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Another front. Another World. Munuunlist was synonymous with banking and the art of business and transactions; its inhabitants had built an entire culture and way around it. Tal had his dealings with its people and the ever-present and powerful IGBC, a loan here, a guarantee there; he played the dance like the rest of them before him, and for his luck, he'd not ended up in the pockets of the IGBCs schemes. Galidraani politics were but a simple child's game compared to the ever complex and shifting loyalties of Muun culture. They never cheated a man, but they knew a poor investment when they saw one, and heaven forbid those who incur the wrath of a people who live by profit and success.
<<"Clear to move column up to point alpha, reconvene with other local forces if pressured with high OPFOR presence.">>
<<"Copy that, will give systemic updates via commlink over.">>
"Noted Major, hold fast and may the Imperial way guide you over.">>
Tal placed down the commlink on a nearby table in what used to be a conference room until his men had forced all the Muun out and turned it into a command centre as part of a makeshift forward operating base. The old Galidraani cursed to himself as he rubbed his hands for warmth and joined one of his officers on the balcony as the others went about, turning the room into something vaguely militaristic looking. In his prior estimations of the enemy, he deemed them a cornered animal in which it would only fight more viciously as the Imperators forces closed in on it. And so it seemed the case once more, although in credit they had shown initiative and took the fight to him and his men, which he had to admit he respected in his enemy. They might've been worn and bloodied as a fighting entity, but they were still brave and dangerous nevertheless. A fact that was seemingly lost on many who fought the Sith throughout the ages and in general regarding a foe, you never grow complacent, not even for one moment. Once more, Galidraans sons would give their blood and sacrifice to Imperialism and home, as it had always been since the campaign, the most sacred thing a Galidraani patriot could ever do. Willan snapped out of his musings and turned to his officer adjacent and grabbed him by the arm before instructing him with a very clear command.
"Send a signal to Cpt Tal and LT Lockhart's units in the vanguard; if they intercept Sith units, do not hesitate to engage, do not let them gain a foothold lest we face more Sith numbers on our front."
"We won't need long.", Maliphant offered as his own hood dropped - revealing his alabaster features.
Under normal circumstances, Maliphant would not easily ally himself with one of his subjugators - his thoughts idling on the memories of mind control they had attempted to reign him in with. At the time, he was no more than The Slave - a nameless terrorist hell bent on chaos for the sake of chaos, and a highly valuable target for his raw potential. It was only after the various dealings Maliphant had with Taeli Raaf
did he finally become willing to even hear their proposals - and this one seemed fair.
Both knew the NIO were a threat to the future of the Sith - whether or not they were fully allied beneath the Worm. Multiple parties had even requested Veles Oshu
, his own alias, to institute large sanctions against them - among others. However, after Gat Tambor
went rogue and formed the far lesser Trade Federation as some desperate power gamble, the IGBC's influence within Imperial Space dwindled to a paltry nothingness, despite Jaeger forming one of the pillars to their military.
Unwilling to sacrifice Jaeger's place, nor undermine the IGBC's nuetrality, Maliphant dawned his Sith attire and worked alongside the other lords to break the NIO as well versed as he could. A financial crisis - manipulated perfectly in time with his army of shells companies, IGBC fiat manipulation, and a variety of circumstances to force the NIO into inefficient autarky, or total market collapse. Leave alone the large amount of black book funding he would collect from this.
"So long as we have access to a central computer, Typhojem will do his part.", referencing one of the most advance AI in the galaxy - that which monitored and corrected the SE economy, managed their academy and capital, among various other tasks.
As soon as The Shaper stepped onto Muunilinst's surface his purpose, his drive, ignited within him like an inferno given a heartbeat. His presence in the Force blooming outward like a black-flame heart to each and every loyal soldier who fought for their Empire. His senses extending out over Harnaidan like the radiating heat of a malevolent star. Out, between and into the buildings, up and beyond into the atmosphere and even further still. The Whilstones upon his brow blooming with a brilliant, deceptive light as they empowered the source of this darkness. Ancient, controlled power heightening the hearts and minds of his people as he stoked them into a focused fervor beyond their natural means.
As his senses expanded out over the battlefield The Shaper avoided directly conflicting with any other Force sensitive beings who would rebuff his senses. His eyes closing for but a moment as the troopers around him began to move. Unlike Emperors of ages past he did not walk among a praetorian of faceless guards, nor did he scheme from the shadows, afraid to face the enemy, and instead he divided his forces. Driving for Harnaidan's capitol building with one of the brigades of his Empire's people, following in the wake of the Emeici speeder-bikes as his will was transmitted, unspoken, through the device Taeli Raaf
had constructed for just this purpose. 'Sweep through the streets, do not give them time to entrap us, those on speeders, hunt down and neutralize their artillery support. Any heavy weapons emplacements you can find.' From what The Shaper had studied of the New Imperial Order's tactics before, he was aware of the urban jungle they were now entering, and the heavy iron-wrought hand they would seek to slam down upon them.
While certainly some of the vanguard speeders would meet an end, each pilot was instructed to deploy their Battlespheres should they begin to be engaged. Using the clamor of the encroaching armor as cover these would mark out the areas in which the enemy planned their ambushes and allow the UP-AWs and Parangs to provide cover and fire support for the brigade that followed them. If memory served one Willan Tal
would likely have a hand in the deployment of their forces, as well as one Ravraa Vyshraal
were they present. This, however, was merely a false front.
Utilizing a much smaller group of Parangs and the remaining brigade of troopers The Shaper would begin to push toward the capitol. Intent on cleaving the head from the shoulders of the enemy, using the Parang tanks to mop up where the enemy ambushes are launched and, even should they relocate, a pathway would be secured to his destination. This was not, however, all The Shaper intended for this confrontation and utilizing the Whilstone of Acuity he was able to divide his focus enough to extend his mind to his allies on the battlefield. Not utilizing anything like Battle Meditation, but merely being a walking nexus of coordination for his people.
Extending his thoughts first to Kuben Woods
and Alina Tremiru
his words echoed sonorously in time with the flow of their own thoughts. 'Miss Tremiru, I have no doubt you are fit to rise to the task before you. Damian, my loyal Executor of my Will, reap what our enemies have sewn. Be the driving fist of my judgement upon those who would harm our dearest allies. You've both my confidence.' As The Shaper relayed his unspoken will to those above he would idly glance to his newest apprentice Kesran Opadal
as he drew Urfael from it's sheathe, deflecting a stray bolt of enemy fire that came too close before clenching a fist and, with a touch to the ground would alter the environment such that the building that opened fire would provide him with a seismographic view of it's internal structure and, not wishing to make his approach more obvious by levelling the building itself, would simply have the internal floor, walls, and ceiling warp and lash out at those found within while Sith Imperial troopers moved within to flush out the harried ambushers.
Once this was done he would comment to his new apprentice "There is much that awaits us upon this world, Apprentice, and much that we stand to lose should we fail. I trust you will not disappoint." Without another word The Shaper would move forward, shielding himself as he noted one of the Parangs catch ablaze and implode, shrapnel imbedding itself harshly into the Force Barrier around him before he flung the shrapnel with punishing force through the window of a nearby building, his senses extending out once again to those who were focusing on the High Point spaceport. Namely the presence of Shuklaar Kyrdol
or, should he have one of those Ysalamiri creatures near him, a nearby loyal soldier to relay his message with 'It is time, Alor, my apologies we could not spare reinforcement comparable to your own..." he said, referring to Eva Betrik
and her Red Tops. ".... however they are zealous in defense of their homes and Empire, I am sure you can respect this." Taking in the Alor's response The Shaper decided to also expend more energy on touching the minds of Evalina and her troops, murmuring quietly to them in a reassuring, encouraging voice 'Your Emperor watches, and he protects, your valor is noted and will be rewarded.'
