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Six years ago The Primeval were nothing but a whisper, a rumor of a terror in the eastern fringes of the Unknown Regions. Half a galaxy torn away in the blink of an eye, a rage in the force as worlds are thrown into chaos, a trillion souls extinguished; yet The Primeval thrived.
A thousand banners ready for war amass along the border worlds of The Primeval, their activity does not go unnoticed but their plans are just as enigmatic as those who rule them. Warfleets from Bastion stationed at Dantooine jump into hyperspace, inside their hulls are weapons of war, soldiers, and champions backed by the will of the Gods. They remained silent, no speeches were given and even their breathing slowed in composure. A calm before the storm.
If their enemy had detected the fleet before they reached the world below, it would be too late for reinforcements to arrive. Those defenders, valiant as they may be, would be left to hold back the onslaught of zealots who welcomed death as absolution. Warships diverged from their formations in order to cover the dropships and troop transports escorted by fighter wings, already the settlement below was turning into a warzone but that was not The Primeval's true objective.
An enemy base in the distance was their first and last line, a defensive fortification and outpost. Primeval advanced forces landed just outside of the base's defensive radius, another group of dropships landed towards the jungles in the east in an effort to flank and reinforce.
Their objective was clear: Destroy the shield generator and the rest of their forces can overrun the base.
--OOC--
Objectives
A.) Attack the shield generator! The Mandalorians will be defending a base that's protected by shield. Primeval PCs with one NPC unit will be able to infiltrate the base, take out the defenders, and destroy the shield generator.
B.) Battle in the Jungle! This is a typical PvP objective. Primeval will be fighting Mandalorians in the jungle, No NPCs allowed.
C.)Race against time! This is a very unique objective. One writer from either side has been chosen to collaborate as Dungeon Masters. They are allowed to participate in the event as well. Basically there's a detonation set and whichever faction disables the timer first wins. No PvP. Note: Anija Ordohttp://starwarsrp.net/user/3628-anija-ordo/ & Netherworldhttp://starwarsrp.net/user/167-netherworld/ will be DMing. Any issues they will deal with together reactively, such as powergaming-esque abuse. Issues that cannot be resolved by them will be taken up with an RPJ.
PC Template Objective: What is your character doing?
Location: Where is your character? Allies: Who is is your character fighting alongside? Enemies: Who is your character fighting against? Gear: What weapons, armour, and equipment do you have?
NPC Template Unit: What is the unit? Must link to a codex submission.
Strength: How many living NPC are in this unit? Refer to the strength of the submission. Objective: What are the NPC doing? Location: Where are the NPC? Controller: Who controls this NPC? Can either be an individual NPC or a PC. This is whoever is leading it in-character.
The world and its settlements were quite fine actually. One of the major flaws in traveling through the entire width of the Mandalorian Territories was the nature of Hyperspace travel itself. There were no such things as strait lines or non-stop flights. And with the hyperspace listening stations that lined the borders of the Mandalorian territories, the approaching fleet had been detected days ago.
Jorus Merrill said:
Numbers vary widely when it comes to hyperspace transit times. Some voyages take days or weeks; others take months or years. A lot depends on your source, and a lot depends on whether you're using a major hyperlane or not, or how close you are to the Core, or how fast your hyperdrive is. (Tatooine to Alderaan on a super-hyperlane with a class 0.5 hyperdrive took under sixteen hours, for example, while Coruscant to Alderaan dipped through a nastier bit of the Core and took about the same...but get lost in Wild Space and you'll be wandering for months.)
Monitoring stations at Munilist, Mygeeto, Generis, Agamar, Ord Cestus, Cathar, Dathomir, Axxila, Bandomeer, and Mandalore itself had picked up the fleet as it traveled through hyperspace, dropping in and out of realspace as one safe route of travel ended and another began. Reactionary fleets had been mustered at a number of locations, on the off chance that the Primeval had chosen to pick a fight with the clans. But on the whole, the general consensus was that they were making their way to the Republic's border to pick a fight with the enemy of their One Sith allies. Were that the case, the reactionary fleets might end up showing up to support the Republic forces. Or they might not. Relations with the Republic were always rocky at best.
