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

Volgin Alto

Guest
V


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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 DECEASED Erskine Barran | Kovacs Kovacs | Delilah Jones | Enzo Demici Enzo Demici | Bex Tarring Bex Tarring | Julian Qar Julian Qar
BOTM | The Mongrel The Mongrel | Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda | Chimera | Lurtz Null Lurtz Null
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PANTERI
The plan was simple. Just as Alto liked it. Move up, find a way to punch through the Maw defenses. But it was, ultimately, a task easier said than done. Even for the hell jumpers of the 501st. Volgin waved his flat, 'knife' hand out toward the section of ruins within which his section could take up a position in covering the movement of the other two squads up with them. It was quiet, though they were taking the stringent rounds of Maw forces, they were hardly in the thick of it, certainly not by Alto's standards.

Then suddenly, the attack was sprung. The loud, guttural command sounded out from the frigid argent around them. Blaster fire and bloody figures emerged from the unfettered grounds around them. From behind rubble, ruins, any choice hiding spot. They were waiting for them, or stalking them. Regardless, two 501st Troopers ate the snow immediately before Volgin clammored for cover, pressing his repeater against the corner of a broken viewport before squeezing down on the trigger to release a savage rip of the weapon into three approaching Hands.

Any time he took control of the repeater, it changed the tone of the fight almost immediately. It was louder, it was faster and you could feel it in your stomach every time the repeater was firing. It was the great force multiplier of the infantry. Though Volgin took up the unconventional position as both unit commander and heavy gunner, he was never brought low. Unlike those around him, he could eat the punishment. Several blaster bolts had struck him in past engagements and his unit typically knew none the wiser until after the gunfight when they'd see the black scorch marks on his armor. He bared his teeth and continued firing through the pain.

Eventually his power pack went empty and he cracked the breach of the gun to begin unloading another only to turn and find one of the adversaries facing him down but feet away. Stormtrooper in appearance but...far...far more savage, far more insidious. Layered with furs, metal scrap armor...and blood. Armed with a brutal, bladed weapon, the trooper charged him with an indiscernible language and guttural yell.

Volgin let the repeater fall to his side by the sling before taking up his truly favored weapon.

The hammer.

The haft extended out in its telescopic fashion before the head of the hammer lit up in its power servos. The trooper charged Volgin and Volgin obliterated him with a single strike to the gut before wheeling the hammer back against and collapsing his skull with a downward swing.

<"Weak."> Was all he could mutter in response.

The Mauler of Mantell would reprise his gruesome reputation again if it meant crushing and skewering these savages. Just as they did, he would offer no quarter. If they wish to fought hand to hand, he would take them to the grave all the same.
 
Location: Csaus, Citadel Caelitus Outskirts
Allies: Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda | Lurtz Null Lurtz Null
Foes: Shai Maji Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla Kranak Vizsla

  • Kralmus takes a blaster hit to the chest, damaging his armor plus bruising and winding him
  • He throws a smoke grenade and a noisemaker up the corridor as a distraction
  • He flanks around through a different corridor, trying to catch Kranak from behind


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Tor'r rocketed off into the sky, and the two lethal hunters of Death's Hand each stalked their own prey.

Kralmus wasn't quite sure why the builders of Citadel Cae-whatsit hadn't totally scoured the ruins of the Chiss compound from the valley. It didn't make any tactical sense, as the fact that the enemies of the Maw were now digging into those ruins amply demonstrated. Perhaps the occupants of the Sith citadel simply liked looking out over the blasted, snow-covered structures, a stark reminder of the brutality of their conquest of this planet. The Mandalorian supposed he could respect that, in a way; he, too, was found of trophies, though his tended to be considerably more portable than an entire valley full of half-shattered buildings.

As he stalked through the broken corridors, once home to the administrators of House Inrokini, Kralmus found that he was finally beginning to enjoy himself. His axe was already wet with blood, and he was on the hunt once more, feeling the thrill of the chase lend him the speed and strength of pumping adrenaline. He'd become so terribly bored with all the politicking, all the symbols and rituals and artifacts that were supposed to establish who the real Mandalorians were and who was a heretic pretender, or whatever. The trappings had never mattered to him. This was what mattered: blood, fire, conquest, and strength of arms. That was his birthright.

He was even more pleased when his musings were interrupted with a blaster shot to the chest.

Kranak had evidently been waiting for him, listening to his footfalls draw closer, and had chosen that moment to spring his ambush. The Enclave warrior's aim was true, and the first of a trio of bolts slammed right into Kralmus's chestplate, the impact driving him back two steps. He rolled with the force of the shot, letting it carry him backward and sideways, out of the path of the other two bolts... though both passed close enough to singe his armor, leaving blackened trails of carbon scoring along his left pauldron and greave. The cannibal looked down at his smoking chestplate, raising an eyebrow beneath his helmet. That was some gun!

It'd dented his beskar and bruised his ribs with a single shot. Another hit or two might've punched right through.

"Well now," Kralmus called out, his tone still flippant (though he ducked around a corner rather than give his foe another free shot at him), "haven't you brought some fancy toys? That's alright. I understand perfectly. If you don't have the courage or arm strength to fight hand to hand, like a real Mandalorian would, you can always go pew pew with your little gadgets to... compensate." He let out a dramatic sigh, as though disappointed to see C-level work from a Straight A student. "Our people just aren't what they used to be." At the same moment, he snatched up a smoke grenade from his belt and primed it.

He took a deep breath, pulling air into lungs bruised by Kranak's opening shot, letting the pain of it focus him.

Over a decade of surviving the brutal, apocalyptical wilds of Mandalore had taught Kralmus to be good at a great many things. He could track man or beast across virtually any terrain. He could fight a creature twice his size to a standstill, maybe even win. He was a master trapper, skinner, and butcher, and quite a good cook... but he could also survive on just about anything remotely edible, even offal that few civilized beings would eat at the most desperate of times. Among the many skills he'd picked up was an instinctive grasp of how environments fit together. He could look at part of a building, grotto, or grove and guess how it all connected.

So while Kralmus threw his grenade (and an attached noisemaker, programmed with the sound of fast-moving steps) up the corridor he'd been walking down, he didn't follow the grenade. His foe would be expecting that, anticipating that he would charge through the curtain of smoke to close to melee range. Instead, he followed the mental map he'd put together. Kranak had stepped out of a side corridor to ambush him, and that corridor had to connect to another one somewhere. So Kralmus walked up the parallel corridor he'd ducked into to avoid Kranak's shots, following it to an intersection. Then he raced up that hallway to where Kranak had attacked from.

It wasn't a brilliant tactic, but it didn't have to be. It kept him out of the line of fire, and might lend him some surprise.

Turning the corner, Kralmus wielded his axe two-handed, charging in at where Kranak had fired his pistol from. The corridor was wide enough for him to launch a broad, horizontal swipe, the kind that could cleave a man in two if it connected at the waist. Beskar armor would keep that from happening, of course, but his powerful weapon could still bite deep with such a mighty blow if it connected properly. If his foe didn't react in time, this little encounter would come to a swift and messy conclusion. If he did, well, Kralmus would have what he wanted: a proper face-to-face (helmet to helmet?) confrontation, the kind of melee contest he so preferred.

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

  • Sixteens dig in at the ruins
  • Repeaters open up on the Mawite lemming run
  • Mortars fired at the bulge
  • Focus turned on Tor'r to keep him from closing in
  • Shai meets the Mongrel

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”Keep those Howlers ready t’ fly! I want’ em in th’ air the moment our boys need ‘em!” Arden Kryze barked at nearby troops at the rear, lying in wait along with Erskine’s force. Several of the Basilisks were ready to fly, the only thing keeping them back from unleashing hell on the Maw lines was the order to do so.

His kama fluttered in the wind as he walked up to Erskine’s position, pulling his macrobinoculars down to inspect the situation the Sixteens found themselves in. Their arrival had certainly caused quite the conundrum over on the left flank, and the building Imperial assault would soon be underway. ”Good day, govnah!” He greeted the general with only a quick salute as he removed his helmet. ”Sixteens are diggin’ in, though it seems tha’ the Maw would like to envelope ‘em. They’ll hold ou’ ‘til the tanks push up… though I think they’d feel quite a bi’ be’er if we let loose with th’ Basilisks. Permission to scramble the squadron for close support, govnah?” He respectfully asked with a rather deep frown on his face. It was clear that he and the others desperately wanted to unleash the beasts.

”Sergeant!” Another trooper called out as he came running up. ”Yeh?” Arden turned to look at him. ”Maw’s flanking, sir! They broke position, they’re going for a flank.” the young soldier stated firmly as his visor glanced between Arden and the general. His gaze returned to the general. ”Our Basilisks can tear ‘em apart, general. Give the word, they’re in the air in an instant.”

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::Keep them back! ::

:: Get those repeaters up! Form a perimeter! They’re not taking this building, not today! ::

Battle cries roared from both sides as the Mawites pushed forward to surround the First platoon. Blaster rounds bounced off their armour as they kept pushing back into the ruined house. The elevated position would be advantageous if they could get to it without issue.

Already the fight was turning desperate.

Bodies stacked by their feet. Charred corpses littered the area. And still the Maw kept coming. Magazines littered the snow around them as they let loose with their particle rifles… and the Maw simply kept coming. Cut off one head, two more took its place.

And yet the Sixteens would endure. Victory or death. The Sixteenth company certainly had enough of the latter after the engagements they fought in.

:: Repeater crews! Fix splitters, form a perimeter and drive them back! :: Shai barked at her soldiers over the chaos around them. A few whistles and maniacal laughs answered her order as the repeater gunners set up their weapons and slipped the beam splitters onto their weapons. The units behind the guns were itching to use them.

”REBIRTH THIS, SPICE HEADS!”

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The repeaters opened fire once more, only now their firepower multiplied. The beam splitters sacrificed a lot of range and accuracy, but the trade-off was three explosive bolts for the price of one. Laying on the triggers, the repeaters coated the center and flanks in devastating particle bolts. Reinforcing the repeaters, a fireteam to the rear deployed their rifles on the ground and targeted the biggest clusters of Mawites before they hurled powerful blobs of plasma through the air with the improvised mortars.

The message was abundantly clear to the Maw: The kriffers in the ruins were intending to stay just there.

At least until a flurry of rockets impacted the crumbling walls, sending a bunch of Sixteens tumbling back from the blast. Wounded cried out while some clutched at where their limbs used to be... some didn't make any sound at all. For a moment the right flank faltered, letting the Mawites close in on them. "HEY KRIFFER!" Gira roared as she peeked over her cover, blasting down a bunch with her rifle. It seemed that they had their own flavour of Mandos in the mix as well. Grabbing the grip of the nearby repeater-scattergun-abomination, she quickly picked up the slack while three others recovered to reinforce the line. She paid extra attention to hurling a couple dozen bolts at the Dar'manda trying to break their flank ( Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda ). :: Grenades, grenades! They wanna close in, they gotta work for it! :: The girl ordered over the roar of the weapons and armies.

Explosions rocked the battlefield, and the dead kept piling up. The wounded still capable of fighting had rifles and pistols in hand, bringing up the rear to keep the enemy at bay. A number of Sixteens used the piled corpses as cover where walls and terrain faltered. The snow and stone stained red as body parts laid strewn around. :: Target the ice! If we can sink 'em, we can push them back. :: She spoke over the comms as she and the others hurled everything they had at the savages.

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”Kriffer, I doubt there’s any contents left in there!” She cackled loudly at the Mongrel’s remark as she moved with the troopers around her. ”If the sith couldn’t finish the job, what makes you think you can?!” She continued to berate him. But despite her insults, maniacal laughter and appearance of arrogance, she knew who she was up against.

