Invasion The Eleventh Hour | BotM Invasion of NIO held Noris and Sharb

[Erin E-141]

Erin "Esk 141" E-141
Sergeant First Class
Noris, Near Primus, HM Base Belisarius
Writing with: DECEASED Remmel Karsh , Cormac Thire, Jack E-138
Narrative Tags: The Mongrel , Gwyneira Vizsla , Ranna Sejast , Hiran Avola

Doctor Wolthius and Silva loom over their patient laid on her gurney, a woman with gently curled hair coloured like snow. The pair of orbs barely visible between the slit between her eyelids were coloured the same as the embers that rained from Noris' tortured sky. The theatre's floor shook violently. "It's starting." Doctor Wolthius mused openly.

"Let's hope we can get the Sergeant back on her feet to make a difference, defibs ready, Colonel!" Silva finished connecting the anchors of Sergeant E-141's black form-fitting bodysuit to a whining unit sat on the peak of a wheeled table. Colonel Wolthius said something, and the Sergeant's body made a soft jolt. The both of them watch Erin's eyes shift lazily in their sockets.

Wolthius' weary gaze drifts over to the alpha and beta-wave monitor; regular brain activity. That was a massive relief, they'd cloned replacement organs, but even the battalion physician wouldn't have been able to guess she'd pull through. "Welcome back, Sergeant." She looked groggy, dazed those eyes of hers drifted around in their sockets lazily.

Erin's stomach flexes taught she rises to sit-up only to be halted in her advance by Colonel Wolthius. "Woah, you can't go anywhere yet." He caught the beginnings of a scowl on the adolescent's face.

"Where am I? Who are you?" Erin's left-hand fastened around Colonel Wolthius' wrist in a loose grip and met his gaze; her eyes felt like ice, an unspoken accusation of treachery.

"You're at his Majesty's base Belisarius on the outskirts of primus. I'm the Battalion Physician of 2nd Battalion, 1st Royal Imperial Regiment, 117th Sabretooth Stormtrooper Legion." Colonel Wolthius carefully pulls his wrist away from Erin's palm and holds both hands up and out to show her he was unarmed and posed no threat. "You were brought here by Sergeant Cantrell and his 'Scopes' you were found scrambling through no-mans-land pursued by the Crimson Hands. What's the last thing you remember, Sergeant?"

Erin steadily produced a scalpel she'd wedged between her spine and the gurney out from under her bed and placed it from where it came; Silva's surgery cart. "I was in an escape pod." Erin's eyelids narrow, staring down at the cold gurney's surface between her bowed knees. "Launched from a Star Destroyer the "Princeps" under the control of Mandalorian mercenaries serving the Maw. I was deployed as part of 1st Battalion's Charlie Company to protect the orbital ground-side generators."

The prefabricated building shook and tremored again. Erin's responses were slow and considered as she tried to organise her thoughts through the haze of analgesia strong enough to put down a Rancor. "But we failed. They were destroyed with near-total casualties for Charlie Company. We lost contact with the chain of command, so the surviving platoon commander Leftenant Alais Kaun and I devised a plan to seize the Princeps to evacuate Imperial personnel and non-combatants off-world."

Wolthius and Silva share a long look at one another; this could be their deliverance from hell. "How did you end up in an escape pod? Where is the Princeps now?" Wolthius' desperation eeked into his voice; he wanted to see his daughters again.

Swivelling, Erin throws her legs over the beds' edge. "We didn't clear the entire ship too many hostiles for the eight of us, locked-down all bulkheads. The princeps' transceiver was sabotaged. We could receive but not transmit. I took an escape pod down here to the surface to deliver the message." Though it couldn't be seen beneath the cotton surgical mask, Wolthius' jaw went slack; he heard the Elites were brave, tenacious and unyielding. But what Erin had done to arrive here was nothing short of an absence of visible fear in the face of overwhelming odds.

"Colonel, I'm going back into the fight," Erin replied to the two men and went to rise. Still, Colonel Wolthius's hands loosely fastened around Erin's shoulders and eased the dazed Elite back down onto the Gurney.

"I won't lie, Sergeant. We need you in this battle. But as a physician, I will have to advise you to be confined to strict bed rest." Wolthius' rich and crisp voice cuts Erin's ambition short. Wolthius' eyes again studied the docile precise surgical scars carved into the porcelain canvass joined by a newer angry red lattice of scarring, the only trace of the multiple transplant operation.

Erin's greyish eyes meet Wolthius' gaze. "Understood, sir. Can you help me find a suit of mark four Rampart power armour?" Wolthius hesitates for a moment and then assents with a nod.

"No, but I know someone who will."

 

[Iago Zacarias]

O R N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER LEGION
NORIS
NIO | Melvain Braxis
MAW | Keilara Kala'myr | The Mongrel | Darth Kalyptos

Looks like they weren't going to make it after all, proving his cynical predictions right. Still more to civilians and non-combat personnel to evacuate before any of them would get the chance to see the comforts of a shuttle taking them away from this desolated rock. The chances of that reality happening where subatomic to zero. If anything, Noris was their death sentence the moment they were deployed and stepped foot on it. Angry to see his fellow Imperials die for nothing but a failed operation, mistakes made by some pompous generals whom organized this operation and sat with little fear parsecs away from the fighting. It was more insulting they weren't spared by other assets or reserves to help out the evacuation; if so, it was all too late.

Forgotten and left behind.

Nothing but expendable.

This was going to be his grave, it would take a miracle to be otherwise.

Better make it count.

Regardless of being abandoned by his Empire, he would fight in the dirt with his men until the end. Along with the Imperial transport that deployed a walker to aid the Red Legionnaires in advancing the enemy, so did a platoon of Stormtroopers arrive. <"Ah, great. These shitheads again..."> he scoffed, remember the time when there was tensions between him and the Legionnaires. Mercenaries, but he respected the fact they stayed and fight. Others would've leave at the first sight of trouble, knowing the credits wouldn't be worth it if they all died.

<"Rally with the Red Legionnaires, we march forward!">

 

[Gavyn Berand]

Private Gavyn Berand
New Imperial Order
117th Stormtrooper Division
29th Company
South of FOB Belisarius, Noris
Allies: NIO | DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Jorus Fel | Mav Ryburn | TK-8867 | Anith Dorce | Murraea Pharo | Others
Enemies: Maw | Darth Solipsis | The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr | Erion Justeene | Others​

Gavyn sat leaning back against the wall of a trench, head upward, watching what little he could see of the air and space battle going on far, far above him. His brand new white stormtrooper armor, which he'd worn with such pride at his graduation not long ago, was splattered with mud, dirt, and who knows what else. He'd only been on Noris a very short time, among the last of the replacements to be shuttled onto the planet and dispersed to their respective units, but it felt longer. Days on Noris had a way of feeling like years, and this day was going to be the longest of his life. Perhaps the last one too.

All around him were the sounds of his company preparing for the next attack, the real attack, to begin. Before this they'd dealt with probing attacks, but comm chatter assured all of them that the ravenous hordes of the Maw were about to descend upon them. Some checked ammo, a few here and there chatted in low voices, but most were simply waiting for the Maw to train its eyes on them. Not too far off he could hear the sounds of blaster fire, the shouting of moon children, the exploding of artillery shells. He tore his gaze from the sky eventually to check on Kinall's BAW-63, which he had leaned against the wall by his side. Well, it had been Kinall's a short while ago, but now it was his. Kinall wasn't going to need it anymore.