When the Primeval fleet stopped in Wayland space, a number of eyebrows were arched. Hyperspace monitoring stations waited in anticipation for the inevitable Hyperspace signature as the ships left realspace and continued their journey towards the Republic's border. But as moments turned into minutes, alarms were raised across numerous Mandalorian worlds, including Mandal'yaim itself. Messages were relayed to the settlements of Wayland that said, quite simply, "Hold at all costs. We're coming." The hyperspace lanes between Mandalore and Wayland were not the most heavily traveled, but the distance between the two was short and the path was known. Reactionary fleets would be arriving in only a few hours.
On the planet itself, Fort Monroe had detected the ships when they exited hyperspace. The outpost, like many similar outposts across the galaxy, was capable of detecting the comings and going of ships around the planet it defended. Not to mention the benefit that came from being so close to Mandal'yaim. A nearby Ja'hailir-class Shokita Station had alerted the base of the fleet's imminent arrival before they had actually made the transition to realspace, giving the outpost plenty of time to prepare itself for their arrival, on the off chance the fleet chose not to continue on to Republic worlds.
As the fleet failed to return to Hyperspace and instead turned towards the planet, Fort Monroe had acted accordingly. The outpost's three massive Tempest Orbital Defense Cannons had opened fire on the approaching ships, which would force their commander to either approach from another side of the planet or have his fleet shredded by the massive guns. Likewise, when dropships and starfighters eventually approached the base from within the planet's atmosphere, the squadrons of fighters within the base would have mustered, but held their position within the base's massive hangers. The first act of aggression would come from the numerous ground-to-air weapons built into all sides of the base, as well as from any ground-to-air capable vehicles stocked within Fort Monroe's extensive vehicle bays. The only safe way for the Primeval forces to assault to base would be from the ground, landing in the relative safety afforded by the thousands of kilometers of forest that surrounded the outpost.
PC Template Objective: Defend Base
Location: Fort Monroe Allies: Mando'ade Enemies: Everyone else Gear: Olivia Dem'adas wore simple, light Beskar'gam.It was the standard for her clan's officers, naval crew, and operators. A simple Beskar armorweave was worked into a uniform, beskar and leather boots were applied to the feet, and thin plates of Beskar were added to key locations around the chest, arms, and legs. Over this, her dress uniform's jacket was worn. It was not the invulnerable class 8 armor that her vod wore into battle, but it was all she needed. She was armed with a Tenloss Model 9-type 11 sidearm and a beskad saber on either side of her waste. Vehicle: Myrkava-C
Air Raid sirens had sounded the moment it became clear that the Primeval Fleet had intentions for Wayland. The base's massive orbital defense turbolasers had opened fire shortly after. "All personnel to combat stations." Had come through the personal communicators of every Mando'ad stationed at the outpost. "This is not a drill. All personnel to combat stations."
Olivia Dem'adas, already within the outpost's massive vehicle bays, had looked up when the air raid sirens had come on. "Who the feth would attack Wayland?" Olivia asked to herself as she turned from her work to assess the status of the hanger's inventory. The planet was a mainly uninhabited jungle world full of some of the nastiest creatures in the galaxy. Its only real value, other than the phrik within its crust, was its closeness to Mandal'yaim. <Oh feth.> Olivia thought to herself as her mind grasped upon the only obvious conclusion for the given situation. Someone... some suicidal fool... wanted Mandalore. And Wayland was to be their beachhead.
<Not happening.> Olivia thought to herself as she switched her suit's comm frequency to that of her clan. "Marines." Olivia said to the Clan Dem'adas Marine Company temporarily stationed at Fort Monroe. "Whoever the feth this is, their next target will be Mandal'yaim." She said with certainly. "We will hold this base. We will hold this planet. And not a one of you will die without my express permission. Is that understood, Marines?" A chorus of acknowledgement indicators lit up the inside of her helmet's sensors as the squad and platoon commanders reported their approval of her message. The company, two hundred and fifty strong, poured into the vehicle bay in the threes and fours alongside hundreds of other Mando'ade reporting for duty, each one already armed and armored in their personal or issued gear.
