Invasion Die by The Sword | NIO invasion of BOTM held Csaus

[Tor’r Tal’Verda]

Tor’r Tal’Verda | Death’s Hand
BREAK the New Imperials
Khamul Kryze | Kralmus Orr | The Mongrel | Lurtz Null

W O L F


​

The sky tumbled and the earth shook, two figures would drop out from the air and make co tact with the solid earth unharmed, glistening in the light. The horned visage of Tor’r Tal’Verda rose his veiled gaze onward toward The Mongrel as his elite bodyguards no doubt leapt to the surprise defense of their master.

“Warlord. By the command of Mand’alor, we offer our services to you, how may Death’s Hand be of use to you?”

The New Imperials had grown bold, he had to respect their tenacity and drive for revenge. For the first time in the history of the war the Brotherhood of the Maw has been caught by surprise forced on the defensive in an attack unforeseen and unpredicted.

“Just give us a name and a target. I’ll see them buried before you.”

​

 

[Kralmus Orr]

Location: Csaus, Citadel Caelitus Outskirts
Tags: Tor’r Tal’Verda | Lurtz Null | Khamul Kryze

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Kralmus arrives with Tor'r

​

Just behind Tor'r, slamming into the frozen tundra in a burst of swirling snow, came Kralmus Orr.

The dark visor of his horned helmet scanned across the permafrost beyond the Mawite wall, taking in the ranks of NIO troopers beginning to approach the valley. Finally, a straight fight. He had grown so terribly tired of hunting the dusty old mask that the master of Death's Hand so desired; symbols and relics meant nothing to him, and the battles they'd faced along the way had been sporadic and small-scale. But this... this was going to be glorious. There were tanks out there, and rank upon rank of enemy warriors for him to rip apart. He felt himself beginning to salivate at the thought. Stormtroopers were like shellfish; he'd crack them open and slurp out the meat.

Tor'r made his address to the cyborg warlord - damn, that guy looked the worse for wear, right? - and Kralmus waited behind him, casually drawing forth the axe slung across his back. He had no patience for talk of honor or formal codes of conduct; he respected only strength, and he had yet to see the strength of those assembled here. So he focused instead on his weapon, something he knew he could rely on. It was a perfectly balanced blend of beskar and songsteel, a close-range killing tool without equal. He would bet on it against any lightsaber, and he greatly hoped he got the chance to test it in such a way; he had never tasted Jedi meat before, and he was curious.

"Buried after I've picked their bones," Kralmus added idly, running his whetstone along the axe's edge. It was already plenty sharp enough, but he was antsy and overeager, and needed something to do with his hands. It was taking every ounce of discipline he had - admittedly not a lot of ounces, so each one had to work pretty hard - to hold back from moving to engage the NIO immediately, perhaps picking off the pickets at their flanks or stalking their columns through the mountain passes. It'd been a long shuttle ride to get here, and he was beyond ready to kill something. But his role here was to defend, however little he cared for the fortress they stood in front of.

So he'd have to wait until he could see the whites of their eyes - or the black of their visors - before he killed them.

 

[Shai Maji]

CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS
501st LEGION | 16th COMPANY
40 TROOPS TOTAL | 4 BASILISK WAR DROIDS
GEAR IN WRITE UP | REPEATERS | MISSILE LAUNCHERS
ALLIES: New Imperial Order | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Kranak Vizsla | Bex Tarring
ENEMIES: Maw | Lurtz Null | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Kralmus Orr | Khamul Kryze
ENGAGING: The Mongrel (be there in a jiffy, dawg)
GEAR: In bio | Standard loadout | shield​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Shai and Sixteens stop by Erskine to pick up sword
• Shai gets sword
• Sixteens fly off to Mawite defenses.
• Once in range, Sixteens jump out of gunships and open fire with missiles, repeaters and rifles on Mawite defenses.
• Shai would like to meet the Mongrel.

”I dunno what it is with these Galidraani… like, for real. It’s like they’re all crazy as hell, it just scales with the ranks.” Shai quipped as she looked at her troopers accompanying her in the gunship with an amused grin. ”Not that it’s a bad thing. Hell, we aint that much different. But… just look at ‘em! I made a couple comments on wanting to take out the Mongrel and those sith of theirs… what are their names again? Caelitus and Sepsis or somethin’? Next thing you know, he’s callin’ me in as his champion. If it keeps up like this, I’m buyin’ a plot of land on Galidraan and moving there.” She snickered, fiddling with her helmet.

The current objective was an odd one indeed. She had to actually meet the general on a mountain to get a sword in order to fight the Mongrel. ”I bet y’all a cred each that at least one of ‘em’s drunk as well.” She quipped.

Her gaze shifted to Kranak as the gunships flew towards the mountain top. He could handle himself well, there was no doubt about that. It was also a comforting thought that relations were good enough for the Enclave to be able to join the Empire in their crusade against the Sith. Then again, the previous engagements showed them enough on the Empire’s value on Mandalorian lives.

Alas, that was part of the deal. Kill, fight, die. They were willing to die for the Empire and for the crusade, complaining about their position in the army wasn’t in the agreement.

The two gunships touched down on the mountaintop and the sliding doors opened with Sixteens stepping out to make room for their commander. With her helmet clipped to her belt, she gave the General a salute as she approached. She was about to greet him when he interjected with his own rushed greeting, earning a snicker from the Wardog. The Sixteens stood back with their white armour blending quite well with the terrain around them.

”Glad my name gets around, general.” She quipped. There was no mistaking the man’s stature as he stood before her. He was drunk as a skunk.

She was going to get a few credits out of this meeting.

A few faint voices barely reached her ears from her helmet as her troopers spoke to each other, making sure that their annunciators were disabled in their helmets.

She came to a halt in front of him and looked down at the extended sword. The design was quite odd, she had to admit. Not something she had ever seen in her years, both as a gun runner and a warrior. ”Interesting design…” She admitted aloud as she reached out to grasp the scabbard of the sword.

Her first instinct was to take hold with her left hand, though the collapsed shield on her vambrace and the basket around the hilt made that quite difficult. She finally drew it with her right hand and studied the blade for a moment before her cybernetic eyes looked back to Erskine. ”Doesn’t feel too bad. I will admit, though, I ain’t used to this kind of blade. But I’ll figure it out. Thank you, sir.” She slid the sword back into its scabbard and gave him a salute before she clipped the scabbard to the side of her jetpack. She could fiddle with her belt later. ”We’ll see you on the ground, sir. I’ll bring you the dude’s head with a bottle of whiskey when I give you back your sword.” She quipped as she turned to get back on the gunship.

On the gunship, she managed to tie the sword to her hip before she slipped her helmet back on. ”Y’all kriffers owe me a cred each. And now you can see what I meant when I said these dudes are crazy.” She looked to Kranak and her troops as the doors slid closed and the gunships were off.

Time for them to do their job.

BAD RELIGION​

The two gunships, flanked by their Basilisk escort squadron, headed straight for the front lines of the Maw defenders. Onboard, the Mandalorians were going through their weapons and gear with careful second inspection. :: Max, your mic’s got static. ::

:: ---Esting, testing, one-two. ::

:: There we go, that’s good. ::

:: Thanks, Gira. ::

Shai studied her soldiers before she looked to Kranak. ”Krownest all over again.” She teased, slotting a magazine into a pistol before she holstered it. She drew her rifle from her back and quickly went over it. ”At least the kiddies aren’t on this run.”

:: Where are those squirts, commander? The two shorties were rather amusing to watch.”

”As far away from your ugly mug as they can get, Helin.” She fired right back with a laugh.

:: All units, prepare for drop. ::

The red light came on in the cabin and the troopers got ready for their next operation. :: You know the drill! Move fast and hit hard. They couldn’t break us on Nirauan, they ain’t breaking us now. Aim for whatever poses the biggest threat and don’t stop. :: She spoke to her troopers with an iron voice, her crimson gaze shifting around as she stated her orders. :: And the rule of the day, don’t die. If you die, I’m flyin’ into a hypergate to come get you back out. Got it! ::

:: Approaching drop zone. Good luck! ::

Once the gunships got close enough through the flak and resistance, light turned green in the cabin and the side doors opened. Jetpacks came to life as the soldiers jumped out of the gunships to descend on the Mawite forces.

:: Thermals! Target their big guns! ::

Several missiles flew down at the Mawite defenders from jetpacks and launchers, even some wrist rockets were fired before the Sixteens brought their rifles and repeaters to bear. Heading straight for the main defenses, they were dead set on causing as much havoc as they could for their allies to move up.

:: Give ‘em hell! And find the Mongrel, I’m gonna tear him limb from limb when I find him! :: Shai barked over the comms.

