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

[Michael Barran]

6
SECOND_SON
OBJECTIVE 2: UNDERWORLD
CARLAC

ALLIES (NIO): Aemilio Valaar Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore
Keilara Kala'myr Amadeus Blackwood Ranoc Sar

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/KOR): Halketh The Mongrel Marlon Sularen
Tegan Starfall Glossa

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 VH-140,"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 - PART TEN

​

Northern Srares Mountains,
Srares' Outskirts, Carlac

Michael.... Why must you persist in ignoring me this way?​

After further efforts by the mountaintop Cataphracts, over half their incendiary shells had been sent down the smoothbore barrels in their opening bombardments of Srares' northern districts, with two artillery barrages sent over to break the monotony of siege-bombardment, still operating from the comfort of the White Crescent mountains' Three Munros as everyone else moved forward. This wouldn't be expedient if it had not have been for the mountains they'd been using as cover and mapping beacons, and since the command-centres were first set up, the control-rooms would change hands for the third time as the Quartermasters moved in to settle into their resting location for the rest of the op. Barran didn't like how easy it would be for the Mawite-Carlaci allies to detect the Munros' summit outposts, but was assured by Archer that they still had great capabilities in the small-arms and handheld antitank departments, being reminded of the visible approaches to each of the Three Munro mountains, going on to state intentions of making use of these inclines against any who would dare attempt actions on the Galidraani rearguard.

'Now, where are these bloody Highlanders? They should be gettin' here soo-'

<"-McBain to Cairn One! Closing in on your position, an' nae action as of yet. E-T-A's roughly.... Ten minutes tops, Milord.">​

Despite everything that was going on in his mind, despite the obvious difficulty in the task that revealed itself, Lord Michael knew the Free-State's retaliation efforts could, little by little, chip away at every obstacle standing in his path to strategic victory. Little portents of auspice from the superstitious corner of the Woad's soul, brief indications of the excellence he was to expect from the men of Galidraan III that night, such were the feelings the Wanderer would draw from the timely interruption of Michael's mild complaints, and such were the feelings that kept the voice in his head from getting a meaningful word in. Barran knew the situation would improve when the Highland Brotherhood took some of their tanks father forward with them, though he couldn't help but wonder if unanticipated traps still lay in wait for them, an uncertainty of which would be left to linger unaddressed on account of his force-abilities being limited to almost-complete degrees of nullification, only serving to intensify his urge to test the so-called,"Real Effects", of Melarria's Root whilst the chance to use it was still there to be taken.

'Copy that, Cairn Two. We'll make our moves as soon as your men are ready. Cairn One out!'
I'm growing tired of your ignorance, Michael.

'I don't know about you, but I'm thinking the time for the Root is fast approaching.... Don't you-', the Novanian started, interrupted in his train of thought by his own head's evil voice, a troubling reminder (another to add to the increasing list of many already) of the predicament they shared in. Though the Novanian was handling his circumstances well, the Woad could still see the slight fearfulness in his eyes, giving Lord Michael something of a contrasting scale of scale of severity to compare with, calculating Yorunarr's odds of cracking to the horror as it continued to creep into the deepest recesses of their minds. Even though each new calculation looked less and less promising for the Arkanian-eyed sergeant, the Woad-born commander still liked the bodyguard's chances, and knowing Yorunarr could still hold his own against the tripled weight of the voices' pressure in comparison to that which would be weighing on Michael's own, well-trained mind. However, even though the young Novanian sergeant was handling his circumstances well, the Lord-Captain of the Woads was still concerned by the early request for the Root, even more so when Yorunarr persisted,'Don't you think, Milord? I only want the strength to shut them up, once and for all.', reaching into his pocket when he stopped talking.

'Not yet, Yorunarr. Soon though, I promise.... You're not alone in that urge, let that be known right off the bat - but I need you to hold on just a little longer, aw'right?'
Michael.... whatever you believe is up your sleeve, It won't ever be enough to stop me.

And besides, much worse awaits you in Srares anyway. A voice won't do much in all that, will it?

PROVING GROUND: THE WANDERER'S DEPLOYMENT TO CARLAC - PART ELEVEN

Northern Srares Mountains,
Near Srares' Outskirts, Carlac

Don't let Barran doom you all to horrible deaths, he wants you all dead.​

aW nAw! dInNaE hIt uS wAe tHe sCaRy sTuFf aT tHis tImE o' NiGhT, PlEaSe!

Utilising a completely different approach to everyone else, the four companies of the Highland Brotherhood battalion would treat their voices like petulant children, or in 1st-Leftenant McBain's case, treating the voices as if they were little more than some local brand of non-threatening hoodlums. It was debatable as to how counterproductive such attitudes would be for them in the long run, with some among them going as far as doubting that the voices were going to be of any help to the Maw's defensive efforts on Carlac at all, and as far as things looked to the Highlanders of Galidraan III, this particular minority of opinion was proving to be true by that point of the battle. Not that it mattered to anyone there, as their primary targets would have very little impact on the voices' ability to stubbornly gnaw away at their morale unchecked, and there was a real chance their encounters would become altogether too loud for the Highlanders to hear Halketh's voices from beyond; and so, with everything looking like matters were still going well for them, Michael's subordinates would continue on with tormenting disregard for the evils in their heads, caring little for the irony in determining to wreak havoc in a bid to drown out the noise.

This world is your snowy epitaph, your frozen mausoleum of endless suffering.​

'These voices appear t'be a tad desperate, lads. Whaddya think?', McBain asked through a suppressed chuckle, to which he received laughter in answer to his astute rhetorical question. Not one shaky voice could be heard among the conferring paramilitaries, before during or after, and not one pair of shoulders were slouching either; their small efforts, for what small worth they were against celestial foes, were working enough to yield results the Leftenant could see with ease, and with enough comprehensive reasoning to (at the very least) reinforce their perceived power over the voices running rampant in their minds for the next while. Turning back to the others, Cairn Two would hold up his right hand in a signal for the four columns to halt behind him, rotating until he was facing everyone before exclaiming,'Wanty know what ah 'hink, lads? Ah reckon it wouldn't matter if we were doomed or no, makes nae difference ti what odds we often face back home, so it should make nae difference ti the odds we're facing up against the-night! We fight anywhere an' everywhere, not because it's a thrill, but because it's all we know! IT'S ALL WE'VE EVER KNOWN, BROTHERS!!!!'

*'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!'
'CHA BHI SINN UILE!!!'

The suffering that the Highland Brotherhood had endured by then, though all would pale in comparison to what they would experience in the following hours, had been near-insurmountable at points, and fraught with every possible danger along the way. In comparison to other Galidraani paramilitary elements, the Brotherhood were not only smaller in troop-counts, but were up against larger, and more numerous organisations to add to their struggles; forging their cohesion as a highly-adaptable fighting force from within the crucible that was the Galidraani home front, and to extents that saw their exploits far exceed any other Free-State movements on Galidraan III since their Guerilla wars began. These weren't men who were handpicked for their skill or aggression, these weren't tank operators, Red-Jackals or forward-operating guardsmen, all their training was administered by the Brotherhood's enemies with the horrors of war serving as their unintended instructional doctrine. If ever Carlac had a reason to be fearful of warriors from Galidraan's second planet, their fears would have been more-accurately directed at the Highlands, for anyone who could survive perpetual war against the largest cities on Galidraan III would be a foe to take seriously.

Give it time, Galidraani scum. You'll let us have our say sooner or later, we can wait.​

'When we reach Lord Michael, let me do the talking! I mean it, brothers! Silent as sleeping mice, especially if our plan keeps the others in the fight! McLennan tells it right - we can handle the streets at half-strength as he says, so that means aw the others can bolster the Cataphract line. Just leave it t'me an' ah guarantee the Lord-Captain's saying,"Yes", in the end.... Just remember,"Silent as sleeping mice.", aw'right?'

**'IT'S ALL WE KNOW!!!'

 

[Halketh]

A T R O P H Y
C A E L I T U S
Dark Lord of the Sith
vestment | creation
Darth Solipsis
Rurik Fel

​

The ardent silver gleaming in his senses was met by stillness, an unnatural poise starkly contrasted by the writhing souls twisting themselves free in glimpsing liberation from the shackles binding them into place. The archive of war, he was, a soul twisted by the Darkness to roam as a reminder of the true cost of it all. Every inch of territory. Every people brought beneath heel and banner alike, catalogued in a macabre manner, shackled to haunt his path. It was a glimpse into the swirling Beyond, an insight to the after, a hint at the fate to become of all living things. Ivory drape fluttered from his side, revealing the armored hand clutching the gilded hilt of his blade.

Heels parted, shifting his posture subtly to hold tension center-mass, bracing for the encounter to come.
​

"You undid it...you returned them to this mortal realm...you returned them...only so they could witness as you joined them in death."​

Beneath his faceless visage, the archon could only smile into the nothingness; nihilism made manifest by a hidden expression stretching across a world-weary canvas. What his vestment would not reveal, his resonate voice exposed: "Their bodies were chains, their loyalties shackles, unwitting you waged your war, feeding the Darkness you sought to banish beneath your nose. It clings to you, following you, murmuring in your ear as you slumber. The blade is one of two sides. You swing it zealously, defying the Dark with every stroke, and it eats you alive with its hunger on the backhand, gnawing on your soul and shattering what you define yourself as."

The lustrous light emerging from the seams of Caelitus's armor flickered briefly as he lifted a hand to his chest, splaying his metallic digits across the plate. "One of us is lying to himself. A puzzle to question which of us, vaunted in our own right, is truly blind."

