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Dominion FATE OF THE CHISS Pt. I | Fortunate Sons | NIO | Noris


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NORIS
874 ABY
"True courage is being afraid, and doing your job anyway."

THE SECOND GREAT HYPERSPACE WAR
IMPERIAL-MAW WAR
'WINTER CONTINGENCY'

THE IMPERIAL DEFENSE AND PULL FROM CHISS SPACE​

Primus. The capital city of Noris had been fought over for just over a year now. It was the farthest Imperial military holding into Chiss space and one teetering at the brink at that. With campaigns deeper into Maw territory targeting the strategic destruction of more enticing targets like Csaus and several other divisions assigned to patrol and protect the space of the Empire from further Maw incursions whilst also preparing a military build up toward the Core as relations with the Alliance grew frigid once more, the Imperial Armed Forces were spread thin. Thus- Imperial High Command designated the next step in their campaign into Chiss space at the fringe of Maw Territory.

The Winter Contingency. It was hardly Case A for the Imperial military doctrine, but its implementation was necessary. For the Empire to gain superiority in Chiss space, it would need to commit from other areas of strategic demand and thus, the Contingency would be a willful retraction of Imperial forces from Chiss space, evacuating all relevant personnel between the Maw and the Empire while scorching the earth of each step back taken, denying the Maw any meaningful resource or territory gain in the process while reducing the footprint the Imperial Army and Navy would have to cover in order to combat the Maw.

News of Winter Contingency's implementation reached the command staff of the 117th weeks ago and now, they lie in wait as the last few rounds of evacuations reach Noris before they can pack up and pull back to the next world down the line.

But the time to run was not now.

The 117th Stormtrooper Division was entrenched within and outside the city of Primus. The days leading up to the calm had seen several thousand Mawites engage the 8th Brigade Combat team outnumbering them close to 3-1 with the Empire only able to sustain their position with air superiority and artillery from the outskirts of Primus itself.

In Forward Base 'Belisarius', the 117th licked their wounds...waiting. The silence brought reprieve but with it, anxiety over what the Maw were brewing to come.

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FORTUNATE SONS
IMPERIAL ARMY
8th BRIGADE COMBAT TEAM, 117th DIVISION
FORWARD BASE 'BELISARIUS'​

The announcement had just come down the chain of command the 117th would continue to hold their positions in Primus for another ten days, adding a week unto the date they were expected to begin the evacuation process of their unit. However, logistic delays and faults in the supply chain meant they had to stay in place longer.

Aggravation and anxiety weighed heavy in the air of the trenches and forward fortifications of 'Belisarius', each hour at peace meant another that the Maw might be preparing something worse in store for them. But in the end- all was quiet on the front and all they could do was relish in that brief respite. In the trenches and underground structures of the forward operation base, troopers tried to their best attempt to get hot meals, send messages back home and socialize amongst each other for the days leading up to what would be their eventual evacuation.

All they could do was wait those agonizing hours out.
 

Cormac Thire

Guest
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T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY

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BLACK HOLE SUN
NORIS '74


The rain, the ever so constant rain continued to beat down over them. It had for months now and the spare moments without it felt more alien and uncomfortable than the constant patter and flow of mud. For the 1st Platoon of the 38th Sapper Company, the constant eroding earth and mudflow made their steely task just a hair easier. Explosive ordnance disposal, it was hardly a cherished task within the Imperial military and those assigned to the duty were seen as nigh suicidal or at the very least, too brave for their own good.

Thire hardly minded it. Though his disposal team was expected to fight as hard as their infantry peers when the time for battle came- it was fulfilling work. The Maw was unflinching in their use of devastating methods to doll out death and suffering on a nigh industrial scale and each skirmish and battle along their murderous path left a dangerous mess to clean. Improvised explosive devices, dud ordinance, exposed power cores were all within the forte of the route clearance teams of engineers and disposal techs, or 'bomb squads' assigned to make sure the roads, spaceports and travel ways remained open for what citizenry was left on Noris, waiting in dogged desperation to be evacuated to Imperial space.

Several city blocks of the planet's capital of Primus were ridden with the explosive remains of the previous exchange between Imperial and Mawite forces and thus, while the rest of the Army forces there prepared for the next engagement, Thire and his peers had a job to do, to clean up the mess.

Knelt down over the open guts of an improvised bomb, Thire began his work to inert and dismantle the explosive easily able to render him, his team and the rest of the city bloc to ash. It was still primed, still armed and ready to explode at any moment and yet he handled it like an abrasive speeder refusing to cooperate, running his hands, unfettered by any gloves or gauntlets through wires, circuit boards and power supplies to deconstruct the structure of the device, to isolate and render safe any means by which it could still be activated before they could remove the explosive element and detonate it out of harm's way from any Imperial trooper or Chiss civilian.

It was fulfilling at the very least. Many thought of the Stormtroopers, the daunting image of the Empire as just pure killers. Thire and his men, they at least knew they were saving ten lives for every one they were taking, even if the Mawite marauders made it easy to not feel a shred of remorse in the murder.

As he was cutting, wrenching and pulling at the device's inner guts, one of the Imperial Army troopers assigned to work sentry on this city bloc crossed the barrier of the squad shield enveloping and the circular area around him and sparked up a conversation as he leaned back to get a better view of the explosive.

"Thought they made you guys wear those 'Zero-G' suits for this kinda stuff?" The trooper asked out of blank curiosity, no older than eighteen he must've been and likely clueless of the etiquette. No one in their right mind ever went near the bomb disposal troopers while they were deep into their work, not only because they didn't want to distract them but...well...he was hunched over a hot explosive.

<"That's what doctrine dictates, yeah."> Cormac offered in retort to the young trooper as he fished a pair of cutters from a pouch attached to the webbing strewn over his armor.

"Why don't you? Probably would give you a better chance to live, wouldn't it? Not like the squad shield is doing you any good..."

<"If I'm going out, I'm going out comfortably...and that shield isn't for me, it's supposed to be for you and anyone else within spitting distance. This thing goes off the barradium packed into it will be enough to leave me as nothing more than a pile of soot...which is why your buddies are keeping their distance...might be smart to do the same.">
Cormac said in reply.

"Yeah, you might be right on that one sarnt- I was just curious is all." He replied to which Thire offered up a faint laugh, nodding once.

<"Well- might be smarter to go be curious somewhere away from here."> Cormac said as he drew his focus back unto the explosive, hearing the mud laden footfalls of the trooper headed away. Not moments later, he'd rendered the activation mechanism of the bomb safe before pulling out the baradium core, taking up his equipment and carrying the large coil of baradium over his right shoulder as he headed toward his team's vehicle with a rather nonchalant imprint to his walk, being well into the hundreds as far as similar devices defused and destroyed.

He stepped into the lowered ramp of the MT-BTR before he set the baradium core atop a uniform pile of identical ones before turning to one of his comrades smoking down a cigarra near the entrance of the troop transport, Hylus Ripley- another country bumpkin human from Garqi.

<"That's sectors thirteen and fourteen besh cleared out- should be enough to sate the Commander, lets us greenlight and ground patrols in the area for the moment at least.">

"Somethin' like that...'till they attack again and it's rinse and repeat."

<"Yeah- 'nother round of this and I'm just gonna start stomping on the fuckin' things.">
Cormac said before walking back into the troop bay and sitting back into the one of the seats with a low breath.

"I'll be right there with you, sarnt." He remarked, taking in another rip of his cigara.

The bomb squad made its way back to Forward Base 'Belisarius', mounted into their armored vehicle which took the ramp down into the underground motor pool at the rear lines of the unit's trench and underground fortification network. In spite of their specialized role, Thire and his boys were cycled up to the forward most trenches. After all, the flavor of the battle demanded a strong Sapper presence in the front lines. Forward advances in these circumstances often meant clearing mine fields, traps and IEDs laid out by the Maw in order to make forward advancement along with repairing and maintaining what they already had.

Thus, the 38th Company was right there with the infantry- Thire one of many integrated directly into the frontline squads.

He set most of his armor plating into the duffela at the foot of his bunk, ready to be slapped over his fatigues at a moment's notice but for now, donned a haphazard kit of his breast and groin plate, pauldrons- stamped with the insignia of Imperial Army Explosive Ordinance Disposal, indicating his specialized role, and helmet which he had strung to his utility belt but largely kept off all equipped over his 'Mantellska' pattern fatigues and mud-laden boots.
 