 

[Jan Beroya]

I N Q U I S I T O R

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CITADEL CAELITUS | CSAUS
ALLIES: Rurik Fel | Lucien Dooku | Waymar Dathrohan | Atticus Draco | Dorian Sicarrio | Varus the Sigillite | Larro Paeb | Hans Rennagen | Ihsan Varad | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Marus Saretti
ENEMIES: Darth Solipsis | Erion Justeene | Halketh | Darth Saevius | Detritus Ren | The Fire of Rage | Lord Letifer
ENGAGING: Darth Saevius (Soonᵀᴹ)
GEAR: Armour | Lightsaber | Pistol | Vibroblade | Vibroknife | Grenade loadout

THE RECKONING

The time of reckoning had come.

For too long, Chaos has reigned supreme. And finally, Order has moved on offense. No more defending. No more damage control. Now, the Iron Will was exacted on the servants of the Dark.

And it'll hit where it hurts.

The traitor-lord fancying himself the embodiment of Darkness would have his ass handed to him along with the old sinew that also carries the slave-chain who's leash was held by the Bogan.

How disappointing.

But first Raina had to fight the urge to pull up her nose, standing so tightly wedged between the other Knights of the Empire. Damn, clearly the Mawites had no idea of personal space. Claustrophobia was a thing, people! Jeez. Make the damn shuttle a tad bit wider, at least. If she ever gets a damn chat with the old guy Darth Solipsis , she'd give him some design ideas. 'Cause hot damn.

But it'll probably be a waste of time, given his bad taste in fashion, anyway.

At least Halketh had him on a one up there.

Raina breathed a sigh of relief when the Emperor stepped into the command bridge. One less big body taking up space in the cramped area. The relief was short lived, however, as she felt the shuttle pick up speed.

Joy.

She huffed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes before bracing for the impact, the Force a neat little bubble of safety as the shuttle burst into the spire with a great big OORAH and a large neon sign of WE ARE HERE.

Loud, much?

Gods, she should have stayed on the borders yeeting Force stuff at monsters and chit. Less chest banging to go around when you're actively lobbing off stray Graug heads. Oh well, might as well make a party out of this little gate crash. So she pulled the Force close as her own resplendent blade ignited as she stepped out of the make-shift ram alongside her colleagues behind the Emperor after the ship skidded to a halt.

It must have been a spectacular sight to behold as the cloud of dust from the crash filtered down and through it the Iron Light of Vengeance shone with a vehemence that stated one thing without a doubt....

The Reckoning has arrived.

 

[Darth Saevius]

​

Objective: I - The Writing on the Wall
Tags: Jan Beroya Rurik Fel Lucien Dooku Waymar Dathrohan Atticus Draco Dorian Sicarrio Varus the Sigillite Larro Paeb Hans Rennagen Ihsan Varad Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Marus Saretti Darth Solipsis Erion Justeene Halketh Detritus Ren The Fire of Rage Lord Letifer
Engaging: Jan Beroya

A series of intriguing events had brought Saevius to the citadel of Halketh . For many years, he had set himself upon the course of learning the darker mysteries of the force - chief among them, shaping the will of others under the thrall of his own. He had set himself to the pursuit rather diligently, really - so much in fact, that he considered it an art form. Perhaps that was why he wanted to observe the Dark Lord in his natural environment. Although undeath did not particularly appeal to Saevius, he could appreciate the sheer mastery Caelitus had over the technique. The ceremony, the finality over his dominion over another. But instead of fully applying what he had observed thus far, he meditated every evening on how he could apply the same principles to his own pursuit. Caelitus was the master of the dead, Saevius wished to one day be the master of the living.

As he sat alone within the dimly lit room he had been granted within the citadel, he thought of his father. The fool - a man who once thought himself power, but instead was a mindless thrall aboard Saevius' personal ship docked here outside the citadel. He was his first conquest - a poetic one to be sure. For years he had looked up to his father, and for years his father saw fit to spurn him in turn. Now, they could be together for life. It was rather heartwarming really. Given his father was the first of many whom Saevius had overpowered under his will, his 'artistry' in so doing had left much to be desired. Nothing remained of his father's former self. Perhaps that was a blessing.

For the many since applying what he'd learned, his abilities had grown stronger and more refined. Now, his most recently acquired servants possessed much of their former selves, so much so that he could even depend on them for counsel or conversation. But there was always something missing - something which prevented it from being perfect. He felt close to achieving it here, so very close.

Regardless of how close he was or not, his ruminations over what he had learned from observing some of Caelitus' rituals had been rudely interrupted by the sounds of sirens blaring throughout the citadel. His eyes snapped open, and within moments he could feel the beckoning call of Darth Solipsis within the spire. Saevius reached out through the force, feeling the cause of the alarm. He could feel all of them, crammed in the shuttle which had just impacted through the spire. The arrogant fools, who thought themselves capable of striking here of all places. It wasn't but for another moment longer that he could understand exactly why the incursion team had such confidence. He could feel the presence of several powerful entities aboard that shuttle, motivated by... what was that? Retribution? Revenge?.

A mild chuckle escaped Saevius' lips as he pulled his lightsaber to his grasp and donned his robe. The Imperial Knights thought themselves to be a force for good, a force that could bring order to the chaos. But they were all the same. Their quest for revenge would be their undoing, if not today - then inevitably so. Saevius did not mind being the means by which a few of them came to that undoing. Perhaps he could even practice his techniques, enhanced by what he had learned thus far.

The Sith Lord emerged from his quarters, falling in line with a host of others rushing through the corridor to their various stations. He would soon break away as he approached the spire and ascended the steps to the area Darth Solipsis had beckoned. The doors to the shuttle had opened, and their invaders had revealed themselves. Saevius' eyes peered from underneath his hood, locking eyes on one of their number in particular. From the way Jan Beroya carried herself - the telltale signs of her noble birth by the way she regarded those before her, but the grace... the elegance she carried herself. She was... exactly what he was looking for.

'How convenient.' Saevius thought to himself as a grin materialized. His head slowly rose up, his eyes soon to follow as they met hers. His outer cloak flowed to the ground while his right hand raised - his lightsaber hilt held horizontally in front of him. As those who stood beside him primed themselves to do, so did Saevius as he activated the blades of his lightsaber - crimson beams of energy snapping to life on either side of his hilt.

Wordlessly, he stood there - but his eyes said it all.

'Welcome.'

​

 

[Vesta]

Death Row​

Location: Necropolis, Citadel Caelitus
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw | Darth Solipsis · Halketh · Darth Saevius · Detritus Ren · The Fire of Rage · Erion Justeene
Enemies: New Imperial Order | Rurik Fel · Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt · Atticus Draco · Lucien Dooku · Dorian Sicarrio · Jan Beroya · Varus the Sigillite · Larro Paeb · Ihsan Varad · Marus Saretti
Objective: Repel Invaders | Face Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Equipment: Red Lightsaber

She had played the part of curious spy, failed assassin, on Nirauan - a ploy to give the Imperator, Rurik Fel , and his knights the false sense of security she needed to let him believe there was an inkling of hope he could take into his grasp when presented it. That moment was supposed to be much later than this, however she had also not intended to go as far as she had in her duel with the man and, judging by the sudden arrival of hostiles and the unmistakable stench of that oppressive iron will, things were clearly not going quite as she had intended. "Chit." She cursed under her breath, not yet prepared for the second clash with the man in the mask. She had been deep in the Necropolis, finding the silence of the dead and the chill of the undead far better company than the living above for her meditation, probing the dark side for where her next best course of action would be after her revelation on Epoch - to seize the flame of passion which had eluded her ever since her disillusionment with the very Empire she had abandoned.

As fate would have it, be it an act of mercy or mere chance, Fel wasn't destined to be her foe on this day - her plans to save that misunderstanding weren't entirely dashed - and he hadn't directed his will towards finding her, but she felt another presence in the deep recesses of the undercity that was more than palatable for such an occasion. Another that had been on Bastion, another soul that had helped the oppressive machine of imperialism to isolate her from her paramour, approached even now. She had remembered Kyber Dark, remembered the empowerment of their screams, how she'd very nearly overwhelmed two Jedi at once in their finest hour, only to abandon the fight to rescue her then-apprentice from certain death - and she remembered the rage of this very woman, Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt , as the cold, apathetic, iron cogs turned against her.

It was a marvel that she continued to side with them, for so long, after that betrayal - she had turned on her very own family's empire the moment she understood the part they had played in her own shortcomings, she couldn't understand, much less empathize with, the continued obedience of someone like that.

'Bound by their own chains.'

The thought came naturally to her as she stood up from the cold floor she had been sitting atop of, lightsaber flying from its loop at her waist into her opening right hand. Just like the slaves of tradition and status quo that her former home had become, blind obedience - brainwashing - was all she could rationalize this sort of continued loyalty with. Even now, as she realized that Darth Solipsis could not give her exactly what she wanted, she had begun to prepare for overcoming the inevitable stagnation that prolonged complaisance would bring. While the rest of the order moved towards the threat she did not, choosing instead to use this moment to relieve herself of her limitations in a setting removed from the prying eyes of an emperor who might think twice of engaging her on her terms if given the chance to comprehend the threat she had made to him. The dark chill of death overwhelmed the presence of undeath in the Necropolis as she began to walk towards the descending presence of Sybila, her features and the space around her illuminated by the subtle red glow of her blade in hand.

