LOCATION: Starport, Main Access
OBJECTIVE: Survey
ENEMY: Corellian
Terrorists, New Republic, [member="Amari Deechi"], [member="Alexandra Feanor"], [member="Tobias Dracks"], [member="Vulpesen"], [member="Alex StormWolf"], [member="Reverance"]
(?)
ALLIES: [member="Jorryn Fordyce"], [member="Ravik Munin"], [member="Braith Achlys"], Sith Empire Allies
GEAR: Zelroth's Rest
Forlorn asperity, lingered ceaselessly, there under the gloom of the grisly battle. Intensity on high. Cruel animals slaughtering each other, in acts of vicious insanity. No quarter given, nor lamenting extended; for the lives of enemies. The fighting was bitter, and cold; the sort of chill whose frigid touch, one may never recover from. Frostbitten scars, the ache and agony of which, would reside in the minds of men for an eternity.
Netcaster-Class Heavy Gunships prowled downward upon this cursed Front, whorling heavy clouds of smoke and soot, as their weapons payload let loose ravenous misery. Voracious was the starved cannonade, as it blotted out morale behind an eclipse of thrashing gore. Rotary Cannons shriveled men down to smelted plash, Missile Boxes hurling volleys that erased deep pools of huddling Imperials; the memory they were ever even there, only realized in the gentle billow of red mist that stretched in thick clouds from those white-clad men that had been dashed from existence.
The madness and insanity of it all, ambrosial ravishment, of the most divine sort, for the Maenan. Had any there, ever, felt so free? There, hunched as low as he could get, Belphaegor witnessed the final gasps of vigor in the western Imperial positions. Aeonian imagery, so depraved and brutish; for a moment. . . he felt home. Returned to Maena, in all of her merciless mania.
By order of [member="Amari Deechi"], the inescapable outcome, was met in greater haste than the Inquisitor had anticipated. However brief, the deadly guns of his Netcaster's had roamed freely across the Front, the visceral damage was irreparable. He was but one small piece, on a very massive playboard, but there could be no accounting for how many Corellian lives his faceless commands had saved.
Stationary Stronghold Positions were shattered, devitalizing the Sith Empire's Area Defense that had allowed them to coerce stagnation. The main battle area no longer could threaten the enemy and absorb penetration by the violence of heavy weapon emplacements. Advancement upon their Flanks no longer able to be cut down at the knees. Thanks largely to the bloody work of [member="Vincent Nyax"], the communications array, that fed critical data to every unit, became heartless static. Leaving the skirmish at forward most edge of the Imperial battle line, alone in the snow, unable to direct support from the hindmost Units.
It was a frenetic shift, that rippled fiercely, through the hurricane of conflict.
Corellians of every type were surging upon the men and women of the Empire. Mercenary, Freedom Fighter, Professional Soldier and Civilian. All Terrorists. Speeders and Repulsor Craft of every variety, retrofitted in to make-shift anti-infantry vehicles, roared through the streets. Divesting souls from the mortal coils they clung to with withering outbursts of Blaster fire. Swoop Gangs, racing in from the Blue Sector, crashed hatefully through entire Platoon's. The engines of deeply modified 22-B Nightfalcons and 88-R Nightscreamers, thundering through the cacophony of pain and strife; as finely tuned particle shields and the beastly weight of rushing steads wrought of steel, hurtled unfortunate Stormtroopers like flailing rag dolls to their demise.
Belphaegor, seizing opportunity, fled from the meager cover he had found himself stranded in; before Imperial TIE's had momentarily hounded the Netcasters out of their attack pattern. Chaos abound in every direction. Rich canopies of flame, hung like ornamental tapestries from every building, burning with what felt like the intensity of a Star. Immolated men died maniacal, tortured deaths, there within the infernal furnace. Fleeing through the black smoke as little candles, their white armor drooling off from their crackling frames like wax, while they were greedily consumed.
But. They. Would.
Not.
Surrender. . .
The Inquisitor would not allow it.
Every last man and woman that waved the Sith banner would be sacrificed, Belphaegor would not share in their glorious demise, rather they would march to it alone. He had suffered their hardships here, side-by-side, at the Western Access. Respected them, in his own way. But, rallying meat in to the grinder for the greater good of the Campaign, was a necessary gambit. As an Alchemist, it was a labor he was no stranger to, more often than not, in the Dens of Sorcery, something beautiful had to die for the project to survive.
