Dominion The Bryn'adûl | Scourge of Glottal

[Ryv]

Objective: Slow the Horde
Location: Aegis // Point Defense of the Hangar
Tags: Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt
Rahm | Primarch Drek'ma | Hrajlmak'Natok ​

Ryv watched as the servitors ripped through the hangar, tearing away at the earth and stealing the lives of his soldiers in one fell swoop. He could feel their fear washing over the battlefield, cutaway, and replaced by nothingness as they met a sudden end. He released part of his hold on the force, allowing the battle meditation and meld to fade away as the shaman's power crashed against his own. Rather than focus his energy on a contest of wills, he trusted the remaining Jedi behind him to maintain their defenses as he called for the force's aid once more. This time, however, he pulled inward, strengthening his body with the effects of force body.

Even as blood trailed from the kiffar's ears, Ryv strode out of the hangar. He tightened his grip on the Blade of Ruusan, the cyan-light basking its wielder in a soft glow. Calm washed over him, the properties of the weapon countering the terror caused by the shaman entirely. Despair, hopelessness, and anger drove him to the brink time and time again, threatening to overwhelm the Jedi Knight. This time would be different. With the help of his comatose master's blade and the touch of the force, he would prevail against the greater darkness and ensure his friends survived at all costs.

As a mob of drones surged towards Ryv, he charged forth to meet them, his cyan blade flashing left and right as he waded through a growing mound of the beasts. He prided himself on seeking out the path of least resistance, yet with these genocidal horrors, he could not talk them out of their warpath. He had seen the atrocities they committed. The path of least resistance was cutting every one of them to smithereens before ridding the galaxy of this xenophobic threat. The horde made accuracy a null-factor as limbs and heads alike went flying through the air, the drones unable to break past the paragon's defense as he cut a bloody swathe between the hangar and the Primarch.

"This is where I'd normally offer you one last chance to lay down your weapons," Ryv's voice broke through the din of battle, amplified over the sounds of the skittering masses. "Unfortunately for you, I'm at my goddamn limits with you monsters," to accent his point, he pulled one of the brutes through the air, the lightsaber slashing outward. The body hit the floor in two, tumbling away from the small circle growing around the two champions.

 

[Krael Vizkla]

Objective A - Destroy the Generator Make an example of Meatbag Filth
Equipment: Barad Spec Ops Armour
Arsenal: 4 Barad Spike Rifle, Dual Barad Glaive
Forces: 8 Brute Squads, 3 Ravager Brutes, 2 Quilxyn
Tags: Weyland Castril
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The Jedi's blade was met with resistance, resistance not from the beast's hide, but from the hilt of his second glaive. He then growled a low tone to the Jedi Fool, and pushed the glow stick back with force not that far from it being hit with a gunship. He backed up, twirling his left glaive between his fingers. The lump of sentient flesh that stood before him was not blind like the Krayt Dragon had been, no, he was blind yet acted with the senses of one who could see. A trick of the force, no doubt.

But this trick would make him fight differently. He crouched himself down to the ground, ripping two rather large rocks out of the ground they stood on. As he stood himself up, he began to crack the rocks in his hands, then launched them at the Jedi, shattering into hundreds of pieces. As the debris flew towards the Jedi, he launched his left glaive with it. He then stepped forward, wielding his remaining glaive further down the grip, nearly at the blade.

His steps shook the ground slightly as he walked. Not out of a lack of care, rather, a lack of necessity. For his new stratagem was to fight the Jedi head on. Sometimes the simpler solutions was the best.

(( Since this is the second last post I'll likely be making before the dom gets turned in, permission to kill is granted from here on out. ))​

 

[Weyland Castril]

Objective: Protect the Generator
Post: Seven
Tags: Krael Vizkla
Equipment: Lightsaber, Oufit

Seemingly, the second weapon of the large Brute flashed into the way of his blades. A second was all he had, perhaps - he could feel the twitches of muscle, the shifts in the beasts shoulder as it moved to thrust. The Jedi allowed the force to propel him, using the momentum of his enemies swing to allow him to glide through the air, a long stroked back-flip found him just outside of his opponents range and safely on the ground.

Though the ground was seemingly unsafe as the Brute tore chunks of duracrete from the ground. Weyland's eyes grew wide at the sight as suddenly hundreds of dart-like pebbles were being flung in his direction. Weyland raised both hands, managing to divert some with a telekinetic pulse emanating from his hands, though his attention entirely left the stones at the sight of the thrown weapon.

Weyland halted the Glaive in its tracks, but a dozen of the rocks tore at his robe, slashes in his skin causing the Jedi to cringe in pain, his left handed Saber knocked from his grasp. Weyland used his telekinetic grip on the weapon to throw it a fair distance away from either of them.

