Junction Head of the Hydra | Junction of Csilla Hex [GA], and Adrathorpe Hex [BotM]

[The Mongrel]

Location: Kinoss, CEDF Fuel Depot
Allies: Kyrel Ren | Darth Tennacus | Darth Senthral | Glossa
Foes: Xian Cade | Jeffery Kizaroe

The further the marauders advanced toward the depot, the more apparent it was that the Alliance simply couldn't leave well enough alone. They had seen the Chiss ailing, unable to defend their borders, and they'd just had to step in, propping up the floundering Ascendancy with military aid. Ships, equipment, training, they'd provided it all to the CEDF forces on Kinoss, trying to help the planet become a bulwark against the Brotherhood's depredations. The whole effort stank of Jedi, of their relentless drive to protect the weak from their rightful fates. It sickened The Mongrel to see it.

These "military advisors" must be exterminated.

Chiss clashed with cultists, Alliance troops with marauders, and in their midst strode Jedi and Sith. They were little gods unto themselves, tossing aside a half dozen foes like ragdolls or cutting through enemy squads with swipes of their laser-swords. How The Mongrel hated them, hated their weak reliance on mysticism over the pure strength of muscle, machinery, and battlefield experience. He looked forward to the final victory of the Maw, when the Avatars would end this wretched age and start the cycle anew. Then these ancient orders would be forgotten, reduced to ash.

Their tyranny over the galaxy would finally be ended.

For now, The Mongrel was content to let the two warring orders cancel each other out. He could see several of them squaring off, soldiers on both sides giving them a wide berth as their duel began. Let them measure glow-sicks; he and his tribe would bring Kinoss to its knees while they squabbled. The first order of business would be to get past the Corellian Joes, the unit focused on holding the fuel depot's perimeter defenses. Behind his mask, the Warlord's lip curled; typical of the weak and broken Chiss to be unable to hold their own walls. The Alliance had become their crutch.

He intended to kick that crutch out from under them.

The first step was simply to overwhelm the Alliance defenders, throwing more bodies at them than they could possibly shoot, and for that task The Mongrel had brought in an old tool of the Brotherhood. As fighting raged around the main gates, Marauder Aspirants struggling hard to push their way inside, Mawite dropships took up positions beyond the walls. The bottoms of the shuttles opened up, and swarms of Moon Children dropped out. The insane clones, slavering and blood-crazed, had no weapons beyond their claws, teeth, and the blades and spikes strapped to them.

They were uncontrollable. They were unstoppable.

In a great wave, the howling, screaming Moon Children rushed for the walls of the depot, using their spikes to clamber up the perimeter fences. They died in droves, shot down by the concentrated fire of the Alliance defenders... but there were always more. They were grown in massive batches, once only in the vaults of Gehinnom but now in secret laboratories across many Mawite-occupied planets, and were easily replaceable. Their deaths were irrelevant; their kills were not. Whenever they reached an Alliance infantryman, tooth and claw would rip and tear him limb from limb.

Advancing behind the wave of Moon Children were a pair of Spider Cruisers, currently in walker mode. The strange, unnerving heavy assault vehicles skittered forward, firing their heavy ordnance at the wall. If their huge MegaCaliber cannons blew up as many Moon Children as Alliance troops, it did not matter; that was the beauty of expendable shock troops. Their goal was simple: blow holes in the wall while the insane clones pinned down the Corellians, preventing them from bringing heavy weapons to bear against the walkers. They would open a new way into the depot.

For his part, The Mongrel advanced at the head of the Tarar, soon catching up with the teeming Aspirants assaulting the gates. His scavenger warbands added their plasmafire to the mix, helping to push back the Chiss forces that had deployed to hold the chokepoints. Though his focus was on the fight, on scattergun-ing down any enemy soldier who came toward him, The Mongrel also kept his eyes on the fresh crop of marauders. He was curious to see who among them might rise beyond the lowly rank of Aspirant, who might have the skill and determination necessary.

Yes, he would be watching Glossa's batch intently...

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Csilla System, Edge of the Csillan Belt
Allies: Marlon Sularen
Foes: Grand Moff Vel'alari | Qellene Tyliame | Maesr Elastren

"Taskmaster," one of the bridge officers reported, "additional Alliance craft are emerging from hyperspace. Corvettes and Carriers, with a Light Cruiser at their heart." Tu'teggacha looked back at the man - he never bothered to learn their names - and nodded calmly. He had expected as much. Whatever they thought they were doing in the ruins of Csilla, the Alliance was willing to send a decent-sized force to achieve it. The carriers would mean more fighters, and he had no desire to see the valuable Divine Eagles become overwhelmed. "We will give them something new," he burbled, looking out the viewport.

"Deploy the Thornwave squadrons. Let them support the Knyghts."

Eight new enemy squadrons were rushing into the asteroid field, vastly outnumbering the Divine Eagles... So it was time to unleash a new weapon, one the Alliance had never seen before. These were the Thornwave-class Starfighters, pack hunters piloted by skilled marauders. Lesser pilots and lesser craft than the mighty Knyghts, they were nonetheless savage and deadly, the spaceborne equivalent of swoop-riding Deathgangs. Their bomblet generators would be extremely deadly in the tight confines of the asteroid field, where enemy fighters would have little room to maneuver in order to avoid them.

More importantly, they were truly fresh. Alliance pilots had faced Darkshears and Doomsayers before, but they had no tactical data on the Thornwaves. They would have to learn how to outfly them on the go... and with six Thornwave squadrons closing in, somewhat evening the odds even after the Alliance reinforcements, they would have to learn quickly. Of course, the Mawites faced diverse opposition as well; the Grand Moff's TIE fighters flew among more traditional Alliance craft, forcing the Brotherhood pilots to adapt their tactics based on what they faced at the moment. The battle would be quite a learning experience.

For those who managed to survive, anyway.

Something showed up on the scanners, and Tu'teggacha peered at it intently. One of the TIEs was quite different from the others, a TIE Defender leading a squadron of TIE Interceptors. A flying ace of some kind, or a leader? The Taskmaster had no way of knowing that it was Grand Moff Vel'alari herself, though he would've made the same decision with even more gusto if he had. "Target that TIE Defender with concussion missiles," he ordered one of the Divine Eagle squadrons. "Eliminate their ace, and their attack will crumble." Two of the Knyghts moved in toward the Grand Moff, beam cannons blazing.

