Junction The Battle For Carlac | Junction of Mobus & Oorn Tchis | BotM & NIO

[The Avatar]

BE STILL AND KNOW
MADDENING MURMURS SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE GALAXY...
...CHAOS WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE CONTROLLED-
T H E B A T T L E F O R C A R L A C
Thus begins The Second Great Hyperspace War
| OOC Thread |

​

The winds raked across the icy planet, scoring it with their malice. Darkness had been summoned to swallow Carlac in its entirety, casting the world behind a nigh-impassable veil of tumultuous lightning, screaming gale, and blinding snow. The night had come, plunging the world into its coldest state, one the residents were versed all too well with enduring. Undead troopers marched in the hundreds of thousands in cooperative efforts with The Carlaci Corps, their living counterparts, to reinforce the defenses of the planet, bolstering the militias formed by passionate locals with the means and will to break the New Imperial hold upon their lives.

All across the planet, Death reigns with an incomprehensible grasp, turning the once thriving world into a chaotic warbeast with a mind set only on slaughter. Barricades and blockades line the streets, forcing choke points where battlements lay to shred invaders to pieces. The Force Storm swallowing the planet severs the connection from the outside and rains terror upon the ground beneath whilst weaving a nigh-impassable lattice of persisting crimson lightning through the clouds. Madness lives in the free air, breathed in by those on the ground, inflicting insidious effects upon their psyche. Whispers reach through the howling winds, piercing the minds of the invaders to fill them with doubt and agony. Visions prowl through thoughts, calling into question what is tangible from what is not. Ghosts run freely in the streets.

Senses muddied, perception skewed, it becomes increasingly difficult to discern reality from the horrific, living nightmare they must endure.

Carnage has become Carlac. Nothing but death and the torture of an afterlife stolen away await those who dare to intrude here.

Some things were better left alone.

The line has been drawn.

The die, cast.

Survive to see the sunrise, or perish alone in the darkness, succumbing to the torment of your own mind.
​

 

[Halketh]

M O U R N
C A E L I T U S
Dark Lord of the Sith
vestment| creation
Darth Solipsis

The preparations had been completed in mere days, far faster than he could have hoped for. The entire planet had turned from bustling civilization, a shining testament to the strength of will, to a hive of ravenous peoples prepared for war. Acts of treason were not to be punished lightly, and in his case, perhaps he had committed the vilest of them all. Not only had he broken the shackles the New Imperials held his people by, but he had grievously wounded many of the Imperial Grand Assembly, and further still, he had murdered the Sovereign Imperator. Years of plotting in the shadows had finally come to a head, everything had led to this. Patiently, he had waited, amassing his forces to strength he never dreamed himself capable of. He had reached through the Darkness, seeking allies with hearts and minds as twisted as his own, and in the shade, he found The Maw. And when he peered unto them, they peered back unto him, finding kinship.

Here he stood now, on the very precipice of what he had sought after since he had struck down his former Master before he could claim Knighthood within the Jedi as his own.

The very destiny he glimpsed in the caves of Ilum all those decades ago, it was now.

The threat of Death had lost its power to one who commanded it, wielding it as a tool in an arsenal no man was meant to possess.

And in the looming shadow of Imperial incursion, he had shaped his world into a chaotic, unforgiving place that would break the weak upon its icy glaciers, crush them upon the mountainous spires, and see the streets flooded with their blood. Already, beyond the windowpane he stood before, nestled at the very top of his fortress, he saw The Force writhing with hellish fury, spurned up into a planetary storm by the efforts of his sorcerous devout, filling the red-stained sky with blinding flashes of crimson lightning and the howling gales of screaming wind. It was enough to make him sigh, though he remained where he stood, firmly planted in place with his helmet tucked beneath his arm and the dormant blade of vorpal woes slumbering in his hand. He would command his army from afar, as he knew well enough the Imperial Knights would come for him, and they were best kept away from the more intensive fights on the ground, where their abilities would give them an advantage against his militia and undead.

"Dark Lord, our scouts have reported Imperial vessels approaching the planet." The woman cast her voice across the spacious chamber, allowing it to serve as an announcement of her arrival alone.

The miraluka nodded slowly, turning himself away from his peer beyond the panes, and angled his head in her direction. "They're late," he shifted his weight, adjusting the helmet clutched in his gauntleted hand, "but I suppose it's to our advantage. Ensure the sorcerers are tucked safely within the labyrinth, we cannot afford to lose this storm."

"By your order," Amarth nodded, dismissing herself, and it was her lonesome footfalls fading that left Caelitus to his thoughts once more.​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Freedom
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Omni drone (only in the Netherworld)​

Objective II.: UNDERWORLD
Location: Asoport or Srares or Deles (Depends on what Mongrel choose.)
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator | G1 OmniLink
Tag: The Mongrel

[ Uprising ] ​

A lot of time has passed since my last mission, which was, to put it mildly, quite a disaster. I didn’t have many memories of that day; I was just sure I spent quite a bit of time in the hospital afterwards and had to go through a lot of examinations. But now I was finally ready to get back to work and continue my agent field training. That’s why I was glad I got an assignment almost immediately. A pretty fit one actually.

Only now I was on the opposite side just as usual. For most of my life, I was the insurgent, now I had to help quell an uprising. My superiors have said that my experience in this field matters and can be worth a lot. To tell you the truth, I didn’t really expect to have to do such a task again. Do I care? No, at least I’m determined about that and I know what I need to do to help with NIO affairs.

Need more? No; that was perfectly enough. One of the troop carriers brought me to the planet and landed me on the outskirts of the city to start my mission from here. I didn’t want to be a perfect target right away, so I activated the cloaking device. I had the coordinates where I needed to meet my contact, this was necessary for the task.

Moments later, I reached the edge of the city and right here I was looking for the beneficial darkness of the alleys so that the shadows there would hide me even more and make the work of my cloaking device easier, and of course mine…

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

NIV TREGESSAR
CARLAC
FALL RACHE
M A C H T W E C H S E L

The command deck of the NIO Tregessar was deathly quiet as the vessel ripped from lightspeed. The gargantuan, obsidian dagger clung in orbit. It's viewports glowing that ominous blue as its sublight thrusters powered online. While New Imperial vessels had been working their way through and around orbit for sometime, depositing soldiers, arming the various defences put in place for blockade; a true offensive action had yet to occur. "Fleet Admiral," A call from the portside crewpit. "We have arrived. ETA for the remainder of the fleet is t-minus ninety seconds."

Fleet Admiral Anastasi Braisley starred out of the viewport. Down at the world below with a glare of incredulity. Carlac. The Dual Barony of all places. Was this truly what had brought the demise of the Sovereign Imperator? She was not sure quite to make of it. Lord Halketh, this supposed Dark Lord, was an eccentric wasn't he? And now, he had the blood of one of the most, well influential leaders in Galactic politics for quite some time. Although the news was not quite public yet, and yet memorandums had been dispatched around the Prefsbelt sphere of influence. To prepare for the storm to come for a potential succession crisis. To implement and pursue programs which may woo the heir apparent, this Rurik Fel character.

Braisley sighed. It was a great deal to consider. But now, this imminent threat of Carlac, it must be brought to heel. The Fleet Admiral strode across the bridge, "Dispatch fighters," She commanded. Her voice low, and sharp. Almost like a whip, "Have them prepare bombers, with rhypalm ordinance." She added. While the operation had not been cleared by the previous administration. A strategic bombing to melt the polar ice caps of Carlac, and several strategically important glaciers had been implemented. Now called Fall Rache, rather than VerraterKrieg, limited demolition had been authorised. Carlac now, was more than a world struggling with rebellion. It needed to be punished. "I want the remainder of the fleet, once arrived, to spread formation. And to patch into ground forces command for bombardment orders." Braisley added, "And of course we'll need to-"

The Fleet Admiral was cut off entirely by a sharp cry, "Grand Admiral on deck!" Her head swivelled around. And there he was. Rausgeber. The rest of the crew seemed to mirror the gesture, before saluting. Clicking their heels together and standing to attention as the man approached. He was... Deformed to say the least. His left arm, broken in three places, was sealed in a tub of bacta, which went up to his shoulder. Large, and unweildly. Patches of bactaplast were stuck to his face, arms, and clung beneath his uniform. Rather than the typical white he so ostentaciously wore, it was black. With a greatcoat haphazardly stuck on. His hair, was matted, and far shorter than typical. Most of it singed or burned off. But upon his face, was a ventilator mask. One to seep out and dispense the carbon build up in the respiratory system.