Finally The Shaper would sigh and, turning to a nearby communications officer, would instruct them. "Contact Grand Moff Decimus and Moff Lyken, immediately." The troopers, seemingly dumbfounded for a fraction of a second, would then salute and answer curtly. "It will be done my Emperor.!" Taking only a moment to be patched through The Shaper would appear holographically before Grand Moff Decimus and Moff Drybis Lyken
with a polite incline of his head. "Gentlemen, report if you please?" It was at this moment a sharp, noticeable ripple would tremor through the Force and The Shaper would turn side-long to the two Moffs, glancing at Kesran for a long moment, his eyes conveying an unspoken confirmation before returning his gaze to the two. "Continue the report, the status on rescuing the Eternal Empress is my primary concern." The Shaper's yes idly travelled up the height of the capital building and he felt that he and his new apprentice would likely meet the source of these tremors within. How appropriate......
Damian would smile as the other saw fit to address him. Did he know the plan? A better question would be did he know his orders. Plans were great right up until first contact was established. And then, they would be worth absolutely nothing. Especially on a mission such as this, where the timing was last minute, there was no time to wargame, to practice, to train on the specific vessel's layout. There was general knowledge of where the target might be on the vessel, where the vessel was, and what the end state was to be. That would be the sum total of the "plan" that Damian had thus far. He would look up to the seemingly young woman with golden eyes. The smile, though possibly kind in nature would have possibly unnerved most normal beings. Especially with the way the fangs sat right there, in front of gods and everyone catching the eye with a quite predatory look. Damian however was unconcerned by this. He himself was now quite the inhuman monster. The voice in his head started chuckling.
So we're in the company of like individuals? Our own very motley crew yes?
I am simply a servant of the Emperor, whom I serve with does not matter.
Ugh so boring! I do like the fangs though, nice little touch. I wonder if they're just for show?
He would speak calmly to the woman, his tone even, business-like, almost cold.
"We board the vessel, we make our way to the Empress, and we recover her. At any cost. Anything further would just be speculation until we actually arrive,"
His eyes would focus forward, his mind registering the thoughts of his master projected into his very mind. Did he know of the voice in his head? The conversations they almost constantly had with each other? The urges that the voice gave him almost constantly? With his further affirmation of instructions received earlier, Damian would simply reply openly out loud since he knew of no other way to address his master.
"As you command, your will shall be done my Emperor,"
His focus was set, the enemy was before him. He'd carefully selected each weapon for this mission to complement his own body's augmentation, plus the lightsaber that he'd have to learn to use as a proper Sith. He'd practiced sword and blade play before, but a lightsaber was different. The weight was off, the blade being weightless, and while his previous experience had helped with a baseline, the omni-directional cutting ability was new. It invalidated moves he'd been taught for defense and offense, and made entirely new ones possible. He had much to learn. But the rifle and sawn off shotgun were weapons with which he was quite familiar. They would no doubt serve him well on this mission. He would feel the relatively small rocks of the pod as they decelerated to allow the fighters launched by friendly forces to take the lead, before resuming course. There would be enough of them that if they all made it, the crew of the vessel would have a significant problem on their hands. None of these men and women were rank and file troopers of the army. None of them were either raw recruits, content has beens, or otherwise bog standard infantry.
They were shock troopers. The best of the very best of the Sith Empire's military.
These were men and women who waded into hell on a daily basis. Who looked Death in the eye and would spit in it so they could shoot, stab, or otherwise beat it down and destroy it. They knew no fear. They would know no equal. And while they knew that not all of them would make it aboard the enemy vessel, it was their duty to do and die regardless. For every pod that didn't make it, the rest would just have to fight harder. And as the pod would begin its evasive maneuvers to avoid debris and oncoming enemy fire from the vessel and enemy craft, Damian would tighten his grip on his disruptor rifle. A smile would creep across his face underneath his helmet, one that both he and the voice were in agreement on.
As neither of them could wait to meet their enemies on the field of battle. To hear the screams of the wounded, feel the enemies' various forms fall before them by blade, saber, or rifle, and to taste the blood of those who were already dead, whether they knew it or not. Damian was ready for war.
Never in all his living days did Shuklaar ever think he'd ever fight alongside the forces of the Sith Empire. Yet here he was. He'd made a deal with the dar'jetii known as the Shaper, against every instinct that told him not to listen. Shab, he'd been tempted to tell the man to usenye. Only, he wasn't at Mandalore, and he wasn't responsible for what happened. The Shaper was a man in an unenviable position. That was a position that Shuklaar himself was not only all too familiar with, but he'd found himself in that very same position not too long ago. To ignore the deal would have been a mistake.
There were those who weren't responsible for what happened at Mandalore, like Silmar, but there were those who were responsible. Those that had not only wrought the galaxy's vengeance on Australis and his ilk, but on those of his own people. Those who'd fought and many who'd died buying time for the evacuation. Those simply weren't able to evacuate. Those people were on both sides, as were the former. This war had nothing to do with who was right, it was a desperate fight for power, and in the Sith's case, it'd turned into a desperate fight for survival. He knew that he wouldn't have been approached if Silmar had other options.
There was the CIS' alliance with the GA. He knew that if they ended up engaging GA personnel, they'd be baying for his blood. The hypocritical jetiise would be accusing him of the very same level of crimes that they'd committed so very often in their war against the Sith. He knew there'd be those that would want nothing to do with him or his any longer. He was even distinctly aware that he could lose his contract with the CIS. In the end, however, it was all worth it to take back what had been taken from them. For that, he was willing to stand up to everything the galaxy could throw at him. For that, he was willing to die.
The mando'ad with him were an all volunteer force. No one who was here didn't want to be, no one who was here wasn't being paid for their efforts. No one had any illusions of the travails of the task that was before them. Yet, no one cared. To those present, none of it mattered. They, like him, were willing to give everything. He only hoped to the Manda that they wouldn't have to.
An alert flashed in his HUD, a notification of a target lock from their escorting Jai'galaar fighter-bombers. Asmulr 1-4 and 1-3 had acquired target lock for their complement of Ruu'y'asa-class anti-sensor missiles. Phase one of the plan was about to kick off. "Asmulr 1-1 to Kyramud 6, target lock achieved. Requesting final go on operation start, alor."
A combination of their electronic warfare suites and reflec coated hulls would make detection at this range by the NIO forces extremely difficult to say the least, but not impossible. Once they closed distance, anti-air positions and jammers would put a crimp in their plans before they had a chance to really get to work. Those systems needed to be knocked offline. They were only going to get one chance at this. "Asmulr 1-1, this is Kyramud 6. Send them to haran vod, tra'cyar mav!"
The missiles were accelerated out of their launch craft at great velocities, their low sensor profile making detection difficult until they were basically right on top of their targets. He watched through the 'Manda' tactical battlenet system's interface in his helmet as the missiles' icons winked off the battlemap one by one. At this range, it was difficult to know if they hit their targets or if they were destroyed without giving their positions away with the use of focused active sensor scans. They just had to hope that enough damage had been done.
"That's one way to get their shabla attention," chuckled Ragar Nihut'tyr. Ragar was one of his oldest friends and his detail leader. He'd been with him on Rodia when they'd fought the Agents of Chaos. He'd been one of the first to volunteer for this assignment. Truth be told, Shuklaar had expected nothing else, and was more than a little relieved to know that he'd be watching his back. "I hope Aran isn't going to be late, again," deadpanned Ragar.