Energy coalesced against the pad of his palm, summoned forth by the shifting of his desire and the strum of his will. It wove rapidly, illuminating his figure in flashing crimson. "No enigma, no, a tyrant galavanting about in the shell of a valiant knight. You've the right to the title, but you'll never escape from his shadow." With the utterance of his final words, the sorcery reached its peak, and at once, unseen hands would lurch across the void separating the two men, aiming to drive piercing talons into the Imperator's psyche with a honed, skillful incision. It was a two-fold spell, neither half dependent particularly on the other.

If his attempts to uproot the failure and shame to the surface of The Imperator's consciousness failed to overwhelm his senses, it was inconsequential.
​

"Open your eyes, Son of Fel."​

The specters haunting the room shrieked in tortured harmony, their discordance revealing the price of the sorcerer's spell.

Shadows warped and twisted, writhing with beastly throe, slinking and darting unnaturally in the narrow illumination of the Knight's blade until they ceased. The illusion was cast, bolstered by a mind-wracking revelation. Standing before the new Imperator, cast partially in the light of silvered blade, was the former. He was silent, gazing at the Knight with indifference- face tormented by the wounds which had been his undoing. Every inch of physical body was ruined, battered by burns, and nested by shrapnel. Crimson trickled to the marbled floor beneath from grievous fractures, dripping with muffled patters in the tension mounting within the graven tomb; the dark heart of this hellish nightmare. His silence was broken with a whisper uttered upon his cold, dying breath:
​

"You failed me."
​

It was a mere shade of the late Imperator, a projection plucked from traumatic memory and ushered into tangible reality by the masterful hand of wickedness. Where the gathered phantoms flickered between corporeality, the shade did not. Light twisted and warped around him, glistening off the white flesh exposed beneath ruined skin, and dancing along the rivers of blood blooming from his clothes. The smoldering stench of hot copper and scorched flesh filled the chamber, choking the frigid air with a brief heat- as if the fire in Fortress Imperator itself was still burning.

At last, the accursed blade screamed to life, ripping another wail from one particular phantom lurking on the Dark Lord's flank. The wounded mirialan buckled, collapsing to her knees amidst her phantasmal grief, clutching at the gaping, circular hole burned through her abdomen.

"You failed them all," Darth Caelitus echoed the illusion from his place behind it, cast in the virulent orange of his blade as it raised in an invocation of Ysalamiri, "such is the legacy you've been damned to uphold."​

 

[Darth Senthral]

​

DARTH SENTHRAL
Occupation: Sith Apprentice
Objective: Don’t allow Amadeus Blackwood to interrupt Darth Tennacus
Weaponry: Double-Bladed Lightsaber, and the power of the Dark Side

Danger spiraled towards his very own Master, but the Apprentice was watchful of the battlefield. Exhilaration and Fear were working as one, and senses felt heightened. The shadow dissipated almost instantly, but it was all in his head where to be and when. Suddenly he was there, his body had carried him there before the shadow even disappeared. That was what it was to be in control of both at once. His own lightsaber ignited in time to stop that of another’s. A horizontal slash brought the attacker to the ground, assumably, he didn’t imagine they’d simply abandon their weapon.

With that he held his own lightsaber horizontally before him, igniting it’s other end. Now two crimson blades shone on the battlefield, among others it seemed. “Perhaps we Maw are not forged in the honorous light of day, but atleast we need not be so sneaky in our ways. To claw victories jaw from our opposers and opposed. Your fight is now with someone who knows of your presence. Coward!” These words echoed toward the supposed enemy. Anger seethed in him, would his Master have died if he were not here? Perhaps this man knew there was another, and sought to provoke them out. He had succeeded if that were the case.

Emotions that were once like a storm seemed to quell. Though unlike a settling storm the power in them did not disappear. No, they were being harnessed into something greater. That thing he had been taught to make. Honed Chaos. To control the emotions that boiled up inside one self. That was to fight with the Dark Side in the best way possible. No clouds in the mind, but lightning and thunder rolled in on your enemies as if that storm had never settled. He would show everyone, not just his enemy, nor just his Master.

​

​

 

[Tegan Starfall]

Post: 3
Objective: Paint it Black
Location: Asoport
Equipment: Mind Crown | Black MidNight Duster with Hood | Echani shield suit | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Defender | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | x2 FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X4 Daggers | Pack of Death sticks | Various Explosives on person and in backpack | Holopad
Allies: The Mongrel | Marlon Sularen
Enemies: Auria Blackmoore | Konrad Harrsk | Michael Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | Aemilio Valaar
Special Tags: Auria Blackmoore | Konrad Harrsk | Open to More

---

Gathering herself she nearly got blinded by the Soldiers sword as he continued his relentless attack. The Curse word was about all she got out before he was on her again and slash coming straight for her eyes in an attempt to blind her. Luckily for Tegan the man stumbled in his footing and the slash of the sword just breezed by her cheek little grazing it causing a small cut off to the side of her eye, the sword also cut through part of the hood of her duster and took a lock of her hair. The cut on her cheek began to bleed but it was hard to see with the other blood on her face and the skull painted mask.


Tegan though caught off guard by the nearly blinding attack was quick to recover and just balled up her right fist and went swing for the man’s exposed side. She had no intent on actually hitting him but to release a telekinetic blast using her fist as the focal point from which the blast would erupt. It the blast would knock him away from her far enough that she could regroup and take the fight to him. Just as she was about to release the Blast into, he man’s side a blast of fire slammed into her and knocked her stumbling back falling to the ground into a backwards roll.


Tegan gritted her teeth and growled as she looked up from her now crouched position. Not far away from the witch that smelled of the unclean child’s presences. Tegan stared right through the witch almost as if she wasn’t there, those sulfuric burning orange eyes just glaring holes into the woman who had thrown fire at her. The fire had singed hair and burnt parts of the jacket but over all Tegan ego was more bruised than anything at the moment. Tegan was not having a good day, on a good day these to whelps would have felt pain unimaginable by now. Her eyes did note that woman’s side was wounded but she didn’t linger to long she knew that she was now outnumbered and had to keep up.


Just like that another volley of fire was launched at her, Tegan’s left hand reached out as if to try and catch the fire. This part sucked so much as the fire bit into her hand, the material of her glove burning to the skin of her hand. Tegans Teeth clinched as the fire burned at her hand as she absorbed the magic. The thoughts of Csilla where her whole body had been burned began to flash in her mind all the pain she felt as her flesh boiled. The smell of burnt flesh began to permeate her nose. Her hand began to contort from the burning as all the fire was absorbed.


Then her right hand began to open as she redirected the Blast at Konrad. Slowly Tegan rose to her feet as the fire poured from her right hand in the direction of the soldier the blast amplified tenfold by Tegan pouring her own magickal fury into eh blast. Even more fueled by the fact the witch had spoken the unclean child's name. The child who had forsaken her and left her for dead. The ungrateful child who turned her back on her mother. Auria didn’t know it but she had just triggered Tegan and her rage was growing though her rage was no where near the level her own Daughter Cord could reach but it still fueled her along with chaos and destruction going on.


“My daughter is dead to me!” Tegan screamed as she raised her now crippled left hand fired her lanvorak on her wrist at her release six miniature razer sharp discs that danced towards Auria in chaotic patterns.

 

[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
Allies: Konrad Harrsk | Auria Blackmoore | Aemilio Valaar | Michael Barran | Ranoc Sar

[ Not like that… ] ​

In the struggle for my life, I somehow got under the man. Not only did I feel the cold squeeze around my throat anymore, but my back also hit the cold, frosty ground. Here it was harder to fight, the man's physical strength prevailed. I was still kicking, trying to hit him, flutter. I panicked, there was fear on my face, even in my eyes. The fog of pain and panic raged through my mind, I knew that he will going to kill me. If his words had been true and he wanted me as alive, he would knock me down. The strangulation is leading to my death.

I didn’t want to die, not like that; not in this way. This is not a fight; at most for my life, not for the Empire. So I have no chance to avenge the death of the Imperator. I wanted to scream, but only the hand squeezed more my throat and I got even less air. With each breath, the his hand like an iron hand squeezed my throat more and more, I was able to breathe less and less air, even though I would have needed more. Do not, please… just not like that.

I struggled below him like a trapped beast, a little bird in a man’s hand. His second arm was also grabbed my throat. Despite the adrenaline, I feel I started to fall asleep, felt my limbs weigh like a lead. I hardly realized that we were both already bathing in the man's blood. My hand slipped from his blood, but I was still trying to get rid of him. It was the biggest struggle of my life and I was going to a loss.

"Not like that…!" I tried to shout, but my lips formed the words silently at the end.

I could feel the heat, the explosion, the bombs they said. The sirens, the noise of the fire, the explosion, all seemed infinitely distant, though it happened here just a few feet from us. The next moment I rose from the ground, my back with my injured ribs, and finally my head slammed against the wall as well. I didn't stand on the ground. I was dizzy again, trying to cough, making the man’s fingers even tighter around my throat.

I think they say, everyone relives their entire lives in a situation like this or just everything slows down. I felt everything was too fast, the world was getting darker, it was getting harder and harder to stay awake, but I was still trying to fight. I heard the man say something, he says, but I didn’t understand what. It did not make any sense. Through the blurring world, I even sensed him leaning closer. My lungs were burning because I couldn’t breathe. Maybe one last chance and opportunity before I die?