Her eyes turned towards the vehicles assembled in the bay. In the distance, she could see a massive Mythosaur Mobile Fortress and a Bral Vehicle parked in the near-center of the bay. It was the closer vehicles that caught her eye. Fifteen Myrkava Main Battle Tanks had been set aside for her use. One Command variant, two Tankbulance variants, six of the Urban variants, and six standard vehicles. They had been deployed here so that Olivia and her Marines could test them out in Jungle conditions, and had been arranged into five squadrons of three tanks. The command vehicle and tankbulance variants were one squadron. Three Urban variants made up two of the other squadrons, and three standard vehicles made up the remaining two squadrons. Each vehicle, with the exception of those in the command squadron, utilized four marines to crew the vehicle and a further six to defend it against infantry assaults (or to try and help pull it out if they got it stuck). The Tankbulance vehicles utilized four marines to crew the vehicles, but also held three medical personnel and two stretchers for injured Marines. The Command variant utilized four marines to crew the vehicle as well, but also had a dedicated sensor and communications technical expert and a 'battlefield commander' that oversaw the entire company of vehicles and any other fighting forces nearby. It was the closest thing to a dedicated CIC vehicle the Mandalorians had, and it had two passenger seats that could be taken up by advisers or marines, at the discretion of the commander.
"I want these Myrkava's fully crewed." Olivia said to her assembling Marines via the networked and encrypted communications channel set aside for their use. "That means a hundred and thirty-nine marines are coming with me into the field. The remaining hundred and ten of you are to defend this hanger, and this base, at all costs."
A chorus of acknowledgements sounded off and her men and women swarmed to their positions. Vehicle hatches were opened, vod poured in, and engines roared to life. Olivia, taking her position in the battlefield commander's seat of the Command Myrkava, ordered her tanks out of the base long before the first Primeval dropship reached atmosphere. Air raid sirens could still be heard from outside the building, though they were muffled by the thick walls of the Myrkava and her own helmet. She could almost feel it when each of the three massive turbolasers fired into the heavens at whatever fool had decided to assault a Mandalorian world. "There are five roads that lead to the base." She said to the Marines that had been ordered into the base's supply of Myrkava Tanks. "I want a squadron parked on each road and each vehicle in one of the tank-pits that line the road." She continued as the vehicles roared over the open and exposed roadway that spiraled from the base's main entrance and out towards the three force-field gates that would allow them to pass through the perimeter fence. "Set up your defenses slightly ahead of the line of bunkers." She added. "Try not to block their line-of-sight to the treeline, but I want each vehicle placed so that the vod in the bunkers can keep infantry off your rear."
Strength: 250 Marines, 10 tanks Objective: Defending Fort Monroe Location: 110 Marines are defending main vehicle bay, all others loaded into Tanks and deployed along roads Controller: Olivia Dem'adas
It was a long, winding road, but her Marines and Tanks were in position long before the first Primeval Dropship hit atmosphere. A square-ish pit in the dirt, each with sides reinforced by logs and a ramp at the rear, facing towards the main structure of the outpost, was what comprised each tank-pit, and a pair of such pits lined every 35 meters of road leading from the base to the treeline. Each of her vehicles had maneuvered into one of these pits. Only the very upper edges of the chassis and the turret itself were exposed above the dirt of Wayland. The rest of the vehicle was, effectively, buried. But could be backed out of the pit in only a few moments. Olivia's command tank and the three tank-ambulance variants had taken one of the roads leading to the base. The road to her left was defended by a Myrkava-U squadron and the road to her right was defended by a standard Myrkava squadron. On the far side of the base, a squadron of Myrkava-U and standard Myrkava defended the two roads that Olivia could not see from her current position. In a ring extending around the base on either side of her, numerous shielded bunkers were filled with Mando'ade. Each bunker held 10-15 Mandalorians and the barrels of five heavy weapons protruded from each bunker.
Open Minefields and anti-tank barricades known as Dragon's Teeth filled the view between Olivia's tank and the treeline. The duracrete baracades impeded her view of the treeline, but she trusted her Marines aim well enough to know that they would find clear lines of sight in spite of the blockage. That, and it was the clear and exposed roadways that drew most of their attention. The roads were not mined and were the only safe means of approaching the base. As rockets, missiles, and AA turrets roared to life at targets Olivia could not yet see, a smile broke across her face. <Some fool just come to the wrong neighborhood.> She thought to herself as she monitored the status of her Company of Myrkava and the marines that crewed them. Absently, her eyes kept darting to viewscreens that showed images of the treeline from the the perspective of over a dozen tanks.
