Invasion In The Undertow // NIO Invasion of TSE Held Jaemus and Dubrillion

[Agrippa]

GLADIUS COMPANY, 501ST LEGION
COMBINED JOINT TASK FORCE - OPERATION STORM SURGE
TARGET ISLAND HOTH
NIO //: Irveric Tavlar | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Del Lovruc | Ravraa Vyshraal

Spoiler: Target Beach HOTH | NIO

Irveric Tavlar
Ravraa Vyshraal
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Lucien Dooku
Salvor Thul
Spencer Varanin
Aerith Castiella
Lunafreya Solidor
Ra Vizsla
Strain
Warchief Waddles
Junda
Grigory Tallis
Zsuzsa
Vilaz Munin
Warchief Waddles

TSE //: Ruek Tast | Lark | Tykar Valkroin | Sith Empire | OPEN

​

<<”Anyone else like long walks on the beach? Agrippa you want some company?”>>

Nima?!

Why was I surprised? Of course she was here. I looked up and saw her hailing

<<"Keep your god damn blonde head down, Nima.">> I managed to call out in the comms through gritted teeth. It was a whole different ballgame when he actually saw her on the genocidal beach head they were fighting for their lives more than anything else.

Heavy blaster fire ripped the air above my head as I hurried down the trench towards the Hellhound Captain. Shells rattled and shook the sandy beach, stormtroopers exchanged fire, died and new expendables took their place on the trench. My armor's A/C unit could not keep up with heat, I sweated like a pig in heat. Salty drops blurring my vision but I could still see her as I moved through the fire.

I jumped over an obstacle into the trench Nima was and nearly swallowed my tongue. A shot had found its way into my ribs. Shit. I ground my teeth tackling the pain, panted but tried to stand tall in front of her. A man's showmanship.

My sergeants roared through the comms but I cut off the lines and focused on Nima.

<<"Where the hell are your troopers?! Coming in late to snatch the glory on top of our bodies, huh?">> there was a shit-eating grin on my face beneath the helmet. Confirmations of fire support hitting its designated targets lit up on my HUD screen and immediately after the Imperator's order came through.

It was time for the push.

I looked up at the vanguard storming the plateau, looked back at Nima - there wasn't time yet to fall fool to that.

Duty calls.

Exasperated from all the losses we had accumulated bringing the war to the Sith's doorstep, exhausted from the endless combat against the Sith tyranny, worn out from seeing the bodies of fathers and sons stacked upon each other paying the ultimate price for something as abstract as an idea, I sighed; a long, tired gaze at the storming and dying stormtroopers of the New Imperial Order and I knew what I had to do. All the principles of combat, all the strategies, the briefs, all those complicated words they had brainwashed into us became void. No more would I steel my nerves, no more would I stamp out the flames of emotion, no more would I be dictated by the coolness of the mind and the rational.

This was no longer a war of minds.

This was a war of hearts.

I let the blaze consume my heart.

THE LION FROM THE NORTH

"Gladius Actual to all units...

I gave one final glance at Nima then unsheathed the vibrosword and pointed it at the plateau.

FIX BAYONETS!!

OOC//

PAGE CLAIMED BY THE NEW IMPERIAL ORDER

 

[Bayaz]

/ / Myto Sector - Dubrillion
/ / Operation Storm Surge - BYSS
/ / Galactic Alliance Marines - 222nd Nova Corps
/ / Twilight Company
/ / Allies: Republic Engineering Dorian Sicarrio Mavia
/ / Enemies: Ingrid L'lerim

Dubrillion was a nice world, had been once at least. Growing up his family wasn't rich, but the one time they went on a family vacation before the wars started they visited a resort on Corellia that claimed to be trying to imitate Dubrillion's beaches. He'd always wondered why Dubrillion when there were so many other worlds to choose from. It seemed so specific. Now as his gunship flew over the reflective waters of Beachhead Byss he began to have a little appreciation for that once upon a time resort trip. As they flew closer to the once calm, dark, reflective waters of Dubrillion it became punctuated with the reflection of a multitude of blaster and plasma bolts. The gunship rumbled in response, its shields soaking up a hit or two. Snapped back into the reality of his situation Lieutenant Rail looked around at the two squads. Dagger and Meteor had taken some hard hits on Muunilinst in some of the occupational skirmishes but with the support of Task Force Bright Arrow, the 222nd was back to full fighting strength, though that meant there were plenty of new faces and new callsigns.

Brigadier General Mordred B'Haran and the rest of the coalition's forces had punched through the Sith armada and now a fast strike against the planet was underway. New Imperials stormed one strategic location while the forces of the Jedi and the Galactic Alliance stormed another. At the front of that charge of Beachhead Byss were the New Imperial's Knights, the Jedi Order, and the 222nd Nova Corps. Rail had heard there was at least one squad of Commandos joining the fight as well, though he wondered if one squad would be enough. The Sith's spirit was waning after the defeat at Muunilinst. You could feel it on the wind.

The ship-wide com clicked once and the pilot's voice filled the troop compartment. Simultaneously the ready lights activated, ending the darkness of night inside the shuttle and replacing it with an ominous red glow.

"Too hot to land," he said as the shuttle rocked from another blow. "Command says airborne units are jumping. Try not to get crushed by the tanks!" The doors swung open. On a cool clear night over the waters of Southern Dubrillion Rail leaped along with the rest of their squad. They did it like it was second nature. Flicking the tongue toggle in his helmet for his jump jets, the small detachable back flared to life, slowing his crash into the icy cold waters of the watery world. Even though his sealed suit he felt the biting chill. They were close to the shore now as was evident by the amount of silt clouding his vision. His enhanced audio sensors picked up small splashes They were likely the two squads he'd jumped with landing. The jets quickly shifted modes for aquatic movement, giving him a burst of speed, allowing him to break the surface of the black waters. An explosion lit up his world and in the corner of his HUD he saw that the gunship he'd flown in on had been that fireball. He cursed this war.

When he came up he could see in the distance the rest of the 222nd and the Imperial Knights on the beach fighting the Sith Legion. Their blaster bolts flew every which way, creating a dazzling display several dozen meters away. The proximity alarm in his helmet started blaring with arrows indicating which way to fly to avoid getting crushed. He flung himself to the left just in time, but suddenly found himself under a great wave as an Alliance Turbo Tank landed in the water, its massive wheels touching and gripping the ocean floor. Its lights flooded the area ahead, revealing bodies and hunks of gunship that didn't make it because of the AA guns. A side door opened on the Turbo Tank as it began moving, a 222nd Marine waved.

"Need a lift?" He could hear the smile in his voice, despite the carnage around him.

"Always," replied Rail. Tapping his helmet as he hovered over the rail to the door he switched to squad com for the two squads he flew in with. They'd lost one man but the rest would be able to make their way onto or into the Turbo Tank. He was dripping salt water all over the deck, but the warmth of the inside was welcoming.

​

It only took a few moments for the Turbo Tank to make it to the beach, its rockets flaring into the trees and entrenched enemy emplacements. Dagger and Meteor Squads rocketed from the sides of the Turbo Tank, laying fire into unsuspecting Sith Legionnaires, caught off guard by the falling sky soldiers. He could see on his command HUD that the airborne unit known as Twilight Company was shredding it up out there on the field. In the distance, he could see where the Imperial Knights were cutting a bloody swath through the Sith Forces. It seemed as if they were just throwing cannon fodder down to die. Despite the losses this fight...It felt like he was riding a tidal wave, shooting fish in a barrel. He flew over with his squad to the Knights and landed beside them, in the thick of battle, firing their particle blaster carbines. Well, except for Masters, his squad's heavy who was humping the big Reaper this fight.

 

[Lark]

​

Allies: TSE and whoever's nearby
Enemies: NIO and Lunafreya Solidor as well as anyone nearby
Objective: Preserve the Empire and a future for his siblings

Lark's mind was a machine, he slaughtered and maimed as though the whole battle was a rehearsed ballet. Dancing from one soldier to another, NIO troops were cut down with startling speed. It mattered not how bloodstained the beaches were tonight. So long as when the sun rose the next morning, or even the one after that, that the NIO no longer threatened these beautiful shores. Lark would do anything to spend a quiet afternoon here with his dear brother and sister, once the three were reunited. Maybe we can build a raft, a young voice inside him said. That voice was not in control right now, but Lark had come to accept that he couldn't get rid of the child inside of him so easily. Their willpower was equally strong.

Yes. I'd like that.

At least one thing they agreed on.

But so long as a single thread of discontent remained, his family would never know true piece. So he would gut and tear his way through the NIO until their corpses were strewn across the stars. He'd shed enough of their blood to fill a nebula if that was what it took. Piano keys and the strings of violins formed a wondrous song in his mind, each note sounding out as a body fell into the tides. He remembered the song from somewhere, but he couldn't place where. It was nice. A truly peaceful melody.

"The sharks will feast well on the New Imperial Order tonight!" Lark shouted, encouraging nearby Sith troops. If he was the only person standing at the end of the battle, silent as the waves continued to lap as they always would, with thousands of corpses from both sides surrounding him, he wouldn't mind. But it would be easier if he wasn't the only one prepared to do anything.

