Lunar Accords: An Ancient Despair (Primeval)

[Matreya]

Damien responded to the one who called upon him, "Sith? I believe you speak of me? While I was once such, upon the death of my Master, Voracitos, I denounced them. I claimed myself as they once were, seekers of justice and peace by any means. Of late, I ha e even ceased this." He said, then got down to what had been said, "Do not mistaken me. Though I know of our history, and accept it, I do not believe all that is said. One whom is to be the Host, as you just said, is not untouched by the gods. There would be something. Even if he was a representative, there would be signs.

"Before us, comes a man that seeks to control, with no founding, or power, other than allies he has made. Any of us here, could be the next Host, if they proved themselves to the Gods. The Ewok, could, Ajihad, he could. Even Zambrano, if he did not seek to defile that which they represent." He said, "Yet none of us, save him, attempts to control. I have asserted myself for my own defense, nothing more. Warok the same. Who is this man to attempt something so unsanctioned?"

He paused, and when he spoke again, it was in an ancient dialect, "Diejenigen, mit Macht zu tun den Titel nicht immer bekommen." Those that understood, would know what he meant, that even those gathered that had the power, didn't automatically get the title.

[member="Kadri Ughad"]

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

If this ship gets hit, Dresden thought to himself, everybody in the sector will know it.

There were 140 others onboard the dropship. As was often the case with sappers, each one carried an eclectic but potent supply of high explosives. Some, like Dresden, preferred detonite. It was stable and versatile enough for just about any mission. Others preferred baradium, which could vaporize nearly any matter it came across. Still others preferred more exotic materials. One guy even brought along a small keg of gunpowder. Why? He wouldn't say. He just insisted that sometimes the old ways were the best.

Long story short, there were enough explosives on the ship that, should it go down, the fireball would probably be visible from orbit.

Needless to say, the crew was doing their level best to avoid incoming fire.

"Thirty seconds."

Dresden wasn't sure how he'd ended up the leader of this merry band of misfits. He had the chops to be sure, but there were others older and more experienced than he on the shuttle. He suspected it had something to do with his time among the mercenary troop Gulliver's Travelers. Their former leader was something of a legend in the world of guns for hire, and if some sources were to be believed, was a general in a fledgling Imperium somewhere in the ass end of the galaxy.

The temporary company had, in the tradition of such groups across the galaxy, elected him their leader. So long as he didn't order them to do anything too stupid, they'd follow his lead. And given the fact that they all had a fondness for making things go boom, "too stupid" was relative indeed.

"Twenty seconds."

The lanky mercenary was kitted out with his favorite setup: a semiautomatic AR-10 clipped to the shoulder of his plate carrier, which had duraplast ballistic strike plates protecting his front, back, and sides. The rifle was scaled to suit the man; it was over a meter long, and weighed 7 kilograms. It had an autozoom ACOG that, in conjunction with the infrared laser rangefinder, would adjust for perfect zoom on any target up to 300 meters away. The optic itself had cost more than the rifle, but Dresden considered it money well spent. Under the barrel, attached to the rail system, was a broomhandle style foregrip with an integrated bipod. At the push of a button, the springloaded legs of the bipod would pop out, giving the mercenary an instant, stable shooting platform.

"Ten seconds."

On his back was a rucksack loaded with all the supplies he'd need for an extended stay in hostile territory. Water and rations were both prominently featured. There was also a surprisingly comprehensive medkit. On his best day, Dresden couldn't match a trained MD on their worst. He knew next to nothing about toxicology, for instance, and his knowledge of medication was limited to what was necessary for survival. But when it came to the quick and dirty stuff that saved lives on the battlefield, he could definitely hold his own. So long as someone was shooting at him, he could legally perform just about any emergency medical procedure that didn't involve cracking someone's skull open.

The pack also held an extra 400 rounds of 7.62x51 rifle ammo, just in case he ran through all 7 of his ready magazines and had to reload. He also carried 300 blasting caps, 300 meters of detcord, and 20 kilograms of detonite in 1 kilogram blocks.

Yeah, the smoking light was out.

"Five seconds."

At this point, the loading door at the rear of the shuttle opened, letting the mercs get their first view of the battlefield. The door gunner, sitting behind a Z-6 Rotary Cannon, was ready to light up anything that moved in the LZ, but so far, it looked like they were alone. So much the better.

There was a slight bump as the shuttle settled down on its landing struts.

"GO GO GO GO!"

The sappers streamed off the ship, ready to begin their deadly work.

[member="Darth Pikiran"] [member="Catalys Maijora"] [member="Warok the Defiler"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Kaster Sane"] [member="Kadri Ughad"] [member="Delekhan"] [member="Lord Ajihad"]

 

[Matreya]

"Sir. A ship has landed in the vicinity, armed men are making their way out. Should I open fire?" A voice in Damien's ear stated, and without a pause Damien replied.