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New Imperial Order
Red Legion Volunteers
Acting 'Relief' Unit for 117th Stormtrooper Division
Lord General of Feriae Junction - Robert Dris

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Robert swept wet locks of his greying blonde hair from his face and struggled to see through the torrent. It felt like he hadn't worn or seen dry clothes the entire month he'd been here. A month. To think that some of his men had been here in this sopping dung hole was sobering. Usually, the Legion was in and out, tours of a few weeks to a month and his job, or the job of Melvain was to get them situated, make sure they were well integrated with the local Stormtrooper division, pass on orders, and then trust the battlefield commanders of the Legion and the local division to use the men well. This unit had been fighting here for three months and Robert had been here a collective month and a half between his first and second visit.

What had gone so wrong here?

"Here you go sir," said one of the Legionnaires. Robert took the macrobinoculars gratefully and brought the device up to his eyes.

"Ehhyup. That's what I thought," he muttered, clipping the binoculars to his belt. "Nothing. Nothing for miles." Where were those damn Mawites hiding this time? He looked to his men in their ragged red armor and mud-splattered unforms. Ten more days. And he'd be here for them all. Not for the first time he wondered why the Knight Regent sent the Red Legion to these far-flung corners of the Galaxy. Had he learned nothing from the Mandalorians and their failed attempt at Empire? The Sith? Thoughts for another time. He raised the hood of his red cloak and turned to the speeder they'd taken.

"Call the other scout teams. I doubt they'll find anything tonight. Get them back to the base. I'll speak with the Knight Regent, see if he's heard any word about moving the timetable up on the evacuation." The ride back was long and quiet, save for the occasional bout of blaster fire in the distance and the pitter-patter of the rain. When they arrived at 'BELISARIUS' it looked like troopers were starting to settle in and return from their own scouting runs. The air was somber and thick with tension. He knew some of them thought they were just extra dead weight. That was fine, as long as everyone got their jobs done. He'd had to break up one too many scuffles between his own men and the Chiss Warrior Corps already, he didn't want to have to break one up between the Empire and the Legion. He already knew which side he'd pick. Just the thought made the grip on his sword hilt tighten.

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Edge of the Noris System
Aboard Crimson Command Vessel 'Empress of Dreams'

The air aboard the Empress was stale, the water tasted stale, and even he was reduced to doctored ration meals. The 'doctored' portions of the meal, he could tell, definitely came from portions of the rations meant for officers but after such a long tour even those stores had to be cracked open and shared among the skeleton crew of the vessel. Melvain was pondering this when the holodisc in his cabin lit up with the form of Robert Dris. Melvain set the spork down and turned to the mini hologram with a forced smile. The connection was terrible, but that was to be expected this far out in the system and if reports were true there would be extreme atmospheric interference.

"How goes it old friend?" The old man grunted.

"Could be better. Could be worse. Imperials run a tight ship, the Chiss an even tighter one. Or what's left of them do anyways." It seemed the Chiss military had split at some point during the conflict with the bulk fleeing to join some rumored roving fleet that had supposedly recovered or rescued some portion of the Chiss Aristochra. Most of the ones who remained were Expeditionary Defense Fleet. Ironic considering their jurisdiction was decidedly outside of Chiss space.

"Well, that's good." There was a moment of silence that lasted a bit too long before Robert looked up, defiance in his eyes.

"Why are we here Knight Regent?"

"We are here, because when I pledged myself and New Junction to the Emperor he only asked for relief when things got tough. Things got tough."

"But why are we here. This place, it stinks of desperation. I can't imagine it is any better in the rest of Chiss Space. Shouldn't we be fighting alongside the Alliance to keep the Maw at bay? Instead, we deal with petty-"

"I did not say speak freely Lord General," Melvain said coldly. Robert looked away, but he could sense the determination in him through the Force. He sighed. "Listen, I know this has been longer than most, but we're almost at the end of the tunnel. Can't you see the light there? Keep the men strong. They need you. I'll be there in a few days unless plans change."

"Understood," Robert said. Ah, yes, he could hear the defeat and resistance in his voice. "I'll see you soon." He reached for the device sending the holo.

"And Robert," The man paused.

"Yes, Knight Regent?"

"Be careful."

 

Erin E-141

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Erin "Esk 141" E-141
Sergeant First Class
Noris, Near Primus, Forward Base 'Belisarius'
Writing with:
Cormac Thire, DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh

Rain patters against the gilded charcoal armour of Elite 141, her spine cast against a proud and tall oak or what was left of one. Erin wheels around the thick trunk and sights the square-shaped tank with a hull pock-marked from where plasma bit into the stalwart armour its' tracks bite into the mud. A file of men wearing the broken remains of First Order stormtrooper armour shuffles alongside the beast. The bait taken, Erin hefts a long metal stovepipe up over her right pauldron. Erin rounds the tree, sights the tank and squeezes the trigger rearward. The stovepipe belches a cough of smoke, and from the unhealthy looking cloud of black smoke, a fin stabilised Missle roars and smashes into the side of the tank's turret. A pair of fiery geysers shoot upward out of two portholes on its' turret ceiling.

A storm of crimson lances stab the air around Erin; she releases the metal tube, and a couple of rockets on jetpack punch the two metres, tall soldier skyward. The patrol of eight fallen Imperial soldiers turns their aim skyward as the lone attacker arcs overhead. Erin releases a pair of thermal detonators with a physicist's precision, calculating the velocity of her own parabolic arc and at what point she would reach the maximum height and pass above the probing attack. Both grenades explode in a brilliant concert of sparking singularities, miniature suns swallowing the men and the burning hull of the captured tank whole. The scene fell silent. Erin lands in a crouch and pivots with a ballerina's grace.

Surveying the quiet scene, Erin's eyes observe from behind her helmet's polarised eye lenses the wind curl and howl across the burned bodies, licking filaments of ash from their deathly rigour.
"Esk one-four-one to any Imperial forces, does anybody copy?" Erin's calm voice is punctuated by a fleeting Corellian accent; she received an acknowledgement on the helmet's holographic display returned to where she had discarded the captured rocket launcher used. Erin had been fighting alone for three days. The company she had been attached to was annihilated, gone. Erin was now the lone survivor of the suicidal task; she'd lead a squad of Imperial stormtroopers who were children really across the battered plains of Noris for three days.

Thinking of them and how she failed to protect each of them.
"For all my training, augmentations and armour. I couldn't save any of them." The thoughts pass without a word, and Erin trembles with a cold fury, her pupils constrict over the bodies of the fallen, corrupted maw Stormtroopers. "You bastards, you betrayed everything we stood for as protectors of the Empire, guardians of humanity." Erin finds her left gauntlet curled into a tight fist, clutching something, unfurling several pairs of pill-shaped identification tags on bloodied chains. Erin raises them to eye level and examines the names of the four men and women out of the one-hundred and forty-odd she'd failed.

Pressing the metallic tags in a fist against her breastplate, Erin mutters a brief prayer in the debris field. As an Elite, war was her religion, and this debris field was a pew from which to beseech heaven for penance.

 
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Iago Zacarias

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I

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O R N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NORIS

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“So much for the pretentious Chiss,” Frajan said in frustration, spitting at the ground at the end of his sentence. He was frustrated beyond hell, even more than the commander which he was willing to bet on. A year’s worth of fighting, worth of sweat and blood, and this were the results? Nothing but a failed operation when the 117th received their latest orders. Redirecting all assets and personnel to other paramount sectors with all civilians evacuated. Didn’t take much of a brain to figure out the meaning behind those words, especially when being a soldier for most of his life.

Losing always pissed him off, it was natural for any soldier no matter to whom their loyalties were with. All he could do was say vulgar shit to cope with the feeling.

But what pissed him off the most was the fact Chiss civilians were the highest priority in making sure not a single pair of red eyes were left behind.

“Sarge, what if the comma-“

“Will you fuck off with that shit? I think I speak for everyone here with my words,” seething at the lance corporal who spoke up, the second-in-command of the squad Frajan belonged with.

“Y’know, one thing is evaccing people from Bastion, and another is crawling through the shit for some red eye fuckers that won’t give an ounce of gratitude. If they think they’re so smart and skilled, then what the hell you call Csilla?

Silence as no one muttered in response to his rant. He believed there to be merit in his words that no one could argue against. Well, they could just not without logic or intellect.

“Whole bunch of dumbasses up in High Command, I swear.”

Always the loudest and unapologetic, true to his nature. A wonder how he became a sergeant with his loudmouth. Probably for how efficient he was with a blaster and his fists. A bigger surprise he hadn’t been taken to the brig for misconduct…yet.

Probably just had to tell the commander to fuck off to get that sentence


 

1st post
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FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE

117th Division
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15th Company,"The Embers"
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NIO: Cormac Thire Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis
Hal Vaiken Hal Vaiken Erin E-141 Frajan Borjar
Julian Qar Julian Qar

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform

CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade

Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool


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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PROLOGUE
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Camp Veers Redoubt, Northern Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


Thirty Minutes Prior to Next Mawite Attack....

