not a frenzied berserker. She could not have a repeat of Ziost. Not again.

The march to the walls of this place, which were actively being harried by bombers and invading forces of rebels and Jedi, would be difficult. The plains outside of the ruined capital - now a hill of slavery - were bloodied, practically a gory scrapyard of downed vessels, destroyed vehicles, and mangled corpses that eeked out the last vestiges of thought and emotion. Just enough to press further on the steeled mind of the Zeltron-Chiss hybrid who gripped the hilt of her lightsaber with renewed intent. Avoiding stray rounds from artillery, tank, bomber, as well as purposeful rounds from the warcamp's defenders would make this a trek unlike any she had had to take before.

But she had to take it. And so, the Hybrid began her lonely charge, crimson eyes set upon the towering malignance.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Lao-mon, Goshen Keep Dungeons
Tags: Sakadi Marathi Sinvala

Legends circulated among Shi'ido rebels about the precise origin of Goshen Keep. Some insisted that it had been carved from the dark stone of Rhand, the former Brotherhood capital, and was infused with the vileness of that shadowed planet's nihilistic sorcerers. Others claimed it had been sculpted by enslaved convicts from the Mawite-occupied prison colony on Osseriton, and the blood they'd shed under the brutal lash of their overseers had soaked into the rock, tainting it with suffering. Still others believed it was an ancient artifact of some forgotten cult, found drifting in deep space.

The Brotherhood encouraged such rumors, for it spread fear and dread among the Shi'ido. The Mongrel himself did not know which, if any of them, was true. He could have believed any of them, for even he - who lacked the gift of Force-sensitivity - could sense the palpable misery that radiated out of the keep's walls. Perhaps that pointed to a dark history long before the structure had been dropped in the center of Goshen, or perhaps it merely reflected that countless Shi'ido had been tortured, broken, and often killed here for three years now. That wasn't a long time, but it was long enough.

Long enough to make a place reek of blood.

Now the Jedi were here, using their strange magic to slip past the outer defenses and infiltrate these unhallowed dungeons. They were some of the first outsiders to walk the keep's halls without the weight of shackles at their wrists and necks... though The Mongrel intended to remedy that lack for as many of them as he could. As good as it was to kill a Jedi, it was even better to break one, to turn one of the Force-knights to the Maw's cause. The Mongrel might not respect their magic, which he saw as lesser than hard-earned skill at arms, but he recognized its potency all too well.

There was another thing he did not respect about the Jedi: their compassion for the weak. The Mongrel had once been a victim, captured by the Maw when he had been too weak to fight them off and save the backwater colony that had been his home. Good. That was how it ought to be. Forget noble lineages and democratic governments and charters of laws; the only rightful authority in the galaxy was the right of conquest, in which those strong enough to reach out and take what they desired were the ones in power. Wealth and politics were the tools of weaklings.

But the Jedi had compassion for the conquered, and wanted to see them protected rather than dominated. To do so was to deny them the opportunity to grow. Would The Mongrel ever have discovered his potential, rising to become a mighty warlord, if he's stayed a speeder mechanic at the galaxy's edge his whole life? Of course not. He had been conquered, broken, and reshaped, and by surviving all that he had become a conqueror. Protecting the weak was subverting the galaxy's natural order. As for those who lacked the strength of will to rise above their circumstances...

... they deserved to be killed and enslaved.

It was this weakness, this desire to alleviate the suffering that punished weakness and led to growth, that caused one of the Jedi to fall behind the rest of her group. Stepping around a corner in the maze of long, dark halls that formed the keep's underlevels, The Mongrel caught sight of her: short (by his standards), lean, willowy, with lavender skin and a cascade of pale hair. He could have figured out that she was a Jedi even without catching sight of her weapon; she had that determined serenity about her, a grace of both movement and spirit that was immediately apparent.

He'd see how calm she was with a blade in her gut.

"Scurry, scurry, little womp rat," The Mongrel growled, his steel-toed boots clanking against the stone floor as he stalked forward. His voice was harsh and rough, sandpaper with a metallic edge as it emerged from the speakers of his durasteel mask. "You Jedi are bold little rodents, to venture right into the felinx's lair." The warlord dragged the tip of his dread blade across the stone floor, the energy blade letting out a screech-hiss as a glowing scratch of semi-molten stone appeared in its wake. "Of course, you shadow-skulkers will find it much harder to leave."

He raised his blade to point at her, aimed at her heart. His intent was clear: a challenge, a duel to the death.