Gavyn turned his head at the approach of footsteps. "Sergeant Horne." He greeted the veteran NCO.

"You all right, Private?" The older man rested a gauntleted hand on his shoulder. "Not all worn out already, are you?"

"Shit, Sarge, I only just got here. Can't be that tired just yet," he replied, voice tinged with humor. "You think they'd let us let us take a nap though?"

"Only if you ask real nice, farmboy!" Maro called out in response from off to the left.

"Don't count on it, shiny. Do your job and you might get to sleep in a real bed again, though."

Before he could reply, a frantic voice came in on the comms. <"Contact!"> As if on cue enemy fire poured onto the troopers' position, peppering the fortifications. Mawites surged forth from beyond no-man's-land in droves, rushing wildly across the rubble-strewn ground toward the stormtroopers. "Look alive, kid!" Horne yelled before turning away, barking orders to return fire.

Gavyn scrambled to his feet as the world around him exploded into violence. He hefted the BAW over the lip of the trench, resting it on its bipod, and opened up on the charging Mawites on the field before him, adding the rapid fire of his rotary cannon to the volley of blaster bolts coming from the trench line. The BAW tore through the attackers, shredding their bodies and scorching everything it touched. Wave after wave of moon brothers and marauders came forward, only to be cut down by withering fire from the Imperial defensive line.

The 29th wouldn't hold forever, but it would hold long enough. That was their job, and that was what they were going to do.

 

[Khamul Kryze]

The Unchained

Engaging: DECEASED Remmel Karsh

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

Spoken Words of Venom

The day of reckoning had come...

The Maw had been pressing the attack on the New Imperials for some time, hoping to break them as they did the Chiss homeworld. Though there were losses on both sides, Khamul felt an overwhelming sensation... joy perhaps, a keen prediction of the glorious slaughter to come. Death's Hand had only recently joined the assault on Noris, having taken their time to muster more forces under their banner. Khamul felt it was only fitting... let the Maw throw their marauders at the Imperials until their will was broken, then bring the full fist of the Brotherhood down upon their very heads. Yes... a glorious slaughter indeed.

The Demon Mandalore surveyed what remained of the NIO's fortifications, overlooking the battlefield as the Moon Children made their move. Those of Death's Hand that had chosen to accompany him were well on their way, making the necessary preparations for their own assault. In those moments, Khamul almost felt sorry for those defending the planet... almost. Sympathy was weakness, after all, and in Death's Hand, there was no room for weakness.

"Sir, our forces are ready. On your command."

The symphony of battle called to him, its rapturous melody singing through the air as plasma and lead hissed across the battlefield. Today, it would be his orchestra... his ensemble. His blade would be his instrument, and the screams of the dead would be his choir.

"We go straight for their command. Should you face resistance, put them down... but do not forget our objective. This serpent has many heads, and we must sever as many as possible before the day is done."

"It will be done, my Mand'alor."

Khamul's hand reached for Mandalore's Lament, its blade coming alive in a vicious display of crimson and black. He refrained from any display of pageantry, only holding his weapon forward, pointing toward the enemy's lines. Without a word needed, Death's Hand charged forth, their jetpacks coming to life as they descended upon the enemy. Soon, this Imperials would sing his song of death, and their cries of pain would echo across the chasm of time for all eternity.

 

[Greven Astor]

GREVEN ASTOR - "SAXON ACTUAL"

New Imperial Order
Strike Team Saxon

Tags: OPEN

In Keeping Secrets

In and out... that's what the men of Strike Team Saxon were told. Only a quick assist to the forces on Noris before some nice R&R back home. Just one more quick mission to ensure that their comrades made it off-world before the Maw completely consumed the planet... Greven hated himself for breaking that promise to his men. The thoughts running through his mind as of late were too many for him to keep up with. Should he had put his foot down? Take the court martial for the sake of his troopers? It all seemed worth it in hindsight, though such thoughts would quickly get pushed to the side. The Maw left little time to address the what ifs of it all... hell, they barely left time for the Imperials to even breath or rest. No... there was no point in dwelling on what could have been. The reality was that they were here, and though the mission had proven to be infinitely more dire than they could have anticipated, the supercommandos could do nothing other than make the best of it. They would bleed and die to the last, if need be, gladly giving their lives if it meant even saving a single soul.

The past few days had been ones of escalation, with the Maw's forces becoming more and more bold... no doubt leading up to an inevitable final assault upon the beleaguered defenders. Strike Team Saxon had done what they could to harass the enemy, but whenever one was killed, it seemed three took their place. Greven's unit had suffered more casualties in this engagement than they had in the entire war, having landed on Noris with a total of forty supercommandos. Now... there were only thirteen. Thirteen brave souls that continued to follow Greven's command, despite the fact that he had taken them into the cold pits of death itself. Thirteen brave souls that trusted him... thirteen brave souls that would likely never see home again.

They had been running their usual recon runs along the peripheries of the defensive lines, doing what they could to take out the oncoming forces of the Maw. The finall assault came at an inopportune time, however, as the strike team now found themselves cut off from the rest of the Imperial forces. If they were to get back in time, they would have to pass through the very hordes that now made their advance on the Imperial positions. As Greven did his best to find an alternate route, one of his comrades rushed to his side. It was Jerynn, the young man that Greven had been keeping an eye on threw the entirety of the mission. He had proven himself many times in recent weeks, showing that he truly had the heart of a warrior.

"Sir, Mawite forces are enclosing on our position. If we're gonna move, it needs to be now."

The distant roar of battle's pandemonium cascaded across the landscape of Noris as he spoke, and all that Greven could do was listen.

"Sir?"

"We're moving out. Everyone stay close. And someone get our comms back online! We're going to need cover if we're going to make it back in one piece."

If they would make it back at all...

 

[Electra-12]

Location: Entering Low Orbit - Noris
Call Sign: Nacheria Seven
Objective: Woken Furies - Breakthrough into Hostile Airspace and Claim Air Superiority
Theme: Monster
Equipment: Orestiad Flight Suit │ Hekler’Kok FP-01
Allies: BotM ( Keilara Kala'myr Subject 54 Havoc Erion Justeene Romund Sro The Mongrel Darth Kalyptos Darth Ptolemis Khamul Kryze )
Enemies: NIO ( Jalter Volff Morrow DECEASED Remmel Karsh Murraea Pharo Jorus Fel Mav Ryburn TK-8867 Melvain Braxis Anith Dorce Frajan Borjar Gavyn Berand Greven Astor )
Direct Engagement: Jalter Volff

None could suffer the remnants of the corrupted Chiss to live, none more than her, especially.

Electra-12 believed that she was a new breed, cast in the purifying fires of the dark side, where these blue-skinned animals were like sick dogs, tenacious, but ultimately irredeemably contaminated beyond any semblance of health. However, the strand-cast didn’t hate them out of pure spite, but rather, because their very existence polluted the image of the pure, reborn Chiss. In the past few days she had been spat on, assaulted, and degraded more times than she could count. At her diminutive stature, there was little she could do but accept the abuse until the perpetrators got bored and moved on. And yet, no matter how many times they struck her, she committed their faces and names to memory, logging them in her datapad with grim determination as soon as she got into the relative safety of her quarters, often while applying a bacta patch to her wounds. One day, they would suffer her wrath.