The Mongrel didn’t have such a reputation for no reason. And with this new body, she was slightly more concerned over fighting him than she was only a few minutes ago.

Her enemy closed the distance, calling her out and challenging her with a salute of his blade. In response she raised a very insulting finger as she holstered her rifle on her back. ”There ain’t any pieces left, mutt! You’re gonna have to aim carefully!” She shouted as she raised her left vambrace to fire her wrist rocket at him, while her right hand drew the General’s blade in preparation for the fight.

Her jetpack started up but didn’t engage just yet as she cleaved through a few Mawites in her advance towards the Mongrel. ”Come on, lapdog, let’s see what moves you got!” She growled as she mentally readied herself for the fight.

Perhaps it was a little late to say her prayers now...

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FIELD HOSPITAL STATS

Surgeon Dr. H. T'hess
Main AssistSpecialist V. Kovačić
On site staff300
Supplies100% Stocked
Universal Plasma1000ml - 60 units
Bacta Spray 16 crates - malfunction [pending]
Bacta Patches 10 crates
Rescue Teams4 [3 per]
Wounded0


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

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


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






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✚ T R I A G E ✚
//[trust]\\
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Quietly he had watched them, pressing the metal of his form against the wall. Had he been a shorter man, perhaps he could have hidden his shell into the tight spaces of the temporary structure. For a split second he felt out of place in this briefing, he had been known to hang back, thrust into his small nest of safety, awaiting the intake of those that gave their blood without question. Just as he had done before in a memory hidden somewhere within the fragmented pieces of his mind that were left from the recreation of this body. This machine. Although those thoughts idly swarmed like bees to their nest, they had fizzled out into space when he’d heard his name through the idle chatter.
'You're quite correct aboot ah't, Rosk'Aiar. An' every last one o' Qar's subordinates have that certain incredibility-factor an'aw.'
He looked at them, his dual optics glancing at their faces after hearing the murmurers they had spoken about him and his crew. They were singing his praises, and yet their expressions gripped at him in a way he had hoped would have happened in private. Perhaps it was that stunned and near dumbfounded look on his face that should have been telling enough. Julian felt his breathing pause, glancing at the sea around him and offering them a small nod and deep, resonating ‘Thank you’ from mechanical vocals. The job of a medic wasn’t ever one of glory, it was just as grimy, gory and brutal as the ones fought with blaster and blade. His team had often felt like silent shadow workers thumping at the veins of that ever beating heart of their cause. Their war was one etched in stitches, in blood, in empty canisters of bacta, a war the medics and retrieval teams would fight day in and day out without relent. Quietly still, he adjusted his weight against the wall, crossing fully augmented limbs as the rustling of his suit filled hollow silence.

<"Vladimir Kovačić, good t'link comms with ye finally. If Julian's going to be busy in the crucible, the likes o' Hazel an' yersel are very much needed at the main med-centre.... Its going to be a wild one for all of us, but it gladdens me to know at someone can keep it all together in my good friend's absence.">

The doctor glanced up at Erskine, giving him a nod of appreciation, knowing there was a lot of trust riding on the once seasoned combat medic out on the field. Perhaps it was having seen his idiotic display on multiple occasions with nothing more than a vibroknife and his angels at his side. What he’d remembered of himself then, the Julian from nearly twenty years ago was that he was a brutal marksman and that blade dance was no stranger to the training he had undergone in his youth.

Julian pulled his focus from the gallery, peering out at a small opening in the facility to allow his gaze to hold onto the snowy landscape outside. Slowly, the stream of memories from his now destroyed home had presented themselves like unwanted ghosts. And out it came, that sickening feeling, one that had clawed at his throat and thrust a blade into his heart that had brought him back to the present. Without so much as a word to Erskine, he glanced at one of his bodyguards and gave him a gentle nudge of his head to have him follow outside the briefing room.

“We’ll meet with them in a few moments…” His voice hung quietly at the edge of his teeth as he glanced down at the armored trooper who followed close beside him. “I want to check in with Hazel, let’er know that Vlad is going to be taking point with her an-” He paused, watching the bodyguard hold the blaster closer to his chest as they marched the few paces back to the field hospital central hub. “We’ll let Erskine know when we’re ready,” he repeated, knowing the extra bits of chatter weren't needed nor something he would have cared much for. A snow filled gust pushed through a sneaky opening of his suit, forcing a systemic shiver to travel down the metal of his spine. “Fucken freezin’ out here…” he mumbled to himself, adjusting the temperature of his internal core as the energy levels of his backup blinked forth with their gentle reminders. Out here there was a slight disadvantage to the mechanized physician, that cold would grip at him with such fury that it would require more of him than he had hoped.

“Nice to see you back…” The annoyed voice called out from behind his desk, the bottle of whiskey that had sat there for a time had disappeared and he would give her a look about it. “You heard Erskine, Vlad will be with ya takin’ point. Me an my babysitter are going to meet with him shortly.” The trooper looked up at Julian and though his voice did not acknowledge his distaste for that sweet little title it was all exposed by his body language, just as he had done before on their march.

Hazel looked to her mentor and just nodded. There had been a time where she had fought him over this, over his choices and yet now, all she could do was remain silent. “Go on, I reckon the two of you could get to know each other while I grab a few other things.” he interrupted quietly, watching as the two left the room without a word..silence spoke volumes around him, more than any of them had known. In that moment of stillness, he walked behind the makeshift desk, tugging a case out from behind the chair. The doctor waved a hand over the receiver and the lid had opened, revealing a pristine, black and platinum, combat rifle that he would swap out for the one slung around his shoulder.

“We meet again….” He whispered, lifting the weapon while an augmented pad grazed over the message etched into the body. Allowing himself a small moment of respite before thrusting himself into duty once more. “K'oyacyi…” he uttered, the faint sounds of the field hospital encapsulated him for a time. Appreciating the soft murmur of his mechanisms grinding against one another, and the buzzing and beeps that lifted into the pods near by. Julian’s helmeted head tipped forward, casting a silver light in a split second as the burning star had bounced from it. The doctor pressed the weapon to his chest and held his breath in the barrel of his lungs as he patched in, hearing his good friend sound off his last words to the mongrel and their forces.

<"I know Rook delivered my message, but I think we both know I'm not in fighting condition yet. Amputations, costly defeats an' the likes take time to recover from.... Your forces bested me on Nirauan, an' your,"Dreamer.", certainly did well as your substitute that day as well. Two names I'll never forget in the time I have left, two names you would do well to keep close.">


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

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DUEL OF FATES
From the shadows or not, there was little that could be done in piercing the veil of vigilance that Solipsis had cast around him in constant power. To a man who dwelled within a den of snakes, there was little the Man of Iron could do in action that could reap any level of vulnerability. No matter, Rurik thought.

Even as he clutched the argent blade and cast him to the depths of this dark fortress. He screwed his eyes shut and sealed the pain away- exercising full control of his mortal form. Where others might've writhed and panicked into the plunge into darkness, he sequestered himself in serene nothingness. When he opened his eyes again, they were lit with the burning crimson and dim illumination of the inner sanctum, the sprawling, vast open chasms, arrays and chambers that contained the beating heart of Citadel Caelitus.

"I am an idea! I am without limit!"

"Soon the Fel will be no more!"

The haunting voice emerged with its darkened vitriol to the Emperor who sprung his blade to life once more to catch the potentially cataclysmic slash from the Sith'ari. He leaned into the clash of crimson and argent as they erupted in white hot collision. His eyes narrowing and brow furrowing into his sentiment through strained words.

"Just as every Sith before you...your overconfidence is your weakness."

Fel said before twisting his blade to free himself from the clash twisting his body to deliver a gruesome kick toward Solipsis's chin to send him down to a lower platform in the power generation array, flinging his argent blade toward the Sith'ari as he swept down to rejoin the clash and take ahold of his blade through his ethereal grasp on the weapon once more.

"Though many have come before you, I have remained the constant. Revel in your triumphs over the weak and the falsely virtuous all you care to...but the parasite of darkness will not linger much longer. Many have claimed Sith'ari and sought my end by their hands...and in return...anguish- withered to the winds of fate." Rurik claims before conjuring a storm of argent electric fury in his left hand, casting it out from his gloved hand toward the Sith'ari as it rippled through the air with cataclysmic force, each thread of lightning threatening to tangle and coil along the power generation systems of the Citadel above them, threatening to bring it asunder by their will combined.

KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Atticus Draco | Lucien Dooku | Dorian Sicarrio Dorian Sicarrio | Raina Demici | Varus the Sigillite | Larro Paeb | Ihsan Varad | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Marus Saretti

 


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DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Citadel Caelitus
Rurik Fel Rurik Fel


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DUEL OF FATES


The two warriors fell, plummeting towards a vast abyss lit ablaze by the soaring plasma from the belly of the beast, from the reactor itself. Catwalks and platforms filled their lines of sight, one false move, one narrow miss and it would not matter. They’d be long gone.

White hot plasma crashed against the crimson thrashing of the Dark Lord as the Man of Iron parried. Sparks flew as their blades crossed, caught together in deadly gridlock falling, plummeting now into the vastness before them.


"Just as every Sith before you...your overconfidence is your weakness."

With that said, Rurik twisted his blade free and released himself from the deadly standoff. Contorting his body, the Emperor sought purchase by delivering a hard fought kick into the Sith’ari’s chin. The Dark Lord recoiled, his body twirling back from the forcible blow as he descended into the nearest platform. He crashed and burned, tumbling along the platform’s surface. He lifted his saber, even before his own body as the pain began to take root. He found purchase, his saber catching the pursuant blade turned projectile sending it to recoil before swiftly returning toward it’s master’s side.

"Though many have come before you, I have remained the constant. Revel in your triumphs over the weak and the falsely virtuous all you care to...but the parasite of darkness will not linger much longer. Many have claimed Sith'ari and sought my end by their hands...and in return...anguish- withered to the winds of fate."

The Man of Iron retrieved his weapon mid stride, left hand sparking to life with the electric fury of a storm long brewing. He extended it forward unleashing it’s righteous judgement, argent bolts rippling forward, crackling through the air with raw, unbridled power.

The Dark Lord rose to his feet, immediately discarding his lightsaber onto the metal walkway as the savage bolts closed the gap between he and Rurik. Summoning his hands in defense and the power of the empyrean as his own, the Elder sought to blunt the worst of the thunderous attack by way of Tutaminis. A fierce aura piercing glow radiated forth from the palms of his hands as they clashed with the unyielding power of Rurik Fel.

“What the others lacked I have already fulfilled, the prophecy was realized in my ascension. The Sith taken by my hand, destroyed and reborn. Even if you end me here Imperial, my work has been done. All that remains is my will, an idea.”

Stray bolts crashed against his dark armor, searing away against his exposed areas as the Tutaminis held firm but lessened, replaced slowly by the unmistakable crimson fury of the Dark Lord’s own Force Lightning as his palpable aura of malicious intent washed over the area.


“And ideas cannot be destroyed! But you can!”

The tempest renewed, the Dark Side unleashed. Darth Solipsis let loose his anguish, his reservations, his pain all within the unending hatred he carried in a bid to wipe out the Imperial master once and for all. The bold crimson bolts roared outward, pressing against the argent fury of the Emperor with a storm of his own capable of tending flesh from metal and turning man into ash. The two energies continued to clash against another, striking out at the massive generators around them. The area began to pulsate and glow, catching the Dark Lord’s attention.

“Give yourself to the Dark Side. Take my place, Rurik.”

Instead of pushing further against the argent bolts, the Dark Voice released his left hand letting his right carry the burden of his work. Sparks of crimson jolted between his fingers anew before extensions of their untold fury extended outward unleashed upon the nearest power generator.