I didn't want to die like that. With my last strength, when he leaned close, I tried to reach out to take off his helmet and try to squeeze his eyes, and I kicked him with my last force, or maybe it just happened with my knees, anyway I think his upper thigh, loins, or belly was what my legs or knees had to reach. Provided I was still able to do it, I wasn’t sure if I was able to do this or I was just imagined my moves and intention and only my mind was playing with me.

I got cold, I got really cold and I was sleepy…

I don't want to die like this…

I do not want…

 

[Glossa]

Location: Northern Srares Mountains, Outskirts of Srares - Carlac
Allies: BoTM ( Marlon Sularen )
Enemies: NIO ( Michael Barran )
Unit Support: Scavenged CKI “City Breaker” (2) │ Scavenged 74-Z Speeder Bikes │ Marauder Aspirants │ Scav Kings │ Tarar Warband
Objective: Defend the City Breakers
Direct Engagement: Michael Barran

Fire and blood.

The crucible burned, bathed in flames as the incendiary shells unleashed by the Blue Heart Cataphracts struck their targets, igniting both the living and dead defenders of Srares in a purifying conflagration. The barrage of rockets fired by the City Breaker had certainly gotten the attention of the enemy, but as of yet, they were largely inaccurate as the massive mobile fortress’ position had not been fully revealed, meaning that the Blue Hearts and Goliaths were forced to estimate the source of the rocket artillery fire raining down on their positions.

The high-pitched whistles of shells flying through the air met Ilglossa’s ears as she climbed into the pillion of a speeder bike and sped out from the defensive lines and into the forests, to execute her assigned mission. Being a Jango Jumper, Ilglossa was fast, perhaps the fastest of the marauders there. It was why she had been tasked with spotting the formations of enemy armor, in order to relay their positions to the City Breakers and the Scav Kings, which would then bombard their positions with unrelenting salvos of ordnance.

Ilglossa could only hope that the bike and if that failed, her legs, were fast enough for her to escape before the rockets came down.

The position transponder device beeped in her hands as she weaved the speeder bike through the trees, before briefly slowing down in order to better process her surroundings. Being as big, loud, and heavy as they were, tanks like the ones fielded by the Galidraanis always created signatures in their wake. While Ilglossa wasn’t a tracker, it didn’t take long for her eyes to pick up track marks, indicating the passage of one of the heavily-armored war machines. Riding her bike at a slow, methodical pace, the Jango Jumper followed their path over the next few minutes, which took her up the Northern mountains, into the armored belly of the Galidraani beast.

She only had one chance to make it all worth it.

Before long, Ilglossa caught sight of the vehicle she had been trailing, a Cataphract which seemed to be rendezvousing back to the primary Blue Heart armor column, which were still raining down incendiary fire on the northern districts, where the Jango Jumper had been less than a half-hour before. Giving a deep breath as the chilled air nipped at her skin, Ilglossa waited for a few minutes more, before making her play.

The distinct roar of her speeder sounded out as Ilglossa accelerated the machine towards the edge of the Cataphract column. Then, summoning all of the strength in her left arm, she hit a button on the transponder and threw it onto the closest Cataphract, before shifting her body across the swoop and changing direction, intending to disappear into the forest.

Moments later, brilliantly luminescent salvos of concussion missiles fired by the northern City Breaker lit up the dark, snow-specked sky, flying on a path towards the rough location of the Cataphracts on top of the mountains...

Spoiler: Loadout

• Pulsiva Bodysuit
  • Energy Shield
    • DS-102 “Aegis” Personal Energy Shield
  • B-11 “Greitis” Class Combat Boots
    • Whimsy Knife (2)
• Hekler’Kok FR-01
• FAE/M-01 "Scherezade" Energized Vibroblade

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

H E L L I O N
Operation: Judas Contract
4th Rifle Platoon, 5th Shock Trooper Company Oathsworn, 501st Legion
ASOPORT

I F _ I _ H A D _ A _ H E A R T​

Konrad didn't need to see to know he'd struck, even if it was a bare graze on the cheek and hood. The blade faintly jittered in his hand against the resistance of her flesh and leather, an unnoticeable movement to anyone but a highly trained swordsman. He found his footing again just as a torrent of fire passed right by him blasting the enemy away and flaring the indicators of the armor's heat sink on his HUD.

Dropships roared from above, some piercing through the storm, some lost to it. Valaar had called in reinforcements. He gave it no piece of mind, occupied by the hostile crone and Auria's sudden appearance.

"Cord sends her regards." Auria told the woman, taking a shot in the dark on a hunch. And then she launched another inferno at Tegan, wincing as the wound in her side protested.

He wanted to bark a jab back at her for criticizing his footwork--

They know each other??

The brief surprise on his face abated at the sight of Auria's physical state. He would've disregarded her temples painted in blood as simply some wacko witch ritual if it wasn't for the sanguine pool dampening the side of her outfit. Konrad didn't need to recall Dr. Tannhauser's extensive medical lessons to gauge the severity of her wound.

"Get back, you fool, you're bleeding bad!" why did he care? He found no answer to that question.

The momentary lapse of focus cost him. Auria's continuous inferno at the Maw's crone was redirected from the hostile sorceresses straight to Konrad. Roll away was the natural reaction, alas he couldn't. This fire carried a punch. The heat sink burst in a cloud of smoke from the back of his armor and he flew back into a tumble like when instincts kicked in. Finding a bare grip with the surface, he pushed himself away from the blaze into a sideways tumble that morphed into a crouching halt with one knee and palm on the ground.

Blackened by the fire, his armor looked as if he'd almost burned to a crisp punching through a world's atmosphere. With the heat sink obliterated, Konrad knew the circumstances of the fight had changed and he had to adapt. Without the armor's full defensive properties, it merely hindered his agility and agility was everything he needed now. What remained of the energy shield could keep another one or two infernos at bay but that was it.

The Imperial punched off the armor pieces he required to sacrifice for quickness, leaving him only with the helmet, chestplate, shoulder pads, gauntlets, utility belt, crotch plate, kneepads and boots, and the armorweave bodysuit beneath. Frigid cold was quick to creep into the crevices left behind. He had to move. Keep warm.

In one swift motion he hurled a sonic grenade at the Maw's witch and dashed in a blur of speed right at her for a series of slashes if he reached her. Konrad had to be smart and quick, but his arrogance always impeded his way.

ALLIES | NIO | Aemilio Valaar , Auria Blackmoore , Michael Barran
ENEMIES | MAW | Tegan Starfall [engaging], The Mongrel

 

[Cromwell]

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

We do not kill.

The scene of moments ago lingered over his mission driven mind more and more until it occupied a larger portion of the canvas of his thoughts than it should've. His eyes were fixated on the target as he prowled forward but Chelenne's face repeatedly resurfaced in his head. Playing over and over again the discrepancy between the reaction Avenger had expected from her and the reaction he received instead. There was no smirk, no jab, merely a pale face jittering a bare nod.

Varian halted, frowning.

Something was not right.

He turned his head left to see she was lagging behind, nay, she had stopped in place. Nothing around her indicated another presence or any reason for her to just stop.

<"Barclay, scan her.">

<"Agent Nighthawk's brain activity and pulse have flared to critical levels.">

What is--

..kark.

Avenger remained oblivious to the source of her sudden troubles. The strong sorcery inducing madness and hysteria upon the minds it touched had gone unnoticed to the Spectre. The mental fortitude he carried - a fortress built with Varian's own pains and traumas was a madness of its own. The guilt over Carlac's situation, the suffering over the sacking of his homeworld and the death of his parents were burdens carried by him in every breathe he drew. Lord Halketh's spell remained behind on the pecking order.

Kark!

He gritted his teeth in frustration as he turned heel and hurried towards Chelenne. The mission fell behind, second to the Zeltron. He materialized like a dark phantom beside her, stepping close to her to place a hand on her shoulder.

"What is going on?" he asked, voice laced with frustration and concern. At his back remained his duty; a choice he assumed he would regret.

ALLIES | NIO | Chelenne Akaris
ENEMIES | MAW | Arken Rhau

 

[Lyra Vent]

R A V E N
COMPNOR
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ASOPORT| CARLAC
ALLIES: Amadeus Blackwood | NIO
ENEMIES: BOTM/NEW SITH ORDER | Darth Senthral
ENGAGING: Darth Tennacus
GEAR: E-1 Carlaci Corps Armour (stolen) | Shield hidden in vambrace | Side-arm | Rotary cannon | Standard cybernetics | Standard Grenade loadout | Vibroknife

WE SHALL OVERCOME
​

The Raven raised her chin at the Sith's degrading words of both the Order and of her being alone.

A proud smile spread on her lips. Even after all these years, none of the Sith yet realised how wrong they are.
"We are never alone. Even on our own, we are whole. We are one. We are Legion. Cut one down and another will take his place." she told him, her voice growing stronger with every pride-filled word.

Order would endure, through time and space.

Not that the Sith Lord seemed to care as he started to stalk forward, rambling about severing her arms. Lyra's eyes flashed. Clearly, this arrogant man knew nothing about Imperial Operatives or those outfitting them. She rested assured that it would cost him somewhere. Arrogance was often the downfall of people in Lyra's experience.

She did move her feet, however as he approached. She knew she would not be fast enough to react in the ways she wanted to. Space wizards did like their zipping around. But for the sake of playing at being predictable, Lyra pulled the trigger once, firing a burst of rounds from her hip. If it weren't for the fact that half her body consisted of cybernetics, this would not have been possible. As it was, the cannon shook slightly in her hands before she let go of it and the blaster fell into the snow.