For now, the corrupted Chiss would do perfectly. After all, in her mind, it was their fault the abuse was happening in the first place.

Climbing into her TIE, Electra-12 sealed her helmet over her head and ran through the pre-flight checklist with a practiced ease. The engines whined to life a moment later, rousing from their slumber with a soft, reverberating hum, which quickly shifted to a droning roar for those in the hangar bay. For Electra-12, it manifested as an oddly-soothing vibration in the acceleration couch.

Not long after, she was off into the void.

Cutting through the New Imperial blockade via stealth and measured flying, Electra-12 drove her machine into Noris’ atmosphere, fire seeming to consume the octagonal viewport until the cloud layer manifested before her eyes.

Then, the battlespace itself.

“This is Nacheria Seven. Moving to engage hostile air assets.”

Spoiler: Loadout

• TIE/wi Interceptor - Designation: Electra
  
  • Universal Missile Launcher
    
    • Concussion Missile

 

[Karissa Saitel]

Location: 5 kilometers from Primus Spaceport
Tag; Ignatius Rausgeber
Equipment: BH-Durin Charric Blaster Pistol │ SE-61x Particle Beam Carbine │ ZXR-1 "Precision" Energy Sword
│ ACS-208 Wrist Ion Beamer │ Concussion Grenades


Post #1

She was not there to fight a war. Karissa had been on Noris to sniff out anyone that might have been informants for the Maw, well ahead of the invasion. She worked right up until the troopships broke atmosphere. She honestly marveled at the grotesque forces gathering against them, and could not look away. Chaos had come to crush Order, as it always sought to do. There was a good chance they would too. She couldn't leave, not then.

Agent Saitel was enlisted to aid the 117th, given an open-ended mandate to perform recon and sabotage acts as was possible. Karissa commandeered a few grenades, some electrobinoculars, a suite of specialized commando Tenebrae armor and a speederbike hastily white-washed to camouflage it in the wintry landscape. Then Karissa headed out to see what forces were following up behind the Maw units already battering against the spaceport defenses.

"Eleven speeders, five with troops, two anti-air, four heavy weapons. And a converted armed sail barge. Five klicks out." Karissa reported into her comm, peering over a small snowy rise that hid her and the bike. The electrobinoculars were lifted to her eyes, finger brushing the focus adjustment to bring the clanking barge into view. The top deck began to swarm with figures, manning weapons or finding firing positions. She hunkered down as some climbed the masts. What a piece of shyke. She mused to herself, eyeing the hulking war rig that had coughed to life and began to move. It was the latest warband she had located.

Tucking the electrobinoculars back onto her belt, Karissa mounted the speeder bike and took off, making sure to keep below the top of the rise. She would move away and to the rear of the warband, then come around behind them.

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Noris, outskirts of Fortification Belisarius
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr | Subject 54 Havoc | Erion Justeene | Romund Sro
Darth Kalyptos | Darth Ptolemis | Khamul Kryze | Electra-12
Foes: DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Murraea Pharo | Jorus Fel | Morrow | Jalter Volff | Mav Ryburn
TK-8867 | Anith Dorce | Frajan Borjar | Gavyn Berand | Greven Astor
Enemy Commander: Lord General Robert Dris ( Melvain Braxis )

Spoiler: TL;DR

• While Havoc's artillery falls on the walls of FOB Belisarius, Raider Walkers charge forward
  • Infantry Support walkers open fire on the ramparts and foxholes with chainguns and grenades
  • Psycho walkers run straight at the walls, trying to suicidally detonate the weakened structure
• The Mongrel's mind struggles under the weight of identity
• He orders Ziare to find out more about the progress of the NIO evacuation

Amid pouring ran, land and sky burned.

Amid the heavy clouds, Jalter Volff of Bomber Flight Darkstar awaited the order to begin his bombing run... even as Electra-12 and Nacheria Squadron closed in on him, determined to prevent that same support. In the trenches and foxholes beyond friendly lines, Ember Company fought a desperate battle to hold out as Romund Sro and his 909th leapt into the fray, their jumptroopers closing the distance to the enemy in one jetpack-assisted leap. Death's Hand soared across the field, seeking enemy commanders.

Marching steadily through mud and blood came the disciples of the New Sith Order. Darth Kalyptos led his savage mutant tribe, the Void Children, in a vicious onslaught, their repurposed industrial tools shredding armor and flesh just as easily as they would cut durasteel down to size... though they would soon have to contend with the Imperial Death Divers, bravely trying to open a flank from above. The sinister Darth Ptolemis walked alone, seeming to hover across the terrain, dark currents of Force energy flowing around him.

So much more than just Moon Children had taken the field.

The Mongrel did not focus on these aspects of the battle. His allies were already engaged, and he had faith in them to do as the Dark Voice had bidden them all: slaughter the enemy to the last. Instead, he devoted his full attention to the ramparts of FOB Belisarius, where Lord General Dris of the Red Legion and the stormtroopers of the 117th formed a well-entrenched defensive line between the Maw and the city they sought to burn. That was why he had directed his artillery strike and called up his walkers. He had a wall to shatter.

The warlord's comlink buzzed, confirming what he could already ascertain from the thunder of the Brotherhood's big guns. "The bombardment has begun. You may begin your advance. Good hunting, Warlord. Crush the NIO for me. If you need any fire support, I can designate targets whenever." Perhaps the artillery commander's address was a little informal, but Havoc had earned it. It had been his finger on the trigger that had ended Csilla. He might not be a warlord, but he had earned great respect among the ranks of the Maw.

"Acknowledged," The Mongrel replied. "Let your rain of fire be unrelenting." The shells were huge, tank-busters that could obliterate an infantry squad without a trace, or even bring down heavily-armored walkers... and just as the warlord had wished, they fell nonstop. But FOB Belisarius was built to withstand a heavy bombardment such as this; that was the purpose of fortifications. To break its walls would require a one-two punch. The first had landed, leaving cracks in those walls, and now The Mongrel would launch the second.

There had been no reaction by the foe as he lined up his force of wall-breaking walkers; they were too busy mowing down the incoming hordes of Moon Children and tribesmen, evidently. Now the time was right. With artillery fire actively falling on their heads, the 117th and Crimson Legion would find it even more difficult to thwart this attack. "Walkers," The Mongrel bellowed, his voice like iron scraping over ice, "charge! Earn your glorious passage into the Galaxy To Come!" As one, they responded. "War! Death! Rebirth!"

Kicking their speed to maximum, the line of Raider Walkers sprinted forward, resembling nothing so much as top-heavy track athletes as their twin legs propelled them across the battlefield. The Infantry Support pattern vehicles moved slower, hosing down the enemy ramparts - and any foxholes they found along the way - with chaingun and grenade launcher fire. The Psycho walkers, however, relied fully on momentum. The explosive lances they were studded with needed to directly strike the cracked walls in order to blow up and breach.

The walkers came into view suddenly, looming over the ground troops as they ran past them. Each was a good four and a half times the height of the average soldier, and so they appeared out of the rainy mist and battlefield smoke like giants among men, using their impressive speed and the element of surprise to close the distance. As artillery shells crashed down from above and chainguns wailed away at the battlements, the Psycho Walkers kept going straight ahead, determined to ram themselves cab-first into the walls of Belisarius.