The process of reorganising, rearmament and briefing everyone involved would always take time, and though High-Command agreed that the last to deploy from the 117th would be the Embers, their arrival to FOB: Belisarius was still greatly anticipated. The troops already deployed at the frontlines would be on high-alert since the distant landings, with 38th Company having already prioritized defensive fortification-construction efforts, with doubled projects endeavoured on and around the western HASCO-line, so fresh legs and supplies at the 11th hour were expected to raise the morale of the task-force troops in the area.

Every little helps, but would it be enough to evacuate all the Chiss in time?

<"Control T-Four to Ember One! You've got one hour to wait for the transports to finish refuelling, so use your time wisely.">

<"Noted, Tower-Four. Speak again soon. Ember One out!">

'Cantrell! Get the Low-Number Clique up here! We've got time to relax a little!', Captain Karsh called out, with his voice carrying in both parade-ground volume and with the aid of the mostly unpopulated spaceport-perimeter. The only other faces there were of Chiss descent, either clutching at belongings or waiting for the inevitable dangerous inevitable flight towards the stars, a state of being old Remmel remembered, and rued with great intensity - even then as all his highest-ranked subordinates walked out to gather round with rifles and LMGs slung lazily at their shoulders. Despite being safer than any Norisian-born Chiss would've been or would be going forward, the looks in their red eyes brought out memories of Nachtland's downfall that the Krieger was all too sure he'd repressed with lasting finality, memories of a fear All-Heart was furious to be feeling again after so long.

'So what's the script then, sir? Any time-frame for boarding-hours yet?'

Lifting a cigarette to his lips, the old warrior muttered,'Meant to be an hour until we board, or so I'm told.... Give us a light, Greene.', as they drew close enough to chat in hushed tones, as per the company-command norm. All could see this deployment wasn't right, but it was on such deployments where the 117th had endeavoured to shine and prevail the most, succeeding more than most in their shoes with cohesive prejudice that held them in good stead every time, but everyone who'd gathered around the unimpressed Captain knew this would be their worst battlefront yet by far. In the following moments, every last one of the officers and higher non-coms would take the opportunity to enjoy the silence for a few moments, including Karsh, who's eyes had drifted back to the same Chiss he'd made eye-contact with before, though this time his eyes would exhibit an entirely contrasting emotion.

Pain.

Be strong for the others, young Chiss. Hope needs to survive, even if only a spark remains.

'I know how you feel, sir. But please, don't. Just don't.... We're not even at FOB: Belisarius yet for goodness sake!', Master-Sergeant Cantrell growled in the moment he caught Karsh in his pained glance towards the refugees, directing the old Thane's gaze to his arm and consequently making a show of pulling the sleeve under the armour-padding and drawing it down towards his wrist. A silent, harsh though it was, subtle proverbial reminder to pull his sleeve over his heart if he had any hopes of surviving this one, and expressed only once before in Remmel's direction since he passed the Fort Rex selection-process almost fourteen years before. Karsh knew fine and well what it meant, and though it very nearly tore his soul to shreds the first time Cantrell had expressed it, the old Captain smiled this time; surprising the Ravelin-born Master-Sergeant in that moment, as it seemed as though the Nachtlandir was preparing to fight his last, given a special kind of resolve that both inspired and frightened his subordinates greatly to see.

'Fair point, because - well, now there's more than just each other to fight for. I hope you've all realised this by now.... If you haven't said your goodbyes yet, Holonet terminals are back by the gatehouse.'

A couple peeled off, but the rest would stay put, happy to stay put for a while as the world burned, suffered and began rattling it's death-throes around the redoubt. The wiser ones among them had already spoken with their wives, lovers, friends, family and, in some cases, had even gone so far as to leave their wills and adequate sums of money with the,"Token-funeral", directors and/or their relevant religious authorities; though for All-Heart, all he needed to be sure his death would have meaning, were two video-feeds and two voice-calls on the Holonet before the 117th shipped out. One to his former commanding-officer, one to his deaf firstborn, one to his wife, and one to the son who could hear him; and all these Holonet calls were tear-eyed goodbyes and all near-impossible to hang up on in the end, and as a result, slightly dimming the brightness of a kind soul's blinding light.

'This deployment, as you'll know by now, was a one-way ticket long before the 117th were mobilised to come here. High-command kept their cards close to their chests this time. Probably making a fat retirement-fund as we speak, all while we do the fighting and the dying here.... So every foe we drag to the afterlife with us, as evil as they are, will be dragged along with us in spite of those who leave us to die here!'

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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 1
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FOB: Belisarius, Nadrin Quarter,
Primus, Noris (874 ABY)


??-Hours to Next Mawite Attack....

All the inbound short-distance flights to FOB: Belisarius would be put on hold until the next swarm of Mawsworn warriors had been routed or pushed off their own momentum at least, meaning the 15th had no way of contributing to the defence-efforts at the time, no way of even getting on site to help in any meaningful way. And yet, the green light for boarding would be given after just two hours of listening to and gazing on the distant hostilities from the access door to Control-Tower 4's mildly sloping rooftop, and within the space of ten minutes, all the Embers would load, board, travel then disembark at the Forward-Operating Base's well-covered western approach. The landing and the approach would both be easy enough for 15th Company, but in stepping past the west gate's threshold, the Embers soon realised that things were bleaker, grimmer, and even more troubling than their less-than-hopeful assumptions could ever hope to predict.

There was no doubt that the desperation had set in all around them, but even then, signs of hope and camaraderie could still be seen among the backdrop of dusty, downtrodden troopers. Some Chiss could be seen among them, armoured and armed to the teeth in their last stand for the memory of the only world they ever knew, among other elements who'd been bloodied just as heavily in their hypervigilant defence of the HASCO bags that served as their salvation, brief and sleepless though it would be the Embers from that moment onwards.

'You there!.... Woah, fella! Calm that look in your eye, it's alright. Rest assured we're not the jobsworth types - jus' looking for Sapper Company HQ is all. 38th Company if I can recall correctly.'

Receiving a dangerous, wide-eyed scowl in response to being singled out to start with, it seemed that Greene's lilting Carrack accent and demeanour was poorly applied until his conscious efforts to be more understanding changed the soldier's demeanour, bringing out a sigh before finally muttering,'It's fine, East gate.... Debris and wrecked ordnance has been cleared away behind us, so it'll be quite easy to reach from here now.', pointing directly down the crooked access-lane behind his other, quieter squadmates. This sudden dropping of the hard-hearted attitude would be appreciated by the officers of the 15th, though none quite so much as the recently-promoted Commander from Galidraan IV in that moment, extending his right hand in an offer of peace and friendship as the trooper with the missing helmet continued,'Might want to be a tad more careful with that sudden loudness in any case, most agree we need our alertness - most also agree we need our uninterrupted silence too. Food for thought.', accepting the handshake only when his warning was concluded.

'Took quite the kicking in the last attack, sir. So if you want to talk from the gut like you're calling out for any reason, best make it meaningful around these here parts. For your own sakes and such.'

Taking his own trooper helmet off to impart more sincerity, the Carrack waited until the helmet itself was properly free of his head before replying,'Duly noted, Sergeant. We've heard much an' more a' the Red Legion Volunteers in the last few days, an' for your efforts, I must admit I'm beyond glad.... There'd be nothin' left a' Belisarius by now if it wasn't for your unit, so we'll definitely make a point a' behavin' arrselves here. Safest guarantee you'll ever enjoy.', taking his sneaky chance to light a cigarette and silently offer one to the new acquaintance as he listened on to Greene's reply. As the Corporal accepted the offer and lit it himself, both simultaneously gave each other personal nodding seals of approval, bringing out a light chuckle in the Commander before concluding,'We're here with th'Fifteenth.... Here to the last gasp.', to which a fist-over-heart salute was sent Karsh's way as soon as the insignia could be seen more clearly on Greene's armour.

Good to have the Embers with us anyway, this does help alleviate our troubles - no matter how withdrawn we may behave towards you.... Remember this when the FOB eventually falls to the enemy, remember this as we all fight, bleed and die for you when that fateful moment arises-'

<"-Esk one-four-one to any Imperial forces, does anybody copy?">

With three simple steps out of line, and a simple pivot to make an about-face turn, Master-Sergeant Cantrell exclaimed,'Dibs, stuh-raight off the bat!', immediately staking his claim to the rescue attempt, jumping on a golden opportunity before anyone else could take it and blunder what they endeavoured in running with it. There was nothing in the ideals of the veteran sniper that permitted him to let the downtrodden endeavour what he was more than capable of endeavouring for them, and even if it was only in order to earn them a much-needed respite or two along the way, it was still enough to keep Cantrell from descending to self-hatred and the creeping guilt of,"What if?", for a time. There would never be any room for even so much as entertaining such thoughts, not whilst the Master-Sergeant still had fight left in his soul to keep his weapon shouldered properly.