And then she waited for him.

Waiting for that Sith confidence to cause him to err. Focused as she was on the man in front of her, she was not aware of an unknown ally of hers making his way over to the duo. Instead, she readied herself for the onslaught that was sure to swoop down on her. Lyra was no elite soldier, but she was no rookie either. Close quarters and fast attacks were the Raven's forte.

Time to face her demon...

 

[Avernus]

「 Did You Miss Me?」

Rurik Fel | Halketh​

​

"Dramatic," Avernus croaked impatiently. Everything he just heard and witnessed hardly qualified as droll. Rurik Fel 's entrance flopped worse than late-stage AvCorp. Now illusions? Too soon? Eyeroll. Attitude didn't take long to resurrect with him. In less turbulent circumstances it might have posed the question; What was so interesting in the afterlife none of this was exciting? Maybe it was an act. Being a half-spirit didn't mean he only retained half his narcissisms.

"I'll admit I like a good pre-murder dialogue, but this ain't it. I was always amused with the righteous dogmatism you Imperials seemed to exude. Yet, not even one mention of the Iron Sun or the uh, other what-have-yous. Tavlar's been dead for, what, two minutes? You're already losing your touch, Fel."

Orange light flooded the area. Caelitus' weapon had come alive. "Oh, no, please, don't speed up on account of me." Big Money's voice dethatched from his body momentarily. His form morphed, extended from Caelitus like an overbearing shadow cast on the ethereal. Visible, flamboyant, gay outrage emanated from his half-empyrean form. Kezec did mention something about tethers. Honestly, Avernus was only half listening. "You're kidding me, right?" he lamented.

Brilliance sprouted in the form of feathered garb. Every inch of the Sith Lord's recuperating being glimmered like diamonds. Slowly, surely, his image grew above Caelitus, still looming like a ghost trying to free itself from a possession victim. "You know, I always figured we could rule the galaxy if we combined our best qualities, but this isn't really what I had in mind... In hindsight, I suppose I wasn't really cut out for the whole 'father of the masses' thing. If I had-"

Avernus blinked, remembered Rurik Fel was ready to kill his tether. "Oh, my apologies Imperator. I guess this can wait for later, huh? Oh well, anyway, eat chit."

Insufferable as ever.

Lighting escaped his fingers in jagged red-gold streams. Stray bolts smote pillars and reliefs, creating another rain of stone. Every painful ounce of energy he used drew from Caeltius' reserves.

He wasn't conservative about it, either.

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

V O I D W A L K E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
ASOPORT, CARLAC
ALLIES: Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore Michael Barran Ranoc Sar
ENEMIES: Carlaci Corps, Perished, The Mongrel Tegan Starfall
Directly Interacting: Caarlyle Rausgeber​

The brevity of quiet lasted for as long as it took the Black Hands to maneuver through the rubble filled street. Duracrete chunks were a temporary blockade that would’ve required heavy machinery to remove from the path. With durasteel beams to support them, they were near impossible to move, even with ten men. Instead, they settled for a single baradium charged thermal detonator to clear the path.

Subtlety was not the forte of their rash Lieutenant, nor would it be theirs.

The sound of dropships broke out over the din of the battle further ahead, causing the Lieutenant to look back.

Prefsbelt Commands very own Stossgrenadiers and their armoured vehicles. Beyond the requested AT-SGs, arrived artillery cannons, affectionately named Powerhammers along with a handful of Cataphract Battle tanks. A mainstay of the New Imperial Armed Forces at this point. In the midst of their landing and deployment, he was pinged again, and he tapped into the linked frequency.

"That we will be dispatching close air support in the form of a rhypalm strike once the walkers have made landing. Should he have capacity for relaying thatfurther." Rausgeber continued, "Ensure a full escort. I want two full wings of TIE fighters, one for the transports, the second for the bombers."​

The forwarded message was met with gratitude, and then, confusion. But who was he to deny the attempt of aide, even through the persisting storm?

They have come far too late.

It was the first time that his guard slipped and the haunting voices assailed his mind. The ritual was spun to spread doubt to its victims, to drop morale in the midst of battle. In the brief lull, now was the perfect time to attack the mind of an officer of the Order's premier legion.

Aemilio blinked. Looking around, as if he might find the source of the voice.

Oh yeah.

With the holoprojector still in hand, Aemilio saw the reddened forms in the transmitted feed as more and more populated the images. Vehicles, not of New Imperial make, or from sponsored companies. So Carlac is not alone? It'd explain the differing appearance of the hostiles that fired down on him. Jawline working as his teeth grinded, he shut off the handheld device, slipping it back into his pouch as he flipped open the miniaturized console that was his wrist-pad.

On the encrypted network, he inputted the coordinates that were in his general AO. There was far more hostiles than that, spread out in the city that the 501st would soon be engaging. Couldn't save them all. Marching on, it was about time that he caught up with his own platoon.

Abandon your cause. There is only despair he-

The voice cut off.

"Sir?" The unfamiliar voice caused him to turn around, a hand dropping to the hilt of the blade at his waist instinctively. "Lieutenant Valaar? It's been mandated for the support teams to distribute Cradles to as many Officers as possible."

Arms slipping through the slings, he yanked the Ysalimiri Cradle over his his back mount.

The ground began to rumble, and the trooper took off - back to wherever they came from. In that direction, the Stossgrenadiers armour was on its way.

Rendezvous with the Black Hands.

"Everyone in position?"

"Mortars loaded - awaiting your orders." Torayga said.

Camped out in the rubble of the intersection, the mortar units had their targeting homed in as well as they could, once Aemilio returned with the probe information. Initial firing was likely to be incorrect, but with holoprojector in hand, distance and targeting could be adjusted in a moments notice.

Three buildings that overlooked the route they were bound to take deeper into the city.

In conjunction with the Prefsbelt possible bombing run, the Rhypalm bombing would blaze a path through the city. All he could hope for was that the city in its entirety would combust.

"First shells - Fire!" Eyes glued to the holoprojector, it occurred to him that he hadn't heard back from Konrad in some time. Dead? Likely, though there was no love lost with the Lieutenant.

 

[Auria Blackmoore]

ALLIES: Konrad Harrsk | Aemilio Valaar | Michael Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | Ranoc Sar
ENEMIES: BOTM | NEW SITH ORDER | The Mongrel | Tegan Starfall
ENGAGING: Tegan Starfall
GEAR: I'm a Witch - "Ooop"

O~~>WITCH'S SPELL<~~O​

Vaguely, Auria heard Konrad's words.

Was that almost concern?

Not that the rogue witch had much time to dwell on that. Mother Starfall was frothing at the mouth as she redirected Auria's flame torrent at the Buckethead.

And then Auria had to react as well.

She had little time to do anything but dive as the discs spun towards her. Landing flat on her stomach, she let out a yelp of pain as the wound protested. She did not even feel the one disc clip her shoulder in the same instance.

Tonight was not a good night for her.

Raising herself from the ground, the world span for a second as more blood now seeped out of her shoulder. Resolve drove her, however, and she struggled to her feet, still seeing stars from the bloodloss.

Her heart sank, however, as Konrad threw the sonic. At this short distance, some of it disoriented her as well. Stumbling back, it took a split second for her to get her bearings back. Luckily the Laserbrain followed up his blast while she recovered. But she knew time was little.

Ashen faced and still seeing stars from the sonic, Auria readied herself to face the psycho Starfall again.

Her mind was fuzzy.

But the rogue battlemage dug deep, pulling heavily on the elements that were swirling all around. And then she knew what she had to do to give Konrad his edge.

She drew out some of the moisture and ice that formed part of the vortex overhead, and shaped it into a ball in the same motion. In a fluid motion, Auria hurled the ball straight at Tegan's face, hoping for the waterball filled with icicles to hit Tegan in the face and momentarily blind the Dark sorceress - enough for Konrad to get a hit in. Provided the fool can move his feet quick enough.

Her head was throbbing.

Auria had no idea how long her strength would last, but she knew a lapse in concentration now, could not cost only hers, but also Konrad's and so many other lives. If Cord had been any indication, then her mother would be ten times worse.

"What is it with you Starfalls and anger issues?" she gasped, still drawing heavily on the elements all around her.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

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

​

Step by step, the Sith's intentions unfolded in his mind. He saw himself severing her arms, dragging what was left of her back on board his Apprentice's ship, subjecting her to experimentation in all manners of horrors. She looked defeated already, half-efforted blasts shot towards him, knowing full well his blade would swing and dance in an elemental union of minimal explosions. At that point, he felt the need of his lightsaber had concluded. He was on the cusp of depositing the crimson weapon, his thumb grazing over the switch ever so delicately. The Force was a weapon in itself; a reservoir of unlimited potential.

And then he suddenly stopped.

Something did not feel right. The silence was suspense. When the cold bite of winter's winds howled over them, it carried nothing. And then, so suddenly, it did. The ejection of a lightsaber as it split its way through the air, barraging towards him with swift precision. Jedi? he thought, but both the Force and the weapon presented something entirely different. Vibrant, blood red hue generated from a lightsaber, the first mannerisms of a Dark Side user. As dangerously close as the individual was, Tennacus did not wane away from his composure, standing ever so tauntingly still, as if a retaliation was beneath him. His eyes bore a deadpan expression, coming alive with the vistas of the lightsaber as it barrelled towards him. . . then suddenly stopped. His eyes motioned towards his Apprentice, who had been waiting in the wings just like Tennacus had warned. A shadow behind a shadow now emerged within the flesh, upholding the tenacity of the Sith.