No, death wasn't quite an accurate sensation - hunger was.

She embodied it.

 

[Varus the Sigillite]

Varus the Sigillite
Lord Commander of the Vandemarian Vindicators, Knight-Captain of the Imperial Knights, Paladin of Hohenlautern and Keeper of the Seal of the Spire

POST I

Objective: I. Writing on the Wall
Location: Csaus, Caelitus Citadel, Exiting Assault Shuttle
Assets: Discipline & Doctrine
Tag(s): Rurik Fel , Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt , Atticus Draco , Lucien Dooku , Dorian Sicarrio , Jan Beroya , Larro Paeb , Ihsan Varad , Marus Saretti NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
Halketh , Darth Solipsis , Darth Mori , Darth Saevius , Detritus Ren , The Fire of Rage mawite scum

It was a lesson in patience, a test of bravery and a trial of faith. The attack of the imperial knights was not just a simple assault or mindless onslaught, it was the epitome of the speartip, aiming to cut off one of the abominable heads of the enemy. It was a strike aimed at the heart, uncompromising, direct and efficient. Daring as well. A sound tactical manoeuvre to improve the strategic situation.

Revenge? Retribution? Varus was not thinking about it. He did not have a relation to the late Imperator Tavlar, no connection to the wars before, but his loyalty, his discipline and his sense of duty were absolute. He would follow the master of the imperial knights into battle, to whatever end. He would fight at his side and either triumph or die, there was no middle ground. Was it to repent? Maybe. The Force is nothing but a cruel machination of the Galaxy to issue an artificial, enforced balance, being an elementary part of this system was disgusting and therefore every step done should aim to remove its despicable presence.

The shuttle dipped into the atmosphere, changing from vacuum to gravity in a matter of seconds. The Vindicator was by far the broadest and most space-taking individual in the shuttle, his massive power armor taking a good amount of space, but he remained unmoved, the turbulences not having any effect. Neither what was to come . . . .

With a bone-shattering crash the shuttle would dig itself through the walls of the citadel of Caelitus, shaking and vibrating were the softest movements hitting the passengers. A hammering and thundering of metal on metal, metal breaking through duracrete was deafening and would destroy any body inside the cabin if not for proper planning and technology. Varus felt nearly nothing, in his enclosed suit runes of warning and information ran down, giving him a heads-up of everything happening.

The Emperor seemingly used his Iron Will to detonate the deformed ramp open. His gauntlet-integrated lancer charged, the lightsaber pike extended, the Vandemarian warrior left behind his liege to bring order and enlightenment to the necropolis.

The Battle of Woe begun . . . .

 

[Kovacs]

DIE BY THE SWORD
SKY GUARDIAN: EMERGENCE vol. I
Issue #3 w/ Delilah Jones Enzo Demici DECEASED Erskine Barran Electra-12
T U R B O S M U T

Dagger-5, Bravo Flight Lead
181st Fighter Wing

Spawned from the bay of a frigate of the small task force for the surgical strike on Csaus, the TIE engines cried as they pierced the clouds in harmony. Interception was today's duty, Jon's favorite. Blast any ugly bandits - keep the skies clear.

Tapping keys on the nav system, assimilating the crimson readouts on the screen, he hummed a familiar tune. A catchy, repulsively memorable, song the band played that night with Del at the speakeasy bar.

And boy... what a night that was, huh.

Way more welcoming to visualize than the yet-another-snow-chithole they'd been posted on. Where the hell was Csaus anyway? Hell, what the hell was Csaus? The hotshot pilot had slept through half of Harkas' briefing again, missing out on the details. He would've rather listened to Demici than going through that. And Demici talking was as pleasant as nails scratching a whiteboard.

The tundra drawing curves and ridges in the distance brought unwelcome memories of Krownest where they had lost their previous Lucky 7. Gar Vane, green as they get, straight outta the academy. Gone in a ball of plasma and dust that haunted his dreams in the lone nights. Nightmares that shot him straight out of bed, cold sweat pouring.

He softly pushed the stick down, levelling the Outlander to a lower altitude. The battlefield could already be seen in the distance, formed by gradually growing in size shapes. One by one, they began to disappear behind the ridges surrounding the valley the closer the flight was.

:: Spread out some more, yeah? :: he muttered through the comms, his voice unusually somber. Ominous even. A bad feeling just itched at the back of his head.

He swallowed hard. The itch got worse.

That same cold sweat felt inevitable.

 

[Ihsan Varad]

KNIGHT OF THE IRON SUN

Objective: Kill them all.

Engaging: Lord Letifer

Allies: Rurik Fel , Atticus Draco , Lucien Dooku , Jan Beroya , Varus the Sigillite, Larro Paeb, Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt , Marus Saretti , Dorian Sicarrio

Enemies: Darth Solipsis , Halketh , Darth Mori, Darth Saevius , Detritus Ren , Erion Justeene

Loadout: lightsaber, armor, vibroknife

GONNA CUT YOU DOWN

The ride to Csaus had been a quiet one, save for the sounds of the ship and the occasional necessary dialogue. Ihsan had spent the journey meditating on the coming storm, and the fires of retribution that would be rained down upon the planet's frozen soil. He never trusted the former warlord of Carlac. The Bogan knows no master other than itself, he would say to himself. Halketh was never truly one of them, for he had forsaken the way of the New Imperials a long time ago. He may have a new moniker associated with his station among the New Sith Order, but there was no mistaking it... he had always been a Sith.

Csilla was the beginning of the dark road to this day, with millions of lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. One would think this would have been enough, that the evil done to the Chiss was enough to satisfy even the most voracious and destructive appetites. Nevertheless, the Maw kept coming, sweeping across world after world, killing all that sought to impede their ultimate goal. The galaxy needed an answer to the wanton destruction and chaos...

It needed Order.

As the ship touched down, Ihsan tightened his grip around the hilt of his lightsaber. Though this wasn't his first mission as a proper Imperial Knight, it was his first time coming face to face with the Brotherhood. He knew them as fierce warriors, vicious to the bone. Their New Sith masters were naturally just as dangerous, and twice as conniving. It was their deception that had broken the Bastion Pact. It was they who orchestrated the destruction of Jedi temples across the galaxy, and it was their now second in command that had slain Imperator Tavlar. It was an unforgivable sin, one that could only be paid for in blood. Ihsan held his hand to his chest for a moment, praying for his own forgiveness. Today, there would be no quarter. Today, there would only be death.

The shuttle came crashing against the spire, sparking and screeching as the collision sensors rang out across the inside of the ship. It was only moments after the shuttle came to a halt that the door was opened. Rurik Fel, the Iron Emperor himself, stepped out, igniting his blade as his metal gaze fell upon the traitor's citadel. There was no need for words; the motion from their leader was enough. Igniting his golden blade, Ihsan made his way off of the crashed shuttle, ready to cut down all that stood in their path.

For Tavlar, for Fel, for Ashla and the New Imperial Order... this citadel would burn.

​

 

[Volgin Alto]

M A U L E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION 'FEL'S FIST'
8th AIRBORNE BATTALION 'ALL-IMPERIAL'
Armor [Artic Climate] | Heavy Repeater | Pistol | Hammer
NIO | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Kovacs | Delilah Jones | Enzo Demici | Bex Tarring | Julian Qar
BOTM | The Mongrel | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Chimera | Lurtz Null

WHO WILL SAVE THE WORLD?
​

Snow. Always snow. Fitting to deal death in a venue as cold as it. But it hardly mattered where they needed to go. So long as their sights would make purchase on Maw assets. Such was the duty of the All-Imperial, to jump and die. Volgin would gladly do the former, didn't care if he was inflicted by the latter. In the belly of screaming steel they awaited that rendezvous with destiny in the jump into battle. This engagement was already was painted in brighter shades than prior battles. Enough time had been spent lying down and taking it. It was time to bring the boot to the throat of the enemy. Something Alto prided as one of his more endearing traits.

A platoon unit of gunships were all the All-Imperial could provide for this offensive, the bulk of the 501st being kept in strategic reserve and recovery to ward off any further Maw attacks as the Empire made its first daring offensive into the shadowy territory of darkness. Three units between them, two dedicated airborne troopers, one combat engineer in the hopes of placing strategic detonations around fortress fortifications.

Following up with the rest of the Sabretooth Legion in its debut operation, Commander Alto pinged the Lord General in perhaps an overreach of rank, crossing the sacred line of enlisted and officer with a silent notification.

[ All-Imperial: Ready to Drop ]​

Was the sole message relayed. With the lack of intel they had on Citadel Caelitus aside from what could be gathered from the Sith shuttle, there was little by the means of an assigned drop zone or baked in mission set for this assault, only what the Imperial Army could gather from past operations against the Maw and Sith Empire.

<"How do you like our chances out here, Commander?"> Alto's Sergeant advisor in Brawler Squad asked him with a tilt of his helmeted head.