"Yes." The moment the words were spoken, his ride, with Amp - his AI - as drive, would take to the air. Why the attackers would believe someone had happened to be here without a ride, which likely would have armaments, was... ill planned.

However, the moment the ship even began to move 2 heavy laser cannons, 1 dual ion cannon, and 2 flex-tube warhead launchers would all begin firing at the exit ramp to the ship that had so recently landed, while aiming from the enemies side. Considering the ship, a Rascillon Star fighter, being the strongest in the known systems, was blasting at an explosive box filled with men each strapped with their own kinds of explosives...

Boom goes the dynamite. Oh not to mention Ion cannons and disabling electronics, so there was no fleeing.

"My understanding is it has begun." Damien called, then shrugged as if it mattered little, "My ship is currently taking care of those that wish to force themselves on this meeting." He paused then added, "By the by, just in case more men are set to arrive, the ship is piloted by a droid, and is easily replaceable. It will take out anymore in coming. Before it blows itself as a last option if need be."

[member="Dresden Verbrennung"] [member="Catalys Maijora"]

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

The shields held-briefly.

There was no way the entire compliment of sappers getting off that thing alive, but they had known that from the start. Missions like this, you came in expecting to die. It was a numbers game, pure and simple. You throw enough people at the problem, and some where bound to make it through.

Once it became clear that the normal egress point was well and truly karked, the sappers did what they did best: they made holds. Plasma torches, thermite strips, hell, even a lightsaber or two quickly went to work on the floor of the ship. Dresden didn't want to know where the lightsabers came from; he never hired Force sensitives when he could help it. More than likely, they were trophies from battles past.

Meanwhile, the door gunner did what he did best: he sprayed fire from the rotary cannon. The thing had a truly monstrous rate of fire, something on the order of 3,000 rounds a minute. 50 bolts a second streamed outwards, looking more like a continuous stream than separate bolts. That amount of firepower would make anything short of a capital ship nervous. However, his goal wasn't to shoot the ship aiming at him. After the first few strikes hit the shields, he knew he was dealing with something his meager rotary cannon simply wasn't equipped to handle. He could, however, do something about the incoming fire.

One disadvantage blaster and turbolaser bolts had over, say, projectiles, was that they were discreet packages of energy, contained within a field. Break that field, and the energy is expended all at once. Thus, they tended to be purely contact weapons. Any armor piercing functionality was due to the tremendous amount of energy they could store and release on impact rather than actual penetration. His bolts were tiny compared to the incoming fire, but they didn't have to be huge. They just had to break containment. And 50 a second could definitely manage that, especially since the fire was coming from a single source.

It wasn't perfect. The occasional bolt would make it through the stream and smack against the shields. If a single ion bolt made it through, they'd be karked. But it was enough.

Sappers began streaming from the makeshift egress points in the bottom of the hull like ants from a kicked nest. They were counting on the massive release of energy to distract whatever the hell it was shooting at them. They scrambled away from the ship, the smart ones ducking into the sewers. It was only a matter of time before the ship went, and when it did, well, not everyone was going to get off. As the man said, boom goes the dynamite.

Dresden and the rest of his immediate squad were underground about 70 meters away when an ion bolt made it through and shut down the ship's shields, the guns, and set off every remaining gram of explosives on the ship. They were immediately thrown off their feet as the ground rocked violently and the tunnel behind them collapsed. Hopefully, that would be one hell of a distraction. According to the merc's datapad, there were still thirty-seven mercs on the ship with something like 800 kilograms of some of the nastiest stuff in the galaxy. The ship's reactors were barely a blip as the massive consussive wave spread outways, leveling any standing structures within 300 meters and breaking windows kilometers away. Another 41 mercs lost their lives because they were insufficiently insulated from the blast.

That left 62 sappers on their feet and ready to go.

"Not bad," Dresden murmured to himself. "I was hoping we'd have made it out with 40."

They began making their way to their target points.

[member="Darth Pikiran"] [member="Catalys Maijora"] [member="Warok the Defiler"] [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Kaster Sane"] [member="Kadri Ughad"] [member="Delekhan"] [member="Lord Ajihad"]

 

[Zambrano the Starweird]

The staff smoked as it burned under the gaze of Warok, speaking his ancient tongues to the full knowledge of the Prophet... an inferno erupted surrounding the dry Shade that held the sewn bones of Captain Slika and amphistaff. The unliving being that was the staff shrieked in betrayed violence, writhing with some strange life given to it as it component parts died a final time... the Shade though... it made no noise. The corpse stood, burning at the stake, fulfilling it sacred duty to the Artifact. Its body though was soft, and the magicks which animated it faltered under the heat... causing it to collapse to the floor. The bones snapped and popped as they were reduced to embers, the final screeching exploding the magickal device in a puff of green blaze.

