Dominion Dire Consequences | BotM Dominion of Copero / Sarvchi

[Rebirth]

Path of the Houses, Chiss Space
​

For a time, the Brotherhood of the Maw turned away from the Chiss Ascendancy. After the vicious decapitating strike at Csilla, utterly destroying the Chiss capital, the Mawites made no further inroads into the region east of their core territories. Although pirates and marauders raided the Ascendancy's planets at will, seizing supplies and slaves to fuel the Brotherhood's war machine, no invasion fleets were mustered in that direction. The full focus of the Maw was turned southward, toward the Core Worlds, and toward tearing down rival Sith regimes at the far edge of the galaxy. The Heathen Priests kept watch over Chiss Space, however, expecting the New Imperial Order to ultimately advance westward from The Redoubt and threaten the Brotherhood's control of the North. The stage seemed set for these two powers to fight over the region.

But it was not the NIO who began to exert control over the damaged Ascendancy: it was the Galactic Alliance. Their Outbound Flight project pushed their territory steadily northward, settling frontier worlds and helping to stabilize the Chiss government. The Brotherhood would not tolerate this intrusion into their hunting grounds. They mounted immediate retaliatory strikes against the Alliance military advisors assisting the Chiss, but it was not enough to fully drive them from Ascendancy space. Now the invasion fleets of the Brotherhood are turning eastward, preparing to expand their territory to meet the Alliance threat to both the south and the east. The Alliance's efforts to help the Chiss have met with dire consequences, for the Maw is now ravenous for Chiss blood once more... and they will begin with Copero and Sarvchi.

Objective 1: Seize the Shipyards
Copero, High Orbit
​

The great shipyards at Copero, rebuilt by the Ascendancy after their near destruction during the devastating CIS-Jen’ari battle for control of the planet, are the mightiest in Chiss space. So far the Brotherhood of the Maw has only launched raids and probing attacks against them… but now, as the Second Great Hyperspace War rages across the galactic north, the Mawites need additional ship production to keep up with the great fleets of the Alliance and NIO. Defeat the Chiss defense fleet, board the shipyards, and seize them intact. Their resources will fuel the dark crusade into the Core Worlds.

Ideal Participants: Final Dawn officers, Pirates, fleeters of all types

Objective 2: Subdue the Sky-Walkers
Copero, Surface​

The secret weapon of the Chiss Ascendancy is its force of ozyly-esehembo, or “sky-walkers”. These are Chiss children, usually girls from ages seven to fourteen, who are sensitive to the Force in an unusual way. They have the power of “third sight”, allowing them to navigate the dangerous hyperlanes of the Unknown Regions far more quickly and safely than traditional navicomputers can manage. The sky-walkers would be a great boon to the Maw’s invasion, and a large number of them are attached to the Chiss defense fleet at Copero. Ascendancy forces are trying to extract them from a secret outpost in a nearby ancient ruin. Prevent their escape and capture them in the name of the Brotherhood.

Ideal Participants: New Sith Order members, Knights of Ren, Witches, Dark Siders of all kinds

Objective 3: Ravage the Refuge
Sarvchi, Surface
​

Not far from Copero is the planet Sarvchi, where many Chiss seeking a more hospitable climate than Csilla’s frozen wastes resettled. The planet is also home to the few enclaves of non-Chiss who call the Ascendancy home. As a result, Sarvchi is a gateway to the wider galaxy, hosting a rich trading port… one currently swollen with refugees fleeing the Chiss worlds captured and destroyed by the Maw. The forges need fuel and the slave pens need replenishing. Loot the port and take its riches for the Brotherhood.

Ideal Participants: Marauders, Raiders, Pirates, Warlords, and ner'do'wells of all sorts

Or do your own thing!

​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Sarvchi, Spaceport Market
Tags: Open

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel and his Scar Hounds land on Sarvchi
• Chiss defenses fire at the incoming assault shuttles
• The Mongrel and his warriors charge toward the spaceport

It'd been far too long since The Mongrel had been able to go on a good, old fashioned resource raid. Since his rise to become a Warlord, so much of his life had been consumed with large-scale battles or targeted strikes against key military targets, whether defending Goshen War Camp or attacking the Jakku enclave. There was much glory to be found in such battles, for inevitably he found himself matched up against sorcerer-knights of incredible power, fighting duels where even surviving made him stand out among the ranks of the Maw.

And yet The Mongrel sometimes found himself longing for the old days of the Brotherhood, before the outbreak of the vast galactic war the Dark Voice had engineered. In those days the Maw had not concerned itself with borders and hyperlanes and broad strategy; it had simply taken whatever it desired from whoever crossed its path. He'd had a few opportunities to relive those days in the raids on Rentor and Jamiron, but those had ultimately been isolated backwaters, with little of interest beyond straightforward war supplies to seize.

As he glanced down at the market town surrounding Sarvchi's main spaceport, however, the warlord found a powerful memory rising up in him: a memory of Black Spire Outpost on Batuu, the site of his first battle as a marauder. Here was another frontier port bursting with traders and scavengers, its storefronts and warehouses full to bursting with exotic treasures from across the galaxy. This was a place surely brimming with interesting and worthwhile loot. Pillaging it and enslaving its inhabitants was going to be a real pleasure for him.

The Mongrel watched through the front viewport of his assault shuttle - he rode in the cockpit now, not in the cramped back of the craft, where the slave-soldiers had been crammed together - as the Ascendancy's ground defenses began to pour fire up at the Mawite invaders. Sarvchi had become a refuge for many Chiss in the wake of the Mawite raids and conquests, and the Expansionary Defense Force was doing its best to protect it... but they were stretched thin, especially after the loss of their fuel reserves on Kinoss. They would not stand.

Hopefully they'd at least put up a good fight.

A shuttle to the left of The Mongrel's bust in a ball of flame, forty marauders gone in an instant. The warlord didn't so much as grimace. Such was war; death was omnipresent and random. All that mattered to the Mawites was that they died fighting for the galaxy's one and only worthy cause: burning down all of known space and starting anew. The Mongrel and his Scar Hounds were not as involved in the dark mysticism that drove many of the other tribes, but they still believed fully in the Three Avatars and the paradise of the Galaxy To Come.

None who fell seeking that paradise died in vain.

The shuttle banked and weaved, dodging turbolaser fire as it hurdled toward the ground. At the last instant, the skilled pirate pilot pulled up hard, firing the repulsorlifts to bring the landing craft to rough but effective stop right at the surface. The landing ramp fell from the back, and forty Scar Hounds rushed out, their metal augmentations gleaming in the planet's sun. It was going to be a bright, clear day, the kind of day that dramatic holovids would have picked for a lover's picnic rather than a merciless slaughter. But reality wasn't like the holovids.

Opening the cockpit door, The Mongrel took his place at the head of the raiders. Just up the hill, he could see Chiss defenders - and others, for many of the Ascendancy's non-Chiss called Sarvchi their home - rushing to the spaceport's low but thick walls, readying their rifles. Good. They'd at least try to hold back the bloody tide of the Maw. The warlord raised his trademark scattergun over his head, rallying his warriors around him. "War! Death! Rebirth!" The Scar Hounds echoed his chant, until the hills shook with the power of their voices.