<"It's cold. I like it cold. And for once...they have no idea they're about to die."> He said in his characteristic Mantellian accent and deep, guttural voice through the filter of his stormtrooper helmet. He leaned forward in his seat, racking the activation of his repeater as he set the bottom of the butt stock onto the cold metal with a low thud. He stared with furrowed brow into the seat across from him.

Waiting every tick until that order and spot to jump into hell again, to come alive again.

 

[Maestus]

What in the name of all things dark and unholy brought her to yet another frozen hell hole? The climate reminded her of Csilla....Ilum.....and all points over the last several years. Just once, couldn't a battle be waged in a tropical climate? Maestus was a child of Mustafar. Born anew by lava and fire itself. All that had been frozen within her, burned away. It was in the heat of Mustafar that she first drew from the energy of life. Pulling the power of lava into herself. Fusing it with her soul.

No, the cold simply did not suit her at all. It slowed her down. Made her weaker. She tired faster in frigid temperatures. Perhaps that was what the damnable New Imperial Order hoped for, by attacking here. That the ice and freezing temps would slow the New Sith Order in some way, providing the NIO with an advantage.

Fools.

For Maestus, susceptible as she was to the cold, she radiated a pulsating heat and power. Perhaps her hubris was rearing its nasty head, but she held little respect for the non-force sensitive. At least as far as battle prowess goes. To stereotype the NFUs, they relied on blasters far too much. That isn't to say she doesn't respect their craftiness and ingenuity. She's witnessed The Mongrel hundreds of times. Creating new and interesting ways of fighting a Force User. She was not too blind or overconfident to think others were not equally as inventive. And so, she would afford her enemy a modicum of respect in that regard.

She stood from the floor, where she had been meditating. She had no need for a meditation sphere. Anywhere she could find solitude was enough. She tossed a gaze around the quarters that had been made ready for her. Adequate, they would suffice. Along one wall, a massive fireplace was blazing bright. A fire roared, warming the room. Even still, Maestus pulled her robes tighter about herself, warding off a chill.

Across the room, two tall and thick doors clattered as the screeching wind hammered into them. Maestus pulled the hood of her robes up round her head, steeling herself for whatever may come. Crossing the room, she threw open the doors and stepped out into the storm.

 

[Julian Qar]

FIELD HOSPITAL STATS

Direction & Surgeon	Dr. J Qar
Main Assist	Dr. Hazel T'hess
On site staff	300
Supplies	100% Stocked
Universal Plasma	1000ml - 60 units
Bacta Spray	16 crates - malfunction [pending]
Bacta Patches	10 crates
Rescue Teams	4 [3 per]
Wounded	0

FIELD MEDICAL REPORT
Protected Document: █ █ █ X-2292701 █ █ █

Obj II
- - -
Field Hospital | Triage Ready
Medical Narrative


Good Homies: DECEASED Erskine Barran Vladimir Kovačić Kovacs Enzo Demici Delilah Jones Volgin Alto Bex Tarring Faison Kelborn
Bad homies: The Mongrel Tor’r Tal’Verda Chimera
Engaging this dude: Tu'teggacha

​

☤
✚ A S _ W E _ D R E A M ✚
[ black and blue]

✚ _ ✚ _ ✚

"What do you want to be when you are bigger, hmm…?"

For a moment the voice had lifted him from his doodles, the pencil went to his lips and with a toothless grin, he replied. "I want to be like papa." His response was near instant, kicking his feet back and forth through the hollow space of his seat as he peered up at his mother with a hopeful glint in his eyes. Raiya looked to her son with a puzzled expression as her hands wiped away the dirt that collected on her tattooed fingers. "You want to help animals, like your papa?" It was a curious thought, at one point he had wanted to be like his older brother, a marksman…the one they never spoke of who they lost to galactic warfare. This idea though seemed to soothe her, it was a far cry from the bloodshed of his father's clan.

"Uhhhmmmmm, yes but for people. Can I be an animal helper but for people?"

Raiya tilted her head to the side, squinting at her son as if the narrower vision would somehow pull all the pieces of this odd job he had concocted together. "But people aren't animals."

"Yes, but papa helps the animals wif medicines and makes them feel better."

"Oh! Jully, I think what you want to be is a mender." She corrected him with a soft chuckle. Her hands absentmindedly pressed down the front of her smock, a feeling of relief soon followed, allowing her to breathe again. She had asked him this simple question from time to time, in hope of getting a different answer than the tired one he had whispered to her some months ago.

"Ohhhh...ok...ok...uh huh, that's what I want to be. A mender, but!" He jumped up from his seat, kicking his feet over the wood chair and instantly plucking his toy blaster from the ground beside the table. "A mender with a blaster!" A barrage of laughter left the young boy, followed by an array of pews and makeshift blaster sounds. For a moment, all she could do was look at him with a smile although the belly of her being still churned with worry. Soon he would leave, make his way in the world without the safety of their nest to fall onto. It was the way of their people, be it fighting within their homeworld or setting off to fight wars abroad. 

There was no stopping what was set out for them, and yet for now all she could do was curb her worrying and continue their conversation with a simple question. "And may I ask you where you got this idea from, ad'ika?"

"Ummm...Sister said that's how I can get all the sweets I want. Remember? Remember when I broke my leg and the mender gave me sweets to make me feel better?" He paused, holding the blaster in his left as he pointed at the two small scars that grazed the edge of his shorts. The two little surgery lines were from a comical accident that involved him chasing after a group of chickens and tackling a short barbed fence. Raiya nodded slowly, blinking away the memory with a quirked brow. Her attention had deviated from his bedtime routine for a moment, picking it back up as if she hadn't missed a beat. "So if I understand this correctly...you want to be a mender for the sweets?"

"Uh huh." Julian piped up with a dopey, toothless smile, pointing the blaster at his mother and making more pewing sounds at her. Tonight she had welcomed this change in his attitude, handing him his glass of milk, his sleepy vitamins and a piece of toast. It seemed for once he was more obedient about the night's routine than his usual kicking and screaming. "Ok, heh, I see Julian. So why do you need a blaster?" she asked softly, her form fell back onto the counter as she watched him down half the glass and then come up for air to speak.

"Is so no one messes wif me for bein' short." the small Shi'Lai child nodded once to his mother, wiping his face with the back of his sleeping shirt before going back to finish the rest of his milk and set his glass on the counter.

"My love," She murmured, lowering down to his height to pat him on the back and scoop him and his toy blaster into her arms. "I can promise, that you will not be this small forever, you are still growing." She pressed her nose into his temple, humming softly as his grubby hands pawed away at the sleep that started to sweep across his lids. "Ok...so maybe is so no one steals my sweets."

"Now I think you are just making things up to stall before bed."

"Mamaaaaaa!!!" He whined, yet she stopped him before he could retaliate further,

"No, mama nothing, it's time for bed, you need to s̶s̴l̵l̶e̸e̸e̸p̷p̸-̸-̶-̷-̷-̷-̶-̵-̸-̶-̷

---

"He fell asleep the second he sat down…"

"I can hear y'all…." that rumbling echo left his chest, accompanied by the idle creek of his suit. He blinked twice, stuffing his hand into the leather pouch to find the eye that he would socket into its respectful housing. The cigarette at his lips, hung on by a thread, nearly consumed fully by the tiny embers at the end. He didn't remember how long he'd been asleep for, perhaps long enough for the soothing stream of that childhood memory to course through without interruptions. It was unlike him, even the bottle of whiskey at his desk in the field hospital was a far cry from the usual ritual. Was he even alert? Only time could tell for certain.

"What are you doing, Julian?" She had never questioned him nor his resolve in a tone that sparked an unsettling sensation in his gut. He was always present, always ten steps ahead, running down his list, checking, always checking. It was his meticulous nature, and that razor sharp mind of his that kept him steady...and yet, he peered up at Hazel swallowing heavy before the dead cigarette was pulled from his lips. "Twenty six hour surgery...an then, got suited and boarded the fucken ship, slept for I dunno how many fucken minutes- I….fuck…." he pulled himself back before going off the handle and snapping at her. A harsh breath escaped his torn lips, so loudly it swirled up the fluid in his torso. He stood up quickly, fishing through the same leather pouch for another cigarette to burn through to temper the intensity he felt growing in his mechanical belly. "What do you need?" the question caused her own embers to be stoked by the fan he provided. "The crate with some of the bacta canisters malfunctioned and we can't get the safety lock off of it." Hazel pulled up the datapad and thumb through it, bringing up the report to show him the sixteen marked crates with angry red lettering. "What's the security code?"

"Arrow - nine, nine, four, delta, five, seven, one. If we don't get it open call someone in mechanical to burn the fucken things open... better for us ta lose a few canisters instead of the sixteen fucken crates we brought." He eyed the bottle at the desk, the thought last a mere blink before he was pouring himself a double. "You need to slow down." she spat the moment the liquid flew past his lips in a swift handed swig. He simply stared at her, turning his attention to his personal datapad and shoving it on the holster of his belt, the small tactical blaster would follow, the trusty knife never leaving it's space within his boot. He flashed her a side eyed look through the illumination of his crimson optic before turning to the door of his pull apart office. "Come on Hazel, we ain't got all fucken day to piss about and complain about my life choices. The briefing is about to start." He looked past her, watching the small gust of air come out his lips, producing a small wisp of air. He pulled the hood over his head, turn the signs within his HUD to fuel internal cooling as he stepped outside.