Milky blue eyes held a gaze upon the Ewok... unfeeling, and dead. The cold stare went unbroken, and silent. An eerie unreaction to violent means used by the shaman of the spirit world, angered by the mortal implications the Host Lord proposed. The Host Lord though was not mortal, and more dead than alive... but where the shamanistic Sith Lord connected to the spirit world... the Witch Elder had been fully submerged. The tiny creature would find the utterly dead presence that permeated the Hutt was not only of physical means, but in the force as well. The Artifact he held... uneased those who looked upon it, for it was something unnatural even to the dark side.

Childish actions were permissible it seemed, but the Host Lord made it clear that those cloudy eyes could see past the veil, that its mind was not hot and bothered by the words of resistance. They would flock to him, or they would die. Not to this Hutt perhaps, but to their own actions. It was the way of the universe, that the change would happen to them. Offenses to threats were as permissible as outright violence... but no less childish, and no less effective at hastening the end of their own goals here. To [member="Darth Pikiran"], he spoke, "You would deny to fight our own enemies at the sake of our own unity, because you feel threatened by words designed for the faithless?" The words were spoken with that chilling serpentine voice, booming yet whispering, rasping yet clear. It was filled with no emotional infliction, and acted more as statement than inquiry. As the word faithless was uttered, those unnerved eyes wavered over the form of Catalys Maijora before he even spoke in response to him.

"My life is surrendered, but what of yours impious one?" The eyes that looked upon Catalys held the clear knowing of one whose vision extended beyond observation, but penetrating clairvoyance. He saw the mysterious held within the heart of the Warlord, and knew in them it contained no faith for the words that he spoke. He was motivated by anger, and loyalty to a woman who was dead, not to the people Zambrano supposedly betrayed. His resistance stemmed from knowing it was his own doing that allowed the Black Prophet to rise. He could have ignored the Hutt that fateful day the Hutt was brought to fight for the Primeval... yet he did not, and may now forever regret that he did. "You speak of faith, but your heart doubts them as lies. You tell me I am false, but I the believer, cannot be if the accuser is without the gods. To revoke the actions I have done or the words I have spoken is blasphemy, for the word of the gods, even if seen by the blind, shall never be overturned by the politics of a spiteful man. You are the instrument to my existence here, and now you seek to destroy me, because you fear what the gods desire: change. I am the bloodshed of our enemies, the Great Unblinding of the Galaxy that has been postponed too long." The unbroken gaze of the Hutt seemed to wander within his own massive skull, as if through the clouds over his eyes he could witness the very carnage he would unleash upon the galaxy, to create the Unseen Rift that had been so elusive for so long... the gateway to his dearest love. It was strange to think, that the only true abominable creature in the room was motivated not by hate or some selfish need for power... but by his own strange twisted love.

"Let it be marked, that it was Catalys Miajora who denied the peace and cooperation on this day, because he knows he cannot command my faith." Without breaking his gaze, he nodded subtly in response to the Gulandi, his face as if set in stone in a permanent indifference. His frozen grip surrounding the forsaken Artifact, quavering only slightly... as if attempting to contain something more powerful than even himself. The tiny screaming that entered the ears of those force sensitive in the room, continued to be exposed to them. The source of the unnerving, emanated from all corners of the building... like an echo that persisted long after it should have dissipated. Without moving, he spoke to the Gulandi.

"I extend my arms to the Gulandi, our first soldiers, for their faith in the March against the galaxy... if you would take it once more for what is to come." The Warlords of Echoy'la and Wayland remained silent, fixed in their positions, but unsure of how to speak. One out of enraged flustering, and the other of uncertain admiration. Balac wanted to speak, hoping to highlight the point that resisting against this control when the failure of Dromund Kaas illustrated the growing alliances of the Primeval's enemies would be their own failure... but he felt compelled to silence. "Back away from this world Catalys, redirect your power to where it is needed most, let go of your spiteful failure and accept."

| [member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Ozuvyn Sar-Sargoth"] | [member="Delekhan"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Bloodknight"] | [member="Kaster Sane"] | [member="Khaleel Malvern"] | [member="Darth Rapax"] | [member="Dion Kayl"] | [member="Vilox Pazela"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Darth Kentarch"] | [member="Dresden Verbrennung"] |

 

[Bloodknight]

[member=Dresden Verbrennung]

Andreas's powerful ears twitched slightly as they picked up the sound of numerous footsteps heading his direction. In a few more seconds, he'd be able to smell them. Placing the Enforcer slugthrower pistol he had been idly twirling in its holster, Andreas stood up from the wall he was leaning against and waited until Dresden and his crew came into view. In this dark tunnel, the Firrerreo's golden eyes would be able to see betterin the dark than others unaided, so he had the tactical advantage. He was surprised to see more than 45 mooks heading his way. He wasn't really expecting an army in the sewers. Well, it didn't matter. Numbers meant little in such a confined linear space. Either way, he was tired of waiting. It was time for action.