Surely the enemy couldn't stop them all.

​

In his mind, they were home.

Or were they? Both of them were... scattered. Divided inside. Sometimes they met in the house he had built, with its walls of smoothed-over memory, living a life they could never have had in the galaxy's cruel reality. It had begun as Mongrel and Mercy, until it had softened into Kallan and Keilara. But sometimes they were somewhere else, somewhere that seemed distant to him. In that place, that basement where cages of dark iron sat side by side, he was a different Kallan, one who did not even remember The Mongrel until he woke.

And she was not Mercy or Keilara. She was Ziare.

These were the pieces of them the Taskmaster had chained.

So who was he, really? Who was she? Whenever their minds brushed against each other now, things came loose, the figurative metal of their mental chains flaking away. What would happen if those chains broke, if the Taskmaster's reforging of them failed entirely? Would they become the people they had once been, or were those people too far gone, too many bits of them lost forever? Would they just collapse, their minds breaking apart under the weight of too many different personalities, too many sets of memories? WHO WERE THEY?!

~ I missed you too, ~ Kallan said... and he said it in that cage next to Ziare's, but he also said it at the door of the house he had built. The Mongrel almost said it in reality, amid the fire and rain of war-torn Noris, even though it would have made no sense. The warlord tried to seize back control of his mind, but found it sliding through his fingers like water. He was slipping, losing his grasp on where he was and what was real. If he made that mistake, if he failed in this battle because his mind was divided, everything would come apart.

If the truth was revealed, he would lose her...

... and he would lose himself.

At the door of the house, he held her close, felt the warmth of her kiss. In the cages in that dark basement, he reached out his hand through the bars, trying to touch her, reassure her. But in reality he could not. He only stood in front of her, as still as a durasteel statue, while the rain poured down over his rust-colored armor. ~ I love you, ~ Kallan told her. ~ But I am coming undone, and I am afraid. ~ He could not fall apart here, could not expose their growing bond, or the way it was changing him. ~ I don't know who I am inside. ~

The Mongrel, the warlord, needed to give her orders. He could not keep her here without some kind of excuse, some reason he had summoned her while the battle raged. "I require more information on the progress of the NIO evacuation," he finally said, thinking fast. Perhaps there was a way he could keep her safe during this battle, keep her off of the front lines without betraying his affection for her. "Gather information from the city for me. Discover the status of the refugee convoys at the spaceport. It will inform our plans."

It would put her far from the line of fire...

... but there was still danger for her.

There was always danger.

 

[Kralmus Orr]

Location: Noris, Wartorn Trenches
Allies: Khamul Kryze
Foes: Greven Astor

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Kralmus Orr breaks off from Death's Hand to attack Strike Team Saxon

​

Finally, open battle. Kralmus Orr had been waiting for this for far too long.

As one, the Mandalorian warriors of Death's Hand followed Mandalore the Unchained into the fray. All was as it should be. Here they were as conquerors, fulfilling their ancient heritage. No more whining about honor or clinging to old codes that foolishly restricted their conduct. Their birthright was to set the galaxy aflame, to take whatever they wanted and to kill whoever got in their way. Let the sniveling cowards of the Enclave - or worse, those spineless Dar'manda who had chosen to collaborate with the Silver Jedi - talk about extending their protection to the worlds around their hidden refuge. True Mandalorians did not hide or protect. They waged war. They laid waste.

Khamul Kryze understood that. That was why Mand'alor the Unchained was the only one worthy to lead them.

But then, Kralmus Orr didn't really go for concepts like obedience or planning or battlefield discipline.

We go straight for their command. That was the order that his Mand'alor had given, and the reason that he was now jetpack-ing across the battlefield rather than getting stuck in on foot. Kralmus didn't enjoy ranged combat nearly as much as hand-to-hand; there was no satisfying impact that ran up one's arms when blade met bone, no spray of blood to excite his vile appetite. There was only the dull repetition of point and shoot, point and shoot, over and over. He always appreciated killing of any kind, each death by his hand proving his superiority to the pathetic herd animals that formed most of the galaxy's population, but he'd much rather deal it out up close.

That was why he liked the second part of the command. Should you face resistance, put them down.

It was an excuse to go off-mission. To distract himself with something far more fun.

Something like an NIO squad, cut off from friendly lines, making a desperate fighting retreat back toward FOB Belisarius. Something like Strike Team Saxon. Catching sight of the squad from the air and noting their efficient teamwork, covering each other well as they fell back in good order, Kralmus grinned beneath the visor of his horned helmet. "Go on," he told his comrades, adjusting his heading away from the other members of Death's Hand. "I'll catch up. I'm 'facing resistance', you see." Winding down the thrust on his jetpack, he alighted in the blood-soaked mud of no man's land, not far from where Greven Astor and his comrades were steadily falling back.

He drew forth his axe, enjoying the sight of firelight playing along its beskar-songsteel blade.

"Hello there!" the cannibal called out, his voice somehow both childishly singsong and powerful enough to carry over the din of battle. "You seem to have made a tactical error. You see, your lines are all the way over there, whereas you are all the way over here." He clucked his tongue in mock disappointment, like a schoolteacher chastising an errant pupil. "Well, we'll fix it. I hear you Imperial types believe in 'death before dishonor', or something equally stupid, so I'm here to help." He stepped forward, the haft of his massive axe held in both hands, rain running steadily down his crimson armor. "I'm the death in that scenario, you see. Who wants to go first?"

Laughing madly, he charged the nearest trooper, coming in swinging.

 

[Aerys Yvarro]

​

A park south of FOB Belisarius would serve as Pvt. Myrrine's chopping grounds. The soldier would plant Mawite forces into the ground, the stormtrooper bearing the 313th's sigil on her shoulders took care in her aim. Her body going through the motions of firing, her mind remembered only the days spent on Galidraan. Hunting animals beside her mother, the days and nights on Dosuun after her mother's death when she relished field exercises as they happened the military school she attended tested her over and over again. Here she was once more, crimson hues erupted from her blaster making promises of death where they landed.​

​

Myrrine's task would be to advance and bolster the 117th southwest of the FOB. The first battalion always got the shite assignments, words spoken to her not so long ago. She welcomed them, she motioned with her hand for her element to advance beyond their position in the park. "Make them bleed, I want to hear them scream their mantra as they take their dying breaths." Malicious glee filled her voice, the smile that matched it concealed beneath her helmet. The modulator distorted her voice giving her a more ominous feel than necessary.​

​

Daughter of Galidraan and Corellia with a thirst for war moved forward pushing the Imperial advance. She calculated her movements in the target-rich environments, making use of her vibrodagger when necessary. She heard the assault, the violence, and the destruction that fell around her. Pvt. Myrrine heard it as an orchestra, a symphony of war that for her had only just begun. Myrrine saw before her the Imperials past who fought deranged lunatics such as these. She recalled the stories of wars past, the ones her mother used to tell her about.​

​

The park wouldn't be easy to capture but she was determined to do so. This element of the 313th would not go so easily, and though she was sure the Mawites had unleashed an untold number of hellish foes upon them. Myrrine was eager to watch them all perish teetering on the edge of madness herself battle frenzy continued to build up within the young soldier.​

​

Allies: Jorus Fel | @117th​

Opponents: Mawites | Open​

​

​

 

[Redmond Geller]

Allies: Cormac Thire, Gwyneira Vizsla , Jorus Fel
Hostiles: Rannan Kol
Dance Partner: Skorge the Bloodied
Equipment: Personal Combat Suit
​

Redmond had sighted up the transport from the moment it began to tumble, the Mawities were tough bastard, though utterly mad. He respected their strength, their conviction, but only in a passing manner. Nowhere near enough to stay his hand, in fact, nothing could once he'd made up his mind. He watched from behind the scope as an axe split the hull, a man masked by a skull at the head of the horde. He was...interesting.