He noticed a string of fire in the vicinity, and a woman with a scythe following close behind. She was strong, she trampled over the Sith as though they were pieces of litter drunk beach-goers left behind. Lark took a soft breath, and the orchestra within him grew silent for but a moment. The woman gave a vain speech, one that he had heard time and time again. The arrogance of the NIO undeniably matched the Empire, that much was certain. Lark channeled a dark, horrendous energy around his enchanted sword, letting it build into a tempest of dreadful miasmic forces.

With a swing of the blade, Lark sent the wave of deadly energy towards the woman, and immediately after the silence a crescendo rang out as body after body dropped. NIO soldiers that stood between the two fell dead in droves, if their helmets were removed one would quickly see that their eyes had turned into a bloodshot red.

I cannot rest until this rot is removed from the galaxy.

They want to build a raft...

 

[Marlon Sularen]

Location | Borosk
Objective | Battle of the Shipwrecks
Focus | Thaelius | Hiram Voss

Spoiler: Wraith Squadron

• Agitator-Class Super Heavy Battlecarrier [x1] |
• Phaetra-Class Fleet Carrier [x1]
• Praefect-Class Star Destroyer [x1]
• Endurance-II Class Pocket Carrier [x2]
• Inceptus-Class Assault Ship [x2]
• Intercessor-Class Star Destroyer [x2]
• Starfighter Compliment
  • Tie Drones [40 Squadrons | 960 Total]
  • Tie Outlanders [30 Squadrons | 480 Total]
  • Tie Slashers [20 Squadrons | 240 Total]
  • Tie Vanguards [10 Squadrons | 80 Total]
• Support Craft Compliment
  • Tie Bruisers [19 Squadrons | 152 Total]
  • Tie Maulers [13 Squadrons | 104 Total]

As Thaelius Ordo's Fleet arrived at the Dubrillion ,Wraith Squadron was busy finishing off a small trio of Marr-IIs whom they had engaged prior to Ordo's arrival. These 3 Ships cut off from the rest of the Sith-Imperial Forces were subject to heavy bombardment from the main vessels of Wraith Squadron as they unleashed turbolaser fire and missiles upon the vessels while the Tie Bruisers and Tie Maulers finished them off with Concussion and Electro-Proton Bombs.

By the time Thaelius Ordo had arrived , 1 Marr-II had been destroyed , a second one disabled and soon facing destruction and the third with no shields but alot of hull breaches. As the Predator fired it's Proton Beam Cannon to destroy the Second Marr-II , Commodore Marlon Sularen was informed of Thaelius Ordo's presence at the Battle. "Sir , we've spotted Thaelius Ordo's Flagship in the system. Orders?" the Captain of the Predator asked. "Let's finish off these Sith-Imperial Star Destroyers first" Marlon said as the Second Marr-II erupted in a wave of consecutive explosions. "Then we'll lure Thaelius into a trap." Marlon said.

Being a fan of an Ancient Imperial Warlord known simply as Zsinj , Marlon had studied his history and discovered a tactic utilized by the warlord in which called for retreating into asteroids when facing superior enemy fighters and then firing the main batteries of his capital ship into those asteroids creating a debris field hard to navigate. Here in the Debris Zone , Marlon intended to do the same but this time by yeeting the debris of destroyed Sith-Imperial and New Imperial Vessels at Ordo's Fleet once they approached him.

The New Imperial Commodore estimated that the shields would take considerable damage allowing Wraith Squadron to deliver punishment upon the Fleet of Thaelius Ordo. If everything went well then atleast he could deal a devastating blow. But first he needed to contact Captain Voss who was apparently already engaged with Marlon's Nemesis. Soon enough , Marlon sent a message to his Comrade. "Captain Voss , this is Commodore Marlon Sularen. I understand you are currently engaged with Thaelius Ordo's Fleet. I need you to retreat to my position along with whatever forces are with you. There i have a trap set up for Ordo. If Ordo falls for it this will be a short confrontation." then he ended the message.

Hopefully this would be the short confrontation Marlon expected. Already he had fought 3 Battles with Thaelius Ordo losing 2 Battles against him and another who ending indesicvely. It was unusual for Marlon to lose in Naval Battles though Marlon only attributed that to Ordo's larger arsenal of vessels that were at his disposal. Nevertheless Marlon wanted to change all of that. Starting with here on Dubrillion where the New Imperial Commodore hoped he could atleast secure a victory against Thaelius Ordo once and for all.

Spoiler: Fleet Actions

• Wraith Squadron destroys 2 Marr-II Star Destroyer and cripples another as Thaelius Ordo arrives to Dubrillion
• Marlon Sularen contacts Captain Hiram Voss and orders him to retreat to his position to lure Ordo into a trap.
• The Tractor Beams of every Ship within Wraith Squadron are activated ready to yeet alot of debris into Ordo's Fleet if they arrive.

 

[Mavia]

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POST #2

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//Objective 2:// Operation Storm Surge
//Tactical Target:// Beach Byss
//Accompaniment:// Tenth Knights Company “Green Devil”, Knights Battlegroup II "Victrix", Imperial Force Corps Knights
//NIO Allies:// [RP Partner]: Dorian Sicarrio [Beach Byss] NIO Byss Forces
//SIth Enemies:// [RP Coordinated]: Ingrid L'lerim ; Sith-Imperial Army [OPEN Tag in OOC Thread]
//Gear://LINK

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Mavia’s eyes snapped open to the dark shadows of the back of her hands. She had raised them to summon the Force to encase her and guard her face when the transport was engulfed. She couldn’t feel the heat of the on-rushing fireball that destroyed the craft, nor did she feel the rush of wind and pressure on her body from being spat out of the wreckage. All she felt was the chill creep of the sea. She was sinking. Slowly descending into the ocean abyss of the Dubrillion sea, trailing a torrent of bubbles and shrapnel.​

The Mirialan turned over and lowered her hands. The Force had saved her once, now she had to manipulate it to save her again. Contorting it from providing an invisible armor to her body she inhaled the Force and commanded it to swarm her lungs, throat, and mouth. The Force gripped air in her lungs and held it tight, supernaturally extending its slow decomposition into carbon dioxide, allowing her a longer period of holding her breath. In those precious minutes, Mavia reached into the combat vest that was festooned to her armored breastplate and retrieved a rebreather to mount on her lips.​

With fresh oxygen flowing the Force released its grip and fled to Mavia’s fingertips and legs. Mavia unleashed it when she swam forward, sending out a jet of telekinetic propulsion that rocketed her like a torpedo through the water. All around the water graves of wreckage, troopers, and wayward blaster rounds zipped and drifted in eerie suspension in the water. Mavia would recharge her bursts by swimming up to a piece of debris planting her feet and then launching herself again. Every time she came closer to the beach, every time the Dubrillion waters became more and more clogged with the dead, the destroyed, and the piercing blaster fire of the Sith defenses, ricocheting through the waves.​

The waters began to become shallow and the submerge dune bed of the beach began to rise. Mavia swam towards. Resting herself at the bottom, she crawled up the beach. Blaster rounds were becoming more thick and rapid. Some of which she had to shunt aside with a wave of her hand. Reaching the surface she poked the top of her head above the waves. She swam next to a floating body and using a cover peered into the battlefield. Before her was a NIO Assault Walker, taking burdened steps, unloading salvos of heavy laser fire while being battered by Sith retaliation. Behind its legs NIO troopers were using its armored limbs as cover, returning fire to a Sith bunker that had a repeating blaster team hidden inside.​

Scanning the rest of the beach, Mavia tried to find her unit. She tried to find Dorian. She saw the whites of the NIO troopers and the blacks of the Death Troopers. She could not find the ashen plates of her Knights. Mavia raised the rest of her head out of the water, she removed the rebreather, and resolved that she would have to wade through the carnage to find him. Drawing the Force to her person Mavia’s mind hardened into a cold precision. Warfare now solely occupied her mind. Tactical, calculating, and merciless. The High Knight Marshal had trained her Force users to be soldiers first. No ornamental codes should ever impede carrying out a mission and Mavia took that lesson as her creed. She would first have to deal with the bunker.​

Searching for a solution, Mavia fixed her eyes on a piece of hull lodged into the sands. She smirked. Sprinting out of the water Mavia ran towards it. Lunging past blaster fire she rolled into the debris and slammed her back against it taking cover. Shifting around to face the debris she pressed her palms against it. Mavia strained her mind and moved the Force from her to the debris. She had spent so much already, using the bubble to protect Dorian and her men and then speeding through the waves. Her body had begun to scream. Too much was being drained so quickly. But, she had no choice. Mavia kept the Force moving. It was infused into the debris, making it resonate with a monumental amount of energy. When it was too much, Mavia released it, converting the energy into a Force blast.​

The hull catapulted forward and slammed into the bunker. The impact was so terrible the hull plate bent from the crash and molded itself into a seal that covered the bunker’s opening gun port. Mavia sighed heavily, trying to regulate her breathing to heal herself. She spun her head about and ripped her lightsaber from the shoulder pouch it was housed in. The white blade, all Force Knights carried, crackled as it beamed to life. Mavia pointed to the armored trench the bunker had been defending and screamed at the troopers behind the assault walker.​