"Slow your roll there!"

He spoke in a casual tone, knowing his voice would carry down the tunnel.

"I'm afraid your names aren't on the list."

As Andreas spoke, folding his arms, numerous red laser dots came to life from either side of him, dotting Dresden and his posse like stars in a night sky. Andreas knew that the sewer system was a vulnerable and sneaky way into the building and he also knew that he wouldn't be the only one with that idea, so he brought a few friends with him. 20 seasoned mercenaries trained by him. Their specialty? Close Quarters Combat.

 

[Catalys Maijora]

The Hutt -- as it would seem -- was occupied by his own arrogance, blinded by his own obnoxious displays of power that he couldn't realize who he had been talking to. Although partially what he said was true, Catalys was not much a man of faith; he was, however, devoted to the cause he served since his birth. Born and raised to be an extension of the Bleeding Sun, Catalys Maijora has served the Host Lord faithfully during their March upon the galaxy.

It was he who first captured the Jedi who would be slaves to her, it was he who led the first charge and introduced the Primeval to the galaxy. He had bested a Jedi Master on Ziost, and stood toe-to-toe with another in the space lanes above Telos. When the Sith Fleet was destroyed over Balmorra, it was this faithful hand of the Host Lord that spearheaded the Primeval fleet in its victory against the Republic. To call him heretic, and failure were empty words. Perhaps his time in this life was at its twilight, but the Umbaran wouldn't take his last breath until the disgraced Hutt was dead. Was there arrogance in this thought? To represent the Host Lord's wrath, and execute her justice upon the traitorous, and petty Warlords who believe themselves strong enough to ever succeed in doing what she had done...

Have they forgotten how it was Anja Aj'Rou who defeated the Mandalorians when all other battles against them had been stalemates? Was it not her who proved that even the greatest warriors in the galaxy could and would submit to the Host by force? Was it not she who united Sith Space, a place forsaken to the Jedi long since the fall of the Sith Empire? Had it been that this man stood here alone, as others were blind to the truth by greed and lust for powers beyond their means?

By now his mercenary commander had begun the first stage of their assault; yet the likes of [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] and [member="Laguz Vald"] would not be far behind. Perhaps all of those who opposed him forgot that whilst the Hutt had control of the automated facilities in the Chiloon Rift, the true power of the Primeval rested in the hands of Catalys and Kadri. It would be extremely foolish for any to consider their personal strength enough to defeat their forces this day. Either they died here or retreated back to their private worlds, and consolidated what little they had left. Yet one thing Catalys did recognize was that only the Hutt had enough strength to survive within the remote regions of the mysterious Rift. If they would kill him, it would be here and now, lest he vanish within the nebulae, allowing his factories to produce war machines for decades to come.

"I am -- as I always have been -- the right hand of the Host Lord. Even in her death I will be her enforcer, and you cannot deny that. It was her authority to grant me this role." Those would be the final words Catalys would grant the Hutt, the Exemplar crossed his arms with a few meters between the two. To an outside viewer it might've seemed that Kadri's words of wisdom had sunk in, and that perhaps the Exemplar was not willing to strike the Hutt this day...

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Kadri Ughad"] | Primeval Folk

 

[Matreya]

"Amp," Damien said, not even slightly attempting to keep his voice a whisper, "Rally as many Demi-Gods from the people as you can, alongside all the REX Droids in the area of the Tower. Send them in the fastest ships you can connect with." Though he was not the God King of Val'hala, its many billions still loved and respected him for what he had done. When the call to arms arose, he would be backed by plenty.

Plus at least a hundred of the droids built for speed and death that his company long had made for the Fringe.

"Yes sir." The voice said into his ear in reply.

While Damien waited, he simply continued to channel the energy of the Force as he had done for the duration since the Hutt's words. Being one who utilized Force Drain to survive, he was quite adept at drawing in energy from the surrounding area. Nearby plants were whithering, insects and small life had perished, all the while feeding the being that had begun such.

Even more, his eyes would glow purple. But as seconds past, it would shift, until his eyes were coal black - as they had been when he bound Ergast to himself. He was filled with enough to cripple a dozen minds in a single thought. Yet he did nothing. He would not begin this fight. While the men outside had perished, he was only protecting himself and those around. To actually start this altercation would not be his -

"Sir, a dozen and a half Demi-Gods have stated they are on the way. With them they bring a hundred of the Droids asked for, and as a personal ideal, I requested half of the security staff at the HQ to come along as well. In total your aid will be one hundred droids, 55 of your best men, 8 Masters, and 10 Knights. You may have to hold your own for just a bit however.

"They likely won't be there for a couple hours!" Amp stated.

"Very well. At least if this goes down, I will have an escape." Damien replied.

Sitting back on the boulder he had before, he stared at the agent.