"More time for us to start stacking the bodies before he and his start racking them up," he snorted. Ragar chuckled knowingly and flicked the safety off on his RR-03 Repeating Ripper. Aran, Strill Securities overall force commander had categorically refused to stay behind, and had even ensured that his replacement was ready to take over. While they inserted onto the tower that allowed for traffic from the city onto the skyhook that connected to the High Port Space Center. Bringing the Busayr-class Heavy Assault Transports necessary to convey the IFVs and tanks that Aran was bringing into the city was a good way to lose half their forces to any shabuire with a big enough gun and a pair of eyeballs.
Their job was simple. Perform a rocketpack insertion from high altitude down onto the tower, and then work their way down. Once they'd taken the tower, they'd have to hold their positions till Aran could arrive to reinforce them. In that time, he had no doubt the New Imperial shabuire were going to throw everything they could at him once they realized what he'd done.
The quiet passage of time was marred by comms chatter between the gunships and their escorts, and the occasional crass joke between the rammikade. "Final approach, get ready," announced Mereel Kote, Beroya 1-1's pilot. A countdown timer till jump appeared in his HUD, no doubt as a result of his armor's Manda interface receiving the same from the gunship's. Everyone in the cabin stood to their feet, boots maglocked to the deck.
Shuklaar felt another presence in his mind, a sensation he'd felt enough to know was telepathy. The Shaper would definitely feel his momentary discomfort before his message came through. 'We'll get the job done,' he mentally assured him. Shuk's resolve in that statement, his conviction that they'd succeed would be easily discernable to the Shaper. Shuk quickly rechecked his FL-01, making sure that the weapon was ready.
One minute. He could feel the gunship shake now, whether from infantry portable weapons, groundside targets he wasn't paying attention to, or surviving AA weapons, he didn't know. Naturally produced adrenaline and artificially induced adrenal from his armor's medical suite flooded his system. His mind focused, and the years of wear on a body old enough for a profession where men died young seemed to disappear. The ramp lowered with the muffled hum of hydraulics. Harnaidan City's skyline immediately became visible to them. Shuklaar couldn't help but be momentarily taken back by the scale.
The momentary wonder was replaced by resolve as the red lights in the cabin were replaced by green, and the timer superimposed onto his HUD ticked down to zero. Tensing his muscles in preparation to bolt down the ramp, Shuklaar blink clicked the transmit controls in his HUD, "Mando'ad! Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur!" With that, he ran down the ramp and leapt into the air. IFF tags marked Kyramud company around him, falling through the sky, adjusting their descent with micro-bursts from their armor-mounted Shev'la Gteditr packs.
His HUD picked out the unlucky shabuire who'd landed sentry duty on the building's rooftop speeder pads. At least one was mangled and charred from the impact of one of the anti-sensor missiles fired by their fighter-bomber escorts earlier. A quick extended burst from his pack to fully arrest his descent and Shuklaar activated the repulsor systems in his pack. Blaster bolts whizzed up at him, a few smacked into his shield almost harmlessly. He rewarded the spoor shabuire with a healthy helping of depleted baradium pellets for his effort.
He dropped lightly to his feet and moved with Ragar and the others to the stairwell that led downstairs, two squads from Kyramud Cresh taking up positions at their erstwhile landing zone. Members of Aurek and Besh platoons prepared to rappel down the building's side, which left them the messy task of pushing down the old fashioned way. "Kyramud 6 to all Kyramud callsigns. Phase II, I repeat, phase II."
Aran Netra, outskirts of Harnaidan City
Aran had heard a lot about Harnaidan City, but he'd never actually been himself. Somehow, the pictures hadn't done the place justice. It was shabla huge. Driving tanks and into an urban environment wasn't considered conventional wisdom by anyone, but they didn't have the infantry numbers alone to get the job done, and so here he was. There was a palpable sense of anticipation coming from his men. It wasn't the fight, the fight was routine, but it was the knowledge that what they did here today was securing the future of those that had been left behind in the ba'slan shev'la from the Breshig system.
There were many here who'd fought in the delaying actions, particularly on the capital of Verd'yaim. There were many here that were all too happy to not only let the butchers on their 'side' throw themselves at the New Imperial Order's lines, but also to see those in the New Imperial Order bleed and die for their part in what had happened in the Mandalore sector. To see them pay twice over for harboring the next worst shabuire to Australis and his ilk. Har'chaak, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't feeling some of that anticipation himself. He knew, however, that they were on their own for the most part as they made their approach into the city.
The Busayr-class Heavy Assault Transports that had dropped them off hadn't stuck around. There was no point. As it is, the incursion into the city to deploy the alor and the rest of Kyramud was risky enough. That meant they had to take every street, every corner like it was hiding an entire shabla company, or a platoon of tanks. Sensors in a heavy urban environment like this, even linked together with the processing and predictive capabilties of the Manda tactical battlenet were only so useful. His only solace in that regard was that if there was any jamming, it wasn't going to blind them entirely, only make their job that much harder.
"Sivkiryav 6 Rayshe'a to Sivkiryav 6. Clear on our end. Too clear," came the report of his headquarter platoon's reconnaissance platoon leader. Aran let out a sigh, not a relief, but of frustration. They were just about to enter the city and the fact that they hadn't run into any opposition yet only meant that things were going to much more difficult as they got further in. He hoped that the alor and Kyramud didn't end up needing their help in hurry, because he was almost sure that they had one haran of a fight ahead of them, and he had no illusions about the fact that it was going to take them a while before they made it to the skyhook tower.
Legend: comm in, comm out, ship's intercomand broadcast system, crew
On board of the Pride of Anaxes
"Alright guys, let's be careful. There's a lot of debris out there. Contact Admiral Rausgeber's ship and tell them we're there to escort them."
"Aye sir!"
"NIV Confidence, this is escort frigate Pride of Anaxes, hull number X101. Anaxes Navy's Task Force 58 is now escorting you until you arrive safely to your destination. Pride of Anaxes, out."
"I have a bad feeling about this" said Herlock, looking at the debris.
"Do I broadcast the action station Sir ?" asked the Comms Officer.
"Do it. And tell the Silencieux, the Audacious, the Courageous and the Foudroyant to take battle line formation and launch all their fighters."
"Aye Sir."
"This is not a drill, this is not a drill. General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battlestations."
"To all Task Force 58 ships, this thePride of Anaxes. Take battle line formation, I repeat take battle line formation. We need to make a protective shield around the Confidence. Launch all escort fighters when in formation. Pride of Anaxes, out."
And then, Herlock's ships moved out to form a battle line on the Confidence's side, the Silencieux and the Pride of Anaxes on the front of the line and the Foudroyant right behind those ships, while the Audacious and the Courageous took the rear guard. Soon, a cloud of starfighters appeared, composed of sixty Hayabusa starfighters and seven Rei-sen fighters, creating an anti air escort around the Confidence.
One look was all that Gowrie's crewmen needed to see that the Kellas had never been so pleased with himself, doing the same thing his great-grandfather did to Clan Carr, but instead of Woads, Clan Gowrie had elected to inflict such treachery on House Zambrano's underlings instead. Much alike the Warring-Clans era, but instead of MLVs and ammo-transports being stolen in the latter half of the 9th Century, it was horses and carts full of weapons for freshly-trained troops near the end of the 8th century instead; not that it mattered to the Lord-Colonel, as it felt very much like adherence to the Tuath's greatest traditions, and a sign that the choices he was making were very much steps in the right direction for both the Wildcats' and his own path to excellence.