His sight shifted right, fire, shifted left, fire, precision strikes meant to take those closest to the Mawite's side down around him. The Imperial troops opened up on whatever targets they could, but Redmond had found his focus, the rest of the battle would just be noise. Not to be ignored, of course, never to be ignored, but it would be the background to his main event.

This one wasn't just big, he had the look of a leader to him, or what passed for one in the Maw. He wondered if that was determined by capability, or just by strength? He supposed he'd find out.

He shifted his sights onto Skorge, and let loose a rain of fire.

 

[Darth Saevius]

Objective: Woken Furies

Tags:

Maw: Darth Solipsis The Mongrel Khamul Kryze Erion Justeene Keilara Kala'myr
NIO: DECEASED Remmel Karsh Jorus Fel Erin E-141 Jack E-138
Engaging: Anith Dorce

Location: The Shadows

Be Mine​

So much emotion could be felt upon this relic of the Chiss Ascendancy. Anxious suspense for the valiant soldiers who courageously held the line under the banner of the New Imperial Order. Hunger for the Mawite legions which descended upon them; the prospect of blood nearly too much for them to hold back from the sheer ferocity driving them forth amongst the more conventional weapons of war being applied to soften up their quarry. Despair for those who desperately wished to evacuate from the Maw’s endless grasp.

A new age was arising. So much hung in the balance at this very moment, that destiny swirled around each and every person who currently tread upon this sacred ground. The feeling was intoxicating to Saevius. So much life within reach for his grasping tendrils to wrap around, much like a feral beast grasping its prey with far-reaching claws. He had not felt thusly before - even with his tenure within the Sith Empire. The Dark Voice called out to him - he had responded skeptically, but now he was a true believer. He had tasted the intoxicating allure of true power, true ascendancy to become greater than he had ever been.

Now, he would cement that legacy before the eyes of those before him. He would prove himself beyond dispute as more than a relic of the past. Those who viewed him thus were among the throngs of enraged wardogs who pushed upon the NIO lines, doggedly advancing in an overwhelming frontal assault. While it was almost-assured the Maw would break through, it would not come without great cost if nothing else was done.

That was why Saevius skulked amongst the shadows at the edge of the line, a dark robe masking his form against the smoke and exhaust fumes filling the air within the battlefield. He approached alone, keeping to the natural terrain with a careless ease as he moved about. The force flowed around him, obscuring him further to those who were looking for any clue of a secondary advance. He would not crash upon the defenses of the NIO like a mindless fool. No, he would subvert them another way.

His own way.

As he approached the battle line from the side, he reached out through the force to those dug in at the section, barely skimming the minds of the soldiers arrayed within the trench lines and foxholes. His consciousness stopped upon the mind of one person in particular - a Chiss female who exhibited a level of authority over those within her section.

His lips creased into a malevolent smile as he found his target. He would not just remove the head from the unaware sheep dug in before him; he would do so in a way that would make them feel powerless to resist.

The Sith Lord made his way to what appeared to be a series of abandoned buildings near the battle line, gaining entry with relative ease. Then, he cast out the bait to those whom he touched. To them, it was but a barely perceived nudge - akin to a feeling of something being amiss, but being unable to fully place one’s finger upon what exactly it was.

Subtly, he exuded feelings of anxiety, uncertainty, and despair - originating from the direction of the building he now occupied. Then, a series of faint screams which echoed in the force, but to the victims of his deception - a very real cry for aid.

”HELP US!!”

Near-unnatural wails, moans mixed with both pain and fear rising to a crescendo which could not be avoided.

He doubted everyone along the line would come to investigate, but he did not need everyone to do so. He just needed her, and whomever she decided to bring with her.

They would be his prey. Then, he would move on to another, and another.

Until the line shattered before him, or fell under his thrall.

​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent | Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw, Mongrel's advisor​

Objective: Doing her job and follow the warlord's commands.
Location: Landing zone, surface, Noris
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Assault Rifle | 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger | 2x Riftblades || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || OPBC-01m
Writing With: The Mongrel | Melvain Braxis (?)
Allies: The Mongrel | Subject 54 Havoc | Erion Justeene | Romund Sro | Darth Kalyptos | Darth Ptolemis | Khamul Kryze | Electra-12 | Open
Enemies: DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Murraea Pharo | Jorus Fel | Morrow | Jalter Volff | Mav Ryburn | TK-8867 | Anith Dorce | Frajan Borjar | Gavyn Berand | Greven Astor | Open

[ Where the Wild Wolves Have Gone ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~ Telepathic communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

Spoiler: tl;dr

• Mercy also realises how much she changed because of Kallan / Mongrel
• Mercy tries to reassure and comfort the man.
• She thinks Kallan is healing and not falling apart and she told this to him.
• While Mercy comforts and cares Kallan, in the subconscious, Kallan and Ziare are placed in a common cage at first time, the two subconscious cages completely merged.
• In reality, Mercy acknowledges the order, but because she feels Kallan / Mongrel’s fear, hesitation, and concern, she offers to stay, in a way that is completely safe for both of them.

~ Home/Consciousness; Mind Palace ~ | Kallan and Keilara ( The Mongrel )
I enjoyed the embrace and kiss at the door of the house. I was at home. Each time I wished I could stay here forever, I wish it would last forever, and not just until I get so tired that I fall asleep. When I fall asleep, the connection always breaks, so I could only sleep in the embrace of my metal arms and not here in our minds, not at home. As he said he missed me too, I smiled. When he said he loves; it meant more than anything. He didn't say it that awkwardly than at the first time, not anymore.

However, I did not agree with his words. Not because I didn’t want to accept it, I thought the opposite.

~ No, you're not coming undone, just the opposite happens. You are healing Kallan, your mind is beginning to heal! ~ I whispered reassuringly and stroked his face again softly.

As he said he was afraid, my heart was broken… I felt my tears run down my face. I had felt for a while, something had really changed at Odessen. It was the place where we both started to feel empathy. At first, I thought I felt Kallan’s feelings, but no! It was Ziare, in part. Kallan brought him closer, more and more I felt out of her feelings, her empathy. She was the reason I was able to feel love and also that it hurt more than anything to see Kallan like that.

We started to heal each other, which was partly a curse, because if anyone ever realises that we are starting to be like we once were again. I would lose him. I also had memories of seeing Ziare sitting inside her cage and looking at him. Not this Kallan who was here with me, but the real one, but they are already very similar. Despite the crying, I tried to smile. I was scared too, I didn’t know what the end would be, just that I wanted to be with him.

~ I'm scared too, not just you. But here I am, I promised; I will always be with you. ~ I said as I held him close carefully with love and began to caress him back reassuringly.