They were looking for a target lock, ready to use missiles to blast her from the sky.

 

[Qellene Tyliame]

[Flight Officer Qellene Tyliame]
[REC-AI01 A-wing Interceptor]
[Attached Carrier - ANV Wyvern, Sacheen II-class Escort Frigate]
[Comet Squadron]

[Fly me to the Moon, And let me play among the stars]
[Let me See what Spring is Like on Jupiter and Mars]
​

Acceleration, regardless of the strength of one's inertial dampeners, typically provided a turbulent start. And though the shaking was never longer than a second, Pamarthens were raised to savor the short amount of time.

"Kothan Si," Qellene whispered the Pamarthen phrase in conjunction with the increase in speed-- the words roughly translating to "May you die at full throttle" in Galactic Basic.

The anticipated wave of G-forces washed over her flight suit, shaping her mouth into a grin for the entirety of its lifespan, bringing her eyes to a gentle close for longer.

For however long the sensation lasted, she tasted the fragrance of of a Pamarthen breeze, felt the salted air building up in her lungs, and savoring every last morsel before she made an exhale. Vivid, all of it. None of the smells, none of the sounds, none of the wind's motions felt artificial. Qellene had to remind herself that she wasn't home, and wouldn't be any time soon.

But when she did, her senses all but cut.

Her sight opened again to an exchange of madness, Qellene's vision quickly registering the scattered pops of explosions, while her ears recorded the bursts of electronic discharges throughout the interceptor's redundant circuits-- one for each time shrapnel collided with and began to strain the shields.

98%. The generators were still holding steady, though they likely wouldn't for very long.

The asteroid field had been engulfed in flame by the time Comet squadron's interceptors were cleared to reinforce the lines.

Maneuverability would only get them so far. And even if the tightly-packed profiles of the A-wings led them past the debris, the Divine Eagles would prove difficult. Though, by then, most of the pilots dispatched would have experience reducing the famed Brotherhood fighters to shreds; and with their numbers, the Alliance had a chance at overwhelming the Knyghts and their craft.

She still prayed that fate would be kind...

The adrenaline rush lit flames in her eyes, as the A-wing spun around, maneuvering jets in full blaze to guide pulse-fired energy bolts into their target-- a distracted Brotherhood Divine Eagle already in pursuit of the squadron's leader. The first salvo grazed the craft's shields, though Qellene merely sought to draw the pilot's attention elsewhere. And by the time the enemy craft had taken notice of her, she had lined her sights with its aft...and had fired a wave of shutter-shots into its wide silhouette.

The Divine Eagle made a dive for starboard with only a second spent recovering, Comet Leader meanwhile taking the opportunity to make a run for it in the opposite direction. Qellene, however, maintained her pursuit. Now she dove, a sudden change of acceleration temporarily pushing her into her seat as she rounded the circumference of a massive asteroid. The Brotherhood fighter was soon in her sights...

It wasn't the Divine Eagle that she met head on, rather a strange, U-shaped crimson spaceframe...

And it already had its guns locked on her profile.

Grand Moff Vel'alari, Tu'teggacha

 

[Constantine Oliva]

Allies: Grand Moff Vel'alari Maesr Elastren Qellene Tyliame
Enemies: Tu'teggacha Marlon Sularen

Spoiler: Pickett Line 253

Revenge
Glory
Raptor
10 Warrior-IIIs

“Sir, we’ve arrived in the system.” ​

I woke quickly, having fallen asleep at some point during the jump. The 253rd was returning to the site of its bloodiest battle, the place of its worst failure. The tomb of millions: Csilla. I hadn’t been enthusiastic to come here, but it was a necessary action. Few officers in the Galactic Alliance Navy were as experienced commanding large numbers of Corvettes. In the newly made asteroid field, that experience would be invaluable. There was still crucial information to be gathered from the remnants of bases on the planet’s moons.

“Thank you Commander.”

I rose from my command chair with a sigh, stretching as best I could. With only one arm, I’d taken to using other objects to help stretch my left arm. My stump ached, more than it typically did. I’d lost it here, not long ago. As I closed my eye and stretched my neck, I could see droplets of blood between my arm and I, floating aboard the disabled Hawk.

“No use focusing on the past”

“What was that sir?”

“Nothing, Commander. Have we already received a check in from the captains?”

“Yessier, we have.”

“Good,” I nodded, “Good.”

I set my gaze on the asteroids, a field of death that had once been a planet. Already other vessels were present. Something was off though, there were too many vessels showing up on scanners opposite the asteroid field. They were marked as unknowns rather than hostels, though I had little doubt. Much closer were the ships brought by allied forces to escort the civilian craft investigating the moons.

“Maw forces are already here, it seems. Try to get a reading on their communications. Assume the unknown vessels are hostile.”

My first orders of what hopefully wouldn’t turn into another massacre.

“Yessir.”​

I drew in another breath, “Contact Admiral Vel’alari’s forces. Let them know we’re here.”

“Yessir.”​

“Activate the ion scramblers and begin moving closer to those ships in that area,” I spoke, pointing out a cluster of unknown vessels on the other side of the planet. “Go around the asteroids.”

“Yessir.” ​

Damn that phrase. The responsibility was mine for what ever was about to go wrong…

 

[Marlon Sularen]

CSILLAN BELT , CHISS SPACE
Objective | Eliminate Grand Moff Vel'alari and Complete the Destruction of Csilla
Tags | Tu'teggacha | Grand Moff Vel'alari | Constantine Oliva

As the Battle continued , Sularen watched on the tactical display within the datapad attached to his Command Chair as Taskmaster Tu'teggacha and his Fleet arrived with the Taskmaster deploying his fighters to attack the Outbound Flight. He watched as his former ally now turned into a hated rival , Grand Moff Vel'alari and her Elite Squadron of TIEs proceeded to engage the Starfighters deployed by Tu'teggacha and destroy a few of them with ease. While the classic Starfighters of the Brotherhood of the Maw were impressive thy were all inferior to the superior TIEs fielded by the Final Dawn hence why Sularen was content to let Tu'teggacha take the lead as his forces would serve as a primary distraction for the Alliance.