Objective: Hold at all costs
Location: Fort Monroe - Central Complex - Hangars
Allies: [member="Azrael"] [member="Olivia Dem'adas"] [member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Draco Vereen"]
Enemies: [member="Anja Aj'Rou"], @Primeval
Gear:
Myrkr Rifle (Standard and armor piercing ammunition)
Slugthrower Shotgun (Solid slug and Coin Shot ammunition)
Beskar-plated Chaavla Revolver (Standard, armor piercing, and Ori'shuk ammunition in speed loaders)
Vibroknives
Antique Beskar'gam
Unit: Mun'nynire
Strength: 100 marksmen + support personnel + 4 Shadlaar Cargo Haulers towing 4 Mobile Barricades
Objective: Hold at all costs
Location: Fort Monroe - Central Complex - Hangars
Controller: Arrbi Betna
Certain things always happened when Betna tried to take a nap. Visitors, great holoshows, exiting hyperspace, and his daughter's birth. Apparently, random enemy attacks was to be included in this list.
When the sirens rang out and the comms started blaring warnings and calls to arms, Betna rolled out of the bed he shared with his wife in the fortified base. They'd been visiting the area in a routine patrol and figured they'd stop to say hello to a few distant relatives on the planet. Some of the Betna clan had migrated here to Wayland hoping to tame some of the creatures here and generally set up a livable homestead on the dangerous planet. Many thought the group courageous and adventurous, though Arrbi had also heard the word 'crazy' and 'suicidal' from the occasional non-clansmen.
Either way, he figured he and Anija figured they'd spend some time in the area and based themselves at the local fort on the planet while the starfighter patrol moved on. They'd just join up with the next patrol and head on back to Mandalore then.
Unfortunately, it seemed fate had other plans.
Armor plates found their places quickly and seamlessly, the weight reassuring to Betna as he donned the beskar'gam handed down from generation to generation in his clan. It was solid beskar and was forged centuries ago by his ancestors' ancestors. It had seen conflict and war thousands of times and bore the old and ancient scars. Warriors of each generation had worn it to distant worlds and back again, laden with spoils of victory and the honors of battle. At times, it had been sent back alone, the warrior falling in the fields, but never in retreat; never in cowardice. Death was meaningless to a Mandalorian so long as honor was satisfied. All things would die in time, even stars and planets; it was only the glory of a warrior's deeds that was eternal. The armor was merely a physical manifestation of such laurels. Should he himself fall on the field today, he knew without a doubt that his armor would be returned home and Mirshko, his daughter, would wear it in her own time, decorate it in her own glories, and honor her clan and her buir.
Such was the way of the Mandalorian people.
His armor donned, his helmet found it's place and sealed itself, the hiss of pressurized air reassuring Arrbi as his HUD came to life, the familiar glow more familiar to him than even Mandalore's star at times. He quickly threw on his weapons and gear, ammunition finding their way into pouches and weapons into holsters. A standard shotgun found itself on his back and his slugthrower rifle in his hands. Knives found sheathes around his person while his revolver rode snugly in a dropleg holster on his right thigh, strapped against the thigh plate of his armor.
Satisfied, he ran from the room and towards the hangar. While he himself had not drilled for this particular base, for this particular layout, it was a practical and simple design. He met the small Protector garrison on the top deck of the hangar, high atop the central complex. This was a Mandalorian installation and manned by different clans and, at times, corporate soldiers. The unit of marksmen stationed here were Mandalorian Protectors, however, and they especially knew the cost of defeat this day. For many, home was Mandalore, but the Protectors often hand picked warriors from the local Mandalorian population.
For these men, home was Wayland.
"Get those trucks loaded and ready to go," Betna ordered as he caught up with his men. Each was armed to the teeth, each was a crack shot with their preferred weapon. Their purpose was to lend accurate support fire from the central complex, sniping at the enemy as they bogged down at the base's defenses. "I want one truck loaded with ammunition and spare weapons. It stays the kark inside and away from enemy fire. The other three we're riding in. Hook the barricades to the trucks and pile in, vode. Do we have the hangars sandbagged?"
"Elek," one of the men answered. Betna's HUD displayed the sergeant's name and rank. "We got word that the last of the bags was set up just as you arrived, Alor. We even have slots to shift those barricades in where needed."