<"Esk One-Four-One, this is Master-Sergeant Cantrell, callsign,"Ember Six" - leader of Scope Platoon. Guessing this is a distress call, so my subordinates will be ready within ten minutes. Switch on your GPS-tracker, then report.... Just whisper, keep low and move eastward towards FOB: Belisarius. We want to help. Ember Six out!">
 
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Erin E-141

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Erin "Esk 141" E-141
Sergeant First Class
Noris, Near Primus, 20km W of FOB Belisarius
Writing with:
DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran
Narrative Tags: Cormac Thire, Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis , Hal Vaiken Hal Vaiken , Frajan Borjar, Julian Qar Julian Qar , Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Erin E-141's body ached every single muscle, tendon, and ligament cried for submersion in a bacta tank, her throat parched of water even though it fell freely from the sky. Erin's colourless grey eyes crane skyward for a moment, and she observes the heavy black droplets fall. Examining the sensor data tasted by her battle armour. "Can't drink; the concentration of cytotoxic gas exceeds toxicity threshold for humans, even ones like me." The rain was contaminated with acid and chemicals from the gas used by the Imperials rendered it unsafe to drink.

A light fog descends on the muddy plain of no-man land, its' surface cast with craters where shells had crashed down upon the Earth from the sky. The broken corpses of troopers Maw and Imperial alike form across the scene with black ravens picking at the sinew in gaps of armour with their long beaks. The tell-tale sound of steel tracks slapping against mud-guards and ominous pitched whine of bolts attempting to wiggle free of their bonds. "Damn it." Erin curses, her stride tapers into a slide into a crater. Pivoting from the backside, laying on gravel stomach-down, Erin creeps to the precipice of the hole and peers on thermal channels through the fog.
"I thought they might dismiss their tank squadron not responding to hails without suspicion for longer."

If she weren't so tired, desperate and sore, Erin might have thought twice about breaking her radio silence to put out a radio check. Because contrary to what she currently believed, the sudden burst of Imperial radio chatter caught the Crimson Hands' attention, not their wayward patrol. What was worse? They had cryptographers who had breached the encryption settings used by the Imperial survivors because the Crimson Hands captured an Imperial signaller and flayed them from his body. The sound of the rickety suspension of the Crimson Hands tanks grows louder, and Erin observes the long nose of a cannon peer through the dense haze of rain and chilly air.

The black maw of the tank's long pipe-like cannon recoils into its' boxy turret belching out a cloud of smoke with a fiery burp. Erin's body instinctively slaps itself flush against the Earth, and the sabot round narrowly whistles above her helmet. A tank commander appears from the porthole on the tank's roof; he raises a bloodied greatsword in one hand, thrusts it toward the sky and shouts a bellicose challenge.
"Is that all you have, Elite!? Let us test your mettle!" The Chieftain looks over his shoulder to the three files of infantry following behind his tank. "The master wants the Elite." The commander feels his stomach growl hungrily and pauses to lasciviously and eagerly lick his cracked lips. "Alive."

Erin hears Ember-Six's reply and bounds from the shell-crater across no-man's land in the direction of the small orange diamond on her helmet-mounted display indicating the location of Belisarius, it was twenty kilometres away. The one Crimson Hand tank, quickly turned into one tracked main battle tank followed by three lightly armed but heavily armoured personnel carriers. "Esk One-Four-One to Ember-Six, step on it, Sergeant." Erin activates her identify-friend-foe transponder that would allow her movements to be tracked, unknown to Erin, the Bloody Chieftain and his mechanized armoured company had cracked its' telemetry encryption.

"Scurry and run!" The Bloody Chieftain shouts through gritted teeth; his heart pounds with a pleasurable ache as he watches their prey drop into a trench and begins hurling all manner of rockets, grenades and plasma fire towards himself and his tank. A rocket smashes into its' hull in a flurry of sparkes. The turreted behemoth rocks back on its' heels for a moment and then continues. "That rocket will avail you not at all!" He ordered his driver to dive into a crater and advance over its' rise over the vehicle's communication channel. The infantry moves around the hole and begins covering and moving toward the lone Imperial soldier. The tank's turbo-diesel engine whistles laboriously, its first few trackpads bite over the crater's ascent.


Even as the infantry platoon close in, Erin uses her armour's energy shield to absorb the plasma fire for a precious two seconds while bringing the stovepipe to bear on the tank's belly as it climbs and clears the slope. Even as the Crimson Hands drop into the trench beside the Elite, she stays singularly focused on the tank, needing to eliminate it and this first wave of infantry at the same time. Erin had lured them into her trap. Erin's index finger pulls the rocket launcher's trigger rearward, and a wave of percussive energy blasts all through the narrow trench. The high-explosive projectile smashes through the belly of the Chieftain's tank. It waddles to a stop immediately.

Erin awakens to find a field of black stars in her vision. All Erin could see was darkness, and what she felt was what felt like a ton pushing down against her spine while the motes in her eyes appeared to float and strobe. Both ears rang with the characteristic whine of Tinnitus; adrenaline pumps like fire through Erin's veins. Still, even with its' intoxicating and empowering presence, Erin was struggling to move her arms or legs.

 

Augustus Tassar

Guest
A


Augustus Tassar
Imperator of the Rim Guard Legions, First Spear of High Vandemar, Founder of the Tyrian Brigades

✠ Objective: Last Man Standing

✠ Location: Noris, Primus, FOB: Belisarius, Right Flank Trench Section 54-82

✠ Gear:
Sarissa, Armor, Sword

✠ Assets: 102nd Auxillary Cohort


✠ Tag(s): Cormac Thire , Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis , DECEASED Remmel Karsh DECEASED Remmel Karsh , Frajan Borjar


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To be among the best means to experience the worst, that is how it works with soldiers. If you are good at what you are doing, you are sent to the places you hate the most, where you suffer the most and put through the toughest challenges. You earn your chevrons and with every additional one, you have to sacrifice more of yourself. For every award, medal or accolade you get, you are giving away more chances and odds to reach a high age.

So Augustus Tassar was selected to go to Noris along with a minimal unit of Auxillary and an artillery detachment. Vandemar was reinforcing the entire frontline against the Brotherhood of the Maw with troops, the Legions occupied at hot-spots and otherwise they send Auxillary units to support the Imperial Army or Stormtrooper Corps, providing direly needed reinforcements against the chaotic forces of the Mawites.

On Noris it was especially messed up. They were here for one and a half months now and were suffering under constant harassment of the Final Dawn cultists, savage attacks, reckless in regards to their own losses, they did not care how many they lost as long as they killed. Since Csilla hunting down the Chiss seemed to be one of their favourite activities and evacuating these people was their current goal. The Imperator did not know why he would risk himself and Vandemarian citizens for some non-imperials, but it was an order and there was no further question.

The 102nd occupied a few hundred meters of trenches with in total three lines, one front trench, a reserve trench and behind the one for the artillery pieces. It was a battle against more than just some cultists. The nature of the planet and location itself was working against them. Constant rain soaked cloth and earth alike and it was more of a struggle not to drown in the trenches than not being shot. Every day was marked by entire sections of the walls breaking due to being muddy and unstable, small runnels were dropping into the dug fortifications and after weeks of walking through them, the soil was densened and wouldn´t let any water escape. Especially in the infantry trench, the first one, it was a terrible situation for soldiers. Planks of rotten wood were put on the ground to give at least a bit of stability, the bunks were in dirtholes themselves and the latrines were everything but sufficient and hygienic.

If the medics of the Vandemarians wouldn´t be exceptionally well educated and making sure that everyone kept a minimum of body health and hygienic procedures, the fight would already have been lost to disease. They were reinforced by the strict and intimidating presence of Praetor Atia Ophilia, one of the Legions finest drill masters was sent with Tassar to fulfill this difficult task. Together they were maintaining a maximum of discipline and a minimum of casaulties. But the minimum was already plenty, the Maw made sure of that.

The Cohort had lost roughly 37% of its combat strength already, the battles in the trenches were claustrophobic, swarms of enemies getting in and then it was getting to hand-to-hand combat, blades, axes, nails and teeth becoming the primary weapons as everyone tried to survive, unit cohesion and tactics only a distant memory. The two Legionnaires were rocks on which the waves of enemies were breaking and without them, the flank would have fallen already.

Now ten days had been added to their sentence, their mission. It was only a matter of time till the next attack would be upon them and Augustus was moving to the command post in Belisarius to coordinate with his fellow companions and comrades of the Empire to repel the enemy once more.