As expected, the briefing room was packed to the brim with those ready for the plans moving forward. Same game, different board and pieces, and yet each time he felt they were closer and closer to their mark despite the pitfalls along the way. "Mechanical says they got the crates out, they won't know how many cans we lost, but on the positive side we have everything." Julian dragged his focus from the crowd and down towards Hazel, giving her a small nod of approval before picking his search back up again. "You'll be takin' point at the hospital while I'm out." She stopped in her track and narrowed her eyes, peering up at the mechanized physician with a perplexed look. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Means I'm goin' out there with a group of them. I spoke to Erskine after his surgery." The news fell on her like a pile of bricks, causing the hand that gripped the datapad to tighten, nearly cracking the screen. "Do you know how stupid you sound right now?"

"I'm tired of bein' behind and bein' too late to help."

"Do you know she would be upset knowing you were on the front lines again?"

He didn't respond, catching the blue heart commanders familiar gaze and giving him a nod when they locked in on each other. "I'll let you know when to dispatch the first wave of RTs."


█ █ █

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw​

Objective III: BE QUICK OR BE DEAD
Location: The Necropolis, Citadel Caelitus, Csaus
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Michael Barran | Nuruodo'kal'brast | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Open (Allies to Ziare, enemies to Mercy)
Enemies: Open

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

"What?!" the answer to my question has arrived.

The situation started to get pretty uncomfortable, I think they were very thoroughly confusing me with someone. Is anyone wearing similar armour to the enemy as me? That would have been very, very uncomfortable. My loyalty to the empire was unquestionable. I never, ever wanted to betray them, I rather die first! I stepped back nervously, causing me to fall into the ruins again and fall to my bottom. Ouch! It was quite uncomfortable and painful, especially since I was very dizzy again. I wanted to vomit again. No, I had to be strong and hold the urge back.

"We have been warned from above that it can happen if she suffers a head injury. That original personality, Ziare, takes back control and Mercy is pushed into the background!" said another man, as if I weren't even there.

Mercy?! Another personality? Yet what are they talking about? According to them, I never escaped, they just let me go because I served them? No! I never betray the NIO, I owe them my life, the liberation of my home. They fight against those I hate. I believed in the principles of the NIO, in their ideals, I lived by them and followed them. No, I will never betray my home, the Imperator. Especially not for those who killed the previous one. No, no, that's definitely a mistake! Yes, it had to be!

"And then what do we do now? After all, she is one of @The Mongrel’s most trusted and loyal agents!" the big one asked the others.

"WHAT!?" I asked involuntarily out loud.

That I am the most loyal agent of that lunatic?! To someone who kidnapped and almost strangled me at Carlac? Because of whom I was tortured for months? No, no, no, no, no, no and no! There may be some misunderstanding here. I whimpered loudly as I crawled on the ground, trying not too much dignity to get away from these marauders. It wasn’t a very nice sight, and it wasn’t successful either, because the next moment one grabbed my shoulder and I wasn’t able to go any further. But they still didn’t hurt me, maybe I had a chance to survive. And they didn’t even care about my question, like I wasn’t there either.

"She often hurts herself, so let’s take her to a safe place and not let her kill herself, and then I think we’ll wait until Mercy takes control again. If that doesn’t happen, we can still tell the Taskmaster to deal with her." he shrugged.

A Taskmaster? Some images flashed as the man with some disgusting tentacles... he tried to penetrate my mind. No, no, no, no! I don't want this again. I screamed as one of the marauders grabbed my waist and lifted me off the ground as if I had no weight. And I didn’t have the strength to fight because there was a lot of pain in my head for every move. I felt like if I was really trying to fight, I was going to lose consciousness. I’d rather not fight and try to escape if I have the chance. If I pass out, I won't have a chance.

"Take her to one of the ships and get her to safety!" said one of them.

But no, I don't want to! I wanted to fight them, take part in the fights on the side of my comrades and destroy the Maw!

~ Oh, just shut up already... Your constant whining, it's very boring! ~ I heard a voice in my head.

~ Who? ~ I asked in thought.

~ You can guess two, but I bet you will succeed at the first… ~ she answered.

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE SKIES | CSAUS

ALLIES: Kovacs | Enzo Demici | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Volgin Alto | Bex Tarring | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Julian Qar | Vladimir Kovačić | NIO | Enclave
ENEMIES: The Mongrel | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Lurtz Null | Kralmus Orr | Khamul Kryze | Chimera | Electra-12 | BOTM | NSO
ENGAGING: Electra-12 (Soonᵀᴹ)
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives

SEVENTEEN​

What was it with the top brass and frozen wastelands?

Del had to do her own homework, seeing as Kovacs slept through the briefing again and couldn't give them anything more concrete than a "keep the airspace clean so the boots don't get bombed". Like, no chit, genius! Couldn't you pay attention to the fact that IT WAS ANOTHER SURGICAL STRIKE ON ANOTHER FROZEN WASTELAND WITH DEFENCES EVEN WORSE THAN URSA'S REDOUBT?

For the lifer of her, she couldn't recall why she put up with his dumb ass.

It wasn't a bad ass at all, but still - it could be dumb.

Transfer was out of the question, though.

Sitting in the Outlander, Del looked out over the frozen ground toward the battlefield in the distance. The similarities were too many. The memories a little too fresh still. They all put on brave faces and went about their lives, but she was certain she wasn't the only one seeing that Slasher disappear in a plume of smoke and flame over and over again. And she wasn't even the one next to Gar when it happened.

The bad memory made her stomach clench with dread.

:: Spread out some more, yeah? ::

Jon's haunting voice broke through her silent fretting. Clearly even he wasn't feeling it. No quip, flirt or jab at Demici was highly unlike the hotshot pilot.
<How much space do you need, Kovacs?> Yeah, the quip was an epic fail. It came out sounding way too drear and emotionless to even be considered a quip. Well done it, Del. She grimaced at the failed attempt as she angled the Outlander into a wider berth from Jon's left flank.

It was chit.

There was a time when she considered a frozen world beautiful. Now, they were just bad joojoo in her books, bringing more bad than the beauty can make up for. Her feminine intuition was nagging at her that this wasn't just going to be a quick-fix-and-go-have-a-drink-afterwards type deal.

She just hoped Lucky 7 had luck enough for the whole flight.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Csaus, Citadel Caelitus Outskirts
Allies: Lurtz Null | Tor’r Tal’Verda
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | Shai Maji | Kovacs | Volgin Alto | Delilah Jones

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel sends Tor’r Tal’Verda to engage Volgin Alto's drop troops
• He wades into battle with his warblade, engaging Shai Maji 's Sixteens
• Marauder Aspirants swarm the Sixteens with superior numbers
  • Since the Sixteens are well ahead of other NIO forces in the sudden drop attack
• Tarar Warbands use their plasma weapons to melt through enemy armor

Outnumbered again. How familiar.

The Mongrel watched in silence, snow whirling around his tall metal frame, as sensor data flashed across his internal readouts. The NIO was here for revenge - vengeance for Nirauan, and for their dead Imperator, assassinated by the traitor who lurked in the castle behind him - and they had come in force. This was the latest thrust in their great galactic fencing match, a bold new lunge for the Brotherhood's vitals after their last exchange had left them both bloodied, and they were committing to the blow. Terrible indeed was the force behind it.

But the Brotherhood, to continue the fencing analogy, dueled two foes at once. It fought with a sword in each hand, and so it tired far more quickly than either opponent. The Mongrel's eyeless gaze swept out over his forces, this hardened corps of veterans, the few and the proud. They lacked the vast territories of their foes, the multitude of trade routes and industrial planets that the Alliance and NIO could draw upon to rebuild after taking a hard blow. The Brotherhood took twice as many blows, and it took far longer to heal from them.

They had survived so far by swiftness, deception, and savagery. They had even won great victories, punching far above what economists and military theorists would have considered their weight class. But how long could they sustain this grinding war, one in which they replenished themselves so much more slowly than either of their foes? Was the Brotherhood itself becoming like The Mongrel, slowly stripped away in battle after battle, transforming through loss until it was more scar than whole flesh? Was their faith strong enough to endure?

It fell to him, his tribe's leader, their saint, to ensure that it was.

Tank divisions were closing in from the south, eating up the kilometers between their landing zone and the Mawite fortress. NIO air support streaked overhead, ready to ensure that the skies were once again their empire's domain. Amid their control of the wind-scoured clouds, enemy gunships soared into position, preparing their forces to drop into the fray. And all the while the ground pounders were on the march, advancing steadily through the valleys that wound their way through the jagged mountains, white armor against white snow.