“Advance!” she howled, “Take that line!” ​

The troopers stood still for a moment, they hadn’t even noticed that a Force Knight was near their position. Their momentary dumbfoundedness however was cast aside when they saw the Knight rise up and charge into the trenches, propelled by supernatural speed that rendered her a sliver blur. The trooper rushed to her side, disgorging blaster fire, while the assault walker used its Super-Heavy Mass-Driver Cannon to blow an armor piercing round into the bunker to finish it off. As the bunker exploded into a ball of fire, concrete chunks, and black smoke, Mavia and Force leapt into the trench.​

A whirling execution of a brutally minimalist mutation of Makashi gave no mercy to anyone. Mavia’s face was grim and serious in expression. The soft and reserved Saint of Mygeeto that had been leading the Force Combat Nurses, and had been admired by the NIO troopers, had been cast aside to be replaced by the lesser seen Mavia. One that was held in reserve, the merciless purging crusader. It did not matter the morality of the cut. Any that provided the most economical, effective, and immediate delivery of death was fully employed. Having hacked her way to the other side of the trench, Mavia emerged and climbed the bank back up onto the beach. There she felt a disturbance. A familiar one. A desperate one. It was Dorian.​

For a brief moment her grim face snapped into a more gentle shock. “Dorian!” she whispered to herself.​

She twirled her saber into a reverse grip and crouched into an offensive augmented form of Soresu. Mavia ran out in a Force sped charge and rushed towards where the Force had hinted where Dorian was. She could not explain it. But of all the living signatures of the Force it was his that she could feel the greatest. Something in the Force had bound the two of them together. She could feel it. She could sense his wavering resolve. She had to get to him before he broke. Before he did something foolish.​

“Dorian hold out!” Mavia said.​

Blaster rounds peppered her view, only to have them sent back from where they came as Mavia swiped crescent barriers of lightsaber strokes. As she rounded an explosion that uprooted an entire crater’s worth of sand into the air, Mavia came to see Dorian next to some red haired woman. A darksider. Mavia drew her saber wielding arm back and with the Force cast it like a spear. Direct and targeted. Like a plasmatic missile it ripped through the air, passing the air borne debris of explosions and even impaling a Sith Trooper who did not see it. It ripped through his corpse and made bloody progress, in the fleeting seconds that the hilt left Mavia’s hand. It would land right into the women’s side ribs if she did not catch it first. All the while, keeping her mind on the saber, she employed the rest of her mind to execute a Force Leap that would send her in a spiraling lateral lunge towards Dorian.

---

​

 

[Jalter Volff]

Location: Dubrillion Orbit
Objective: Battle of the Shipwrecks
Allies: NIO Cheapshot Arten Jinn | GA Loske Matson Olen Halcorr Maynard Treicolt Mordred B'Haran and other fleeters
Enemies: Nica Dakkar Thaelius Lily Kuhn and other fleeters
Ship: TIE/HB Bruiser
Forces: x2 TIE/HB Bruiser x2 TIE/OTx Outlander

Jalter replied watched as the Twin Suns engaged the enemy fighters, giving Jalter and his Bomber flight their opening they needed. "Boost shields and prepare to activate countermeasures." he spoke into squadron comms as he began being engaged being the enemy point defence turrets. He felt the ship shake as the rounds came in, thank god for the Bruisers heavy shielding. "Sir. Missiles inbound." Crater said. Jalter watched as they came close, firing off his Jen'dosta System. "Got them. Keep on course and don't let up. We might just get out of this yet." he said as the bombers reached Thaelius 's Marr II Star Destroyer.

Jalter felt his blood rushing as the fire increased, watching as his shielding began to decrease and he let off another Jen'dosta as another cluster of missiles came towards them. "Shielding's decreasing Sir." Boxer chimed in and Jalter gave an immediate reply "Stay on course Boxer 3-5. We can put a dent in 'em." A missile struck Jalter's bomber, nearly knocking him off course. "Come on nearly there." he said to himself. As soon as the Bombers reached the Star Destroyer Jalter watched as Crater and Boxer began dropping their electro-proton bombs. "Right on cue." he though to himself before pulling the bombing lever back and dropping his own payload of plasma bombs.

​

Jalter watched as the 4 bombers working in unison, the electro-bombers damaging the Star Destroyer's shields and the plasma bombs came in after that, pounding the ship. The Bomber flight flew along the length of the Star Destroyer and halfway across Bombshell spoke through squadron comms. "Gah, got too much heat on me!" Jalter looked over on the Radar to Bombshell who had been targeted by many of the point defence targets. "Stay on course Bombshell, we're halfway ther-" he said before being cut off before Bombshell, suddenly spiralled away from the Flight on Jalter's radar. "Hit too hard and I've lost control!" he said before his bomber smashed into the Star Destroyer and his cockpit bounced into space.

Jalter watched as Bombshell flew off, his onboard computer showed he was still alive but his Bomber was completely disabled. Whether he'd survive the battle was completely up in the air, floating around in space wasn't exactly ideal "Sir point defence turrets focusing on me." Crater spoke through comms and right after Boxer came through. "Missiles locking. Firing off another Jen'dosta." Jalter replied to both of them. "Bombers pull off. On my mark fire off a few times 7 missiles at the Star destroyer. A little goodbye gift" he said before pulling his ship up away from the Star destroyer. As he ascended he aligned his ship towards the Marr's bridge and squeezed the missile trigger and 7 concussion missiles fired off towards it. "Times 7 concussion missiles away." he said. Boxer and Crater copied Jalter's moves exactly, firing off a total of 21 missiles towards the Star Destroyer's bridge.

Jalter switched comms to the Twin Suns. "Brawler 3-1 to Twin Suns Leader. Flak is too heavy. We're pulling off and preparing to regroup with Bomber Flight two before preparing to move in for another sortie." he said before sending a transmission to Arten Jinn "Slipstream 3-2, status update on that long neck? Flight 1 is moving to regroup with you." Jalter checked the damage report from the bombing run as he spoke. While his bombers had only made it halfway across they had dropped a lot of ordnance, plasma bombs were no joke when paired with elector-protons. On top of that they had fired off 21 concussion missiles at the ship's bridge. All they lost was a single bomber in the process although flight 1 was pretty banged up and their countermeasures nearly expended. Their next run would need to be done far more cautiously.

 

[Darth Argentum]

Operation Storm Surge, Hoth Beach
Allies: Ra Vizsla Warchief Waddles Ezra D. Tavlar Lunafreya Solidor Irveric Tavlar Agrippa The Sons of Mandalore and the GA
Enemies: Are you TSE? Then I'm afraid it's you.

Battles were extremely noisy affairs, the Muun had come to find. Every time a shell landed, it seemed to be loud enough that it shook his very being. It only served to make him that much more angry. Said anger fed the Dark Side and kept his senses and reflexes preternaturally sharp.

He saw off in the distance the hulking Isaiah Priest throw the janitor to safety. A waste of time. Priest should've secured better cover instead. As it was, he could only find shelter behind the remains of a stone wall.

When the shell hit in close proximity, it's shrapnel embedded itself into the human. For a moment he'd thought the man dead. But Priest got up, half his helm destroyed. Maro could make out the blood streaming from his wounds even from his vantage point.

The Muun decided that straight ahead was not the best course. So he began to skirt around the edge as he advanced. Various Sith legionaries met their end at his doing. By lightsaber or by the Force didn't matter as they were equally dead.

 

[Thaelius]

Location // HMIS "Chimera", DSV Permiter //
Objective // Trap the Trapper //
Allied Fleeters // Aerarii Tithe Lily Kuhn Others //
Enemy Fleeters // Jalter Volff Marlon Sularen Hiram Voss //

"Admiral...Sularen is here"

In some twisted version of a smile, Thaelius turned to face the holographic representation of the battle. The DSV, as he began to refer to it as, was littered with debris. Rocks, and globe of smelted metal formed a thin halo within the system. And Thaelius immediately recognized whatnhia adversary was attempting to accomplish.

"We can break from this engagement and push to crush him. I can retask our TIE's to cover our break" The Commodore was not aware of what was unfolding, her thirst for revenge blinded her. "It's a trap, Commodore. He wants us to pursue him into the Debris Zone.p, where he can use his Tractor Beams to send chunks of death towards our warships. How unoriginal"

He pointed towards Moff Tithe's fleet which was beginning to break from it's position, forming a capable offensive.

"What do we do?"

"We spring the trap. With a twist"

He turned back to the Holo-Table where he had the Imperial Moff on virtual 'hold' as attended to other matters. "Moff Tithe, Commodore Sularen is attempting to use the Debris Zone to his advantage. He'll use his tractor beams to throw chunks of debris towards my vesselps when I pursue him. I will be springing his trap. But to my advantage"

Another hologram appeared. One of an Auxiliary Task Force attached to War Fleet Iron Halo, however it was stationed at nearby. Not within the system, but in the space surrounding it. "Task Force Crusader will be able to assault part of the enemy fleet. I need you to attack the other part. Once this has been accomplished, we'll crush Paxxus' fleet"

Within minutes, Battlegroup Mith'raw'nurodo broke from Hiram Voss 's attack, and sped towards Marlon Sularen 's fleet. This was the beginning of the end for the New Imperial Order's naval offensive.