As one they charged toward death, loot, and glory.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Copero System, Edge
Tags: Open

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Tu'teggacha arrives in the Copero system with a large invasion fleet

At last, the great beast of the Mawite fleet was unleashed once more.

Space shimmered and distorted at the edge of the Copero system, and a nightmare emerged from hyperspace: the star dreadnought Fatalis, flagship of the Brotherhood. It still had the sleek profile of a thranta's outstretched wings, letting it glide through space with all the grace of some undersea mega-predator... but it bore the scars of many battles as well, with reinforced plating asymmetrically bolted over the places it had taken the most serious damage in the past. It had been long months since the battle of Korriban, when an Ashlan ambush had nearly destroyed the sinister craft.

It had required the sacrifice of every other Mawite vessel to escape.

Week after week in the shipyards of Osseriton, crews of slaves and Mawite drudges had clambered over its hull, replacing ruined subsystems and fitting new turrets to ravaged gun batteries. It was not so elegant as it had been, but it was all the stronger for the pain it had endured, a lesson taken to heart by every marauder who served the Brotherhood. Only suffering and struggle could prompt true and lasting growth. Now, finally repaired and refitted, the Fatalis was ready to lead the attack on Copero. It was only fitting that the finest creation of the Mawite shipyards would claim a new shipyard.

On the bridge, back in his old command throne, was Tu'teggacha the Taskmaster. The Ebruchi patiently watched the readouts as the Mawite invasion fleet massed behind him, star destroyers and frigates jumping into the system one by one as they prepared to launch their assault on the greatest of the Chiss naval production facilities. He was more than willing to play things safe, assembling his full force and engaging in deliberate, careful maneuvers before beginning the battle. The last time he'd sat in this chair, he had nearly been killed... though such brushes with death seemed common in space battles.

He dearly wished himself back in his new laboratory on Exegol.

But the will of the Dark Voice was clear, and Tu'teggacha knew better than to defy it in any way. And so there he was, watching as his forces prepared for the clash... and as the Chiss did the same. Though he could not hear their transmissions, he could see them maneuvering as they went immediately to red alert. No doubt they had been expecting this day for a long time now, drilling for it, hoping against hope that they could hold back the Maw. Theirs was a powerful defense force, well disciplined and equipped with the Ascendancy's best available warhships and weapons technology.

The Ebruchi was confident the Maw would crush them anyway.

 

[Lord Letifer]

LETIFER | NEW SITH ORDER
Onboard - Ommin-class Sith Infiltration Shuttle


PEACE IS A LIE​

Skywalkers. A name synonymous with the famous bloodline of Force-Users descended from the Chosen One of Jedi Prophecy. A name that was marked with renown and fear across the galaxy since the days of the Empire.

It was ironic that the Chiss in their wisdom called their force-sensitive navigators as such, at least in Basic. These Chiss children were gifted with sight upon sight, they were marked with abilities many could only hope to achieve. Their great legacy was the uplifting of the Chiss Ascendancy and the navigation of the treacherous, nigh traversable Unknown Regions were few others could tread.

The Dark Lord of the Sith, Halketh had foreseen their potential and found them wanting. It was no surprise when he received the call, not long after orders were passed down from the mighty Sith’ari himself, the Maw’s Dark Voice. They were to be recovered and their wills broken, given over to the mighty Taskmaster Tu'teggacha for his personal oversight as he reformed them into faithful zealots of the Dark Crusade.

The Ommin-class shuttle screamed over the mountain range, it boomed over the horizon with impeccable speed and ferocious tenacity as it attempted to intercept the Chiss defense forces before they had a chance to evacuate the precious Sky-walkers. It was a race against time, the enemy could not afford to let the Brotherhood gain such an advantage at all costs.

The shuttle began to touch down, blaster fire emerging from the ruins dead ahead as the loading ramp dropped down. Bolts of crimson plasma jolted by, the sounds of alarms and hastily-rigged defense systems coming online as the enemy prepares for a last stand while their transports fired up. A loud thud resounded from the ramp way as Lord Letifer dismounted, his new mask and armor eerily veiled by the tattered cloak he wore over him. His blackened form picked up the pace, going into a dead sprint as his covers whipped back against the wind.

“Forward!”

 

[Aemulor the Hutt]

Spoiler: Personal Effects

Unfettered Vengeance Star Destroyer

The Underhand Deal stealth shuttle

Objective 2: Subdue the Sky-Walkers
Copero, Surface​

Aemulor sat in the command room of The Underhand Deal as it flew low over the surface leading a squadron of transport ships packed to the rafters with Infested marines. He had over two hundred men here that would fight and die for his whims. Today would be a good day.

Force sensitive children had become a difficult commodity to obtain and his research was a hungry game, just a few intact children would be a boon, the last ones he had obtained through his medical company had long since outgrown their usefulness as test subjects. Looking at his readout, they were heading to a small outpost where a retreating convoy had stopped and been reported to be carrying three potential subjects. His mind slaves would over run the outpost and then, more skilled soldiers would safely capture the targets. He himself would not be attending today unless the jedi showed up, there was no need.

"Message the Maw" he commanded one of his crew "tell them that we will be operating in this sector" he tapped on the holo with a chubby hand "also tell them that I personally will offer them a good price on any excess younglings they may capture, the higher the midoclorian count, the better the price."

He laughed to himself as the crew member turned away from him, he could sense that the crew member was looking at the Hutt with a feeling of revulsion. "Medic!" Aemulor yelled and a droid approached him "that crew member is put off by my smell, he needs his nasal cavity scrubbed again" he saw the crew member wince out of the corner of his eyes, it was a painful process but it temporarily dulled the sense of smell, and the crew would do anything they could to delay re-treatment. But on a tiny ship like this, with the hulking Hutt feet away, he had been careless.

"As you command" the droid replied without emotion as he extended a small metal probe with crackling electrodes on it.

Minute later the ships began to land, the transports first, their wide doors allowed dozens of marines to spill out from each transport. They were lightly armoured and equipped with cheap submachine guns but they had the bodies. Regular troops led groups of them and barked orders to them that they attempted to follow.

The compound would have seen a wall of charging marines, their eyes glazed and their guns firing firing in bursts. In minutes, they would be at the door.

 

[Klassht Hsirsi]

Spoiler

Armor
YV-865 Aurore-class freighter "The Scorekeeper's Herald"

On board of The Scorekeeper's Herald, Klassht found himself in his personal chambers, lost in thought. Only recently, he had found his way and signed up with the Brotherhood of the Maw. By sheer accident or by the will of the Force, he had stumbled upon them and couldn't have found a better match. Kindred spirits are what they both were. So, it hadn't come as a surprise to the Zssik clan when Klassht had allied himself and the Clan with them. Maybe, just maybe, if he proved his worth to the Dark Voice, he might be inclined to help with reclaiming Dosha and Kashyyyk for their rightful owners. The chances were slim, but they were greater than none. For now that was more than enough.

