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

PAGES FOR THE PAGE GOD, POSTS FOR THE POST THRONE

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 tries to soothe and distract Julian by tampering with his memories
  • The Fleshtakers try to get into position to quickly and quietly kill the doctor



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The thing about disguises, as every infiltrator quickly learns, is that they only work when they are what the enemy expects to see. Out in the snowy camp, walking among the tents and prefab buildings just short of the NIO front line, a trio of heavy troopers was a common sight; there were hundreds of them walking through the area at any given time, and thousands more in its environs. But inside the field hospital? That was not the usual place to see a frontline squad... and the Mawite infiltrators were reminded of that with a simple question. It sprang out at them from the building's quiet, peaceful depths, an offer, a challenge.

"Y'all need any help?" And just like that, the entire mission was in danger.

Don't panic. That was where covert ops went wrong: when the operatives reacted without thinking at the first sign of danger, making some mistake that drew attention to themselves. The doctor who'd spoken - a scarred, worn-looking man, approaching human middle age but seeming far older thanks to all that he'd seen - didn't appear to be hostile, or even all that suspicious. He was probably just generally wondering why these soldiers, obviously not wounded, had shown up in his field hospital. That meant he hadn't yet seen Tu'teggacha, cloaked in white in the middle of the trio. The one who obviously didn't belong.

The Taskmaster needed to get ahead of this before he was noticed. The Shi'ido could probably have bluffed their way through this if not for him, blessed with clever tongues and an innate Force gift that covered any lapses they made, subtly encouraging those around them not to doubt their disguises. But even though his face was probably unknown to the doctor, and the man probably couldn't have told him from any other Ebruchi even if he had somehow seen a holopic of the infamous Mawite slave-breaker, his presence - obviously alien, and obviously not a part of the NIO's ranks - would immediately set off alarm bells.

Time to repeat the trick that had gotten him in here in the first place, then, and quickly. Tu'teggacha reached out to Doctor Qar's mind, his knobby fingers trying to rifle through the medical man's memories. He tried to pull to the forefront one without him in it, holding up the image of a calm, peaceful medical center that definitely did not contain an Ebruchi as if it were a picture taped over a holocam. He focused on the details, magnifying them: the gentle hum of the machines, the relief of the regulated temperature after the cold outside, the familiarity of this place - so much like the others in which Qar had saved lives over the years.

Nothing was amiss. Julian didn't remember anything unusual, did he?

But Tu'teggacha could tell that the man's mind was sharp. He might pierce this illusion, a trick that worked best on the weak-minded. So at his direction, the three disguised Fleshtakers moved forward, taking slow, unthreatening steps... even as they spread out in an effort to surround the good doctor. "Just a routine security sweep, sir," one of them said, keeping an eye on the man's shoulder-slung rifle. The infiltrator circling around behind Julian slid out his monomolecular stiletto, walking slowly and quietly, putting himself in position. In a few seconds, he'd be ready to drive the tiny blade through the base of the man's skull.

In medical school, Julian had likely pithed a dissection specimen.

If he couldn't shake this off, he was about to learn exactly what that felt like.
 

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DIE BY THE SWORD
SKY GUARDIAN: EMERGENCE vol. I
Issue #3 w/ Delilah Jones Enzo Demici Enzo Demici DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran The Mongrel The Mongrel

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Dagger-5, Bravo Flight Lead
181st Fighter Wing

<I copy, Jon. You all right?>

Relief washed over his body and mind as if a thousand tonnes had fallen from his shoulders. The weightless sensation numbing the pain was short-lived. Only a moment later, he was coughing roughly, blood dampening his gloves as he wiped his mouth. Pivoting back up, the world spun like a wild roller coaster. The wet stain beneath his ribs was the least of his problem. Internal hemorrhage was a far earlier grave than the shrapnel wound shredding his torso.

His hand reached for the medkit in his half-torn backpack but halted midway. Both Del and Enzo sounded equally bad. They came first. Lead from the front. How could he forget? The Emperor Tavlar's face plastered across that COMPNOR sign on his everyday commute to the Academy. One-eyed, first to fight, one step ahead of his stormtroopers. Then came the face of his mother, a nurse, throwing herself on the line to save anyone she could during the Muunilinst fallout. For the lightweight drinking, skirt-chasing scoundrel traits he'd inherited from his dad, he still carried a piece of his mother somewhere deep.

:: 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? ::

:: Negative, Seven. Both of you - move as far away from the wrecks as possible. Not risking the Maw scavengers. :: he replied, squeezing his jaw as he pulled up a snapshot of the map on his barely functional wristpad. Landmarks dotted down by intel on the battle plan. :: South of here - Hill 121, the one overlooking the ruined watchtower. Rendezvous there, over. :: the looming Citadel, although nearest to their position, was not at all the place he'd want to find shelter in.

<"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!">

:: Sabretooth-Two, this is Bravo Lead-- :: another bout of blood spattering coughs followed before he continued :: -- we're oscar mike - rendezvous at Hill 121. Can't risk being sitting ducks at the crash sites, over. ::

And then the trek began. "Little by little, Jon. Little by little..." he had to hurry, he had to take point for the rest. Recon. If the Maw intercepted anyone first, it had to be him. Warn the others of the enemy's positions. "Just like in the god damn jungle, huh... Lurp trainin' all over again." he kept on murmuring to himself, memories of his one-year deployment as an LRRP on Generis before he took the officer's seat on a TIE. "Be a shame if a wampa got me when the jungle didn't."

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BATTLE FOR HILL 121
guess the song
Hill 121,
Csaus

"This... this is bad." the pilot remarked, eyes glued to the binoculars. "Barran's pushing the whole line up and the cultists look well entrenched-- the snow, the glacier... this is gonna be bloody."

A long, tense sigh escaped his lips as he put the binoculars down and turned to his barely living team. Setting his wristpad on the snowy floor as it projected the snapshot of a map, he pointed to Barran's left flank. "This long stretch here's all flat. Sabertooth's gonna be pushing under heavy fire... and if they make it through and get to us, the Maw's going to have plenty of time and space to encircle us and Sabertooth." he bit his lip, then looked at Del and Enzo, "... so we'll need to make a stand right here on the hill. Harder to be overrun but we won't last long if the mainline doesn't punch through and relieve us or at least forces the Maw to retreat back."

"Use what remaining bacta I have in my pack. Both of you."

"--there might not be another time.", a sullen smile crossed his face, "Gonn' regret not making it to the Demici Thanksgiving."​
 
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Objective 1: Fight the light
Location: Citadel Caelitus
Weather Snowing heavily
Tags: Marus Saretti Marus Saretti | open


More battle-related shocks rocked the Citadel, more of the architecture fell around him, shattering into messy heaps of rubble, he seemed to have luck on his side, none came close to squishing him flat. Death by masonry is an utterly stupid way to die, up there with pissing off a HissHiss. Some minor Sith Lord did just that and all that was left was an ear and her gall bladder. Stupid people, after all, die first. Clears the path for smarter sentients to flourish.

As he looked for a way to get to the light side, the Imperials suddenly entered the corridor Superious was in and promptly engaged in a fight. Which went both ways, tipping like a set of scales, each time going towards Imperial or his victory. Then there was the concentrated fire, he can deflect, sure but with too much, he couldn't keep going as is without getting hit.

A few brief zaps of lightning brought a few of the enemy down, not enough but a sustained level to keep the fight interesting. But the gunfire resumed forcing the Ubese behind a pillar and a pile of masonry. Heavy and sharp debris. An idea was forming in his mind, a unconventional and yet standard tactic rolled into one.

Superious found projectile fighting very effective in the scheme of things. Heavy rock made mincemeat of the enemy, who did at the start have a tactical advantage by boxing him into a corridor. He made a mental note to use that for his fights and to give new training opportunities for Thierry to learn, he may need to use such a tactic for when he becomes a fully-fledged Sith.

So, this was not all bad, but it could also be better.

Soon enough the casualties were not worth it, and the Imperials retreated enough to let him escape the proverbial box. Ignoring the blood now coating his boots he ran down the corridor towards one of the exits created by the assault, the force thread thickening as he did. Cutting those he met down. The Imperials have large populations, so a few dead won't be too much of a problem for them.

Shaking off the sudden snow blindness and the sharp chill of the air, Superious was now outside, but not too far out that he can be seen only felt. He wanted to pick a fight, that was why he was here after all but the trail was lost here, whoever was here had arrived early. No matter, he can swing back around and get the Lightsider from a different route.

Luckily there is a second corridor to his left, as he stalked down it, he picked up the "scent" again, stronger this time, a bright shining dying star brightness. He ignited his lightsaber with a snap-hiss, turning the gloom into a reddish orange.
 