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FATE OF THE CHISS (PART. I)
• • •

FORTUNATE SONS
OPPOSING | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW
PINGS | Mattali Omenza Mattali Omenza

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IMPERIAL STORMTROOPER CORPS
IMPERIAL VANGUARD
| EMPIRE OF THE HAND
117TH DIVISION 'THE INVINCIBLE' | TASK FORCE 'NERN'

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<EQUIPMENT: 'STORM' UNIVERSAL COMBAT PLATFORM MK. V — AP-25I 'SIMP' PARTICLE-BEAM BLASTER — SFR-58 'BOZDUGAN' BLASTER RIFLE>
•••
<CODE NAME:
NERN-ACTUAL>
•••

<BEING CHISS: SONS OF ALLEGIANCE, SONS OF ASCENDANCY — PROLOGUE>
DOKAL
jumped over a barricade, rolled in the mire and then ran to the next covered place. She narrowly dodged a plasmatic salvo, coming from her enemy, the one who was holding a heavy repeater blaster cannon. She leaned back to the permacrete barricade, prepared to reply to the assault with a gust of blasts. The Chiss quickly verified that her ‘Bozdugan’ rifle was loaded with an energy cell: 62% left. Excellent. The commando clenched her jaw, contacting her partners:

“Nern-Actual to Trill-Forn-Nern, asking support on two-three-point-six-one-o-point-seven. Struggling with opp-for. Over.
— Here’s Nern-Two,” SHORTY answered, “copy that squad-leader. Holding your action zone as a sniper. Nern-Three, please report to Nern-Actual’s position. Be careful. Over.
— Wilco Shor-... Nern-Two,”
DOKAL finally answered after a break.

This moment was decisive for TF ‘Nern’. This would be the moment during which all would happen. This would be the final test for RITES, to know if she was able to integrate DOKAL’s unit into the 117th Division. The Chiss knew what RITES was supposed to do, and she knew that she could be a very, very powerful trump card in Nern’s hands. The Zeltron was a good soldier, yes, but a good Stormtrooper overall and the best engineer she had ever known. But before all, DOKAL's opinion had to rely on facts and war-actions, everything that could be compiled in a register to be remembered, as an ode to the fallen.

“C’mon Rites, I know you can do it. Just take it easy…” DOKAL thought.

The situation was simple. A heavy marauder was threatening The Chiss commando for the moment, so she could not move from her barricade. MIRINDA had to come close to the blue-skinned buckethead and then distract the trooper while DOKAL would be shooting his head. A simple plan. The StormCommando prepared a thermal detonator in her left hand, ready to launch it on the marauder when MIRINDA would be doing her part of the plan they had prepared a couple of hours before.

“Your turn, Rites…”
 
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Fortunate Son

Location: Deployed with 8th BRIGADE COMBAT TEAM
FORWARD BASE 'BELISARIUS'
Code name: Bliztar
Gear:
Storm Armor Mk. IV
REC Scatter Gun
REC-DC/04 Particle Blaster Pistol
Sentinel Tech Gloves

Tags: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Yes, she was a damn good engineer. But that didn't mean she knew how to fix everything. War was the biggest schutta on either side of the outer rim, and no matter how good a time you had with her, it was going to end with alot of people hurt or killed. Needless to say, Mirinda wasn't a fan. She was working with TF Nern now, and it seemed this year was just her being bounced around to whoever wanted her. In secret, she blamed Zoraya Ives-Ayres Zoraya Ives-Ayres for this. That blow hard was probably screwing with her records behind closed doors. She was pretty miserable like that. Not that it really mattered, Mirinda was a lowly ensign in this whole mess, she didn't have much authority since she took over as an officer.

Watching her Chiss comrade move into position, she felt her stomach drop as realization set upon her. Right, she was going to be the decoy. Just like they train you for in academy, right? Fat chance of that.

She gripped her scatter gun, feeling a tad ashamed that she hadn't been able to use the weapon effectively given the conditions here. Still, she'd be able to do some good with her squad. Hearing the cit chat over the comms, she braced herself for what was to come. "I hear you Nern-Actual, coming out to play, over." She sighed, moving from the little crater she called safety, and advanced towards a somewhat secure bit of cover twenty paces ahead. She got four steps before the adrenaline hit, and six before the voice in the back of her head screamed at her to run faster.

So she did.

She caught movement in the distance, a glint of something metal, and found what energy she could to move faster.

Dokal better come through with this little maneuver, or she'd be earning her purple heart the hard way.
 

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Edge of the Noris System
Aboard Crimson Command Vessel 'Empress of Dreams'
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Worry etched itself into Melvain's features, even as he attempted to concentrate on his forms. The hum of his white lightsaber, the sound of his ragged breath, and the skid of his boots on the training room floor filled his ears but thoughts of Robert, his men, and the 117th pounded at his mind. Even in the absolute darkness of the room he could see them being cut down by Maw raiders. But not just the soldiers, but the few Chiss survivors left on the world and their Chiss protectors as well. The Force was trying to show him something. He didn't fully understand how he knew, but the feeling in his gut told him so.

Despite his scatterbrained imaginings, the focus he was putting into parsing these images and thoughts steeled him as the training bots flew through the dark. Bolt after bolt he deflected, even as the bots began to move and fire faster and faster. His blade moved with the speed of lightning, moving from place to place so quickly Melvain seemed to be illuminating the room on his own. Suddenly the drones' whirring repulsor slowed to a stop and he realized that he could hear once more, the Force muffling effect removed. The lights creeped to full mid-day brightness and a figure in gilded white Imperial Knight armor stepped from the shadow.

"Very good Knight Braxis, your skill with the blade has improved, as has your focus." Knight Commander Jerrik Ondarr quirked a brow in admiration as he floated a water bottle to his trainee. Melvain took it greatfully and waved his hand to call upon a towel from the benches nearby. The first sip was like ice down his throat but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

Despite having been fully ordained as a Knight of the Imperial Force Corps, Melvain was years if not decades behind many of his peers. Only finding his Force sensitivity during his interrogation at the hands of Zovesa, his growth had been quick, but not quick enough for his liking. Jerrik had offered to tutor him in the ways of the Force, though why he asked for nothing in return had raised more than a few eyebrows in the Red Legion. His partnership gave the Crimson Command a form of legetimacy though as Ondarr brought with him his own group of Imperial Stormtroopers making it a truly Imperial Fleet.

"Thank you Knight Commander," Melvain said, "Though I must admit I was not focusing on the training. I can feel it, even from way out here. The pain, suffering, anger, and hate coming from Noris. It- I'm worried, for my men." Ondarr folded his arms in thought before speaking again, the words coming out slowly and cautiously.

"The Force...Can be a cruel mistress. It shows us things that can distract us from our true mission or even derail it entirely if we let it. At the same time, sometimes the Force is right and the mission parameters change in an instant," he snapped to give the words emphasis. "All I can say for now, is that we follow the plan. Come to me if you continue having these...visions." Before Melvain could respond, Ondarr had left the room, leaving the Knight with only the words of superior and more questions than answers.
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New Imperial Order
Red Legion Volunteers
Acting 'Relief' Unit for 117th Stormtrooper Division
Lord General of Feriae Junction - Robert Dris
Forward Operating Base 'BELISARIUS'
Interacting: Frajan Borjar
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Robert and his squad were passing by when they overheard the conversation between the Imperials. Damnable Red Eyes? Robert huffed. Typical Imperials for you. Human High Culture and all that. Many of his men were vets from when the Mandos ran the goose in the Outer Rim, one of the most diverse groups of people you'd ever see calling one another family and it being literally true. Discrimination and hatefulness based on differences had long been beaten out of them if it was even there to begin with. It was a shame the same couldn't be said for the Empire. Robert was fine to go on his merry way until one of his soldiers stopped and turned to give the man a piece of his mind. Before Robert could stop him the man was already going off, tossing his blaster rifle into the muck.

"You want to talk about gratitude? Gratitude? We Legion have been here for three months, three! We're not long-term, we were just supposed to be here so you lousy lot could take a breather, get back on your feet. Instead, you lot've karked the job up so bad we've had to stick around to fill in the blanks! And what do we get?" He took his helmet off and spat at the man's feet. "That!" Robert sidled up to the man and put a hand on his shoulder.

"That's enough out of you," he growled. "I'm sorry for my man's outburst, er," he looked down at the man's rank insignia, "Captain. We'll just be on our way and-"

"No," the other soldier protested, "And another thing. This is your Empire. YOUR PEOPLE. Doesn't matter if they're blue, green, have horns, or can't even breathe your air. Its your Empire, your people. You'd think a real soldier would know that the people we swore to protect are always the priority. Lousy bucketheaded schutta! We don't go around looking for handouts of sympathy!" Robert cursed under his breath. This was about to be out of his hands faster than a summer ceirean.