Suddenly, the door behind the Trandoshan slid open with a hissing sound. In its place stood a Devaronian. "My Lord, Xuy wanted me to notify you that we are closing in on the drop-off point and wanted me to direct you to the hanger bay. On another matter, Ichiir wanted me to let you know that we are taking the brunt of the artillery fire. If we keep up at this pace, our deflector shields won't hold out for much longer." The red and black scaled figure merely dismissed him with a gesture of his hand. When the door closed again, he sighed. "Must make the Ssscorekeeper proud." Slowly, Klassht slid the helmet over his face. To him, this mere act was sacred. The moment the helmet covered his face, he was no longer Klassht. No, longer was he a person. He became a demigod named The Herald.

When Klassht made his way towards the hanger bay, he noticed that his entire clan had already assembled. They were all prepped and geared for war. The Trandoshan elbowed his way to the front row of his clan, where he stood on top of some nearby crates as he addressed the entirety of his clan and crew. "Friendsss! Family! Today isss a big day for the Zssik Clan. For years, we were oppresssed and exiled. For yearsss, the galaxy hasss laughed in our face and ssspat usss out. Today, we change thiss along ssside the Brotherhood. However, we have misssion from the Dark Voice himssself! We mussst capture and enssslave all the Sssky-Walkers. Everyone elssse isss fair game. Ssso, kill or enssslave them asss you sssee fit. However, dessspite our mission. We will earn big and lotsss of Jagganathsss for the Ssscorekeeper for ssshe is alwaysss watching through my eyesss. Her Herald!"

As the speech went on, the explosions and heavy artillery fire started to drum out the Trandoshan's voice. Signalling their arrival at the lading zone. He turned around facing the ramp. "You all have your ordersss. You know what to do." As the landing ramp dropped to the ground with a thud, Klassht ran towards the enemy, armed with both his lightwhip and lightsaber drawn. Ready to cut down and slaughter everyone in his way. Charging with the battle cry: "FOR THE SSSCOREKEEPER! FOR THE DARK VOICE!"

The Zssik clan followed behind in tow, with a battle cry of their own. "FOR THE HERALD!"

 

[Halketh]

N I G H T M A R E
H E A V E N L Y
The Aegis of Woe
prox. Lord Letifer Klassht Hsirsi

There were precious few things in the galaxy as rare as the opportunity to make amends to one's first impression, and perhaps that innate desire is what it was that drove the Dark Lord of the Sith to Copero. On Csilla, as long ago as it felt now, he had stood as the stone wall which parted the Maw's efforts and kept them from decimating the New Imperial Order. Things were far more complicated then, more than he ever cared to realize at the time, and now... he was here. Things had changed. Times had changed. He had changed, perhaps most of all amongst the tides and flow of time, Kezec had changed. It was not a gradual shift, nor was it a flux spurred on by external force; nay, it was simply the dimorphism of his personality finally laid to rest by a totalitarian apotheosis that he was long overdue for.

In the calm that surrounded him, he drew silent breath, anticipating the gentle one-two shudder of the shuttlecraft gracing the surface and the inevitable groan of the transport ramp to reveal his terrifying countenance to the panicked populous. The others had been dispatched ahead of him, his preference for dramatic tardiness ever-present, and thus the weakest of the defenders would have been slain by the time he arrived- sparing him the waste of time that was testing his indomitable will against their glass resolve. It was all so droll, as much as the rest of his daily doldrums, and something he particularly had no interest in.

The shuttle touched down, earning the release of the breath he had drawn to soothe his bothered nerves, and at once, did the groaning creak of transport door parting spur him to animation. The emotionless masque secured over his weary features secured his image, illuminating his arrival in shades of grey apathy. In a way perhaps, he did feel apathetic to the mission at hand, as terrorizing the terrorized held no mirth for one as traveled as Caelitus had become. There was never any thrill to seething fear, merely a grim reminder of the fallibility of all mankind, and how simple each spirit could be broken and twisted into shapes beyond recognition.

<"The Sith have pressed on by your orders, my Lord, they await your arrival at the vanguard,"> the voice crackling in his helmet's integrated comlink earned a nod and murmured affirmative, and with as much offered, Darth Caelitus departed the vessel unto the world, boots sinking into the ruined earth. He strode forward, unflanked, unaccompanied by all but the ghosts lagging in his shade.

Distantly, the painted greys of his Sight wove the tapestry for his vision, the ancestral homes reclaimed by the natural landscape and laid to waste by seige and weal before him. Invoking his rite of Presence, the Dark Lord's inky wings unraveled from his consciousness, and each metaphysical shackle left at his feet saw a pulsing wave of sickening terror echo from his position. It was the final toll of a heralding bell, the trumpets announcing the arrival of The Divine.

Silently, the Dark Lord marched onward, making his methodical approach as all versed predators did to the den of their prey.

The chaos sowed by his lessers interrupted his contemplations, their distant hollers, and war chants disturbed his contained peace. He joined the rear of their frontal assault, lifting a gauntleted hand to extend his empyrean talons through the chasm of space between his stride and their target. A simple gesture it was upon the surface until the hissing sizzle of coalescing energy lapped at the discordant air. A catastrophic wave of kinetic energy ejected from his grasp, slamming into the front of the bulwark in an obliterating cleave. Mortar work sundered, flinging itself out of his path and crashing down upon itself as the stone was made to kneel by his grace.

The defenders alerted by the rise of sirens were lain to waste, vaporized where they poised as though they had simply never existed at all.

The way was open.

"Go forth," the voice of The Mercurial Saint imparted upon his Order, "bring ruin." ​

 

[Ozma Olumivius]

FINIS
O Z M A
Spaceport Market | Sarvchi
prox. The Mongrel

The Bloodsworn were still riding the high of Rhand, where their fleet had lain waste to the Confederacy's forces, leaving naught but devastation and loss in their horrific wake. The celebrations had been endless, it seemed, and the hermitous technomancer had eagerly seized the opportunity to escape the raucousness of it all when it was presented to him. Ironic that he found the throes of war far more soothing than the howling bellows of confined celebration- more agitating than the churning grind of scatterguns and squelching of innards against his palm was the drunken stupor of his comrades. Amongst the Scar Hounds, the Bloodsworn marauder had hitched a ride, his strange presence far more unnoticeable here amongst their ranks of augmented and scarred soldiers. Rising within his emotional cores was a sense of greater kinship with them, as simple-minded as they could be, based on the unspoken agreement that flesh was piteous at best, and insufferable at its worse.

They, unlike many of his own warband, could understand his speech, something which was strangely comforting in its own right as well.

The augmented epicanthix knelt in the cramped cargo hold of the craft, metallic hands woven together in tense prayer before unflinching features, his efforts alone serving as the sole reason their ship shrugged off and evaded the strobing fire of anti-aircraft defense turrets- or so it seemed. Their comrades were not so fortunate to be blessed by Novit Omnia. It mattered little, ultimately, what was done was orchestrated by divine will alone.