“Or fall once and for all!”





 

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Post #4
DIE BY THE SWORD
OBJECTIVE 2: SNOW AND STEEL
THE_WOAD
IMPAF-COMMAND

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313TH STORMTROOPER LEGION,"SABRETOOTH LEGION"
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NIO: Kovacs Kovacs Enzo Demici Enzo Demici Delilah Jones Volgin Alto
Julian Qar Julian Qar Vladimir Kovačić Vladimir Kovačić Bex Tarring Bex Tarring Kranak Vizsla Kranak Vizsla

THE LORD-GENERAL'S CHAMPION: Shai Maji Shai Maji


BOTM: The Mongrel The Mongrel Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda Electra-12 Electra-12 Lurtz Null Lurtz Null

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore

Fragarach Model Heavy Disruptor-Pistol
Sentimental-Value Fairbairn Vibroknife
Beskar Knuckledusters
Erskine's New arm
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TLDR:
Alto initiates the attack on the embattled Mawite flank.
Shazzeke's battalion follow with Tarring's infantry elements.
Marić and Massoud ready 2nd Battalion to move.
Order to advance given.
Shazzeke patches through to Marić before the real fight commences.
A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 7
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


'Finally on the move, hm?', Marić muttered under his breath as he saw the Airborne Troopers from All Imperial making their way north with haste and intent, chuckling as he saw the entire left flank pushing forward, all but some tanks in the rear, ready to make long-reaching barrages to increase the pressure tenfold. The only thing that had the young Lieutenant worried was the fact so many friendly TIE pilots were being downed by what appeared to be the same prodigious opponent, and yet, the Mantellian would feel relief knowing all the crash-sites were within a hundred metres of each other; the mayday signals had gone out, the pilots themselves were gathering in a location directly within the perimeter of burning aircraft-debris, all that was left was for Marić to wait his turn as 1st Battalion took Lord Bex's infantry elements towards the Mawite static-line.

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We'll see if the Lord-General's offense is better than his defence soon enough.

Being the third layer of pressuring attack, Alto, Shazzeke and Tarring would need to move up a little farther, especially if Sabretooth Legion's highest-ranking Mantellian wished for enough room to manoeuvre around his allies' left flank to slip past the Maw's right. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but the young Sabretooth was eager, vigilant and most-importantly, he was ready; and for his first proper outing as a commissioned-officer of the 313th, Marić would keep a clear head, keeping a close eye on every corner, rise and crater as 2nd Battalion worked their way to the downed pilots of 181st Wing's Dagger Squadron. The only snags along the way would still, despite their undeniable power in fanatical warfighting fervour, have plenty trouble pursuing the rescue-battalion on their way north-westward.

We'll get through, by way of finesse if need be.

'Sir? We can still move without impeding anyone, or have you something else brewing in-mind?', Massoud asked, climbing up to the 1st-Lieutenant's little vantage-point that consisted of little more than snow-covered rubble and HASCO fortifications. The Mantellian would put down his binoculars for a moment to help the Kandaran as soon as his gauntlets gripped at the makeshift flooring of the Lieutenant's little perch, allowing his second-in-command a chance to stand properly before taking the chance to offer Massoud the binoculars to see the progress for himself. Handing the binoculars back after seeing the movements for himself, the Lord-General's advisor muttered,'I see what you mean now, still a tad cluttered.', before pointing to the rest of the Maw's first defensive line, making silent note of the fact their formation wasn't budging from their positions to realign.

'Not for long though.... Order the others to ready up for the rescue-attempt, we're talking minutes here.'

2nd Battalion would get their clear view of their target-zone soon enough, and from the moment the last warm body cleared their view of the western approach to the citadel's gateway itself, Marić knew he had to get the Sabretooth-troopers moving at a moment's notice. Then, as soon as Massoud gave the confirmation that everyone was ready to advance, the Mantellian Lieutenant gave the order, unleashing a mass of running troopers in loose formation in a north-westerly direction, moving with silent haste towards the downed TIE-pilots together. Even though everything was occurring as planned, there was still one thing remaining, one last task the young Sabretooth-Lieutenant should've seen to before departing, or perhaps even as far back as the moment the mayday-signals went out in the first place.

<"All Pilots at the crash-sites, this is 1st-Lieutenant Marić of Sabretooth Legion! Find cover, and stay low until you hear clicking on your comm-devices, this is your safety signal and assurance that evacuation-dropships are on the way.... Just play it as safe as possible, you need to remember that you're deep behind enemy lines - Mawite territory, but only until we arrive though. Sabretooth Two out!">

1st Battalion, severely embattled though they would be when they saw them again, understanding that by the time their colleagues manoeuvred around them and past the engaged technicals, they would be in the most danger of all. Only one contingent of hyper-aggressive troopers would stand between the Maw and their Imperial prey by the time a defensive perimeter had been established, and with only the debris and burning husks of the crashed TIEs as cover, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that 2nd Battalion would be in the most precarious position of all, yet only until the rescue-dropships had lifted off with all three downed pilots to safety. Nothing was hopeless to the Mantellian Sabretooth, and certainly not in predicaments that merely required good sense and working mettle to surge out from, and as far as Lieutenant Marić viewed such matters, (along with the rescue they were to endeavour) Csaus would be no different for his battalion and any of the others deployed to play their part that night.

<"Good luck, Marić.... Remember, no quarter - no surrender!">
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TLDR:
Barran listens to the Mongrel's reply.
Rallying battle-cries.
A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 8
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


'Good t'have ye with us, Dr. Qar.... Especially for this.'

<"It's been so long, Barran,">

Silence followed, but one that both rivals shared as they drew their memories back to simpler times together, taking in every syllable like each one was a rib-shot they couldn't avoid or evade, revealing much and more in the unspoken than either ever could with words. Just like others fighting and surviving in the Second Great Hyperspace War so far, but to much greater extents than the norm, the Mongrel and the Stormchaser had sacrificed much and more for their factions; and in this shock from still being able to hear the Mawite commander in what remained of his voice, Lord Erskine let everyone around him see that he understood, and felt the pain in the Mongrel's words already. The pain could be seen in their Lord-General in turn, but his eyes remained glued to the speaker, almost as if some small part of the Mongrel rested within the circuitry of his comm-link unit as well; both men knew that their chances of dying well in combat were running quite slim by then, but it still didn't stop them from yearning, almost begging for deaths that befitted the lives they'd been living up until that point.

<"The galaxy changes around us - the armies, the commanders, the warzones - but you and I... we remain.">

Dropping his head into his hands as the speaker blared the voice of what was left of the Mongrel, the intensity of the testing, tormenting reminder of the lives that changed around them (of the ascent that neither rival could ever be prepared for) was gnawing away at his will to live, muddying his perception of purpose and reality to near-maddening extents as the weight of the Mawite's reply weighed all the heavier with every single word he spoke. Erskine would pull his hands away on the next pause, making good use of the lull to retain his composure a little better, and in yet another disappointed realisation that one of the hands he relied on for comfort was cybernetic; a part of the process that was still taking it's time, though it was often overshadowed by the phantom-limb pains the good doctor had warned him plenty about, and even then, the slow-healing of the Lord-General's psychological scars still worried the others far more intensely than the phantom pains ever could.

<"I'm waiting for you, Barran.">

His eyes were wide open with a rather murderous hypervigilance by then, another expression of the Lord-General's that was noticed by everyone around him, followed by an audibly loud inhalation and exhalation as he sat up and waited for a conclusion to the Mawite legend's response. With right hand trembling as it remained balled into a fist like his cybernetic left, Julian would see Erskine's anger rising up like a bad acid-reflux, and though the Woad himself would not know or see how his behaviour was affecting his Krieg-born friend in that moment, the good doctor's presence was still serving as a great comfort to the Stormchaser despite it all. The fact it remained as an unfinished chapter in their lives for so long was eating away at them both, but circumstances around them would always have their way with the Mawite and Imperial commanders, toying with the ones who remained the same in their souls - against the odds that were constantly stacked against both Erskine and the Mongrel along the way.

<"If this is your champion, I'll prove to you with her blood that I'm ready for you.">

Standing up, but with such force and ferocity that the chair he was sitting in had embedded itself into the snow behind him, with a short scraping trail marking the distance covered in the sudden burst of energy; Lord Erskine himself then stood straight, with shoulders back and hands balled into fists, and roared a blood-curdling, stomach-turning outcry of the wildest primordial wrath he could muster. None there would've believed such intensity could still rest within men of the Lord-General's advanced age before they heard it for themselves, but in that moment of moments, the others finally understood how deep this rivalry had set into their minds, realizing how far it would reach into the future after the deaths both rivals sought so fervently. However, Lord Erskine wasn't quite finished yet, nor was he ready to let such a profound revelation knock his subordinates for a loop, inhaling loud preparation for another roar, bellowing once more from the deepest depths of his soul.

'CORUSCANT - MAAAANTRAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!'

'MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!! MAW - DELENDA - EST!!!!'
 
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Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw
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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 Michael Barran | Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Colton Renfro | Amadeus Blackwood Amadeus Blackwood | Djorn Bline Djorn Bline | Open (Allies to Ziare, enemies to Mercy)
Enemies: Open
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[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

I still couldn't escape from his "embrace", but somehow I felt all my limbs heavier and heavier. As I shouted the words, it was getting harder to form, as if I was no longer in control of my own body. And it really was, I think. I think it was Mercy who was trying to take back control of the body. No, I couldn't let that happen, I coul-

"I would be happy if you didn't try to break my spine, Develi!" I growled at my man who was holding me on his shoulder.

It’s not like she has so much say in taking back control of my body or not. At my changed voice and reaction, my people stopped and put me down to the ground. I sighed. It may not have been such a good idea for now, because I wasn’t sure I would be able to stay in control for long. Feth! At the worst possible time; I should have been on the surface a long time ago to help the Warlord. Instead, I can think about how and for what Ziare’s memory will need to be modified, again. Is there anything left untouched in her mind? Not my problem yet.

<< Warlord, this is Mercy! I apologize for the delay… Due to a more serious head injury, Ziare is able to regain control over my body. I will try to overcome this problem as soon as possible and join you on the surface. I may need the help of the Taskmaster again after the battle. >> I sent a message to The Mongrel The Mongrel .

I was quick to think about what I might need at the moment, what I need. The medical room wouldn’t have hurt, to take care of my injury, but the fights were too close to us. Although I still had luck, even though I didn’t want to sacrifice my own people. They were loyal to me and to Maw, to the very end. Ouch! My head was throbbing harder and harder, so it didn't end well. You have to go to the infirmary.

"Sickbay, I have to look at my head's injury. If Ziare takes back control over my body, don't let her run away. I don't even want to bother with coming back here when I control my body again." I told them.

I looked around quickly and then headed in the direction of the ailing, but the next moment the darkness embraced me…

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Location: Csaus, NIO Field Hospital
Allies: Three Shi'ido Fleshtakers
Foes: Julian Qar Julian Qar | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Vladimir Kovačić Vladimir Kovačić

  • Tu'teggacha masks his infiltration of the NIO forward base with the Force
  • His three Fleshtaker companions take on the guise of NIO troopers
  • The four of them enter the field hospital near Dr. Qar



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They became ghosts amid the snow, figures hidden even from memory.

For all his wide-ranging travels across the galaxy, both aboard the ship of his Ebruchi pirate clan and at the head of the Mawite warfleet, Tu'teggacha had never seen snow up close until the Battle of Ilum. Before that it had always been a distant thing, no more than an atmospheric condition glimpsed through a viewport and recorded by sensors, something to be accounted for when deploying troops or targeting orbital bombardments. It was only on Ilum, when he'd descended from the skies to oversee the extraction of kyber crystals at the Brotherhood's hidden mine, that he had finally felt the cold flakes settling on his rubbery flesh.