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INVASION OF CSAUS: DIE BY THE SWORD (870)
OBJECTIVE III | BE QUICK OR BE DEAD
OPPOSING | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
ALLIES | Michael Barran Michael Barran | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Amadeus Blackwood Amadeus Blackwood | Djorn Bline Djorn Bline

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IMPERIAL SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND
IMPERIAL VANGUARD
| EMPIRE OF THE HAND
SUPPORTING | TASK FORCE TRACHTA

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<EQUIPMENT: HELLION-PATTERN COMMANDO ARMOR MK.I — SFR-58 'BOZDUGAN' BLASTER RIFLE — THERMAL DETONATORS>
<CODE NAME: PULSAR>
<BEING CHISS:
COMING BACK HOME — PART II>

Dokal put a bolt in the head of the last Mawite she tracked for ten or so minutes now. With her boot, she pushed back his face in front of the ground and red blood diffused on the white snow. “Sounds poetic,” the Chiss thought as she was taking a look at the two other marauders he eliminated a few seconds before this one. “Here’s Pulsar,” she alerted on his private comlink with Hukor, “goin’ green. — Copy that, Dokal.” She moved forward, her SFR-58 rifle held and strongly taken, coming to the crash point signaled by Ordinal-Minor twenty minutes before. “Am I approaching rendezvous point? — Yap. A hundred and fifty meters to go, from your position. — Got it.”

Ordinal-Minor, whose official denomination was Annor E-059 , did not answer her call when she tried to take contact with him — or maybe it was ‘her’? She took big risks coming here and trying to save and help her strike team, but she knew the cost of her actions. She could have not done that, and just let them with their ‘fatal casualties’ as ‘59 said, but Dokal wasn’t someone who didn’t care about soldiers.

“I think I reached it,” she declared. “Yap, you did. Do you see something? — Yes… Corpses for sure, but no Ordinal-Minor here. Switchin’ to thermal vision to analyze this place.” She put two fingers on the side of her helmet and then turned on the system. A thermal scale with each color associated with a temperature. Blue, green, yellow and red shapes danced on her visor, as she was scanning the zone. “The fire is distorting what I can see. Everything is turned into red or orange,” she grumbled. “I know Dokal, I see it on the HUD display. Did you download the last step-tracking plugin? — I think yes. Was it in the last system update?” The Zabrak quickly searched the answer into the database. “Were you in your HQ last week? — Of course, yes. — So you may have it downloaded directly in your HUD. It has been in Beta-test for a couple of months.” The Chiss searched and then activated it after turning off the thermal vision system. The software scanned briefly the ground and located two paths in the snow. K’pah! They’re comin’ to Fortress Caelitus!” She exclaimed. “Right, I agree with you. You’ve to follow them an’ to support ‘em in order to accomplish your mission, Dokal. — I know Shorty. Come on.”
 
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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
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring Bex Tarring | Shai Maji Shai Maji | Kovacs Kovacs | Volgin Alto | Delilah Jones | Enzo Demici Enzo Demici

  • The Rally Walker and an anti-infantry walker go down to Third Battalion's barrage
    • They keep firing on the infantry approaching and sheltering in the ruined Chiss compound
  • The War Skiffs cut across the path First and Second platoons of tanks
    • They open up on the tanks with armor-piercing cannons and deck-mounted missile launchers
    • They then retreat northward, toward the Mawite lines, firing behind them as they withdraw
  • Tarar Warbands and the zombies of the Perished charge up toward Hill 121


As Shai and The Mongrel closed in on each other, the battle raged on around them. The airborne units held their ground at the ruined Chiss structure, firing out from amid the rubble even as Mawite berserkers threw themselves into the fray, seeking to dislodge them. Coming up to support them were the brave men of Second Battalion, picking their way across the hostile snows. The frigid wind and uncertain footing were the least of their worries; the Raider Walkers were coming straight for them, running them down across open ground.

Anti-infantry chainguns roared, spitting an endless stream of dart-like laserfire at the oncoming NIO soldiers, and snow flashed to steam around them with each impact. Entire drifts were carved away by the heat of the barrage, melting to slush like some child's discarded ice cream on a summer day, except near-instantly. They re-froze as the warmth of incoming fire dissipated, becoming ugly piles of ice and slush, difficult ground for men on the move to cross. Let them slip and slide and founder across the stretch of rough terrain.

The walkers kept on sprinting in to intercept them.

"PERISH, FAITHLESS ONES!" screamed the Warpriest in the Rally Walker, his amplified voice booming out even above the chatter of the chainguns and the steady thump - boom - thump - boom of grenade launchers fired at will. "YOU SHALL HAVE NO RELEASE FROM THIS CYCLE OF TORMENT! THE AVATARS FEAST ON YOUR SOULS, AND THE MAW'S CHOSEN PASS ON TO GLORY!" Searchlights mounted on the walkers did their best to cut through the gloom, finding new targets for the guns amid the shadows and chaos.

As the NIO troopers - those not left facedown in the snowdrifts, anyway - began to reach the safety of the Chiss compound, the chainguns slowly whirred to a halt. The walkers turned instead to their grenade launchers, along with the missile launchers and laser cannons of the heavier anti-vehicle walkers, seeking to wear away at the cover where the brave soldiers were taking shelter. "NO MORTAL BARRIER CAN HOLD BACK THE BROTHERHOOD!" the Warpriest thundered. "YOU HIDE BEHIND THE WALLS OF YOUR TOMB!"

Such attacks would not go unanswered for long... and indeed did not, for the deadly Cataphract tanks of the NIO were unleashed at last. The long-range smoothbore fire of Third Platoon, a rain of massive incendiary shells, streaked across the battlefield, burning angels descending to avenge the men left sprawled in the snow. The first trio of shots slammed into one of the anti-infantry walkers mid-stride, throwing the Raider Walker from its sprinting feet and plowing it into the ground. It skidded several meters through the snow, then burst.

The fireball rising from it made the night bright as day.

Darkness descended again, leaving dancing afterimages in the eyes of those who'd been looking in the direction of the explosion, and another rain of shells fell. Glancing hits threw shrapnel and flame across more of the walkers... and the screaming prisoners chained to their hulls began to burn alive, thrashing in vain, the razorwire wrapped around them digging into their rapidly-charring flesh. "BEHOLD THE TORMENT THAT AWAITS YOU!" the Warpriest bellowed, amplifying their howls of agony with his speakers. "BEHOLD HELL ITSELF!"

Then the rain of incendiary shells broke through the ice right in front of the Rally Walker, and it pitched forward, into the darkness of the frozen lake. From the ruined compound, which sat on the icy shore of that long-frosted body of water, the last cries of the Warpriest could be heard just before he sank (vehicle and all) into the frigid depths. "DIE FOR THE AVATARS! DIE TO OPEN THE GATES OF PARADISE! DIE TO KILL, AND KILL, AND KILL, AND..." Then the water closed over the walker, swallowing it and silencing the sermon.

If the loss of the Rally Walker disheartened the Mawites, they didn't show it. Indeed, the clear example of faithful martyrdom only appeared to inspire the madmen and fanatics. On the decks of the War Skiffs, marauders belted out dark chants of praise to their bloodthirsty gods, eager for their chance at death and eternal glory. As tank platoons One and Two advanced, firing on the Mawite defensive line, the Skiffs cut in front of them like a line of naval battleships lining up a broadside. They were no faster than the incoming tanks...

... but they were more maneuverable.

Steering vanes strained as the ramshackle vehicles turned their flanks to face the oncoming XT-62s, racing across the front of their advance and firing a full, relatively close-range barrage with their colossal MetaCannons. These highly modular weapons had been kitted out specifically to punch through tank armor, with explosive, armor-piercing shells and high-velocity barrels to launch them from. Gunners, spotters, and loaders worked in tandem as they made their attack, firing the huge guns several times as they passed.

At the same time, deck gunners opened up as well. Their mounted E-WEB Missile Launchers and Heavy Repeaters were smaller guns, to be sure, but the former in particular could still punch through armor... especially armor already weakened or breached by MetaCannon shots. The entire attack lasted perhaps thirty seconds before the War Skiffs turned back to the north, cutting across the frozen lake back toward the Mawite defensive line. They fired behind them as they went, opening up on the pursuing tanks, still harassing them.

This was the Maw's answer to a tank charge.

----------------------------------
As the enemy armor closed in toward the Mawite lines, most of the warriors there hunkered down, preparing for a hard fight to withstand the enemy onslaught. But not all kept looking southward. In the far northwest, not far from the citadel gates, plumes of smoke rose from where the NIO aircraft had gone down. For all the other things they were - soldiers, fanatics, madmen, plunderers, cannibals, barbarians - the Mawites of the marauder tribes were scavengers perhaps first and foremost. It was how they survived all this brutal attrition.

And scavengers would not pass up this feast.