"Grand Admiral," Braisley approached, saluting before immediately collapsing her arm. "Milord, are you sure your presence here is neccessary? The medical crew informed me your condition, if I may be so bold, requires convalesence. Rest." She paused, and sunk her teeth into her lower lip, "You sir, should be relaxing. I assure you, the operation now is well in han-"

Carlyle waved her off, his other arm reaching, and taking the respirator off, as to speak. "I am fine." He wheezed, his voice, having lost that lovely youthful sheen. And was now crackled and haggard. "If this were any other day, I would have taken you up on it." Rausgeber glowered, limping forward. "But today, is a day of reckoning." He barked, "We must avenge, the Sovereign Imperator. And impress those who will come after." The man added, "And the means to this, come in the way of today's fighting." Carlyle turned his head back as he brushed past Braisley. "We will burn the traitors, and purge them."

"And I will be the means to do so."

 

[Cromwell]

OBJECTIVE I | SIEGE THE CROWN
NOT FAR FROM THE CROWN OF ICE

EMPIRE OF THE CLOUDS
​

By the Force...

The dark armored crusader stood gazing through the viewport as a storm of unseen magnitude wrapped the rebellious world. Above it the New Imperial fleet led by the Grand Admiral himself amassed, each new ship reverting from hyperspace flashing a loud ping on the sensors of his deep scout frigate the NIV Black Lance. The bridge was quiet, deadly quiet. First, there had been muffled talks among the crew over the Imperator's death but Avenger's stern order of silence had turned the bridge as silent as the grave.

"You still believe they deserve to live, Avenger?" Commodore Cornelius King, his right-hand man and commanding officer of the Black Lance under the authority of the Spectre approached him from behind. Twenty-five years senior to Avenger, King also was a Coruscanti native, but most importantly - one of the very few people in the galaxy that knew the spectre's real identity. After all, he'd been a good friend to Varian's father.

"In a cell. For a lifetime." replied Varian plainly. To murder in cold blood made him no different than the Sith that had taken away everything from him.

"Not a single Imperial shares that sentiment, hell not a single man in this crew you hand picked shares it."

"I've always been the odd one out." blank voice seeping with dry humor.

"But you wouldn't return home--"

"Not the time for that conversation, Cornelius. We've both seen and know the fallacies of democracy as it devolves into bureaucracy and blind trust--"

"Yes, we both know, but only you do not seem to understand. We chose this path because it is the only viable path to live safe. None of us here are Imperials by blood or by upbringing, but by choice, the only choice. Your picks weren't accidental, they never are. So why us?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"That you're still holding on to the same principles that dismantled the Alliance from within, that led to the sacking of Coruscant. And as much as I want to believe in these principles, we all know and understand the truth."

"So what is this truth then?"

Cornelius drew closer, now almost whispering, "The truth is, son, that you cannot change the Empire from within. Not even in this 'absolute authority' of a position you hold. It will always put order before freedom - you can't have both; especially now when the Executor is crowned Imperator. So throw away this notion because you can't convince us otherwise. All of us here have and while we may have our issues with imperialism, it at least guarantees we'll have a standing home and a living family to return to."

"Throw it away before it gets you killed, Varian."

Beneath the helmet, the spectre clenched his jaw absorbing the Commodore's words before departing away with an irritated grunt. Day after day, he convinced himself this service to the Empire preserved his family's legacy, while bearing the burden of doubting that notion every step of the way. In the sleepless nights he was haunted by his father's scrutinizing gaze. Cornelius was right - there was no balance to be struck, only a choice, a side to pick. As stubbornly as he believed in the third option, Varian knew it was all a matter of time. He simply had to find a way to come to terms with whatever choice he took. Easier said than done.

"Harold, get my fighter ready." he ordered as he picked up pace towards the frigate's hangar.

"Sir, I object--"

"Dismissed. Get it ready."

"But--"

"Harold."

"Yes, Sir, at once."

"I'm leaving all intelligence coordination to you; every single soldier down in that hell is going to need it."

"Affirmative, Sir."

<"This storm, Sir, is beyond natural.">

<"Strasza was right.">

<"That she bloody was, Sir.">

<"Halketh can't pull this on his own, not this and the undead together. Strasza mentioned he's been training force users.">

<"Ah, a coterie of madmen, how lovely, Sir.">

<"Indeed.">

<"You're not going after both, are you?">

<"If I have to.">

<"That's bloody ludicrous, Sir!">

<"Don't worry, Harold, this storm might take me out first."> Avenger smirked as he tapped a few buttons on the panel, diverting nearly all power to the fighter's shields. <"We'll just have to pray it doesn't.">

<"Pray, Sir? You've never been much of a believer.">

<"Some times you've got to put a little faith in it, Harold, isn't that what you always say?">

<"Charming...">

<"See you on the other side, Harold. I'm shutting off the comms and all other utilities for more power in the shields and engines.">

<"Godspeed, Sir.">

Everything rattled. From the fighter to his guts. A deadly clamor of chaos as the fighter punched into the menacing storm. His palms sweated as he held onto the stick with all the strength he could muster. It wasn't enough. A nightmarish cry, akin to a banshee's, wailed from his right wing. It clattered before it began to suddenly fold as if an invisible hand was twisting it. The cry ended with a bang as the wing was ripped away. One of the engines followed suit leaving him half a fighter spewed out from the storm to its death.

Power unit's out, both engines out. Losing altitude. Fast. Try landing.

The other wing suddenly burst away.

Stupid idea.

Eject?

They'll come for me quick.

Delayed ejection.

Could kill me.

Better put some faith in it.

The Spectre fought against the uncontrollable fighter, seeking to keep its trajectory closer to the Crown of Ice as possible. Under the extreme strain of being wrestled, the stick finally gave out. Delayed as much as I could.

At critically low altitude, the seat finally was ejected then it was freefalling. When it shouldn't have been.

Repulsors are bust. Chit.

Ripping apart his harness at the last possible moment, Varian was free to land in a gruesome tumble down a slope not far off the Ice Crown. The explosion of his fighter rattled the small mount enough that when the spectre could finally glance back a small avalanche was over his head burying him beneath layers upon layers of snow. A white coffin. Barely any space to move his hands to reach for the comms activator on his wrist. He keyed in the only frequency he'd memorized by heart.

"I'm stuck." he grumbled dryly through the open line.

So much for faith.

ALLIES | NIO | Chelenne Akaris
ENEMIES | MAW | Arken Rhau [SOON]

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Objective I: Siege the Crown
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Equipment: Lightsabers, 2 (Tenacious & Viscious), Sith Sword
Allies (present with him): Darth Senthral

Observation was key before the initiation of conflict. The Imperials had certainly asserted their mark, amassing in their grand fleets, ejecting out of hyperspace to erupt a storm within the planet's skies. Had he possessed his own warship to declare an attack on the Imperial Fleet taking conflict among the stars, he might have declared his intent to annihilate through technological means. Alas, the Dark Side would always be his first suggestion, in any case. For all the good technology done, it never amounted to the powers of the Sith. Their power was absolute, and they would show it through the darkest of means.

It was up to the Sith's apprentice to get them down to the surface. However he executed that, it was down to him, but of course his Master would wage options and advice amid the descent through the barrage of firepower. The discretion of the Sith was what kept them alive for so very long, and today would not be any different. Darth Tennacus had announced prior to their landing that they would land somewhere discrete, then move in by foot to avoid detection. It came not as a simple task, having to sneak, slay and slither their way between the enemy forces, ensuring their firepower did not deliver to them a simple death from explosive propulsions. It would not be a way for any Sith to go down in flames; the very concept was unforgiveable.

But where there was discretion there were of course means to uphold it. Once they had snuck close enough to the combat, the Sith had announced the use of Force Shadows to conjure themselves from afar. Shadowy guises would play their roles for the moment, manipulated through the Dark Side to summon up the pestilent hosts to observe the battle going on within. While they could not deliver such great a damage within these silhouettes, they served as their eyes from within, searching for the invaders. Any unfortunate soul who had strayed too far from the battle, hoping to serve his purpose. One soul with a blaster always thought they could make a difference. But when it came to opposing the Sith, any shadow was their enemy. Any dark, blackened corner wreathing with potential for ambush was a disaster for paranoia.