Spoiler: Inbound Task Force Crusader

Task Force Crusader is En Route to the DSV. ETA: Twenty Five Minutes (Next Post)

10x

Spoiler: Inbound Task Force Crusader

Longbow Class Artillery Cruisers

 

[Hiram Voss]

Location: DSZ, NIV Carnivore
Command: Force Escort ‘Pride’, Ad Hoc Formation ‘Spear’
Allies: Marlon Sularen | Mordred B'Haran | Cheapshot
Enemies: Thaelius | Aerarii Tithe
Targeted Vessel: HIMS Chimera.
Objective: Operation Harpoon

​

Spoiler: Ad Hoc Battle Formation 'Spear'

Squadron One:

• 9x Caçadore-class Assault Corvette [x]​

Squadron Two:

• 14x Gurkha-Class Attack Corvettes [x]

Squadron Three:

• 12x Warrior-II Class Corvettes [x]
• 8x Vandal-Class Corvettes [x]

Remnant of Escort Force 'Pride'

• 2x Stalwart-Class Carrier [x]
• 2x Valiant-Class 'Star Destroyer' [x]
• 4x Nebulon-A Class Frigate [x]
• 6x Warrior-II Class Corvettes [x]

Strikecraft

• 16x TIE Outlander Squaadrons [x]
• 10x TIE Slasher Squadrons [x]
• 6x TIE Bruiser Squadrons [x]

The Carnivore dove hard and fast as the Chimera began to rain down hell. The giant had awoken. Hiram had not moved from his seat, instead he had been dictating coordinates, angles and navigational commands to the helmsman. The Carnivore, and the rest of the corvettes now steadily reached out of conventional weapons range. "Ease up," Hiram barked, "Hold this position, and ready for another attack. Casualty report." Hiram snapped, looking over at the communications officer, "I want to know who we've lost and where." Voss added with a sort of cold disdain. His tongue ran across his cracked lips as he then stood and approached the helmsman's post and stood by it.

"Captain," The signals officer piped up, "We have a priority signal from commodore Sularen, sir." Voss' eyebrows twitched, and he scowled. However he nodded for the ensign to continue. "Captain, we've been ordered to pull back to Sularen's position sir. He wishes to engage us in a trap." Hiram scoffed and then sighed. Of course. Right in his moment. Right when he wanted to test the enemy. This. His fist clenched in anger. He was to be robbed. Robbed of his chance to show his skills amongst his new overlords. Blast it.

There was a silence. A stillness as Hiram contemplated his next move. "Proceed to his coordinate." Hiram glowered, bitterly, before then pausing as the coordinates were prepared. But part of him lingered. Could he do that? They'd already done so much today. The Cacadores were performing wonderfully. Hiram was certain he was getting under his opponents skill. And his next plan, well, that could equally crush the enemy. No. Sularen's plan would waiot. "Actually," He swallowed and licked his cracked lips, "One more." Hiram mused aloud. "One more run." He raised a finger and wagged it, "And we're going to make it a good one." The good captain approached the fore of the vessel, "I want all our guns ready for one crippling blow. We're going to test this commanders mettle. See how devoted he is to the cause." Hiram began, breathing in deeply. "And we're going to see, what matters more to him. The strategic objective, or his own miserable existence."

"Return a message to Sularen," Hiram mused aloud, "I want him to understand, we will report to him, once we have finished our target." Hiram then looked back at the helm and gave a nod, "Fire engines on my mark, we move....." He let his voice trail off. "Now." The Carnivore moved at a cracking pace with its fellow Cacadores. They soon closed in on the rear of the Chimera, and its red engines which glowed like Eldritch eyes. "Force Spear, spread your forces, and deposit missiles across all sublight engines. Aim to cause as much damage as possible." Hiram then approached the gunnery station and hunched himself atop their seats, huddling close in and watching their display as the Carnivore manoeuvred itself close to the heat of the engine. The entire bridge now began to glow an eerie red as a result. "Hold!" He bellowed. "Hold!" He added, "And...." The Carnivore was now very close to the gaping maw of the Chimera's engines, "Fire!" Another salvo fired at close range. This time, entering the engine.

"Now, move, move, move!" The Cacadores deposited their bombardment, and then departed, deep into the DSZ. All three waves of corvettes responded in kind. Scattering into the remains of their comrades in arms. "Report to commodore Sularen," Hiram added, "I want him to know we've struck a blow against their fleet."

 

[Dorian Sicarrio]

Mavia | Ingrid L'lerim | Bayaz Republic Engineering | Target Island Byss Gang​

It was already starting to hurt. He was trying to hold it back, hold it down such that he could handle it later, but that guilt and frustration kept welling up inside him as they advanced further into the island. He hadn't done anything to protect her. He couldn't accept that that was all there was for him. Was the galaxy just flipping him off, telling him that it wasn't for him to care for someone. It was probably his fault, for not doing enough, being too slow. No. He couldn't blame himself. Why do that when he could blame someone else? All these Sith, all these enemies.

His weapon's glow intensified as those emotions threatened to spill out. That rage was a dam ready to be opened; it was a wellspring of power to draw on. Mavia had told him to lead, but he needed to let loose. He knew how closed off the both of them had been. Connections, however strong they were, hurt like hell when they were gone. Had she been right to try so hard to stay detached? Had he really been so desperate for contact that he'd tried to tear down her walls?

He hated these questions. That sort of crap was for wise men with skinny arms. Dorian just wanted to break something.

The warrior launched himself into the fight and did what he was best at. These foot soldiers were no match for his lance and his speed. The other knights and Auxilia couldn't keep up, either, and Dorian again found himself far ahead of the others -- near the armored woman who'd pulled him from the blast earlier.

She'd saved him instead of Mavia. Mavia had saved him instead of herself. Dorian always thought highly of himself, but that was a little too much. He wasn't really worth that much, was he? He'd barely done anything here.

With a grunt he pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside. Maybe it was time to clock it in. This had been a ride, but as things went on things just felt worse and worse. His grip tightened around his spear in frustration. The sounds of battle drowned away into the background, and for a few moments all he could hear was the waves lapping up against the beach in the distance.

A call, then a saber, then a spinning green woman whose armor was still damp from the sea.

The glow of his weapon disappeared along with his anger; instead he was simply in shock, staring at the woman who had somehow miraculously returned from the dead. His words got caught in his throat. His feet stayed stuck to the ground. His gaze didn't move from the Mirialan who'd returned from the dead.

Well, probably not that extreme, but to him it seemed that way.

"You're here," he finally managed to get out. That familiar sensation of being watched over came to him. That was right. They were partners; they watched each other's backs. But there was something... different, about her. He'd never even seen her use a saber before today.

It was something terrifying. But in that moment he was just relieved to see her alive.

 

[DK-03]

// Operation Storm Surge
// Tactical Target: Hoth planet
// Accompaniment: None
// NIO Allies: None
// TSE Enemies: Taun-tauns

Cold air whisked against the helmet of DK-03.

Red eyes stared out against the landscape.

Only the wind howled.

His grip clutched his rifle.

His eye-holes narrowed.

Snow drifts picked up against the skyline, but nary a creature moved.

"C'mon..."

DK-03 propped up his gun, hoping soon to take sight of his villainous opposition.

"C'mon..."

Something moved. To the left.

His eye-holes expanded extremely wide. No...

DK-03 disappeared into a dust-off of snow as a pack of Taun-tauns struck him with a pincer movement.

The pilot sighed.

 

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Valeria Ragal (Ingrid L’lerim)
The Red Witch; sorcerer, master spy, agent, assassin, sniper​

Location: Byss Island, Dubrillion
Objective: Objective II - Storm Surge
Equipment: 2x vibroblade | Standard vibrosword with these look | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Tactical Turtleneck with this look | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | Stealth field generator | Holographic disguise matrix | G1 OmniLink | Actual look under the armor: link |
Allies: Open | TSE and allies
Enemies: Dorian Sicarrio | Mavia | NIO and allies

Background music:
Elena Siegman – Abracadavre​

Ingrid considered herself a great warrior, but the current line-up wasn’t really good for her. There were too many from the NIO here nearby. So far, her biggest advantage was that she didn't look like a Sith - true she was no sith, never was - so for the time being they were not considered enemies. And she did not want to oppose it. It was enough for her to leave each other alone, it’s one thing to sacrifice her life for AMCO , but her lover wasn’t the whole Sith Empire. In such a situation she would fight only for the Eternal Empire or for the Three Clans, i.e. House L'lerim, no one else.

She raised an eyebrow for a moment – under her helmet – as she felt the struggle and perhaps doubt from the man., although it may have been a concern. One thing is for sure, the man did not control his emotions as well as would be expected from a Force user, at least Ingrid thought that. Maybe Ingrid seemed like an ice queen to most people, but she could feel it anyway. She just suppressed the feelings that would inhibit and hinder her in a situation or she just disguised it well with someone so that no one could realize what she was really feeling.

She raised her head as she sensed through the Force that someone was approaching. She even saw the jumping figure who might have arrived exactly where she was, with a lightsaber. She jumped back with a somersault, by the time she jumped she had already pulled out her two vibro blades, the simple blades, not the swords. By the time he arrived at the ground again, the blades were in her hands. However, she did not take an offensive stance but a defensive stance. Also trying to signal with that stance she is not here to fight, although in war it did not interest many, she knew exactly that.