"So a saviour emerges," Tennacus said, moving around Lord Senthral and his new opponent, maintaining his focus on the cyborg. "Seems almost cosmic that an ally would come the moment I announce your loneliness. Just as cosmic that we can respond in exactly the same manner, just like I told you." Tennacus waved his wounded arm lightly. "Kill him, Lord Senthral. Remind them that heroics do not guarantee victory."

Tennacus distanced himself from the two, closing the distance between himself and Lyra. "I suppose it is exhilarating to have allies come when you need them the most. Let us see if their arrival has changed the conclusion of this matter."

The ground trembled beneath Lyra's feet. The Force focused itself around her, its intangible claws sinking deep into the snow. The once content snowflakes suddenly erupted, bursting up around her body in a thick, white veil of obscurity. Tennacus used that moment to tap into his mastery of Form VII, spiralling himself through the air to land several meters behind her and propel a barrage of Force Lightning to penetrate the blinding sheet and bathe her in a wave of electrical streaks. He set out to cripple her mechanical systems, overcharging them until they finally blew, but to what extent he would have to go to in order to do that remained uncertain.

 

[Arken Rhau]

Chelenne Akaris // Cromwell​

Arken recalled the days when death was something he could easily define.

Things were simpler then, easier, luxurious even, in comparison. But since his rise from the dregs of Osseriton into the aspirant ranks of the Maw, the things he’d been witnessed to had shaken his resolve and torn down the walls of his rationale. Instead of safe and sane, the logical sensibilities he’d built a barrier out of had merely kept him naïve and ignorant to a great many things this galaxy had to teach. The force was such incredible tool, one so magnificent it had a will of its own, a purpose pulling at the very strings of destiny, his own included. In some ways he had understood this even during his youth on Epoch were the dark side was as much a part of nature as the wind and the waves. Yet now, faced with it all its inscrutable immensity and without the answers to even a fraction of it, was this enlightenment truly worth it, or was ignorance been as blissful as they say. As the acolyte stared into the unliving visage of the Carlac soldier, a hand instinctively reached up to rest upon the terrible wound on his shoulder, the inky black skin beneath the bite mark burning and churning, the pain barely suppressed into a manageable agony by the bacta infused supplements coursing through his veins. Without it, and the other ministrations of the Maw medicine men -an oxymoron not lost on him- he’d have been dead twice over by now, let alone still standing with his wits intact.

He missed those days. Missed them fiercely.

When the Perished didn’t react nor so much as budge from his spot, Arken took a tentative step closer, windswept snow crunching underfoot. What made a man choose to come back from the other side of oblivion? Was it a choice at all? Had the mad monster Kyrel Ren made the same one as this poor fool when he’d returned to take up his demented crusade? Had he made a choice when he challenged the Voice in the halls of that ancient temple upon Mar’zambul, when he… infected Arken with this unholy affliction? When he killed me... The young Sith hopeful drew nearer to the unflinching abomination, curiosity drawing his studious gaze closer and closer still. Even clad in Carlac’s cold and its red winged armor, the faint stench of decay was undeniable. Had this one been one of the living before joining the ranks of the fallen? Had they volunteered to serve in life as part of the Corp, only to do so again in death as one of the Perished? It was madness to even consider that a choice, a fever induced lunacy akin to Arken opting to return to the prison he’d barely escaped from instead of joining the Bloodsworn when given the chance. This mortal coil was a wretched sentence, why would a prisoner ever want to extend it? Unfinished business. A stubborn sense of defiance? Fear?

Fear… The word rattled around like a stone thrown through the window of his musings. Death had many secrets, and doubtless fear was the fuel that ignited the dogged pursuit of solving them. “Is that what drives your master?” He muttered, peering heavenward to the grand fortress looming high above. At its pinnacle, beyond the riotous winds and snow choked skies was the dark lord of this frigid world, his twisted machinations reverberating out across planet as the force convulsed beneath his wicked whim. He could feel it, that power emanating from the Crown, desperately trying to claw its way into his thoughts and finding no purchase in the effort. Occupied, he mused grimly, but none the less glad to have the beast in his head engrossed with fending off its intrusions instead of amusing itself with his torment for once. There was more than that though, a darkness beneath it all that fed into his emotions with gluttonous abandon, and none more so did he feel than in his fear.

He touched his shoulder once more, a bristling reminder that his time was finite. After everything, I’m going to die… for nothing.

Arken smirked, a bleak and humorless thing. “You and I will be as kin soon.” One dead man said to the other. The Perished stared at him -through him- unblinking, unfettered by mortal concerns, searching the white stained plains beyond for something neither of them could see. In the distance Arken thought he could hear the faint, muffled detonations of artillery shells bludgeoning some distant battlefield. The Maw hard at work. “You’ll show me the ropes won’t you, old boy?” He made to pat the creature on the shoulder as he took his leave when it suddenly roused, head twisting crooked to the side. “Oh chit…” He muttered bitterly, nearly jumping out his boots. It had seen something. He followed its line of focus, turning around to look…

-eye to glazed over eye with a Zeltron standing mere meters away, weapon in hand. “Oh chit!” Arken barely even registered the big man next to her as he reached out with the force, hand outstretched in a violent reaction born of instinct and panic. Before him everything erupted in a shuddering blast of energy, the storm sheared open in the abrupt explosion of his force push. The strength of it alarmed even Arken, who stared at his hands disbelievingly. Had he always been this strong? No… it was this place, the darkness bleeding out of this world and the emanations flowing from the Crown of Ice. It was making him more powerful, and now that he had tapped into it, he knew could be stronger still.

Something shoved past him, and for a moment the acolyte feared he’d missed a third assassin creeping up from behind, only to realize it was the Perished, stumbling at first, then running all out towards the two intruders. Yes! Yes, go get them, old boy! Smiling, but still reeling, he began making his way back to the entrance of the tunnel, eager to be done with this miserable blizzard and its miserable surprises. He stopped, brow quirked in confusion and another bout of rising dread turning his stomach into knots. Something was moving underfoot. In fact, as he looked about, many things were moving beneath the snow. He watched in horror as the ground all around him began to shift and roil.

Now this curiously abandoned entrance and its purpose became all too clear. It was a trap and it had been sprung with him caught in net! Dozens -no, hundreds- of the dead began to rise from the snow in every direction, but these were entirely unlike the others he’d seen in the fortress. Time and the ravages of nature had warped their pristine poise and shredded the armor from their desiccated bodies. Slavering maws and grasping fingers, milky eyes and gnashing teeth, all ripping their way free of the ice and snow with monstrous ferocity. Some crawled, some stumbled, some sprinted, all of them screaming as they swarmed the two imperials. Time to go. He decided. Right. Now. Arken grasped at the old metal grating with the force, delighted to wield the overwhelming might in his hands once again. With a twist of his fingers it tore free from the ground and spun upright in the air. He pulled it towards him as he back peddled into the tunnel and away from the horror unfolding outside. Yet, before the sith slammed the door shut, he hesitated, that familiar fear returned. Maybe it was sheer folly, borne of a simpleton’s hubris, or maybe it was the desperation of man who just didn’t want to die, but something in Arken coerced him to do what he did next.

The crimson hue of a lightsaber whirred across the white waste, slicing a swath of molten fury through the swarming dead before arcing back to his waiting hand. “Come on!” roared the acolyte over the din of the storm, “to me if you want to live!” He would only hold the door open for so long. With or without the imperials, Arken was going to defy death's demand this day... and all the days that followed.

 

[Chelenne Akaris]

H A T E M E
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
N I G H T H A W K
// RESIST THE DARKNESS \\
Cromwell | Arken Rhau

​

"What is going on?"

The Zeltron nearly jumped out of her skin with the sudden bass of his voice reaching through the hushed madness scurrying between the grooves of her mind, raising her hands to deflect the hand he stretched toward her in reflexive defense until she realized who it was. She stared at him, eyes wide with her confusion and fear, resembling a petrified, wounded animal far more than the rather playful predator she was infamous for. Somewhere under the surface she struggled to keep together, a wicked pang split through her heart, flaying the delicate tissue apart and spewing the venom dormant within it to flood her veins.

Silver waters gathered along the lashes of her lower lids, turning black as the fading makeup applied began to lift with the rising tide. "D-do you he-hear that?" She stammered, barely able to squeak the words out through the paralytic sensations overwhelming her. A crack in the levee, it was nothing at first, and yet the longer she remained here and the closer she grew to the heart of Darkness, the further such a small crater had blossomed until stonework caved and it surrendered to the rushing tide hammering against it from the other side. Chelenne couldn't pick her boots up. She couldn't lower the hands clasped tightly over her mouth in shock.

Frozen by the environment, she was but a weeping statue.

Until an unexpected blast flung her across the wintry blanket like a ragdoll.

A yelp of surprise left her with the sudden force's exertion upon her, and a sharp whimper of pain ruptured her grimacing lips when she finally stopped bouncing; impact abruptly halted by a jagged spear of frosted rock emerging nearly unseen through the deepened snow. The wind left her, abandoning her to lay there in shaken stillness, gasping for breath fruitlessly. Nerves overwhelmed screamed to her brain, lancing her body with the white-hot jolt of adrenaline, barely felt through the numbness the Dark Lord of this nightmare had forced upon her. A quivering hand pressed against the source and she cried louder, drawing her gloved fingers aside to glimpse the puddle of rubies slipping between them. It was a deep gash, one which hadn't been impeded by the half-chestguard she wore beneath her heavy, fur coat, or the bodyglove hugging her figure tightly under that.