 

Iago Zacarias

Guest
I

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O R N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NORIS

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Looks like someone had the balls to speak their mind at Frajan. Very passionate and intense with their words, sounded like an alien-loving bloke that would lay down their life for anyone that didn't swore fealty to the Empire. Hell, the guy even spat at his feet. Very feisty, perhaps he was going to cry for being in the dirt and shit for three months. Guess this was a sensitive thing to trigger them.

"Let your man speak his mind, I'm sure he's been holding back tears for three months now," the Stormtrooper said to Robert while taunting the Red Legion soldier spatting his outburst. Placing a hand on Robert's chestplate and gently pushing him to the side, so that he wouldn't get in the way between Frajan and his legionnaire. This was already brewing up commotion, lots of Imperial soldiers were distracted by the newfound tensions between Stormtrooper and Red Legionnaire. Obviously, everyone knew what sides would be picked if things escalated.

"Think you're some tough guy, huh? If so, you wouldn't be moping and whining about being stuck on this shithole for three months. I know guys smaller than you and they keep their shit together, you whining schutta," sneering at the Legionnaire, while stepping up in his personal space.

"And besides, these people belong to the Chiss Ascendancy; they are not registered as subjects of the Empire. So yeah, I ain't risking my skin for my Empire. Nah, I'm shooting for a foreign nation that I don't owe them shit at all," then his two hands pushed the Legionnaire, taking more steps towards the soldier.

"C'mon, keep on lecturing me about that shit you were mouthing about. I'm here all day, you fucking twat," wanting to antagonize the man, provoke him into doing something stupid which would give Frajan a reason to act out. Been a while since he fought someone, and he was itching for a fight.

 
Only a few more days.

Impatience was growing among the stormtroopers of the 117th Division as they eagerly awaited the order for the withdrawal to be greenlit from above. That was not to say that everyone supported the idea. The notions were mixed; some felt they had buried their brothers in arms in vain only to pull back from Chiss space; others' feet itched to leave this foreign space they had no business fighting for. The different sentiments clashed each day. Whether it was on the makeshift tables playing dice, eating at the mess hall, or even on patrols into the barely standing city.

Lieutenant Ivan Sienar, the fresh green officer of the infamous noble family, counted the minutes till their imminent departure. The minutes felt like days and the days felt like weeks. The weeks felt like months and the months felt like years. Withering away on this wretched stalemate of a battle over a foreign city in ruins against a horde of blood-crazed lunatics. Questioning publically the orders to keep them within Chiss space while ISB agents were in their midst was naturally deemed suicidal but on Noris where one aged a decade at each dawn of the sun, no one really bothered to care.

A guitar sounded down the trenches playing both somber and ironic tones. It sang of the dust and ash they had for lunch because by breakfast the officers had pocketed the Dantooinain rations from last month's supply drop. It sang of the girls waiting back home and... some young officer's mother. It sang of a private's dream for a Chiss-ran Come Right Inn on Primus. And Sienar could've sworn the lyrics were nailed down by an ISB agent out of everyone.

Approaching the bare-chested group of NCOs under his command playing cards and rolling cigarettes, the young noble didn't bother addressing the lack of proper military etiquette. Their downtime was theirs but when duty called, he expected them to perform to the stormtrooper's elite standard.

"Sergeant." he cleared his throat.

"Lieutenant, Sir!" the grizzled veteran half-assed a salute before playing a card and cursing his luck, "The Emperor's b-- ah, lieutenant, the Sappers've returned-- damnit, Ryse, you scratch the Emperor's balls for luck or somethin'? -- uh, they oughta be comin' your way shortly, Sir."

Cormac Thire
 

2nd post
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FORTUNATE SONS

EMBER_ONE

117th Division
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15th Company,"The Embers"
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NIO: Cormac Thire Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis Jorus Fel Jorus Fel
Hal Vaiken Hal Vaiken Erin E-141 Frajan Borjar Augustus Tassar
Julian Qar Julian Qar

Ascendancy/Enclave: Nuruodo'kal'brast Nuruodo'kal'brast

Captain Karsh's Loadout
STORM Universal Combat Platform

CSR-50i Slugthrower Sniper Rifle
AP-25i 'SIMP' Particle Beam Blaster
X3 Flashbangs
X3 Frag Grenade

Beskar Bowie Knife
Entrenching Tool


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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 2
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Objectives:
  • Defend FOB: Belisarius & the outposts (DOOT)
  • Raid enemy positions (DOOT)
  • Rescue beleaguered Imperials/Chiss (DOOT)
  • Guard escape-path to Spaceport (DOOT)
  • Heal wounded soldiers & refugees (DOOT)
Camp Veers Redoubt, Northern Outskirts,
Primus City, Noris (874 ABY)


<"Nara to Ember Six! About 2km out now.">

<"Good, we park up here then. Ember Six out!">

After slaughtering a small contingent of Crimson Hands, picking each and every last one of them off through little more than ten minutes of hostilities, an array of swoop bikes had been found in the aftermath, a large enough number of them to transport the entire platoon, and with plenty others left behind in their wake as Cantrell's small contingent worked their hardest to find the lone Elite-Trooper before it was too late to do anything about it.

<"Malle to Ember Six! Calling dibs on pointman duty.">

'Heh! With - out - fail, every time it gets interesting....'

<"Cantrell to Scope Two-Seven! Alright then, by all means.">
Friendly units would be called out to hold the ground they had taken from the enemy, allowing whoever was perceived to have slipped away in the commotion to link up with other platoons in the area, though Cantrell knew that whoever it was would find that their numbers would be up before they could properly celebrate their little escapes. Safety couldn't be assured on Noris, not on either side of the struggle, so the Master-Sergeant left it at that - for the sake of the lone Elite-Trooper.

Cantrell was still leaning for comfort with his back against the swoop at the time, checking over the condition of his CR-50i at the time, fully aware of the fact he'd be using it within the next ten minutes - until friendly movement off to his left indicated Malle's eagerness to proceed. This one was moving with more urgency than the others, straying just a little from the pack in the process of leading it's formation, but there was a good reason for this, one such that felt like a brutalising kick to the very deeps of the Master-Sergeant's gut. It was survivor's guilt, and Malle was seemingly expressing a heartbroken need to preserve life at every opportunity, but in this eagerness, a stone-hearted determination was being forged; and though everyone knew this endeavour to be ill-fated, it looked to be that the young Lance-Corporal was only in it for the small blessings, and this is what tore at the platoon-leader's heart the most.

<"Appreciated. Moving into position now. Scope Two-Seven out!">

Malle was one of those who'd lost more than his fair share of friends along the way, but it didn't stop him in any way from continuing to serve, even though his face would tell a completely different story whenever his helmet was off. The sunken, darkened eyelids, desperate gaze darting back and forth in search of something that resembled the peace his heart (in revealing his true intent) was seeking in all of it. Barely a day older than nineteen at the time the Galaxy left it's mark on him, passing the Fort Rex selection process with distinction until all the young Thyrsian's friends, one by one, died either before his very eyes or away from view in his desperate struggle for survival on Nirauan. Corporal Futunara, however, saw this in his seemingly perpetual state of observance, seeing the pain in the way his platoon-leader was carrying himself as he pushed off from the requisitioned swoop-bike, and though he didn't like it in the slightest, Atrisians like Denzo knew to be courteous in such times when death hung so closely over his comrades' heads.

'He'll be fine, sir. Tougher than most of us, remember? Anyway, I think it would be for the best if we get mov-'

<"-Esk One-Four-One to Ember-Six, step on it, Sergeant.">

<"Judging by the eagerness of our pointman, we'll be with you quite soon. Less than 2-klicks away by my estimation, trooper. Just hold on.... We'll get you back to FOB: Belisarius an' on your feet before ya know it. Ember Six out!">

On the move again, and with every possible angle covered, the four fireteams of Scope Platoon worked to close in on the Elite-Trooper's location, pushing through toxic gas-clouds, smoke and dust alike to find and rescue the one who sent out the encrypted distress-call. It would feel like an age had passed in the time it had taken to close the distance, but the nerves of veterans like these were archetypally steely, especially in the moments one would hope for a steady hand the most.

'THERMALS ON, CHECK FOR THE FRIENDLY!!!!.... OPEN FIRE!!!!'

Slugs would light up the hazy obscurity of the view ahead as Fireteam-1 opened up on the heat-signatures surrounding the friendly-marked Elite-Trooper, putting the pressure on heavy in an attempt to quickly throw the Crimsons into a collective state of disarray. It wasn't enough though, as the others would step to their positions and offer return-fire in whatever direction they thought the sniper fire was coming from, giving credence to their opposition's status as able-bodied, competent troopers in their own right; but with the equipment and optics-settings the Scopes were using, it wouldn't be long before the bodies dropped in the distance, as the constantly-shifting positions of the Embers' best marksmen eventually proved to be too much for the hemmed-in troopers of the Crimson Dawn. Then, from almost a company of service-rifles in full swing, to barely a fire-team of fearfully routing bayonet-fixtures making for the nearest outposts to their positions, the single-shot minority let patience dictate their pacing to make such a rout possible, despite the risks it may have incurred on the Elite-Trooper before the rout.