His senses perked for some reason, and he cast his eyes at the ground. Since Amp said men had arrived, he had kept on high alert. Now he sensed more below them, possibly in the sewers.

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

Well, it wasn't for lack of trying.

Dresden's squad wasn't entirely blind, nor stupid. In an enclosed space, where sound carries, it's hard not to notice when you're approaching a large group of people. Even when trying to move quietly, there are sounds. Whispers, for instance, or the subtle sound of metal on metal clinking that one inevitably gets when large groups of folks with guns gather.

Then ten man squad wasn't even trying to be quiet. There's no way to when carrying that much gear, and at any rate, speed was more important than stealth. So they weren't entirely unsurprised when the point man turned the corner and got lit up by laser sights.

Honestly, he thought to himself. Who the kark uses laser sights? Perfect freaking way to give away your position.

With his left hand, he yanked a thermal detonator off the LBE of the merc next to him and set the timer for three seconds. With his right hand, he grabbed the drag handle on the back of the guy's vest and yanked him out of the line of fire. He swapped the miniature ball of portable hellfire to his right hand, thumbed the activator, let it cook for about two and a half seconds, and lobbed it towards the ceiling in the middle of the corridor.

"FIRE IN THE HOLE!" he shouted. Everyone in the squad instinctively ducked and covered as a ball of actinic fire lit up the corridor, a thousand times brighter than day.

There was some method to his madness. Dresden knew a few things about fighting Force users. Firstly, their senses were typically tuned towards personal danger. Given the distance between the two groups and the nature of the blast, the thermal detonator posed no harm towards the group whatsover, severely limiting the chances of it being detected. And unlike holovids, where the things were chrome and had all sorts of flashing lights, this thing was the real deal: matte black and utterly devoid of lights. Either you knew how it worked, or you were molecular ash on the wind. In the gloom of the sewer, even with and especially with night vision and infrared, which both offered reduced resolution had had a hard time picking up objects of ambient temperature that weren't emitting light, the troops probably wouldn't be able to see it, and if they had a Force user with them, he probably wouldn't pick it up.

Now, the mercenary didn't know if they had a Forcie with them. He himself was as Force blind as a rock. But he wasn't a great believer in chance, and this merry band of misfits had somehow picked the exact sewer he'd be travelling through at the exact right time.

Now, just in case, to maximize the chances of the det going unnoticed, Dresden called upon one of his least favorite memories. It was a long time ago, on a battlefield on a distant world. He had been tired, hungry, hurt, and absolutely bloodthirsty. He was had been chasing a target for over an hour, and finally found the bastard. The memory he called to mind was the one of the instant his crosshairs settled on the target's head, a mere second before he blew him away.

All that rage, the fear, the weariness, the focus of a sniper with his finger on the trigger, the feeling of relief as the bullet slammed into a skull at a few hundred meters per second, that was what blossomed in his mind, to the exclusion of all else. If anyone was reading the emotions, that was what was coming most strongly from the squad. Maybe someone could parse out what was happening from one of the others, but they sure as hell didn't know what was going on. Fear, uncertainty, and mild amusement was about the total sum of the emotion from the rest of the squad. Well, except for Dave, who was, well, excited. No one liked Dave. Dave was weird. He made stacking up on doors very, very awkward.

So what was the purpose of this little exercise, you ask? It certainly wasn't to cover the enemy force in rubble. Nor was it to cover Dresden's squad in rubble. Instead, it was to fill the corridor with rubble, placing a nigh insurmountable barrier between the two. Dresden didn't have time for a firefight. It was easier to plug the hole and find a new way around. This place was a maze, and if they couldn't find a hole, they'd make one. They were engineers, after all.

Meanwhile, the other five squads continued towards the objective.

SUMMARY:
Dresden's team encounters resistance, attempts to break contact by collapsing corridor.

[member="Catalys Maijora"] [member="Bloodknight"]

 

[Lord Ajihad]

The Demon's Fist cocked his head as [member="Catalys Maijora"] ignored his statement. It was obvious he was the one who had brought the troops, who were just now trying to compromise the security of the moot. Even those who were viewed to be the 'bad guys' from a neutral standpoint hadn't tried to invade the meeting. How could this man claim to be the right choice in this war if he couldn't even keeping the moot demilitarized for five minutes? Perhaps Ajihad would just remain neutral after all.​

​

Ignoring the irritating screaming that was now trying to make it into his ears, the assassin made his move. The Sith Lord moved with the speed and grace only a master of combat could execute. He let the force flow through him, making him move at speeds a hundredfold his normal rate. Two kicks lashed out at the backs of the man's knees. These were meant to send him kneeling on the floor, as his armor wouldn't protect him from such a blow. At the same time his Sith Hidden Blade would emerge from its sheath. Quick as lightning, he would slide it under the dissenter's helmet and press it against his neck. "Before we continue, call off your mercenaries. If you do not, then both you and your friends will die." He said this in a simple tone, not leaving his words up for interpretation. If the man didn't have the soldiers retreat, then he would die. Ajihad held no qualms against executing a member of the congregation right then and there, which the warlord of Talos would soon find out if he didn't cooperate.​

​

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] [member="Darth Pikiran"] [member="Warok the Defiler"] @Bloodknight @Dresden Verbrennung​

 

[Catalys Maijora]

If the Sith warrior thought he'd get a clean shot, he'd be wrong. The room was rather quite large and spacious, and certainly plenty of room in between.