"Watch, and be mindful of your surroundings," Darth Tennacus had ordered from within their shadowed hosts. They watched the battle commence beneath them, blasters and projectiles alike soaring through the city. Impacts often sent rubble and debris to descend around them, but the Sith ensured the safety of their guises by remaining in the dark. They were watching - waiting. A small squadron of soldiers had marched beneath them, armoured and equipped with sufficient firepower. They were not the strongest band of soldiers in terms of their mental capacity, it seemed, but to immediately jump down and announce themselves would be foolish. It was an opportunity for his apprentice to expand on his Master's teachings. To not disappoint him.

"They're trying to advance," Tennacus said, gesturing with a nod towards the foes. "Remember what you have learned. How the weakness of dull minds can serve to our advantage. Make them an enemy of themselves; let them be their own downfall."

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Carlac, City of Asoport
Tags: Keilara Kala'myr

Carlac promised nothing less than war made pure.

The Mongrel had no objection to enslaving or butchering civilians, save for one - it slowed down the real action. He was always eager to test himself against a foe with an actual fighting chance; the weak were unworthy of his attention, and defeating them brought him no glory. It was why the battles on Csilla, Ilum, Enenpa, and Korriban had brought him such great satisfaction... even savage joy. When it was just The Mongrel and his warriors against the best troops and champions the enemy could muster, that was a worthy battle, and one that the Three Avatars would look on with favor.

Carlac provided an opportunity for such a battle within a city. The civilians had all been evacuated; only those willing to fight now remained. There was no weak chaff to get in the way of the harvest. But despite the evacuation, the streets of Asoport were far from silent. Where once the streets had echoed with chatter, music, and the bustle of crowds, now they shook under the booted tread of the living and the dead. The Mongrel had seen this dark sorcery before, seen the witch Tegan Starfall unleash it on Enenpa and Korriban, but he'd never seen necromancy on this scale.

He had given orders to burn his body if he fell here.

The white-armored troops of the Carlaci Corps were less unnerving, though they themselves did not seem bothered by their undead allies. They were disciplined and determined, their equipment well adapted for Carlac's cold climate... though the storm raging overhead seemed to be a little much even for them. The Mongrel was reminded of Tegan again, of the sandstorm she had unleashed over Mongrel's Hill back on Korriban, and of how dueling sorceries had escalated it into an atmosphere-tearing electrical tempest. It had been terrifying and awe-inspiring to behold its destructive power.

And this "Force Storm" was many, many times larger.

The Mongrel and his Scar Hounds made an odd contrast with the Carlaci Corps, who more closely resembled the stormtroopers they were accustomed to fighting than the tribesmen themselves. Lightly armored with boiled leatheris jerkins and hammered durasteel plates, the marauders had wisely chosen to wear heavy furs over their normal ensemble, helping to keep out the pervasive, penetrating cold. Their equipment, a non-standard array of blasters, scatterguns, vibroblades, and a smattering of heavier weapons, looked utterly mismatched next to the unified Carlaci loadouts.

The two forces, allies through the combined machinations of the Dark Voice and Lord Halketh, eyed each other warily. Beyond the pact forged by their masters, they had nothing in common. To the Corps, Carlac was home, a place worth defending. To the Scar Hounds, this was just another planet on which to earn loot and glory, and nothing here was sacred. Add to that the strange visions and unnatural sense of anxiety that seemed to pervade the streets of late, and you ended up with two "allied" forces spoiling for a fight. If they shared the streets much longer, brawls would surely break out.

It was a good thing that the battle was beginning.

"Keep up patrols," The Mongrel ordered, directing his tribesmen through the streets and alleys of the craggy mountain city. "I want no surprises. We will find the unbelievers, engage them, and crush them." The good news was that Asoport would funnel their enemies right to them. The city's glacial walls would keep the NIO from advancing on the capital in all but a few directions, and the raging storm would make an air attack impossible... a fact The Mongrel was grateful for after the destruction Fiolette Fortan's bombing runs had unleashed on his forces back on Korriban.

For now, it remained to be seen which direction the enemy would approach from. All-Terrain Raider Transports, the Maw's "improvement" on captured Sith-Imperial walkers, stalked through the streets on high alert, scanning for approaching life forms. Each was surrounded by a gaggle of eager Marauder Aspirants, looking for a chance to prove themselves. The Mongrel held his more elite forces in reserve, ready to intervene as soon as the enemy showed their hand. He stood in a central square of Asoport, under the neon glow of the city's illuminated signs, and waited. Soon the battle would begin.

Perhaps his part in it would begin sooner than he thought...

 

[Tu'teggacha]

Location: Carlac, Nova Vox
Tags: Open

At last, a task that did not require him to brave the depths of space.

Standing on a durasteel catwalk that overlooked much of the facility, Tu'teggacha drank in the industrial grandeur of Nova Vox. He had to admit that he was deeply impressed by the scale and efficiency of this underground refinery. The heart of the Mawite dominion was rapidly industrializing to meet the challenges of war, from the shipyards of Osseriton and Mar'Zambul to the plantations and strip mines of Lao-mon and Tiantang... but they had nothing so advanced as this. It seemed that fanatical Carlaci patriotism, rather than the fear of the lash, kept the place's workers motivated even as battle raged above.

The Ebruchi would have to investigate how Halketh created such devotion.

Many were the products of Nova Vox, for the edges of the facility were devoted to processing materials of all kinds, but the primary one was fuel. Tu'teggacha fully understood the importance of that particular export; fuel stocks had been the target of the recent Brotherhood attack on the Chiss military depot at Kinoss, a strike designed to cripple the defense fleets of the Ascendancy's western regions in a single blow. Without fuel, fleets did not set out from port, and armies did not march. Every bit of Nova Vox fuel that went to the Brotherhood instead of the NIO was a deep logistical blow to the Maw's enemies.

And it was logistics, above all, that won great galactic wars.

Accordingly, the Taskmaster had come personally to oversee the facility's operations... and to ensure that its output was efficiently put to the Brotherhood's use. He was not overly concerned about the battle raging above, as the NIO fought to take back a world they considered their own. Nova Vox was buried deep, and well protected by Carlaci security forces. And the living did not fight alone. Tu'teggacha was particularly impressed with The Perished, who moved with impressive coordination for being corpses. The idea of getting more labor out of a servant even after its death was exciting to the Ebruchi.

Despite the facility's secure location underground, and despite these significant defenses, Tu'teggacha had brought security of his own. After all, Halketh had betrayed one master; who was to say that he would not turn on another, if it meant preserving his power and furthering his ambitions? So as the Taskmaster hobbled across the catwalks, overseeing the refinery's operations, he was flanked by an honor guard of Pontifical Palatini. Normally they were reserved for the protection of Heathen Priests, but Tu'teggacha was equally respected among the ranks of the Maw, and none had refused his request.

Four of the warriors walked with him, two flanking him and two trailing behind, their crimson masks betraying nothing of their thoughts. But the Taskmaster knew that their minds had turned in the same direction as his own. There was a strange madness suffusing Carlac, waves of anxiety and hysteria flowing through the Living Force, infecting the minds of those nearby. It was focused against the invaders, but Tu'teggacha could feel its spillover, like boiling water cresting the lip of a shaken pot to burn the hand of the cook. He would have to be conscious of this background insanity, lest it harm him.

"Be vigilant," he commanded his Honor Guard. "Watch for infiltrators."

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

V O I D W A L K E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CARLAC
Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore

TAVLAR DEATH SONG​

War on the homefront.

He had seen it before, when the Sith had come to try their hand at retaking Bastion. It was then when the underworld thug, Aemilio Valaar died and arose again as the soldier he was today. To protect friends, family, his home. They had been unsuspecting, and undeserving of the hateful rage the Sith delivered unto them, the same people that had been citizens of that same capital before it was torn away by an iron grip.

Halketh of Carlac was not like that.

He invited challenge to his world, and death to his people. Made them rebels and traitors against an Empire that had not done them wrong.

If they won today, there would be no triumphant cheers. No jubilant parades and hailing of heroes.

Today was a day of revenge.

He entered the hangar bay of the Dissident Aggressor, allowing himself to be enveloped in the cacophony of moving maintenance crews and soldiers readying for deployment.

The 501st in all their glory.