Here I tried to reassure…

I wanted to tell him, we should go, we should leave behind all the things the Maw wants. Already, almost everything was taken from him, from us. To desert, flee to the other end of the Galaxy, where we are looking for a small planet where we can build the house that is in our minds, our home. I had the money and the connections to do that. Just as there could have been a solution to get his physical body back. We could be the ones who we were in here, in our minds.

He was so lost…

~ It's you, it's really you. It’s no longer just an echo of the man the Heathen Priests tried to destroy. You were stronger than them. This is you when you are not trying to be an emotionless warlord. You are Kallan, and that is why I fell love with you, this is why I love you so much, who are you hereI love the Mongrel too, but truly I love you! If you’re scared or not sure about something, rely on me, I promised to help and be here with you. Together we can solve everything. ~ I told him and I kissed him again, this time softly, with devotion, with much deeper emotions than before, this time I didn't need passion, this… this said much more than any words.

~ Basement/Subconscious; Mind Palace ~ | Kallan and Ziare ( The Mongrel )
~ You don’t even know how much it means to me that you missed me and you enjoy my company. ~ I said confused and smiled at him with a red face.

I got up from the ground and stepped completely close to the edge of the cage. Fortunately, there were gaps between the gratings. They’re not big enough for me to get through, but they’re plenty enough for me to reach him out. When his hand reached for me, I reached for it too. I leaned against the grids with my whole body so I could hold my hand as much as possible. As our fingers intertwined, I felt like he was trying to reassure me.

Never before has anyone tried to be so kind to me. There was someone, I think Mordaen, he was kinder too, but differently. He never took my hand, or… Kallan was different, closer, more direct. His hands were warm, encouraging, I felt like he was trying to reassure me. It was something I had never felt before.

It was a very pleasant feeling, at that moment I wished I could embrace him, or he could hold me close. It would have been good if he could have been able to comfort me. Of course… no one ever hugged or embraced me. I mean, others did this, like a comrade or a friend, but not someone who maybe more than a friend. Of course, I'm naive and maybe I just want this, and I just imagine that he is taking care of me. Maybe this was only loneliness. The way I thought about it and wanted it more than anything, I saw for a moment and felt him embrace me, as he held me close, but I was not in the cage but in a door…

The next moment I was in the cage again, but those both moved, getting even closer. The walls that were between our cages were gone; the two cages became a bigger one, and I, due to the fact I leaned against the wall of my own cage as it disappeared, fell to the ground, right at Kallan's feet.

~ Ouch! ~ I groaned painfully as I sat on the floor looking up at Kallan, confused, blushing.

How?

~ Reality; Noris' surface ~ | Mongrel and Mercy ( The Mongrel )
In the pouring rain, I waited for his orders, his commands, which soon arrived. I nodded; it was easier for me to separate the two places. Usually for him too, but now I think he didn’t do it well because of his fears. I would have been more willing to go to battle to kill more there, but I was sure there would be enough opportunities even in town. Maybe he was hesitant? I noticed that he wanted to send him away from the fighting again. As always since Dromund Kaas.

"I've been thinking about this for days before, warlord; I set up medium-range scanners around the spaceport so I can even watch the movements from here. And the miniature droids are able to monitor these and they are able to help the scanner's work. I can still move between NIO's lines much more efficiently than in the unknown Eternal Empire's." I told him.

I felt his hesitancy, his fear, in our mind, as he confessed. I didn't want to leave him alone that way, but I did not want to distract him either.

"If the distance monitoring is enough, I… ask permission to stay near you, warlord. I have already indicated that I want to further develop and train my skills. I’m just a military analyst, not a strategist; in a true fight I don’t have to invent tactics many times, I just analyse the reports ex ante or ex post. I would also like to learn commanding from you, so that I can help you even more with your work, and the military plans of the Maw, warlord."

Yes, I told this to my superiors, to Callym, after Jakku, that was the place I first had to lead troops. We didn’t have any success, only almost, and since then there hasn’t been much opportunity for me to practise or learn this in combat. I had a suggestion on Jakku, it was helpful; in Odessen… I did not act there out of fighting thoughts, only to save him, the man I loved.

~ If you want, I'll stay to support you, and of course you can teach me, and that will maintain our disguise. After all, I'm your advisor, not just your agent. ~ I "said" kindly.

It didn’t matter to me, this place wasn’t big, the telepathic connection was easy to maintain even if I wasn’t on his side. I didn’t insist on staying or going. I still didn’t want to manipulate and control him or take advantage of the fact he loved me. I insisted on maintaining the appearance, at all costs; he could not have been endangered because of me. And as far as I could tell in the battle between Mongrel and Kallan, it was Mongrel who was going to lose and not Kallan. And this, I think, was caused by me and Ziare.

I would have done anything to protect him, both Kallan and Mongrel…

Anything...

 

[Erion Justeene]

​

Objective: Engage NIO enemy, secure the trenchworks for The Maw
Location: Noris, The NIO Trenchworks
Equipment: Lightsaber, Voidsaber
Allies: BOTM
Enemies: NIO
Tag: The Mongrel | Subject 54 Havoc | Romund Sro | Darth Kalyptos | Darth Ptolemis | Khamul Kryze | Electra-12 | Keilara Kala'myr
Engaging: Murraea Pharo

So far, no one has looked for him, good, his plan worked and he is in striking distance. But then he began to wonder if this was too easy. NIO are smarter than this. He could kick their shins from here and nothing has been done about him yet. He never got to finish what he was planning to do at the Citidel because he had to get away as quickly as he could to avoid capture. So now he is taking a more active role of recon and infiltration. Why should he be away from the Noris Western Front and directing anything passively? Ubese as a people are never passive, they fight and fight hard.

He had to change directions as several Imps were nearby, he was able to slip around them without much difficulty. He was in the Trenches. Still, he should wait for the main invasion forces to properly take control but they were still far from his position and his comms were playing up and he could not risk anything getting into unwelcomed ears. All he can do is get this section secured and make a gateway for the Maw.

The rain poured in a torrent, mixing the ground into a quagmire that caked his shins and boots thickly. Superious hated mud, he hated how it squelched, how it sounded like the loudest thing in the trenches. The Ubese avoided an unceremonious fall into the stuff as he slipped into a minor trench. The first part of the mission is complete, the next part is to sabotage and/or secure it.

Superious had forgotten he is in enemy trenches as he heard footprints close by, he had little cover to duck away from the Imp heading his way, but this was no longer on the Sith Lord's mind. Scurrying like a mouse was not what the Maw was about. He was to fight, everyone else was, he's no stranger to a good fight. So he climbed to a vantage point so he can ambush his soon to be opponent. As he had mused before, nothing is absolute in its simplicity.

With the familiar snap-hiss of his Lightsaber, Superious was ready to spring his ambush and as soon as he saw the white/red armour he sprung forth, making his presence known and his intentions clear, he is going to secure the trenchworks in the name of the Maw.

 

[Morrow]

KNIGHT-ERRANT MORROW OSTARION
CALLSIGN "PALE RIDER"
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
——
OPPOSING: Darth Kalyptos and his Genestealers minions.

FEAR MY NAME
​

Stormtroopers at his back, Morrow lead the charge. Distance became an ever more fleeting factor as violence began to reach the firmament. When it finally broke, a deluge of fear, rage, and bloodshed rushed forth. The moment between charge and clash, infinitely brief, brought upon the skirmish in a jarring instant. Flesh tore, cauterized, bled. Rain drops sizzled into vapor as artifical fire tore through the thick sheet that fell upon Noris. The air itself was perforated by countless crimson traces of blaster fire.