"Excellent, we'll need all the cover we can get," Betna responded. He checked his comms and listened for a moment as the base's turbolasers opened up into the sky. "Sounds like they're coming and coming down hard. We'll pile up into the trucks and wait for contact reports. We'll deploy then. Load up, ner vode! Oya! Let's hunt!"
And so it begins, sirens and raids, a fleet in orbit, and troops hitting the ground. They would soon discover the error of their plans. I thought of happier things as I readied myself for this war. I kept thoughts of a certain Orange Twi’Lek close, but they were swiftly being replaced in the foremost of my mind with thoughts of endless fields of the corpses of those that sought to separate us. Malice glinted in my eyes as I place my helmet over my face and took up Taak’Shukur once again. Honor dictated that one of our armies must die to the last man. And they had my sympathy. For it would not be me. A smile spread across my face, the thoughts of both kept there, the utter defeat of my enemies, and the happier memories I held dear.
The roar of engines filled the air as I climbed aboard the Mythosaur Mobile Fortress preparing to engage in battle. Sixty men sat in its passenger bay, four Redeemer Main Battle Tanks, and eight scouts pulled around its legs as it took its first thunderous step forward. The ground shook beneath its weight, heaving in torment under the awe of such a monstrous metal beast. Dragon’s Teeth seemed appropriate seeing as a dragon incarnate roared from the Bastion that would be the Mandalorians’ stronghold. Let them come into the jaws of death if they so wished. It would all be for naught by the end of this day. The beast stopped after exiting the fortress, staring out over the clearing that made up the defensive position the Mandalorians had fortified to defend the planet from attacks. From such a vantage point the Mythosaur straddled the entrance to the base, allowing tanks and infantry to file beneath it, leaving the base.
The fields of bunkers, tank traps, dragon’s teeth, mines, a Death Fence, defense towers, and then the fortress itself were imposing defenses that had withstood the world itself. These defenses would withstand the attackers as well. The tree line was well within range and the defenses forced the enemy to advance through choke points, where they could line up against only a few and be cut down in droves. The fire lanes were picked out, the slope of the hill providing excellent vantage points, as such the defenders could engage their opposition in mass without having to be grouped too closely together.
With the fortress itself forming the bastion of air defense upon which we could place our backs, so too did the Mythosaur form a bastion against the ground assault. Its Heavy Mass Driver cannon primed, ready to fire off EMPhttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/59180-acs-603-multipurpose-homing-anti-tank-mhat/ rounds at their foes, disabling unprotected vehicles and some of their weapons. Dual Heavy Laser Cannons primed, and quad laser cannon turrets readied. Missiles were locked into position, ready to fire at a moments notice and fire would soon rain from the sky. Redeemers prepared their own offensive, using MHAT Baradium rounds for anti-infantry effect. This would be a hard fought battle. But it would be a victory for the Mando’ade, I was sure. These fools had no idea what they were up against. Had they never fought a Mandalorian tooth and nail over their home before? Did they expect this to be easy? They would be taught a lesson. It was unfortunate that most of them would not be around long enough to remember that lesson.
Objective: Hold at all costs
Location: Fort Monroe - Central Complex - Hangars
Allies: [member="Azrael"] [member="Olivia Dem'adas"] [member="Anija Ordo"] [member="Draco Vereen"]
Enemies: [member="Anja Aj'Rou"], @Primeval
Gear:
Myrkr Rifle (Standard and armor piercing ammunition)
Slugthrower Shotgun (Solid slug and Coin Shot ammunition)
Beskar-plated Chaavla Revolver (Standard, armor piercing, and Ori'shuk ammunition in speed loaders)
Vibroknives
Antique Beskar'gam
Unit: Mun'nynire
Strength: 100 marksmen + support personnel + 4 Shadlaar Cargo Haulers towing 4 Mobile Barricades
Objective: Hold at all costs
Location: Fort Monroe - Central Complex - Hangars
Controller: Arrbi Betna
"Alright," Betna started as the trucks rumbled to life. He uploaded a basic map of the base to each squad leader's helmet HUD. "They're going to have to advance through the minefields and obstacles in the way. That's where they'll be bogged down. That's when we'll start shooting."