With all they had been through, the Legion had earned a nickname of 'Punished' an epithet that his own platoon had become familiar with. Korriban, then Circumtore. Planets splitting apart, swallowing up friends, peers, rivals. Monstrous beings baring down on their position. But still, they completed their objective. Fought to the end, willing to die to the last man to see it through.

The Punished.

There was a grim satisfaction to be had, being apart of the face of the Stormtrooper Corps.

IT-0462.

The identification ran across all of their plates. Marked into the metal surfaces with all sorts of tools. It was remembrance for the General, nay, man, that marched out into the war alongside them. Suffered the same sufferings, fought the same battles.

The man had done it for his men, and in turn, they did it for him.

It was a tradition his platoon, the Black Hands - affectionally named after their success against the Bryn'adul - quickly adopted from their more veteran brother units.

Aemilio, with helmet propped up against his hip, displayed the ode to their fallen leader, next to his visor. On the opposite side of the black handprint that adorned his helmet.

He spared a second to regard the new faces amongst his readying platoon. This would be their first fight apart of the greater Legion.

"For most of us, we grew up with nothing. Fought for the scraps needed to prolong living our miserable lives. Lives that led us to this point. Become Imperial. True Imperials. For us, there is nowhere else to be, but here. Nowhere else to live, or die, but here. To be here now, is the only thing that matters. To avenge the lost, you'll need all your strength...

So gather yourself..." Valaar said.

"Take all of that strength... The rage, the pain, the happiness...

And form it into an Iron Will.

Above his head, his gauntleted hand arose, tightened into an iron fist.

For we will attack, again, and again. And again. Until we reach, and overcome this traitor, or die in the attempt!

Ready your weapons, protect your squad, and have courage!

For there will be no turning back.

FORWARDS!

For there is NOTHING, BEHIND US!"​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Freedom
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Omni drone (only in the Netherworld)​

Objective II.: UNDERWORLD
Location: Carlac, City of Asoport
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator | G1 OmniLink
Writing with: The Mongrel

[ Uprising ] ​

To tell you the truth, that’s why I loved working alone because I can move at the pace I want and on a route. I need that now. In my short life, I’ve seen quite a bit of horror when I lived under TSE occupation or what my brother did, but I have to say, things here were much, much worse. I’m used to what the Sith usually can do, I’ve seen a lot already. But this…?

I think they call their animals Sithspawn, which they make. But I've never seen walking dead. Here, however, I saw such creatures. I don’t deny it, I froze for minutes, I felt nausea and malaise. I had to stop between a few containers, hiding in so that no one and nothing would notice me. I had nausea, my heart rate was high, my heart was pounding in my chest, and I was gasping for air.

The smell of death in the air didn't help the malaise either. It is reassuring that they were not civilians; at least I haven't seen one on the street so far. Damn it! More than ten years ago, before I reached the teenage age, I was on the battlefield, I fought, I was an insurgent, I was a rebel. I've been a veteran in terrain like this, but here? It was an environment that was unfamiliar to me. I hated the Force and what some of them are capable of with it.

I took off my gloves, dug my nails into the palms, the cold, pouring snowfall and the pain had a sobering effect. To go, to go forward, to move on. I must not stop. It was in this place that the ideas and ideals of the NIO had to be restored, I... we need to do this. This is the most important. That was my role. Do it, continue, forward, forward! I took another deep breath, then put on my gloves and moved on.

As I got deeper and deeper into the city, it became more and more likely that I would not find the contact I needed to meet. Eventually, I also climbed one last wall and bypassed some of the buildings, reaching the place where my meeting would have been. I've seen a lot of patrols here and avoided them, and I've heard the fights in the background. However, I noticed a strange figure ( The Mongrel ) in the square near other people who had been watching the soldiers for now. Can one be a general or a warlord?

I didn’t know yet... I was hoping my connection wouldn’t get trapped, so I hid in the benevolent embrace of my cloaking device at the end of one of the alleys, in a place where the snow wouldn’t snow on me, and it did not unveil me I'm here. I've stayed here for a while now to see if I can get some information here already, maybe what they're up to, why there are so many here…

 

[Marlon Sularen]

​

CARLAC , OUTER RIM TERRITORIES
OPERATION DARK MOON
Focus | Grand Overseer Marlon Sularen
Objective | II (Underworld)
Location | Outskirts of Srares
Tags | Michael Barran

The First Blood had been drawn. Only a few days ago , Sovereign Imperator Iveric Talvar was assassinated at the hands of Darth Caelitus formerly known as Lord Halketh , the new Executor of the Final Dawn. Now the New Imperial Order was seeking revenge especially against Caelitus moving forth to besiege Carlac in order to snuff out Caelitus and punish him for his acts. The Secession of Carlac reminded Sularen alot about his own experience as Lord-Imperator of Byss , how he challenged Alliance Authority and how he was eventually overthrown due to the rogue actions of two worlds an act that regardless of whether it was legal or not , was supported by the rest of the Alliance.

However unlike Byss , Caelitus had direct support of the Brotherhood of the Maw which now began pouring in en masse in order to fend off the New Imperial Order and deal yet another decisive blow to the so-called Iron Sun. Now Marlon Sularen , Grand Overseer of the Final Dawn found himself in the outskirts of the city of Srares inside a modified HCVw A9 turbo tank in command of the 439th Legion , his Personal Stormtrooper Legion which he had managed to evacuate from Byss during his disastrous confrontation with Corellia , Duros and the Galactic Alliance. Now the 439th Legion found itself entrenched around the South Side of the City of Srares covering the only way in and out of the Fortified City as the North , East and West Sides were surrounded by Mountains.

In addition to this , Sularen had positioned his Flagship , the Predator and small escort fleet comprised of 2 Pellaeon-IVs and 3 Harrsk-Class Battlecarriers above the Mountains surrounding Srares in order to provide his Entrenched Forces constant Air Support , thus maintaining Aerial Superiority. If there was any New Imperial Unit bold enough to attempt to storm Srares then they would be annihilated at the hands of the 439th Legion and it's Close Air Support from the small Flottila nearby and the only way Sularen's line of defense in Srares would collapse was if the New Imperial Fleet in orbit could punch through the Fleet of Admiral Aldo Garrick as Sularen's Strategy depended on the Final Dawn's ability to hold off any New Imperial Naval Assault in order to maintain Aerial Supremacy.

Now all the Grand Overseer needed to do was sit down and wait for his New Imperial Foes to march right into his trap and get decimated in the process. This Battle would test the true capabilities of the 439th and push them to their limits. The New Imperials once attempted to imprison the Grand Overseer back on Sharb and now it was Sularen's turn to show them that he was beyond reckoning. While not a New Imperial anymore , Sularen still held a wild Spirit of Defiance left untamed despite his removal from power on Byss and near-capture at Sharb and soon he would unleash his wrath upon the New Imperial Armies that would dare challenge him. Here there would be no mercy today for these New Imperials and Sularen would ensure that they understood the huge mistake they made by casting him out , he would ensure that everyone who had ever turned their backs on him would pay the price for their treachery one way or another.

 

[Darth Senthral]

​

DARTH SENTHRAL
Occupation: Sith Apprentice
Objective: Report to Darth Tennacus
Weaponry: Double Bladed Lightsaber, and the Dark Side of the Force

Flying into battle came as no sweat to the Apprentice now. He had done so before, him and his Master ever present in most Sith Affairs. When you out ‘Sith’ and ‘Affair’ together, it most likely meant battles. That was what they were doing in simplest terms, battling. Though in reality it was more than that, the enforcement of ideals. The strong stomped on the weak, and took by right of conquest. To many that was evil, and yet black and white was not so present in the galaxy anymore. In Darth Senthral’s own line of thinking, he hoped that by crushing the weak, those that survived inevitably- would see their own weakness. Break their shackles and become stronger, and where better to find that strength with the Dark Side. Like poetry, by destroying they would create. In due time that would become apparent.

Wake up to reality. Now in the moment Darth Senthral stared upon the troops from afar, inhibiting a shadow form as he had before. There was ways of explaining what it was like, and yet the best way was action. He could use the Force like this, and how best then subtlety? Just as the shadows were feared greatly by these grunts, so were each other. They did not know this yet, surely they had built a trust between one another. How quickly would it crumble beneath the thought of espionage. Once again actions would reign over wordy explanations.