Energized hatred tore erratically through the air with deadly malevolence. Pearl saber came to meet it, the sheer force of the lighting stopping the blade's wielder in his tracks. Both hands commanded the hilt, focused every ounce of the force they could muster. That malevolence and hatred mixed with his own, saber becoming a battery of malice. With grit teeth, muscles tensing from spare voltage, Morrow ordered his weapon into a mighty, forceful swing. At its mesial point, the trapped energy was expelled. A single bolt cut through the air, booming like thunder as it tore through neophytes.

Hardly a moment was spared before the Knight's charge continued. He met the approach of the Sith Lord before him, clashing pale unto crimson. Strike after strike, plasmatic light strobed beneath the rain. A disengaging strike commanded control of the space between them, Morrow flipped backward, created a gap. Two-handed grasp raised by his face, pointed the saber accusatively as he circled the repugnant creature that had challenged him. "Fall on your sword if you wish to leave this world peacefully, demon!" Morrow taunted.

"I will not kill you quickly."

 

[FN-999]

N I N E S

ALLIES: NIO | In relative proximity of Cormac Thire | Melvain Braxis
ENEMIES: MAW | Engaging Rannan Kol | Open to engagement
UNIT: The Ninety-Nine (178/200)

"Sir, about those elite troops you were mentioning."

"Oh, for god's sake. Are they Force-wielders?"

"Don't you feel it? This mental influence?"

"What are you talking ab-?"​

"The Void keep thee, erase us from the minds of our foes. Let their ignorance lead them to the devouring embrace of the Maw."

...he spoke through the Force, his words carried through the river of universal energy that existed and interconnected all things. Those closest to him would hear the words of the Dark Apostle inside their minds, allies could hear it as an echo whereas enemies heard the demonic thrum of something unknown.

A sudden, heart-pounding sensation of dread washed over FN-999. He instantly recognized that it was unnatural: he had survived a hundred such battlefields and would likely survive a hundred more. Yet this essence seemed to permeate every inch of his brain, doing battle with his fortitude as he struggled to remain calm. Fortunately, the feeling soon began to gradually fade, and the lieutenant legion commander regained his situational awareness.

[Redouble the defensive line.] ordered FN-999 through his encrypted comms. [If anything stands out among the enemy line, shoot it ASAP, even if it means letting a few Moon Children slip by.]

The sensation of confidence returned to FN-999 for all of ten seconds before a cloaked figure appeared out of thin air, drew a lightsaber, and slashed deep into the large radio apparatus.

The resulting explosion knocked FN-999 off his feet, the force of the blast pushing him back roughly against the hardened dirt wall of the trench. Fortunately, his armor had absorbed the majority of the kinetic force of the impact, resulting in the blast causing little more harm than knocking the wind out of him. However, the lieutenant legion commander knew that far more harmful forces were rapidly approaching.

In the trenchworks where the radio apparatus had once been was a nearly perfect 3 x 3 x 3 meter crater, thin clouds of smoke and sparks of electricity still rising from the debris. One of the two majors who had been standing with FN-999 was choking furiously in a puddle of his own blood, a circular lightsaber wound piercing straight through the center of his torso. The other was gone, likely to warn the rest of the company. The lieutenant legion commander turned his attention to the first major, kneeling down and removing the man's helmet. A thick puddle of dark red blood and tissue poured out, likely consisting of the contents of his roasted lungs and stomach. With a slight twist of pain, FN-999 realized that the major could have drowned in his own blood and bile if he hadn't taken off the helmet sooner.

"Nines..." rasped the major weakly before coughing up a small puddle of blood.

"Yes, Major FN-1284?" replied FN-999 politely, knowing the man was on death's door.

"Nines... Remember Dosunn?" asked FN-1284, his eyes growing distant. "I know, not a great memory. But please, don't let this end like Dosunn. Please, keep the last of the FNs alive. You've been at this for almost as long as I've existed in this galaxy, and I wouldn't serve under anyone... else."

His last word was barely audible as he breathed his last.

FN-999's head went completely silent. FN-1284 was one of the survivors of his original First Order squadron, one who he had served with for nearly fifteen years. He had been a good soldier and a better friend, one who had stuck with him to the bitter end. If FN-999 were anywhere else, were anyone else, he may have started weeping right there, consequences be damned. However, human loss was a constant in his field of work. So, with twenty-four years of hard-earned grit, he rose back up to his feet.

With twenty-four years of hard-earned grit, FN-999 picked up FN-1284's pistol and sheathed it in his waist belt. With twenty-four years of hard-earned grit, he turned his back on the corpse and walked to the right, towards the intact trenchworks. With twenty-four years of hard-earned grit, he marched defiantly forwards until the sight of more corpses lit a spark in him.

A familiar switch flipped inside FN-999, his grief nigh-instantly transforming into sheer battlefield rage. The Force-wielding vermin had once again unfairly taken a life, and he would be damned if he didn't make them pay. A cloaked, lightsaber-wielding figure turned from the pair of stormtrooper corpses upon the sight of FN-999. The being wordlessly charged at the lieutenant legion commander at a blinding speed, lightsaber raised. FN-999 withdrew his longsword, activated its electric charge, and sprant forwards himself.

The Force-wielder was faster, but the stormtrooper's mass was far greater, and the force of their clashing blades knocked the former back a meter. Before the figure could recover, FN-999 continued to build his momentum and charged forwards once more, his upswing knocking the lightsaber clean out of their hands.

The third strike split the Acolyte's skull in two.

With his immediate desire for bloody vengeance satisfied, FN-999 opened up his helmet comms.

[19th, this is FN-999. The Maw's elites have used invisibility to penetrate our lines, and are among us as we speak. They have disabled our long-range comms, so we are temporarily cut off from the 177th. Please, stick together. If you see anyone unfamiliar, burn them alive or stick enough plasma in them to turn them into skeletons.]

[Don't let a single one of those freaks live.]

 

[Rannan Kol]

Location: Imperial Trenchline
Allies: Skorge the Bloodied ; Kyrel Ren
Enemies: NIO | FN-999 | Melvain Braxis
Equipment: Apostles Vestments; The Dark Sacraments​

---

The Whirlwind that was the 'Dark Sacraments' came to a halt when the limbs of a handful of Troops that Kol had leapt into came free. Each strike delivered by the lightsabers coming with a fluent speed that built on the momentum of the previous blow. If the Troops at Kol's feet were alive then they were nonetheless incapacitated, armless, legless or a combination or either ensuring they were no longer in any condition to fight.

As the Dark Apostles senses cleared other sounds filled his mind. Gunfire mixed with the familiar hum of the lightsaber as more of the Acolytes revealed themselves, attacking the Troopers of the 'Ninety-Nine' in their trenchline. Bolstered by zealotry the Acolytes seemed to fling themselves into the face of death with minimal regard for themselves.

Force-Users had some advantages, the Force being the most prominent but they were hardly immortal. The Acolytes had numbered in the dozens, even before their surprise assault began Kol imagined a dozen or less would survive. Acceptable losses to him. Once the Ninety-Nine regrouped their numbers would ensure many of the Acolytes were cut down.