'The state o' you, Milord. Ear-to-ear wae that grin o' yours, nae joke.', the only Woad in the Battalion endearingly baulked, smirking as he chuckled it off and stared through the frontal viewports to the outer-suburbs around him. Shaking his head with a maintained light chuckle, Reed was obviously having an internalized conflict on the methodology of his new Lord-Commander, but one the flame-haired Captain, at the same time, found the Lord-Colonel's process much too fun (and much too hilarious also) to take issue with any part of it, knowing the arguments on the matter of Muunilinst were to be had solely between Gowrie and Barran afterwards. As he turned back around for one last comment on the matter, Alun threw back an unlit Faslane as he growled over the din of the Thistle's engine,'Sometimes it's too easy ti forget how wild our tribes used t'be, eh? Ah'm happy for ye, naw really! Genuinely glad there's nuhin' but Barran's yappin' gettin' in yer way noo, at least this way we can let the New Order see whit separates Woad from Tuath on a fundamental level.'
'Heh! Here's Ginge gettin' worried that Barran's gawnty take issue wae this - forgettin' that Tal's landin' oan Muunilist soon.', Gowrie responded with eyebrow raised, though still in high spirits for the good his roguishness was doing for his allies' chances of prevailing on Muunilinst. Leaning in closer, Lord Aron would try to level with his second-in-command as best as he could as he said,'One would naturally think Tal to have the greater misgivings for the way we're behaving the-day, don't you think so?', offering the incentive to consider the behaviours that neither Galidraan nor the Woads could bring to heel, even after both attempted conquests of Galidraan III's frozen expanses beyond the Highlands.
'Judging by the expected presence of the Fighting First, we'll be finding out soon enough. An' good luck wae that, Milord.'
The Glow of Death IV - New-Imperial Rogues, Assemble!
'We're daein' well here so far, Milord. Every spoatt here we secure, we leave a single pair of eyes behind ti watch oor six, every - fething - time an'aw. Definitely no an auld Free-State habit anyways, we're acting mare like the freedom-fighters we're expected to become when we make it hame.... Of this, ah've nae doubt in the slightest!'
Dismounted and alighted from their vehicles once more, though carrying all the spare comm-link devices to keep in contact with the turret-crews who'd been kept almost three-hundred metres southeast of their forward-shifting positions, all the rifle-toting members of the Wildcats spread out to scout their approach to the outer edges of Harnaidan's inner-city districts. No liabilities would be needed in their attempt to clear multiple square miles of occupied opposition-territory, but none would be found slouching at the back either, as the periscope optics for the Cataphracts, the AFVs and the ACVs alike were capable of setting long-distance and infrared lenses in their attempt to aid the process from their stationary (though poised) defensive positions.
'Well, if it goes that way, fair enough... But ah'm still gawnty revert t'the tried-and-tested if we're really up against it-'
<"-Scott to Wildcat One! Faux-perimeter redoubt cleared, every Tango inside and around it was KC'd just a few seconds ago! Requesting permission to clear the entire neighbourhood around the epitaph, Milord."> I, oddly, understood every last word o' that! No doubt a Tuath accent, but a natural Galactic-Basic linguist an'aw? Fair play....
'Permission granted, Guardian One! Keep an eye out for friendlies while you're at it, I have every intention of linking up with the sneakiest of the New Order's deployments. An' suhin' tells me this Amadeus Blackwood gadgie's daein' everything we are the noo, so check your fire and identify before you engage with anyone! Am I making myself perfectly clear, Scott?'
<"Crystal-clear, Milord. Fairbairns are still drawn, so you'll know well enough that friendlies would be easy to identify at those sorts of distances. Guardian One out!">
Despite the politeness of the Guard-Leftenant, along with the warmth of his spoken tone, there was still no doubt in the Tuath commander's mind that there was subtle iciness underneath, revealing a clear-and-present resolve to annihilate anyone daring to get the drop on Lord Gowrie; and whether Leftenant Scott had worked his way through the ranks of Blue-Heart Brigade or with another outfit entire, Lord-Colonel Gowrie had no clue, yet the Kellas knew for sure that his chief-guardsman was limited by the weight of carrying the sure-shot subordinates who were out in the ruins sneaking around with him. Whether the next campaign of the Third Imperial Civil-War was to end in triumph or in turmoil, the Kellas knew he'd need men like Guard-Leftenant Scott around whenever their luck was expected to turn against them, as the wars ahead promised no such happy endings for the likes of the Tuaths of Wildcat Battalion, and men like the polite Leftenant would be needed to carve such fortunes out for all their sakes.
Whether Wildcat Battalion survives this or no is beyond debatable, but also irrelevant.... Places like this, they're oor natural habitat.
A backwater world, but there was value in expanding their territory to Ord Thoden. Even in the edges of the Galaxy, parsecs away from the great civilizations of the Core there were some diamonds in the rough. Even underdeveloped worlds had something to contribute in the grand vision of the Order.
The Imperials focused on mining and industrial production after bringing Ord Thoden to the fold of this empire. Every deposit of lommite that was found was harvested and forged for the war machine of the Order. Of course, with every asset under the Iron Sun, COMPNOR was to monitor every medium of media and process it what was acceptable for Ord Thoden. Propaganda was an efficient tool to herd the masses, along with fear and strength. There were still some cells of dissidence on Ord Thoden as some wished to return to a mere democracy.
There was lots of work to be done on Ord Thoden, a task he spearheaded through unconventional means while developing his other ambitions. Djorn operated under a persona masking his own, wanting to become a myth and operate in discretion.
<“Sir, I’m receiving reports from Muunilinst.”> Elijah, a member of Djorn’s unit that followed their commander in his quest of perfecting the New Imperial Order and extend it across the galaxy.
<“Muunilinst? What does that got to do what we’ve got going on here?”>
<“There seems to be an offensive launched by the Crimson Blade.”>
A moment of silence followed. The first fire that was sparked by the revolution launched by Irveric Tavlar
and creating what they were standing on. A new order of Imperials that would take back their future and claim what was rightfully theirs.
<“Bold and daring, but there’s nothing we can do to help. They’re on their own, we’ve got work to be done here.”>
<“That’s not all...there’s another battle taking place in Orinackra.”>
What were they playing at? Orinackra served nothing more than just a prison colony, though it did serve host for many prisoner the New Imperials have captured.
<“Anything else?”>
<“No, sir. Nothing of importance to relay.”>
He could understand why target Muunilinst. Disrupt the flow of trade they established on the Braxant Run, making it tedious to travel to Bastion and Serenno; as well as strike with vengeance to the Sith’s first major defeat from the New Imperials. Orinackra? Rescue prisoners of war, a war that has seen no end after five years of conflict. That and have a foot to cut off all supply lines from Jaemus, Bastion, Bescane, Serenno, and other systems.
<“Relay this news across Ord Thoden, the people should know what is happening in order to prepare themselves.”>
<“Prepare for what, sir?”>
<“In case if they come with a fleet above Ord Thoden. Make sure to build a propaganda campaign, for this. Patriotic morale is an invaluable currency for this war.”>
Such news would alert the garrison and naval assets assigned on Ord Thoden. There was no telling if the enemy would come now or in the next hour, but they must be prepared for them.
The rotten stench of festering emotion permeated the ground, shrouding the battlefields in a haze of fetid rage. Not even the Warmachine was immune to its toxic cloud, though where the few Force Sensitives amongst her squadron found it perturbing, it only rang through her senses like a dinnerbell- stoking up a hunger she was eager to sate with blood and blood alone. Their defensive position had planted them far from the brunt of the Sith Imperial charge, tucking them away behind the bone-crushing might of their armored Galidraani comrades, and within the higher reaches of the city where their rifles did the talking for them.