With the Force one soldier was made to hit another with the butt of his gun. Quickly the other’s turned and without time to explain he had not meant to do that a shot rang off. The attacker fell to the ground, and a stalemate was effectively created. It was above Darth Senthral’s knowledge whether there was any actual espionage among these simple troops, but if there was here it would ring so very apparent. The soldiers stood still pointing their blasters at each-other, and with the Force one made a step forth. Blasters rang, shooting him, and then out of dire fear for who would make the next move they started to shoot each other. All falling swiftly with point blank kills, until one remained. Look how their own fear had so easily destroyed them. Proof this emotion was only enemy to he who did not know how to use it. The last soldier was going to shoot himself, but instead his neck snapped, his life being snuffed out before him. Say what you would of Darth Senthral, he would not let his enemy kill themself. It was an honor he did them whether they wished it or not.

Eyes fell upon his Master, or his shadow. Though they were one in the same in many ways. As his own was in comparison to his real self. “They are taken care of.”

 

[Lyra Vent]

R A V E N
COMPNOR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CROWN OF ICE | CARLAC
ALLIES: NIO | Cromwell | Chelenne Akaris
ENEMIES: BOTM/NEW SITH ORDER | Darth Senthral
ENGAGING: Darth Tennacus (soon)
GEAR: E-1 Carlaci Corps Armour (stolen) | Shield hidden in vambrace | Side-arm | Rotary cannon | Standard cybernetics

FALLOUT
​

The news had spread like wildfire.

It had reached even the ears of those cut off from any communique so as to retain deep cover in they eye of the storm. News that would shake even the hardiest of Iron hearts.

The Sovereign Imperator was dead.

Hearts may ache, but in the wake of this tragedy, a nation would rise up with an iron will and crush those who oppose order once and for all - be it with brute force or to break the chaotic machine from within.

Both would crack down on the madness.

The hornet's nest was kicked and all hell had broken loose since then. A storm had been brewing on Carlac since Halketh ' declaration and it had finally erupted in splendour. Lyra had jumped quickly, covertly removing an E-1 Snowtrooper from the ranks before taking his place in full armour. Her aim?

Observe and preserve the Order.

The night was darker than usual. Lyra was no Force Sensitive, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with the supernatural storm raging across the planet. The Raven was suddenly exceptionally glad that she was wearing the insulated snow-armour. The snow and ice and gale force winds were highly unkind to anything outside.

The once eccentric Lord Halketh had turned completely and utterly mad to bring this about his own people.

Standing among the ranks of Carlaci Troopers, Lyra scanned the area from where she was standing not far from the Castle. Soon, the firefight would take flight in all earnest. As she looked about, her HUD picked up on an excessive amount of dark shadows not far from her location. She could not put her finger on it, but something about the mass felt off to her. Acting on a hunch, however, would mean breaking rank when it was not yet time.

So she stayed put and waited, keeping an eye on the dark mass. There would be no end to space wizard sorcery this night. Strange and dark phenomena would be prevalent during the battle. Of that she was almost certain. She would expect nothing less from the once powerful Miraluka that had descended into absolute insanity.

The dark phenomena had struck.

Lyra caught sight of a standoff among a platoon of Imperial Troopers that had been advancing, and before long, blaster shots brightened the night sky momentarily. With that, the dam wall broke. The Carlaci Troops moved forward to engage the follow up. Lyra, on the other hand had other motives. Strafing to the side, she broke off slightly from the ranks, her eyes on the dark mass that had grabbed her attention earlier, swinging the rotary blaster to the front and into her cybernetic arms as she went.

A finger rested on the trigger of the rotary cannon, ready to fire as the Raven made her way to investigate a hunch. Indoctrinated into the mind of the COMPNOR Agent was one directive and one directive only -

Preserve the New Imperial Order, no matter the cost...

 

[Michael Barran]

1
SECOND_SON
OBJECTIVE 2: UNDERWORLD
CARLAC

ALLIES (NIO): Aemilio Valaar Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore Keilara Kala'myr

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/KOR): The Mongrel Marlon Sularen

MICHAEL'S FORCES
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD
ARGYLL COY. - INFANTRY
LARGS COY. - INFANTRY
FARRIN COY. - ENGINEERS
ISLAY COY. - ANTI-TANK

BLUE-HEART BRIGADE
220 XT-62,"CATAPHRACT" TANKS
32 SCOUT-AFV'S
10 MLV'S (NAKAIOMA)
5 PREDATOR LAUNCH-PLATFORMS (NAKAIOMA)
1 COY. OF GUARDSMEN
1 COY. OF MEDICS
1 COY. OF QUARTERMASTERS

THE GOLIATHS OF ILUM
40 GOLIATH REPULSORTANKS (NAKAIOMA)
5 SCOUT-AFV'S

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PRIMARY WEAPON: VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE
SECONDARY WEAPON - BLASTER-PISTOL

PROVING GROUND: THE WANDERER'S DEPLOYMENT TO CARLAC - PROLOGUE

Dropship Cluster 12, Prefsbelt System
Carlaci Orbital Sphere

'Lord-Captain Barran, I presume.', Captain Brand muttered in close proximity, meeting Michael's handshake offer in the middle with the warmth and kindness that befitted such a well-renowned chaplain. Proost would be nearby, though he was talking to some fresh-faced 2nd-Leftenants at the time when Brand was striking up conversation with his Lord-Commander's son, but the Archaisian would still find himself overhearing and standing up to offer his respects from across the seating-aisle as the Chaplain made acquaintances with the Woad-born aristocrat, only kneeling again when the Wanderer's curt nod was returned with courtesy. Everyone from the ranks of all three arrays were happy that Michael had chosen to bring his Krieg-Blücher model Vibrosword instead of his lightsabre, as the latter was known to make Michael wanderlust at the most inopportune moments, much like his father in some respects, though the Stormchaser only ever needed a sword and the scent of blood in the air to go on his infamous wanders.

'Commoner-Captain Brand, as I live an' breathe. A man like you needs no introduction, legends such as yours tend to travel far and wide within the Free-State's growing diaspora, quite a story indeed. The soldiers of the movement dubbed you,"The Mad Chaplain!", though some would say it was something else when you resolved to mock a giant Sith-demon to his face, but I wasn't there to see it for myself so I couldn't possibly know.'

Chuckling in response, the Rooster understood perfectly, giving the Wanderer a reassuringly playful punch on the arm as he replied,'Actin' the greenhorn? I'll be 'aving none of that 'umble nonsense from a Barran, not when you're surrounded by Galidraan's ultra-confident soldiering caste, a bombast you can see for yourself too.', keeping the possibility of victory firmly plausible in the act of bringing out the wily, cunning qualities from within the mind of the Lord-Commander's second son. Caelitus wanted the playing-field as level as possible at surface-level, and though many knew that his powers were derived from darker depths than the two-side midichlorian coin, the active AFV-commander knew that Barrans of both recent generations still had tricks aplenty up their sleeves; Thomas was known to hop too eagerly into service, too eager to rely on the regimental training of his subordinates to bother with the greater nuances of strategy in it's grandest form, but the Blue-Heart officers could almost-immediately recognise the competence of a calmer Michael Barran in the moments after meeting him.

An' I can feel the strength of everyone around me - an' the midichlorians are as low as expected at that. Strange, but comforting.​

'I can quite believe it, Brand. An' this is before I even mobilised the Blue-Heart host, so much prestige to put on paper an' yet so many have tried. Since Kynachi, it's been quite the story to look into, as I'm sure you'll understand my lack of interest in the PMC-era. Living in it makes it less fun to research it, hits a little close to home in some places, but this - I hope to remember this day for it's bombast in particular. You lot came with every promise under the sun, and if I recall correctly, a good crucible was one of them.'

The raucous approval rang out, bouncing off the walls of the troop-transports' inner walls with laughter and,"Aye, you'll see!", outbursts which had specifically been the cause of Michael's own mirthful wheezing response as a result. Everyone was preparing themselves for yet another historic battle, readying themselves for the greatest fight of their lives as they made all the other parts of their final loadout inspections appear like it was just another day at the office, stoic to the last man but for their voices and the looks in their eyes. All of this felt like just another of many passing moments to the Brotherhood's Lord-Captain, yet little did the Wanderer know that this moment shadowed the Stormchaser's rolling approach to Helgard's warzone on the ground, though no scars were being discussed this time, only thoughts left not verbalized of the scars they were expecting to incur as the hostilities progressed. It wasn't just Mawites and Neo-Imperials the men of Galidraan III had to worry about, as Michael had gotten some golden information from his torture victims on Bastion, surmising soon after that such far-reaching control of suicide-bombing zombies was an indicator of Caelitus' possible increases in power since.