Simultaneously, the Jedi darted forward with his Lightsaber drawn. He ran toward the giant Brute.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Two
Tags - Ryv | Maynard Treicolt
Objective: Take the landing strip

The Primarch stood unblinking, staring into the eyes of the Jedi. Sat a top the head of the Servitor, Drek'ma was unfazed by his opponents dramatics. He lowered the Staff, his intent was to indulge the Knight. The Primarch's unblinking eyes closed, the cosmic power of the force flooding his veins with adrenaline as where he once was shifted, his presence through the force dissipating, scattered.

However, the Jedi would be able to feel the shifting of the Primarchs presence - perhaps he would not understand it entirely but it was a wave of force energy, a splash in the current of time and space as the Primarch teleported a metre behind him.

Unblinking eyes held the Jedi in their gaze, the Shaman raised his staff; the currents of dark and light running through him with eclectic glee, the Primarch would force his will upon the Jedi. He would be enlightened, and saved from such a cruelly purposeless existence.

"Fear not, rejoice my child. In death you will serve a greater purpose. You will die, a child of Khaeus." His placid, almost gentile voice betrayed his intent to slaughter the Jedi. But in such times, measures like these were required.

From the white orb situated in the head of his Staff, a dozen powerful tendrils of life draining energy shot out toward the Jedi Knight.

 

[Kad]

Objective: A - Take out Generator
Post: Five
Tags: Onions
Equipment: Kukri, Kasurigama, Armour, Spike Rifle, Shredder

Gredak took the Shredder into his left hand, Spiker in the right. Gredak rolled out of cover left, firing off a dozen shots from his Shredder; the explosive blasts causes a mini-kamikaze as three of the soldiers were killed at once. The fourth knocked the spiker from his hand with his blaster, Gredak rushed at him; firing a few more blasts. The crystals pinned him to the wall by his throat.

The Zealot grabbed him by his collar, yanking him to the ground - head tearing off its corpse. Gredak slashed the controls, the massive vault door slowly sliding open to reveal the Generator within. The Zealot smiled, taking the explosive charges from his satchel. He moved into the room, checking behind himself for reinforcements. Nada. They were all outside, dying for no reason. Their Generator was about to be down, and then the bombardment would begin.

Gredak placed four explosives around three integral points on the reactor. Two connecting pylons, and just two slapped onto the face of the Reactor for good measure. The Zealot set the timer, easy. He had a minute, but he wouldn't even need it once the Vault door closed again. Gredak simply retracted his steps, activating his stone communicator on his gauntlet.

"The Generator will be done in 10 seconds."

10...9...8...7...6...5...4..3..2......1

In the skies above, the blue protective field would dissipate entirely - the ships above craning lower as the Errindak beasts would scream out like the vicious creatures they were. From the Carriers above, thousands of Fighters would pollute the sky. Ra'mak War Beasts would begin to deliver fresh troops to the ground whilst their modular cannons turned defences into slag. All around the battlefields, Glottal burned.

All of Glottal would soon be ashes.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Her golden blade snapped up to meet with the staff, parrying to the left and right in tight, controlled motions as he hammered down repeatedly. The barrage of strikes sent ricochets up her arm and up to her shoulders, jerking her grip every so often given the difference in strength between the Drael and Kiffar. She grimmaced when he adjusted his grip to better direct his force and she shuffled her feet backwards to give herself a bit more distance.

With that space achieved, something touched her mind and made her feel more connected to her friends. Resilience manifested her intentions, seeing beyond the trajectory of the strikes within her limited scope shared with Hrajlmak'Natok . Usually, in battle-like situations, the Force seemed to fall silent -- not to desert her, but to become no more than an instinct or alarm when needed. This time, however, Loske found herself connecting to everything around her, as though she in a meditative trance. She’d not wait for suggestive forms to guide her, but purely The Force. No time to through each of her actions - only feel the flow of intention and manifest it at the proper moments.

The end of the staff snapped up, and she twisted out of it's way, angling her blade to cover her exposed side in case he swung around at her torso while she moved away. She afforded a quick glance over her shoulder, to check in on the progress of Maynard Treicolt revving up the engines of their getaway vehicle and Ryv handling the mob.