Even as Kovacs and his scant allies took up their position on Hill 121, trying to hold out until Sabertooth could get them out from behind enemy lines, the bone-pickers began to descend. They came north from the defensive line, from the area where the bulge and the conflict around the ruined compound had made them almost extraneous until that fight changed direction. They were the Tarar Warbands, wielding their iconic plasma guns and lightning cannons, eager to strip the wrecks of tech and scrap... and to kill anyone still alive amid them.

The Tarar weren't disciplined, exactly, but they weren't fools either. They picked their way carefully toward the hill, taking cover amid snowdrifts and rubble. They used a simple but effective strategy. One group would open fire, trying to keep down the heads of those holding the hilltop, while the others moved up, then did the same so that their allies could also move up. It was a deadly game of leapfrog, one designed to keep them from being easily eliminated when forced to cross open ground, and they executed it well.

But they were not the only ones closing on the hill.

Out of the mouth of Citadel Caelitus came The Perished. These were the deathless minions of this unholy place's dark master, the ruined, broken corpses forced to dance to the will of their Sith puppeteer. They came on in a great mass of dead flesh, fearless, hungry, a black boil of dried blood and rent flesh charging over the white snow. They were darker than night, a stain on this planet and on reality itself, bursting with the vile energy of the Dark Side. They came from the east, and they closed fast, despite their rubbery, loose gait.

The living and the dead sought blood on Hill 121.
 


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CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS OUTSKIRTS | CHISS RUINS
501st LEGION | 16th COMPANY | MANDALORIAN ENCLAVE ADVISOR TAG ALONG
VODE: Shai Maji Shai Maji
ARUETII ALLIES: New Imperial Order | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Bex Tarring Bex Tarring | Volgin Alto | Delilah Jones | Kovacs Kovacs | Enzo Demici Enzo Demici
ARUETII HOSTILES: Maw | Lurtz Null Lurtz Null | Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda | Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr

ENGAGING: Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr
LOADOUT: Loadout 1 (Minus the Scatter Gun) + Goran’s Stand


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With practiced and refined movement, the Alor’ad cleanly rounded the corner with his particle blaster pistol leveled at the source of the heavy footfalls of his enemy; aimed two handed at the great-axe wielding heretic’s chest. His foe seemed to have a stature similar to his. The heretic’s armor was painted in a bright crimson red with horns adorning his helmet, protruding from either side towards his collar bones. The axe head of the Dar’manda’s preferred weapon of choice was slick with the blood of his vode.

The heretic’s appearance left no doubt in the giant’s mind that he was the one the Alor’ad was tasked with sending him to Haran.

As soon as he had acquired target after rounding the corner, the giant squeezed back the hair trigger of his blaster without a moment’s hesitation. The distinct sharp whine of his particle blaster pistol echoed in the hallway; three blue bolts shot out the barrel at high velocity towards the heretic’s chestplate.

The first bolt had struck home, slamming itself into the Alor’ad’s intended target. The kinetic power behind the bolt forced the Dar’manda warrior to stumble backwards two steps and roll rearward and sideway out of harm's way as the other two bolts scratched the paint job over his chestplate. The missing bolts, glancing off his beskar’gam struck the ground in the hallway, tearing off ferroconcrete the size of a clenched fist from the floor.

For a moment, the giant would crouch and remain stationary, with his blaster pistol trained at the corner his opponent used to take shelter from his righteous wrath. He crouched to minimize his profile to his opponent, expecting his opponent to return fire in kind.

But none came. Instead, the Dar’manda warrior responded to the giant with more despicable insults. The insolent heretic would continue his mockery of the Alor’ad down the hallway, behind cover.

“Well now, 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.”

No verbal response would come from the giant at that time, but the rage was surely building up inside him. How dare he refer to the Mando’ade as ’our’ people? The heretic had lost the privilege to call him vod, or to be considered one the day he chose to align himself with the arch-enemy. But he knew better. He knew the traitor was trying to deny him rational thinking, hoping the wrath within him would take hold of his mind. Hate and anger very well coursed through his veins, but the enemy’s insolence would not be enough to achieve his purpose of enraging him fully just yet. His pistol remained raised and leveled down the hallway as he stood up in silent response; moving slowly in a combat stance towards the corner the Dar’manda warrior hid behind.

As the rubble shifted and crunched softly beneath his feet, he saw the grenade thrown his way. Reactively, the warrior halted and crouched once more to minimize his exposure to fragmentation from the grenade. Squinting, his head would tilt to his side as smoke began to trail off the grenade. A diversion.

But it didn’t end there. He began hearing rapid footsteps coming from multiple directions! Assuming the Dar’manda warrior had brought some of his friends with him, it became apparent the Alor’ad could no longer stay in one place stationary. In response to the (deceiving) possibility of more enemy combatants emerging from multiple directions, the warrior stood up once more, and began moving at a faster pace towards the artificial cloud of smoke before him.

The footsteps grew louder and louder with each step he took towards the smoke. The giant raised an eyebrow in response. From the intensity of the footsteps, one would think someone was furiously running in place right in front of him, but there was nobody in the hallway save for him. The MFTAS built into his visor made it possible for the giant to see through the smoke and other similar vision blockers that would otherwise deny him sight.

Walking into the cloud of smoke, the giant eventually found the source of the footsteps. The cylindrical smoke grenade rolled on the floor softly after the giant nudged it with his foot. He grimaced at the sight of the small device attached to the grenade. A noisemaker! It was apparent his opponent was as cunning as he was insolent.

In anger, his left foot came stomping on the grenade a moment after discovering the heretic’s ruse, crushing the noisemaker beneath his boot. The device cracking beneath his feet, the hallway plunged into momentary silence; the footsteps were gone, save for one. It was coming from his rear!

With haste, the giant turned to his rear to meet his foe, but he would be denied to dispatch him with his blaster pistol, as the bloodied two-handed axe of his opponent lashed at the Alor’ad at a broad horizontal swipe. Seeing the incoming attack, the giant took a step back to dodge, but the heretic’s axe would strike his armor before he could get out of harm’s way.

The blow struck his chestplate from his right; the kinetic gel beneath his chestplate hardened, cracked and crumbled to pieces from the blow at an attempt to soften the blow, yet the kinetic force behind the strike carried on still, cracking his eighth and ninth ribs. Biting his lips from the burning pain spreading from his chest, the warrior would dodge roll rearwards to get out of the way of a possible follow up from the clever Dar’manda warrior.

<”So, the enemy has some shred of courage.”> The warrior snarled as he slowly stood up and holstered his blaster pistol. As much as he hated the heretic, Kranak would not deny him to challenge him in melee combat.

The ancient beskad rasped as the Alor’ad drew the greatsword from its scabbard. As his hands grasped the relic’s hilt, the radiating pain from the side of his chest waned and completely faded away after a few moments. <”Come then,”> He grasped the greatsword with both hands after twirling forwards in the giant’s right hand. <”Show me what passes for fury among your misbegotten kind!”> The Alor’ad returned the heretic’s insolence in kind as he assumed an offensive posture; his white glowing visor locked with his opponent’s.

To test his opponent’s defense and get a good measure of him, the giant would firstly feint a strike to the left of his opponent in hopes of opening up a new avenue of attack. If successful, the Alor’ad would then attempt to swiftly thrust the greatsword at the heretic’s vulnerable abdomen.

Manda willing, the traitor would pay for his insults in blood.

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


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DUEL OF FATES




A man can have anything, if he is willing to sacrifice.

Pain is Power. To face unending pain, true agony, all while becoming vilified by the Galaxy, by those you cherish in order to attain power to create peace and order for all. A paradise. That is the sacrifice, to take a life, to give up family and personal happiness in order to see the job through. Dedication. Total Commitment. This was the greatest of trials for those who sought to become Sith.

Both he and Rurik had sacrificed much to get here to this very moment, were they so different?

Beneath the Iron Skin of his foe, underneath the painful shell he carried was more than the embodiment of ORDER. Retribution, revenge, honor, and AMBITION. All the makings of a true Lord of the Sith, all the qualities the Dark Lord had gleaned from his powerful Shadow Hand back on the frozen world of Ilum. Every man had a breaking point, it was only a matter of where and when. At least..

..so he believed.


"NEVER."



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If he wanted to die then he would oblige, perhaps in the throes of death he would come to understand the futility of resistance, of rebellion to what was only the next evolutionary step in his metamorphosis. The Dark Side was in their nature, to deny it was to deny oneself. If he would not fall to the Dark Side, then he would die. There could be no other alternative, no other option for one so dangerous and deadly, his very existence was a detriment to the GRAND PLAN and the Sith'ari' himself. A threat that could not and would not be allowed to continue on, just like his nephew this man had become a nemesis of power he never anticipated.

So be it.