'Good, as this has every makings of being our hardest fight yet, and your morale ain't all that without the likes of Lord Erskine around to boost it. Sorry, but it's just a fact - you've never deployed without 'im before, an' I won't have that same lasting effect either..... So I need you all to promise me that you'll fight like hounds tonight, can yees manage that?'

PROVING GROUND: THE WANDERER'S DEPLOYMENT TO CARLAC - CHAPTER ONE

​

Southern White-Crescent Mountains,
Near Srares' Outskirts, Carlac

<"Baird to Cairn One! Scaling the south-face of the Eastern Munro now, further sitreps incoming!">
The young survivor of Bastion 2, thank Dia that Bairdy made it this long at least.

'Proceed as intended, Guardian One. An' do be careful when ye hit groon'-level by the way, that's an order. Cairn One out!'

Landing just behind the southernmost part of a mountain range that would span wide at the White-Crescent range's southern peaks, the Blue-Heart host would find themselves dropping onto a perfect location to overlook the approach to Srares' northern city districts, and though the approach would appear to be open to strategic occupation and the likes, Barran already understood his blocked abilities were a small tell (of sorts) that there was much and more waiting for him. No such wild assumptions would be made about the Mawites that night, and especially not if the vast majority of his array weren't exactly his to throw away either, as even Michael himself would say that he could think of betters ways to die than that, and using that logic in his planned approach towards the city beyond. A tribute of sorts would be made, one that all New-Imperials would understand all to well, and in the moment they understood, thoughts of,"Forward. Only forward!", would flood their minds and yield rushes of collective wonder in the pinnacle moments of the battle they all wanted.

<"Baird to Cairn One! We are now on the conjoining-valley floor, proceeding to scout ahead with caution as advised. Initiating comm-silence as soon as ye say so, Milord.">

'Aw'right then,"So, Milord.", ye happy? Just fething with you, but all jokes aside - good luck an' keep yer heids doun. That, also, is an order by the way. Just two receiver-clicks on oor comm-channel, an' I'll be listening if ye need t'keep Op-Sec intact.... Cairn One out!'

Once everyone had made their landings safely, the Free-State Woad contingent would get their vehicles, HASCO frames, ammunition and everything else uphill, made all the easier by the many tank-traversable inclines leading to the summit of a vast majority of the peaks overlooking the Srares Mountains to the south; setting up all three contingents' command-centres relatively close to each other, all taking up near the summits of each of their three allocated,"Munros", there would be lots of that severity-killing distance (and mountainous obstructions) between Barran's coordinating efforts and the long-distance barrages of heavier, artillery and/or corvette-oriented ordnance. All the vehicles would descend the same passes and snowdrift-covered trails once a safe deal of ground had been cleared by Lord Erskine's handpicked guardsmen, waiting in their respective formations halfway downhill from their respective Munros, so the Wanderer's mechanized playing pieces had been set for some time already. North Munro would be Michael's chosen base of operations for the beginning of the battle, pressing south with each new incentive and FOB gifted him by the scouts or advancing static-line, and from there, the Brotherhood would have the lay of the land long before they met their adversaries face-to-face.

The night draws in, perfect. I'll take any shadow Carlac can give me, any at all.​

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

H E L L I O N
Operation: Judas Contract
2nd Rifle Platoon, 5th Shock Trooper Company Oathsworn, 501st Legion
ASOPORT

Previously, aboard the Storm Petrel...
En route to Bastion...

Silence enveloped Auria and Konrad's hyperspace journey to Bastion. Gone was the mouthy Imperial, gone into his locked quarters, fixated into his work, gone into the past. He stirred diligently the glass rod within the beaker full of a green colored concoction; the key ingredient to it was missing, stolen by the same Sith who'd robbed the witch of what she sought. With each stir of the rod, his mind drifted more and more down memory lane.

Dr. Tannhauser's words morphed from distant, incomprehensible echoes to loud, clear words.

"I don't understand, Konrad, you don't need stims; your training has been more than sufficient to tackle any threat--"

"Tell that to my father, Ernst."

"He would've said the same--"

"Would he? Would he, though? I am not going to make the same mistakes, Doctor, I am going to have an edge over the forcers. And I'll forge it myself. So teach me or you'll be seeking employment elsewhere."

Tannhauser didn't hide the shock on his face. He'd served the Harrsk family as a physician and more since his youth. A close friend of Konrad's grandfather Heinrich.

After a brief pause, he clears his throat and nods an affirmative.

A mere moment later his holo rings but it is not his mother.

It is reality.

And the beaker drops with a loud crash into a thousand fragments.

IMPERATOR ASSASSINATED

...

COCKED PISTOL: CARLAC​

Konrad stared at the screen wild-eyed with a hanging jaw; he blinked once, twice until he realized this was no dream. Irveric Tavlar was dead. His jaw clenched itself close, hands tight in bleeding fists and a cold wind rushed through his body before it began to burn. For a man he deeply respected as a general but saw unfit for a thousand year Empire, the young Harrsk was shocked equally to the fact the news lit a vengeful blaze in his heart. Perhaps serving in the 501st - the Imperator's Fist - had softened his outlook on the Imperator, perhaps he enviously yearned to wield Tavlar's power over people, perhaps it was the vile treachery of the crippled snake among their ranks; for traitors deserve one punishment and one punishment only.

Death.

Death painted the scowl on his face as he left his quarters in haste towards the ship's cockpit.

"Change of plans: we're going to Carlac." he stated to the witch, before she could possibly protest he added, "I'll make good on our deal after. You won't find another place in the galaxy with such extensive records of Sith than Bastion."

Jaeger's radical reluctance to employ Force Users to further his agenda was lost to his son.

A fire conjuring witch on cold Carlac was an opportunity too good to pass.

RAINS OF CASTAMERE​

Presently...

IT-0462.

He stared fixated, much like the rest of the 501st, at the Imperator's designation etched upon his chestplate. The defiant cries of the departed echoed through it. From the spires of the reclaimed Fortress Imperator to those whose bodies would never be recovered from the snowy hilltops of Carlac, ripped apart from the unnatural storm and buried beneath the white veil.

The banner of the Empire would flail against the cold winds of Carlac once more despite the blind vermin. In Konrad's mind, he could only imagine the man's head on a pike. For this was not only the duty of a common patriot but this was the calling of his Empire.

Other than the wild, life threatening rattling of the dropship as it descended through the storm, the bay was hushed. A complete antithesis of the near violent arguments that had erupted on the Dissident Aggressor during the debrief. One side arguing in favor of the military incursion and the other criticizing it, zealous in their belief that Carlac should be wiped out from the face of the map for its perfidy. Harrk's outlook was clear - he would've melted the world if he could, a slow and agonizing death under the gaze of a thousand scorching suns until the surface was covered in wax.

To his platoon, a solemn nod and an ancient Atrisian saying:

"Seven Lives For The Empire."

"Long Live The Imperator!"​

To the witch, a long lingering glare before he spoke, "Try not to die."

The hatch opened to a landing zone washed in blaster fire and the Oathsworn rose to meet it face on. Frigid cold crept through the thickest of armor plates and thermal insulations before it sizzled into steam from the raging adrenaline coursing through their veins.

<"Make your disruptor shots count, troopers!"> captain Dystra - commanding officer of the 5th Oathsworn, barked through the comms.

Konrad slid to cover behind a portable shield generator, hand to his wrist as he commed in Aemilio's frequency.

<"It's Konrad - can you see the monorail running over that...glacier to the west"> he peeked from cover, the visor zooming in. <"I don't have enough demolition on us to blow it up but you do."> he noted the inventory list on the side of his HUD, then glanced at Auria, <"I just have the primer we need."> a nasty smirk flashed across his face beneath the white helmet.

Cut their supply lines; straightforward war business. It'd hardly impact the undead but the Corps would bleed.

And he'd make them bleed.