So she was prepared for the other to attack her, just because of the way the man looked at her without a helmet for an Ingrid type person - whose job it is to read as an open book in others - she already knew the reasons. These two may have been lovers, but at least the man must have been attracted to the woman. And if the woman is like Ingrid in relation to Adrian or Tubrok, then she will fight for the man to the last drop of blood. Or the man for the woman, though the man knew that Ingrid was not an enemy.

By the way, Ingrid felt completely neutral in the Force, thanks in part to her masterful control of her emotions. She didn't move, she was still watching the couple motionless, in a defensive position. She knew it was only a matter of moments to find out if she would be lucky or not. Either they both leave or they attack her...

​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

Location | Borosk
Objective | Battle of the Shipwrecks
Focus | Thaelius | Hiram Voss | Jalter Volff

Spoiler: Wraith Squadron

• Agitator-Class Super Heavy Battlecarrier [x1] |
• Phaetra-Class Fleet Carrier [x1]
• Praefect-Class Star Destroyer [x1]
• Endurance-II Class Pocket Carrier [x2]
• Inceptus-Class Assault Ship [x2]
• Intercessor-Class Star Destroyer [x2]
• Starfighter/Bomber Compliment
  • Tie Drones [40 Squadrons | 960 Total]
  • Tie Outlanders [20 Squadrons | 320 Total]
  • Tie Slashers [10 Squadrons | 120 Total]
  • Tie Vanguards [5 Squadrons | 40 Total]
  • Tie Bruisers [15 Squadrons | 120 Total ]
  • Tie Maulers [ 10 Squadrons | 80 Total ]

"Sir Thaelius Ordo's Fleet has broken off it's attack against the forces of Hiram Voss and are headed towards our position. Orders?"

Perfect. Marlon thought as he smirked. Soon enough Thaelius Ordo's Fleet would be moving into the Debris Zone where it would soon be immediately bombarded by Debris from multiple Tractor Beams pushing them towards his Fleet. In addition in the case Thaelius tried anything against Wraith Squadron Marlon had thought of a counter-measure : Utilizing said Debris as a shield against enemy attacks in which would be useful to cover a retreat or to allow Wraith Squadron to attack the enemy fleet while taking minimum damage.

While Thaelius Ordo moved towards the Debris Zone , Hiram Voss launched a final attack run against the engines of Ordo's Flagship hopefully taking out it's engines informing Marlon of their success and while it contradicted his commands the results of the actions of Hiram Voss were positive for Marlon shrugged it off rather he was impressed at the Captain's handling of smaller vessels such as Corvettes in which made him a remarkable commander on the Field. Nevertheless the plan was in motion and soon enough Ordo and his Fleet would get crushed by the Wrath of Wraith Squadron. This had been a long battle and Marlon intended to end it quicker.

"Prepare the Tractor Beams and activate them on my command. Have all fighters prepare for launch and remain on standby" Marlon ordered. "This is where we crush Thaelius Ordo's Fleet once and for all." And like that the vessels of Wraith Squadron prepared their Tractor Beams ready to unleash a deadly blow to Thaelius Ordo's Battlegroup. After 4 Battles fought with the Sith-Imperial Naval Commander this is where he claimed victory over Ordo once and for all and show his true potential.

Spoiler: Fleet Action

• The Vessels of Wraith Squadron prepare their Tractor Beams in preparation for the Trap Marlon set out.
• The Fighters of Wraith Squadron is also prepared ready to launch at the Command of Marlon Sularen.

 

[Spencer Varanin]

//: Dunes of Byss Beachhead //:
//: Angel of Death //:
//: Equipment //: Lightsaber //: Saava Seeds //: Chocolates //: Armor //:
//: Target //: Hailyn //:

​

​

Gone away were the robes she typically wore; instead, she had been summoned through the Force for a fight of fates. Her silver hair pulled back tightly in a neat bun, saber clinging to her side. Spencer wasn’t used to marching her own way through the sand, she really wasn’t the biggest fan of sand, literally got everywhere. The poor Echani matriarch could feel the sand crawling its way into her boots. Spencer paused for a moment to shake her foot, hopefully getting rid as much as possible. ​

​

Chugging her way through the sand dunes, she made her way towards the force pull. Whatever it was that drew her was intense, it beat with the energies of bogan, but something hurt from it. Spencer pulled away from the forces charging up the Byss beachhead and stopped seeing the figure that loomed before her. It threatened to consume all that was around them, and Spencer smirked, under the visor she used to keep her identity a secret, her amber eyes glowed with excitement. ​

​

“Well, you’re an interesting thing.” Spencer rubbed her chin as she chuckled under her breath. The Sith Empire had so many exciting characters under their flag. Unlike the Lady of Secrets, this woman wanted to die. Spencer felt the desire for everything to end, and to be final, it made her second guess her choice in the opponent. Usually, when someone was like this, they had nothing to lose, while the Echani woman had something to return home to. ​

​

The woman that waited for her looked as if she was a walking corpse. Spencer felt through the Force looking for some reason why this corpse would be walking around like this. An eyebrow raised sensing that the woman was alive, yet possibly on the brink of her life. She was a gruesome sight to behold, but it could be the will of the Force that she took down the woman - finally putting her into the ground.​

​

“Ah, well, I guess fate has brought us together, you don’t look like you’re the snacking type…” The chocolates she had hidden away in her armor didn’t make its way out, it was a pity, maybe in another lifetime she and Alekto could have been friends. “Hope you’re ready to return to the Force.” The Echani, not fearing to be the first to attack, quickly drew upon the dark side forces that loomed around the woman. Concentrating the energy she allowed to roll off her, several dark side energy constructs created long, invisible spears. She hurled the woman, each spears searching to pierce the woman in her torso. ​

 

[Ravraa Vyshraal]

​

Location: TARGET BEACH HOTH
Task: Battle for Dubrillion - Storm Surge
RP Partners: Dorn-2 PCs, Open Aerith Castiella Orion Darkstar
Faction: New Imperial Order
Narrative NPCs: Dorn-2
Ammo Count: 13/15 (3/3)
---

It was the fact that we were mortal, that death was such a constant, that drove the sentient races of the Galaxy to the darkest depths of depravity and to the highest heights of honor. Ravraa was certain of that. He had been made clear to that every last time he was deployed, every last time he took his rifle into his hand, kicked open the door, and went screaming into the night. He was far from certain what awaited him behind this breach, or the next, or even the finality that would come when a blaster bolt finally found the right home to nestle into. He was uncertain of what the Great Beyond would be, or what existence would be like with the lack of one. What if, like the ending to a holodrama, the film suddenly flicked to black, and then utter, complete silence? He would only know the answer at the end, something that could come as quick and sudden as that damned missile on Muunilinst, or drawn out, ages passed on a medical bed in a subpar hospital on some backwater world. When was the last time you saw your father Ravraa? What would he say about this mindset?

"All us die eventually, son. One wrong step, missed shot, boom! Out! Gone! What's 'dat mean, eh? We should be afeared? Nah, live your life. Live it well. We do what we do cause we're just dust and flotsam..."

And despite all of that, here was Aerith, standing side by side, following him into the open field of combat as if she was made for it. Though, judging by the state of her cybernetics, that may just be more truthful than Ravraa could have ever known. Regardless, he had to deal with the reality of the moment, the heroism that was every last breathing second on this field, ignoring the hallowed dead that formed mobs around him with the loosing of every new blaster bolt. He knew what they had to do. Push. They had their commands, move up and take out an AT position, allow the armor to move in and support the boys. He had just managed to skirt into the indent from the previous artillery shelling that had littered the area by the time that Aerith had managed to reach him, and taking a stand, with her enthusiastic yell, there was a moment for Ravraa where it felt more normal than he would have liked.

That comfort was slapped from his reality as a red hot bolt screamed from the crowd and skipped itself across the side of her helmet. Inches from Ravraa, mere centimetres from doming the heavy weapons expert. A million alternative realities instantly flooded through Ravraa's head. Realities where Aerith was dropped, then and there, the bolt had scored home and sent her into the floor. She would have had to been forgotten, of course. This was far from a city siege where medivac was quick and easy to access, no, this was a conflict of attrition. Odds are, she would have been obliterated in the next wave of shells, no body, no corpse for a family back home to grieve over. The squad would have had to reorganize mid-fight, re-calibrate their tactics and movements, who would go where and why, and that in itself could have lead to even more casualties than needed. Why? Because Ravraa had made her feel like she could take on the world.

He had nearly instinctively reached out to grab a falling body that wasn't there.

Thankfully, that was far from the reality he was living, his reality was dominated by the singular idea of storming up the beach and reaching the next row of shallow trenches that the NIO lines were staging assaults into the SIMP opposition. Get there, move up, breach the lines and hit the AT emplacement. It seemed easy enough.

<"Move up, move up! Suppress their gunners! Get your asses to the next line!">

Ravraa was slouched slightly as he began to rush across the blank white beach, somewhere inbetween a crouch and a full sprint. Intending to keep himself low, barely a target.