The bouncing halt of the craft urged him to sever his divine cord and at once, the towering man rose head and shoulders over the sea surrounding him and seized the mighty power-axe from its wrathful slumber on his power pack. Central to his systems he unwound the power cable sunk beneath his metallic ribs, and connected the plug into the socket, closing off the circuit to allow his reactor to breathe the same life into his weapon as it did his body. Into the blaring sunlight he surged, bloody red robes fluttering to part, flashing the staggering extent of his synthetic body in spite of the light overhead. Flexing digits tightened around the shaft of his weapon, hefting it high with inhuman strength to add his digitized baritone to the thunderous howl of the war-hungry.

Socketed into his spine, his third limb whirred to life, seizing the barrel of the plasma cannon mounted over his shoulder and slotted it into position, taking aim at the wall they were to charge. The Mongrel 's howl urged them onward, and like carrion birds, the marauders descended upon the city with drooling appetites for destruction guiding their gnashing talons.

To his left and right, soldiers were put down, their bodies exploding into clouds of pinkish mist to soil his robes and hiss against his heated limbs. Ozma's focus stayed forward, glued ever on the objective, and never on the means. He cared little for their deaths, for the violent ends they met, for it all was the will of The Avatars. All was by their design, in their grace, and dealt by their guiding hands. Here, on the battlefield, he felt the presence of his Avatar the most, where the very spirit of the machine was his true shield against the carnage dealt in his direction. Each unnatural inhalation into synthetic lungs. Every pulsing crackle of electricity from his implanted brain to his thrashing digits. It lived in his thoughts, his sight, his every fiber radiated with his faith.

Those who dared stand defiant against it would meet an unmerciful end.

Over the wall the epicanthix vaulted, launched forth by the staggering strength of his cybernetic legs, and the same weight and momentum wrought his axe downward. Ozma crashed into three defenders outright, shrugging off the blaster bolts pounding against his metallic chest. Both arms torqued in their sockets, swinging his axe in a cleave upward, its edge superheated by the power provided from his false heart, and splintered through flesh. The squelching pops of caving ribs and sundering skulls were the applause. The sting of crimson in his eye was his reward.

His shoulder vibrated heavily with the rapid-fire of the cannon on its mount, punching holes through the defensive linemen his augmented systems locked onto with his false glare. Smoking, grounded bodies buckled around him, serving as makeshift cover while he corrected his momentum to prepare for the next cleave of his weapon through their rank. Ozma growled violently, grasping a corpse by its head to launch it at the handful of enemies just out of his reach- those who stood in the way of his allies.

A silent prayer graced his mind, its code felt through his resonate being. A touch unseen, a grasping lurch through the very molecules around them, compressed the canisters cinched around the corpse's belt and splintered the shallow barricade preventing chemical reaction within. The grenades detonated in rapid-fire sequence, obliterating the entire squadron of defenders with a ground-shaking explosion and painting the foliage overhead with what little of them was left behind for worms to scavenge.

Painted in the visceral shades of tumult, Ozma pressed onward, his bloodied axe lusting for its next feast.​

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[Romund Sro]

Objective: 3
Tags: Ozma Olumivius | The Mongrel

II CELLOS

​

Sure there was plenty Romund could do on Copero, in fact the notion of collecting one of these "Sky-Walkers" could prove quite useful to him. However, despite this he feared acquiring one would go against the wishes of the rest of the Brotherhood. With all that has happened on Csillia they were most likely rarer now then ever. But there would be no way he could continue managing his budding archives and collection if Brotherhood revoked his position of privilege or worse.

Unfortunately he was going to need to settle for less. But not by much. Sarvchi was one of the closest planets the Chiss's capital, or former capital sadly. Sadly this was one of the more common planets that non-Chiss inhabited in their sphere of influence. Meaning there is probably at least some level of purity taken away from any Chiss treasures and artifacts he could be able to take for his own collection. What he wanted were Chiss treasures, and not something from foreign immigrated species. Especially not from humans. They're a dime a dozen in the galaxy and not worth his troubles currently.

Currently Romund would aid as an auxiliary force for the marauders raiding the spaceport market town. He was to flank with his own personal clone army. An unit of light mobile infantry to break up the defenses of the urban garrison as the rest if his allies began to invade in from an adjacent hill. Looking over to his clone lieutenant he nodded to him. "The time to act is now. Break their defenses and cause chaos." After he spoke the lieutenant, they radioed in to the rest of the company on what they needed to do. Now Romund and his clones began to move up closer to the town. Needing to go quick to enter the urban cover provided. As they charged Romund could hear the battle rage on where the main forces of The Brotherhood were clashing with the locals. From the side Romund and his company were rushing in from the Garrison seemed far less defended. The moment they began to take fire it was too late. The clone soldiers began to activate their jump packs and shot themselves above. Hopping into the market town proper to meet up with the rest of The Brotherhood and flank they enemy.

All the while with Romund's Force enhanced speed and precognition he rapidly dodged enemy fire and drew his two lightsabers. Activating them and brandishing their red blades to the battle. He wasn't the most skilled or powerful Force User, but his techniques should prove valuable to the hit and run purposed of his light, and mobile soldiers.

 

[Isabella Pavan]

​

War, Death, Rebirth. The mantra had been repeated billions of times, on dozens of worlds by countless marauders. One by one, the Unknown Regions were tamed by the unnameable, broken by the meek. How many species had been crushed under the jagged boot of the Maw Brotherhood? Far too many to count- or ignore. Naturally the galaxy sought to nip this great threat in the bud.

They failed spectacularly.

Rhand had been ruined, a dead world where hundreds of thousands of former slaves rotted away beneath charred dust and lechatelierite. Lao-Mon would return to it's throne as King of Pain soon enough. They were not yet ready to face the truth, the wider galaxy. They just weren't powerful enough. Every world would fall, every kingdom would be crushed. All would be reforged in the eyes of the Final Dawn.

Copero was no different.

"It will be done, My Lord" The High Admiral's head remained low as the hologram of the High Regent faded into nothing, moving once the transmission ended. Her white uniform glistened beneath the pale white light of the starship's bridge, her every step echoed thanks in part to the silence of the bridge crew. Nothing less was to be expected. Nyree Pavan would demand nothing less.

"Shall we begin?" The Captain asked, with signs of restrained contempt. A skinny, older officer, Captain Hux- some distant relative of Brendol Hux, as if ancestry had anything to do with tactical ability- was known to huff and pout when he didn't get his way, which was often. Very often. His experience however, was invaluable to the growing military junta and therefore he had been rewarded with functional command of the Vindicator, under the direct orders of the High Regent. Like a behaved puppy, Pavan complied. It was his flagship after-all.