This was his second experience of it, and it still filled him with a sense of wonder. The drifting, spiraling crystals, so soft and fragile, borne on an arctic wind... they were like nothing he could have imagined growing up, when metal corridors had been his whole experience of life. This was a different kind of cold from the stark emptiness of the void, the hunger of the airless gap between planets and stars. That was a dead cold, lifeless and unchanging. Snow was... lively somehow, mercurial, chaotic, ever-changing in its patterns. What if this had been his life, his childhood? What if, instead of scuttling into air ducts to avoid the latest round of savage beatings, he could just have watched the snow?

Alone. Alive. Free amid the purity of frigid isolation.

It was a pointless thought, and he pushed it away. He was powerful now, grown strong in the Dark Side thanks to the endless torment he had inflicted and fed upon. Where the child Tu'teggacha might have embraced the cold and loneliness and stark beauty as safety, Taskmaster Tu'teggacha made his own safety, forging it through domination. He would not throw away what he had built, and he would allow no one to take it from him. He would succeed in this mission, no matter how it tested him, and he would return triumphant to the seat of power he had made for himself. No one would stand in his way.

They passed the NIO sentries with ease. They were vigilant, well-disciplined men and women, soldiers who would never have missed their presence or failed to report it under any ordinary circumstances... but Tu'teggacha was a master of memory, and it was easy for him to manipulate theirs. He splayed their brains open like an ancient paper book, thumbing back through to show them a different chapter than tthe current one, a chapter they had already lived through. On the figurative page he chose, the frozen wasteland in front of them was empty. Their thoughts were of hopes and fears, boredom, hunger, loved ones they had left behind and longed to see again one day, if only fate would be kind...

Lost in reverie, they did not see four figures slip past them.

The NIO forward base was as precisely organized and rigidly disciplined as a Mawite camp was wild and chaotic. Even though the prefabricated structures had only been assembled within the span of a couple of hours, they followed a precise plan, ensuring that every soldier could follow the same mental map he or she had used on a dozen other battlefields to find the armory, the command center, and the field hospital. It was this last that Tu'teggacha sought, and he plucked it easily from the memories of one of the patrols they passed. The Shi'ido at his side also took something from the patrols: their appearance.

While it was easy for the disguised Fleshtakers to go unnoticed, their imitation of armored NIO troopers completely perfect, it was getting harder and harder for Tu'teggacha himself to distract notice away. Although his Force gift was powerful, it was also singular; he was truly adept at reading, wielding, and even altering memory, perhaps the galaxy's greatest current master of that particular craft, but that was the only way he could touch the Force. He could not wreathe himself in shadows or create ghost sounds to distract his foes; he could only reach into their minds, erasing the memory of himself.

And when he was surrounded by so many, that was exhausting.

The Fleshtakers crowded around him, blocking others from easily seeing his small, hobbling form, and he was still shrouded in his arctic camo cloak... but the exertion was taking its toll. Sweat beaded and rolled down his rubbery flesh, sliding along the groves of his knobby skull, and soon he did not feel the cold; despite the frigid weather, he was hot, so hot that he wanted to throw off the stifling cloak. Only the knowledge that doing so would be a death sentence kept him from casting it aside and gasping for relief in the chilly wind. But they were almost to their goal; the field hospital rose up before them.

The four alien Mawites stepped into the medical center, enveloped by the same quiet atmosphere of gentle whirring and beeping that had gently enfolded and reassured Dr. Julian Qar Julian Qar . If they had been marauders, they would immediately have resorted to typical Brotherhood ultraviolence, smashing and burning all those delicate life-saving machines. But Tu'teggacha and his companions were the scalpel, not the hammer. They would assess the situation, and they would find a quiet way to wreak havoc here, in the place poised to keep so many of the NIO's finest from the grave.

If the good Doctor didn't notice them first.
 
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Dorian Sicarrio Dorian Sicarrio

The snow fell and swirled around her. If she had hair, it would be beautiful: Long locks sprinkled with snowflakes. But she did not have hair, there were no long tresses. Only her Lekku. Crimson colored and adorned with black Sith tattoos and runes. Snowflakes melted the instant they touched her steaming flesh.

Behind her, she did indeed sense her 2 enemies. Over the howl of the wind, she heard the banter. The taunt. It seemed they were eager to meet their demise. Should not Maestus accommodate them? Her every twisted instinct was to destroy them on sight.

She resisted her animalistic instincts. For now. She would savor this confrontation. Eek out of it every drop of satisfaction she could. She intended to see them beg for the sweet release of death. Only then, would she finish them.

Or perhaps, if they proved competent enough in the fight to come, she may enslave them. The Maw needed replenishments in the slave-soldier ranks. A couple of NIO soldiers may do nicely.

She reached out, laying her hands on the ledge of the wall and observed the battle below. It was difficult to get a clear picture with the guating wind and snow biting at her eyes. Somewhere down there, The Mongrel The Mongrel was leading the charge against the NIO enemies. She had full confidence in the robo-warlord. She had watched him grow, learn, mature and change over the years. He was the only other warlord Maestus held any modicum of respect for. He had earned every scrap he gained. Not to mention he has a brilliant mind. Capable of devising devious battle plans and ingenious creations.

Yes, the ground battle was in good hands. Now, she could turn her attention to the saber wielding NIO behind her. She spun around slowly to face them, opening her robes and loosening them. On her belt were 2 hilts. One was a lightsaber hilt. The other was slightly shorter and more ornate. Maestus Fury hilt was inlayed with phrik.

She held both hands up, and the 2 hilts smacked into her palms. In the left, the saber hilt hit and activated. A ripling blade of purple plasma erupted. In the right hand, the hilt for Maestus Fury landed and the single tail of red plasma exploded. She looked upon her opponents with sadistic glee. Black eyes outlined with the fire of hell stared them both down.

Shall we begin, my friends? Or perhaps we can exchange quips and...Banter...
 
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Location: Csaus, Citadel Caelitus Outskirts
Allies: Lurtz Null Lurtz Null | Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda | Electra-12 Electra-12 | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr ?
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring Bex Tarring | Shai Maji Shai Maji | Kovacs Kovacs | Volgin Alto | Delilah Jones

  • The Mongrel deploys seven Raider Walkers to intercept the NIO troops moving up to help the pilots and drop troopers
    • Four anti-infantry, two anti-vehicle, one War Priest's Rally Walker
  • Four War Skiffs deploy due south to cover their flank and harass the NIO armor on the eastern side of the valley
  • The Mongrel tests Shai's defenses with an S-curve blow aimed for her middriff and neck


As the tidal wave of cannibalistic Crimson Hands washed over the NIO drop troopers, brutally tearing into anyone they could reach, the first phase of the Battle of Csaus could at last be truly said to have begun. The tribe was doing exactly what The Mongrel had hoped: forming a wall of savage, unrelenting fury between the newly-landed advance force and the main Mawite defensive line. Charging into dug-in repeaters, flamers, and repulsors would no doubt result in horrific casualties, but the fierce young tribe could sustain such losses.

Let that bulge draw away the mortar fire.

As corpses piled up around the ruined building that the Sixteens had made their refuge, the battlefield became increasingly lopsided. The drop attack, and now the NIO's efforts to rescue their downed pilots, had all taken place along the western approach, clogging that side of the valley with warriors, tanks, wreckage, and the twisted bodies of the dead. The East was a stark contrast, with no units yet engaged in anything except lobbing long-range weapons at each other. Even as their comrades battled up close, the soldiers on that flank waited.

Well, so be it. If the NIO did not intend to push the main Mawite defensive line, content to fight over the ruins just short of it, the Brotherhood would seize the advantage they always desired: momentum. The Maw was strongest on the charge. Where the NIO was like stone, holding firm in an unbreakable defense or grinding forward in an inexorable attack, the Brotherhood was like the ocean. They came in waves, gathering power as they swept in again and again, nimble and mobile, flowing around obstacles to wear away their foes.

When they crested, they came down with great fury.

From the undisturbed eastern flank, the Mawite vehicles The Mongrel had been holding in reserve began to deploy. First came seven of the clanking, smoking Raider Walkers, the Brotherhood's dark parody of the famous Imperial AT-STs. But where the walkers of the Galactic Empire and its successors were clean, angular, uniform machines, the Raider Walkers embodied the brutal chaos of the Maw. They were festooned with spikes, razorwire, bolted-on armor... and living prisoners chained to their cockpits, screaming and thrashing.

The enemy would be forced to shoot through them.

These fast attack craft were highly modular, capable of being kitted out for a variety of different roles. These particular ones were a motley mix. Four were kitted for infantry support, with chin-mounted chainguns and grenade launchers; any infantry push caught in the open tundra would surely be shredded by such weapons, and they could keep down the heads of troopers in cover. Two were anti-vehicle pattern, with a heavier laser cannon and dual concussion missile launchers ready to obliterate that cover - or enemy armor.

The last was a War Priest's Rally Walker, and in place of additional weapons to supplement its heavy laser cannons it carried titanic speakers. Through those massive audio projection devices boomed the voice of the Heathen Priest within, so loud that nearby ice cracked and the dusting of snow atop the ruins shook with each reverberation. Let the NIO's war cries be drowned out! "THE ROAD TO PARADISE IS PAVED WITH THE CORPSES OF UNBELIEVERS!" the priest thundered. "BLOOD IS THE CURRENCY OF HEAVEN!"

He kept up a steady sermon as the walkers charged.

The squadron of seven moved in at a diagonal from the northeast, headed straight for the NIO forces moving up along the western side of the valley. Their goal was to strike the relief force - moving in to rescue the downed pilots and support the surrounded drop troopers - in the flank, stealing the momentum of the infantry before they could crash into the embattled Crimson Hands. But with further NIO divisions still lurking in the southeast, their own flank would be exposed. So that was where the second vehicle deployment came in.

Four Mawite War Skiffs skimmed over the eastern earthenworks, headed due south. These swift vehicles were just as utterly ramshackle and nonstandard as the walkers, but far less varied when it came to weaponry and role. Each of them was built around a hulking Chiss MetaCannon, normally a self-propelled artillery piece, now cut down for use as a colossal deck gun. Loaded with powerful armor-piercing shells, the MetaCannons had been chosen specifically to punch through the armor of the Galidraani tanks, long the Maw's bane.

They had E-WEB deck guns to keep infantry back, too.

For now, the War Skiffs moved in a simple harassment pattern, swooping southward and firing at long to medium range, daring the NIO armor to chase them. If the enemy tanks did, they could fall back to the Mawite defenses, hopefully drawing the NIO into position for a counter-charge... and gaining free hits if the enemy wouldn't advance that far. If they didn't, choosing to counter the Raider Walkers instead, then the skiffs could harry them at their flank. The goal was simple: make a lopsided battle into a confusing morass instead.

After all, the Maw thrived on chaos and disorder.

------------------------------------
For his part, The Mongrel was only partly paying attention to the orders and contingencies he'd set up being carried out. Most of his focus was directed toward the foe before him, this "Wardog" of the NIO. He largely ignored her jibes; he had allowed himself to be baited by that pink Jedi, Yula Perl Yula Perl , back on Jedha, and it had nearly gotten him killed. As much as he sought death these days, it needed to be a worthy death, one in which he gave his all. Throwing his life away needlessly would earn him the scorn of the Dark Three, not their favor.

Yet there was one combination of remarks he could not let pass, for it came too close to his own dark thoughts these days. "Yes," he said, as she spoke of the lacking contents of his body and the lacking pieces of hers. "It's the fate of all warriors who live long enough, isn't it? To see all our pieces whittled away, battle by battle. Survive long enough, and perhaps you'll become as hollow as me." He leveled his blade in her direction, a threat... or a promise of release from suffering. "Come closer, and I'll spare you that fate."