While the general order was for Haupont to break into, effectively, a separate operational squad once they had secured the beach. For the moment, they still by and large operated as a single unit as they moved forward. Haupont's section of the squad loitering behind Ravraa and Aerith ever so slightly, only taking up positions in the shell-hole as Aerith and Ravraa were moving to leave it. They seemed to have a simple strategy. Thavimar would find some place to settle his E-Web Rifle, this being the edge of the shell-hole for the moment, to compensate for the weapon's considerable recoil. Mellfols would be to his immediate right, looking through macrobinoculars and reading off hard and soft targets, rattling off coordinates like a droid. Dormyle, for the moment, was more focused with the blaster end of his tool than the grenadier portion, taking up position to the extreme right of Mellfols. Jeresan and Haupont would be to the left of the gunner, picking off targets who's rounds dared to get too close to the secondary squad's position, or at least suppressing them until Thavimar could roll the rifle around to torch the position.

 

[Gatlin]

WOE TO THE FALSE ONES

[Faction: Supporting the New Imperial Order]
​

They were the song the played on the tips of your fingers, and dared to flay itself into your being, inching along your veins and nerve endings all the way to your heart. They were the antiquarian rhyme, that never truly made much sense to the ears. They were the blaspheme in the steeple, that held the truth through all of it's viper. Perhaps by some strange, cosmic providence had they arrived, perhaps by the whims of a forgotten and lost sight, eons in the making, fading through the abyss of time. Perhaps attempting to attach meaning and logic to creatures that scratch at the very fabric of our understanding was less than productive, no matter how human their actions may seem, the nay endless unknowings hammered through our closeted sense of reality. To the troops on a battle field, the menagerie of tricks and theatrical play would push forward this idea. A wraith of accursed stygia. The very reaper himself interfering in mortal affairs. Of course, the true story was far from as fanciful, at least, one could assume. When the dark side wraps it's forlorn tendrils around the soul of one so gleefully bedding it, it could be hard to say if there was more truth to the wild tales than one would assume. Another event, another moment, another file to be added and thrown to the table of the Force Corps or the Inquisition's table, another nightmare to stalk the dreams of the forgotten and damned. Another set of fretful letters and reports written in the dead of night by shaking fingers and tired eyes, wondering what the pounding in their skull was from, and why the silhouette never properly left their mind. They were the whispers of the end, of the final say in the book of damnation, they were the final strike on the clock. They held a vested interest in seeing the war play out, they had a vested interest in the collapse of the Sith, and they had supplies at their disposal. Both mundane and eldritch.

To the poor gunnery crew operating the STA Blaster Cannon, that was so perfectly keeping an entire squadron of New Imperial troops assaulting Hoth Beach pinned, it would appear that Gatlin had simply emerged from nothingness. To the poor gunnery crew, who hardly had a moment of respite while screaming hellfire down upon the approaching troops, the wight's appearance would have been registered a moment or two before it could have been properly logged. Not that sighting the reaper meant you were any safer from him, it simply meant that you understood what it was that would send you into the void. There were four when they had arrived, two riflemen, one of them acting as assistant to the blaster cannon trooper, and an officer. At least, someone clad in officer's clothing with a sheet of betaplast slapped across their chest. Between the four of them, they had managed to keep their section of the beach under lock down, without major concern of a break through as long as they kept up proper firesupport to their boys across the entire line of trenches. As long as the Sith Imperial line held, as long as each of these gunnery positions were able to sustain themselves, they could hold. Hopefully, and push the New Imperials back.

This hope quickly faded, visibly, when the officer dared to turn his head at the presence behind him. Perhaps he heard the footfalls of approaching Gatlin, perhaps the existential dread the foraged it's way into the very essence of meaning that radiated around the Witch drew his eyes, perhaps it was simply the universe begging the man to recognize the end before it came to him. What would he have done if he could? Raise his pistol, fire a round at the approaching darkness? Attempt to bat away a flurry of lightsaber strikes? Perhaps even jump the trench and run for the hills. It appeared that the officer was braver than most, as his initial reaction was to attempt to draw a bead on the target with his blaster pistol. Gatlin's off-hand barely raised from his side, marionetting a macabre display. The officer's arm snapped unnaturally from it's original destination, the forearm harshly crunching down to the upper and compacting onto the man's chest. The entire form slid upwards, slamming the tip of the pistol into his chin. The call of the weapon sent the man into silence, dropping onto the floor as the riflemen began to turn to address the new threat. Blaster's raised. The witch brought their hands up fully, parting from the sides of their cape. The left hand closed into a hard fist, meanwhile, the right loftily lifted like a maestro conducting a musical. The man to the left simply froze, a brief static overlapping throughout his entire form, meanwhile, the man to the right was treated like a wad of trash meant to be thrown away. Limbs harshly snapped at odd angles, the neck turning at a simply wrong degree, before with a flick, the battered form went tumbling through the air. Distantly in the direction of the approaching NIO forces. The blaster cannon operator, seemingly understanding that his role on the weapon was more important, not wishing to let up fire, had only just now unstrapped himself and was in the process of turning to meet the assailant. A dark blue snap-hiss of a saber came quick, along with a flashing slash across the front of Gatlin's visage. Two heads fell, quickly followed by two bodies, along with the seared remains of the upper half of the blaster cannon.

Gatlin allowed a moment to themself, staring down the battle-way of the beach, watching as the members of the NIO stormtrooper corps found their hearts. The lack of blaster fire issuing in a new charge, full of pomp and high hopes.

<"Unidentified Force-user on the field!"> Came a scream, a squadron of Legionaries, it seemed, had been making their way down the extent of the trench in response to the blaster cannon suddenly going quiet. Blasters raised, a hellfire of bolts began to scream in Gatlin's direction. A flash of a saber, once, twice, rounds redirected into the sand, sending kickups of smoke and debris, before dragging a secondary blade from his hip and rending it through the power supply of the blaster cannon, sending up sparks and hurling even more smoke into the sky. A makeshift veil. When the approaching troops would breach the smoke, when they would come upon the destroyed section of defenses with New Imperial Stormtroopers making headway, the Witch of the Outer Rim would be nowhere to be seen.

Gatlin moved as a ghost, silent in shadow, drifting between the echos of combat. A reflection of light, easy to miss, as he made his way down the width of the trench. Taking care to simply duck out of the way of approaching soldiers. Rushing officers. Injured men. He had done his part, now they could do his. The battlefield, free of the chatter of comms and worry, was as perfect meditation as that of the void.

And with that, Gatlin walked...

 

[Lucien Dooku]

S T A R S H O P P I N G
THE MYRMIDONS | KAL'ORITSOR | DOOKU-PATTERN JEDI ARMOR
Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt Irveric Tavlar Commander Larkin Agrippa​

---

---

The veterans of the 173rd were the finest Stormtroopers that the Order had the pleasure of drawing to their side, if you had asked Luc of his opinion in that very moment. As blaster bolts dotted the ground around them and artillery shells scattered holes across the beach, Luc couldn't help but feel honored to have the Myrmidons at his side. He'd fought with plenty of others in the build-up to the second primary invasion along the Order's infamous Braxant Run. Stormtroopers, Jedi, Dark Jedi and Mercenaries alike were counted among his allies at one point in time or another. Together he'd combated against foes from across the spectrum of enemies that a Jedi could ever face, but few of them had elicited the same desire to fight as hard for others as did the Myrmidons who stood with him. Even when all sides knew that death was an inevitable aspect of war, neither Luc nor his legion would wane in the face of what others might consider dangerous and untenable odds.

Having landed between the primary and middle trenches on the beach, the primary force of the 307th had a long way to go until they were close to reaching the position of Luc and his boys. Landing a thousand-strong in a veritable no-mans land, the Myrmidons engaged the forward positions of the middle line with everything they had to throw at them. S-IMP Legionnaires fell left and right beneath the shock factor of what had just dropped onto of them, and the positions upon the hills and plateau overlooking the beach were blanketed with fire from not just them, but from the various other units engaging the long line of defenses from other sections of the beach as well. Losses were sustained of course, but the men of the 173rd understood that there was no such thing as a retreat in the Myrmidons, not when victory seemed so attainable against a foe that exuded an aura of fear in the presence of his Legion.

Yet those losses that were taken were not overlooked by the Legion's Jedi Commander, despite Luc's decision to hold his men where they were. Regardless of his personal feelings of the matter, the 307th needed time to get set-up. The shock tactics of his Legion had dropped them inbetween the forward and middle trenches, forcing both sides to shift their attention onto the descending Myrmidons or risk being overrun from negligence alone. In the short-term this proved effective at allowing Lyra's men to get on shore, but as the attention of the front trenches returned back towards the 307th's direction, Luc was no longer in a position to force his men to continue the double-sided battle, or put his men in harm's way for an unnecessary risk. Instead their focus would shift back to the middle trench lines, the Myrmidons temporarily holding stalwart against the entrenched Legionnaires for as long as their armor could sustain the enemy's fire.

That moment would feel like ages, and even to Luc it felt like hours had passed when in actuality it'd been far less than that. Cutting a path across the sand with his command squad, Luc's focus remained on drawing as much aggro upon himself as possible whilst keeping his command squad safe from the stray bolts that came their way. It was a waiting game until the 307th had finally gained ground, and when that moment had come, Luc couldn't have been more happier to hear the good news. The front trench line had been cleared, and Lyra comm'd in shortly after to provide Luc with updated coordinates on S-IMP artillery positions, gun emplacements and other useful points of interests both behind and around the middle trench line. "You're the best, miss Voi'kryt~" Luc chimed back amidst the deflection of another pair of bolts, then distributed the information down the chain-of-command of his Legion.