Catalys stepped back, the obviousness of the assassin's movements were clear to the Umbaran's sensory pickup within the helmet, and unless he was able to manipulate electronics with the force and had the time to actively do so, it would be painfully easy to spot.

Certainly he could've caught the Exemplar off guard if he had begun the assault in a more unexpected way, but when you essentially expect yourself to already be in harm's way you're not going to be surprised when someone comes after you... Especially when allegiances have been pretty clearly drawn.

"If you're here to test your limits, I suggest picking an easier target." He'd eye the Hutt, to see what the mad Warlord's next course of action wold be...

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6P_YISMJ4sQ​

Once, xe might've had a horse in this race, but the purses of the Host Lord had all dried up when she'd gone and croaked in her chambers, and Laguz had never been quite religious enough to stick around for payment in prayers and good wishes.

No, sir, the merc followed credits – good, bad, black, dirty, bloody, you name it – and information. Xir current… employers, shall we say, were the pleasant kind, the kind that let xem freelance happily until they needed xem, which was exactly the sort of job arrangement Laguz used to have with Anja Aj'Rou. Funny, how things, change, isn't it?

At any rate, the shapeshifter rarely ascribed much sentimental value to past employers, but xe did ascribe value to knowledge, and as someone who had worked closely with the Primeval, the sniper was well-acquainted with its workings. Intimately, even.

See, that was the trouble with betrayal; the traitor bastards know how you operate. And having that kind of knowledge, to a hunter, was everything.

In a process best described as regurgitation, Laguz expelled xir all-time favorite sniper rifle from xir amorphous body, assembled it in the blink of an eye, and set up in a carefully picked vantage point. Concealed by the generous shrubbery at the swell of the hill, and looking the part of one as well, the merc was reasonably convinced that xir position was damn well near undiscoverable. Sure, under normal conditions, a Forcie would be able to pick xem out with some effort – xe was rather far, after all – but normal conditions didn't apply here. The shapeshifting bastard had been Force-dead for a good while now – more accurately from that fateful day on Apatros – and had no qualms about using it to xir advantage.

Having popped a dose of D-grade a few moments ago, Laguz was now nicely set up for some long-distance shooting. Xe was a professional, after all, bought and paid by a convincingly large sum of money by one [member="Catalys Maijora"], previously of the Host, and currently of its crumbling remains.

Not that the latter weighed heavy on the shifter's nonexistent shoulders as xe settled into the hit, taking in the plentiful information lighting up the mini-HUD as he picked out the targets, one-by-one.

Pew-pew, motherkarkers.

Mentally, the sniper rolled a die to see which unfortunate would fall into xir crosshairs first, nodded to xemself, and took aim.

Breath expelled, xe applied pressure to the fine-tuned trigger like a virtuoso might strum the strings of their instrument – with love, and care, and so much feeling – except that xir wonderful Tesse never let out a single sound. Just a buck, fierce and powerful, against xir touch, and the pellet would be propelled out of her muzzle, deadly and silent as it would careen through the husk of a long-broken window and into the lumbering skeleton of the building below, into the overgrown gardens, long abandoned by their caretakers, and towards the inviting column of an unarmored neck, attached to a certain man sitting on a certain boulder.

Oh, joints. Laguz Vald could never hope to express the amount of love xe held for them.

[member="Darth Pikiran"] - targeting | [member="Dresden Verbrennung"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Kadri Ughad"] | [member="Bloodknight"] | [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] (you better post, hussy!) | [member="Delekhan"]​

 

[Matreya]

"Sir!!" The word was instant, the flash warning the droid which was in control of his ship - which of course was attached to all sensors. Considering the set up of said Rascillon, with the Targeting and Sensor package, it easily spotted the flash as soon as the bullet was fired. It began to rise a bit higher, to angle itself around to open fire with its much heavier retaliation.

As swift as possible, Damien hurled about him a Force shield in the fashion always known of him, solidified air. By stabilizing molecules, it would in essence, make a durable force that had in the past contained grenade blasts and the like. However, the meager warning of danger from the Force, and the droid, barely had enough time to let him erect a feable example.

It was however, still enough, that when his chest was struck by the shot, it hardly did damage to his Beskar'gam.

Rising from his back, Damien calmly stated, "Amp, kill the sniper please."