She came at him through a haze of blood, carving apart Mawite warriors in her zeal to reach him. Her wrist rocket, of course, was faster. Had The Mongrel inhabited his old body, he might simply have hunkered down and tanked the hit, letting his hulking, armored mass withstand the explosive force. But that strategy hadn't worked out too well against Sephi and her armor-piercing gun, and there was no telling what kind of payload this rocket bore. Speed was his advantage now, not endurance. And so the warlord changed tactics.

Faster than the eye could follow, The Mongrel's metal body shifted into a backward lean so steep that no organic could possibly have held it without falling right on his ass. But synthmuscles strained and servos whined, balancing him, keeping him from toppling over. The rocket roared just above his torso, missing by centimeters, and flew past to detonate somewhere in the tundra beyond. Like a rubber band - or perhaps an inflatable punching bag springing back after a hit - the warlord snapped upright in its wake, ready for the coming clash.

His gaze - not his eyes, for those were long gone now - lingered on the blade Shai held... the blade Barran had given her. It was a sign of his confidence in her, surely, a sign that she was worthy to carry his banner in his absence. Such a gift was not bestowed lightly, not by the likes of the old general. The Mongrel knew that he would have to tread carefully in this fight. Yet he also felt a hunger in his soul, a desire to prove Barran wrong, to show that his champion was not worthy of facing him. He wanted Barran to be here, to perhaps end this.

Was Shai up to following Aron Gowrie's near-kill?

Time to test that. The Mongrel snapped forward, bursting into motion again, weaving his warblade in an upward S-curve strike; the broad-bladed sword dove for her midsection, an attempted disembowelment, before swinging back in a smooth continuation of the first blow aimed to take her head from her shoulders. He doubted that either strike would be a killing blow, of course; her armor looked strong. Besides, if she could not evade, block, or withstand such a hit, she was unworthy of being Barran's champion. How she responded...

... now that would tell him something.

Even as he struck, Mercy's voice crackled in his... well, his figurative ear. She spoke of losing control of her body, slipping back into the role of a loyal NIO operative, and a mixture of rage and concern flooded his disembodied brain. He could not afford to lose his most trusted agent. "See that you do report to the Taskmaster, and as soon as possible," he transmitted back. Mercy had been instrumental in many of his most hotly contested battles and secret ops. If the NIO regained control of her, the things she might be able to tell them...
 
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E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Iron Skin | Lightsaber

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DUEL OF FATES
For all Rurik might've sought to belittle Solipsis's stature in his mind, there was no demeaning the raw power in the Sith'ari's form. He'd battled Kascalion, Carnifex and Prazutis one man before the other before...but none of them carried the same stature as Solipsis. Though Prazutis was a behemoth in heavy Sith steel, Carnifex was a sorcerer of unimaginable power and Kascalion was the ever-changing, the ever-unpredictable- Solipsis seemed to embody the greatest of each of their traits while shirking the shortfalls which made them weak.

But no man was immortal.

No man was invincible. Rurik had learned that the hard way many times over. Striking at random, calcified in delusion he was nearly brought low against the very demons he sought to destroy many times before. Had he been wiser, he might still be the very man he actually was, instead of donning this false steel visage.

The burst of crimson power course through the static electric air in palpable rage before colliding between them with Rurik's storm of argent. Each burst of electric power spit shards of electric fury into the surrounding power generators, spurting micro explosions of caustic chaos that threatened to clash into either of their mortal forms.

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He said, leaning into the cataclysmic clash of Force power at their fingertips before snuffing his argent blade in his hand managing to channel the force through his right limb to grasp ahold of a massive power generation coil, grasping the base of the structure in his ethereal iron grip before ripping it from its foundations and flinging it toward the Sith, hoping only to break his focus as his own ability to channel the force offensively and keep his pain at bay was wearing thin at his will. Immediately after, he snuffed the flow of electricity from his other hand.

It was then, he was feeling the banks of his power begin to wane. It would either be he continued to subdue the constant, ever lasting pain that coursed through him while managing to stave off Solipsis, managing as he had done at odds with the Sith'ari several times before and try merely to escape with his life.

Or- he could abandon control of it, back into his discipline and embrace the struggle, the pain, the suffering, channel what Solipsis used as fuel in reprisal toward the Sith'ari, at the very risk of empowering his enemy.

After creating space between them, he gave in. In that moment, his mental passageways through the blistering waned and he could feel every gasp of torment upon his tortured flesh. The gaze of the Twilight burning wholly as it did years before.

"It was my blood that purged the Sith to oblivion hundreds of years before...and it will be my Empire and my will that will see it done once more. You have fought the inevitable long enough, Sith." He said, igniting his blade of argent once more in his hand before vaulting himself toward Solipsis.

"NOW PERISH."

Feinting a strike head-on before backing into one of the traditional tactics of Form VII and lurching past him in a 'swift flank' to concisely swipe the blade through the Sith before re-establishing himself just behind him to continue the assault in a moment hoping to catch a lapse in focus from the Sith'ari. Each strike from then on, he joined both hands at the hilt uncharacteristically in contrast to the methodical, one-handed blows Rurik inflicted once more, these strikes were as swift as they were punishingly heavy-handed. He channeled his pain into every blow. He sought to drive him inch by inch down this daunting chasm they danced around.

He'd sought his death in each encounter before...but now, he was without relent in sparing nothing in this mortal effort.

KNIGHTS OF THE EMPIRE
Atticus Draco | Lucien Dooku | Dorian Sicarrio Dorian Sicarrio | Raina Demici | Varus the Sigillite | Larro Paeb | Ihsan Varad | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Marus Saretti

 

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Post #5
DIE BY THE SWORD
OBJECTIVE 2: SNOW AND STEEL
THE_WOAD
IMPAF-COMMAND

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313TH STORMTROOPER LEGION,"SABRETOOTH LEGION"
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NIO: Kovacs Kovacs Enzo Demici Enzo Demici Delilah Jones Volgin Alto
Julian Qar Julian Qar Vladimir Kovačić Vladimir Kovačić Bex Tarring Bex Tarring Kranak Vizsla Kranak Vizsla

THE LORD-GENERAL'S CHAMPION: Shai Maji Shai Maji


BOTM: The Mongrel The Mongrel Tu'teggacha Tu'teggacha Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda Electra-12 Electra-12 Lurtz Null Lurtz Null

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore

Fragarach Model Heavy Disruptor-Pistol
Sentimental-Value Fairbairn Vibroknife
Beskar Knuckledusters
Erskine's New arm
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TLDR:
2nd Battalion are on the move.
Marić recalls Barran's first words to the Mantellian recruits.
Mawite Walkers attack with longshots.
Marić orders everyone to keep moving and to stay low.
A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 9
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


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'Wild thistles grow on Ord Mantel - your people gift me a tiger-cub, the wonders of your folk-music, and almost a battalion-worth of absolute perfection. Such omens, honours and gifts your people have bestowed, and always on the one condition - that I make famous the name of their world through what I make of you! The proud soldiers of Republika Mantellska, set to become proud warriors of Sabretooth Legion in time!'

Words Lieutenant Marić would never forget, not for as long as he had left to live in the Galaxy's endless state of war, words that would ring clear in the back of the young Mantellian's mind as 2nd Battalion traced their way through the aftermaths of multiple engagements. Dead from both sides, but with the Mawites looking to be coming off worse so far, as such was the momentum carried by the other great Mantellian on the field that night; one such man who was famed among Roki's people already, having acquitted himself aggressively in multiple previous deployments, it wouldn't take long for word of Volgin Alto to reach the ears of his kin and neighbour alike back home.

The Imperium would make legends of us.... 501st, 313th - makes you wonder.

And though the young Sabretooth was aware of the the 8th Airborne's status as legionaries of the 501st, Marić couldn't help but aspire to fight like Mauler someday, or at least to a level that one day resembled that of Alto's.

'SIR!!!! TO THE RIGHT!!!! RAIDER-AT UNITS SHIFTING OFF THE MAWITE LINE!!!!'

'All they can do is shoot as we make use of our mobility, Basara! Keep low, use the cover, use the snowdrifts - we need to keep moving one way or another!', Marić replied, keeping pace as everyone started lowering their postures, running with heads down and knees bent to keep at least some sort of momentum in their attempt to give the walkers the slip. Some of the troopers from 2nd Battalion had been unfortunate in the beginning, suffering the longshots of walkers that had the drop on the unsuspecting riflemen in the last sprinting cluster, the same loss of slower-to-react elements in 1st Battalion had occurred also, with some of the riflemen from Bramber suffering the same fate as their newfound comrades in the barrage. All of this would unfold before the Mantellian's eyes, but every fibre of his being kept urging him forward, compounded with the understanding that 2nd Battalion, much like their brothers in arms from the 1st, Marić's lot were well beyond the point of no-return.

'Just stick to Sergeant-Major Massoud,"Like Glue", as the Lord-General likes saying! Sound advice, especially now! So keep moving and try to stay out of sight until we're in the clear!'

Tank support, and the collective advance of 3rd, 4th and 1st-Armoured awaited, but there was little and less that 2nd Battalion could do about their situation until they were well on their way towards the Mawite right flank; though fortunately for Marić, he wouldn't need to wait very long, for the battle's three-layered attack wasn't very far away from being properly put into effect either. Aggravating though that thought was in that moment, the young Lieutenant could do absolutely nothing to speed the process along, not from his lower-rank or his perspective - gritting his teeth in bitter acknowledgement of this fact as everyone around him continued to move as fast as they could through the snow. Harsh were the winds and the snow-dust kicked up by them, dark was the night around them, but Marić would smile with relief as he looked on the unfazed mass of troopers on either side of him, stern and stalwart as always.

Not that it would ever stop the Mawite ATs from making guesswork-shots that would hit their marks regardless, eventually cutting the battalion's strength down to less than 80% of it's starting deployment turnout before they could get to where they thought they'd be clear of the heavy-weaponry's lines of sight. Tense, heart-pounding sprints for the nearest definitive reprieve from the AT awaited them, made worse by the realisation that the nearest shred of definitive cover from the walkers was well over two hundred metres away, tucked away behind derelict fortifications that caught enough snow to completely obscure (and protect) the rest of their northward-advancing escape from the heaviest-hitting ordnance on the field. A much worse fate was expected to await their rescue-attempt in the deep northwest, but the small reprieves and the immediate issues alike would take precedence, along with the dead and dying littering the snow at their feet providing trip-hazards and a rather graphic aftermath of the hostilities they were supposed to be flanking around and beyond in the affray.

Better than the Sith from before, much better. At least the Maw like to match us in the field, strength for strength.... Well, they're doing that tonight in droves anyway.
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TLDR:
Erskine arranges orders for the 3rd, 4th, and 5th Battalions to attack the main Mawite line.
Julian is given the IMPAF-Trio as bodyguards for the rest of the operation.
Erskine links up with Bramber Battalion's tank-crews, finds Bex.
Erskine gives the crewmen instructions for smoothbore-longshots.
Oversees the early attempts and issues orders to fire.
A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 10
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


By the time the rallying-cry's commotion died down, Lord Erskine felt confident enough to work away to himself, turning his attention back to the map-holographic display to find that the Mongrel had been first to act again, only to decide on the spot that the remaining three battalions would engage the Maw, willing there and then to meet the citadel's first line of defence in the middle. 'Ahaaaa.... Doesn't hang about, ever. Perfection!', Barran started, pausing to take one last look at the three remaining battalions he still had in defensive positions all across the center and the right flank, seeing them poised to act at a moment's notice. Looking back up to the others, Erskine chuckled and growled,'Send in the rest! Full-attack!', as he reached into his coat-pocket with his cybernetic hand, pulling out the renowned hipflask and turning round to make eye-contact with the good doctor once more.