Every single drop of blood.​

ALLIES | NIO | Aemilio Valaar , Auria Blackmoore, Michael Barran
ENEMIES | MAW | The Mongrel , Marlon Sularen , MOAR

 

[Darth Tennacus]

Objective I: Siege the Crown
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Equipment: Lightsabers, 2 (Tenacious & Viscious), Sith Sword
Allies (present with him): Darth Senthral
Enemies: Lyra Vent


Tennacus' shadow had remained idle during his apprentice's ordeal with the troopers. As much as this was a moment for war, it was more important to see his apprentice blooded. The Force had been strong in him; he had passed Tennacus' trials and learned to stay true to the path of the Sith. But that was not always better than the real thing, was it? Warfare was a good benefactor to emotional response; Tennacus needed to see if his Apprentice had what it took. Fight or flight; kill or be killed. Needless to say, he was pleased with his result.

Appraisal should not have been expected; the Apprentice had merely done what had been asked. His attention turned back to the commotion in the distance, observing from the shadow's gaze the battle commencing further behind. More troops were bound to push further ahead, but there was still no sense of anyone even remotely close to the relation of Force sensitivity. Not that Tennacus expected to see a Jedi here, but he thought the Imperials might have employed some Gray Jedi at most as mercenaries to help them with the conflict. Tennacus had heard about them - thought long about them. He was on the fence about his opinions. They trained in the Force and took no sides. It was respectable, yet still limited, not investing deeply enough in one side or the other.

"I believe returning to our ships would be more beneficial here. Regroup and re-evaluate the battle, lest--"

Usually it was a disturbance in the Force that stopped him. This time it was the darkened eyes of his silhouette. "What's this?" he spoke out rhetorically, having his gaze drawn to the lone wanderer. Despite not feeling any shifts in the Force's tides, Tennacus attuned himself back into it anyway. A lone ranger doesn't usually walk alone unless they need no reliance, he thought. His gaze focused on the being sharply, taking in what information he could. Cyborg? he thought. Surely a droid would not be depended on to take on such a task like this alone, would they? There'd been rumours of droid bounty hunters and mercenaries in the past, but assassinations and robberies were simplistic in comparison to the battle at hand. His focus maintained itself on them, waiting until they drew closer. It seemed that he was only half right; they weren't all cyborg. Brave, nonetheless. Obviously capable of handling situations alone.

Perhaps not this time.

Tennacus strayed away from his Apprentice.

"Stay idle," he ordered. "Watch - learn. Your eyes are a great teacher if you can learn to break down the situation. I have taught you simple strains of the Dark Side thus far. Now, you need only to watch closely. You will soon learn the true nature of the Force, my Apprentice."

The shadowy guise of Lord Tennacus did not await a response from his accomplice. With a single spring of its heels, the wraith-like conjuration leapt from its dark corner, landing in the midst of the dead bodies as a lingering, wisped host without true shape. Tall was this unnatural beast conjured from the Force. Dark and slender was its physique, ever writhing in the essence of Dark Energy. Its voice, disembodied and monotonous, spoke out to the female in the path before him. Nothing about her represented association with the Sith. The Force would have informed him on such affiliation, no matter how subtle.

"I must apologise to be the one who has come before you," the shadow started. "Never is it my intention to toy with the fates of my opponents, but I must employ a form of education in my actions today. I would not mock you and assume that you do not understand, but I will not delve further into my explanation. Understand that you are a projectile coming towards a blockade. It is only my purpose to stop you."

The Force changed, concentrating itself around the shadow. It was dark, cold and dense, but ever powerful in its gathering. The shadow lifted one of its slender arms; claw-like digits extended in the straightening of its wrist. For a moment, it did only that, and there was nothing. Anticlimactic, almost, with such a suspenseful speech that amounted to nothing. Unfortunately, it wasn't just nothing. The Force had disturbed something; or, perhaps, someone.

Two of the fallen troopers twitched. The shadow lowered its arm. Fingers tightened around the handles of rifles. The troopers slowly rose from their respective places among the dead, but they did not rise to initiate grand or formal posture. When a third arose, they were hunched over, arms lazed and spines curved. Six of them laid among this fallen band, but the other two remained idle. Those who had rose, however, simultaneously turned their attention towards the woman, rasping and bleeding from gaping holes within their suits. Their rifles slowly lifted towards her.

They were about to open fire.

Spoiler

 

[Auria Blackmoore]

ALLIES: Konrad Harrsk | Aemilio Valaar | Michael Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | NIO
ENEMIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER | CHAOS
ENGAGING: Open
GEAR: I'm a Witch - What more do you need?

O~~>RIVER OF FIRE<~~O​

It was nothing short of a miracle.

The flight had been relatively quiet considering two people hellbent on wringing each other's neck were confined to a small space. It was an explosion primed to happen. Miraculously, it did not. Konrad had come close once or twice to be fried, however.

Until the news came through.

All Auria got at first was that the route was changing. To a frozen fethin planet, no less. And she was totally prepared for that, coming from a tropical jungle plane, and all.

Great.

The most the Dolt got in response, however, was a narrowing of dark eyes. Who was she to argue otherwise? He did save her butt on Wayland after all, regardless of the fact that they had tried to kill one another.

There were elements in abundance.

The hair on Auria's arms were standing on end, however, as they descended, rattling and raging in the tin can, to the frozen ground below. There were sinister things about. A planet plunged into slavery of the Bogan. Of course the Shabuir could not feel that, seeing as he gave her another lame quip.
"Likewise, Starshine." she grumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. She might just freeze his lily-white armoured butt before this night was done.

As the hatch opened, Chaos met them head on.

Auria's skin was straight on crawling now from the Dark forces raging on the planet. She had been around the children of Bogan all her life, had worked alongside them countless times. But whatever was at work here, had only one purpose - to strip order from the Galaxy entirely. Eyes flashed amber in anger as fire ignited within her at the thought.

Not when she still had something to say about it.

Ducking low to stay out of firing lines, she took cover behind a portable shield. Steam was rising around her as even her skin started to heat up from her blood boiling in annoyance at the madness.

<"I just have the primer we need.">

Konrad's strange tone behind the helmet tugged at Auria's attention.
"Oh yeah, abuse the walking candle. Go right ahead." she snapped. "Fine. Lead the way, Buckethead." she added as she got ready to move. Admittedly, she'd be glad to at least fry something right now.

Cleanse a bit of the chaos out and about.

 

[Dakrul]

Objective: Siege the crown
Location: Entrance halls of the caslte
Allies: Maw and friends
Enemies: NIO and everyone else
Equipment: Staff of Dakrul, Cursed Gen'Dai Flesh Armour

​

Dont eat a Halketh... no wait it is the Halketh... Dont eat the Halketh

Dakrull the Faceless Hunger stood before a large glass front, looking outwards from within one of the many towers of the fortress castle. He liked it here, this place was special he could tell. But he also missed the Gehinnom, he missed the refuge of the Voices presence. He prayed for the Master. May the three protect him wherever he may be.

His veiled visage rose to face the heavens, even in his world of fiends and flames he bore witness to the thunderous storm above. Dakrull existed in two planes, this one of life and the next one of death. And he perceived all as such. The living force was the spark inside every being but here in this fort ruled by snow and ice the men and women were made of cold clear crystals. A masterful artisan himself he knew this was the work of necromancy, but not a ritual he understood. His own power came from the Nether, to will the fires of hell and materialize the souls of those that had been burned in them, guiding them back into their mortal shells. This was very different.

A powerful bolt of lightning cracked above and snapped him out of his thoughts. For a second his humongous shadow was cast across the room just to instantly disappear again. He enjoyed the spectacle in the sky. What was poison upon those of the light was a blessing to a darksider like himself. He knew to draw from this source, gently tug at this tempest of power to feed his own. More importantly, he could sense all those touched by its presence. He heard the whispers of the dead in their minds, felt the deadly touch of spirits past, smelled their fear as it grew, and grew. A seedling of an emotion that blossomed into sensations of doubt and despair. He really did like it here.

Yet he couldn't draw his attention from the thought... What does the Halketh taste like?

A much smaller creature entered the room, a human priest of the Maw. One of the many that had guided him since the moment of his rebirth. The Cha'ta'ri Sithspawn didn't bother to greet him, he meant to pout in a display of dislike to the current task.

"Dakrul let us descend to the entrance halls, you may patrol there, we do not expect this night to pass peacefully"

The man spoke in a soft tone not to rattle the towering creature before him. After receiving no reply from the Zealot he added "Dakrul, he wills it so"

The terrifying hide of the undead spun around, if the Master willed he would of course oblige. He moved forward crawling on his six massive limbs, a testimony to his arachnid heritage. While standing his frightful shape simply did not fit through these doors. The priest followed.