"Duh" The High Admiral responded with angst. With a brief nod, she turned about face and began issuing orders to the bridge crew. "Inform Taskmaster Tu'teggacha of our arrival and intent"

Tu'teggacha | OPEN​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

COPERO , CHISS SPACE
Onboard the Predator...
Objective - Seize the Shipyards

Copero , home to the one of the Largest Shipyards in all of the Unknown Regions rivaling those at Exegol. For Years it has fueled the Chiss Warmachine producing Vessels for the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet. However times had changed , Csilla had been destroyed by the Brotherhood of the Maw and now both the Maw and their Core Worlds rivals of the Galactic Alliance were competing for control over Chiss Space with Alliance Forces having gone as far as reaching the Csillan Belt. This brought them right near the Copero Shipyards which if captured by the Alliance could provide them with a Major Foothold in the Unknown Regions which could compromise the Maw's Eastern Flank and potentially Exegol itself. Thus , the Brotherhood of the Maw moved forth to seize Copero before the Alliance could do with their Fleets and Armies rushing to Copero in order to do so.

However when the Brotherhood of the Maw would emerge at Copero , they would soon encounter a Powerful Chiss Fleet comprised of 1 Battlecarrier , 3 Star Destroyers , 2 Star Carriers and 10 Star Cruisers supported by a massive amount of Orbital Defenses including 5 Asteroid-Concealed Firepoint Military Installations , 10 Golan-VIII Defense Platforms and 200 Missile Defense and Plasma Defense Satellites Each making the Copero Shipyards perhaps one of the most heavily defended areas the Brotherhood of the Maw has ever conquered as even these defenses could fair well against the Brotherhood of the Maw's only Star Dreadnought , the Fatalis. This indeed would be a bloody battle and a Potential Alliance Intervention could make things worse. If the Maw were to have any chance at securing the Shipyards then they would need to act quickly and decisively.

On the Bridge of the Predator , Grand Overseer Sularen watched as the Chiss readed themselves for the incoming assault. The Grand Overseer had brought with him not the Maw Irregular Fleet but rather a new Naval Squadron he had assembled lately the Terror Squadron , meant to combat the growing Alliance encroachment in Chiss Space , support the Larger Formations of the Final Dawn Navy and serve as an Expeditionary Force for Operations outside the ongoing Second Great Hyperspace War. The Terror Squadron had never been deployed before and it's true capabilities had yet to be determined , but Sulaen remained confident that somehow they would be able to secure the Copero Shipyards in the face of this Massive Chiss Task Force. Afterall the Brotherhood of the Maw had yet to lose a battle , and Copero was certainly not going to be their First Loss.

Thus Terror Squadron , Spearheaded by the Predator began to slowly advance towards the Copero Shipyards ready to engage the Chiss Defenders and take the Shiyards through whatever means necessary. Like in previous Battles , they would triumph over their enemies just like in previous matters for the Maw was unstoppable. The Alliance's feeble attempt to outflank the Maw in Chiss Space would soon end in a disaster and the Core Worlds would soon get overruned. It was just a matter of time before the Maw unleashed it's true might upon the Alliance and overtake the region of the Galaxy that had defied them the most and soon , Sularen would return to his Throneworld and his Homeworld to exact the revenge that had been denied from him for over a decade.

Spoiler: TLDR

• The Terror Squadron spearheaded by the Predator under the Command of Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen arrives at the Copero System and begins slowly approaching the heavily defended Copero Shipyards

Tags | Isabella Pavan | Tu'teggacha ​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Sarvchi, Spaceport Market
Tags: Ozma Olumivius | Romund Sro

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel wants Ozma to join the Scar Hounds
• The Mongrel appreciates Romund's flanking
• Firefang Wardogs jump onto the walls to scatter the defenders
• The Scar Hounds blow a large hole into the walls
• Five Chiss AT-ST walkers move up the streets to stop the Scar Hounds

Was there anything so glorious as a battlefield charge? Such a time was when one could see the hand of the Avatars at work. Men ran forward into a hail of oncoming laserfire, screaming their defiance as the defenders' laser blasts ripped into their ranks. Some fell and did not rise again, their charred bodies trampled by the warriors who'd been behind them. Their part in the battle was over, but their bravery would deliver them to paradise. Others endured the barrage, either evading the hits through blessed luck or earning new scars to show their prowess.

The Avatars had granted The Mongrel a heaping share of both luck and scars over the many, many charges of his marauding career. Now, so heavily modified that he was his armor as much as he wore it, there were large parts of him that collected dings and scrapes as much as cuts and burns. A Chiss defender's charric sizzled across his right side, leaving a white-hot streak on his metal torso. He did not feel it, and it did not slow his momentum. His arms, his torso, his face and neck, all were metal now... and he was thinking of having his legs done, too.

To kill him, they should've gone for the head.

Running among his warband, also sufficiently blessed that no random shot had put him down, was one of the raid's more unusual members: the technomancer cultist Ozma. Though The Mongrel generally disdained sorcerers, he found that he instead coveted this one, a member of his former tribe the Bloodsworn. Ozma was not one for the strange, unearthly mysticism of the Jedi and Sith. He was a priest of technology itself, worshipping an aspect of the Avatars that manifested as a machine god... and called for the replacement of flesh with metal.

He would have been a perfect Scar Hound.

As little as he wanted to create strife with the fearsome Zachariel Steelblood, his own former warlord, The Mongrel was sorely tempted to try and poach Ozma for his own tribe. He wanted to learn more of this machine god, for it was an aspect of the Avatars his tribe - which boasted cyber-surgeons and engineers in place of heathen shamans - could better relate to. But though such thoughts lurked in the back of his mind, this was no time for scheming. Those who daydreamed in the midst of a charge tended not to survive to see the end of that advance.

As the Scar Hounds drew close to the trade port's walls, The Mongrel glanced to the side and took in the charge of the auxiliaries. The warlord Romund Sro was here with his personal clone army, using the light infantry to outflank the garrison. With the Scar Hounds charging openly at the walls, drawing enemy attention and fire, it had been easy for Romund's highly mobile force to come in at another angle and use their jump packs to infiltrate past the walls. The Chiss defenders realized only too late that they were being hit from two sides at once.

The Mongrel could see Romund himself, a lightsaber in each hand, joining his forces in hurdling the wall and infiltrating the market town. They would catch the soldiers at the wall in a devastating pincer, and then it would all be over for this place's chances of throwing them back. The Mongrel was sure Romund had his own reasons for being here; he still did not fully understand the history-obsessed philosophy of the Warlord of Najra-va, one that seemed at odds with the Mawite principles of burning down past and present, but he could predict Romund's actions.

He suspected that Sro would seek Chiss artifacts.

So be it. All warlords had their own unique... proclivities. As the Scar Hounds reached the walls, those with powerfully enhanced cybernetic legs - such as Ozma - simply hurdled them, leaping into the ranks of the defenders. Among these leapers were the tribe's Firefang Wardogs, the cyborg charhounds so favored by The Mongrel's marauders. The wardogs easily leapt atop the walls, and began tearing into the defenders there with augmented teeth and claws... not to mention their natural fire breath, a fearsome biological weapon that sowed chaos.