Their prerogative was a simple one, just as she liked it: blow the brains out of every Sith Imperial commander that waltzed across the wretched stretch of no-man's-land and dared step foot in the city. Fanned out across an expanse of three buildings, The newly revitalized Watchmen lay, paired off in groups of three- two shooters and one spotter to each. The comlink established between them was silent, as expected. Noel was thankful for that, in a sense, far too burned from the venture on Ziost to the aid of the Galactic Alliance to get too attached to her soldiers. She gave them orders and they followed them, that's all that was necessary to get the job done.
Metallic teeth ground against organic behind the glaring red of her visor, she watched the Sith Imperials press their assault- small as ants to the naked eye where she lay in insidious wait. It wouldn't be long, if they weren't careful, that their positions could be compromised. The secondary vantage point had already been established and marked on all of The Watchmen's HUDs and would come into play, in due time. For the time being, however, Strasza was content where she nested. If TSE pressed deeper into their territory, she would have her chance to bash plenty of skulls open on the duracrete personally, and delight in the satisfaction of it all. It was the only thing that motivated her lately. The only thing that drove her onward, ever forward- that seething hatred for the mongrels who had oppressed the galaxy for far too long.
The same who had cost her men their lives on Ziost.
The same who had cost her the body she had known and forced her to become the hateful, spiteful mesh of biology and cybernetic engineering.
It didn't matter to her, not much anymore.
This body was damned good at putting Sith Lords beneath her heel where all of them belonged.
That's all that mattered.
Her trigger finger flexed, spewing lead from the silenced barrel of her rifle, and she watched through the tinted lens of her scope as another Sith Legionnaire was sent to meet their maker without so much of an idea what happened to them. It wasn't the same- not even close. Snuffing lives out from a distance could only tickle her hunger, hardly impacting it at all. Frustrated somewhat, Major Strasza huffed, an airish, grating sound that was enough for the trooper on his belly beside her to glance over.
"Patience, yeah? 's what you've been preaching to us for months now." He chuckled, turning his focus back to the line.
The cyborg stared in his direction from the corners of her eyes, despising his humor. He was still fresh. Wet behind the ears in a helmet weighed with a responsibility he didn't understand just yet.
She didn't envy him- he was in for a terrifying awakening.
The stealth vessel kept on course dodging the dangers of this system and letting the carrier sit behind them. It was mainly a distraction. Tranquility's mainframes were buzzing as she monitored electronics and sought out which ships seemed to command. This was pushing them to suspecting the Confidence. However she wasn't sure. Organics were strange and not very logical so one had to be extra sure when choosing such an important course of action. The problem with this was that without the Zweihander Union she felt bored, usually she would be handling more processes than this small fleet. It was an adjustment but if things stayed how they were, she might be able to gather more data engaging them in combat if the current threat against their allies the TSE kept up. This engagement however had the perk of being able to rescue the Empress. Hopefully they could get her in time and in good health.
It had been a long time, a very long time since Bastian had stepped foot in battle. All apart of a long running plan to keep himself out of these situations. He better served the nation by being an intel officer. Nice and comfy behind a desk. Maybe the occasional field work. Evidently someone high and above; someone Bastian would love to have delivered a frag grenade sans pin into their office; had come across his file or something. For a 'HERO OF THE EMPIRE' as it stated in his orders, doesn't sit around doing paper work. They're on the front lines, pushing forward the Sith armies to victories. Yet here he was.
Bastian had not let his combat skills lay idle. Taking time to keep them sharp should they ever be needed. And today they would. He was being sent in to the thick of it. Damask Plaza. Thankfully not alone. A whole platoon of Troopers were assigned for his protection. They were all slogging through the rain up to the plaza. Directly for Eva Betrik
's position.
Luck, was it? A smaller target, certainly, but an unpredictable trajectory? Hardly.
It was no coincidence that the Shi'ido had opted for a mode of transportation that few could stomach, and that fewer still believed were safe in a war where starfighters strafed the early choke points of infantry deployments - not that she had bothered to share her rationale, knowledge which would have changed the course of history if divulged. Call it self-preservation, call it a lack of compassion, it could be called any number of words or names but the result still remained the same. The drop pod containing the Sith Lord collided and embedded itself purposefully into the streets of Harnaidan while Lady Marrow
's transport was locked on and shot down, crashing nearby while the red-head incinerated her method of entry and emerged, grim, from the flames unscathed.
These weren't her people anymore - neither her father nor her cousin remained involved in the machinations of the Empire, nor did she for that matter. Saber hilt in hand, her left, she reached with her right for the blade glowing brightly in the smoldering ruins of her drop pod, unflinching as her fingers curled around the black hilt and drained the heat from the blade like an arctic chill. She'd set course where she had to keep an eye on the fledgling Sith, among others that had been willed by fate to move away from their intended landing zones, but there was not an iota of concern in her heart for any of them - rather contempt for their frailty, having foreseen a far worse outcome for the entire lot of them if she had chosen to arrive closer to the heart of the city.
Red eyes surveyed her surroundings, the corrupt irises haloed by the pitch black sclera devoid of any semblance of white, and she took careful inventory of the ones that had been lucky to make their way to a place near her. 'Good.' Came the hoarse, visceral, scratching sound of her voice in the recesses of her mind. 'They'll know to flee.' The words entered her mind as the sight of a looming building came into focus at the height of her gaze. Ignoring the picturesque objective for now she turned her focus to the emotions that wafted through the air like a miasma - the disgust at the presence of those in the force, the rage at their arrival at such an auspicious hour, and the frigid absence of remorse in the eyes of those that looked down at them with killing intent.
"Cute."
It was all she said as she stepped away from the blaze left behind, swinging the large blade in her right hand forwards as the hilt of her saber was clipped to the belt at her waist. "You're there to make sure that the job gets done."They had told her, to which she had scoffed as she scoffed now. "I'm here to get my satisfaction, first." She grumbled to herself as she brought her now-free hand to the exposed section of the hilt of her sword to make its weight less of a burden. A soldier, not more than a hundred or so meters north, collapsed under a pink spray of matter that spattered the ground around them - a sniper. The grim, thin, line of her lips slowly curled into a grin as the vision finally assured her of its truth. Red-on-coal eyes glanced up to a building, the force giving her all the necessary sight she needed to put a face to the urge in her to feast.
Muscles rippled, skin split and bled as it was torn, while the Sith Lord's body was reshaped in the image caught at the center of her mind even as she strode openly through the streets towards the one she'd marked as prey. Mori - Vesta - had earned a reputation of being a beast of a killer, a notoriety that few assumed went further than the brutality she freely employed in the manner of death forced upon the enemy, unaware of her cannibalistic nature - of the transformative nature of her body and the preference towards crafting herself a visage fitting of a predator.
Noel Strasza
would know soon enough, the igniting blade of her lightsaber as it flung back from her side and into a bestial hand would make sure of it.
For a few moments, the ensuing chaos which came with the clammor and rush to the city streets, to the join the fight...it all fell to silence. The crack and press of each duraplast boot against metal and stone to nothing. The distant explosions and clatter of the nightmare that was war creeping just into the periphery of his senses silence.
He screwed his eye shut, focusing on his heartbeat before unfurling his gaze once more. The shock of the system ever present before, the shrieks of death hailing through the sky, the visions of his own buried in ashen, urban rubble graves enveloped in titanic hell fire. Harnaidan. The black cauldron, the ninth circle. Hell. One of the most brutal battles to this point, if only for the trailing insult the Sith Empire did unto it with nuclear devestation.
And now, half a decade of meticulous rebuilding was threatened in a moment's notice.