Gently, twisting a glance downward towards his Lightsaber, he fondly thought of
precious Zelroth.
The Blade, white and shimmering in the smoke, crept outward to life once more. Within a swift moment, the Inquisitor found himself at the back of a thickly built Gran. No hesitation, no time to savor the kill, he swept the blade upward and at an angle from below his right hip. Cleaving a molten rivulet across the hideous creatures back, the wound gleamed and edges of fabrics and leathers clung to the steaming crevasse as it fell forward over the Stormtrooper whose head it had collapsed inward with a lead pipe.
Now free of it's owner, Belphaegor threw himself atop the 22-B Nightfalcon the Gran had rode in on. Zelroth kept in the unyielding grip of his left, while he familiarized himself with the Bikes controls with his right. Before throttling the Rig around and speeding off through the carnage towards the Empire's strongest position directly at the front of the West Access Entry.
It'd be the greatest lie he'd ever told, if he claimed to prefer this over companionship of a
proper beast mount, it was by
no means a Maenan Equus. But there was indeed something to be said in delighted regard of being sat upon the muscle of such a modified engine. The heat of battle rushed over him, flinging torn robes and long hair about wildly as he eased the machine on with feverish abandon. Narrowly avoiding falling debris from the equally deadly battles of the sky, snapping his arm with careful motions as he let the momentum of his pace and Zelroth cleave Corellian's down with deadly wounds that removed limbs, heads or severed their bodies in grotesque ways.
"
Sons and Daughters of the Empire! " Belphaegor suddenly shouted with booming voice amplified by the Force in much the same way his fellow Inquisitor had at her position. It carried long and hard, as he rode in upon the rear lines. Chopping at one last individual of the filthy hordes that harassed them with his Lightsaber as he sped by, removing the head, shoulders and arms with a single angled blow. "
Your Emperor has given you the task of denying this enemy access to the Starport and to defend the City of Coronet from their Terrorism. " He continued, coming about in a slow circle so he may direct the tip of his Lightsaber forward towards the raging warfare.
"
Forward against the enemy! " Oh, he made no assumptions in his ability to deliver a rousing speech. It was a skill he currently lacked, or at least, paled in comparison to his outbursts of fury and anger. There was something else at play here, something. . . his Master, [member="Matsu Xiangu"] was held in very high renown with.
Something, silent, and unseen. A notion that carefully caressed the back of their minds. Minds that were all by broken at this point. Weak fruit, ready to plunge away from the vine.
"
Forward in to the unremitting battle! For your Emperor! For your Empire! "
Oh, Belphaegor could feel them. Feel their Willpower fade away in to a fog of confusion, their instincts for survival wander beyond a thick veil. Bodies began to bend and move, creaking about like clockwork gears, as they were tinkered with.
"
Not a single step back! Not one! Cowards and traitors shall be shot! "
Their eyes grew glossy, their expressions feral. Breathing became labored, the tide of battle that was pressing upon them something they wanted to see broken, like waves on the rocks they were beginning to liken themselves as.
"
Do not count wounds, or minutes. . . hours or days! Count only the bodies of dead Corellians! Kill the Corellians! This is the cry of your Emperor. Do not waver, do not falter, do not let up! Kill! Bring DEATH to the Corellian Terrorists! "
That was it, what few hundreds of the Stormtroopers remained, were let loose as rabid animals. They knew no reason. No fear. They would fight until their very last breath against this force of thousands. However the likes of [member="Amari Deechi"], [member="Tobias Dracks"], [member="Vulpesen"] or even [member="Alex StormWolf"] chose to maim and murder their way to absolute victory, the Inquisitor cared very little.
Let them
blacken their souls, let them feast.
Belphaegor abandoned the Western Position without a second thought, rushing at stupendous speeds towards [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] at the Main Access where currently she seemed to be spectating the opening stages of a duel between [member="Reverance"] and [member="Alexandra Feanor"]. The Maenan barely even noticed them, as he came in sideways to a halt near his fellow Inquisitor, looking absolutely ragged. Robes torn, pale flesh dyed black from smoke and gore, amber eyes blood shot. Numerous dripping wounds from shrapnel and minor cuts.
"
Inquisitor. . . " said Belphaegor rather simply, "
We'll be surrounded before night fall. "