'ALRIGHT, NARA!!!! GET THE STRETCHER UP HERE, I'LL HOP ON COMMS FOR COMBAT-MEDICS!!!! LETS MOVE, LETS MOVE!!!!'

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A LIFETIME OF SERVICE: ACT 1 (DUTY) - PART 3
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FOB: Belisarius, Nadrin Quarter,
Primus, Noris (874 ABY)


<"Belisarius Tower, This is Ember Six! Requesting a medevac to meet us on the western northbound approach, we've got a trooper here in bad shape. We're talking mild burns, possible flareup issues from gas-inhalation, severe dehydration - the works!">

<"Noted, we'll get the medics to patch through as soon as they're geared up and ready to move. Stay safe out there, Ember Six. We need every able-bodied rifle-shoulder we can get from this point on.... Good luck. Belisarius Tower out!">

'Alright, looks like they've got the hard part finished with.', Karsh muttered to himself, hammer-fist punching the counter as he turned to Greene and clicked his fingers and pointed to the door. The rest of the Embers were all hoping for good news, and Remmel had promised that no matter what happened, news of the patrol's outcome would definitely filter through to the lower-ranked troopers at their stations, regardless of whether it was good or bad news in the end. Turning to the Lieutenant at the tower's comm-station, Remmel smirked a little as he considered what small victories like that could do for troop-morale in their darkest moments, admitting,'The little things, always the little details that we remember when we're under duress. And I'll be embracing every last one we get from this moment to the last, Lieutenant.', in his broad, lilting Krieg-born accent.

'Yup, suppose that's all we've got now though. Locked in with our enemies until the winner steps out bleeding from the rubble. If this turns out to be true then so be it, sir. My soul's been ready for the last two years, staring at the night skies waiting for the looming threat to keep old age from torturing me. And we both know that's no way for an aging man to live, no way for any aging man to live.... We'll continue this chat later. Just come back when we're not so busy, alright?'

Nodding assent, the replying silent gesture would be met with another, receiving a fist-over-heart salute and then offering one of his own an instant later as the tower's communications room lit up with activity around them. Though neither knew it at the time, both Remmel and this individual would forge a strong, unspoken bond of fellowship as the last, brief days of respite passed, something both elderly warriors needed in such dark times. The younger ones didn't know, for All-Heart's subordinates couldn't have known what ran through the minds of men already marching their way in their twilight years with backs straight at the time, for such thoughts couldn't be allowed to occupy the minds of those still within their fighting primes, not when other, more-pressing matters required them to be at their best, most clear-headed collective standard.

'Alright, good man. Was nice meeting you in any case, sir. Always good having reasonable folks like yourself on the frontlines, means there's always going to be applications of common-sense somewhere along the way.... Be careful out there, and use your downtime for sleeping - not much to be had out here at the moment.'

<"Callsign: Grey, this is Belisarius Tower! I repeat, this is Belisarius Tower! We have a callsign,"Ember Six", requiring immediate medevac for an Elite-Trooper. They're asking that your EMTs meet them part of the way there, though we're fortunate enough to report their platoon's GPS trackers are constantly feeding us info as we speak.... Triage results also appear hopeful, however, further treatments will be needed for them when you return.">

Exiting with a simple swipe at the sling for his rifle to take it with him, the other hand would deftly put his helmet on for the dangerous walk across the western ramparts. All-Heart wished to see Cormac Thire, for solid links between companies were always recommended to be established within the first few hours of arriving on the surface of an active warzone, a particular policy that Karsh always agreed with. Riflemen at their stations would turn and stand to attention as the Captain passed them by, soldiers from a small collection of varying Imperial-affiliated contingents standing proudly for the very empire that was leaving these warriors, these very paragons of stalwart fidelity, without support or supply as they toiled, bled and died in vain. Left on their own, beleaguered beyond hope, and with no perceivable way out for the soldiering caste, all they could do was represent the insignias of their units - and hold on until the bitter end.

'Stay strong, lads. In mind, heart, body, and most importantly, let your soul resonate more aggressively than all aforementioned features.'

And every last one of the Embers, engineers, Vandemarians and auxiliaries were resolved to fight and perish proudly for the Iron Emperor's bloodied Iron Sun, endeavouring the forlorn without question, doing so without a single regret but those they arrived with. Those they carried with them everywhere, regrets they were never quite able to escape, but despite this, the soldiers stationed on the eastern ramparts would still be seen listening intently as All-Heart continued; understanding his motivations and taking them to heart in the ever-creeping realisation that this was in fact a last stand they were making, the unexpectedly-welcome oratory would be heeded and internalised for the wisdom it imparted, inciting a domino-effect of fist-over-heart salutes when Karsh finally turned to face them all properly.

'For the soul is what fuels the mind, the soul is what fuels the heart and the body. That part within you, that indefinable thing that RAISES YOUR TIRED, BROKEN BONES FROM THE DIRT WHEN IT MATTERS MOST!!!! That is the most-important part of yourself that you must never forget for as long as you remain in the fight.... AM I MAKING MYSELF PERFECTLY CLEAR, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN?!?!?!'
 
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New Imperial Order
Red Legion Volunteers
Acting 'Relief' Unit for 117th Stormtrooper Division
Lord General of Feriae Junction - Robert Dris
Forward Operating Base 'BELISARIUS'
Interacting: Frajan Borjar
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There were a million things that could have been said in rebuttal. A dozen ways Robert could have held the boy back. In the end though, when the lad threw his elbow back Robert did nothing. He took the blow to the face and stumbled back, blood dripping from his nose and busted lip and the lad? Well, he let that fist that he'd brought back fly, right into the jaw of the Imperial officer. There would be hell to pay for this, Robert knew. If the roles were reversed, Robert easily outranked the Imperial. He was a General after all. But way out here? In the muck? This was an Imperial op, Melvain had made it crystal clear. According to the military, they were barely a step up from civilians, but that meant they followed their rules and followed their commands, regardless of rank. Something that lad seemed to have forgotten.

The group of Red Legionnaires he had been walking with had long since stopped to watch and when the scuffle began they surged forward. Robert drew his sword though and put it between them and the Imperial.

"Whoever tries to cross will meet my blade and the same punishment the Captain deems necessary for Wallow." That stopped them, but they didn't walk away. They watched.
 

Cormac Thire

Guest
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T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
Jorus Fel Jorus Fel | OPEN

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A WONDERFUL LIFE
NORIS '74

After he stripped down from the full panoply of war into a half-kit fit for firing back in swift defense should the trench fortifications be attacked, he headed the way of the infantry platoon leader his unit of Sappers was attached to in combat support operations. As much as the standard troopers lit up the propaganda posters and holonet rules, the main objective of the Army was to sustained warfare and unfortunately, that was many of the fronts in Chiss space. Bogged down, bleeding away men and boys into the meat grinder of the Maw's brutality. Such was life, someone had to hold the line, or else it wasn't Chiss space that was getting the door kicked down.

It was everyone else. They could weather the shit, a lot of the citizenry of the Empire just strived that slightest taste of normalcy and security. The war was bearing down harsh fatigue on everyone back home. Thire recalled the last bout of leave he had back to Ansion just over a year ago, wife barking at him in vitriolic anger of how the income wasn't enough, the rationing was wearing her down and the stress of it all was beginning to fray them at the seams. She wanted him to step back and return home from it all, leave the Corps, anything but spend more time at war.

Hardly his choice to make.

That was over a year ago, the line of communication back home had gone dark a few months ago. Family, friends, communication of those who he'd known in the civilian world prior to his enlistment abandoned the infrequent holonet messages or communications they'd send his way at the front. Life moved on. The Borosk foundry worker turned Sapper and bomb technician had all but fully given himself to the Empire, the army. Though he was still a living man, there was hardly anything left to sacrifice.

He approached the common area where the Lieutenant had just begun to muster the pack of NCOs under his command, Thire being the last to arrive. But he was always a different duck, an odd man out from the rest of them. Came with the territory of different ratings between him and the others. They were all infantry with a pretty simple objective. Keep barrels pointed in the direction of the enemy. The sappers had a more complex job set aside of construction and destruction and while infantry waited around between assaults occupying their different shifts of duties- the work was never done for the Combat Engineers.

"Lieutenant..."
He said, offering a brief salute before a hand immediately went to a pouch on the webbing strewn over his combat armor, producing a pack of cigara, Ithorian Spirits, propping one between his lips he offered another smoke from the pack the way of the young officer before pocketing them and sparking it alight as he offered a gesture for him to step aside.