However what bothered the Grand Overseer the most was the presence of Grand Moff Vel'alari , an ally he had recruited in his Plan to overthrow the Galactic Alliance and restore Imperialism to the Core Worlds who had now betrayed Sularen , revealing her true allegiance with the treacherous Alliance even going as far as denouncing Sularen as a treacherous Governor. The Grand Moff's acts were unforgivable and she needed to be taught a lesson. Sularen had been betrayed in the past numerous times and had failed to deliver proper retribution due to the fact that his enemies always had powerful allies at their side protecting them from Sularen wrath.

But now , the Grand Moff of Bilbringi was here in person leading the charge against the Brotherhood of the Maw at the ruins of her homeworld. This was an opportunity the Grand Overseer could not miss given the fact that Vel'alari would be untouchable if she ever returned to Bilbringi. Until now Sularen had been throwing out empty threats to his enemies unable to deliver the retribution that he wanted to unleash upon his enemies. But now , he had the chance to end that , to make his enemies take him seriously. The Capture or death of Grand Moff Vel'alari would truly show the Galactic Alliance that the Grand Overseer was not playing with them and that he was really a force beyond reckoning.

Thus as the Predator and it's escorts approached the Csillan Belt , Sularen suddenly stood up from his Command Chairand then gave new orders to Captain Fisk. "Fisk. Turn the Predator and our escorts around. We are going to face the Outbound Flight directly instead of hiding in asteroids like cowards" The Captain was a bit taken off guard by this order and simply replied. "Sir?" Sularen was quick to respond as the Grand Overseer became consumed with Hatred and a Vengeful Desire towards the Alliance. "We are going to face the Alliance Directly. I want to be the one who kills or Captures Vel'alari and who destroys or cripples the Outbound Flight Program. I want the Alliance to understand that their decision to remove me from power was a huge mistake , one that they will regret during the entirety of this war and we will start here for real this time"

"You will turn this Ship and it's escorts around and have them position themselves right outside the range of the Outbound Flight and slowly follow them while trying to keep the same distance between the Fleet and the Outbound Flight." Sularen finished. "And what about the Research Station? Don't we have plans to secure it?" Captain Fisk asked. "Yes we do , but Rackham and his Men won't be in charge of that operation anymore i have another person in mind who i know will produce better results." Sularen said. And with that , the Grand Overseer proceeded to leave the Bridge turning to face Captain Fisk to address him once again. "And also Captain Fisk , you're in charge of the Fleet now. You have your orders so i expect you execute them flawlessly." then , Sularen left the Bridge.

Sularen proceeded to head for his private quarters where he quickly put on a specialized Crimson-colored Tie Pilot Uniform he had kept in store for years. It had been a while since he had last flown and Sularen wasn't really an ace pilot but still he was a capable pilot which was more then enough to confront Vel'alari on the field. As he prepared to put on his helmet , the Grand Overseer looked at himself at the mirror reflecting at his past successes and failures and how he ended up serving a faction he once opposed. But all of that did not matter anymore for Sularen only had one thing in mind : Revenge against the Galactic Alliance , starting with the death or capture of the treacherous Grand Moff of Bilbringi. Thus the Grand Overseer put his helmet on and left his private quarters headed towards the Hangars of the Predator and ready to unleash his wrath upon the Alliance.

 

[Jeffery Kizaroe]

Objective 3
Allies: GA
Enemies: BOTM The Mongrel
Vehicles: Y-Wing Heavy Bomber
AUDIO LOG:
<:Joe 4:> Enemy heavy vehicles closing in!
<:Joe 2:> Holy sh*t, there's so many!
<:Joe 5:> This is Joe 5, Eagle-Eye, can you hear us?
<:Eagle-Eye:> Reading you loud and clear, 5.
<:Joe 5:> We need air support! Outer wall of the fuel-depot, two enemy walkers and hundreds and hundreds of enemy ground combatants! We've lost several troops, we need help now!
<:Eagle-Eye:> Affirmative. Sending bombers your way. ETA: 2 Mike.
<:Joe 5:> Roger that. Alright people, listen up! We got 2 minutes till bombers get here, we need to hold for long enough to-
[large explosion]
<:Joe 4:> They blew a big-ass hole in the wall! They're coming through the breach! [full auto blaster-fire]
<Joe 5:> Eagle-Eye, where the HELL are those bombers?! We got a desperate situation here, we won't be able to hold out for much longer!
<:Eagle-Eye:> Look to the skies, 4. Watch the fireworks.
<:Joe 4:> Y-Wings!
<:Joe 2:> Them Brotherhood savages picked the wrong fight!
[sounds of multiple rapid explosions, as the two bombers drop their payload into the center of the Moon Children formation, turning the ravenous army into red mist]
<:Joe 4:> Kill those bastards!
<:Joe 2:> Hell yeah!
[loud cheering over the radio]
[one of the bombers fires off two Proton torpedos at one of the walkers, a direct hit landing, damage unknown, as the starships fly off towards the horizon]
<:Joe 5:> That's why you don't mess with the GA, motherf*ckers! Alright people, enough cheering! We still got a battle to win!
[Chatter continued later...]

 

[Leon Gallo]

Shields: 100%
Stealth Systems: Inactive
No damage
Saber Seven
Tu'teggacha Marlon Sularen
Grand Moff Vel'alari Qellene Tyliame​

Ever since he’d gotten close, he’d felt it. The overwhelming presence of death. So many souls, trapped in the ruins of their. Something the Jedi hadn’t felt since Brentaal. The sheer presence of agony. Even on Korriban, the pressure of the dead hadn’t been this strong. Leon had barely managed to get to his X-wing. Each step, every breath, was like moving through neck-high water. But combat was approaching. The one place Leon felt truly calm.

An X-02 “Saber” X-wing rocketed through the asteroid field. Guided more by the force than his instruments, Saber Seven spiralled through the obstacles. The craft jerked hard, suddenly changing direction to avoid an oncoming meteor. It hugged tight around another, then rocketed through a gap in an approaching wall. The pilot breathed slowly, trying to channel his anxieties into the exhale.