She lay there, staring in shock at the blood oozing from her wound, watching it melt the biting snow and puddle into pinkish sludge.​

"You promised me you would be better."
​

The silent tormentor returned to her, bubbling through her panicked thoughts with insidious ease. "I know..." she murmured in response, squeezing her eyes shut. She needed a second to breathe, a moment to recover; a lifeline. The snow shifting about her pried her gaze to return to the landscape and with a great shout, the Zeltron managed to sit upright, pressing her hands over the spewing wound gouged beneath her rib cage. Breath stumbled in her throat, halting the whimpers and cries she had no choice but to release for fear of becoming even more overwhelmed than she already was.​

"It was all just a lie, wasn't it?"​

Nighthawk bore witness then to the rising of the dead, biting down on her lip with every jerky, unnatural movement that saw the legion claw themselves out of the snow. The entire time those damned had been sleeping beneath their boots. They could have devoured Varian when he was buried. They could have lurched upward and sunk their rotting teeth into her legs, tearing her skin from bone with an insatiable hunger. These were not the complex, coordinated movements she had observed The Perished operate with, no, this was something else entirely. It was uncanny, how they jerked and writhed, excavating themselves from the icy womb of the world to emerge in their perverse rebirth, unfettered by the restraint they felt in life and driven forward to kill with desire for only one thing: blood.

There were too many of them, far too many of them, for her to even begin to form a plan of escape or to fight them, and in her current state, she doubted she would get far anyway. Beyond the rising sea of horror, she searched for the lonesome thread of tangible reality, any trace of him. She peered for his bold silhouette against the blinding snow. His singular, flat line of emotions. The sound of his voice. She couldn't grasp any of it, as far as she reached. Cut off from where she had been previously, Chelenne pushed herself backward with the heels of her boots, pinning her back to the same rocky protrusion that had sundered her flesh, cutting off the likelihood of being surrounded entirely.​

"You were always such a liar, starlight."​

Lips smudged by fading stain pressed into a thin line, urged by the composure she attempted to seize in the midst of perhaps the most daunting experience of her life thusfar. The corpses approached, their stiff, rigid legs making their creep toward her much slower and more difficult, though their gargling howls and cries of hunger reached her sooner, deepening the tremble of her limbs. The hand pressed to her torn body remained, struggling to keep purchase against the soaked flesh in a feeble attempt to keep the bleeding under control, as hopeless as it was. The other reached across her waist, curling fingers around the hilt of her vibroknife- a last resort for a fate better than what she was about to be served.

Deeply she dug into her memories, shoveling through the rockslide of emotions that had crushed her own beneath their weight, fumbling in what felt like midnight to find any glimmer of hope. Something. She needed something. Anything.

The dragging crunch of snow grew louder.​

"You promised."
​

Groping through the abysmal depths of her Force-imposed misery, she felt nothing but despair. It was as intended, as designed, by the very same man Varian was hellbent on finding and ending. This was all her fault, she never should have come here. She never should have accepted this mission. She should have protested and taken the hit. She should have called for extraction sooner. She should have stayed away. She should have said no. She shouldn't have made the promises she made. She shouldn't have frozen up. She shouldn't have-

In the black, the tips of her fingers struck steel.​

"The night before you left, do you remember what you said to me?"
​

Glistening eyes snapped open, and the wounded prey glared with vitriol at the approaching predators. No. This is what shouldn't have been. This is what should have been prevented. This is what should be stopped. Staring into the red eyes of the mindless corpses she felt nothing from them, not a flicker of humanity nor emotion. Their hearts did not beat. Their minds did not turn. Their souls did not burn with the passionate fire of the living. In that wicked well of realization, Chelenne had struck gold. It was in the air around her. It crackled through the clouds.

For years she had safeguarded her fragile heart from its daggers, clutching her soul close to her chest to shield it from the hatred that corrupted every single planet she was sent to investigate. Years of service had seen her grow numb to the horror she often uncovered- innocent peoples cut to pieces and arranged in macabre shapes for rituals. Dark Forces invoked to tear good men and women to bloody ribbons. She had held a toddler's hand as her mother was being scraped off the sidewalk. She had helped pick up the remnants of refugees' bodies after acts of terror. She had soothed the dying and wounded soldiers left behind in the wake of the war effort. She had watched wives scream in wailing agony over their husbands' corpses through the lens of a scope.

Everything she had seen, everything she had done, she had not warded it off.

Her shoulders heaved with ragged breaths of growing depth.

It had found a home inside of her, nesting deep into her being to slumber until it could finally awaken.

Soft magenta skin deepened, turning a deeper, brighter shade of scarlet. Blood rushed to her face, the pulse pounding in her ears now the only thing she could hear. The Zeltron pushed herself to her feet, feeling so much that she felt nothing at all, allowing the hatred and rage awakening within her to kill her suffering.

Her hand snapped outward, flinging the blood cupped within her palm to the snow. The closest corpse was mere meters away- not close enough. With a sharp, vengeful howl, Chelenne lunged through the snow, whipping her blade upward to bed hilt-deep into the throat of the undead until bone ground it to a forceful stop. Swiftly she wrenched it free, splattering herself with black ichor, and fixed her hateful gaze on the next.

Swept up in a vengeful flurry, the agent stabbed the corpse in the chest. Again. And again. And again, each unhinged motion accompanied by an animalistic growl that faded into the swirling tempest consuming her. When the undead snapped at her still, she slung her fist into the side of its head, pummeling it to the snow where she threw herself down on top of it, squeezing a hand around its slashed throat and jamming her knife into its eye socket. She twisted promptly, liquefying the eye and gouging it out, bringing it with the blade she ripped free.

The voices in the distance were lost to her.
​

 

[Michael Barran]

7
SECOND_SON
OBJECTIVE 2: UNDERWORLD
CARLAC

ALLIES (NIO): Aemilio Valaar Konrad Harrsk Auria Blackmoore
Keilara Kala'myr Amadeus Blackwood Ranoc Sar

ENEMIES (BOTM/NSO/KOR): Halketh The Mongrel Marlon Sularen
Tegan Starfall Glossa

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
32 VH-140,"GOLIATH" REPULSORTANKS (-8) (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 - PART 12

​

Northern Srares Mountains,
Srares' Outskirts, Carlac

So the city-destroyers finally come out to play then, took them long enough.​

'City destroyers? What the feth is he talking about city-destroyers for? I haven't even seen any since we got here, pretty sure we'd be backing the kark off otherwise- wait a minute.... Yorunarr, get me some eyes on the south! Send in the swoops an' AFVs, I'm done with this dawdling caper!'

For the first time, the voices had been incorrect, for the destruction wrought on the city by the host of Woads and Highlanders' had somewhat defeaned and blinded the assault-group from the first barrage of missiles on the New-Imperial siege lines, mostly on account of the fact the enemy ordnance had been aiming at the Goliaths of Ilum, positions and tanks that were also hidden from friendly and opposing contingents alike. The wonders that were the production-lines of Saro's factories, creating modern engineering marvels for a fraction of their competitors' equivalent asking-prices, even affordable enough for exiled Galidraanis to purchase in bulk; and the Goliaths of Ilum would be no exception to this, as all except eight VH-140s who were lagging behind the main column would escape the city-destroyers' detection, giving off heat-signatures in their engines as they attempted to catch up with the other Goliaths. Against such voluminous firepower, the Goliaths who'd nullified their own blip-cloaking efforts never stood a chance, sending all eight crews into the next life with impacts the other contingents would be unable to see or hear of until the battle was finished, with each and every crewman among them luckier to escape reanimation than others would be that night.

'Yorunarr to Guardian One! We need you moving again, eyes are needed on the south. We suspect the defenders brought city-destroyers to defend a city - yes, yes. I know, the ironies never cease in this Galaxy, but these are the hands we're dealt.'

<"Perfectly fine for the roles we're playing out here, Blue-Heart Delta. Forward-observations and nomad-tactics only, an' that's exactly how we're makin' it through this. An' if any more intel is to be given, don't hold back by any means, we'll be in peak coordination-mode by then anyway. Guardian One out!">
​

The second Mawite barrage, however, wouldn't escape the Wanderer's notice, as their efforts to engulf the northern districts in flames had also given off heat-signatures that compromised their positions, something the Predator Launch-Platforms on the Eastern Munro could only partially diminish the amount of missiles that would make it through by the time the last projectiles of both salvos had drawn to their temporary conclusions. With the missiles having been launched from within the city, the trails would be all the quicker to track to the location from where they had been fires, exposing themselves to the same sorts of detection parameters that they had previously been capitalising on; fortunately enough for the city-destroyers, they would have time to evade the Blue-Hearts' missile retaliation in time, giving Glossa enough breathing-room to move before the Predator Launch-Platforms and the MLVs could reload. Even Yorunarr and Lord Michael had to jump out the way as one of the missiles landed fewer than fifty metres behind them, with the shockwave knocking their speeders overs and kicking up snow, dust and mud as others joined it at other parts of the northern Srares mountains, creating an all-round assault on the senses of all who were in the areas where the barrage made it through.

Don't say I didn't warn you, Michael.​

'THESE IDIOTS THINK THEY CAN AVALANCHE US OUT?!?!?!?! KARK IT, WE'RE GAWN INFANTRY-HEAVY AS SOON AS MCBAIN GETS HERE!!!!'