"Rest of my team is out of the rotation for the night, got a pile of about one hundred UXOs that need the bang switch thrown on 'em at some point, otherwise we can probably get a scent on the Crimson Hands patrol routes and run em along with it, use their own IEDs against them. Regardless, we have another open route cleared between Primus and here so- supply should run a bit more smoothly."
He says, taking in a puff of his cigara as he ran a hand through his hair, growing a bit past the length of written regulation but- on the field of battle there was more than enough room for exception.

"But- there might not be enough tibanna or lead planetside for it to matter with how long all of this shit is taking. Helluva first operation they dumped on your lap huh? We go a good six years of beating the piss out of the Sith and as soon as it's time for either of us to get in...we're stuck in this shit. I guess this is what winning looks like. You taking everything alright?" Thire remarked, looking the way of Sienar. Most of the NCOs hardly wanted to give time of day to green officers. They were only slightly smarter privates with too much on their plate and too little of time to learn it all. Some however, 'old heads' in the units were typically assigned to take the new officers under their wing, make sure they didn't make any mistakes that get people killed.
 

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NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
21st Company "Cadaver Dogs"
Cormac Thire | Jorus Fel Jorus Fel | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Erin E-141

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THE DAY THAT NEVER COMES

A pair dice rolled and tumbled across a makeshift trench table. The result would determine the shift in sabacc cards in place of an absent holoprojector. Participants watched closely as the cubes tumbled, compared the result to the chart they had taped down to the sheet of metal they'd been using for a playsurface. One trooper, overjoyed, guffawed across the sheet from Jack. "Sabacc! Sabacc you bastards!" he exclaimed as he threw his cards onto the table as his opponents double checked the cards and the chart in disbelief.

The soldier scooped up his winnings, clearing the middle of the table and revealing Jack to be the only one with nothing left.

"It's like you've never played before," one soldier remarked.

He hadn't. "Bad luck," Jack asserted dryly.

"Bad luck? Zoran's on the worst streak I've ever seen and he still has cred, and he started with less than you!"

"Docs could make you a walking tank but they couldn't fix the stupid, huh?"

"They iron your brain when they drilled all those holes in you?"

Jack squinted with derision. Rising to his feet, he feigned his movements toward the unintentional when he bumped an awning support that shielded the table from rain. It fell, and along with it came previously restricted rain and that which newly fell. Troopers groaned, shouted, clamored with dismay, all scrambling to protect their cards and bets from the pitiless Noris rain. They turned most of their displeasure toward Jack, taking verbal shots as the Staff Sergeant walked away, bluffing obliviousness.

"Fethin' robot."

"This is why I don't associate with those freaks."

"You ruined my AvCoin™ voucher you gangly bricksack!"

Ten more days of rain and misguided scorn, a petty trooper might have complained. Jack
almost felt the urge. Noris was in the bag, though none of this really felt like winning. Walking the trenches felt more than just routine now, it was like eating or sleeping. Snide looks from contemptuous troopers lacked the energy they once had. Nods and acknowledgements from the others who didn't share that causticity had lost their winsome enthusiasm. Everyone was exhausted, and were it not for victory, their spirits may have fallen with the rain by now.

"Esk one-four-one to any Imperial forces, does anybody copy?"

The acoustic space in Jack's helmet came to life with radio inquiry. Even with linked Elite frequencies, the voice on the other end was distorted. "Esk One-Four-One, Esk One-Three-Eight copies, go ahead." Silence reigned. "Esk One-Four-One, Esk One-Three-Eight copies." Again, nothing. Hard to tell whether he wasn't getting through, or the other side wasn't responding. Jack picked up his pace, rounded a trench corner to the near sight of Cormac Thire and Jorus Fel Jorus Fel in conversation.

"Lieutenant Sienar," Jack interjected. "I apologize for interrupting. I got a ping on comms from another Elite, but they've failed to respond. I've got an inclination it might be a distress signal. Permission to investigate, Lieutenant?"

 
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P A G A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
FIELD OPERATIONS GROUP
Frajan Borjar | Melvain Braxis Melvain Braxis

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END OF THE WORLD
It was surreal to be back this far. Though it was hardly any home by now, Chiss Space. He'd hardly left Sposia in his youth, a planet now likely in the yolk of the Maw but since, the New Empire had been his home. He was Chiss only in species and language, hardly in culture or affiliation by now, fully assimilated into what were perceived as traditional Imperial values.

Psychological operations. One of many mission sets of the 'FOG' and the purpose of Thane's presence on Noris. To bridge communication and coordination between Imperial Armed Forces and the native Chiss populace, to which Thane provided an ideal bridge between the two, knowing the language and being of the same species.

He'd spent the last few days away from the majority of the fighting at Forward Base Belisarius, occupied in intelligence gathering operations within Primus proper, seizing important information of the state of the Chiss remnants, their willingness to cooperate with the Empire and most importantly, the information of the Maw that they could take from the Chiss who'd been at the front the entirety of the war. How many they were, how they fought and other edge the Empire could take in this new, existential war.

Another round of intelligence gathering had just been completed, with one of his final reports due for the command of the 117th following his collaboration with local Chiss resistance cells. Once the report was handed in, he had a ticket off world in his Bureau vessel- far more fortunate than the rest left here.

He was once one of them, though hardly ever a 'grunt' by any traditional definition- he spend the second half of the Third Imperial Civil War on the front lines, combat control unit funneling air strikes and fire missions from the Starfighter corps to the ground forces, putting the warheads on the right foreheads before he was recruited to the Bureau.

Treading through the mud-laden trenches of Forward Base Belisarius with his carbine slung across his back and his up-armored ISB uniform with tactical webbing strewn over it he patrolled the front as any other, peering over the faces of the weary, tired and aggravated troopers as he passed them, mostly keeping to himself over anything else. ISB had that errant dislike and distrust among big army troopers, he remembered being on the other end of it, how annoying their internal affairs investigations and intervention made pragmatic work.

He wasn't here to make friends, he was here to do a job. He would be off the planet within the next twenty four hours but even as errant blaster fire sounded off in the distance- he didn't seek to make that fact known among any of them.

Pulled from his thoughts by a spat between a Red Legion trooper and a trooper of the 117th, the Chiss stopped in his tracks, looking between the two before piping up.

He motioned a hand the way of Robert, the man who'd raised his sword to the Stormtrooper.

"Sheath your blade." He said before the Chiss looked to the trooper.

"You both took an oath did you not? To defend the Empire?" He asked the two before shifting his attention to Frajan.

"Whatever your command told you or whatever you heard, is misplaced. These people will soon be no less Imperial than you or I, trooper...we fight here...because if its not here, it's home, for you and everyone else." Thane said. A man who was already thrown from his own.

"Good soldiers follow their orders so if you are such the tough man you claim to be then start bloody acting like it, trooper." The ISB agent said, knowing well the stress baring down on the trooper might provoke another reaction from but in the faint hope of striking some sense into him, he spoke.
 
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A hand cupped his chin as he assimilated silently the information provided by the sapper, while the other took the offered cigara. Its quality was far, far, light-years far from the refined tastes of nobility but life on the harsh frontlines of the Winter Contingency had numbed his taste to something dull.

"Very well, Sergeant--" but before he could continue, a trooper of the ELITE program interjected.

"Lieutenant Sienar," Jack interjected. "I apologize for interrupting. I got a ping on comms from another Elite, but they've failed to respond. I've got an inclination it might be a distress signal. Permission to investigate, Lieutenant?"

In the marble halls of the court, interruptions were considered ill-mannered and extremely offensive. In the dirty, ash-filled trenches of Noris, manners were the first to fold.

After a few moments in deliberation, the young noble officer nodded, "Permission granted, Staff Sergeant. Make sure to inform Ember-One before departing, they are currently in operations within the city. Perhaps his pickets may have more intel on the missing Elite."

Dismissing the soldier, he turned back to Sergeant Thire, "Surely things could be better, but complaining will not get us any further than yesterday. I presume you've already passed your report to Ember One. A lot of our success here depends on countering the cultists' IED efforts so our men can drive them off the city at last."

Finally, he lit the cigar and took a drag of it, choking for a moment in the process. Even his dulled senses could taste the lack of quality in the Ithorian Spirit. Ivan wondered how much actual tobacco was inside the roll. Perhaps not enough. That had been the paradigm for everything on the Chiss Theatre. Nothing was ever enough.

"But to answer your question, Sergeant with a dose optimism if I may - our evacuation is merely a few nights away." he pulled a strained smile, half-believing his words and half-dreaming of his return home. "Perhaps you may accompany me to Lianna as a guest."

Cormac Thire Jack E-138 Jack E-138
 

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