He highlighted various areas of the map around the edges of the minefields and tank traps. Each had a fire arc covered by a hangar entrance showing the squad leaders a general area of engagement for each position.
"They're going to find the things eventually, so here's the plan. Don't shoot the front troops. Start shooting the rear soldiers," he advised, highlighting a general, predicted engagement section. Small icons moved over the screen, simulating possible infantry advances. "The front troopers are going to slow, stop, and start watching their step. If the guys in the back are shot, they're going to panic or take cover. If they take cover, they've stopped advancing entirely. If they panic, they'll either run away or start pushing forward for better cover. If they do that, they push the guys in front further into the landmines. It's a win-win for us."
He swapped from the animated icons and moved to new images. Most of various individuals, human and non-human, with lightsabers of some make or model. Others showed individuals standing motionless as if concentrating, though in some holos depicted the individuals in a war zone or firefight.
"We'll want to look for anyone that even looks like these guys," he continued, using his helmet HUD to highlight things like robes, lightsabers, or concentration poses. "The best of these guys are gonna do this real fast, so you have to watch close. The less able ones are gonna need a moment or two. You see anyone doing any of these or carrying any of these weapons, unless someone is setting up a shield generator or about to execute another Mandalorian, kill these shabuire. They're Force users and more than likely they're Sith. They start using their abilities, you put them down. If you shoot them and they're still moving, you shoot them until they stop moving. Understand?"
A series of nods and verbal acknowledgements followed the question. From the sounds of it, many had some experience with fighting Force users. Betna guessed some, if not all, had fought on Teta.
"I know we have honor to uphold, but at the end of the day, we're going home," he said, his visor taking the group in one by one. "You pass all this along to your men. Sith are priority targets if you have a shot. Kill shots only on them. This fort will hold whether we're around to see it still in Mando hands or not, but I think we'd all like to have a good drink or two after and brag. Any questions?"
With a lack of response, Betna flipped back to the minefield once more.
"Last thing and then you can pass along orders and we wait for a hard contact in the field. The minefields have only narrow, random paths of safety. Everything else is a pre-made pattern designed for maximum coverage with alternating sections of anti-personnel and anti-vehicle mines. Try and memorize those paths and then delete them from your helmet systems. You see enemy sappers at work, kill them. Any Prime soldiers that find a safe route, kill them. Any Sith searching for the paths, kill them doubly so," Betna waited for more nods and nodded himself.
"Alright, pass along the information and let's get to work."
A melting pot of devotees had come together in the wake of one of the Galaxies most punishing blows to the entire scope of life itself. These soldiers, the followers of deities unproven had favored zeal over honor, marshaling their forces in the face of a coming war. They had tested the Mandalorians for their response and advantage, on the outskirts of a station in order to gauge the reaction of the Mando'ade. This new faction, no more in it's infancy than half of the governmental bodies around the stars was pressing their luck, and biding their time to strike in their own managed fury. Despite all their holy relics, and pious worship of their enigmatic gods - they had forgotten one key aspect. They were not coming to embark on a war with soldiers, a battle among men and steel. They had come in earnest, staring straight down the barrel of a Legacy. And this would be another tale in the long line that chronicle that of the Mandalorian Legends.
The rotating beacons of danger swept across the expanse of the militant fortress sunk deep in the heart of jungle topography. The roaring klaxon of alarms echoed in stereo beckoning the attention of every able bodied vode to the call that supported the stronghold - motivating them with the heat of battle into positions. Orders barked out in various sections by those overseeing the operation as Wayland became the target approach for a mass of soldiers attempting to breach their border. There was a line drawn, a very definite and visible one that radiated a dual energy shield to keep any intruders at bay - be it man or beast. Fort Monroe, named after their Lady Liberator - a woman who after much involvement in the Mando'ade had subsequently left the ranks, and defected as it were. Azrael had no issue with the homage to the warrior she was during her tenure as Mand'alor, but found it a dark reminder that a few of his closest vode had decided that the Mandalorians were no longer their own family. Having never known his own, to becoming one of the vode - having his brothers and sisters vacate was a hard and wearing blow, to which he didn't want to consider the consequences should they ever cross them on the battlefield.