'Yeah, about that!', a voice exclaimed from Michael's right, causing both the Woad and the Novanian to turn in the direction of the voice with the Highlanders' accent. They would have recognised the tone of the voice, but the auditory hell they had only just endured had left their ears with a rather raw, high-pitched ringing of tinnitus, but if it had not have been for the bombardment, Michael and Yorunarr would have recognised the voice of Randall McBain with ease. Not that it mattered, as the Highland Brotherhood began to crowd the area in their entirety, dropping barrels as the undersides of their SA-65s rested on the front sides of their flak-jackets' shoulder straps; the soldiers nearest to Barran would take a knee a few feet away, adopting pre-fight behaviours as if they were taking another small stretch of Galidraan III's city streets, waiting for the Lord and his Leftenant's final word as they watched them discuss the attack plan together. The Highlanders would make way for McBain as he approached, falling silent as they prepared for the decision that sealed their fates with relaxed postures, acts of which that showed Barran their morale was at it's peak, but showing anticipation for something else.

'The Brotherhood, in my opinion, should mount their part in the assault at half-strength. We only need two companies to wreak havoc enough for three Carlaci cities, let alone one. Hear me out though, as we're leaving the other half with Yorunarr's Cataphracts, and the ones we're leaving with ye are more than capable of taking the conventional field with you. We only need riflemen an' engineers t'get the job done doun there, Milord. Seriously, half-strength - an' ah promise we can give you magic you'll be able to see fae up here.'

Do you think McBain trusts you, Michael?

PROVING GROUND: THE WANDERER'S DEPLOYMENT TO CARLAC - PART 13

Northern Srares Mountains,
Near Srares' Outskirts, Carlac

'Oh, right. The visibility-factor! Ha! "Tavlar!", you're perfectly alright for now, mate. We've already made contact with your pointman an' such, so Eclipse are clear to link up.... If that's Roland, meet me by the tree in the middle of the clearing uphill. We can talk shop there while we wait for the AFVs.'

The undead await you downhill, scum. Can you hear them yet?​

The snowfall was quite thick where they were, and even though they couldn't see Roland, they could hear well enough to detect his main-worlder accent from where they were, and when the others began to file uphill past them, they'd detect other accents from Galidraan I when they exchanged greetings with the ones who weren't chittering themselves silly with the cold. Some would tip their helmets, some would wave, the majority would offer lazy fist-over-heart salutes in seeing the three black Guard-Captain stars stitched onto the left-sleeve of Baird's winter-suit jacket, all appreciated by Baird and Feeney as they were glued to the spot in amusement at the whole situation. For Baird in particular, he found himself feeling quite happy, knowing these sorts of links weren't so easily established on deployments to frozen planets; but despite the fight they were expecting, Ryan would smirk knowing it solidified their chances of remaining undetected. Even as the AFVs began rolling uphill from the north, the young captain couldn't help but wonder if their growing array would survive in the event one of the city-destroyers spotted them, and if that same array would survive an attempt to draw other foes out from within Srares itself, but made peace with his lot as he looked out to the terrain downhill.

<"Yorunarr to Guardian One! We need you moving again, eyes are needed on the south. We suspect the defenders brought city-destroyers to defend a city - yes, yes. I know, the ironies never cease in this Galaxy, but these are the hands we're dealt.">​

'Perfectly fine for the roles we're playing out here, Blue-Heart Delta. Forward-observations and nomad-tactics only, an' that's exactly how we're makin' it through this. An' if any more intel is to be given, don't hold back by any means, we'll be in peak coordination-mode by then anyway. Guardian One out!'

'Ah know what that means, sir.', young Feeney remarked, picking up his rifle from it's place at his feet as he turned towards the path to the meadow they had gathered at for their previous briefing. Reattaching the rifle to it's sling, barrel-dropping as he slapped Baird's shoulder, the young Lancejack continued,'Another briefing..... The last briefing of the op probably.', before making his first paces up the deepening layers of snow that covered the path they had only recently stomped out for themselves. Feeney was right, though Baird knew what that meant, remembering the sacrifices his comrades had endured to the last gasp around him, dropping like the very flies they regularly swatted at on Archais. The youth was undoubtedly yet to experience such grief and horror so intensely, and it showed, but despite all the odds and inexperience that were stacked against him, the mentor still had faith in the tenacity and willpower of his protégé. The captain would consider this as,"Ground to be covered", in the briefing as he pondered on Feeney's predicament again, walking to the center of the throng once more in silence.

It's almost as if you want to die, scum. Flesh-eaters await, yet your mind still wanders?

'Zombies, aye? Same caper with the voices here, but we're highly mobile, so it's sound. My only concern is what we're able to achieve against the greater, more-conventional threats Halketh has stacked against us, and though it pains me t'say this, we have to locate three or more city-destroyers and avoid detection in the process. An' once we've achieved this, we need to find other enemy ordnance and somehow draw them into Lord Michael's line-of-fire.... None of it will be easy, but for the replacements among you - just listen to the others, an' let yer training guide your actions as they should. If tank-work is enough, so's this.'

By then, the Scout-AFVs had arrived to transport (and protect) the Woads' colleagues from Eclipse Company, setting events into motion whether Baird willed them to or not, but seeing the eight-wheelers setting into forming behind the gathered guardsmen and Eclipse soldiers. 'Good luck, gentlemen. Mount up!', Ryan concluded the speech, offering his own fist-over-heart salute as he watched the others stand to attention then turn about-face towards the AFVs, turning about-face himself so he could have brief words with Roland, intending to get the important stuff out the way before Roland's Eclipse subordinates could return and personally coax him red-faced into AFV One. Shaking hands, the two officers would silently express their will to accord for the sake of the others, clearly understanding what they were to expect going forward on account they had both experienced the horrors of war at their worst; and with that, both would cast knowing glances through the tints of their goggles that could be see from up-close, understanding that Carlac had every chance of being much worse for them than the worst of their previous deployments combined.

You can feel it already, can't you? The teeth, the sharp, splintered teeth of the damned?

'Ignore their words, Roland. That won't be our fate today, I guarantee it. Just know this, whatever you think might happen to you - do not hesitate to call for help. I won't leave anyone behind if I can help it, just like Ziost 3.... We stayed for the wounded then, I'll fight for the wounded now. Nothing's changed, nothing will change. Remember this, an' I promise you we'll live to see dawn.'

 

[Tegan Starfall]

Post: 4
Objective: Blood Sport
Location: Asoport
Equipment: Mind Crown | Black MidNight Duster with Hood | Echani shield suit | Grav Boots | Eltro Life Gloves | x4 red lightsabers | Defender | Forearm Lanvorak | Wrist Laser | x2 FWG-5 Flechette Smart Pistol | Boomer | X4 Daggers | Pack of Death sticks | Various Explosives on person and in backpack | Holopad
Allies: The Mongrel | Marlon Sularen
Enemies: Auria Blackmoore | Konrad Harrsk | Michael Barran | Keilara Kala'myr | Aemilio Valaar
Special Tags: Auria Blackmoore | Konrad Harrsk | Open to More

---

Though Tegan had regrouped herself somewhat, her left hand was pretty much unusable for anything productive at the moment. She didn’t have any time for a healing spell as before she knew it a sonic grenade came rolling in near her feet. Her eyes went wide as she saw it, that was move she would pull before during an attack though she would have used a thermal instead. On instinct she brought up a force shield around her. It was like second nature to her, that’s the game she would play drop a grenade at the feet of her close open and bring up a shield to protect herself from most of the blast. Yet this was a sonic grenade so the shield could take the concussive force. How ever the sound bursting from it caused her ears to begin to bleed and deefen her with a high-pitched ringing left behind.


She stumbled back as the grenade itself cracked the pavement beneath her feet. The force shield being up though did defend her from Konrads on coming onslaught of attacks. She kept getting pushed back as his onslaught pressed on. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw the ball of ice and water coming for her face. A twisted grin crossed her face, the other witch had just made a major mistake Tegan was in her element on this world as the first Magick she ever mastered had been Cryomancy and Hydromancy.


Tegan quickly dropped her shield and reached out with her useless left hand towards the flying ice ball. As she did so Konrads sword bit through her coat and into her echani armor underneath. The Songsteel slicing into it all the way down to the flesh. It bit into her left forearm slicing it. The Ice ball slammed into Tegans hand and at first cutting into the already burnt flesh. But then it began to form around tegans hand as her magickal aura transmuted it the ice started to form over her arm like a layer of added armor. At least now her useless hand could be used as a shield of sorts against that fowl sword.


She Began to use her ice covered arm to bat away the sword attacks and press back against Konrad who just moments ago had the upper hand. As she pushed him back a little she reached out with her right hand and did a full force blast into the soldiers abdomen. “Good bye pesky little fly.” Her tone had was erratic and half crazed a wide twisted white teethed grin cross that skull painted face and her her orange eyes flared up. Kondrad went flying away the blast was full force Tegan had not pulled and punches. Kondrad rag dolled through the air and disappeared over a nearby Bridge what his fate was from there Tegan did not know nor care.


Her sights quickly tuned to Auria the other witch. “One Little Piggy is dead time for the next.” Tegan pointed her ice-covered arm at the wounded witch. A freezing cold aura of magick began to slither for the air towards the other witch however it’s intent was more nefarious then to just make the other witch cold it was ice magic mixed with blood magic and was aimed for her open wound to freeze the very blood in her body.