Leaning into the crashing strands of crimson hate and argent retribution, Rurik brandished his trusted saber and with his blade in hand channeled the empyrean through his appendage like a lightning rod. Grasping the massive power generation coil, the Emperor gripped upon the base of the structure and pulled. Metal groaned in protest, energy surged, and soon enough the coil lifted from it's foundation. The Imperial hurled the structure with his incredible might toward the Sith'ari as his crimson bolts raged throughout the air around them.

His eyes opened wide, in a snap decision the Dark Lord released the crimson storm emergent from his very fingertips and moved both hands to ‘catch’ the momentum of the massive hurling object. Hoping to give it enough lift to rise and fall out of harm’s reach, the Dark Lord groaned in protest as he summoned the full power of the empyrean to his aid just as the Man of Iron snuffed out the remnant energies. The already supercharged edifice came up and over slamming into a far but adjacent walkway, taking it and several others down.

Boom!

Fire erupted from the abyssal chasm, an explosion followed by inferno rising up from the depths. Their forms outlined amidst the raging flames, several generation coils beginning to break down as debris scattered amidst the massive chamber.

The Emperor moved, creating space between the two warriors before giving in to the pain, to the agony of which brought true power. The Man of Iron unleashed.

The Dark Lord of the Sith breathed deep, a stray bolt of energy misdirecting in the background between failing generators as a small grin took root in his face filled with such already dark grimace. His terrible glare fixated upon the powerful and worthy opponent as he straightened his posture into a battle ready stance. Hand extending outwards his palm opened in preparation as he entered Form V.


"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."

The Dark Lord’s crossguard hilt scuffled against the durasteel walkway, sliding and skidding across the surface until rising into the air upon an invisible tether.

"NOW PERISH."

The Emperor lunged, approaching head on as the crimson blade rushed into the Sith’ari’s hand igniting in a beam of bloody rage. He moved to parry but realized too late the feint as Rurik lurched past him in a sudden flank. The Dark Lord corrected his stance mid stroke attempting to recover and reconnect. His opponent’s blade suddenly carved through thick Dark Armor reaching flesh itself before being battered off by the resurgent blade of the Sith’ari. Rib cover plating fell from it’s trunk, seared and damaged. His partial success was short lived as his opponent maintained the initiative from behind.

Contorting his body, the Dark Voice sought purchase as he threw his weight behind his weapon. Focusing on Form V’s strength and focus on counters, using the weight of your opponent against them he parried. Both hands wrapped around his weapon the Dark Lord attempted to carry the weight away with rolling blows, yet even then the onslaught of the Emperor was nearly too much. The powerful blows crashing one after another, the deep seated agony fueling each and every hit.

The Dark Lord smiled as his guard nearly broke, he attempted to feed on the negative energy, the Dark Side in it’s latent form as their duel intensified. Another rolling blow came off his blade and the Elder knew the next would be his last in that very moment. He emitted a loud audible hiss and spun, pushing his body to create a short reprieve with distance.


“Pain. Fear. Anger. Power.”

He pressed against the precipice of the chasm, eyes snapping to Rurik with a dark certainty. Holding his guard up high he feinted a step forward and stepped off to the side, over the edge.

“More.”

Falling, plummeting once more. The Dark Lord slowed his descent through the Force, controlling his trajectory towards another walkway as another explosion rocked the massive chamber from a nearby coil. The Dark Lord sneered as his feet touched steel, turning he aimed to take their fight further towards the control room.

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CSAUS | CITADEL CAELITUS
501st LEGION | 16th COMPANY
40 TROOPS TOTAL | 4 BASILISK WAR DROIDS
GEAR IN WRITE UP | REPEATERS | MISSILE LAUNCHERS
ALLIES: New Imperial Order | DECEASED Erskine Barran 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

  • Shai engages Mongrel
  • Deploys shield and strikes back

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ooc note: power is out, warposting on mobile is garbage, will pick up with that when power hopefully comes back

A dark chuckle cackled from the Shistavanen as she marched towards the Mongrel. His words weren’t lost on her. It struck a deep chord within her, the fact that the two of them were likely not all that different when it came down to the choices they made in their lives. Their pursuits chipped away at them, left them with less of themselves as each battle passed, until finally they were simply more machines than people, driven by the thirst for blood.

Rage swelled in her as her cybernetic gaze locked onto him. He dodged her wrist rocket with a finesse she was not expecting… she needed to try that move sometime.

Recoiling back, he came at her with his sword at the ready. ”Do your worst, schutta.” She growled as she raised her left arm, the shield deploying to its full size to intercept his strike. Simultaneously she swung the General’s sword at his sword arm, taking care to keep her hand hidden behind her shield, only letting the blade emerge for the strike.

This was simply a test so far. They were testing each other, seeing what they were capable of. Luckily close quarters were quite comfortable for her.

Along with the strike, her repulsor would erupt as well from her right vambrace, hoping to throw him off balance for the next step in their dance.

She was rather disappointed that she didn’t bring her hammer along for this fight.

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V I D I C A T E
New Imperial Order
Knights Of The Empire
Armor / Light Saber Pike / Hand Of God / Pistol


NIO: Atticus Draco Lucien Dooku Dorian Sicarrio Dorian Sicarrio Raina Demici Varus the Sigillite Larro Paeb Ihsan Varad Marus Saretti Marus Saretti Rurik Fel Atsá Vyshraal Michael Barran Michael Barran
MAW: Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis Darth Caelitus Darth Saevius Jin Kyrel The Fire of Rage Darth Mori


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Eyes tell ye nothing, only when they know it's too late.... Shoulders, upper arms, hips; all reveal a duellist's intentions, all show a telegraphed movement eventually. Good luck over there.

Sybila’s hand skirted along the pole arm gauntlet grazing the divots and rivet grasping the pommel. The disjointed voice grazed her ears like an echo off a mountain as focused upon repose-She snapped the pike back close to her guard the moment the woman’s form blurred. A muted scoff escaped her, even in her pride she knew not to take the words as anything worse than some mere camaraderie. She’d almost call him intelligent for it but it might inflate the poor Lord’s ego. She appreciated the sentiment atleast, it was a soldier's sort but as quickly as the corner of her lip quirekd-Sybila chased all other thoughts off. The A.I would have been too slow to track the woman but Sybila’s own eyes roved over the woman's form, head tilted-she had to give it to her she was quicker than most. A faint cloud collected off the blade as the temperatures dropped at this level underground. The stone threatened to close in, she preferred to make battle under open skies alas.

They revolved around one another as dust filtered through the air as the shadow of the Sith fell over her and vanished in the same heartbeat. Energy surged under her veins and she was ready to leap from her own skin again. There had been a small window of opportunity and her shoulders sagged, almost disappointed that the stakes weren’t the same. In the pale glow of the light sabers, the shadow of youth caught her eye-it was both surprising and unassuming. Maybe she had been another one of those poor kids swept up into the war machine but Sybila didn’t pity her.

Youth was it’s own folly.

The woman should of cut her down when she had the opportunity, a lengthy bout seemed to be unfurling. Now that was an insult of strength, or so had the discipline she had trained under would have suggested. It was the philosophy of the charging bull, flared nose demanding it’s retribution. The thought crawled it’s way into consciousness and drove the corner of her lips down.

She had played the role of hunted and hunter in numerous wars and deployment, with a platoon of men behind her, alone across ice fields-it hadn’t mattered but that same viciousness that accompanied bloody sort of work crumbled away like flaking armor. Her weight fell to her knees as she planted herself where she stood as the woman settled across from her, listening to a listless answer. Thrall, it was a fair assmenent-one that had an air of originality behind it compared to what she had heard.

Here she was judging insults, whatever philosophical debate the woman hoped to spark was tossed aside.

A groan burgeoned and Sybila tossed her hands up-wandering back a few steps on her heels as she reconsidered her position. Sybila’s brow furrowed, if her nerves hadn’t been hammered out by the Braxant. She had to shake her head. The ventilators kicked in temperate air washing over her face as she dredged up a deep breath to steady herself. The woman’s eyes flickering across the dark screen tracking the Sith still even as her own form relaxed.

“Thrall...look kid back in my day, you lot used to be a lot scarier,” Sybila’s voice drawled out, finally raising her voice-an air of tiredness creeping upon the electronic clipped words. Maybe it had been the likes of the unknown, self instilled fear that had fed the very notion. Retrospect ah such a wondrous epiphany, alot of them were no better then the smoking corpses at her boot’s heels.