With a volley from its laser cannons, the craft announced its arrival to the battlefield. It banked into a sharp turn, chasing a Divine Eagle. The pilot was forced to drastically slow his craft, so as to not accidentally overtake his prey. His opponent wasn’t about to give up easily, dodging several bursts. However, each hit of the x-wing’s ion cannons stripped more and more of the craft’s shields and slowed it further. Almost...Almost...The Eagle was nearly in a perfect position for a final burst to kill. At the last moment though, the Jedi felt a tug at his mind, and jerked his ship upwards, firing the reverse thrusters as he did so. A burst of plasma streaked through the space the X-wing had just been, and another enemy craft soon followed.

His prey escaping, Leon turned his craft into a spiraling loop. A flick of his wrist activated the ship’s communication systems, to contact allied forces.

{“Saber Seven, here to assist.” }​

 

[Darth Senthral]

​

DARTH SENTHRAL
Occupation: Sith Apprentice
Objective: Confront and most likely kill Xian Cade
Weaponry: Double Bladed Lightsaber, and the Dark Side of the Force

His own crimson blades lit up furiously. As respect to his opponent he had shed his own helmet. Blonde hair and blue eyes was almost deceiving on him, the look of nobility. Though he had never even been close to noble birth, he was born in the dirt. Some lousy backwater planet of no importance. Well… Once he had been born there, he was reborn before his Master another time. These little details always ran through his head, he was always thinking. There was always much to think about. Wake up to reality.

There Darth Senthral was, a distance from his enemy, yet both ready to claw each-others throats out. Only a Force Leap away in reality. “Jedi. I must ask before we begin. What is it that drives you? When you kill someone you carry them on with you, they must see you complete your aspirations, having cut their own short. I must know why you are Jedi, what makes you think it is the right choice? If you have no true dream in your way, you will not even be worth killing.” Which was not to say he would not still have to kill her, but it would carry no weight at all.

He had brought his lightsaber up before himself horizontally, the light still reflecting off his now grounded mask. There was no hesitation in preparation of the kill, to him the questioning was of necessity. He had been Jedi once, in another life so to speak. The Dark Side had not even pulled him in, he simply came to it. The Light Siders revered themselves as practitioners of some ‘True Source’ of the Force. He had seen through that, Freedom could not be gained in the Light. Not the Light he had basked in at least, perhaps things would be different if Jedi were not so bent on being Peace Keepers. Took responsibility for each other, thrown down on strict practitioners, and found a greater truth in the Light. It was a fleeting thought though, this could never be. Things were as they were by the Will of the Force. That is why he stood face to face to a Jedi. Maybe the 3rd he would kill. Akimill Oloverel, and Llahvyn Oloverel. Both Jedi Masters. The first had died to the 2nd, and the 2nd he had killed off in rebirth. When he became Darth Senthral

 

[Garven Piarcos]

Objective II/BYOO - Retrieve from the Research Base
On board LAAT/s Vornskr 4-1, In hyperspace, En Route to the Csilla System
Equipment: COC-10 Carbine, HG-88 "Big Iron" Hand Cannon, Talon Vibrodagger, Covert Ops Clone Trooper Armor
Allies: GA
Enemies: BOTM

The gunship made a slight shudder as it made its way through hyperspace. Holding on to the handle above him, Blackout keyed up a hologram from his wrist-comm. An asteroid with a station built into it was on display for the three other Agents to study for themselves. Looking quickly over the intel again, making sure he himself was ready, the spy signaled for his men to begin their briefing.

"Gentlemen, stand fast and stand ready because I'm only going to run through this once. Agency intelligence has revealed the existence of a research station of unknown origin and purpose in the remains of the destroyed Chiss Homeworld. Intelligence is as about as clear as an Umbara night, but our mission is crystal."

"A station of this size is going to be producing a chunk of data, especially if their research has anything to do with the planetary corpse they've made themselves home in. We're going to be infiltrating the target to gather whatever information we can before it becomes overrun with hostile forces. The holy grail would be the memory core, but command has informed me that we have other assets tasked with finding it."

"Our mission is to infiltrate via an external escape hatch here," he he pointed at a particular point on the hologram, the hatch lighting up to display itself to the rest of the men, followed by a path through the station. " Through there, we will cross through a series of maintenance tunnels to the service deck, where we are to find and retrieve a datacore containing logs regarding their communications. "

Closing the hologram and donning his helmet, Blackout racked the bolt on this carbine, and articulated each of the joints in his armor as the seals hissed shut and his HUD started to glow blue. "Resistance from the station should be light, but the probe in the system did notice activity in the vicinity, possibly including the wardogs of the Brotherhood. You know the drill - avoid prolonged contact, precise shots, If you can avoid them, do. 1-4's with me. 1-2 and 1-3, you'll be moving to the command deck. Search for datacores containing logistics, navigation, ship manifests, anything of the sort. This mission will be under Radio Silence. EMCON Silent unless there's an emergency. Hand Signals and direct speech only. Understood?"

The other three men replied in unison as they racked their own bolts and prepared their next fight, the gunship shuddering as it slipped out of hyperspace and silently and stealthily traveled towards their target.

 

[Orn'om]

Fly me To The Moon
​

Csilla.

He had only ever been to the planet's "surface" a few times in his life, more times than most and less than some. He had never truly thought of the world as home, though he knew his disgraced family's homestead had sat empty and abandoned deep beneath the frozen blue orb, its perfectly modulated climate control systems long since deactivated and the manors and fields turned to ice.

But he knew the 9's family homesteads had been here, along with the Syndicure and their syndics. Of those families tied closely to the military he knew some still survived, having escaped the world before it was blown to bits. The rest were dust, just like the civilians they had kept on that frozen world like display pieces on a prize shelf. It made him sick.

Orn's red eyes watched the bridge as the Steadfast-Class heavy cruiser dropped out of hyperspace. Routes through the Chiss ascendancy didn't require the use of a Navigator and so the child was still asleep, her caregiver not far away. Good. He always hated bringing Navigators into battle, but now with the Maw running amok through their homes they occasionally required their use even within the Ascendancy, if only to make use of their abilities to get to and from skirmishes more quickly and unpredictably. They weren't as nimble through hyperspace as the Maw's ancient Path Engines, but it kept them ahead just enough to keep the Maw from completely overrunning the Ascendancy.