What did The Mongrel have, to face down all of that? A half-strength or less marauder tribe, whittled down in brutal battle against these same foes, plus another tribe yet unproven in battle against the NIO; the motley "division" of scavenged vehicles his tech-shamans had managed to scrape together out of the refuse of this world and the loot of recent conquests; and a handful of auxiliaries like the Mandalorians before him, fierce and deadly but pathetically few. Despite the breadth of the Maw's coalition, he could count his assets on one hand.

No Final Dawn troops, off battling the Galactic Alliance on battlefields that better advanced their neo-Imperial schemes. No elite Bloodsworn marauders, still recovering from the brutal clash at Nirauan. No Drengir, who had betrayed and weakened the Brotherhood when the Maw ad needed them most. No Holy Crusaders, the supposed unifiers of this loose coalition, enforcers of the Dark Voice's grand plan. The Mongrel was all but alone in holding the approach to this unholy castle, with no path to retreat and no good lines of supply.

So be it. Faith alone would make up the difference.

"My greetings to the warriors of Death's Hand, and my thanks to your Mand'alor," he thundered in reply, addressing Tor’r Tal’Verda with clear respect. He had come to learn a little about politics and diplomacy in his rise to the level of warlord, and with so little aid available to him, he would be a fool to alienate what allies he had. "The skies fill with our foes, preparing to drop upon us like steel rain. Carve your bloody path through them, and you will know the gratitude of the Scar Hounds." He indicated the gunships above...

... setting the Mandalorians against Volgin Alto and his troops.

The drone of engines soon revealed that Death's Hand were not the only Mandalorians entering the battle, however. The Mongrel looked up and beheld two NIO gunships coming in hot, basilisks all around them. In an instant the skies filled with the descending forms of Sixteenth Company, dropping in well ahead of any other NIO attack. It was a bold move, to assault entrenched defenses without any clear lines of support or retreat. They would either open the way for the rest of the NIO troops... or be slaughtered to a man.

Flak cannons roared as they fired up at the gunships and their escort, but The Mongrel could see that it was already too late for shooting them down to make any difference; the Sixteens, infamous amongst the Brotherhood for the kills they'd racked up at Nirauan, were already entering the fray. As usual, he would have to be both warlord and warrior at once, coordinating the ebb and flow of battle even as he waded personally into the fray. "Prepare the skiffs to move at the first sight of their tanks," he ordered his lieutenants.

"And ready our walkers to outflank their initial push."

With that, The Mongrel drew his mighty warblade from the sheath built into his back and waded into the fray. His new body was smaller and quicker than the hulking mass of metal that had been destroyed on Nirauan, and he enjoyed the sense of finesse it offered him. His blows came in faster than the eye could follow, striking with mechanical precision at the joints in armor, transforming him into the very image of the scythe-bearing farmer cutting swiftly through a field of grain. He found find and slay the leader of this early incursion.

Taking the commander's head tended to damage morale.

"Where is our air support?" he growled, some of his visual sensors fixed on the skies even as others checked the battle around him. One advantage of not having a face, or a mere two eyes, was that he could look in many directions at once. He was confident that he could hold this position, keeping back tanks and drop troopers and the crushing force of the NIO's ground legions, if only he could avoid the kind of bombing runs that the Royal Galidraani fleet had inflicted on his warriors at Nirauan. That was one thing he couldn't beat alone.

Around him, his Scar Hounds - initially taken by surprise in the sudden attack from above - rallied as they saw him enter the fray. He was their founder, their inspiration, their holy champion, and they would not fall short while he stood tall among them. They had not the armor of the Sixteens, or the training, or the discipline... but they had faith and savagery. They were fearless in their attacks, glad to take wounds - even mortal ones - to inflict the same on their foes. Their cybernetic grafts made them stronger and tougher than they looked.

Their wide range of weapons had only brutality in common.

"War! Death! Rebirth!" The Mongrel's mechanical voice boomed, so loud that it could be heard among the tumult of battle - and that it made those close to him stumble back in auditory distress, ears bleeding. The answering shout, echoing his words, came from every Mawite throat, and they fought back twice as hard. The young Marauder Aspirants, eager to prove themselves worthy of his exalted tribe, swarmed the drop troopers, taking advantage of outnumbering the foe behind the Mawite defensive line. And among them...

... the Tarar used plasma guns to melt enemy armor like nerf butter.

It was imperative that they limit the damage the Sixteens could do, for if the LuchsHai technicals and their mounted artillery were disrupted enough, the NIO would be able to sweep up the valley without having to keep their heads down. Time was of the essence, and either pushing back this unit or eliminating it entirely was the most important goal for the Maw in the opening steps of this clash. "Where is your champion?" boomed The Mongrel, pushing forward, his blade a blur. "Let the greatest among you face me!"

"Let the greatest among you face WAR'S ANOINTED!"

 

[Lurtz Null]

Location: Fortress Walls
Objective: 2
Allies: BOTM The Mongrel Tu'teggacha Tor’r Tal’Verda
Enemies: NIO DECEASED Erskine Barran Volgin Alto

Lurtz made a terrifying sight as he watched his own men feast on the flesh of one loud mouthed soldier. Such was the way of these savage warriors. He looked outwards and saw nothing but a massive force of imperials, ones that all seemed so clear to him now as opposed to before when all that was heard was the rumbling. His hand gripped his sword tightly, part of him wished to jump from the walls onto the enemy below to meet them in close quarters combat hacking and gnawing upon his foes. The other troopers from what he could see also wished for the same, for while in the middle of the short meal they looked out and saw that the enemy was growing ever so closer to the walls, looking out into the sea of soon to be fresh meat all he could see out on the horizon before him.

The Mongrel seemed a little restless with how the troopers conducted themselves. The Red Fist wondered if the boss thought the hands would botch the battle plan. Lurtz looked to the being and spoke. “I’m sorry sir, the men are restless from what pitiful provisions were provided. We did not expect to be the ones manning the walls.” He said the displeasure so evident in his tone as he did not expect for one of the first battles to be mainly from a defensive standpoint.
When the Mongrel chanted out the signature mantra of the Maw, the hands equally boomed forth. “War!,Death,Rebirth!” All the while animalistic roars were heard from them along with the banging of twisted swords upon the deformed stormtrooper armor they wore.

The hands did nothing, many of them wanting to charge forth but would only get caught in the ensuing flak of the artillery. Red Fist gritted his teeth as the enemy stood in his sight, in countless numbers and the only defensive force were there to keep the walls safe. While they had been trained to handle a siege with ease, it wasn’t to the enjoyment of the troops driven by hunger and bloodlust.

“What is our next move Red Fist?” One of the lowly grunts asked while they all watched as the sky was ablaze with fire. Charred husks of gunships fell from the sky as volley after volley was delivered. Red Fist only looked forward while he spoke. “We are to stay at the walls at all cost, unless Mongrel says otherwise we don’t sacrifice this position by any means.” He said begrudgingly, the sword in his hand grew tighter all the same just eager to embrace carnage.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber

SUNSET
​

Once more into the Heart of Darkness. While Carlac seemed to be a veritable host infected with the disease of darkness. Csaus was a pestilent organism from the ground up, constructed on a foundation and built with the pillars of insidiousness to its very core. He hadn't felt so deeply entrenched in the heart of evil since Korriban. Since Rurik and his Knights purged the unclean in rusted sands. By all his will, he could cast the hand of judgement once more as he did that day.

There would be no refuge for mercy or restraint in his mind. His discipline was unbroken, but even so there seemed to be an internal barrier that kept him from truly doing what need be done. Too much of his cerebral was bent on dampening the pain that lied within him, too much was centered around making it a null, a non-factor. He would have to inflict the very same pain unending that he felt unto that dark miasma that donned upon the precipice of his fate once more.

Solipsis, the Herald of Apocalypse, the bringer of Armageddon, chaos incarnate. For all the power Solipsis held, he could never bring low Rurik Fel. He could torment his allies all he wished in the hopes of punishing the mind of the Man of Iron, but he could never kill Rurik Fel.

And he never would. As the Knights of the Order swept through the dark citadel in crusade, Rurik was drawn to the scent of the Sith'ari.

As undead troopers were scrambled toward the corridor of Rurik's arrival he approached them with slow, foreboding heavy metal footfalls, his argent blade clutched in the metallic grip of his cybernetic right hand as they flung bolts of superheated tibanna in his direction. Every shot, every burst snapped into motionless suspension immediately before they clanged against his iron skin, motionless in the air before him. He began to clutch dozens in the force before he offered a faint motion of his hand and sent them in violent reprisal back toward the troopers who'd fired them. Whatever was left- Rurik surged forward, violently cutting down and skewering any in his path before eventually he reached the dark entrance to what could only be the throne, the seat of the Betrayer, or how it was now, the seat of the Sith'ari.

The Sovereign Protectors flanking the entranceway were wrought unto the sustained fury of Rurik's saber as he cut through both of them in careful, methodical precision. Before he crested the final corridor before him, the dim crimson light being the only light at all within this Citadel's depths as he snuffed the argent blade.

Abandoning the battle and chaos behind him, he ventured forward, once more, into the heart.