The Imperator's message followed shortly after Lyra's, and once more a feeling of relief had overcome the Exiled Prince, whose smirk widened with excitement as he deactivated his lightsaber and clipped it onto his belt. Unsheathing the sword that sat tied beneath his jetpack, Luc opened up his comms to the Legion which had been anticipating new orders since hitting the beach, and were now being given to them wholeheartedly. "Coordinates have been delivered, now it's time to move out! We've been holdin' this ground for this moment here, so let's show not just these S-IMP's, but the 307th and the 501st why we're the ones who get the job done-- no matter what!" Raising Kal'oritsor above his head, Luc shot his eyes across the line of open ground, allowing all the men present within visual range to view the resolve that was plastered on his face in that moment.

"Blades out, Myrmidons! We're hittin' their back-lines! Kill everything wearing black and clear the way for the 307th-- NOW!" Luc's words spread across the 173rd and 307th's comms, the latter being privy to the message in order to give Legion Commander Voi'kryt a heads-up on the next daring plan being undertaken by the Order's wildcard of a Jedi. Jetpacks reactivated all across the no-mans land, breaking the ambiance of blaster fire and explosions for the first time in minutes. Ascending into the skies once more, the Myrmidons no longer held their foolish position, but instead overlooked the battlefield like descending Angels ready to slaughter their foes wholesale. Brandishing their standard-issued 'Streiter' Vibroblades, almost in unison the Legion would descend from the skies, breaking into dozens upon dozens of squads who struck at the S-IMP Legionnaire's middle and rear lines with the intent to kill everything that moved. Whether with fist or blade, the Myrmidons smashed into S-IMP positions with wild abandon, releasing an unrestrained impulsiveness that was only veiled by their strict discipline from before.

Squads of the Myrmidons scattered across the S-IMP lines, striking at rear-guard units moving down from the plateau to reinforce the beach, striking at the trenches themselves to engage S-IMP troopers in surgical airborne strikes, or descending upon S-IMP gun, artillery and AA emplacements with a mixture of miniature R A I L C H A R G E S and Detpacks that were unceremoniously dropped from the air. All across the S-IMP back lines the Myrmidons would fight, and fighting is what they did best. Trained by the best mercenaries that the Sons of Mandalore could offer, Luc had full confidence in the general combat strength of the miniature Legion under his command. Luc himself would even join in on the fray, surging ahead of the chaos caused by the Myrmidons beneath him with just his command squad in tow, and jetting straight for the crest of the hill to open up a salient for all of the forces behind him.

"Always forwards, Myrmidons! We won't know victory until we reach Serenno!" Luc called out across his comms once more, his blade finding its grip in both of his hands as he boosted down towards the hill, crashing the blade inbetween a squad of S-IMP legionnaires with as much force as his momentum would allow him. The proceeding impact would devastate the ground beneath his blade, releasing a shock wave across his immediate area as the S-IMP's found themselves taken aback and knocked over from the attack. Bolts impacted against their armor from the command squad which fell upon them next, joining their Commander near the crest of the hill in cutting off any retreating S-IMP forces, and also preventing any reinforcements from further streaming down the beach. Kal'oritsor cleaved its way across that crest, the black armor of the enemy legionnaires doing nothing to prevent the alchemized blade from cutting through them like a hot knife through butter.

With his Legion spread sowing chaos across the beach, and himself at the crest doing the same with his command squad, Luc had hoped the shock-and-awe of their lightning assault would prove tantamount to breaking the S-IMP's morale, while also providing Lyra that opportunity her men needed to finally gain their momentum. Time would tell if it made a difference, but until then he would once more hold his position-- but on his own this time. The Myrmidons were tasked with their own job, and there were plenty of S-IMP's for them to kill and then some more.

 

[Rurik Fel]

// PARABOL ACTUAL //: Imperial Knight Commander
// OBJECTIVE //: Operation Storm Surge | Target Beach BYSS
// ALLIES | NIO //: Errant | Dorian Sicarrio | Mavia | Spencer Varanin
// ALLIES | TGA //: Bernard of Arca | Republic Engineering | Bayaz
// ENEMIES | TSE //: The Sith Empire | OPEN
Armor | Lightsaber | The Vane | Pistol

P A R A B O L
S O K Ó Ł

"Does it still bring you pain, Commander? Are you hurt still?" The soft voice of the Imperial Knight Hospitallier sounded out to Rurik.

"Of course I am..." He answered, his voice continually strained but in its foundation still deeply a deeply imposing inflection. One that present his command, his toil, his obligation adeptly each time he spoke.

"How do you live with it?" She inquired once more as another silver plate of the Imperial Knight's rainment of battle was secured to his form.

"It's a machination of the mind...an illusion." He answered, raising his right arm to view the cybernetic half limb, manipulating the false digits by curling them into his palm to feel the phantom resonation of a clenched fist before unfurling them again only to bind them together as the Hospitallier brought a metallic gauntlet over that hand and he felt the reactive fabrics jab his muscles in line with each stimulation with the rybcoarse reinforced limb.

"I understand...do you think we- The Order...will prevail? I'd been told Borosk was a hard fight." She asked before grasping ahold of his metallic visage, clutching the foreboding guise in her hands before she stepped toward the Imperial Knight from Serenno. Slowly and carefully placing it over his skull before letting the Knight Commander clasp it to his still wretched and brutalized face before eventually the foreboding masque was set over his gaze once more.

The Knight Commander was ready for war. Ready to kill. There was no delusions of what he must do here. The scions of the darkness were out in waiting. Waiting for them. Waiting for him. Throwing his argent hood over his head he answered.

"Perhaps, I am not too certain." He stated candidly, the Hospitallier's face flushing with anxiety of the Knight's sentiment as his gaze matched with her's.

"But I will obey." Rurik said, mirroring the same sentiment as his predecessor before him.

On a cool clear night (typical to Southern Dubrillion), it was time to work again. Time to delve into the slaughter once more. The Knights of the Empire would be no stranger to this bloodshed, this brutality. They would envelop themselves in it all the same. With sections of stormtroopers rushing past him to take up cover and press the advantage up the beach head, the Knight Commander slowly paced his way through the bloodshed. Each step a heavy pace as the blade of shimmer silver held in his right hand acted to deflect any blaster bolt levied in his direction. It was a simple dance, a straightforward sequence of motion to deflect these projectiles.

Reaching the first trench line of the Sith defense, several Legionnaires trained their blasters on the Imperial Knight who was quick to seize the initiative alongside his Stormtroopers. The errant lights mounted to their rifles jostled astray by the shock of the sudden charge obscured the vision of them all as the New Imperials delved into the more brutal implementation of battle in melee combat.

His lone organic hand reached out and pulled back toward him to wrench a Legionnaire from his spot before impaling him through the abdomen on his Silver blade.

"We keep moving, we keep pressing the advantage. Allow not these chattel of the Darkness a moment's respite." Rurik ordered on in his ever foreboding inflection before he skewered another Sith Trooper, cleaving through him to the symphony of agony as his silver blade cut him down right in two.

 

[Aerarii Tithe]

Location: Bridge, HIMS Venality, within the Debris Shoal Zone (DSZ)
Objective: I - Battle of the Shipwrecks
Kit: Skystas Rieve iv Tave Daboti Dvasi | Sith-Imperial Military Uniform
Assets: Thaelius | Nica Dakkar | TSE
Liabilities: Marlon Sularen | Hiram Voss | Jalter Volff | Olen Halcorr | NIO
Post: IV

---

31st Blockade Group Holding within the Debris Shoal Zone Venality, Preventor II-class Interdictor Battlecruiser Provocation, Tormentor-class Star Destroyer Spoliate, Harrower-class Cruiser Destroyed by debris Arbalest, Longbow-class Heavy Artillery Cruiser Disabled by Sabre Squadron Pavise, Athena-class Shield Frigate Accrual, Usury-class Treasury Ship Lucid, Vigil II-class Corvette Daze, Vigil II-class Corvette 192/208 Dominance-class Fighters 57/64 Tuk'ata-class Interceptors 7/8 Jurgoran-class Bombers Fusillade Line Aurek Moving to bombard Predator Temerarious, Audax-class Cruiser 22/24 Jurgoran-class Bombers 14/16 Tuk'ata-class Interceptors 12/16 Banshee-class Shadow Droids 7/12 Chariot-class Missile Boats Reassigned to Superiority Force Chimera Trance, Vigil II-class Corvette

“Hold that turbolift!”

The voice of Rom Komo, the Trierarch who commanded the Venality, caused Moff Tithe’s stomach to drop suddenly. He frantically tapped the ‘Close Door’ button on the turblolift car he had stepped into, intent on sealing the hatch and whisking himself off to safety before the Armada officer noticed he had abandoned the bridge.

The doors began to close at their regular speed, which felt painfully slow given the circumstances. At the last minute, a blue Chagrian arm was thrust into the ever decreasing gaps between the doors, triggered a safety protocol. The turbolift doors slid open.

There was a painful moment of silence between the two.

“Sir…”

“Sorry, was there something you needed?”