As they strode through the elegant chambers Dakrull snickered to himself menacingly "Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut" he whispered from his toothless orifice. If those lords of old could see what their lives work had turned into what would they say?

He was finally directed to the entrance which he was to guard, here in these spacious halls he rose to his feet standing upwards of three meters in height. Worm-like tendril pierced his flesh where the chitin armor did not cover his leather-like skin and bloated muscle mass decorated his form. Along with the rotten stench, he was an almost unbearable sight to behold and completely alien in this castle.

But Dakrull had a task, a task he fully intended on completing, not a Summa-verminoth, not a crusader king of the ashlan, not the even the Nether itself could stop the cosmic mistake of the Maw. No being, dead or undead would take even a single step onto this floor without his approval.

To rip, tear, gush, claw, gnaw whatever it would take, he would line these walls in their gore.

And maybe just maybe by the end of it, he could get just a slight taste of the Halketh.

 

[Rurik Fel]

I M P E R A T O R
New Imperial Order
Knights of the Empire
501st Stormtrooper Legion
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Halketh

VENGEANCE​

Reckoning. Through all the caldera it'd endured in the nigh decade the New Order had been in existence, what was before them would be their greatest trial. With the Crimson Saber still in the midst of its bloody dervish, there was no questioning the Iron Sun's unity in such dark times. But now, even those vaunted virtues grew murky. Irveric seemed to be a strong personality, Rurik thought. A man capable of binding these forthright power lusting warlords together- but even then- Carlac had sewn its sedition before he was cold on the floor.

The Dissident Aggressor was once the flagship of Irveric Tavlar, the first dreadnought to hold an NIO commission within the New Imperial navy and the home vessel to the 501st Stormtrooper Legion- with Rurik usually relegated to the First Crusade Fleet, the mobile arm of the Imperial Knights, this was a noticable change of pace. To be centerpiece in the Imperator's retinue. To be expected to fill the shoes of the progenitor before him. But that had been his existence to this point. To fulfill the expectations of name in Fel, in titles in Executor. The mortal man beneath might've buckled under the duress, but the Man of Iron was able to rise to the occasion in frigid stoicism.

He stepped aboard the bridge of the dreadnought, the bridge crew all rising at the arrival of the Imperator in salute, the first he'd recieved as Imperator. A gesture of his gauntleted hand returned them each to their stations.

The partioned viewport of the bridge was awash with the cobalt starstream of hyperspace, with the projection timer yielding but precious minutes before they'd be in the Carlac system.

This would be Rurik's trial by fire.

Standing with him at the command deck was the Admiral Var Koon, the Kel Dor naval officer who'd long played his role as commander of the Seventh Fleet, a unit often now in home guard positions along the Braxant Run. But today, it would engage in the total war the New Imperial armed forces was far, far too comfortable with. In its own space.

"Any moment now, Imperator." The Kel Dor muttered the way of Rurik who nodded once.

And then- the pale sphere of Carlac emerged before them. The seed of sedition. The 501st was immediately deploying in force toward the surface of the world and Rurik then immediately moved to take the comms. Utilizing the communication infrastructure the New Imperials had strung through its space- it addressed Carlac.

"Denizens of Carlac...as of the date of your traitor Lord's declaration of treason- you are no longer Imperial citizens...but it is within your power to enact change to this grievous injustice that has been done unto you. Surrender or assist any New Imperial military authorities at the soonest contact...and to those who choose to align with the parasite scions of darkness and chaos- those who choose to subject themselves to eternity as slaves to darkness...someone else will raise your sons and daughters." Rurik says before the transmission cut- a hopeless message that would do little in altering the Imperial's course. They would rend devastation unto this world. His next communication went in the direction of the Admiral Regent Caarlyle Rausgeber .

"Rausgeber. Run interdiction protocols of this system. None of these traitors are leaving. They bound their fate to this system...and they will perish with it. I will ensure the death of the traitor Lord personally...regardless, be prepared to inflict full surface glassing of this world should I give the direct authorization. It's time to send a message." Rurik commands, turning to the Kel Dor admiral accompanying him on the command deck.

"The fleet is yours- you are under the same orders. Ensure nothing leaves orbit and be prepared to enact Base Delta Zero on my command..." He ordered before he made his swift exit from the bridge, two Nova Commandos following in at each flank.

It was time for the reckoning.

K I N G
​

Standing in the troop bay of the RDAGx gunship he was surrounded by the truest sons and daughters of the Empire, the 501st Legion. Tavlar's own. IT-0462 to all of them on this day. The Imperator's Fist. Once belonging to the direct command of Tavlar, was now assumed by Fel just as his forefathers before him. Two Imperial Knights accompanied his command vessel, the entirety of his retinue donning the ablative climate adjustments demanded by artic operations.

Rurik appeared as he always did- in his skin of Iron with his argent blade ready to unearth its valiant fury at the soonest contact.

The Ice Crown's defenses beat against the gunships in punishing flak. They were clearly well prepared and dug in for the Imperial assault. No matter. If Rurik had taken to mastering any tactic through the Third Imperial Civil War- it was siege breaking. Best shown at Ravelin where he was able to lead an Imperial Knight strike force to burst open like an infectious virus into the heart of the city and fight the later Dark Lord Prazutis to his breaking point. He'd enact similar on Carlac- only altering in that Halketh would not be permitted to limp away and lick his wounds. He would be crucified.

Thus always to traitors.

The darkness permeated in Rurik's senses. He was here. To be anywhere else was to defecate on whatever pontificating virtues that Halketh ever stood upon- ever the champion of his 'people' or more pointedly, his chattle.

An alarming projectile rung out in impact along the bottom of the troop bay to Rurik's gunship. It wouldn't hang in indefinite suspension much longer. They were going down the hard way.

A clatter of steel upon rugged earth sent them down into the sea of pale in one of the outer most courtyards of the fortress complex. The troop bay was silent, not from the haunting rush of death...but of concentration, coolness under duress. As soon as the ship skidded to a halt Rurik's eyes snapped to the troop bay door, reaching his long organic hand out before bursting it open with an ethereal push through the force. What awaited him as a hail of blaster fire beating against his figure, the reanimated sentries offering no quarter to the gunship before eventually Rurik's argent blade flung out to decapitate one of them and another's helmet caved in on itself by Rurik's will immediately before his emergence, first through the breach.

Surrounded in their wholly compromised positions, the 501st accompanying him clammored for unprepared firing positions as Rurik seized the initiative, vaulting himself with a foolhardy charge toward a pack of undead troopers. He was as ice cold as his surroundings with each willful swing of his argent saber before soon enough, they managed to take their foothold, a moment's reprieve.

The Iron Imperator had arrived.

 

[Kinoan]

Allies: NIO
Enemies: BOTM | Maestus
Gear: Ligthsaber

ORDER​

Worlds attacked by the darkness.

Imperial worlds deserting their own order.

The Imperator, dead.

His grip tightened on the strap. The gunship had shook again, ravaged by the ongoing storms. It seemed…unnatural. Somehow it felt as if the storm was being control by dark side energy. There was nothing they could do about now. All their work would be dealt on the ground.

Troopers stood all around him, checking their weapons and adjusting their armor. The Maw had brought the fight to them. Now, it was time to return the favor.

Another drop in altitude. The gunship shook again. Lights began to flash inside the bay, indicating they were close to the drop zone. They would be dropped off right on the doorstep of the castle. Aid would be given to the knights and troopers already down there.

Loosing almost all of its speed, the gunship had begun to hover over the drop zone. Quickly the door panels slid open, revealing the files in front of them. All of the troopers rushed out first, making their way to assist the others. Once all of them had exited, the Knight hopped out of the gunship and into the icy rain.

As more and more gunships began to drop of soldiers, he noticed that the Maw forces were already coming. Good, let them. They will all soon by laying on the ground like stones paving a road.

“For the Order.”

With a snap to life, the golden blade of the Knight’s lightsaber extended outwards. It stood out like a small beacon in this dark and gloomy weather. But it wouldn’t be a good sign for anyone.

No, this golden blade will soon be stained with the blood of the Maw. And he had no intentions of trying to keep it clean.