The Vigil eased into realspace, slipping beside several other Galactic Alliance vessels and began disgorging half a squadron of its fighters to enter the fray. The fact that the Syndics, those that remained, were still fighting over this ice ball...This mass grave made him sick. He knew that during the battles the families were sending couriers and smugglers to find and take precious items from the ruins of the wrecked world that once belonged to them. Paintings that might have survied the vacuum, gems, records, anything that could be salvaged. More lives being thrown at this empty shell of a world.

He cursed them.

"Senior Captain Avo," the man snapped to attention. "You'll be in command here. I need...I need to fly." This wasn't uncommon for the unorthodox commodore. He felt more comfortable behind the controls of a Clawcraft, that elite starfighter that had made Chiss pilots legendary. He could see more of the battle from there and, he mused, it kept the worst thoughts of treason from his mind.

It wasn't 10 minutes that he was suited launching from the heavy cruiser's hangar along with 4 other fighters and entering the fray.

 

[Viribus]

R E D _ H O R N E T
CSILLA
XESH

​

Really? Back to this? A mission that they failed, obviously evident with Csilla ruptured in massive chunks from its former self, and they were again sent to this void? This wound that could be felt through the Force, a sore thumb to notice anyone tuned in with their midichlorians. He was actually expecting all of them to be terminated after their failure, but was surprised to be standing up on his two legs. It all made sense; who else would do M's dirty laundry? Alliance agents? Maybe, but they didn't have an active detonator ready to blow if they stepped out of line. If Xesh was compared to dogs, they had a shorter leash than other "normal" operatives within the Alliance's intelligence agency. Short leash and ready to put down.

Put down inhumanely as possible, although it would be quick. Just violent and messy.

But here they were. Despite how desolated Csilla was, there was some hidden values awaiting to be discovered. One man's trash was another man's treasure.

"You complain too much, Mai. I'm sorry you didn't have a sweet mimosa, before being sent to possible death...again."

He always had to answer back to the Fallanassi seer with a witty remark. It was always like that between them, way before being assimilated in a circus full of freaks just like themselves.

"But I'll treat ya to some spice...if we managed," manage and not fail like the last time.

At least he would manage to shut up as the squad of criminals, under the veil of the White Current, moved forward as they entered the cavern of the asteroid that supposedly led to an entry point inside the laboratory.

"Here we are," finding said entry point. "Well, is the tech guy gonna do his fill or?"

ALLIES | GA | XESH | Maijan Paisea | Kirk Korrado | Voyana | Kingsley
ENEMIES | MAWITES | Anyone??? Thoughts???

 

[Tren Chaar]

FLY ME TO THE MOON

V I S C O U N T _ L E A D E R
B-WING HEAVY STARFIGHTER​

---

---

“All wings report in.”

“Viscount Two, standing by.”
“Viscount Three, standing by.”
“Viscount Four…”

One by one the members of Viscount Squadron reported in as they maneuvered their B-Wing heavy starfighters into formation. Years fighting the Sith Empire in the Stygian Campaign had rendered the exercise moot - everyone knew their role and what they needed to do. Automated displays flashing before the Umbaran’s eyes provided millisecond accurate information, showing him that everything was in order before each pilot gave their confirmation. And yet, the standard operating procedures required that they partake in the minutiae of aural check-ins.

No doubt there was something in it for the faceless generals of Starfighter Command.

Tren Chaar - Viscount Leader - adjusted his approach vector toward the remnants of Csilla. The three B-Wings of One Flight came around to the new heading without the need for orders. Two Flight, sitting to their rear, offset to the right on the x-axis and above them on the y-axis, matched the manoeuvre perfectly. The four starfighters of Three Flight, guarding their tail position below and to the left, didn’t miss a beat in amending their course.

While the Stygian Campaign had honed the bomber squadron into a hardened combat unit, it hadn’t prepared them for the horrors before them. While the Sith had been a fierce foe, they paled in comparison to the terrors wrought by the Brotherhood. The destruction of Csilla had rocked the galaxy to its core, and seeing it with his own eyes drive an unusual emotion - relief.

Relief that to this point, he’d faced the Sith and not the Brotherhood.

“Tyrant Leader, Viscount Ten,” came the voice of his XO over the comm net. “Be advised, Viscount Squadron is moved to sector four-besh.” His XO knew the drill from years of flying together - Chaar didn’t take kindly to flying with unfamiliar forces, so she would have to interface with the other squadron. “Comets, Sabres, we have you on our scopes.”

The tactical display lit up with IFF signatures as Brotherhood fighters dove toward Viscount Squadron. “S-foils,” Chaar ordered flatly, tapping a switch to bring bis B-wing’s strike foils into position. “Keep it tight, listen to your flight leaders.” No good luck, no well wishes.

Get on with the mission and keep your wingmate alive. Don't misplace your trust.

Earn some honour while you were at it.

GA: Tyrant Leader: Grand Moff Vel'alari | Comet Two: Qellene Tyliame | Sabre Seven: Leon Gallo | Maesr Elastren | Constantine Oliva | Orn
MAW: Marlon Sularen | Tu'teggacha​

 

[Maesr Elastren]

{Raider-class corvette - Defiant - CIC}

[Fleet Comp.]
2 x Raider-class corvettes - (Defiant. Dauntless)
3 x Quasar-fire-class carriers - (Nova. Celestial. Nebula)
1 x Carrack-class light cruiser - Anti-Starfighter Config. - (Chairman's Voice)
]

[Fly Me To The Moon]​

The first salvos of plasma left the Defiant's port turrets, six green-hued bolts to be counted at first, and soon supplemented by the next salvo, and the next.

The corvette's engines led the vessel in a sharp swerve to port, immediately drawing a wall between an enemy squadron and the civilian fleet, and quickly enveloping them in a wide field of flame.