“…where were you going?”

Tithe had two answers to that - the truth, and the lie he was quickly constructing. Faced with a choice, he went for the latter.

“The, ah, the Admirallis… ah… requested that I report to her personally. So I can appraise her of our situation.”

The two shared another moment of awkward silence. Both knew no request had come through.

“Sir. You’re needed on the bridge.”

A further moment of silence passed. From her stance, Komo made it known that she had no intention of backing down.

“On reflection,” the Moff conceded. “A holonet report should suffice.”

Komo stepped to the side to allow Tithe to pass and made a point of walking a step behind him to block any further attempt at escape as they made the short walk back to the bridge of the Venality.

The situation on the bridge was unchanged from when the Moff had departed. The Spoliate, of at least what remained of it, dominated the forward view screens. The once-mighty Harrower-class Cruiser was now nothing more than a dead husk, another floating wreck to join the already cluttered Debris Shoal Zone. Ironically, it’s destruction had come not from the hands of the NIO but another Sith-Imperial cruiser - the engine compartment of a destroyed Marr II-class cruiser had struck the ship at high speed. Shields, turbo lasers and starfighters had all tried unsuccessfully to break up the deadly projectile and stop the destruction. While some escape pods had gotten away, early reports predicted upward of 90 per cent of the crew had died in the resulting destruction and decompression.

The terrifying destruction of the vessel, unfolding at such close range had tipped the Moff over the edge. He needed to get out of this nightmare. Unfortunately, the ever-watchful Trierarch had spotted and stopped his flight to freedom.

“We’ve got a new request from the Navarch Princeps,” Komo explained as the two took up position around the tactical holo. “A call for fire on the enemy which just arrived.” The Moff studied the enemy formation, designated by the Armada intelligence snoopships as Wraith Squadron. More NIO vessels? Who could the Sith-Imperials possibly hold the line now?

He studied the tactical holo for a moment, unsure what order to give. The Trierarch sensed his trepidation.

“Sir.. if this was a Banking Clan matter, what would you do?”

It took the Moff a moment to understand what she was saying. His past performance of acting as a military commander was abysmal, Mygeeto being case and point. By comparison, his work with the SIBC was without peer. He’d risen quickly through the ranks, drawing praise from his colleagues and ire from his superiors, whose positions he threatened. As Gat Tambor had noted during the Battle for Mygeeto:

War is economics by other means.

“Well… we have a new player in the market, a disruptive one. We can’t bribe or regulate them, so we need to go after their market apparatus. If we can reduce their reach, we can starve them of profits.” He considered the plan for a moment, translating it to the battlefield. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed to commit forces to reduce the enemy capital - in this case, their battlecruisers.

“May I propose a Raiding Line of bombers and missile boats with fighter escorts. The Temerarious has the shields and the speed to keep up and keep them protected…”

“Fusillade.”

“Pardon?”

“Designate it a Fusillade Line,” Tithe explained. Komo’s expression turned quizzical. “Sounds more refined, don’t you think?”

With haste, a detachment of heavy bombers and their cruiser escort was organised and began weaving their way through the Debris Shoal Zone toward Wraith Squadron, who had until now largely ignored the 31st Blockage Group - a decision they may be around to regret.

“Auspex, a, ah, a word of warning,” he advised Nica Dakkar and her fighter squadron over the battlenet. “Things may be about to heat up.”

 

[Errant]

// NEPHILIM //: Imperial Knight-Errant
// OBJECTIVE //: Operation Storm Surge
// TARGET //: BYSS
// ALLIES | NIO //: Rurik Fel
// ALLIES | TGA //: Bernard of Arca
// ENEMIES | TSE //: Heca Foliou

"Treasures are not won by care and forethought but by swift slaying and reckless attack."​

- Michael Moorcock​

​

"Silence your screams."

"Listen to my dark song."

"Oathsworn, you are a child born unto destiny's pitiless machinations. Embrace the ruinous path set before you, open your heart to the blood of Chaos, and drink deep of its glorious power."

A black world bore down onto the unmoving body, its pale flesh soft and supple, a welcomed meal to the encroaching darkness. It raced closer, crashing over the inert form, crawling over every inch of the Albino's skin. Oathsworn, the shadows called it, though it knew not of these supposed oaths. It knew only the echoes of primal fear that which disturbed the squirming mass, echoes of the Oathsworn's abject terror pulsing with uncontrolled emotion. Some called the monstrous one Bogan, the Bringer of Ancient Darkness, Corrupter of the Innocent, Slayer of Hope, and Bearer of Infinite Suffering. None knew where he came from, nor what higher purpose he served. Mortals only knew of the disasters he would sow, reaping his own harvest, ripe with shattered souls and broken minds. Bogan's limitless power swirled around the pale one, hungrily he dove deep into it's being, searching for the Oathsworn's soul, ravenous as he consumed the purity of innocence.

The albino bit down, fighting back the hoarse screams threatening to bloody its throat. It yanked hard with one arm, finding no success as the squirming corruption locked it in place. Oathsworn, they called it, along with the Albino, Bendu, Imperial, Knight-Errant, Son, and Prince. All titles, as titles only carried weight, with no true bearing on one's name. It was a name that gave power. The utterance of one's name sent echoes throughout the stars, dancing throughout the infinite azure, to soon be heard. Seers looked beyond the limited sight of mortals, guided by the Force's inescapable presence to bear witness to such things as names. Errant Varanin, son of Spencer Varanin, Prince to the Moonwrought Throne, knew not a real name. It only knew titles, as those titles protected the moon sung from the clutches of Bogan.

"You needn't scream, my son."

"Hear my brilliant choir."

"Oathsworn, fate would never abandon you. Turn away from the path of Chaos, bear witness to promises sworn to your ancestors. Bask in the light of true peace, wash away the sins of shadow, and open your heart to an unshaken Order."

Beams of gleaming white light pierced the shambling darkness drowning the Albino. Warmth licked at its back, spreading throughout the trapped body, breathing life into pained limbs. Where once they sat unmoving, lifeless and inanimate, each one came to as called to action. Slender fingers ripped away at the choking shadow. Claw-like fingernails tore into the Oathsworn's chest, beads of crimson ichor spilling forth, but it did not care. It continued to tear through Bogan's influence, accepting each self-inflicted wound as payment for this opportunity. Soon, the pale one stood, its nude form bathed in Ashla's loving embrace. It fell into the touch, reminded of another's warmth, something left unfelt for so long. What drove the Moonsung to turn away in search of answers?

As if turning to find those answers behind him, the Oathsworn saw only a face of absolute beauty. The light shifted, changing shape, and form with each flicker of energy. Angular cheekbones broke down, replaced by rounded flesh, supple, not unlike the Albino's own. It reached out, hoping to run bloodied fingers through Ashla's silken hair, entranced by cascading strands of silver and gold. Before the Knight-Errant found purchase in her divine grace, the world faded, the starlight and primal darkness left behind.

​

"Varanin!"

Errant looked up, his pink eyes falling onto the armor-clad stormtrooper at the top of the dropship's ramp. The soldier waved the Imperial-Knight forward before he dashed down the length of the diagonal walkway. At the base of the ramp, three red bolts of screeching energy slammed into the soldier's chest. Not even a scream escaped him as his smoking body fell prone, the man's life ended from an unseen enemy. Errant stood up from his seated position, his hand loosening the lightsaber hilt at his belt. He took a deep breath and followed the fallen soldier's path, the silvery blade of his lightsaber surging to life, the familiar snap-hiss of the mythical weapon announcing the Albino's arrival. Not unlike the dead stormtrooper's fate, red bolts sought Errant's life, only to see immediate deflection, one returned to its keen-eyed master.

"Filthy wretch," Errant's eyes narrowed, the other red-armored legionnaires visible as a constant stream of light illuminated the beach. The Knight dashed forward, his silver blade sweeping out in a visceral arc, taking the head off one Sith-Imperial's shoulders. To the other's credit, he lifted the rifle and took aim at the Imperial-Knight, only for the rifle's tip to fall to the sand with a faint thud. Steam rose from the molten metal that once was the blaster's barrel.

"I will take pleasure in sending all who bow to Bogan's whim to join you in the Nether," Errant stepped forward, the weapon driven through the legionnaire's chest. A flick of the Imperial-Knight's wrist saw it wrenched free of his doomed foe, the body split in two as it slipped into the sands. The Albino looked elsewhere, searching for his squadron. Dozens of stormtrooper's littered the sand, their bodies broken by the shore's defensive. Further away, another gleaming blade of purifying white lit up the darkness, cleaving down to rend the soul from an unfortunate Sith-Imperial who stood before the Knight Commander. Errant fell into a jog, his steps carrying him closer to the beacon of the unbowed known as Rurik Wymar. Those foolish enough to cross the pale one's path met only doom, delivered with swift and brutal efficiency.

"Knight Commander! My blade to your cause!" the Knight-Errant dropped beside him in one of the numerous trenches, his back pressed against the staunch warrior. Together, the duo cut a bloody swathe through the remainder of the surrounding legionnaire's, their combined might too much for the ignorant masses. Errant looked to his commander, head bowed in greeting. "My squadron met an ill-fate, Commander Rurik. I am without support and await the arrival of our Jedi ally. What would you have me do?"