'Alright, I'll need ye checkin' in on the field-hospital from time to time, the first of the rounds being now.... Take the lads with you. I appreciate your trust in the Sabretooth-troopers, but you're much better off with a few IMPAF-Knights with ye. An' they'll say an' do whatever you need done at the time - now get goin'. See ye when ye get back.'

Just as Dr. Qar was passing Erskine on his left side, Erskine's left hand grabbed Julian's arm and pulled him closer to whisper,'If anything seems - off, as in,"More dangerous than our usual fare", you patch through immediately.... I won't ever stop you from fighting, just know I wouldn't let you fight without a friend standing shoulder-to-shoulder with ye. That's what friends live and die for.', with cybernetics letting go off cybernetics as soon as he was done talking. Sharing a last mutual nod of respect, the good doctor and his patient then parted ways, setting to their roles for what they expected to be the rest of the battle itself; Julian, walking out westward towards the field-hospital, Erskine, walking north to give some much-needed advice to the tanks of Bramber Battalion, both striding with purpose in their steps as the gloomy shadows of the night danced around them.

Little do you know it now, lad.... But IMPAF-command has plans for you, such that bring you deeper into the fold.

The Stormchaser wouldn't take too long to find the fellows from Bramber Battalion, almost directly north of the command-centre so Barran had no trouble in locating them in the dark, dusty snow of the starry night casting her influence over Citadel Valley. Lord Bex would be overseeing their preparations to advance, something Lord Erskine saw as a sign of opportunity, one that might see the Bramber tank-crews to make a name for themselves like the Fighting First, the Blue-Hearts and the Widcats before them. If they didn't know what the XT-62 could achieve in the right hands, then the Lord-General was going to give the Lord-Captain yet another rare treat to carry with him, and well into his career as an officer of the Free-State; he might not have retained the same ties with Galidraan as he had before, but the Woad was still kindly predisposed to anyone serving under the Lord-Protector, and Lord Erskine was beginning to feel that Lord Bex would never become an exception to this on his watch.

'Good to see you again, Lord Bex. I guess I just can't keep myself await from the frontlines - even if I tried.', Lord Erskine began, pausing to beckon his colleague follow as he made a beeline for the tanks on the far right of Tarring's stationary formation. When they stopped at the second-last tank to the right, Barran would extend his arms out in either direction and continue,'These three will do for the moment, then you pass this knowledge along to the others, you'll understand when it's put into practice. Trust me on that now before it all starts to make sense, you'll be glad ye did.', before stepping out past the last Cataphract in the row, pointing towards the distant Raider-ATs with obvious intent when Tarring eventually got to see what the Lord-General was looking at. There was no doubt of how far Lord Erskine wanted his shots to reach, and even as the AT units pulled farther and farther away from their collision course with the tanks and the medical facility directly behind them, the Stormchaser exhibited nothing but absolute confidence in the capabilities of the XT-62s' smoothbore turret-barrels, and a casual self-assurance in the abilities of the crewmen who loaded and fired with them.

'If any good riflemen serve as crewmen here, have them take over the target-optics on the turrets. Loader roles remain at their station and load on command.'

Seeing to the Lord-General's concise orders, Tarring's subordinates would find the right shooters for the job, and though they would no doubt be of a lesser quality than that of their best shots advancing with the Sabretooth-troopers in the north, the Stormchaser would remain confidently smirking as he waited for the confirmation that the right participants were in place. Then, as Lord Erskine drank another heavy gulp of the '04 cask from his hipflask, the Galidraani staffers serving with Lord Bex poked their heads out and gave the thumbs-up confirmation that all was loaded and in place, readying for further orders as Lord Erskine chuckled menacingly with eyes firmly set on the Raider-ATs ahead. Putting his hipflask away, Erskine would then reach into the same pocket for his comm-device, patching through to the tank-crews ahead with the fortunate helping-hand of having callsigns painted on the rear-left sides of their Cataphracts.

<"XTs Ten, Eleven, Twelve; this is Barran! Load - incendiaries.... Adjust for wind-direction and windspeeds, elevation and distance. Just like the SA-65, but with smoothbores instead.">

'Excuse me, sir. But what do you suppose benefits our efforts in attempting shots a fair deal beyond their effective range like this? I would genuinely like to know if you know something we don't, sir.'

'In short, aye?', Erskine retorted quickly, briefly holding back the rest of his response to meet the usual stern stare of the best Southern-Galidraani fighting-stock for a moment or two, though the sergeant-major's stare showed something more intense than the usual brand of Southern-Galidraani soldier, an intensity Barran believed to be more akin to that often exhibited in the Dunwallers and the Northern-Galidraani element. This gladdened the old Woad to no end, knowing that the soldiers of Bramber Battalion were no pushovers in any sense of the word, a great showing of strength to make as the remaining three battalions of the 313th were all advancing northward with drive and purpose - fated to face whatever remained after the Cataphracts were done with them. Holding the sergeant-major's gaze, Barran calmly continued,'Never trust factory-engineers to fire any way but straight ahead of them. Never. Its soldiers, men like you an' I who put these weapons through their real paces. An' I'm here t'prove that, as my colleagues have before you.', staying within striking distance but turning back to the ATs in the distance.

<"Mark your targets - brace for recoil.... WEAPONS-FREE - FIRE, FIRE, FIRE!!!!">
 
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Vesta

Guest
V

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

Experience was what gave these Imperial dogs their courage, survival was what bolstered their morale, and their charismatic leaders' honeyed words always bought from them their loyalty. Speeches which described the way they lived, the harshness of a cruel reality, and then framed the fault of that truth on the rest of all creation - it was the alien that took from them their livelihood, it was the other which threatened their way of life - all while painting an elaborate mural of decadence and glory for what they could have if they sacrificed their individuality for the purported security of this alleged idealized future in the name of order. Their disillusioned few, the necessary evil in any empire, were reticent to agree with the mindless drones they served with, ready to jump ship at the moment a better offer came along for an immediate change in life, but they were dogs all the same.

She would know, she had been one - once.

Her lips remained thin, pressed tight, as the misguided Sith offered to break the silence with humor that was abandoned just as quickly as she lunged towards Mori with an overhead strike that seemed all but framed with desperation. Under the guise she had crafted so carefully for herself, the face of a woman that was still struggling to reach the strength she needed for vengeance, she would have lifted her blade and parried the blow - or perhaps stepped just out of the pike's path - and adopted the determined look of a young woman filled with the confidence in the power of her plight for revenge. A response that was proportionate, equal, to the blow levied at her was how she had treated Rurik Fel Rurik Fel to a convincing performance that had, almost ironically, caused him to nearly buckle under the pressure of a manifested voice from the past.

She stepped forwards before the end of the pike could make its way towards her, through the reach of the polearm, and into the place where her enemy would land - too close for such a heavy strike to account for. She could have lashed out there, then, and ended the confrontation with the overconfidence of a woman that thought it was best to gauge her foe than to approach her with the assumption that every step could be her last - the lifting of her unarmed hand, palm open, suggesting that she might've decided to do just that - but in a galaxy that was so unforgiving, dotted by stars home to civilizations which were denied the chance to fight for their freedom even in manners such as this, the Sith Lord deigned herself to forgive the audacity presented to her and unleashed a simple push with the force as she pushed herself back with unmitigated speed instead.


"I won't waste my breath on a thrall." She replied coolly.

Long-winded speeches were, indeed, a part of the repertoire of the very people she desired to supplant - but not for something as pointless, as foolish, as authority or leadership. There wasn't a fiber in her being that desired to replace one corruption for another, one oppressor for the next. The war she waged on the purported free peoples of the galaxy was to destroy; an end to imperialism, suffocation of order, and death to an undeserving galaxy. Someone so devoted to perpetuating such an evil structure as this was beyond convincing.

Darkness welled up within the center of Darth Mori's body, the amalgamated despair of all the souls that had met their ultimate end as a result of her dedication towards a final vision - liberated from the binds of a mortal coil, free to suffer within her instead. The momentary scream that echoed across the stars during moments of great tragedy, of mass death, like that of Csilla or Rhand was not nearly so temporary this close to the Sith Lord now that she had resolved herself to let loose, a constant piercing wailing, innumerable screams, present in the force at such a range. She twirled the lightsaber she held deftly between her fingers before returning it to a reverse grip in her hand, head tilting to the side with a questioning gaze offered in the absence of a monologue, a look that beckoned her to answer a query unasked.

Why do you continue to serve?

 


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Eclipse Actual

Engaging: OPEN

Loadout: Double-bladed lightsaber, blaster pistol, vibroknife, Imperial Mk. I "Dooku-Pattern" Jedi Armor

Allies: Michael Barran Michael Barran , Rika Hiro Rika Hiro Colton Renfro, Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast , Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr

Enemies: BotM

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A few months prior to Csaus...

Amadeus slammed his fist against the desk in frustration as he looked at the intelligence reports. Roland Thorne stood opposite of his commander, staring at the report with a concerned look upon his face.

"The bastard eluded us... again."

The New Imperial Order had expended a large amount of resources to locating and apprehending the traitor known as Darth Caelitus, which had yielded little result. Every time they had the traitor in their grasp, he always seemed to find a way to slip through their fingers. Eclipse Company had been deployed on several occasions in an attempt to bring the man down themselves, yet the Sith always seemed one step ahead.

"We'll get him, sir. It's only a matter of time."

Amadeus looked up, his gaze meeting that of his comrade.

"It won't come soon enough."

It was no secret to Roland that Amadeus took the betrayal personally. He had admired Halketh in the past for his position as a darksider within the ranks of the NIO, looking to him as an example of how one could find their way... how Amadeus could find his way. Yet, all of that respect crumbled the moment Halketh became the Sith known as Darth Caelitus, trading Order for war, death, and rebirth. The thought of it disgusted Amadeus, and he saw the betrayal as a blight on his own record. Having a history such as his was not something that made your time among with New Imperials easy, nor did it help with his standing with his fellow Galidraani. It was an insult, and one that needed to be dealt with in kind...

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New Cold War

The transport came to a standstill, and Amadeus was about to give his rank and name. Then, as the door of the transport opened, a stranger stepped out. Amadeus couldn't make out the man's unit, if he even belonged to one. The cold air swirled around them as the two stared each other down, doing what they could to size the other up. The blue blade the man wielded would normally be a comforting sign to Amadeus, though the Maw were indeed a devious lot. And besides, there was something... different about this one. He carried himself with the weight of a killer, and there was a strange, cold distance in his eyes. The Force seemed strange around him as well. Amadeus couldn't quite put his finger on it... but the energy that emanated from the man was unusual for a Force user. Suspicion began to build within him as the man approached, his grip tightening around his own lightsaber as he stared the stranger down.

Assuming a proper guard in the tradition of Juyo, Amadeus prepared himself for a potential fight. He reached out to the man telepathically, sending a message through the Force as he maintained his guard.

I don't wish to kill you, stranger, but should you impede me in my mission, then death is what you shall have.

He refrained from speaking allowed, for now. In his experience, one gave less away when they avoided conversation. He would leave the message as it was, for now, and leave the stranger to make his move.

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BRAMBER FIRST BATTALION
HURST COMPANY
COMMAND PLATOON


Lieutenant Boniface checked his watch, the digital components keeping an atomic precision as the seconds passed. His right arm held in front of him, his left fiddled intricately with the dial on the side, checking for all sorts of readings. Temperature, geolocation, atmospheric pressure.