"Is it time to go yet?!" She grimaced, hoping their ride was almost ready to takeoff.
Shouldn't have done that! The jaw of the wolf clipped her shoulder, and she felt it tug her downward with it's momentum. "Augh!" Forced to her knees, she maintained her hold on her blade but brought both of her hands to grip the cane and keep it from any sort of severing. Gritting her teeth, she focused all her strength to prying the blade wedged from her armour back into the space between them. She glowered upward at the creature, ferociously locking her blue gaze with that of burning red. There was a lot of anger behind those eyes. It attacked like a humanoid. With a weapon. The savages that filled the space around them seemed to operate like soldiers. This was only her second time against the brute, but she was starting to notice some patterns in the way he operated - while he may have been a foreign creature, the tactics were replica of Sith. War was a more accepted language on a galactic scale than basic.

Knotting her brows in concentration, she groaned in anguish at the pain before culminating an explosive amount of Force to her body. That ethereal shield about her expanding into a colossal outburst that kept her in her spot, but sent several nearby crates toppling over and shattering, knocking over a few drones, and hopefully pushing back her oppressor so she could have time to get the damned wolf-spear-thing out of her flesh.

 

[Osam]

Post 3
Objective: No Survivors
Allies: Primarch Drek'ma | Hrajlmak'Natok
Enemies: Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt | Ryv

The Sraelvun Major was immediately thankful for the fact that his own personal squadron had decided to attack from the rear of the enemy force. The rumble which stretched through the dirt and stone beneath their feet manifested itself anew as the great Servitor and its deathly rider surged through subterranean paths that it created as it moved, arising again from the darkness below to burst open the blast-doors completely, removing them from the equation and leaving a massive and gaping maw in their midst which swallowed up a number of combatants.

While the defenses had gradually begun to crumble throughout the hangar, Osam had briefly faced a period of relative inactivity along with many of the other more competent Sraelvun. There had been a touch of something usually repressed which had swelled in each of their hearts like fire, consuming every thought and action: fear. It wasn't unnatural for even the fierce Draelvasier to feel some degree of fear during a battle, because no one particularly enjoyed the prospect of facing death, but it was usually something easily swallowed in the service of the goals of the Crusade, never something as encompassing as this.

Thankfully, the feeling seemed to fade sometime afterward, and the Major couldn't help but feel as though he were a mere board-piece, being shoved to and fro by the sorcerous powers of allies and foes. Could they really so easily change someone's emotions? What else were they able to do with their great powers of hidden source? He shook the thought from his mind, refocusing instead on the battle at hand, and taking stock of the situation. The defenders were clearly on the decline, and the blade-wielding foes were apparently distracted either by the horde of savages or by Baedurin warriors and leadership. The cruel drone scanned the less-evident points of the battle, scouring for the presence of non-combatants whose presence supported the enemy. Finally, his eyes narrowed upon the transport which would be used to carry away the defenders.

That would be unacceptable, wouldn't it? To allow the foe to retreat into the endless black of the stars? Osam was not an intelligent entity, but he recognized that space was cold, and frigid, and that the outerwear worn by the survivors wouldn't be accustomed to its cold... and so he settled upon the idea to freeze them to death even if they retreated. Raising his spiker towards what one of the viewports of the vessel, he began pouring the large molten projectiles into the hull of the vehicle, and soon, the others under his immediate command followed suit.

They didn't need to disable the shuttle, they only needed to blow out enough windows and bits of the fuselage that retreat was untenable, and survival after was impossible.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: B
Post: 5
Tags: Ryv / Maynard Treicolt / Osam / Primarch Drek'ma
Chatting to: Loske Treicolt

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The Jedi spun away from the up-swing. A dire mistake. Hrajlmak noticed the moment and rammed the crimson blade into her shoulder, penetrating her armour. With the blade locked in he yanked her down to her knees. Weak humanoid hands gripped his staff in defiance. Hrajlmak grinned and craned his head over the Jedi. She stared back at him with a glare he could not help but appreciate. Slowly he pushed against her grip, digging the blade deeper into the flesh. He had her now.

Alas, before the Malabast staff could do its work and end the pathetic life, Hrajlmak was thrown back. His grip on the staff unyielding, he felt it tear through the flesh it had been embedded in. He landed on his back a few meters away from his target and quickly scuttled to his feet. They were separated again. His ethereal staff-blade dripped with scarlet blood and bits of sinew. He had landed a damaging blow, all he had to do now was finish her off. But his concentration was not on her for now. His mind was being fed endless streams of information from the myriad other minds located across the strip. The main hangar, the primary objective, had finally been overrun. The combined efforts of rhivaks and brumaks had made a breach. Drones and brutes were pouring in to secure the local's means of escape. Hrajlmak brought his eyes back to the Jedi before him.

"It's over! This world is yet another cleansed of weakness. You cannot stop the crusade!" Hrajlmak bellowed across the hangar floor in heavily accented basic. Drones began to fire on the only ship in the hangar. Everything was falling apart. Carnage man