From the viewports, Maesr watched the fighters veer from their original courses, and it was only then that he caught the shape of their fleeing spaceframes. The elongated top-halves of a double pronged fork. They weren't designs he had been briefed on prior to the expedition-- evidently the Brotherhood had kept them in safety until the right time came to make a debut.

The Maw was overconfident. And that would be its downfall.

But at what cost would retribution be bought at?

"Damage reports?"

"Shields still holding at 99.5%. A redundant relay overloaded, but damage control is handling that."

"Good..." The commodore pivoted around his ground right foot, and set a steady hand on the tactical plot's edge, "What's Group 1's E.T.A?"

"They'll be meeting Moff Vel'alari in half a minute now," Anxious fingers began to beat at the keypads of a nearby console, "Cancel that-- they've been intercepted. Picking up bomblet discharges between the asteroids..."

"Seven transponders down sir...rising."

Professionality temporarily thrown to the wind, Maesr's hands clamped down on the table, a brief and almost unnoticeable gesture that nonetheless managed to channel the rest of his fury away from his mind. Deep breaths followed, then a more-or-less collected analysis of the situation at hand.

The combat within the asteroid fields would prove difficult to support with missiles, not with such close-quarters conditions that would likely place their own fighters in further danger. Precisely-aimed, and far less explosive munitions would be key, at least, for as long as the Brotherhood's capital ships stayed out of range.

That would be an issue for another moment.

"Take Chairman's Voice and Dauntless further toward the field. Notify the Moff to begin a retreat, we'll lead as many fighters as we can into our flak fields," Again, his gaze lowered to the shifting images present on the primary display, watching the markers of the frigate and escorting corvette closing in on the largest gatherings of both friendly, and what the IFF systems recognized merely as "unknown" contacts.

In response, contacts began to emerge behind the Outbound Flight's vanguard, starfighters, capital ships and all else satisfying their brief, automated IFF interrogations; soon turning green on the plots, and updating with their configurations.

Hopefully, they would make all the difference.

 

[Kingsley]

CODENAME: STARBIRD
TASK FORCE XESH SUPERCOMMANDO
Maijan Paisea Viribus

​

When Maijan hushed them Kingsley couldn't stop himself from breaking wind. It escaped like a nervous squeak and he at least had the decency to feel a little embarrassed.

"Rrrawk! Sorry."

He carried a scattergun in both talons. Tucked under the avian's belt there was a nasty looking jawa blaster. Despite their mission's low profile nature Kingsley still wore his trademark frilly ascot and some fine Core World silks. He barely understood what was happening but they'd made it this far so perhaps there was something to be said for statistical anomalies like so called 'smuggler's luck'.

"I'm more like a jack of all trades," the bird told Viribus, "But if you insist!"

Before anyone could stop him, Kingsley activated a thermal detonator and slapped it against the mysterious research station's entry point. While the others backed up or dove aside he squawked in pain and surprise when the explosive device went off in his face scorching the smuggler's beak and setting feathers alight. When the smoke cleared their way inside was damaged but still intact.

Kingsley kicked the door with a squawk of frustration and knocked it over underestimating his own wookiee like strength. It slammed down onto deck plating with a resounding crash!

"You're welcome!" he beamed at the others as if this had been his plan all along, entirely failing to control the volume of his voice.

 

[Dakrul]

Objective: Remnants of a Dead World
Location: Mawite vessel near the Research Station
Allies: The Maw
Enemies: Stiketeam Xesh - Kingsley Viribus Maijan Paisea
Equipment: Staff of Dakrul, Cursed Gen'Dai Flesh Armour, Dread Blade

"Noooo wait, wait dont let it open the ..."

The metal doors of the decompression chamber slid apart. The crew of the transport shuttle abruptly plunged into chaos as the cold thrashing vacuum of space invaded the vessel. The panic-induced screams faded as the air was drawn out of their lungs, blood vessels erupted and the pungent red liquid beneath came crawling out of their orifices.

The pilots seated in the still pressurized cockpit reacted quickly attempting to manually override the mechanical gateway between them and the void. Still stunned by what had just occurred they began stabilizing the oxygen levels once the locks were sealed. The scouting party now needed to regroup with the greater fleet away from this lonesome astroid drifting in the carcass of a planet.

Ohh Avatar of death, how pure your form, how equal your judgment

Dakrul the Faceless Hunger was adrift in the endless bounds of space. It hadn't been enough just to just be there, the metal walls of the transporter had confined him, a layer between himself and the work of the avatars. He had to, needed to indulge in it, bathe in its glory, cleanse himself in its sincerity. He couldn't even fathom quite how many souls had passed the thresholds here. This was a sanctum to the avatars, a shrine dedicated to their greatness. No one could deny the deed that had been done. It was the work of gods and prophecies.

A visage veiled in iron starred out into the darkness. And the darkness starred back. The giant undead was deep in prayer when his form of rotten flesh and rusted metal impacted the floating mountain which was his destination. He hadn't considered how fast he was moving. For a while, he just remained motionless pinned against the rocks. His world was one of twisted planes, one of life, one of death, and this site was perceived entirely differently by the zealot. An uncountable number of echoes, millions of millions of cries that retold tragic stories of the destruction of Csilla. The remnants of an entire people.

He had to forcefully draw his gaze from the scene before him. He had been tasked, he was to serve, to play his small part in the grand spiel that would usher in the apocalypse. Dakrul was not one to take a task such as this lightly. Like his brothers and sisters proving themselves to the Avatar of War he needed to secure the favor of Rebirth. The heathen priests had briefed him, telepathically pushed information into his mind, made him see his path, gave him duty and direction. He was to exterminate and destroy.

Pink fleshly worm-like tendrils produced themselves from under the towering insectoids' skin, he began to crawl. Cha'ta'ri were naturally capable of surviving in the cold void of space. His undead state only further empowered this phenomenon. With no air in his lungs, and no blood pumping through his veins the cursed spirit harboring inside the undead husk simply moved him along into whatever direction it desired.
A horrifying display as the wretched rotten creature throbbed along in the darkness. He was foretold to enter through a shaft that was connected to a cooling loop for some of the quarters below.

A wall of flesh burst into the apparatus, small threads emitted from under his chitin shell began tearing apart the machinery. It didn't resist long and bit by bit he tore himself an entryway into the facilities below.