"Having a hard time sir. It would seem your assailant is hidden rather well. I saw the flash from the top of a hill, but it is covered in foliage -"

"And why are you not blasting that hill into the netherworld???" Damien interrupted, only to himself be interrupted by the sound of warheads slamming into the hilltop, with the accompanied sound of heavy laser fire.

[member="Laguz Vald"]
(Seen this char so many times. Never had a chance to read her. She is fething awesome! Love the, "Xe/Xem" thing!)

 

[Gerra]

Violence erupted around Warok like hot magma spewing from a volcano. Only there hadn't been any smoke preceding it. In fact, there hadn't even been a tremor in the ground. Just sudden, rapturous savagery. Warok supposed the proclamation of Host Lord did seem to draw many parallels to a bleeding deer wandering into the forest. At night. In the snow. Only a fool would not have expected boar-wolves to suddenly beset the creature and gorge themselves until their hungry bellies swelled with meat. It was in their nature.

Then again, neither the Decayed One nor the Faceless Helm were helpless fawns. And in truth, Warok held no blood-feud with either. It seemed far wiser to wait for a victor to emerge from the thicket of spears. The Ewok trundled past the warring parties, ducking blades and dodging bolts. Let them spill each others gore until the ground ran wet and the earth spirits drank their fill. When the bodies had stacked high and the living stood few, the Necromancer would have his say.

But before he left the killing ground, one final act.

Warok took out a totem and muttered a few words, which in the midst of betrayals and brutalities, would go entirely unheard.

Now the earth did shake and the foundations tremble. Something summoned. Something new. A Gorax of Endor emerged from a portal, transported by Warok's totem magic into the midst of the fray. In the chaos that would follow, Warok would make good his absence. The Gorax wreaked havoc by sheer presence of its fifteen foot form, if not through the mighty blows it soon began to strike at any within range with its massive, wooden club.

Meanwhile, Warok waddled over to [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] and pointed at the artifact in his hands. The source of the muffled, wretched screaming in his ears.

"What's in the box?"

[member="Laguz Vald"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Catalys Maijora"] | [member="Darth Pikiran"] | [member="Dresden Verbrennung"] | [member="Kadri Ughad"]

 

[Bloodknight]

[member="Dresden Verbrennung"]

One side of Andreas's mouth curled up into an irritated half-sneer as he studied Dresden. Usually, when people had multiple guns suddenly trained on them, they were at least startled. But this man's body language and his scent were not that of fear or worry. He was especially irritated when he sniffed out Dave. Just then, the opposing mercenary pulled something from his friend's utility belt. With the laser sights lighting him up, the men behind him must've noticed this movement because Andreas then heard the sound of numerous blaster rifles behind him being leveled. They could have mowed the opposing group down right then and there, but Andreas raised a closed fist, halting them. He wanted to see where this went. Then Dresden threw the object. In the darkness, his inhuman eyes could make out a dark, cylindrical shape that didn't take much imagination to recognize. And given its trajectory...

"You crafty son of a--"

Andreas cut himself off, moving fast. He traveled swiftly towards Dresden, rage and admiration warring in his head. He didn't know whether he'd pat him on the back for such quick thinking or strangle him for being such a smart ass when he got his hands on him. Resolving to find out once he got to him, Andreas sprinted on. His body was framed, sculpted and built for power and speed with his Firrirrean musculature ensuring that his muscles were more powerful than they looked (and it doesn't take a professional to tell that Andreas looks pretty damn built) and this was only increased by the fact that he was moving far past his body's normal limitations with the Force coursing through his veins. He was closing the distance faster than anyone outside of a vehicle should be. Despite this, he was no match for the explosion. So intent was he on getting to Dresden, that he completely disregarded what was happening around him. As rubble and chunks of duracrete and durasteel fell around him, this caused him to do something he hadn't done ever since he started his career as a kid; he tripped. Trying to catch his footing, he went stumbling forward at an uncontrollable speed into an exceptionally large chunk of fallen duracrete. This, as one could imagine, stopped him dead in his tracks. There was a throbbing pain on his face, indicating his nose was broken. Then another jolt of pain, sharper, as a falling chunk slammed into his back and forced him to the ground. Another, even sharper, once something fell and bent his left arm in a direction it was never intended to go. He didn't have long to feel this pain, however as something hit his head, making him see stars. Then another chunk and everything went black. It wasn't long before he was completely submerged in the rubble wall Dresden had made.