 

[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 | Avernus | Darth Solipsis

10,000 DAYS IN THE FIRE​

He'd never in so long felt truly alone. The darkest moments on Bastion, he had his Knights by his side. Or perhaps the excursion to the PL-40112. He had his knights to pull him from the fires. The man unto the arena, the eyes of all worthy and unworthy set squarely upon him. Not a day since seizing the throne, he was thrust into the embers to be given his first trial of mettle. The blackened crimson darkness shrouded and polluted everything. Never so potent, never so infectious. Avernus- the Pureblood in all his nonchalant hubris sought to strike first blood in lightning to the Iron Skin of the Imperator. It rung like a bell, naturally. The force charged electric force found nothing but endless area to stream its punishing, seizing sting of ethereal punishment through his body. The argent blade died- his person was all but vanquished now in this pit of darkness surrounding him- the parasitic gauge he sought to sheen over himself...seemingly...useless.

Endure.

His body folded to a kneeling position, a metal knee planting against the ornate floor beneath as Caelitus spoke. Once, Rurik thought himself a man of wisdom over the carrion lord. But now- he seemed his lesser with the dark power coursing through him. But he'd always seemed to be the lesser...in spite of the iron shell- Rurik was a deeply weak and vulnerable man. He'd never beaten Kascalion, Carnifex or Prazutis...he merely survived. Caelitus's words did nothing to sate the gnawing insecurities and weaknesses that flourished in Rurik's ego, his inner self. Who he was at his core.

He was the man of iron, he would never bend...but they were finding a way to make him break. Each breath inhaled and exhaled like a bellowing fire- the presence around him all but choking his senses.

All the voices, all those vaunted presences of reassurance, the spirits of the Force he sought for guidance and wisdom...were silent. They had been for some time now. His confidants...long abandoned his side- be Lucien whisked to his homeworld, Errant a crestfallen or Corin...long passed. He was well and truly isolated- leading the march of his own crusade.

Caelitus's talons dug in...and with his mental armor wearing down...it was easy to find the most vital incision for them.

Endure.

Sight, smell and sound uprooted him and thrust him into that horrid day, not more than thirty six hours ago. Fortress Imperator- the great treason and plot of Halketh's own doing...and Rurik was immersed in it once again. He rose to his feet steadily, only to be faced with the marred and tortured body of the Imperator before him. An illusion. Rurik had not survived any encounter with the dealers of darkness and death without being thrust into one. But there was no denying the ruthless tenacity of its visceral nature that Rurik was immersed him.

"You failed me."
​

The distorted, strained voice of Irveric Tavlar spoke to him- the words cutting like serrated blades into already tortured flesh- but Rurik remained as still and stubborn as iron was.

"You failed them all,"

A pearl of truth from a man of deceit. Rurik well and truly had failed all of those closest to him.

Corin, slain.

Errant, fallen to darkness.

Lyra, fallen to darkness.

Kyrel, fallen to darkness.

Kezec, fallen to darkness.

Tavlar, slain.

All he touched and all he drift his will upon. He failed each and every one of them. Hardly the nature of a man befit to be Imperator. Even in those sorrowful pits, those final moments, Irveric had writhed with all his mighty defiance. He had failed far fewer than he. Even now, all around him, the Legion he inherited was feasted upon like lambs to the slaughter and he was helpless in this darkness.

Endure.

The pain, controlled, subdued. In that realization, staring into those blackened pits of tortured flesh...it was difficult to vindicate this mantra. This mantra that had seeped into his mind during his most difficult tribulations. All to amount to his greatest triumphs...in survival. That was all he'd done...survive. Barely scraping the criteria of what it took to not fail his own being, his own primal need for survival.

To fail them all...would be to perish here and now.

And in that, was the only truth worth confiding in. There was no one else here for him, no paragon of wisdom to call upon, no deus ex machina to pull him from this hell he'd immersed himself in. It would be him...and him alone.

His eyes pried open to look toward the slain Imperator, stepping forward once he reached his hand up to grasp ahold of the slain Tavlar's cheek in his hand.

"Rest, brother...your duty is done." He said before closing his eyes once more, seeking the faintest fizzure in this event, this dark and haunted ritual that whirled around him...before he made his attempt to force the opening of its shatterpoint. And then, his saber sparked to life again as a light in shining darkness.

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

H E L L I O N
Operation: Judas Contract
4th Rifle Platoon, 5th Shock Trooper Company Oathsworn, 501st Legion
ASOPORT

Ears ringing, he continued the onslaught upon the Maw's crone. The helmet's dampener had protected him from the worst of it and what damage he sustain from the concussion blast he ignored, channeling the pain into energy into focus. With the hindrance of most of his armor gone, Konrad felt as light as a feather; the graceful steps of a samurai and the lethal strikes of an assassin, all orchestrated in a dance of death.

Auria's ball of ice struck the crone and emboldened the young Imperial. Dropping caution to utilize the opportunity, he made a mistake; what he saw as a momentary weakness was reforged into a strength in the form of an ice shield around her deformed hand. He pushed and she retaliated, exploiting the opening in his guard. An invisible hammer slammed into his abdomen purging his lungs of all air and sending him flying like a corpse over the bridge into an untimely fall to his death.

He crashed with a gruesome thud. Ribs cracked and joints splintered. Pain enveloped him in a cocoon of darkness. For a moment, the darkness was all there was; then a warm sensation at the back of his head awoke him. Blood seeped from his head, down his helmet and unto the frozen river. Was he destined to die in the puddle of his own blood upon a frigid world, thrown like a training mannequin over a bridge?

No.

His fate was far worse.

A ghoulish roar sounded in the air beside him and the endless sky over his head abated to the repugnant face of one of the Perished. Then another face. Three, four, five, until the sky was no more, replaced by the death stares of undeath. He shifted to move, only for the ghouls to jump onto his limp body. He wanted to scream in the darkness but he had no mouth.

Night dawns upon the endless Kandaran desert, the little campfire remains the only source of heat. Its flames lazily dancing between grandfather and grandson, illuminating both their faces. The shadows sharpen the scars on the older man's face, a life full of trials and tribulations, in complete contrast to the meek features of youth on the child. It is forty days through the desert to reach the mountains and then a treacherous hike to reach the hidden fortress of the Axis of Shadows.

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you, grandfather." Konrad murmurs, somberly picking at the fire with a stick.

The grandfather is silent.

"My training hasn't been going as well as you would've expected, has it?" he asks, the child's eyes linger on the flames, embarrassed to look his grandfather in the eyes. "We've been stopping to rest far more than you would've liked, haven't we?"

"Training is nothing, Konrad." the old man finally says, eyes full of wisdom staring at the blood of his blood.

"Will is everything."

Will is everything.

Will...

...is everything.

Will...

J A M B I
​

Eyes snap open in defiance. Bloodied, shattered and scarred, but unyielding, he reached for the vambrace on his hand and a moment later it dies in a concussive explosion that shakes the foundations of the bridge, cracks the frozen river and blasts away the horde of undead from him. Will revitalizes the limp body, giving it a second chance at life and he screams in rage. Digits tighten around the grip of his blade and the nearest Perished's head lands in his hand. With one swift motion he carves its insides and dons the head over his half-cracked helmet.

Painted in his own blood and the blood of his foes, armor pieces blackened by the crone's fire he rises against the tide of undead coming back for revenge.

The Demon's Head is born.​

ALLIES | NIO | Aemilio Valaar , Auria Blackmoore , Michael Barran
ENEMIES | MAW | engaging perished npcs (vacay mode, cya l8r, ily), Tegan Starfall , The Mongrel

 

[Tulan Kor]

For they eat the bread of wickedness and drink the wine of violence.


Theme



Meanwhile, at Tulan's knife fight...​

Before he was Master Sergeant Kor of the Antarian Rangers, before he was Company Commander of Dorn Company, before he was the Commander of Demon Company- there existed another man, a man of hatred, violence, anger. A man raised in war, abandoned by everyone and given up to the maw of the unrelenting Sith horde. An instrument of war, death personified. Warped and twisted by the Sith, physically and mentally- a killing machine, in every aspect. Every muscle in his body perfected, every routine memorized.

The Sith trained Tulan Kor well. The Black Bladeguards, the Assassins, the right hand of the Emperor. The Sith employed Tulan's skillset. Against the Republic, against any enemy. Jedi, Rebel, Soldier, scoundrel, all fell before Tulan and the dark, icy touch of the Emperor and the Emperor's personal death squad.

That was the man before he broke free of their mental domination out of sheer hatred. Out of sheer unfiltered hate and anger, Tulan Kor became his own man. Made his own choices. And killed his way to freedom.

Sith, Trooper, Assassin.

Nothing stopped Tulan Kor from getting his freedom.

So when the Sith spoke to him, three words. Three simple words. Tulan gave a hearty, good chuckle. Then he replied in kind to the Sith.

He knew the weapon well. Hell, he knew how to use it. He also knew it's limitations. Probably the same way the Sith knew his. Tulan paced forward, and with a testing, glancing blow, tested the Sith's reaction by slashing at the Sith's actual weapon near the tip of the blade- while his other hand, cocked low and in a ready stance, went to punch the Sith in the chest for a good measure. It wouldn't do much more than upset him, what with the armor and the Sith being the way he was and all, but it was merely a way for Tulan to gauge how the Sith would react.

Plus, the short little bastard wanted to really wrestle with the Sith. Tulan had the advantage on the ground, but was at a slight disadvantage by facing the much taller opponent standing up. Tulan was an expert hand to hand combatant, and knives were his specialty. But a fight against a taller Sith with a knife was also something he wouldn't particularly want to stay in the running for. Too many variables.

Lord Letifer

​