Gravity was dueling it out with the automatic procedure protocols that attempted to seize control over the now damaged interiors. Shafts were locked down and decompression initialized, gravity was restored and the red lights that had flashed alarmingly reverted to silence. The colossal hulking undead vanished into the shadows, blended with the darkness, and strode deeper into the heart of the complex.

 

[Maestus]

Maestus Fury
Dragon Shield Talisman
Shield V1.0

OBJECTIVE 3

ALLIES: BotM
ENEMIES: Everyone Else
ENGAGING: Open

​

She descended to the surface of Kinoss, aboard her personal shuttle. And prayed it was not another ice ball. She was exhausted by all the ice worlds they've conquered lately. In her mind, everywhere they went, mass destruction lay in their wake. That was a victory.

With her was the full compliment of her Chosen. 40 elite soldiers. Honed and trained to excellence. She would tolerate nothing less. Many had died under her lash for failing to meet expectations.

2 stodd 3 paces behind her, at the edge of the cockpit. Clad in leather knee pants with durasteel plates over their thighs, Beskar pauldrons on their left shoulders. Each was equipped with a razer sharp Beskar Pike. This was the dress for all of her Chosen.

As the planets surface grew in her vision, her mind went back to the last time she was in Chiss space. And the man who got away, Aerarii Tithe . Maestus hoped to see him here once more. And take him into her custody. She had no idea who he was, only that he was important. When entire squadrons are defending you, you're pretty important.

Her pilot was quite skilled. He landed just inside of the shuttles of The Mongrel and his Scar Hounds. In the distance, she could see their advance towards the walls of the fuel depots. Ahh, and the Moon Children as well. Horde upon horde, the Moon Children were relentless. They knew only war and death. And they would have both this day.

The ramp lowered. The two chosen with Maestus did an about face on their heels and marched down, preceeding her. Maestus strode down, confidently, with her chin high and her eyes sharp. She was always scanning her surroundings. She craved knowledge, and she gained it by being observant.

Behind her came the remaining 38 Chosen. Including the two who stepped off first, they formed up. 8 units of 5. When they were in formation, Maestus turned and face them. She spoke, not raising her voice above a conversational tone. These 40 had been selected for being supreme specimens. That included the basic 5 senses.

Today, we finish what we began with the annihilation of Csilla. There shall be no Chiss Ascendancy here. When you encounter the enemy, show them no mercy. No matter what.

In unison, the 40 slammed the butt of their pikes into the ground, creating a deafening din. No verbal orders were given from Maestus. The 8 units fanned out, marching and then running in step with each other, behind the Moon Children. No sense for her Chosen to leap and climb to their deaths. That -was- the Moon Children's purpose. Cannon fodder.

Maestus turned and began to stride towards the fuel depot. Her eyes and ears vigilant for opposition.

​

​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Kinoss, CEDF Fuel Depot
Allies: Kyrel Ren | Darth Tennacus | Darth Senthral | Glossa | Maestus
Foes: Xian Cade | Jeffery Kizaroe

At the walls of the depot, Alliance forces were using every available resource to hold back the oncoming tide. As the Spider Walkers moved forward, using their MegaCaliber cannons to blow a huge breach in the perimeter, Moon Children began to flood the gap. The Corellian Joes - those who survived the battle, anyway - would now be added to the ranks of those who could tell stories of the insane clones' fury firsthand... usually on therapists' couches or while heavily drunk in Core Worlds bars, drinking to forget something so horrible it could not be forgotten. A nightmare 'till their dying day.

The two minutes until the Y-Wings arrived felt like hours. The savage half-people knew nothing but rage, their brains too underdeveloped to do anything but scream and drool and rip into whoever was in front of them. Against a line of blasters, that ought not to matter, but there were so many, scrambling over the corpses at the front of the line to keep coming. And when they did reach an Alliance trooper, the results weren't pretty. They ripped out throats with their cracked and jagged teeth. They tore soldiers literally limb from limb, pulling them back and forth until their bodies broke apart.

But the breach the walkers had opened, though substantial, was still a chokepoint, and only so many Moon Children could get through at a time. That was the only thing that saved the Joes from being overrun during that two-minute wait... and the wait was worth it. The Y-Wings dropped their payloads, and suddenly the base of the depot walls was a charnel house, a field of blood and guts and randomly strewn limbs, as if a butcher's speeder truck had collided with a shipment bound for a mannequin factory. A proton torpedo streaked out, and one of the walkers stumbled, a leg blown clean off.

No more walker mode for that one. Instead it converted back to cruiser mode, tucking its remaining legs beneath it and kicking off with its repulsorlift engines. Any further Alliance air support would have to deal with its many laser cannons, now watching the skies in case the Y-Wings made another pass. Below it, this batch of Moon Children was finished, with the Corellian Joes easily mopping up the scattered survivors... but that was what Moon Children were for. Let them die in droves. The breach was open now, and that meant that phase two of the Mawite plan could begin.

Whooping and hollering, several fierce Mawite Deathgangs kicked their swoop bikes into high gear, revving fuel-boosted engines. With power lances and grenade launchers, they were the perfect choice to lead the subsequent charge. They tore down the hill beside the depot, making for the breach. Frag grenades flew far in front of them, to force the Joes holding the breach into cover - or deliver them into the grave as shrapnel flew. Power lances and blaster pistols were aimed at those who stood their ground and survived. The gangers intended to push through any defensive line.

Behind them came the walker and a horde of Aspirants...

Fighting at the depot gates, The Mongrel looked around long enough to recognize that Maestus and her Chosen had come. Beneath his mask, the warlord smiled. Every Mawite tribe was different; the Bloodsworn boasted teeming marauders and dark mystics, while his own Scar Hounds relied on scavenged technology and warbeasts. But the Chosen were a small selection of truly elite Brotherhood warriors, swinging the tide of battle wherever they went, and Maestus was the most elite of all. Soon she would carve a path of destruction and slaughter through the depot.

He had no doubt that the united tribes would win.