Before his characteristic burst into the fray, Rurik stood idle and spoke into the darkness, his words meant for the man in his crosshairs, the man he was here to kill.

But first, he knelt down, pressing both knees against the metallic flooring as he shut his eyes in idle meditation, breaking it only to speak up in his voice strained with the searing darkness that struck his very being and soul.

"Many have come before you...claiming to be a god, more powerful, more intelligent, and more clever than the others who precede you. Many had thought themselves impervious to the hubris and shortcomings of the bloody lineage you've chained yourself to...but I can assure you, you are no different. No different than Palpatine, Krayt, Zambrano...you will have the same look of panic and existential woe that they did when the stroke of death crossed their mortal form. Your existence is not prevailing this fate...only evading it." Rurik said before he slowly began to stand in place.

"And I promise you Sith, I will be there...when that moment comes." Fel says before he sparked his argent blade alight again, facing down his existential foe with deeply buried cold eyes beneath his gaze of iron.

KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE​

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Atticus Draco | Lucien Dooku | Dorian Sicarrio | Jan Beroya | Varus the Sigillite | Larro Paeb | Ihsan Varad | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Marus Saretti

REIGN OF CHAOS
Darth Solipsis
Halketh | Darth Saevius | Detritus Ren | The Fire of Rage | Darth Mori​

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Allies: Tor’r Tal’Verda , Kralmus Orr

Enemies: Michael Barran , Rika Hiro , Colton Renfro, Nuruodo'kal'brast , Keilara Kala'myr , Annor E-059

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

O' Death

The frozen wastes of Csaus held an eerie stillness, the type of quiet one expects after a slaughter. Death lingered upon the icy planet that had been taken hold by the Dark Voice's right hand Darth Caelitus. Khamul had no desire to be here, but there had been a sense of need to defend the planet from potential threats, and Khamul was more than happy to kill a few more enemies if need be. Nevertheless, he had no desire to protect the Dark Lord's pet necromancer. When the ship came crashing upon the spire, Khamul looked upward, gazing at the smoke from the wreckage. There was no doubt that the Imperial Knights had come; such a maneuver would have only been carried out by the Iron Emperor himself. As the rest of the New Sith present rushed to meet them, Khamul remained still upon the battlements. The idea of killing the Knights was an enticing one, but in the chaos, Khamul saw opportunity. Why would he risk his life to protect those of his rivals? If they were truly worthy of the Sith mantle, then they would find a way to succeed on their own.

No... Khamul had other plans.

He had previously relayed his orders to the rest of Death's Hand, placing them at the front lines alongside The Mongrel and his Mawite hordes. There would be plenty of killing today, and this would be the time for the Hellhound's loyal followers to truly prove their worth. Khamul's cold gaze fell upon the battle below, surveying the situation before him. The New Imperials weren't just here for victory, they were here to avenge their precious fallen Imperator. One would almost find such an act of dedicated vengeance admirable, yet one cannot gain vengeance if they are dead. Soon, all of these New Imperial dogs would be exactly that.

As the forces converged upon the Mawite defenses, Khamul looked to the distance, sensing a disturbance in the distance. Though he couldn't quite make out their numbers, he knew that the force before them was far from the entirety of the New Imperial host. The enemy was smart... tactical. They wouldn't risk everything on solely a full frontal assault. No... there were other vermin lurking about.

With one hand on Mandalore's Lament, Khamul turned from the valley below, descending into the citadel in search of the rats that sought to outmaneuver the Mawite defenses.

Try as they might, they could not avoid the cold, inevitable touch of Death's Hand.

​

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[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Csaus, Frozen Valley
Allies: Open
Foes: Julian Qar

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Tu'teggacha and three Shi'ido Fleshtakers head out to sabotage NIO medical infrastructure

Given a choice, the Taskmaster would not be here, or anywhere close.

Oh, how he longed for the dungeons of lost Gehinnom, destroyed in the station's fall to Rhand's blasted surface. Failing that, he would gladly take his new laboratory deep beneath the surface of Exegol, the lab in which he had broken the mind of Keilara Kala'myr , releasing Mercy from within her and turning her (mostly) to the service of the Maw. He would even be content among the alchemical facilities of Citadel Caelitus, here amid these haunted mountains, experimenting with clones and warbeasts and new slave-soldiers to break. But speaking of break, he never seemed to get one, and once again battle called him.

Tu'teggacha was not a fighter. Though he was a deft hand with a shock whip, he wielded it with great skill against the defenseless, not anyone who might actually strike back. He had always been the smallest and weakest, the pathetic, reviled runt among his pirate clan, and only his dark power had made him able to stand up to anyone. He could twist minds, dredge up memories and force his victims to wallow in them, form illusions of such potent terror that those who beheld them went quite mad... but if it came down to actual physical combat, an Alliance cadet on his first day out of basic could kill him in a straight fight.

The Taskmaster wanted his non-combat talents, the breaking of slaves and the juggling of Mawite logistics, to be what the Brotherhood valued him for, mostly because those were things that kept him far from the front lines. And mostly they were... but with the Maw strained to the breaking point by the demands of a war against the entire rest of the galaxy, every last servant of the Dark Voice was pressed into additional duties whenever necessary. It had begun when he had been sent to command the Fatalis over Csilla, and in virtually every major fleet engagement since. But he would gladly have taken ship command...

... over the far more dangerous task expected of him on Csaus.

For today, it was his assignment to infiltrate enemy lines and derail their assault. His potent powers of the mind would be put to the test against foes who, should he fail to torment and beguile them fully enough, would simply shoot him through his bulbous head. He had tried to impress upon The Mongrel that this was a waste of his talents, and needless endangerment of an asset who simply could not be replaced, but the warlord had been firm: in this time of scarcity, everyone must pull their weight, and there were no ships to command or slaves to break here. There was only the battle at the foot of this fortress...

... and the chance for the Maw to hold or to break before it.

He was not being sent alone, at least. A unit of Shi'ido Fleshtakers, the shapechanging infiltrators he had personally tortured into serving the Maw, had been dispatched to aid him. They could imitate the soldiers of the NIO, passing without notice among them. For Tu'teggacha himself, going unseen was a little more difficult. He would have to stretch his powers to the utmost, using his mastery of memory to cloak himself. In the mind of each soldier who might see him, he would have to draw out the memory of the open space that had been there before he'd occupied it, holding it up like a shield in front of their minds.

He'd brought a camo cloak, too, just in case. His greenish skin stuck out.

The Ebruchi's assigned task was, at its core, a simple one: to cripple the NIO's field medical infrastructure. That would force them to feel the bite of attrition just as keenly as the Brotherhood had, and would aid in forcing them to withdraw. Neither The Mongrel nor the Taskmaster had any illusions about utterly crushing the NIO attack; they would claim victory if they could simply hold, losing less than their foes. And the enemy losses could be compounded if they were without bacta, without doctors, and without functional battlefield medical procedures. They'd waste time and resources remedying that. They'd waste lives.

So the Ebruchi and his tall, gaunt escort, all of them wrapped in ever-shifting arctic camo cloaks, swept off through a hidden valley, preparing to circle around behind the NIO's forward command. Tu'teggacha was not entirely sure what he would do when he arrived; he had never been shoved into the role of "special forces" before. But the Fleshtakers around him certainly had; the cell of three assigned to escort him had been instrumental in the sonic bombing of New Carannia, and had killed one of General DECEASED Erskine Barran 's high-ranking aides to boot. No doubt he would have been incensed to know they were here, too.

Their torturer would have to rely on them to tell him what to do.

The foursome marched across the drifts, the Shi'ido morphing their limbs into impromptu snowshoes, gently hauling the alien who had broken their minds back up to his feet whenever he broke through the crust of snow. Though none of them knew it yet, they were on a collision course with the eminent Doctor Julian Qar , a confrontation that none of them were fully prepared for. Tu'teggacha knew only that he felt fear, real fear. Once again he was scuttling around in secret, just as he had when he'd been a child, hiding from the abuse of his pirate clan. Accursed one, they'd called him, beating him. Wretched thing.

He burned his own fear and evil memories as fuel for his dark power.

 

[Kranak Vizsla]

CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS


501st LEGION | 16th COMPANY | MANDALORIAN ENCLAVE ADVISOR TAG ALONG
VODE: Shai Maji
ARUETII ALLIES: New Imperial Order | DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring | Kovacs | Volgin Alto | Delilah Jones
ARUETII HOSTILES: Maw | The Mongrel | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Lurtz Null |

ENGAGING: OPEN. Fite me!
LOADOUT: Loadout 1 (Minus the Scatter Gun) + Goran’s Stand​

Kranak, clad in his beskar’gam, repainted bonewhite and gunmetal grey was seated on one of the troop seats inside the gunship, awaiting deployment. Out of deep respect to the men and women of the Sixteenth, his armor did not bear the insignia of the revered Company, however. Bearing their mark would have been deemed a misconduct, a case of stolen valor. He hadn’t undergone their arduous trials to earn the right to do so. He was a Si’kahya from The Enclave, an Alor’ad. Officially, he was here alongside them and Shai as an advisor, to further strengthen their relations with the Sixteenth and the Imperials. He had the privilege to serve alongside them and see them in action on Krownest and Panatha. They had displayed their renown during combat. They rightfully earned their reputation.