He was waiting for the magic moment when the interface would display the number he was waiting for, the designated time that the Hurst Company would enter the battle. He could hear the distant sound of gunfire, larger explosions calling out, trying to out-bellow the cacophony of war. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he would see the pre-determined time.

It wasn't yet.

He sat in his XT-62, the pulverising terror of the Imperial Army. It would slice through the battlefield like a saber through butter, dashing the hopes of the Maw as they tried to scramble for something that might offer them respite or, better yet, salvation.

They would find nought but the crushing realisation that all hope of survival, let alone victory, was gone. The 12 Cataphract tanks would move like a great scythe, beheading the very head of the beast that sought to strike against the Imperial forces.

He looked down once again, the comfort and safety of his own command tank making, in equal parts, both agitated to fight and respectful of duty. For it was his duty to coordinate the efforts of his subordinates, giving them the best shot of turning the tide of the battle.

He looked down.

It was now.

^^^^^
HURST COMPANY
FIRST PLATOON

Second Lieutenant Fears nodded his own approving head as the time clicked in on his own display screen, the designated moment to commence the assault. He clicked several buttons and instruments in front of him, the display showing both analytical data as well as the real-time vision of the battlefront. The 'Artemis' system began to register all manner of signals, life forms and information that would be essential for the effective conclusion of the operation. Their job was simple; assault and turn the tide of the enemy combatants. The array of heavy weapons, missiles and cannons that formed the terrifying armament of the Cataphract would be sure to decimate any groups of soldieries that chose to stand their ground as they descended upon them.

Fears smiled to himself, checking in with the rest of his platoon, three other identical heavy tanks, all set on the same bloody purpose; punch a hole through the enemy lines, annihilate the enemy armaments and reduce the Citadel to a pile of rubble.

Piece of cake.

^^^^^

HURST COMPANY
SECOND PLATOON

Netley coughed, his chest tight in the large harness that acted as a buffer between the movement of the tank and the rough terrain it might traverse. Though the repulsor-lifts would maintain the fluid motion that they were famed for, they would still hug tight to the ground beneath, scorching and racing through the air. The cutting shape of the Cataphract was demonic in nature, its grizzly cache of weapons set to slaughter as many enemy soldiers as possible.

He looked at the gunner and the driver, sharing the same snug space as all the other crews of the Company would right now. They were twitchy, ready to engage as soon as the predetermined order came through. As soon as the clock struck the hour.

The hammer of fate swung precariously over them all, Netley thought, wiping his mouth with his gloved hand before putting on his breathing mask, a small pouch that fit snugly over his mouth and nose. He would breathe clearly here, ensuring the enclosed space didn't fill with hot, moist air as their breathing no doubt intensified. He would also be able to speak clearly into the microphone system that would relay his voice within the ears of the two crew members, directing orders swiftly to ensure cohesion.

They would dive towards the enemy, laying down as much as fire as possible, trying their level best to avoid allied troopers. There were mercenaries too; Mandalorians. He had little love for their kind, a loyalty that can be bought and sold was something that Ephrum Netley detested. His love was for his homeworld. The Imperial State. The Imperial Order.

His family.

He thought of his wife. His daughters. Aged ten and thirteen. They would be playing at home. Or they might be in bed. He had little awareness of what the time was back on Galidraan. He thought of the Spring Fair and the Harvest Festival and running through the twittens and the Laines of Bramber, the Downlands soaring into the sky, vast hills that undulated and stood, forcefully as if they could barricade the world from anything that tried to get to it…to destroy it.

He was far from that, on a far-flung world, far too late to turn back.


His clock beeped the time.

^^^^^
HURST COMPANY
THIRD PLATOON

A different plan, he had said. Recently promoted to Second lieutenant, Tuppen shifted in his seat, reading the range checks that the computer was calculating at impressive speeds. They were set on a different course to the other two platoons of the Company. They would spearhead the flanking charge, making for the enemy line with swift and decisive courage. 'Third' was to stay a little behind, to lay down a suppressive salvo into the enemy lines, create chaos and confusion so that the advance of the 'First and Second' were screened and made less obvious. They would target anything that the infantry would find useful in smaller bits. Any vehicles, tanks, walkers that might appear from the hideous and odious ranks of the Maw.

Tuppen hated them with all his heart, an Imperial zeal that lived in his heart with a fervent and almost maniacal passion. He looked up to his commanding officers, especially Lord-Captain Tarring. Tarring was an excellent tactician, drawn from the same cloth as the finest of the Bramber aristocracy, and a credit to the County. The Count himself, Lord Shipley Tarring, was no famed warrior but the founding of the Bramber battalion was an honour few of the Counties could own. They would, the four XT-62s, lay down a moving barrage that would fire a deluge of fire and energy and bombastic ordnance, hell-bent on creating as much death and destruction as possible in the short time they would have. They would cover their allies before charging in their wake, free to adapt to the shifting battlefield as the Lord-Captain saw fit.

Nearly time

^^^^^

Bex stood by the Command Vehicle, resting easy. He wasn't likely to see direct combat today, less his platoon was needed to turn the tide of battle, but it still made him anxious. He was in no way battle-shy; he was a loyal and brave Imperial. But he knew the risk of authority, knew that with it came great responsibility and culpability to his men. If they faltered, it would fall to him to rescue them, guide them to safety.

The figure of the Lord-General made its imposing way towards him, a murmur from the troopers surrounding Bex as they began to find any other reason not to be in the way of this conversation. They milled a little further away, making plans, talking idly about nothing.

He motioned towards Tarring, calling him to walk with him along the line of his fully formed formation. They walked along the line, drivers and crew alike nodding politely, saluting when close enough to warrant such an action. Discipline was key to the very success of battle; to convince a trooper to hurl himself at a dangerous enemy, one needed to have suppressed a little of that 'flight' instinct that still sat within the human brain.

He motioned in the distance, Tarring raising his own device, attached to his hip. He watched as the Maw ATs made an opening gambit towards the Imperial lines. He began to talk of a somewhat unorthodox attempt to strike them from a distance. He knew the Cataphracts could make such a shot in theory but in practice, it was far harder to achieve.

The Lord-General had taken full command of the proceeding.

<"XTs Ten, Eleven, Twelve; this is Barran! Load - incendiaries.... Adjust for wind-direction and windspeeds, elevation and distance. Just like the SA-65, but with smoothbores instead.">

Bex stood watching this remarkable display of command, close and personal with the Lord-General for the first time in the field. It was astounding, the assurance, the calm, the knowledge.

Bex had found a new hero.




The call to fire was rapid.

Taking the instruction clearly, the XT-62s aimed for the marauding raiders and fired with keen precision, the gunners shocked as to how the heavy incendiary armament flew from the muzzle of the tank and far exceeded what they thought effective. They watched as the munitions hurtled towards the enemy, the three shells detonating above and amongst the enemy forces with a ferocious cascade of lethal dosage.

They fired again.

The shells flew through the air.

They fired again.

Bursts of burning luminescence grew angrily as they intended to destroy and impede the advancing Maw as fully as possible. Bex nodded towards the Lord-General, giving a crisp salute and walked the short way to the Command Vehicle, Boniface looking impetuously at him, ready for the next orders.

He jumped into the vehicle, grabbing the comms device that sat eagerly on the table in the centre of the truck, the side door open to allow for easy access during operations.

<Hurst One, Hurst Two. Make good the advance. Go get 'em>


The roar of the 8 tanks was stunning. They began to advance, behemothic weapons of profound injury and destruction, their sights set ahead of them, a little to the right of their position. They would make the advance, laying down suppressive fire. Their main weapons would dispense large shells, set to burst amongst the enemy forces with a percussive shock that could cause untold amounts of damage. The secondary weapons, smaller but equally disruptive chain guns, set to deal out vast amounts of blaster bolts with extreme prejudice. They began to race forward, maintaining formation, like beasts, ravenous and desperate to feast.

They hoped to deal as much damage as viably possible towards the enemy forces.


1st Platoon-4 XT-62s
2nd Platoon-4 XT-62s
3rd Platoon-4 XT-62s
Command-3 XT-62s plus two Armoured Command Vehicles

Platoons One and Two have committed to advancing on the enemy, beginning to fire upon the enemy positions in front of them with main guns and secondary chainguns. The third platoon has fired precisions shots, under the direction of DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran , across the battlefield to hit MAW RAIDER WALKERS and other armoured elements across the battlefield with high powered incendiary munitions.
 
Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw
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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 Michael Barran | Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Colton Renfro | Amadeus Blackwood Amadeus Blackwood | Djorn Bline Djorn Bline | Open (Allies to Ziare, enemies to Mercy)
Enemies: Open
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[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

Noises and sounds, I heard them up close and far away. I remembered a voice, a distant, strange voice. I'm not remember what he said, just the voice. It mentioned a report and I also remembered some "Taskmaster" it was a name or rank. But not anything else. My head hurt a lot. I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling with the lights on it. The world immediately turned around with me and I almost vomited one. The world revolved around me and I felt really bad.

I was lying on a bed next to me with a helmet on a table. I was half armored and had an infusion dripping into one of my arms. Someone even covered me; I wasn’t tied up, just a bandage on my head. Something was trying to care for me normally and properly. Then that might have meant I was in safe conditions. There were explosions, shouts and shots from outside. Close and far. Fights, war. As I looked around carefully so as not to make my condition worse, I saw that there were several other injuries here.

There was no window in the room, it could be underground or even in space, I mean spaceship or station. Or just a surface bunker. All options were good. A bigger explosion and the whole room shook. They were armoured people here, as were other injured people. Mostly humans. Let’s just say how the others were badly injured, I was the lucky one, I think. On the second try, I managed to sit up and I also palpated my head. I have no idea how I got to this place. Although the head injury is quite clear, but I do not know who brought me here.

I tried to think hard, but it didn’t occur to me, nor did I remember where I was. Okay, this is starting to get a little more serious. War, fighting, armour, weapons. I’m probably a fighter and a soldier and I’ve been injured. But who fought and why? There was an even stronger pain in my mind, a headache, that made me feel even worse and got stronger nausea. Maybe I shouldn’t think so much about that, just relax. As is usually the case with patients.

However, I had another question that I didn't know the answer to, and it really filled me with concern…

Who am I?

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CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | 181st FIGHTER WING
BRAVO FLIGHT | DAGGER SQUADRON
ALLIES: NIO | Delilah Jones | Kovacs Kovacs | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran
ENEMIES: MAW
ENGAGING: N/A
GEAR: In bio | TIE-OTx 'Outlander' | Standard loadout

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Enzo blinked at Jon’s exclamation in surprise. He was about to ask if the man was surprised, but a quick glance at the totalled starfighter behind him signified that he might have had one hell of a lucky run to get off as lightly as he did. ”Lucky number seven…” He muttered to himself as he looked to the horizon, seeing two trails of smoke against the blue skies.

:: I’m still here, Bravo Leader, I’ll- :: He was cut off as he yanked his helmet off and let loose with another salvo from his stomach onto the snow beneath him. He heard Jon’s concerns over Delilah through the comms… and it was quite clear who the more important one was in his books. And Delilah’s response simply sealed the deal for him. ”Bloody… no good, plebeian, skirt-chasing…” He grumbled as he spotted another few credits and quickly swiped them from the snow. :: I shall transmit coordinates to you, sit tight. I can see smoke from my location. What’s the damage? Are you all in one piece? :: He asked as he slipped his helmet on and checked his kit before he trudged through the snow towards the smoke stacks. Behind him, the war raged on… the fact that it was behind them all was not exactly comforting.