The Mongrel himself still had organic legs, and could not make the jump. As the wardogs - and Ozma - drove the enemy back from the wall and kept their fire away from those below, the warlord and his forces fell into a well-drilled demolitions routine. Five heavy weapons teams bearing colossal rocket launchers drew laser-guided beads on the same section of the walls, while the other marauders formed a semicircle to give them a wide berth. The rockets fired in a slight time delay, each one a bit after the last, blowing through the wall and any fallen debris.

Then the horde poured through the cleared breach.

Now would come the street by street fighting, in a way far more dangerous than the charge. Enemy snipers might be lurking in every window, and scatterguns waited in alleyways and around blind corners. But the first threat that faced the attacking Scar Hounds was a more open one. Tromping up the streets of the trade port came no less than five AT-ST walkers, emblazoned with the insignia of House Chaf - one of the Chiss ruling houses. The walkers immediately spun up blaster cannons and side-mounted grenade launchers, eager to push the Mawites back.

"Find cover!" The Mongrel ordered, as heavy laserfire flew...

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Copero System, Edge
Tags: Isabella Pavan | Marlon Sularen

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Tu'teggacha acknowledges Nyree Pavan's fleet readiness
• Tu'teggacha defers to Sularen for how to begin the attack

As Tu'teggacha waited, the Mawite fleet slowly assembling behind him, he took in the size of the fleet defending Copero. It was no surprise that the planet was heavily protected; the shipyards here were one of the last major Ascendancy military assets, especially after the loss of their fuel reserves on Kinoss, and virtually their only chance of rebuilding their strength. Taking away the shipyards would be kicking the last crutch out from beneath the crippled Chiss government, leaving it nowhere to go but down. It might continue to exist as some Alliance puppet state, but that would be all. It had lost the strength to stand on its own.

The Alliance could give the Csillan Belt a senator, but it wouldn't mean anything real.

It would not do to become overconfident, of course. Copero had not yet fallen, and it wasn't just the enemy fleet - formidable in its own right - that the Mawites would have to contend with. Military platforms and defense satellites studded the area, ready to add their considerable firepower to that of the Chiss ships. No bold, barbaric rush could be successful in such a situation. Surviving to reach and board the shipyards, which had to be captured intact for this battle to truly be a victory for the Brotherhood, would require careful tactics. Approaching from the wrong angle, maneuvering at the wrong time, these could prove fatal.

Thus it was fortunate that the Taskmaster's fleet was reinforced by the mighty navy of the Final Dawn, highly disciplined neo-Imperials who would not easily fall prey to the pitfalls of savage glory-seeking. Between the forces of the High Regent and the secret weapons of Marlon Sularen, the ex-Alliance warlord from the Deep Core, they would have an edge that might just make all the difference. "Taskmaster, we are receiving a hail from the Final Dawn command ship," one of the bridge officers reported. "They have completed their arrival and are prepared to begin the attack." Tu'teggacha nodded his bulbous head.

"Good," he burbled in reply, the word somehow made slimy as it slid out from between his facial tentacles. "Open a channel to the High Overseer." The Ebruchi knew that Sularen had long been plotting the conquest of Copero, for he had launched probing raids against it before, back when the Mawites were busily raiding outlying Chiss planets like Rentor and Jamiron. Tu'teggacha was no glory-hungry marauder; he was perfectly willing to let someone else take the lead in an assault such as this. "High Overseer Sularen," he said, once the channel was open, "we have received confirmation from High Admiral Pavan."

"All is ready. You may begin the assault, and our fleets will support you."

 

[Garza]

Location: Sarvchi Space Port Market
Tags: The Mongrel Ozma Olumivius Romund Sro

Steel, blood, and guts were aspects of conflict. One in which had been introduced time and time again. it was as simple as using a sword, an ax, or technology to draw blood from these people who attempted to flee from the destruction of their home-worlds. These refugees sought soleus. However, they would find none as the pursuit of the Maw, This collection of disbanded Sith, Witches, Marauders, and general cultists were following the old adage of "Blood for the Blood God." They sought favor of their Avatars, Their "Voice" of whom I could find no connection with.

It was the gods, the Aesir of my own faith that I found to be the factor for this. Dharma, the embodiment of Destruction, Chaos, and the singular entity that would end the galaxy. As birthed from the Netherworld, I had found little to covet in this dimension. It all should be turned to dust, and decay under its own weight. The Maw was just a means to an end for now. Even their Heathenry seemed formidable in the very few instances I had heard or interacted with them.

The warcries of cyborgs, metallic ringing, and guttural cries of bloodshed pierced the air to the defense force for which they feared would one day come upon them. Holding a simple hand-ax in my right, and a sword in the left, I too, lunged forward into the fray. Following the crowd up to and the destruction of the emplacements they so cherished. Rockets, and turbolasers fired upon the wall. Taking it down with relative ease while the rest of the wall was scaled and clambered over by Firehounds. A unique hound I had come to understand as being Netherwolves. Only, enhanced by Cybernetics and modern technology, instead of the Magics and manifestations of the force. These hounds could overcome the obstacles with ease. It only made me smirk a little as war seemed to have the same aspects. Creatures to do dirty work. Taking out those who had firepower over the main forces, by swarming them. Allowing the more coveted powerful units, and groups to surge in afterwards for maximum effect.

Clambering over the debris into the streets of the fortifications, The alleys were winding and twisting. Having a weapon behind every corner. If one was not careful, it would be easy to lose in the conflict by literally running headlong into a situation they had no business to be in. It was instead, my time to shine.

Walkers, standing tall and with weaponry far superior to my own that sent a swath of members to cover. Barricades would only last so long against explosive weaponry and a hail of fire from weaponry that could melt even the strongest of personal armors.

"Golstag, lend me your strength."

A simple set of words of my faith, before I, myself, charged nearly stubbornly into the hail of fire. A gift of my people, is to take the form of creatures, animals, and even others. While not shapeshifting, it was a power granted to us by the magics of the gods. Many here called the force. A leap into the air, and a twist was all it took to suddenly become the size of a small bird. Flying with ease directly towards the AT-ST's that fired upon allied forces. Their view ports were many times left open to allow better sight picture of those they were attacking against. As such, for a bird-sized creature like myself, was easy to enter, and twist back into my hominid shape.

The Ax beard fell deeply into the weaker armorweave of the tanker trooper inside. Screams of pain pierced my ears. His co-pilot turned around with sudden shock as the pommel of my sword slammed into the faceplate. Dazing for a mere second for me to withdraw the ax from the first, and sending it into the exposed neck of the other. CLeaving almost all the way through. Stopping mid-way due to bone of the spine it had struck. A well placed boot on the top of his chest, and a yank was met with snapping and cracking with the removal of the ax that had been buried into him.

A twist with the sword piercing into the first who was attempting to come back from the wound in their shoulder. However, it was plunged through the neck gape down into the chest. Sliding past the clavicle, and into the chest. Bleeding would be severe, and breathing impossible afterwards. Twisting the blade as it had enough room to do so, netted an even wider wound for me to retrieve the long bladed weapon.