Unofficially, he was here to honor the promise he had given to the Shistavanen vod not too long ago. He had sworn on his honor to her that he would be at her side in her quest for vengeance against the Maw. And here he was, honoring his promise to her.

As he awaited deployment with the others, the Alor’ad heaved a frustrated sigh before attempting to record an audio message to his daughter for the eighth time. Previous attempts just didn’t sound right in his mind, or he screwed up a thing or two, forcing him to start from scratch and record another one. Leaving messages --whether it was in the form of an audio, vid or text message-- wasn’t exactly his specialty. <Come on, it can’t be this hard, for Manda’s sake!> The giant grumbled internally. He thanked the Manda for his buy’ce. At least his frustration was only isolated within his helmet. His comlink speakers and helmet annunciator was turned off for the ordeal. The Alor’ad began the recording when he felt ready, after rehearsing what he would say in silence.

<”Hey kid! I won’t be home for a while,”> He said, in a soft tone. <”I’m off to fighting alongside our brethren from the New Imperial Order. A Sith hunt,”> The giant paused for a brief moment. He would have loved to bring her along, but she was not ready. No, far from it. She had experienced her first, actual battlefield experience in Panatha. Her mettle was tested, but she needed to be refined more if she was to survive the absolute worst the galaxy could throw at her, and that meant more training and exercise. <”I promise you, I’ll take you to the next one when you’re ready. In the meantime, keep practicing Mandalorian Core with Eliz,”> The giant said. He continued after a chuckle. <”I’m going to be disappointed in you if you don’t send my shebs sprawling when I get back,”> If anything, that would get her motivated for training and exercise in his absence. He knew she tried her hardest to prove herself to him at any given opportunity. It was safe to assume she would rise to the challenge, and try to beat him in melee combat once he was back home. He looked forward to that.

But there would be a long pause before he would continue, knowing his words might very well be the last his daughter would hear. Maybe it would be him to fall in battle this time. Such is the life of a Mandalorian. Their craft was death. Death was no stranger to them. To a Si’kahya such as him? Even more so. At the thought of not seeing his daughter again, the Supercommando choked up. He would finally continue after a soft, yet audible gulp. <”I love you forever, Gwyn’ika. Don’t ever forget that, no matter what.”> He paused and saved the recording shortly afterwards.

Closing his eyes as he leaned the back of his head against the durasteel plating of the gunship’s cargo bay behind him, his broad chestplate rose and fell as he heaved a sigh of relief. He was satisfied with the recording this time. Uttering a pre-recorded phrase to his helmet’s interactive heads-up display, the Alor’ad wasted no time in sending the audio message to his daughter’s buy’ce through a private holonet transmission. It was night-time back home in Kestri. She would receive the audio message in the morning when she was awake.

The giant then sat in his seat in silence, starting to mentally prepare himself for the mission as Shai quipped with her troops.

”I dunno what it is with these Galidraani… like, for real. It’s like they’re all crazy as hell, it just scales with the ranks.” Shai quipped as she looked at her troopers accompanying her in the gunship with an amused grin. ”Not that it’s a bad thing. Hell, we aint that much different. But… just look at ‘em! I made a couple comments on wanting to take out the Mongrel and those sith of theirs… What are their names again? Caelitus and Sepsis or somethin’? Next thing you know he’s callin’ me in as his champion. IIf it keeps up like this, I’m buyin’ a plot of land on Galidraan and moving there.”

“I bet y’all a cred each that at least one of ‘em’s drunk as well.”

He had listened to the Lord-General’s transmission for them in between his recording attempts. Shai must have uttered more than a ‘couple of comments’ to get the attention of a Lord-General, the giant thought. That, or rumors seemed to spread like wildfire around here. Either way, she rose to the challenge. The giant expected no less from his old friend. That was the Shai he knew; she was not one to back away from a challenge such as this. She was undauntable, the Ironclad Wardog. He did not doubt her capabilities and skill for one second in his life.

But that still didn’t stop the giant from worrying slightly for his long time comrade in arms. She was going to go up against the Mongrel in the field of battle. It was the combat medic within him. Although it did not affect his ability to command, the Alor’ad deeply cared for the well being of all his vode. Those he got to know, and fought shoulder to shoulder against the enemies of the Mando’ade for many years, like Shai, even more.

Alas, as much as he hated to admit it, there were going to be casualties. He knew that. This was war, after all. But he was here to prevent deaths as best he could, and fulfill the promise he made to Shai.

His eyes closed with his chest rising and falling in a rhythm, the giant began to mentally prepare for the upcoming battle as the Alor’ad awaited deployment with the Sixteenth.

”Y’all kriffers owe me a cred each. And now you can see what I meant when I said these dudes are crazy.”

The giant casually spared a glance at the Shistavanen vod while she tied the sword to her hip, and slipped on her helmet once again afterwards as the gunship shook with a tender judder, taking off after linking up with the Lord-General for a brief moment. The man had given her his sword so she could best his nemesis with it.

With his helmet annunciator still turned off, the giant would tune into the private comm channel between him and Shai and begin to quip at her. <”Well, well, well. Someone’s getting famous around these parts, hmm?”> The Alor’ad said with a chuckle. <”When can I get your autograph on my helmet? I hope I won’t have to wait in line for too long.”> He said sarcastically, with a smile shrouded underneath his faceplate as he shifted his gaze to his gear, conducting a last minute equipment check like the others as their gunship headed for their dropzone. Pressing down on the mag release on the receiver with his index finger, the giant would catch the magazine of his Paranaor with his left hand as he made sure the mag was fresh and fully charged. With a curt nod of his head, the Supercommando inserted the power pack back into the mag well with a crisp metallic clatter. The Alor’ad then adjusted the rifle’s scope using its knobs, occasionally checking the sight picture. After being satisfied with the state of his primary, he would move on to checking the rest of his gear a few moments later.

They were nearing the drop zone, it wouldn’t be long until deployment now.

The giant patiently waited in silence after finishing his equipment check as some of the vode around him continued. Soft and crisp clatter of weapons and gear resounded in the interior of the gunship as they prepared for battle.

:: Max, your mic’s got static. ::

:: ---Esting, testing, one-two. ::

:: There we go, that’s good. ::

:: Thank’s Gira. ::

Feeling the Shistavanen vod’s gaze on him, the giant would turn his visor to look at her as she went about inspecting her gear.

”Krownest all over again.” She teased, slotting a magazine into a pistol before she holstered it. She drew her rifle from her back and quickly went over it. ”At least the kiddies aren’t on this run.”

:: Where are those squirts, commander? The two shorties were rather amusing to watch. ::

“As far away from your ugly mug as they can get, Helin,” She fired right back with a laugh.

Kranak chuckled in response as his thoughts dwelled on Krownest. It was nice to see Eliz and Vulcan in action during that mission. It was a shame they couldn’t come along for this operation, too.

:: All units, prepare for drop. ::

The main cabin was flooded with red lights not a moment after the pilot’s announcement. The giant, along with the paratroopers, stood up from their seats as they got ready for the insertion on their dropzone. The Shistavanen vod recapped their mission parameters while the gunship occasionally quaked as flak rounds detonated mid air around the ship.

:: You know the drill! Move fast and hit hard. They couldn’t break us on Nirauan, they ain’t breaking us now. Aim for whatever poses the biggest threat and don’t stop. And the rule of the day, don’t die. If you die, I’m flyin’ into a hypergate to come get you back out. Got it! ::

:: Approaching drop zone. Good luck! ::

With the pilot’s last words, the crimson lights turned to a bright green as the gunship’s side doors opened. One by one, the vode of the Sixteenth jumped out of the gunship as their jetpacks howled to life, descending on their dropzone. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Alor’ad followed suit when his turn finally came, and flung himself out the gunship and entered a freefall.

:: Thermals! Target their big guns! ::

:: Give ‘em hell! And find the Mongrel, I’m gonna tear him limb from limb when I find him! ::

The Alor’ad joined in on the fun after his successful descent on the landing zone, supporting the advance of his vode with accurate blaster fire and HE grenades shot from the rifle’s grenade launcher against the hordes of Marauder Aspirants that dared to oppose them. The warcries of the horde before them echoed all across the battlefield as they pressed on their assault.

”War! Death! Rebirth!”

<”THE SLAVES OF THE SITH SEEK DEATH! DELIVER IT!”> The Alor’ad shouted back, his voice amplified two fold through his helmet annunciator. Firing and maneuvering, the Supercommando began his advance towards the ruins to his north to take up positions alongside several vode, all the while as he kept a close watch on the vitals of his brothers and sisters with the help of his helmet’s HUD. Their objective was simple: They were to move fast and hit hard in an unrelenting assault against the Maw forces. But his primary objective was to keep his brothers and sisters in good health as best he could while the battle raged on.