Sybila’s feet led her back-circling the hall as she kept her visor firmly on the woman. She wasn’t interested in chasing the cloak hem with gnashing teeth. A hot rush of air escaped her.. She was getting a little too old for this. She stamped the pole armor once, a thrung vibrating down the core, killing the blade and leaving her to the dark. Her arm raised in a near salute swiftly-slinging pike’s hilt back off her belt as she shuffled along. The fount of darkness that seemed to burst suddenly from Sith drew air of caution as Sybila turned, keeping her eyes planted upon the woman, it was inviting enough to embrace a rage as sweet. Her body wanted to sway with the rise of the tide but Sybila reeled back further in the static of her mind, tying down every loose end that wanted to beat her own chest back at the rival.

The woman waited for the invertible overflow, her servo clicking softly as she unclenched and furled digits-the whittling of electricity mounting as it arced in the cage of her palm in a pale violet light; contained and controlled. Sybila stood, stoney faced as the woman eyed her. The crinkle at her eye, questioning. Sybila chuckled, it was muffled and strained as she ground her molars down. Time trickled down between them. Her arm burned with the weight of old untamed emotion and the woman’s servo waved tauntingly across the way in the dark. The foundation shook from stray artillery shots, stirring dust from overhead amidst the assault-the flecks of noise from the siege disturbing the infernal corridors around.

“-there is a futility in playing these kinds of games girl. If I don’t tell the man I pay a thousand credits to weekly why I am here, why will I tell you?” Sybila divulged in lackluster, “Come throw your punch and fight your fight or scamper back on down that long hall.”
 
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 almost misses parrying Kranak's stab due to the feint
    • He takes a long scratch of armor damage along his midsection
    • His parry, using the haft of his axe, pushes Kranak's blade to his right
  • Kralmus strikes back at Kranak with the back of his axe head, which is a vibro mace
    • He swings downward at Kranak's right hip, exposed while Kranak's blade is on the other side of his body


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Kralmus's ruse had worked even better than he'd hoped. His foe, no coward despite the insults the cannibal had lobbed at him, had moved into the smoke, ready to engage at close range if need be... but he'd discovered the noisemaker too late, and had only begun to turn back when Kralmus's axe struck home. The horizontal swing crashed into the man's chestplate, and though the blade failed to fully penetrate, it was clear that the sheer kinetic power of the weapon had left injury in its wake. Kralmus knew the sensation of breaking ribs, and feeling it radiate up his arms (along with the shock of impact and the crack of ablative armor) brought a smile to his face.

But before he could strike again, his foe rolled aside, evidently not too wounded for a swift evasion.

The wounded Mandalorian holstered his pistol as he issued his challenge, and Kralmus smiled even wider. He always preferred melee combat, and he was glad to see the back of that fancy gun; another good shot or two from that would probably have split his armor (and the torso beneath it) open like an overripe melon. The traditionalist drew a mighty two-handed sword, a worthy answer to Kralmus's colossal axe, and that flesh-eating grin got so wide it was at risk of splitting the cannibal's face - though no one could see it beneath his helmet anyway. Yes, this was going to be a good bit of sport! Finally someone who would indulge him in a real clash of arms.

"Our misbegotten kind, brother," Kralmus "corrected" mockingly. His foe's greatsword came in at his left, questing for his flank, and the cannibal moved the haft of his axe out to intercept... but found only empty air. For the sword had twisted and reared back, and now its point was thrusting for his midsection. Scrambling to react to the feint, Kralmus took a step backward, pulling the vertically-held haft of the axe across his body from left to right. He was almost too late. The sword's trip scratched across his weakened torso armor, drawing a long white line through the slate gray of the plate over his stomach, before he deflected it into the open space to his right.

"Tricky, tricky!" the cannibal said, his voice still singsong and unworried. He was getting the measure of his opponent now, and the man was clearly no slouch at close combat; Kralmus was going to have to be on his guard, for if his reactions were less than perfect, he was going to end up split or gutted before long. Good. He thrived under pressure, and easy fights were boring anyway. Now it was time to riposte, and he was in a good position for it; his foe's blade was extended, having just nearly torn his abdomen open, while the head of Kralmus's axe was raised high thanks to the vertical parry. With the greatsword pushed to his right, his foe's right was exposed.

It was clear that the blade of the axe, however sharp, would not easily penetrate the Mandalorian's powerful armor... so Kralmus flipped his weapon around and brought it down hard, aiming for Kranak's right hip. The back of the blade was a vibro mace, designed for smashing heavy plating like a customer at some high-class Coruscani restaurant cracking the shell of a crab. A good hit here might break his foe's hip, and that would be a fight-ending injury, totally crippling the man's mobility and probably spilling him to the floor. Even if he didn't get that lucky, Kralmus might at least put another serious dent in his opponent's armor. And if that didn't happen either...

... well, he'd still learn something about Kranak's capabilities, and knowledge was power in a fight like this.

As the two Mandalorians fought, traditionalist and brutal Dar'Manda at each other's throats, the ruins of the Chiss compound shook ominously. The Mawite walkers outside were laying into the building with grenade launchers, laser cannons, and concussion missiles, trying to erase the NIO forces' cover. At the same time, the Crimson Hands were crashing against the entrenched drop troops, who responded with their brutal repeaters, flamers, and repulsors. All was cacophony, instability, blood, and death, and the battle was only intensifying. Kralmus would have it no other way, of course. To him, this was what it meant to be Mandalorian: to thrive on the horrors of war.

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Location: Csaus, Citadel Caelitus Outskirts
Allies: Lurtz Null Lurtz Null | Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda
Foes: Shai Maji Shai Maji | Volgin Alto

  • The Mongrel's blow is parried, and he takes a minor arm wound in the aftermath
  • He aims a left-handed punch at Shai's head, coming in from her right while her shield is at her left
  • He is thrown back several steps by her repulsor blast
  • He charges, feinting a high attack, then drops into a low lunge aimed to get under her defenses


He hadn't expected the shield. That cost him.

WHANG! The Mongrel's warblade crashed into Shai's golden circle of protection with a sound like the ringing of an Ashlan church bell, sending a ripple of brutal impact up both their arms. But they were more than mere flesh; they could withstand such bone-wrenching blows far better than ordinary mortals. Indeed, their entire battle was unfolding faster - and more brutally - than any virtually un-augmented person could have followed (or endured). It was good that the warblade was sturdy, or it would surely have shattered against the shield.

Shai's riposte came just as swiftly as her parry had, cutting across her body with Barran's loaned blade to swipe at his sword arm. It was a defensive strike, cautious, keeping her hand hidden behind the shield... and that limited her reach and power for this particular blow. That advantage alone saved The Mongrel's hand, for he was still recovering from the unexpected impact with the shield. Despite the vibrations running up his arm, he was able to twist it up and away, and Shai's sword only grazed the metal of his forearm.

A long white line marred the black durasteel.

So be it. The warlord had learned much in these opening seconds about his foe's capabilities, which appeared to be much like his own. As she struck at his right arm, stymied by the shield, he lashed out with his free left hand. His metal-fisted punch raced for the right side of her head while her shield was over on her left, guarding against his blade. He never did find out if that riposte actually connected, though, because at almost the same moment her right vambrace fired its repulsor, and the overwhelming tactile input stole the sensation.

The close-range repulsor blast forced the warlord, already off-balance from the shield parry, several steps back; it might have thrown him from his feet entirely, if not for his internal system of servos and stabilizers kicking in to correct his posture in midair. The entire exchange had occurred in a matter of seconds, two blows and a parry from each of them unfolding with terrifying speed. The Mongrel's feet slid in the snow as he regained his balance, drawing a long line of disturbed grey in the pristine white before he finally came to a stop.

"Very good," he drawled. "Barran chose well."

The warlord circled for a moment, adjusting position, taking the measure of Shai's defenses now that the shield was revealed. Calculations ran through his augmented, half-dead brain, trajectories and angles of attack, deep thoughts that blocked out the howling battle raging all around the pair of them. He did not notice the attack of the walkers, nor pay them any heed when two fell. He trusted his Scar Hounds absolutely; he knew that they would carry out his stratagem even without his direct oversight, and improvise cleverly when required.

If he waited too long, though, Shai would follow up with her own offensive. So The Mongrel came in again, another swift dash forward, blade raised high for an apparent overhead chop... and then suddenly ducked downward, blade outstretched, dropping into a lunge so low that his off-hand had to brace him against the ground. This was the "night thrust", designed to abruptly drop beneath the defenses of a foe who expected an ordinary frontal attack. A white cloud billowed around him as he slid in the snow, questing for Shai's heart.

He'd tried this move on Gowrie once, back on Korriban.

Had Barran warned Shai of it? Would her skill be enough?


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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 >>

Who am I?

It was a very, very good question, the way I tried to think about it, to decipher this question, pain ripped through my head again. Ouch! I think I could have a more severe concussion. For some reason I remembered that a head injury could cause amnesia. Okay, there seemed to be things I remembered and other things which I didn’t. I looked at the gun next to my bed, trying to recall how it works. I could imagine exactly in front of me which parts were where, how to disassemble and put them together. So I remembered this too then.

