Dominion The Bryn'adûl | Eat The Rich - Dominion of Dellalt

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Objective: Sink the Island
Post: Eight

His arms fell at his side, Staff idle against his shoulder as he staggered back. Drek'ma reclined into the seat. He sighed, drained as the Guardian slinked away into the ocean to return to its dropship.

Such use of the force was always a drain on someone, even one as powerful as him. His duty was done, and now he could rest. At least for now.

"Take me back to the Divine."

He would reconvene with the Titan, and discuss their further ventures.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: B
Post: 6
Tags: Galak

Sith troops had wasted no time meeting the Bryn'adul invaders on the beach head. With the fortress walls sat a mere few hundred metres away, where the sand ended and the lush green Dellalt flora began, they were prepared to fight for every inch. But they fought a losing battle. Black smoke billowed from beyond the wall and massive salvos of red energy continued to fall unrelenting from the sky. When the beach was secure, Nimscalls could cover the sand and choke out any stragglers still hiding within the confines of the fortress walls before the great Barricas made short work of the tropical climate. It seemed a terrible waste of in situ resource not to deconstruct a Sith base, after all.

Hrajlmak organised the first wave of savage drones into the best layered formation time would allow and sent them charging at speed to meet their foe. Their tough hides and high speed would get them past the first ranks and deep into the Sith line before too many were lost. With the line broken and the savage drones tearing the Sith apart from the inside out, Sraelvun and Baedurin troops could return fire without culling their own cannon fodder. Hrajlmak ran with the savages, quickly finding himself positively surrounded and vastly outnumbered. But a child in the ball pit has no time to consider how many there are, only how he can best enjoy them. His staff swung through bodies like bales of hay, scattering limbs to the wind while blaster fire filled the gaps. If his tired bones ached and deep scars throbbed, the mad adrenaline of battle silenced such feelings, if only temporarily.

 

[Osam]

Post 7
Objective C: Dagger War

Cache after cache were rapidly discovered by the roaming bands of Risen-Sraelvun and their Drone compatriots. They had been hidden away in obscure areas, but the roving bands of marauders were used to needing to hunt down refugees and survivors among the wreckage. Perhaps they were more familiar with such hiding and creeping than any of their brethren because captives were often necessary for the cruel hunting sports that so many Sraelvun seemed to enjoy. They were a good method of training their talents, and the searching required to discover unslain foes was something that now presented itself as a vital skill.

There had been a touch of opposition to mar their results, though. At two caches, there had been wired explosives that had been detonated upon their discovery, obliterating several Sraelvun in an instant. At another, a band of the insurgents had rallied together unexpectedly and laid an ambush for the roving band. They'd managed to inflict some casualties before being cut down by a pair of Baedurin who had been in the area. It stood to reason that they were aware that their caches had been compromised, but that didn't necessarily mean that they would all react at once. After all, they might've relied on the sheer number of caches to mean that not all of them would be uncovered.

That said, they wouldn't have enough masks now to support nearly as many soldiers as they had before, which meant that the only thing those fledgling warriors could do was try to weaken the forces of the Bryn'adul before the air had become too toxic to breathe. Whether they'd managed to completely prevent the attacks or not, it was apparent that they had hastened them to the point of nigh futility. By the time they had to act, the fleet would still be nearby to provide support.

The Dagger War they'd fought was swiftly coming to its conclusion.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: BYOD
Post: Seven
Tag: Primarch Drek'ma |

The battle below was coming to a swift conclusion, and his Warriors would be returning home so that others could make a home of this planet. He was notified as the Primarch's gunboat was on its way back to the Divine alongside a few hundred other Gunboats, Drek'ma liked to talk after a planetary strike. According to him, a good discussion was the best way to recharge. He turned back to the observatory as the boats started filling into the hangar bays. A sudden pulse of energy drew him back to the armour. He impulsively wished to greet them, see to his Drael. Quickly Tathra bound himself in the harnesses of his armour, fastening the plates to his body and boots to his feet. When putting them back on, it hugged his torso, leaving him wondering why he ever took it off. It made him feel whole.