The weapons were placed upon my belt loops, and hung there as I stole the controls from the dying bodies of Chiss soldiers. Turning the head and formation of the AT-ST upon its brethren machines. The already spun up weaponry was easy to keep going. I just had to redirect it to the others. Mowing them down, one by one.

 

[Djorn Bline]

V E N O M _ S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
COPERO
Halketh | Klassht Hsirsi | Lord Letifer | Aemulor the Hutt

Chiss Space was in constant crisis ever since the Maw struck and devastated all of Csilla, both the New Imperials and Galactic Alliance doing everything in their power to save lives and salvage whatever worlds from the Maw's barbaric prejudice by occupying them. There was a good Samaritan play to all of this, and there was a more questionable angle to it as many New Imperials raced to recruit military strategists and scientific geniuses to bolster their forces. "Their" as in possessive, not the general welfare of the New Imperial Order as every Warlord and Moff pursued their own agendas after the death of Tavlar. Didn't need an COMPNOR Observation Spy to tell him that.

Just like his "fellow" Imperials, Snake had his own agendas and schemes; unwilling to trust the others to lead the New Imperial Order as their machinations were debauched from how Tavlar wanted to lead it.

Part of his schemes revolved being behind enemy lines, as there was opportunity to capitalize on Chiss Space. Copero was a major world for the Chiss, probably second to Csilla with their shipyards which was the largest throughout Chiss Space. Too big of a task for him to bite on, but that wasn't his reason being here. Something more invaluable than shipyards; not something, but somebodies. Irreplaceable than a hull of alusteel and durasteel. The Chiss have always been a peculiar people to the Galaxy, but what was more interesting was their young with a gift that was praised for amongst the Chiss. A gift that could impact naval warfare for the New Imperial Order.

It would be highly unlikely to take all of these gifted children, but a few would be enough to make this a successful mission. Copero would fall, there was no question about that. It was a matter of when it would fall; sooner or later? The later the better for him. Alone he came, steering clear of the zealots as he made intentions of getting into the building his own way. As revered these Skywalkers were, they would certainly have elite security protecting them at all costs. Didn't matter if he was New Imperial, he would face the same hostilities as the Mawites would.

​

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Raid and Reunite
Tags: The Mongrel | Ozma Olumivius | Romund Sro | Garza
Links: Weapons​

Blood and skulls, those were the offerings to the Avatar of War, and to Zachariel. In recent times, those offerings had risen in scale and grandeur as time went on. But to get to those offerings, one had to wage war, the true offering to the Avatars. Something Zachariel also reveled in. Sarvchi was another planet to take such offerings in full, another place to break the Chiss' spirit and send them into the Nether as offerings. Arriving above Sarvchi, Zachariel sneered as he saw their arrival time. They were late.

Turning from the viewport, he directed his attention to the Chiss navigator, scowling beneath his helmet.
"We're late, navigator." Marching towards the special seat for the man, the Chiss cowered deeper into his seat. "I do not appreciate tardiness, especially when there is blood to spill."

Cowering even deeper, he offered up apologies and pleas in equal turn. Zachariel simply ignored him, turning to one of his lieutenants.
"It seems your mission has changed. You're going to secure me some more navigators, this one seems to be giving out on us."
"No..o..o my loo...oord, I..I can serve." Laughing, Zachariel waved his lieutenant away, who simply said 'Yes mi'lord', before vanishing, even as the Chiss continued begging.

Turning from the bridge, Zachariel left as well. His warband would secure him some more navigators and useful Chiss, while Zachariel would meet with an old friend. Departing the ship in a plume of fire, Zachariel's laughter echoed as he shot towards the planet in a drop pod. His fleet maneuvered away, delivering the marauders and Chosen elsewhere.

Moments later his pod rocked as it passed through the atmosphere, as it passed through anti-air fire. Shortly thereafter, it rocked again, being sent off course by a lucky shot. Gripping a rail to hold himself steady, Zachariel's eyes closed as the two Chosen with him cursed. Then, with an earth shattering boom, the drop pod hit a building, burying itself deep into the structure. Snarling, a button was mashed and the doors of the pod shot off, freeing them of the rubble and revealing an office, and at the edge of a window was a sniper.

Said sniper had spun towards the pod, coughing and waving smoke away as she did so, unsure of what had happened. Before she could reorient herself, Zachariel was upon her, even as his Chosen set upon the spotter. A quick slash of his axe, and she wasn't able to even scream, so quickly did she die. Stepping up to the rubbled window, Zachariel grabbed her corpse before it could fall out. Chopping her head off, Zachariel finally switched his gaze to the stree below, even as his two Chosen stepped up with him.

They stared out at a warzone, one the Scar Hounds were attacking. Marauders rushed forth, attacking AT-STs with precision, even as blasters and rockets shot out on either side. Grinning at the sight, Zachariel let out a piercing howl, one that echoed out across the street, proclaiming his arrival.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Sarvchi, Spaceport Market
Tags: Ozma Olumivius | Romund Sro | Garza | Zachariel Steelblood

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Mongrel leads the charge deeper into the spaceport
• He orders the capture of the hangar bays before the freighters can escape

The Brotherhood of the Maw knew no fear.

Straight into the guns of the defenders they charged, heedless of pain or of losses, howling their rage and faith and defiance into the faces of their foes. They believed with all their hearts that their cause was righteous, and the power of that belief could move mountains and shake planets. What was Sarvchi but one tiny pit stop along their road to galactic conquest? Who would be able to pick out a single ember of this lone world's ashes when all the galaxy burned? The were the heralds of entropy, the force of inevitable chaos that grinds down all things in time.

They were the champions of an era's end.

Even as the AT-STs tromped up the alleys, bringing their anti-infantry weapons to bear on the mass of charging marauders, the Brotherhood's elite were moving to counter this latest defense. The Mongrel watched as Tyra shapechanged, soaring through the air and bursting through the front viewport of one of the walkers. Screams of pain from within the vehicle followed, brief howls of agony followed by messy gurgles, swallowed almost immediately by the chaotic din of battle. Two dead amid hundreds, soon to be thousands... but with more impact than most.

The warlord of the Scar Hound smiled as he watched the commandeered AT-ST turn and open fire on the other four, blowing one apart in a hail of durasteel shrapnel and forcing the others back. He did not trust sorcery or those who wielded it, preferring instead the cold perfection of metal and the razor edge of technology... but he could not deny that the magics he had seen battlefield sorcerers wield could be a tremendous boon to the Maw. Whoever this shapeshifting warrior was, she had certainly helped turn the tide of this initial incursion into the spaceport.

Nor was she the only one. The Mongrel looked up and beheld what looked like shooting stars blazing across the daytime sky. He knew better than to make a wish; these were the deployment craft of his old master, Zachariel Steelblood, and they brought only messy death. With both the Bloodsworn and the Scar Hounds to lay siege to this port, there was no chance it would hold out... and very little chance that anyone would escape it alive. They would burn this place to the ground, and then seize its riches to fuel the Mawite war machine. Such was their way.

In time, this world would belong to a new Warlord.