 

[Lord Ajihad]

As the lightning-fast kicks moved towards their targets, [member="Catalys Maijora"] would step back. He stepped back. This wasn't a fight between a couple of high schoolers. Did this man simply expect the master assassin to simply miss and fall on his face? While the traitorous warlord took a light step backwards, Lord Ajihad was able to accommodate and adjust. Through the use of the force, he was moving a lot faster than the man he was about to bring to his knees. As Maijora moved backwards, Ajihad's kicks would be there to intercept his movements. The hidden blade would be thrusted forward to a chink in his armor, stabbing towards his lower back. It wouldn't be a kill blow by any means, just something to slow the man down. If he was going to kill the dissenter, it would be after things quieted down a bit.​

​

As this was all happening, chaos erupted all around them. Bullets were flying, portals were opening, the works. After all, what was to to expect from a gathering of the Primeval?​

 

[Dresden Verbrennung]

"Is he dead?"

Sparky, the group's token Zabrak, was the first to break the silence.

"Maybe," Dresden replied. "I don't plan to stick around and find out."

With the corridor blocked off, the squad had to double back, hang a right at the last intersection, the swing up one, hang a left, hang another left two junctions up, then hang a right. That got them more or less back on course. Meanwhile, Tiny, who lived up to his name by being two meters tall and weighing in at 140 kilograms of pure muscle, seeded their trail liberally with claymores. Anyone trying to follow them would find out very quickly why even drop troopers thought sappers were crazy. In the tight confines of the sewers, the directional mines would explode when anyone got within three meters, sending hundreds of tungsten ball bearings the size of BBs screaming out at about 8 kilometers a second, turning anything they collided to into little bitty chunks.

Tiny liked claymores. He was dumb as a box of rocks, but an absolute artist when it came to setting booby traps.

Throughout the sewers, the other five teams were following more or less the same procedure. They were all converging on the same point: the tunnels underneath the target building. Unless they faced opposition, the first team would reach the building soon.

From the seismic readings they were picking up coming from above, the fun might have already begun.

 

[Ughad]

Kadri had steeled himself for this moment. There would be no peace here. There was no going back. The lives of the innocent fallen, the enlightened, all gone within hours to satiate the cruel "prophet's" greed and lust for bloodshed. He was no better than the Gulandi that betrayed them were. He wanted power, and nothing else. Greed blinded him. Those who followed him were wavering in faith, using it as medium to realize their delusions of power and grandeur. Those true to the faith would realize this and follow him and his Ally, [member="Catalys Maijora"], as with many others.


It would not be easy. He had done his part, even though he did not expect for Catalys to spring the attack so early into the moot, at least he had drawn the proceedings along for at least a minute or so, enough time for most of the strike teams to arrive. In the confusion there were still those that lingered in the room. Perhaps it would seem odd when he went out of his way, or at least in some path, towards the last place he saw Ba'Jurir as it seemed that he, she, and another of the warlords were the only ones yet to enter this fray. They were smart, Ba'Jurir, at least it seemed, was not going to enter the fray for a good while. Sith were great assets, yes, but horrid allies, as could be seen here. They knew no restraint. The old man jogged, oddly enough it was tiring. Either way he needed to secure an alliance with the young Mandalorian warlord. Perhaps he was getting too old for this?


[member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"] | [member="Catalys Maijora"] | [member="Lord Ajihad"] |

 

[Matreya]

Damien sighed, then watched the beast as it was summoned. Once it began swinging its club, the Ancient reached out towards his mind, and with a jerk, snapped its stem. In an instant it fell. Luckily, he had once faced the beasts on Endor. As well, they were really dull creatures. Even for the size not specifically useful in any means.

He should have summoned something more powerful, Damien thought to himself.

Returning to his seat, he sighed at the sight of everything. Finally he did as the ewok had, "What the frak is that!?" Damien yelled across the room, his gaze leveled on Zambrano's. He had attempted to ignore the ringing, but the longer he pretended it wasn't there the more it grew in volume.

[member="Zambrano the Hutt"]

 

[Catalys Maijora]

The Sith was quick, he'd give him that, but Catalys remembered his fight with the Silver Sanctum Jedi whose force-imbued hammer swung at a far quicker pace than the man's legs could kick. The Umbarna's eyes could see many things most couldn't... The beat of their heart, the heat from their body, and he could even sense somewhat the emotions pouring through him.

Of all the fight's he's been in, this seemed of all to be the most routine. So far the assassin offered no surprises, and by that it meant Catalys was used to seeing all that he was fighting against here. Certainly the warrior must've been saving his 'special moves' as to not reveal all the great tricks to those potential enemies spectating the fight... That is if they were even watching with a monstrosity having been summoned in the room with them.

Bringing his arm up, the agent sidestepped the air kick; if the Sith was going as fast as this, he certainly made the mistake of not realizing that one's own momentum could and would be used against them. Grabbing hold of his leg, Catalys would simply try to maneuver his opponent, using his own force to guide him straight into the ground. Maybe this time he would fall on his face.

A sly grin formed behind his helmet, Anja's enforcer was merely toying with the would-be Warlord.

[member="Lord Ajihad"] | [member="Zambrano the Hutt"] | [member="Warok the Defiler"]