I still couldn’t remember my name or who I was. Despite the headache, I tried to recall something. However, several different names came to mind; that is, it flooded my mind. I was called by four different names, as I recall. Ziare, Keilara, Mercy and Freedom. At the moment, none of the names were too familiar or just said anything to me. Four names, agents, or spies tend to use that many names, or those who don’t want their true identities revealed.

Which one was I really?

Freedom and Mercy seemed more like some code name to me, Ziare and Keilara were the ones that were much more like a regular name. But which one was real? Ziare sounded so defiant, the other gentle and noble. I don’t know how well it suited me after I was still in armour and on a battlefield. I mean, I think it could have been a military hospital or something. I wish my head didn't hurt. As I saw, there were doctors, medical droids here or those who dealt with patients.

I tried to indicate that I am awake, although they haven't really noticed me yet. However, a large armoured person came in at that moment, a man with his helmet in his hand, and as soon as he saw that I was awake, he grinned wide and walked toward me. Okay, it looked pretty scary and I think I was scared because it stopped in confusion and looked at me questioningly.

"Who are you now?" he asked.

Pardon? Didn't that mean that every name really was me? I think my head hurts even more due to this information.

"I have no idea who I am… I don't remember my name so I'd be happy if you tell me who I am." I asked him.

Who am I?

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


Shai Maji Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla Kranak Vizsla | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran

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H U N T

The earth shook around them as the fighting intensified, vessels soared overhead in a mighty clash. He saw the damaged remnants of a TIE descend momentarily in the chaos as debris rained down on those hit by his wrist rockets. His blaster fire that rained down bounced from beskar to rock, soon replaced by the engulfing repeaters of his enemy.

Tor’r’s eyes widened beneath his helm, crossing his arms the Mandalorian threw a guard up over his face and ignited his rear mounted jet pack. Lifting into the air he lunged forward, blaster fire littering his form in scattered shots bouncing with some finding near-purchase.

The Mandalorian dove into the fray, releasing his cross form with blasters extended once more as he reached near the Sixteenth battle position. He dove for cover around a nearby corner and holstered one of his weapons. Stone blew apart near his person as the heavy repeater of the enemy tore into the Chiss stonework, the Mandalorian scowled behind his visor. They were dug in well, he’d have to think on his feet and get close. Real close, enough to draw them in and engage in close quarters where he’d hopefully have an advantage.

Sprinting out of cover the Mandalorian blind fired upon the enemy, moving to the next available source of cover. He put his plan into action and aimed to get up close and personal.




 
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Maestus Maestus
Feat. Mavia

"What?" Dorian looked confused. "You can't just... give the game away like that. You gotta be clever, throw something witty- she just dissed you so hard you're gonna die with her living rent-free in your brain, and you don't have a comeback?"

That pissed him off more than anything -- these Sith still had no idea how to talk to people. It was so bad it was even throwing him off his game. He took a deep breath, grounding himself in Mavia's steadfast presence. She was a well of calm, a rock against which he could always find stability. Any doubts disappeared. There was her, there was the fight; nothing else held sway.

He shut up.

Their sabers activated, they advanced in step, growing faster and faster, until Mavia burst forward with a quick overhand strike, intentionally making a show of the power she poured into the strike. She wanted her opponent to block with both sabers, force a lock, if only for a moment -- long enough for Dorian to strike out. His saber snaked out, a quick cut aimed at the Sith's right leg, before pulling away alongside his partner.
 

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Post #6
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 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 11
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


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'Almost there.... Can ye hear them yet?'

Shazzeke was looking over the horizon, seeing shades of the usual bright, warlike open canopy of flashing mayhem erupting ever loader as the Sabretooth-Troopers of the 313th drew closer to the main static-line engagement; and within the space of a minute, the 313th would be running into it with all guns blazing, a prospect the Mirialan had been apprehensive about during their northward approach - at least until he saw the smoky haze blanketing pretty, violent colours that were lighting up the night skies around them. Everything, even the snow-dusts, and the flame-covered rubble of the ground, littered with the cadaverous armoured remains of soldiers from both sides of the battle for Citadel Caelitus, all of it would light up in a gorgeous succession of flashing colours that clashed in hue and intensity alike, though the troopers of 1st Battalion could scarcely see it at the time.

'With ease.... Halt here, we move as one.'

The Captain was ready, and so was his Woad-born pointman, both striding almost twenty feet ahead of the nearest running-pack with an eagerness to see what laid beyond the smoky dip in the rising slope to the citadel's southern walls, what lay beyond the very veil that hid them (and the best view) almost too well.

'No much t'go on bih't, is there? Never mind, sir. Ah've got a little su'hin up mah sleeve anyways.'

In dribs and drabs would the small clusters of troopers and Galidraani riflemen arrive, and in less than a minute, the mildly-depleted 1st Battalion and their allies were among the open-formation throng, reloading and checking on everything and everyone they could think of with their heads still swimming with adrenaline from the Raider-ATs' earlier pressure from the right flank. The Mirialan was smart in his decision to request a Woad for the appointment to the role as his second-in-command, as the latter was easily able to gauge the morale of those who appeared to be flagging in such instances, lifting people onto their feet and offering muttered encouragements to each and every trooper or Free-State rifleman as he calmly pushed every last soul and barrel in the right direction. The real losses, the true death-tally expected to be added to Nazke's service-record, awaited beyond the edges of the smoky cloud of death and ultraviolence, and none could (and in that same regard, nor would they) think or dare to entertain the thought of turning back.

'1st Battalion! Some here have fought the Maw before, some haven't, but we all know what we're up against, almost like it was clear as day to envision it. But with Captain Shazzeke, WE'RE THE MENACE IN THE SHADOWS THIS TIME AROUND!!!! AN' AS MUCH AS IT DOESN'T FEEL LIKE IT NOW - WE'RE THE WOLVES AT THE DOOR - AN' WE ALWAYS HAVE BEEN!!!!.... CORUSCANT MANTRAAAAA!!!!'

'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!!!!'

Drawing his machete, Sergeant-Major McAinsh would let the Coruscant Mantra continue on for as long as it could have an effect on the collective psyche of the forces defending the Mawite right flank, but made a point of leading the attack with his machete as his chosen weapon, putting all his faith in a blade as any great (or psychotic, or both) Woad would in his shoes. Sabretooth-Captain Shazzeke would be next to follow, though not a second later did the rest of the survivors of 1st Battalion's northern advance charge the small plateau's descent after him, screaming continuation of the chant, or in other cases, screaming every rotten obscenity their native peoples could muster for enemies, fiends and horrors alike. Then, erupting into the already-hellish maelstrom of pain, anguish and blaster-trails, 1st Battalion, along with the Bramber riflemen supporting them, would let loose with everything they had whilst they plotted their gaps in the New-Imperial line to bolster and exploit accordingly, giving it their all to increase the shock-value of their push into the wider part of the Maw's right flank.

'AAAAAAAAAVEEEEEEEEE RUUUURIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK!!!!'
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TLDR:
Kovacs patches through to 2nd Battalion.
Marić advises caution.
2nd Battalion quietly move around and past the main static-line.
A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 12
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


<"Sabretooth-Two, this is Bravo Lead--">

Running, just endless running northwards at a north-by-northwest bearing, trying their utmost to reach Dagger Squadron in time, but even then - some were silently beginning to doubt the pilots would last very long. If it had been a battle against the Zambrano Dynasty's underlings, the may have been every chance they could slip by and escape undetected, but against the Brotherhood of the Maw, and all their affiliated factions, there was absolutely no chance that three consecutive crashed TIE-Fighters would've escaped the notice of wilder eyes on the ground. Time was running out, and the more everyone continued to run towards Kovacs and his subordinates, the more everyone became acutely aware of the proverbial and very-real ticking clock that was the life-expectancy of the downed pilots they were all trying so desperately to save from death; or worse, there was always worse to look forward to with the Maw, and in this case the worst would always consist of being tortured to death by sadists and cannibals alike.

<"-- we're oscar mike - rendezvous at Hill 121. Can't risk being sitting ducks at the crash sites, over.">

Eventually they'd find the main engaged lines, making silent plans to work their way around it as calmly and as discretely as they could when they arrived at the billowing, growing cloud of smoke consistent almost entirely of ignited cordite and ordnance fuel. Back to the low posture, knee-bent running from before, but none would mind if it kept them at a distance safe enough to keep their troop numbers as high as was needed at the time. Slipping around the very edges of the static-lines with no knowledge of the darkening ebb and flow within but occasional stray disruptor-trails, shrapnel, rocks (and the occasional limb or lower-extremity) projected outwards from the force of explosions and high-calibre shots alike, the troopers of 2nd Battalion could only hope that the best battalion in the Imperium's brute-legion were turning the tide, but the new objective brooked no room for route-deviation in any way, shape or form.