The black gauntlet fit nicely on his right, left taking the Axe onto his back. The journey to the hangar bay was a short one, but it felt long. He didn't want too many of them to have disembarked before he arrived, a warmth to his features as he came to a duel staircase; leaning on the railing above the hangar bay floor. Some forty or fifty Draelvasier, of various ranks and race were moving away from the Gunboats.

"Well done!"

Bounding footsteps echoed as Tathra moved down the steps with a purposefully slow pace. Exuding control, aura. Something required for the morale of his Warriors. He heard them, some called out to him simply for his attention, others simply cheered. Two Zealots stood to the end of the crowd he was nearest, one waving with both arms as Tathra approached, he clasped one of their shoulders with his hand, giving a small tug and nod.

"Chieftain! Why did you not fight with us?"

The Zealot who posed the question was filled with glee all the same, but seemed to wish for a personal answer. Though he hid it, Tathra could not help but feel glumness pulling at him. In truth? He'd been sitting and brooding for hours, trying to get himself over a personal slump. But that wasn't the sought answer.

"He was at a meeting of course, the Titan HIMSELF is sometimes too busy for such a simple skirmish!"

"True, true. We lost almost no one from our company Chieftain."

The other Zealot answered for him, something that he clearly believed but in truth was just an opportunistic cover story for him. He nodded in response, his anxious thoughts subsiding.

"You are correct, Zealot. There are many matters I must intend to before having the pleasure of joining you and your company on the field of battle."

The Zealot looked to the other with an expression of 'see' on his face. A white lie, for the better.

 

[Keldothera]

Objective: Eat the Rich
Post: Seven

She was thrown into the water by the explosion, her breastplate was damaged - sizzling and causing steam to rise from the evaporating water in her vicinity. But there was so much more of it than her. Adrenaline and heart pumping, this was a REAL fight. She scrambled to find the Pulveriser in the water, no luck. She took the Kukri from her belt, happy to settle it the primal way. She rose from the water as the two remaining Commando's encircled her. She was ready for things to get worse before they could get better. She leapt from the water at the closest, one she recognised as the Commando she had been fighting earlier.

She wrestled the blaster in his grasp, aiming it at his companion as his blaster bolts crashed against her back. But, her fun was cut short as sniper rifle came from above. The Commando on the other side of the pool slumped to the floor, a trail of blood behind his head. The one in her grasp dropped the blaster, stabbing his hidden blade into her hand. Keldothera snarled, whipping him round and stabbing him twice in the stomach with the Kukri.

After all that, his body gave out. He fell to his knees, nearly sliding into the pool to bleed out in peace. But no, he wouldn't be afforded that. Keldothera held him in place, her wounded hand bleeding over his helmet as she aimed the Kukri.

With a thrust, the Kukri pierced the side of his helmet - stabbing into his skull as Keldothera pulled upward - tearing his head and spine clean from the body with a glorious roar.

He had fought admirably.

A trophy worth remembering.

 

[Galak]

Post: Seven
Obj: B
Tag: Hrajlmak'Natok

Almost as quickly as the battle had begun, it was over. The first Warlock's forces and the Warlord's cut through the pathetic armaments of the Sith with ease. The battlefield was left scorched with growing mounds of death Sith troopers. Galak was growing tired of fighting Sith, it was a boring chore with no real challenge at this point. They'd broken them at Lothal and again at Chandara and Xiosk. Now, this was just a janitorial effort.

The Warlord returned to Hrajlmak's side as the battle concluded, it seemed they were indeed both headed for Krimenomen III. Something terrible had happened in that system, and they were being sent to find out what.

He placed the Triad on his back, walking up to the forward outpost they'd began to establish where their ship was docking. In the background of the fight, Hrajlmak's vessel had been taken back to their systems for decommission.

"We'll be heading to Krimenomen via the Divine, Warlock." No further explanation was given, as he turned folding a piece of cloth between his hands as he cleaned the blood from his armour.

"Oh and by the way, you've still got it."