As the Bloodsworn charged in, aiding Tyra's captured AT-ST in blowing apart the other walkers, The Mongrel stalked forward with scattergun in hand. Charric bolts whizzed past him or glanced off his armored, cybernetic chest and shoulders; he had upgraded the strength of his armor since encountering that accursed Chiss Mandalorian and the charric he wielded, a weapon that had consistently blown the warlord from his feet. With brutal, cyber-enhanced precision he mowed down each of the Chiss who tried to ambush him. One shot, one kill, repeat.

"To the hangar bays!" he cried, his voice powerfully amplified by the speakers in his mask so that he could be heard over the chaos of battle. "Disable their freighters. Let none escape!" On the one hand, letting these cargo captains flee Sarvchi would ensure that word of this atrocity quickly reached the Core Worlds, sowing ever more fear among the weak, soft citizens of "civilization". On the other, each ship that got away denied the Brotherhood valuable cargo and potential slaves. Better to keep as many here as possible, to be fully exploited by the Maw.

The Chiss defenders were falling back from the outer walls, their walkers demolished and their hardpoints in ruins. But now came the dangerous part, with rooftop snipers and squads of alley ambushers harrying the marauders every step they took into the spaceport town. The Mongrel growled at the thought; he much preferred the glorious charge over an open field to the tense, scattered firefights that erupted all over an urban battle site. The defenders would give their lives to slow down the Maw, trying to give the ships docked here time to escape.

"Faster!" he urged, determined to deny them that victory.

 

[Romund Sro]

Tags: Ozma Olumivius The Mongrel

​

Romund and his clone soldiers continued their highly hectic and mobile assault through the settlement's garrison forces. Over the chaos he heard the words of The Mongrel. Of course, the hangers, one of the primary targets of the place. However, rooftop ambushes would make it hard to press the assault further into the township. He could try to one up the other commanders given the special properties of his soldiers. However....

Taking cover, Romund radioed in for his lieutenant. "Cover the assault, take on the snipers and rooftops. Make sure we have the high ground." He ordered, getting an enthusiastic reply from his lieutenant. Romund watched as his forces focused their energy on trying to ambush the inevitable ambushers. Than Romud scaled a close by building onto the rooftops. With his mobility he could surely get past most of the action and rush the hangers.

Holstering his lightsabers he readied himself by getting into a pre sprint position before blasting off in a full athletic sprint across the roof tops, hoping from one to the other and letting the Force guide his movements. Sure he was cutting in line from the rest but he wanted to make sure his goodies could be collected and he can't do if they run off on freighters.

As he approached he caught sight of an old YT freighter beginning to launch. Stopping in his tracks he reached out to try and stop it and force it into a landing. However, given Romund's rather lackluster telekinesis, especially for such a large object it was like he accidently tethered himself to the freighter and got tugged up high instead before falling hard onto the ground with a rough tumble. Knocking off his helmet and eyepatch. With his eyepatch removed and the Sith runes on it unbound to him he felt a surge. Not of power but of better understanding and sense of the Force. From his prone position on the ground on his stomach he looked back at the now more distant freighter and held out his fist. Instead of trying to grab the ship he would disable it. As he reached out with the force he instantly crushed the thrusters on the freighter and it began to fall to the ground. Now a little dazed from his hard fall he began to pick himself up some off the ground, and with the removal of his eyepatch came a splitting headache.

 

[A'Runda]

Enemies: Maw

---

​

For too long has A’Runda stood idle on desert worlds, minding his own business. This “Brotherhood” as they called themselves had crossed the line with their incursion on Jakku, endangering him in the process. It was time for him to come out of his own exile and reenter the galactic stage once more.

A’Runda didn’t have his lightsaber with him, as he was working on some special modifications with it. Instead he had his traditional and trustworthy gaffi stick with him. While holstered on his waist is his old sawed off tusken cycler rifle. These two were really the only weapons he needed. Even his gaffi stick could work alone, imbued as a temporary Force Weapon to rival even a lightsaber.

Currently for him he was outside of a smaller township in the outskirts of the greater space port of Sarvchi where a smaller band of Mawsworn were ravaging the local populace. Have they not suffered enough with the alienation of their homeworld?

Almost with a confident stride he made his way to the entrance of the small settlement. As he did Mawite around the street saw him, a newcomer. A’Runda had his warclub rested on his shoulder and held in one hand. Eyeing the raiders through the lenses of his goggles. Behind them was the scornful gaze of renegade justice. He wouldn’t show them mercy, for what mercy have they shown the locals? The raiders eyed A’Runda as he stood watching them, himself taking mental count of the number that he saw so far.

A’Runda had a reggad look to him. Possibly confusing the raiders that he was one of them. However as he took a more hostile stance they began to aim their weapons at him. But it was too late. Almost diving into the middle of them, A'Runda lunged forwards towards his first target. Bashing them with a solid hit from the blunt end of his weapon. With blistering speed he dashed between targets striking them with enough concussive force to liquefy their insides like a shockwave. Given his speed it was nigh impossible to fire upon him without missing or shooting an ally.

On his lonesome he was already almost through the bulk of the forces in the town. As he did he let out a loud and demoralizing battlecry. “URRRRAAHAHHHHAAA AH AH AH!!!” He shouted an old tusken warcry. His volume was only enhanced by The Force. A he began bashing them down where they stood. Some even tried to run some, maybe take cover only for A’Runda to leap to their position and end them. The most troublesome of the Mawites was a roof sniper that kept trying to shoot A’Runda. After he clear the street he un-holstered his sawn off rifle, The Sandman, and aimed with quickly before pulling the trigger.

BOOM!!

The noise of the fire army sounded like the shot of a black powder musket and the powerful slug ripped through his target and laid them to rest. Now A’Runda just needed to see who else was hiding in the town, if anyone was, before he could continue on to Sarvchi

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Objective: Evacuate civilians, kill Mawites
Location: Sarvchi, Spaceport Market
Accompanied by: Arlo Renard, a Chaldean Mystic
Opposition: Ozma Olumivius Romund Sro Garza Zachariel Steelblood
Allies?: A'Runda

Ishani and Arlo headed in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic in the marketplace as terrified civilians rushed to escape the invading barbarians. Once they burst through the fleeing tide, however, the chaos did not abate. They had merely exchanged the pandemonium of an evacuation for the havoc of war.

Taking cover behind large chunks of fallen duracrete from a nearby blasted building, Ishani surveyed the battlefield in dismay. “This settlement is done for,” she remarked. “They don’t even have a chance of defending themselves.”

“Consider it a taste of what will happen back home when they reach it,” Arlo replied grimly.

“What can we do?”

“Get a head start on killing them, I suppose.” Arlo nodded toward a group of approaching Maw troops. “Cover me.”

With that, he opened fire, spraying the marauders with blaster fire. Ishani flicked her wrists; her Force-imbued blade appeared in her right hand, and her lightsaber in her left. She deflected the returning fire aimed their way with the latter, while the former cut down anyone who got too close to their position.