501st troopers seemed to come to Irveric's flanks with the coming of battle. One of them immediately went to offer him a rifle, a disruptor. It wasn't the smaller, more ergonomic service rifle or battle rifle he typically opted for but this one was meant for killing...and harshly. The New Imperials held no reserve when equipping their troopers with weapons like these. This was total war, the way of man. There was their tribe...and the other. It didn't matter what it took, the other had to die, the other couldn't ever hinder their way of life.
Eventually he was at the lobby floor of the complex where New Imperial High Command had assembled for their meeting.
And in that ground floor - there she was.
Donning her Imperial military uniform, with that infernal gaze washed away and those familiar eyes present once more. He was only recognizable from his distinct armor, any features unique to him, of which there were many were concealed beneath the tinted visor. He approached wordlessly, flanked by more of his 501st troopers and stood before you.
He had many questions, far too many questions, concerns...but now- none of it mattered.
The silence was telling, those tortured eyes barely visible at this distance beneath the visor as he looked over her.
<"Come with me."> Was all Tavlar muttered aloud. Ever the pragmatist to serenade her with perhaps the most meager welcome home to New Imperial space. But time was a luxury here and safety, impossible. There was a mark on his head and by extension - hers. But Irveric always and would continue to lead from the front. Fortunately, the 501st along with the rest of the New Imperial Order's more storied units had played through these combat scenarios several times with the successful defense of Ravelin being proof of concept and the first battle for Harnaidan being experience in theatre, he liked the chances wrought down to his command which had now been decentralized, one of the rules of combat, a set which Irveric had adhered to religiously.
Decentralize command. 501st had veteran leadership from the officer corps down to the NCOs and basic troopers, they knew how to operate and mitigate that horrid and sometimes fatal mistakes that came with urban warfare. Harnaidan, Ravelin, Garang, Adasta, all notchs in their favor, victory or loss all battles eventually became lessons learned and written in blood. Such was the chronicle of combat, nothing was easily learned, it only had to be done.
<"I don't want to know where you've been or what you've been up to...I just need to know if you can fight."> Irveric said. He cared, but ultimately Muunilinst, the Order, his people. It all was thrust to the forefront of his personal priorities. To act otherwise would've made him the demon he sought to slay years prior, when he was the disillusioned Sith Imperial Legion officer. He would not be the same beast.
He would be something far worse for his enemy.
<"Ready-first is set to go on your lead, sir."> Vizek remarked to Irveric who nodded once in understanding.
<"Copy - run them up with whatever armor we have available, get combat engineers to seal off avenues of entry, roadways, make kill zones, choke points - contain and destroy any organized Sith assets."> Irveric commanded before he looked the way of Lyra.
<"Your Rangers are here- correct? I need forward observations on their landing points, get them up high so we can drop the hammer on where they're coming from."> He callously commanded to Voi'kryt. Whether she wanted to go renegade or not, her Genesis Rangers were NIO assets. Call it a test of loyalty, his call of duty.
<"Regardless, you and me are on the move."> He stated coldly to Lyra.
They were on the city streets of Harnaidan once more, the place that tested them to the limits before. He relented his feelings then and did the same now, nothing could compromise the mission. For any compromise mean't more dead Imperials, more dead brothers and sons.
With the Imperial war machine or at the very least, what was present of it here slowly spinning itself into its operational efficiency.
It was time to go to work. Vindicate and Enigma among the ruins of Harnaidan together again, ready to reap death on the enemy. The head of the hydra, such an appealing man to hunt and kill, severing the head of the snake that was the New Order and sowing chaos through the greatest threat to the Sith the Galaxy had seen since the Fel Empire and the First Galactic Alliance in-exile formed the initial Triumvirate.
Irveric would follow down the same path and ensure the same fate the Sith carried then was carried out once more.
To say that Aurelion was out of his depth was an understatement. Even as he held the now-familiar helmet in his hands, staring into the visor, he heard the words of Darth Strosius
but struggled to truly process them. Tears stung vaguely at the back of his eyes as the Dark Side tendrils that were now a constant companion hissed and curled around him like the dying limbs of a rose bush. Lashing and almost burning the air as they fed from his sorrow. He missed Taozi Fuyuan
and he missed Tabitha Solus
both terribly. He wasn't a soldier, or a Sith, he just felt like a scared kid playing at war with nowhere else to go, no direction, that felt so out of place in his own skin that it felt like a prison in and of itself. Closing his singular eye under the blindfold he had elected to wear to avoid the stares of an eyepatch, he drew in a small breathe before his head perked up at Valen Arenais when he spoke. The change in tone and inflection from Alisteri to him pulling Aurelion from his reverie enough to get him to nod numbly.
The comparatively confident and reassuring nod from Valen making Aurelion's thoat seize up just a bit, but he nodded again, and his small nostrils flared slightly as he set his lips in a thin line, fully sunk into Force Vision, and slowly donned the helmet that snap-hissed shut around him like a cold, comfortable coffin. Something that while he was within, he could feel the galaxy a little less through, as if he were touching and perceiving it all through a thin layer of translucent tar. Like clear, liquid darkness swaddled him against reality itself.... it was closer to the truth than even Aurelion was aware of. To other Force Users it was like he was in a black-web cocoon of sorts, writhing and squirming within his own emotions like prisoner, bulging and distending his mind in the same motions his feelings turned. As the darkness continued to murmur and whisper, coax and coerce, bit by bit.... he sunk down the Dark path.
Shuffling out of the landing shuttle behind his contemporaries the Dark Side tendrils that hissed and lashes the air like living serpents behind Aurelion. Their touch poison and annihilation to the soil beneath his feet, turning the rich foundation of life into naught but dust at the slightest touch and Aurelion wondered briefly how or why the tendrils did not harm his armor. He barely had time to glance back at the tendrils before giving off a soft, almost inaudible yelp as he tripped on an rock. Falling forward onto his face and for a brief moment his cheeks burned a bright, ashamed red. Simply laying their for a brief moment before he sat up and wasn't quite able to bring himself to look at Alisteri or Valen as he murmured sheepishly "There... There was. a.... a-a rock...."
Drawing no dividend from time's to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
---- Put Your Money On Me
Harnaidan, Muunilinst
+0:45 h since Invasion Commencement
Damask Plaza
"What do you m-" but by then she'd already gone. "You'll get us killed," he muttered to himself.
A blaster bolt struck the tent next to him. Several more came flying after it, he ducked out of their way and ran for cover. He kept low as best he could.
Shoulder slamming against the bottom one of the tables, he turned it over and settled behind it. Blaster bolts whined past above. Some struck the wood on the other side, jerking the table into Bernard. All circumstances considered he'd had worse conditions to work under. Late shifts pulled in an overcrowded Marshal station were no joke. But he needed the breather, even if it was only a short one. He fumbled with bandages, awkwardly wrapping a makeshift cast for his arm, all-the-while glancing up every few seconds to check in on both the Civilians and Ishida.
While he worked he began to think. Despite what the Sith claimed, the blaster fire all came from one side of the plaza. Bernard wasn't a gambler, but he wagered the threat of being surrounded was at best a bluff. He hoped. He risked a glance around the table, down the main road towards the entrance to the plaza.
Heat signatures were difficult to read in the rain, and the copious amount of tents and crates didn't help the matter much. Still, he managed to spot a few of the troopers, clustered around the northern edge, confirming his suspicion with tentative evidence. What's more, he could have sworn he saw the crimson gleam of reinforcements coming up the street in the distance.
The cogs kept turning in his mind. Then it hit him. They were in the middle of a bazaar. He suppressed a grin.
Finished with the bandaging, he tapped his comlink, popping out of cover to take a few pot shots.
<Get the civilians to the south. Keep along the skycutters, we'll draw the Sith's attention,> he ordered the few Alliance soldiers. 'We' clearly implied the two Jedi.