*'Nastavi se kretati!'
**"Keep moving!"

<"Marić to Bravo Lead! That sort of bravery, I will always respect it - but be advised.... Mawites love encircling their prey. So please, limit your time in the open, dart from cover to cover, and stay vigilant until we start clicking in your comm-link channels. Won't be long now, Sabretooth Two out!">

As 2nd Battalion found themselves level with the edge of the main battle-line to the east of their position, the sounds of roaring, anguish, pain and terror echoed across the hazy, frozen expanse before them, painting quite the auditory picture for the Mantellian's subordinates as they worked to close the gap between themselves and the pilots of Dagger Squadron. However, little did the Sabretooth-troopers know that they would be running into the left flank of an entirely different attack at the end of their rounding trajectory, completely unaware of their prudence in maintaining collective-alertness beforehand, but also completely unaware that the resulting momentary hesitations in the beginning of their rescue-attempt would incur their fair share of losses on the flanking Imperials in stark contrast. The only real advantages to isolating themselves from the other NIO contingents was the fact they had the tools needed to negate the Maw's greatest advantages, along with the firepower and troop-number requirements to hold their own in the same fashion, and in the way they'd surprise their foes when they finally started fighting properly.

A surprise that consisted chiefly of their own ferocity, a savagery unlike any the Galaxy had ever known. The latest and greatest of Erskine's willpower-centric strategic concepts, already in action behind the smokescreen.

*'Oči širom otvorene, Basara! Skoro tamo!'
**"Keep your eyes wide open, Basara! Almost there!"
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TLDR:
Erskine thinks about tanks and Archaisians.
Returns to command-centre, none of the usual suspects are there.
A WOAD'S PLAYGROUND: THE FROZEN FORTRESS - PART 13
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CITADEL VALLEY ENTRANCE, CITADEL CAELITUS,
CSAUS (870 ABY)


'Godspeed, Tarring.... An' may God speed those tanks that carry ye.'

Bearing witness to a sight he once considered a norm, Lord-General Barran found himself realising how much he missed seeing tanks roaring into momentum in formation like that, beginning to pine for a perfect substitute in that moment, though pondering on ways in which one could go about amassing a tank-array for the sake of the 313th. There were no budgetary issues to speak of, especially not for the Imperium's Lord-General of all people, and there were no manufacturing issues either; not for as long as the Stormchaser wished to stick with the usual channels of in-house ordnance production, or within the confines of what was already established and made proficient by others along the way. Barran would ponder on this as he began making his way back to the command-centre, expecting to find Dr. Qar there with the IMPAF-trio but knowing nothing of what was transpiring within the field-hospital, reminded of the small task he'd given them as a few armoured medevac speeders roared out into the night-gloom beyond, riding out into the crucible with a grim determination not too dissimilar to that of the soldiers they were setting out to work in tandem with.

I'll think on this tank matter later. Not like I can kick back in Hirkenburg an'-

'Now hold on just a minute....'

A face, a name, a callsign - a former brother in arms who'd climbed the ranks as he had, a man who'd seen all the worst crucibles in the Third Imperial Civil War like his Galidraani comrades. An Archaisian of almost-legendary repute among the soldiers of the Imperium and the Free-State alike, one of whom Lord Erskine could confidently say was a good friend to Laird and clansman alike. It had been quite some time since they last spoke or served in the field together, but thinking on General Bolter's achievements had Barran believing a man of that ilk would be more than willing to play his part once more, for his people, for Rurik Fel, and the empire. Konrad was exactly what IMPAF-Command needed, and as a result, exactly what all it's affiliated contingents needed, especially with the Galaxy's ever-intensifying state of total war to consider. A survivor of the Shadow Dome on Generis, survivor of Ziost II and the Battle for Serenno, still a beacon of hope on the left flank of Erskine's darkest memories, even though the Archaisian Major-General would have seen plenty horrors to contribute to his own recall in turn.

Now I know where to Poach next.... I need me some vicious Archaisians.

Driving this thought-process from his mind once more, the Woad smirked as he brought his thoughts back to the present-tense to focus on the developing situation around him, picking up his strolling pace to something resembling more of a cadence-led march as the Lord-General made his way back to the command-centre. The usual lower staffers in IMPAF winter-gear were seen from a distance, manning their stations as all self-respecting staffers should, but when the Lord-General walked into the map-room, Erskine found none of the expected faces there waiting for him. Something was awry, and Erskine's keen wit was turning his stomach on the matter already, but on the matters of how and why he was feeling this way, Barran could only guess and use his thinking-power to put all the puzzle-pieces together. Phantom pains in his left arm snapped him out of it, but Lord Erskine had already figured out by then that it must have had something to do with the field-hospital, and in his experienced understanding of the Imperium's enemies, the Stormchaser soon realised that his friend and his subordinates were very likely in great danger at that moment.

'Put the command-centre on high-alert.... We've been infiltrated - again. I need t'get to the field-hospital, something I need to check on.'
 
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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 "Dokal" | Colton Colton Renfro | Rika Hiro Rika Hiro | Annor E-059 | Colton 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 think it's going to be such a damn long day. But at least the man started talking. But I haven’t gotten any further out of who I could be. He said he knew me as Mercy, and that’s the only name others call me, even the Warlord or the Taskmaster. And the others. At the time, I thought I should have concealed my true identity, or I really didn’t remember it. Not like now. Alas! I was hoping it was just a head injury all caused and not that I really don’t know who I am.

Why did you need this now? I asked myself when the man mentioned that I was probably someone else before. It doesn't help a bit. But as he continued to talk, it turned out that everyone who came here had left his past behind and turned into someone new who no longer wanted the chains and wanted to live freely. That sounded really good enough if we really fought oppression and chains. I think that suited me, yes. To fight against evil. It sounded terribly romantic; I was hoping it was just my head injury all caused and I’m not that awful and incorrigible, idealistic.

My next question was what I do and what my responsibilities are. As it turned out with espionage and stuff like that, I was pretty good at guessing that this might be my occupation. Because of the many names. The sequel, however, caught me off guard a bit. Based on what he said, I was in a fairly position of trust and enjoyed the trust of the warlord mentioned earlier. I grinned involuntarily. I liked it quite a bit, so I was hoping I would remember things soon. However, I had to shake my head bitterly when he asked if I really did not remember any of these.

"And the AI in your head can't help?" he asked.

I looked at him questioningly and quickly explained that I have a biochip, a great AI with whom I can chat and speak in mind and it can help a lot with everything. Worth a shot. I tried to speak with it when an emotionless machine voice answered and began to project data onto my retina. This again made me have severe headaches and migraines. Let's see, I think it's worth a try for what came to mind. I asked if he had any details about my memories and could he share them with me. It was a pleasant surprise when I received an affirmative answer to this.

However, the next request was nowhere near as good an idea. I asked him to try it out to play it all for me to see if I could remember anything. I only remembered the pain and then lost consciousness again…

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Delilah Jones

Guest
D

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DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE SKIES | CSAUS
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ALLIES: Kovacs Kovacs | Enzo Demici Enzo Demici | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Volgin Alto | Bex Tarring Bex Tarring | Shai Maji Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla Kranak Vizsla | Julian Qar Julian Qar | NIO | Enclave
ENEMIES: The Mongrel The Mongrel | Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda | Lurtz Null Lurtz Null | Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr | Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Chimera | Electra-12 Electra-12 | BOTM | NSO
ENGAGING: The Mongrel The Mongrel 's forces
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | 2x Vibroknives | Flairgun | Wrench
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WHEEL IN THE SKY

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It was tough going.

The drifts were deep and it seemed the glass that pierced her ribcage wasn't the only injury. Her right knee struggled to take any weight, so hopping along in the snow wasn't exactly a walk in the park.

Her breathing was laborious as she listened to the boys chatting away over the comms. The relief that they were both alive to do so, didn't fade easily.
:: South of here - Hill 121, the one overlooking the ruined watchtower. Rendezvous there, over. ::
Del stopped for a second to cough once more before she tried to pull up the area Jon was talking about.

Which failed epically.

Del sighed and put her helmet on her head. At least the compass in the HUD was still working. It sucked, working this hard through the snow with a helmet on your head, but at least you could get a decent direction.
<"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!">
Thank goodness.
She listened as Jon responded to the 1st-Leutenant while she laboured on toward their RV.
:: 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… ::
<Kovacs did.> her breathing was thick and heavy with liquid. <Escort on the way. Don't know how long it'll take them, though.> she said as she hobbled along through the snow. <And a bath would be heavenly right now.> They had their work cut out for them, this close to the enemy gates. Even if they were uninjured, it was a stretch.