Machinegun and Blasterfire would rip through bodies. An application of Force Push, etc if exercised appropriately could send bodies out of the trenches or into a heap alongside allies opening them to close quarters assaults afterwards. It would be a bloody affair.

Kol didn't care.

He stalked the trenchline, moving down a long stretch whereupon another tandem flurry of motion from the 'Dark Sacraments' ripped apart another Trooper. He didn't move much further before he saw another Trooper at a distance.

The Dark Apostle saw the Acolyte dead at FN-999's feet, he saw the skull that was split in two and the dark ichors leaking from what had been the darksiders head and he noticed the sword in the Troopers hand. A thin smile touched the corners of Kol's mouth, grim satisfaction...

"Very good."

...he didn't lament the loss of the Acolyte, he celebrated the death. Another delivered to the Void. Without another word Kol swung his right side forward, outstretching his arm in the same movement before releasing the lightsaber he held in it and watching as it flew away from him. It spiraled on a horizontal axis aimed at the Troopers midsection, deadly and fast...

...and as as for the rest, it didn't matter if the Acolytes lost. They gave the 'Moon Children' and Marauders precious time to overrun this position.​

 

[Jack E-138]

NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
21st Company "Cadaver Dogs"
NIO: Erin E-141 | DECEASED Remmel Karsh | Cormac Thire

"No, but I know someone who will."

"Way ahead of you Colonel," Jack interjected. Footfalls like small thunder, the imposing figure of the elite strode inexorably, indifferent to the on-and-off quaking of the ground. In his right hand, a handle which suspended a massive, durasteel case akin to an oversized coffin. Strength-modulating servos in the joints of his armored arm whirred as he swung the case forward and sat it onto the ground. Latches opened on their own, mechanisms hissing as the collapsible compartments that stored the armor adjusted and expanded into a display.

"With respect, sir, we aren't built for bed rest."

Duraplast sections that shielded his figure clattered against one another as Jack walked around the opposite side of the case. "The suit will pick up the slack," he asserted flatly. Coming off the example of the ease Jacks had granted in lifting the nigh eight-hundred pound case, it was a hard point to argue against.

Heel-pivot faced him toward the stabilized Erin. "I kept hearing you might not make it, Wolf." Jack remarked plainly. Despite having grown up in the same branch of the program together, the veteran's son hadn't grown a proclivity toward being matey. "Good thing you did, though. ODC is down, Maw fleet could break through any minute. Intel says Mawites are pushing to plant supersonic explosives. We're behind schedule."

"Unless the Colonel objects, I'd say suit up. Plenty of better places to die than here."

 

[Cormac Thire]

T H I R E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
117th STORMTROOPER DIVISION
38th SAPPER COMPANY
NIO | Jorus Fel | Baxter Weyland | Gwyneira Vizsla | OPEN
MAW | Rannan Kol | Skorge the Bloodied | Kyrel Ren | Ignatius Rausgeber

ENDLESS
NORIS '75

THE WINTER CONTINGENCY
DEFIANT 'TILL THE END​

That call down the line from Sienar was as reassuring as the rest of the communique that the troopers of the 117th had received in these past few weeks. Luckily, the green officer had the ettiquete enough to be forthright and honest with Thire and his sappers. There was no help coming for them and thus, no need to hold out for hope.

It was to do or die.

Nothing less would count, nothing more would matter.

The thunderous impact of more Maw dropship hitting the earth and spitting out their payload of ever more murderous marauders unto the field of battle didn't help to sweeten the sour of the unit's outlook toward the battle ahead.

<"Fortune favors the bold, Sienar. Happy hunting out there, 38th out."> Cormac said, grounding his teeth against one another as the Lieutenant failed to pay forward to his plea for help. It wasn't personal nor was Thire really all too budged by it. He was confident the entirety of the lines had similar back and calls back and forth between them. There was little that set the 38th Company aside as any special detachment, save for their current directive to ensure the Maw's biggest weapons didn't have the payout they were looking for in Primus.

He regained his senses and took the reins of command over his unit once more.

<"Fuck it. Yarick! Bring that repeater up and lay down a beatin' zone on this street corner, I'll move up ahead! You cover me! Tracking?"> He said, the last a common use term among the Corps to gauge if they'd understood the command or not.

<"Trackin'. On your go, sarge."> Just what he wanted to hear. Thire nodded before breaking from the corner of the building and letting off a volley of blaster fire in the direction of the enemy as he sprinted toward the opposite corner. The marauders poked their heads out far enough and long enough to get cooked by the repeater and soon enough, the rest of the sapper squad was lined up and piling into the next trench past the rubble.

Only for a dreaded sight to pull into view. A barge of Maw Auxilliary deploying at the farthest edge of the Imperial defenses of the space port.

<"Fuck.">Thire remarked to himself.

This was a change of plan. A squad of combat engineers against a barge of rabid raiders.

The odds weren't in their favor but...to this point, they never had been.

If anything, he probably wouldn't have had any idea of what to do otherwise.

<"Change of plan. Get the rocket up and aimed at that barge. Soon as it closes in firing distance, fire and forget. Let's get a basic fighting position set up here. We'll hold this gap long enough to screen our movement toward the MOAB's signature, trackin'?">

<"Copy."> One of the sappers replied to which Thire knelt down into the mud soaked durasteel panel of the trench and threw the ruck from his back, fishing through it to produce a bundle of thermal imploder mines which could be used to rip the repulsor systems of speeders running over head of them down into the earth before exploding in violent detonation.

<"Lob these twenty yards out, at least five yards apart."> He said, offering them up to another trooper who passed them along the line for the mines to be set down in the no man's land between their stretch of trench and the approaching auxiliaries.

Thire was quick upright again, checking the power pack loaded into his blaster again before slotting it into place and taking aim down the sights.

Outgunned, outmanned and with time as their enemy, all he could do was take aim and as soon as they were close enough-

Pull the trigger.

 

[Kinoan]

Frontline of Primus
Take Out The Maw
Darth Ptolemis

From Silence, To Sirens, Without A Space Between
​

Another Maw creature was struck down by the Knight’s lightsaber as a fresh coat of blood decorated his white and gold robes.

Sharply pulling his hand upwards the man’s watched as the saber continued to char the flesh of the creature, even after death. It slumped onto the ground, collecting itself in a pile of others. The Imperial frontline was holding strong for now, but who knows how long it would be till they have to fall back.

Bringing the golden blade up in a defensive position, the Knight began to deflect and parry off incoming blaster bolts from the Maw. Yet the volley of fire was too quick for him to return the bolts. Most of the blasts were directed off wildly, hopefully hitting a Maw soldiers.

It became increasingly harder for the sound to be drowned out on the battlefield. Ships buzzing overhead as they engaged in aerial assault. Missiles colliding with structures on either side. Blaster bolts whirling past the soldiers. Everything was so present and loud.

What the Knight would focus on though was the crimson red blade that stood a few hundred yards out from him. There he saw not only more Maw creatures starting to advance, but a commander of dark presence leading them.

“I want a group of men on me. We shall advance towards that commanding Sith over there. If they can get taken out, we will be able to control this sector, buying us more evac time.”

After multiple nods of agreement followed the men would gather some weaponry, preparing for what was to come. They would begin their march onward towards the Sith. If they could be taken out, then this area of land might gain more of a chance for success.

Until then, the ground would be painted with the blood of the Maw.