He got a series of copies in return, and the soldiers started their work. Running from cover to cover, they began corralling the civilians away from the centre, sneaking through tarps and tents to stay out of sight as best they could.
More bolts whizzed by and Bernard returned a few of his own.
<We need to keep the Sith distracted for a bit. They've got reinforcements incoming, too. We'll have to keep their attention centre,> he commed to the other Jedi.
In the way of distractions there were few as effective as a Jedi. Their lightsabres commanded attention like no other weapon on the battlefield, and their renown made them both feared and sought after as opponents. The Sith were aware of one Jedi already, Bernard was curious to see what they'd do with two.
He holstered his blaster and opened his poncho up to get at an inside pocket. His fingers brushed over metal, an icy cold confirming he'd found what he was looking for, and he retrieved it. The hilt felt painful in his palm, not from the cold but from memory. He steeled himself against it and raised it up above his head.
With a snap-hiss, the blade rose. Its light-blue hue painted the tents and made raindrops shine with radiance all around it.
Bernard rose from behind the table, determination clear in his expression. He was no longer able to hear the Force's symphony, but he was still a Jedi. With a flourish, he signed a challenge to the Sith.
<And I've got an idea,> the smirk was audible in his voice.
OBJECTIVE I//: MEDIA BLITZ // TARGET >>LAERTIA IO// the enemy
Tracking the elusive Laertia Io, so-called Darth Xiphos, had been a daunting task even for one of the most notorious hunters in the galaxy. Abaddon had been on her trail for months; months which he had used to the fullest to studying and examining every single detail about his target. To know his enemy as well as he knew himself.
The trail finally led him back to New Imperial territory - Ord Thoden, where she had disembarked from a Sith carrier by the means of drop pods. Alerts across New Imperial installations on the ground would surely be flaring up over the incursion but that mattered little to the assassin.
He was here on one mission only - eliminate Laertia Io
.
Abaddon's had moved to intercept and ambush the target and her infamous droids, setting his spot on a vantage point overlooking her arrival. The shallow rumbling of plates of the tectonic planet masked the light hurling of sonic and smoke grenades on Laertia's position. Disable the enemy's senses - ears and eyes first. The ear-shattering explosion of the sonic waves rang gruesomely, capable of disbalancing humanoids, while the burst of smoke covering Abaddon's insertion into the fray.
From above, the assassin would drop down upon Laertia. His large figure eclipsing the haze of the sun at his back, a long shadow looming over her.
The shadow of death.
His blade drew a crescent in an attempt to cut her in half.
T Y R A N T NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL ARMY ARMORED ASSAULT CORPS
EYES WIDE SHUT | COMMS BASE 'ECHO-AUREK'
It wasn't the most glorious assignment or deployment the New Imperial Order High Command could have bestowed unto Bolter but- with recent events he didn't mind the chance at mental and physical recovery, not all too bothered by the opportunity to lick his wounds, get his men reps in with less than lethal training scenarios, utilizing the abrasive terrain of Ord Thoden for armor and infantry maneuver exercises. Over time, he'd grown accustom to what was traditionally regarded as a outland Imperial garrison. Just enough to accommodate the men stationed within with a...meagerly equipped motor pool though the war had certainly left a lower priority duty station like Ord Thoden lacking the supplies and personnel it needed to operate at full capacity with the warfront and foreign excursions reaping the cream of the crop.
It was a comms station meant to blast propaganda. It wasn't any post at the edge of Sith Imperial or Bryn space...there was nothing to worry about.
Whilst it sent daily messages across the crimson veil that read off something like -
<"SITH ETERNALISM WILL PLACE YOU IN CHAINS. YOUR EMPERORS HAVE ABANDONED YOU. THE ZAMBRANO DYNASTY IS NO MORE. THE NEW IMPERIAL ORDER WELCOMES ALL IMPERIALS, WORRY NOT OF PAST CRIMES OR EVILS, THE NEW ORDER WILL PROTECT YOU AND PROTECT YOUR FAMILY. ABANDON THE FALLEN, CORRUPT STATE AND EMBRACE OPPORTUNITY, SAFETY, SECURITY IN THE NEW IMPERIAL ORDER. WE WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS."> The messages would read out, straight from a script by a warm female voice, a voice meant to lower one's guard.
Bolter, like many of the others on post, hadn't the faintest idea how effective these messages were, or if they got through but given they were still here and not anywhere important or pertinent to the security of the New Imperial Order, it must have been worth keeping the lights on.
Relieved of his full company command while new recruits filled its ranks after several...bloody encounters. Generis, Serenno and Csilla - he was content to leave the day to day duties to the ever fiery if enigmatic Djorn Bline.
At the command center, Konrad sat idly at the console, his face buried in a holopad. One of the several state sanctioned news outlets, this particular issue reading with the headline 'CSILLA - A WORLD IN FLAMES' , an issue which Bolter only bothered to download in seeing if his unit was mentioned at all.
It wasn't. But when commanding a company sized element in a planetary sized conflict, he shouldn't have expected otherwise.
The commscan officer was the first to respond to a ping, a shuttle making its way near 'Echo-Aurek'. The very shuttle carrying Aurelion Nova
, Valen Arenais and Darth Strosius
. In accordance to New Imperial military airspace operations, he hailed it.
<"Unidentified shuttle craft this is New Imperial installation 'Echo-Aurek', you are entering New Imperial military airspace. Please identify yourself and transmit your clearance codes."> The man sounded off.
Bolter glanced past his reading material with an arched brow before peering down back once more, reclined back in his seat wearing only his duty fatigues dyed in 'NIO Flora' camouflage with the standard strike force breastplate over it, the rank bar of 'Colonel' pinned to the metal.
"Hold on...we have something else." A carrier, Sith signature, dropped in orbit by Laertia Io
.
"Carrier, low orbit, it's ejecting drop pods. No identification...we're being attacked, Colonel." A quick determination, but a certainly accurate one. Bolter burst to his feet in the wake of the foreboding words, nodding once.
"Set the base on red alert then, something is off. And- and make sure that shuttle is identified, could all be diversion, one for the other."Bolter remarks, not knowing much at all what he is dealing with before raising his vambrace to his mouth, patching through to Djorn Bline
.
<"Sir, I am setting 'Echo Aurek' to lockdown status, we have an unidentified warship in orbit expelling drop pods to the surface."> Bolter said, abiding by the laws of combat and New Imperial military procedure.
The commscan officer followed through with the procedure, patching through to the unidentified shuttle.
<"Unidentified Vessel, this is New Imperial installation 'Echo-Aurek', you have been ordered to land and stay grounded until further notice. In the meantime please identify yourself and provide landing clearance codes."> The man said once more.
Bolter couldn't leave the control tower fast enough. If there was going to be action, he would be apart of it.
TAURUS ORINACKRA '65
Attached to Prefsbelt Special Warfare Command
It was getting heavy. This certainly wasn't part of Trajan's modus operandum, to be mediator or present at all for tensions between career politicians that were Rausgeber and L'lerim. Whatever they were otherwise, that certainly is what they were right now. A lot of talk, no substance. It was certainly why, in spite of his senior leadership position within the Sons of Mandalore, he was only ever the gunslinger, not the talker. That role was left better to just about anyone else. Fett, Bralor, even Munin- they could all do it better than Kurze. Even with the liberation of Manda'yaim actuated- he was made of the stuff of killers and little else.
But in that came the means and the methodology of finding the enemy's weaknesses and exploiting it.
Perhaps...unwanted - and unwarranted, Kurze spoke up.
<"Looks like you're in a bind, Admiral."> He said outright, his disruptor rifle cradled in his arms as he looked between Rausgeber and the Eternal Empress.