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"This... this is bad." the pilot remarked, eyes glued to the binoculars. "Barran's pushing the whole line up and the cultists look well entrenched-- the snow, the glacier... this is gonna be bloody."

Del looked up at her flight lead from where she was leaning back against a small boulder cropping out of the snow. Everything had started to ache the moment she sat down to catch her breath. Both the boys didn't look any better than she did. What the hell had happened to down them all?
"So we're in for a big one, then." she said before spitting out more blood that had built up in the back of her throat.
"This long stretch here's all flat. Sabertooth's gonna be pushing under heavy fire... and if they make it through and get to us, the Maw's going to have plenty of time and space to encircle us and Sabertooth." he bit his lip, then looked at Del and Enzo, "... so we'll need to make a stand right here on the hill. Harder to be overrun but we won't last long if the mainline doesn't punch through and relieve us or at least forces the Maw to retreat back."
"Greeeat." she said and then groaned as she struggled to her feet. She attempted a smirk as she stood up straight. "Them Mawites are in for a surprise, then. Look at us - not even a fighter crash could best us." she quipped as she spread her arms wide. "Hell, Demici can just barf on them and they'll run."

They were doomed.

"Use what remaining bacta I have in my pack. Both of you."
"--there might not be another time.", a sullen smile crossed his face, "Gonn' regret not making it to the Demici Thanksgiving."
A snowball flew in his direction.
Wincing, Del put her hands on her hips. "None of that talk. We tough it out without being woosies or wannabe heroes about it." she said. "This is war, not some holofilm." she added with half a smile before throwing a glance at Enzo. "Thanksgiving dinner, huh? And I ain't invited?"

But the quips were quickly cut short.

A ziiiing hit a snowdrift quite close to them, steam rising from the melting flakes while a vast array of other bolts flew wild around them.
"Chit!" Del cried as she ducked low, pulling a face in the process as he side protested the movement.
Down on one knee, she quickly replaced her helmet. Never throw away a rebreather and environmental filter - Soldier 101.

Peeking over the drift she ducked behind, she tried to get a measure of what they were up against. What she saw, made her heart sink.
<Ah hell. A swarm of zealots. What's next?> she complained.
Del didn't even try to shoot back yet. They were still too far way for the pistol to be effective. It would just be a waste of ammo, something she did not have an abundance of.

<Jon, we need to do something about your lucky charm. It sucks.>

 
Dorian Sicarrio Dorian Sicarrio

Ah! Apologies, friend. I'm not used to trading banter. I prefer....Action!

She waited patiently as the duo advanced on her. Not yet, not yet. She watched their feet then the arms. Lightsaber in her left hand, her light whip, Maestus Fury, in her right. She could read their intentions, their moves telegraphed by their limbs.

Right as they neared her, she deepened her stance. Slightly sideways, with the bulk of her weight on her back foot.

As the first blow came, Maestus raised her saber to parry it, with a grunt. The power behind the strike was unmistakable. This one was strong. It would not do to get into a slugfest with that one.

Parrying the blow, she pushed off with her back leg into a spin. As she did, she viciously flicked her right wrist, sending the light whip snaking out and towards Dorian's legs. As her whip was a singletail, it must be placed accurately in order to hit her intended target. And Maestus was anything, if not accurate with it. Dorian and Mavia would have to react quickly, or risk major injury to his legs.

She continued the spin, and finished dtanding behind them now. She retracted the whip with another flick of her wrist, and sank back into her stance once more.

Perhaps you will agree, action is much more interesting than words. Or if you like, please, continue the banter and quips. Im sure if you drone on enough, you'll kill me out of boredom.

 
Location: Citadel Ruins
Objective: 2
Allies: Tor’r Tal’Verda Tor’r Tal’Verda The Mongrel The Mongrel
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran Volgin Alto

The ruins were one bloody free for all, as the Crimson Hands battled in an all out melee with the men of the 501st. His blade constantly swinging back and forth. As if Lurtz was a mighty mountain among his own men. Constantly taking the lead as his sword decapitated soldiers, hacked of hand and foot and even played a part in spilling a fair share of guts out onto what stone seemed to be there.

The men themselves were driven with nothing more, the only desire to gain the next meal. Compared to the 501st they didn’t fight like men, they fought like demons. Even going as far as to have a horde pull out arms and legs with their own hands and feast on what raw flesh there was. Even when being shot at, the men kept pressing in the barbarians themselves not afraid of death.

It would seem that the battle at least for the ruins, would win in the Hands favor. Save for when heavy repeating blasters were brought forth. The hands did nothing but shriek as they were cut down by blaster fire. Lurtz seeing the men and let out a vicious war cry. Running towards the man with the nearest repeater picking him up, and slamming him down to the ground with his skull cracking with a loud crunch on impact.

“Keep fighting, fight to the last man! We hold the ruins or we die…” Lurtz said to his men in the midst of the chaos, as he readied his blood stained sword once again charging with a savage roar once more wielding his mighty blade. His target now was the heavy men that dared try to strike. Planting his sword into the nearest man he could find, his steel singing with every impact he made.
 
i have no clue what's happening
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Objective 1: Fight the light
Location: Citadel Caelitus
Weather Snowing heavily
Tags: Marus Saretti Marus Saretti | open


More battle-related shocks rocked the Citadel, more of the architecture fell around him, shattering into messy heaps of rubble, he seemed to have luck on his side, none came close to squishing him flat. Death by masonry is an utterly stupid way to die, up there with pissing off a HissHiss. Some minor Sith Lord did just that and all that was left was an ear and her gall bladder. Stupid people, after all, die first. Clears the path for smarter sentients to flourish.

As he looked for a way to get to the light side, the Imperials suddenly entered the corridor Superious was in and promptly engaged in a fight. Which went both ways, tipping like a set of scales, each time going towards Imperial or his victory. Then there was the concentrated fire, he can deflect, sure but with too much, he couldn't keep going as is without getting hit.

A few brief zaps of lightning brought a few of the enemy down, not enough but a sustained level to keep the fight interesting. But the gunfire resumed forcing the Ubese behind a pillar and a pile of masonry. Heavy and sharp debris. An idea was forming in his mind, a unconventional and yet standard tactic rolled into one.

Superious found projectile fighting very effective in the scheme of things. Heavy rock made mincemeat of the enemy, who did at the start have a tactical advantage by boxing him into a corridor. He made a mental note to use that for his fights and to give new training opportunities for Thierry to learn, he may need to use such a tactic for when he becomes a fully-fledged Sith.

So, this was not all bad, but it could also be better.

Soon enough the casualties were not worth it, and the Imperials retreated enough to let him escape the proverbial box. Ignoring the blood now coating his boots he ran down the corridor towards one of the exits created by the assault, the force thread thickening as he did. Cutting those he met down. The Imperials have large populations, so a few dead won't be too much of a problem for them.

Shaking off the sudden snow blindness and the sharp chill of the air, Superious was now outside, but not too far out that he can be seen only felt. He wanted to pick a fight, that was why he was here after all but the trail was lost here, whoever was here had arrived early. No matter, he can swing back around and get the Lightsider from a different route.

Luckily there is a second corridor to his left, as he stalked down it, he picked up the "scent" again, stronger this time, a bright shining dying star brightness. He ignited his lightsaber with a snap-hiss, turning the gloom into a reddish orange.

How many random halls could there be in this place? By Marus's estimation, this place had to have the worst layout ever. Even worse than the Jedi temples he'd been in, and those were terrible. No clear markings for where to go, nothing saying there was a turbolift nearby, you just had to figure it out as you went along, apparently. At least it meant there were a lot of good spots he could duck down to avoid any soldiers or anything like that, when they were coming along. No clue how long he could keep that up. Maybe meeting up with those imperials that must've crashed into the building wouldn't work, maybe he just had to find his way to another landing pad or a hangar, make off in a different ship...

He rounded one corner, and further on down this darkened hallway, he was sure he could see another person walking up. He resisted the urge to start cursing and turn the other way, that'd just give him away too easily; no, no, he'd have to find a way to talk out of this, hopefully without fighting, because that would alert everybody with working ears anywhere nearby to come right to where he was. "Hey, man!" he called out, waving an arm. "You able to help me out here? They just brought me on the custodial staff yesterday, and I still can't figure this place out, and I can't find the turbolift down to the bomb shelt—"

His words were cut off quickly as the person walking towards him activated a lightsaber, filling the hall with a menacing red glow.


"Hey, uh, on second thought—nevermind! I'll find my own way!"

Nope nope nope nope nopenopenopenopenopenopenope—

Marus turned tail and sprinted back down the hallway, drawing his slugthrower and heavy blaster pistols, turning hard to the right.

Back in the first hallway, a crash could be heard soon after, as it seemed that Marus had overturned a plinth with a decorative sculpture to try and trip up his pursuer.
 

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