Through the knee-deep snow he soldiered on towards the rest of his squadron, his comms pinging a location to them and the allied forces in hopes of them sending a rescue team. Any attempts at actually racing out to the rest of the force was simply met with static. :: Say, can any of you make contact with the main force? My comms are giving me a headache on this end. :: He asked them through the grunts and sighs. :: Can’t wait for that warm bath after this… ::

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5th post
SECOND_SON
DIE BY THE SWORD
OBJECTIVE 3: BE QUICK OR BE DEAD

THE FREE-STATE OF GALIDRAAN

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THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

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MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE

FRAGARACH MODEL DISRUPTOR PISTOL
VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE
FAIRBAIRN VIBROKNIFE DAGGER

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER: Noel Strasza Noel Strasza Kolson Vrask Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh Sephi Karneh Lachlan Sinclair Lachlan Sinclair
Amadeus Blackwood Amadeus Blackwood Djorn Bline Djorn Bline Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Atsá Vyshraal Atsá Vyshraal Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr Colton Renfro


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BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW: Ozma Olumivius Ozma Olumivius Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze
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THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN: THE SECOND SALVO - PART 8
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EAST FROZEN VALLEY, LOWER-ASCENDANCY MOUNTAINS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)

2 miles outside Citadel Caelitus....

Stepping forward, Lord Michael opted to be the one to make the first attack, but only until he saw the stranger meeting his advance with with red lightsabre in hand, and with a click of his fingers, the Wanderer would send a dangerous auditory flow of sound towards his opponent to use such matching-momentum against him. Pushed away by the wary eyes of the man with the red lightsabre, the sheer weight of the power generated by Barran would be sent careening into snow with enough force that it kicked up snow-dust in all directions on impact, and in this moment, the Goidel knew he'd be in for a real fight between powers. Even before their lightsabres clashed, Lord Michael knew this had the makings of a true struggle for survival, the likes the Wanderer was always searching for, the likes his opponent had also been striving for in perpetuity, and just as intensely; seeing for himself how proudly the stranger carried his aggression, like this perceived Sith wasn't just merely throwing his weight into his advance, but also somehow in complete authoritative command of every muscle in his body.

Not bad at all, stranger.... Looks like I might get an actual challenge out o' this one.

However, little did the Woad know that he would be providing the perfect counterweight in the engagement, possessing much and more in the way of athleticism and strength to bring to the table, though for Lord Michael - his greatest strength was the overall speed and fluidity of his movements. Drilled into his technical-approach from the moment he first desired to unsheathe a sword for the first time, Barran's parents had encouraged him and conditioned him into learning with a claymore since he was roughly six or seven years old, the same age his brother was when he was caught stabbing at old overturned trees with a training sword from Barran Hall's sparring-yard. Everything about the Barran household adhered to the traditions that made them, even in the way they carried themselves in social settings, but still, in Lord Michael's swaying towards esotericism and modern warfare, tribal tradition would still be seen and felt in the way Barran applied old swordsmanship principles to his lightsabre techniques.

Dropping posture low with knees bent in his approach, the Woad would make a surreptitious upward slash from a low-guard, aiming the strike's trajectory directly towards the stranger's jaw, only to see it rebuffed with a short, outward parrying push that opened up enough room inside the reach-pocket. An old technique for an old technique, but this one was familiar to Lord Michael somehow, though he couldn't quite put his finger on how that was so, nor on what specific sword-fighting discipline it was derived from either. Pushing out with his free-hand, a simple force-push would shunt the stranger a metres back, sliding but holding his balance and posture throughout the backward motion, then holding position to start circling for another plotted starting-point to spring forth from. The stranger had braced and taken the force in stride by their own means of training, and with a strong shielding-emanation of Force-power to continue his near-flawless damage limitation efforts, exhibiting severe proficiency in deflection techniques from the offset - a counter-striker, just like the Woad.

Well, chit.... No way through but with the Kyber alone - good. A real fight then.
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THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN: THE SECOND SALVO - PART 9
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EAST FROZEN VALLEY, LOWER-ASCENDANCY MOUNTAINS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)

2 miles outside Citadel Caelitus....

'HO-LY CHIT!!!!'


Circling, testing for flinches, prowling in combative poise like hungry wolves as they studied each other's movements, still saying absolutely nothing as they plotted their attack/defence trajectories and the following steps to take in the event of successful rebuffs of interceptions and set-up parries. The wind would blow viciously around them, carrying tiny snow-particles across the landscape and lashing across the faces of both opposing duellists as they made their final mental preparations for the next phase of the fight, making the fight itself feel fantastical to both the Wanderer and the stranger in that moment, like they'd wandered into an old fable to find the wintry expanse they'd chosen as their duelling arena. Magical though this encounter was, however, the clash of red and pale-blue would be endeavoured with both endeavouring to triumph over each other regardless, hanging over both fighters to give them feelings of tense desperation to contend with when they reengaged.

'An' here youse dafties are - callin' me,"Gallowglass", an' after that? Are yees actually seein' this?'

I like the way this one fights.... Did my father feel this when he faced the Mongrel on Ilum?

'SHUT UP, LADS!!!! No distractions, just watch them fight if you want it to last...'

Both kyber-wielding duellists then lunged off their circling starting-positions at the same time, almost a perfect picture of contrasting excellence on either side of their mirroring paths to power, and when the lightsabres hummed through the air, a furious clashing succession of blocks, counters and attempted set-ups to finishing strikes ensued. To the Highlanders, the Woad-born Lycanthrope and the Novanian watching within, it would've appeared quite frightening to behold, especially if none there had seen their Lord-Captain fighting so fiercely - not even in his efforts on Lao-Mon or Carlac for that matter. Ursa's Redoubt was much of the same level they'd expect of him, but this time, their Lord-Captain appeared to be in his element, even though there was no doubt in their minds that it was in fact the toughest opponent Barran had encountered yet.

The way these powers collided, the way in which they were moving to achieve such vastly-differing results in the clashes of their lightsabres in turn, was nothing short of staggering for the small platoon of onlookers to gaze on, like it was the perfect dance of opposite savageries - lighting up the gloomy dark of the starry night sky over Csaus like a festival of rage, antagonism and all-round swordsmanship wonders to witness in real-time. Following each strike, tracing the retreats and advances of the duellists with eyes darting back and forth to keep track, the small audience almost felt like time had slowed down for everyone watching; and even though the fury of this duel was moving at a refreshingly-quick pace, the slow-moment feeling was certainly noticed by all enrapt by it. None wanted it to end, and in some strange, unspoken fashion, none wanted either duellist to prevail over the other, not if it meant seeing something of the likes they knew they wouldn't be seeing again for some time.

Then all of a sudden, after nearly ten minutes of supreme Force-power swordsmanship, both duellists would disengage to recuperate for the next round of fighting, sporting minor contusions, scratches and cuts all over for their efforts; mild panting, but still mostly breathing through their nostrils, Lord Michael and his opponent would finally make a point of staring into each other's eyes for the first time. Seeing the red glow illuminating the stranger's irises in a rather-suspect glow, the Druid began to believe that he really was fighting against a fully-turned Sith, even going so far as to mutter,'Sith-scum.', through laboured, exerted efforts to steady his breathing. Whatever was about to happen next, though none present could ever know for sure, would certainly prove to be insightful - no matter which outcome was fated to occur. Everything, in all the beauty of it's flowing focus, had been the main surprise by then, but none of the people there could ever predict what would happen as soon as the stranger spoke up to reply.

Not even the stranger himself.
 
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FIELD HOSPITAL STATS

Surgeon Dr. H. T'hess
Main AssistSpecialist V. Kovačić
On site staff300
Supplies100% Stocked
Universal Plasma1000ml - 60 units
Bacta Spray 16 crates - malfunction [pending]
Bacta Patches 10 crates
Rescue Teams4 [3 per]
Wounded0


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

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


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






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✚ S I N U S _ R H Y T H M ✚
//[-^-^-^----]\\
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It seemed, as he pushed his way through the audience and took his rightful place again, he'd made it just in time to be noticed and addressed without the stormchaser even skipping a beat.

'Alright, I'll need ye checkin' in on the field-hospital from time to time, the first of the rounds being now.... Take the lads with you. I appreciate your trust in the Sabretooth-troopers, but you're much better off with a few IMPAF-Knights with ye. An' they'll say an' do whatever you need done at the time - now get goin'. See ye when ye get back.'

Julian held the information close, giving the Lord-General a small nod of acknowledgment as he remained quiet during the rest of his speech. Within that brief moment of calm, he pushed off on those augmented limbs one more time, although, something held him in place. Was it the hand that grasped his arm or perhaps the weight of it all finally settling in? Regardless he allowed stillness to blanket him like a suit of armor for whatever was coming up ahead.

'If anything seems - off, as in,"More dangerous than our usual fare", you patch through immediately....


The pressure of Erskine's grasp against his inorganic limb, felt familiar, shooting off that command line that triggered the sensory receptors in the nano-structures of his suit to go off. He took pause and looked at the Lord-General, studying his face for a moment and capturing the subtle look in his eyes the no words could quite frame right. That look..it was the look of a man who had lost so much and yet, continued to press forward, throwing his body towards the flames for a final outcome that would tip the scales in their favor. Julian knew that look…perhaps he too could see and feel the toll of the doctors' guilt weighing him down.

That's what friends live and die for.',

"Well, there's goin' ta be a lot less dyin' on my watch, Erskine." He joked with a small smile, tapping the augmented hand that clung to his for a time as he gave his long time friend a final nod. Those words of his, he would carry deep within his chest. Stepping up to yet another metaphorical starting line beside the Lord General and all the others, to live or die.....for this.

This walk of his seemed cyclical in nature. He'd just come from the hospital, picked up his rifle, and made his way back only to be pushed off again. Yet, it didn't matter to the doctor - if only they had known of the tracks he'd burned into his office from his pacing, they would have known that he did not mind any of this. "You heard him…" he whispered, glancing down at the three troopers that marched beside him, all a few inches shorter than him and yet held the resolve of an armored tank. Julian never felt small, rather, there were few times where not even the terrain itself had made him feel like a smaller man, but somehow, next to them he felt minuscule. It was in the way they carried themselves and handled him with so much as the quiet puff of air expelled from the open slots of their helms.

They had no need to speak, only the sound of their breathing or the subtle shifts in their armor would be telling enough of whatever answers they had for him. It was an eerie silence, had he not grown accustomed to it, having lived with the quiet for so long that he'd been married to it, it would have frightened him. He looked at their poise and for a moment, he was reminded of those ghosts traveling through the mutilated grooves in that brain of his. He had followed their lead though, keeping his words to nothing more than air and the rustling of his own rifle against his chest. The only thing that silence brought the doctor now, was a doorway for those memories to pour into him again. Julian paused, taking in the frigid winds as it traveled through the filter of his rebreather. He turned his sight towards the sky and brought a hand to his chest to tap twice against the spot at its center where he held his mementos. He would have told them to listen, but they too took a moment to watch the first wave of blasts roar up ahead.

<"All Medics be on the lookout and stand by!">

He'd patched into his team's comlinks briefly, letting them know soon enough the wave would come to find them and they too would be met with their own form of sound and fury. However, in its ritualistic fashion, his HUD switched over to the dormant channel before trailing his gaze back towards his detail. He gave them a nudge forwards with a swift movement of his helmeted skull, signaling for them to commence their march again back towards the field hospital. Quietly making their rounds as the sight of heavily armored troops a few feet away from him stopped him in his tracks.

"Y'all need any help?"

He called to them, his hand slung over his rifle only to move away and at his side, lowering his defensive stance and opening himself up to the friendlies up ahead. In his mind it didn't seem odd, perhaps a couple of greenies suffering from an anxious spell or an accidental something or other had brought them over so soon.

Or so he'd thought.



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