<"Seems like there's some tension. I know its not my spot to get involved but our Empress here is a wanted woman. Eternal Empire get her from us as we are right now, who is say they don't break whatever agreement has been set already. Sith find her- well they'll be hailed as heroes back home. I say set her on a shuttle and boot her out- that's your best call."> Trajan says, contemplating with a pace of his steps, the characteristic rattle of his Beskar'gam sounding out in the echo of every footfall.
<"And in return for freedom, all is smoothed over and she doesn't make any big deal of this to anyone."> Trajan says, looking the way of Ingrid to reaffirm his assessment of the situation before shifting his t-visor gaze back to Rausgeber.
<"But this is your ship. Do whatever you want. All I know is the longer she is here, the more likely we'll be getting trouble...trouble I'll have to deal with."> Trajan stated
The Admiral Regent eyed the Mandalorian with a quirked brow. "While Mr Kurze, I do certainly enjoy your strategic advice. I think the situation is well in hand." He paused, "The Empress is a fool. Some prissy monarch start up. Aping off the aspirations of a long dead Empire. She would a fool and insolent to at all deny this deal." He would however take the Mandalorians suggestion under advisement. "But. Should perhaps the strategic situation deteriorate. I will consider your worldview." He gave a condescending pat on the shoulder and turned back to the Eternal Empress. "So your majesty, your verdict?" And that's when she hit him with it.
Carlyle felt something within himself boil over. It was a familiar feeling which oft manifested itself in times of crisis and suffering. This was one of them. The Admiral Regent listened quietly and furiously as his loyalty questioned. As his personal conduct, questioned. And by extension his conviction. His strength of character. And beyond that, the deal he had cut quite amicably with her. Broken. An attempt at reason, and yet the monarch failed to grasp that. And in beneath all of that, incandescent rage boiled over. She would have to learn her place. The warlord approached her curtly and politely, smiles all round. "Perhaps your majesty," A hand tucked itself around the back of her chair, and swivelled it around, until Ingrid faced the console in front of her. It randomly produced data, throwing strange numbers into the aether, "You should not insult one's host."
Leather bound fingers laced themselves into Ingrid's hair, entwining themselves quite brutally, jerking back briefly to pull against the roots within her scalp, "And should not," Slam. Carlyle's palm forced Ingrids head into the console, at force shattering the screen with her face. "Underestimate!" His voice echoed, lifting her head up, and then repeating the motion. "Me!" He slammed it again, blood smearing the console and its control panel. "Never underestimate me! Never try to cut some underhanded deal with me! I'm in control!" Rausgeber screamed at her, "Me! I'm in control here! And you dare lie about me!" Carlyle bashed her head against the console, "About what I am! I serve the Imperator!" Carlyle proclaimed, flecks of phlegm and spit washing over the back of her head, "With my very essence! My very being I provide!" He spat. "And yet you question my loyalty?! My dedication?!" Carlyle slammed her head again, and pulled viciously against her, "And you are insolent enough to deny me! To deny fair deal! An equitable arrangement, and yet you sit in chains and you spit in my face!"
With all his force, Carlyle gripped the chair, and tipped it over, sending Ingrid sprawling onto the ground. Still attached to it via the arm rests. "See how much you care now!" Carlyle rounded the chair, "See how much your soldiering is worth with this?!" He lay in the boot, kicking into her ribs. "Don't try to bargain with me, you craven widow!" The Admiral Regent bellowed, slamming his boot again and again repeatedly, "You're in no position to bargain! No position to deny me! Or my masters!" Carlyle spat. He readjusted his position, and lay the boot into her head, smashing into it with his toe "Don't you ever! Ever! Threaten me!" He smashed his boot into her face again, "I reject your deals, your witchcraft, and you will accept that this-!" Carlyle paused and looked over her as his boot was raised, ready to slam into her cheek. She was thoroughly bruised. Broken even. By the force what had he done?
"This...." He was now breathing deeply, sweat coalesced off his brow "This.... This isn't worth it." It was a spice dream. She would never deny her Empire. She would never betray its sovereignty, no matter how much he lied to her the other way about small incursions which way or the other. That was the way of the Galaxy. Pretender or not, she had a border to protect. A creed. And now perhaps he was dishonourable, for violating his own creed. The heat from his features subsided. It was so.... Unseemly. Pa'Desh was a distant memory. He could remember the world so clearly. His love for it. It's people. What it had meant. It had been home. A sanctuary. in his time of crisis. Could his word have been blinded by that? Emotion was so... New to him. In the broader sense. The hormones. The anger. The rush of adrenaline? Addictive. There was very little he could hope to compromise from some deal. She was a shadow of her former self. An exile, whom from Carlyle's understanding had lost most, if not everyone. To some degree, he sympathised.
The Admiral Regent straightened his hair with a bloodstained glove, "Captain," He turned to the Stossjaeger officer who was entirely dumbfounded, and stood to attention, "Unshackle the Empress. Your squad, Gamma and Omega will detain the Empress and get her to the shuttle." Rausgeber looked down at her, "Mr Kurze, if you would. Escort the Empress from this vessel and ensure her departure? I think it's time she went home." The Grand Admiral, defeated, sighed. It was all so pitiful. He was so full of hope today.
"Affirmative Grand Admiral!" The Captain barked, saluting, before approaching the Empress and kneeling at her side. "Up and at 'em," The Stossjaeger Captain barked, finishing the unshackling, "On your feet." His tone was a little, shaken given what he'd witnessed, "I'm sure there's uh... There's some place you can fix this when you're home." The Stossjaeger took up formation around her, and frogmarched the Empress. Once again making friendly use of their rifles and butts to keep her moving. For now, the shattered Empress looked to be on her way to freedom.
An exasperated, if not entirely bewildered frown marked the Twi’lek’s features when the Amalgam declined her offer of assistance. SV-2121 watched with a deadpan expression as the Amalgam began to stroke the white-painted wing of the Tuk’ata and speak to the machine in a quasi-flirtatious tone, all while the technicians began to awkwardly step away. It went without saying that the witch and her associates, most notably the Black Knight, had developed quite a reputation after Ziost, Generis, and the latter battles of the previous stage of the war. However, up until only a few hours before, SV-2121 had not known that the Amalgam was also a starfighter ace, in addition to being an ostensibly insane shapeshifter belonging to a murderous cult of mind-absorbing witches.
“You can customize the gender and avatar of the onboard intelligence, by the way.” The strand-cast answered matter-of-factly, in response to the Amalgam’s question regarding Lassie’s gender. "So, Lassie can be...well, anyone you want, my lady."
Upon seeing the witch climb into the cockpit, SV-2121 sighed and jogged towards her own interceptor, the Lobeha Mwadu, a name which she had given to the craft only recently, after an Aki-Aki dance ritual. Without wasting any time, the Twi’lek ascended the ladder and slid down into the cockpit of her interceptor. Her fingers began to dance across the interface, flicking various switches and buttons with a practiced grace. The upper hatch slammed shut and SV-2121 slid her helmet over her lekku, the organs twitching with anxiety as the red-tinted lights came on in the cabin, bathing her features in crimson shadow.
Moments later, the twin ion engines roared to life, howling a distinct, ancient cry that harkened back to the first Galactic Empire. Then, the shooter to the front-left her interceptor gave the signal for her to launch, to which SV-2121 gunned the engines and set off into the void of space, immediately finding her craft seemingly beset on all sides by the raging ionic storm...
Enedina Tal
Arcturus Tal
Tyrell Lockhart
Eskel Ravenot
DECEASED Aron Gowrie
K I N G S L A Y E R