 

[Vel'alari]

Objective: 1 - Fly Me to The Moon
Post: 3
Allies: GA
Enemies: BOTM

​

"Tyrant Squadron, withdraw and commence defensive manuvers to protect our carriers. They've brought more vessels than anticipated. Go now, I'll buy you some time.", she said, breaking off to engage some of the persuing Maw fighters to give the others a chance to withdraw. She weaved through the chaos with calmness and precision, her TIE Defender unleashing volleys of laser and ion fire, cutting through their numbers like a knife carving through cake.

A pair of enemy fighters quickly moved in on a persuit trajectory behind Vel'alari, attempting to strike her from behind. She quickly cut her engines, letting the duo speed past her before mowing them with a pair of torpedoes. She then reignited her engines, speeding back towards her defensive line. "Enroute back to our lines. Maesr, commence flak bombardment when I'm clear."

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Csilla System, Edge of the Csillan Belt
Allies: Marlon Sularen
Foes: Grand Moff Vel'alari | Qellene Tyliame | Maesr Elastren | Constantine Oliva | Leon Gallo | Orn | Tren Chaar

"Alliance ships are moving around the edge of the Csillan Belt," one of the sensors officers reported. Unwelcome news indeed; Tu'teggacha had no desire to see his Star Destroyers drawn into a battle. His Praetorian-class, the Forge of Laments, had space for ten starfighter squadrons, six of them currently deployed; the Knyghts had come from the three Crucifix I-class Star Destroyers accompanying him: the Doom of Rentor, the Harrowing Trial, and the Cagemaker. But each of them could carry only a single squadron, the Divine Eagles they had already launched into the asteroid field.

If they were engaged, they would have limited fighter cover. Not good.

"The Alliance is eager for vengeance," the Taskmaster mused, "though their petty thrashing will not bring this planet back... nor save the Ascendancy from our raids." Even now, the heavy attack on Kinoss would ensure that the western border of Chiss Space did not become any meaningful barrier to Mawite attacks. The Brotherhood would continue to despoil the Ascendancy at will, seizing slaves and raw materials for their war effort. If Outbound Flight wanted to try to prop up the struggling government, creating their bastion of stability in the Unknown Regions, they would find the Maw eager to push back.

"Raise shields, and prepare to engage. If they attack, we will crush them."

Within the Csillan Belt, chaos reigned. Elite Knyghts and savage marauders clashed with A-Wings, X-Wings, and TIE fighters side by side, all swerving to avoid the drifting asteroids. Each bomblet explosion, missile burst, and laser cannon attack set the drifting chunks of Csilla on new courses, creating a constantly-shifting labyrinth of stellar debris in which the slightest maneuvering failure would mean a fatal crash. Only well-honed reflexes and strong piloting skills would see the dueling fighters through... which was why Tu'teggacha was surprised to learn that Sularen had decided to enter the fray personally.

No matter. If he wanted to risk his life in such a deadly game, let him; Tu'teggacha had minions for that. It appeared that the Grand Overseer was also moving his fleet up to more directly engage the Alliance ships. Again, the Ebruchi made no move to do the same. He had lost many Star Destroyers at Korriban, enough to hamper the war effort, and he had no intention of risking more capital ships in a futile contest over a dead world. If the Alliance was willing to spend ships to secure the blasted ruins of the former Chiss capital, so bet it; he'd bloody them along the way, then withdraw before his losses got too high.

He needed to conserve ships for the great push toward the Core Worlds.

Perhaps the Alliance was also coming to the decision that it was not worth the commitment, for they had begun to withdraw, heading back toward their carriers... and the accompanying point defense. "Do not pursue," Tu'teggacha ordered his fighter squadrons. "We will force them to either advance through the asteroid belt or go around it to reach us." With his capital ships still at a distance, his fighters would only get massacred if they charged the enemy carriers unsupported... as a few overeager marauder pilots did, meeting their ends in a hail of Alliance flack. Better to make the Alliance to come to the Maw.

There was one target, though, that was too good to pass up: Tren Chaar 's oncoming B-Wings. These were powerful craft, having done significant damage to Mawite forces during the raid on Oyokal. They had to be stopped before they could reach any capital ships and unleash their deadly heavy weapons upon the star destroyers. "Knyghts of Kasparov, break off and intercept those B-Wings." Obediently, one of the battered but still deadly Divine Eagle squadrons broke off from the craft hiding in the asteroid belt and moved into attack position, ready to rake the enemy with their beam cannons.

The enemy ace that Tu'teggacha had earlier identified, Grand Moff Vel'alari, tried to break off pursuit by two Divine Eagles by cutting her engines and letting the craft speed by. It was a move that any experienced pilot had seen a thousand times, and much less effective in space than in an atmosphere - after all, there was no inertia in space, so a fighter that cut its engines kept moving in a straight line at the exact same speed as before. The Divine Eagles streaked casually past her all the same, firing the whole way, hoping to wound her as she retreated. The torpedoes stung, but against Force-sensitive pilots and heavy armor...

Skilled Alliance pilots might be able to mow down Thornwaves in droves, but they would have to learn that Divine Eagles were elites, the best of what the Maw had to offer. They were not about to be effortlessly blown up like a bunch of mooks. The pair of damaged but functional fighters broke off their pursuit, letting the Grand Moff retreat as the flak defenses kicked in. They and their fellows would continue to lurk within the belt, awaiting the next Alliance push...

 

[TK-818]

The Night Vulture screamed as it pierced the veil, parting through the shield gate from the hangar of the Forge of Laments into the battle ridden abyss. Soaring at supersonic speeds through the cold vacuum, the Knight of Ren lurched forward, giving the accelerator everything he had. His half-broken vocabulator echoed into the comms, his voice beckoning to Tu'teggacha in response to his commands, “I have their six.”

The Divine-Eagles were vessels made for the crucible of combat, forged in the heart of the War Avatar’s domain, his blessing was upon them. The Shadow was with them. Nothing else mattered, the Alliance was doomed. The Ren ship followed in line behind the pack, moving into formation to cover and follow the Knyghts of Kasparov, the elite unit that had left the hidden wreckage where they laid in wait for this moment.

The Ren gripped the controls tightly, his free hand activating cloaking features in anticipation for the battle to come with Tren Chaar and his B-Wings.