A fleet of ships pocket jumping from the confines of Mandalorian territory were expected with the range sensors in place to construct a rather accurate log of interstellar travel within their borders. Against their actual perimeter it was much harder to deduce, but after passing through several hundred kilometers of way stations and sensor graphs - the ability to indefinitely cloak their actions was inadmissible at best. Prep work was already being done within the Fort itself, and while Azrael stood aboard the patrol ship, and faced the incoming invasion force from the other side of the planet - he had to wonder just how brazen these Primeval were. The failed communication between himself and whatever was leading this brigade a few months prior was unsettling, but he wasn't looking for any face to face time now. This was a direct and clear act of war. There could be no mistake in this assumption, and the fact that they had come in force instead of just a few capital ships was only further proving his point. The fort was likely their main focus, a double edged victory on Wayland in the setup of such a defense intensive spit of land. While it was formidable it also posed itself as a target - and yet that was an acceptable disadvantage in the young salvager's eyes.
Surrounded in a perfect circle, and shielded from both bombardment and assault, the fortress itself was linked to the command station aboard the vessel floating in deep orbit. The terrain was a hot and humid mess, the jungle home to thousands of species, and very few of them had any fear of man nor beast. They were lethal killers themselves, warding away quite a lot of intruders in this area. The fortifications they had were also in a way keeping those animals at bay, as the clearing that the fort sat within was bordered on all sides by the long line of trees in which these animals roamed. To even get to the fort on foot would be a treacherous hike - and for those unfamiliar with the planet itself, that was an even greater risk. The defense position was strong, and could withstand siege on a nigh indefinite scale - but siege was one of the worst options in the Galaxy for attempting to take over a structure or a planet. Especially against a warring culture like the Mandalorians. Even however should the breach of the shield fold, they were still more than well prepared with a litany of surprises waiting in the wings for those unfortunate enough to make the trek to the actual homestead and attempt anything of an ambush. With his eyes on the sky, and attention split between two holo-screens, Azrael touched the commlink, and broadcast on the secure channel to the Mando'ade in full.
"Oloram vode - oloram at akaan. These aruetiise march against us to take away our land. They do not realize they merely march to the graves we will provide them. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur. They are not our prisoners, they are not worthy of the life they steal with every gasp of breath they take. They pray to their gods for their strength. Teach them ner'vode, that instead they should pray to us for mercy. As empty and vain as that prayer may be, it will come on bloodied lips." Azrael took a breath and gave a wry smile as he donned the buy'ce and clicked it into place forming the seal. "The Primeval will beg for their lives, and we answer back -- no."
I will be moving towards the location in my next post. If you like, you can just start there once I've posted my arrival. We'll all be starting there at the same time. We will be taking things a bit slower, due to a great many of us being busy who chose this objective. That is part of why the objective exists
It wasn’t sound that woke Anija. It was something else. Instinctively, her hand moved across the sheets beside her. They were still warm - but empty. A frown crossed her face, and she sat up, pulling the blankets around her to ward off the pre-dawn chill. Arrbi had left not long ago. Anija took a deep breath to calm herself and ran a hand through her hair as she tried to make sense of what she was feeling.
Anticipation…..purposefulness. Or maybe it was just the built up stress and anticipation of the coming incursion. Border monitoring stations had alerted them days ago. The thought sent a chill down her spine, just as her helmet’s comm went off.
Helpfully, ANNE played Azrael’s message on her helmet’s external speaker. How the feth she had managed to sleep through the raid alarms, she didn’t know. But now, she would be ready. Pushing to her feet, she moved across the room on pure memory. They’d not been here long, but she had a skill for memorizing a location quickly. Reaching her destination, she began dressing.
There was a time she might have griped about all the little intricacies of her Voxyn Mk I Beskar’gam as being too over the top. But she knew better. Time and experiences on the battlefield had showed her that all the little gadgets it contained had uses, even in combat. Sighing softly, Anija carefully pulled on the armored body glove, then boots and gloves before quickly donning her beskar’gam itself. It was a process she’d drilled on for some time, and could now do so very quickly.
The last thing she put on was her helmet itself, lowering it carefully over her head and into place as she heard the hiss of the seal engaging. She took a moment here to breath and calm herself once more. She had to stay focused. A blink of her eyes opened a secured priority channel to Betna. “Arr’ika. I just heard. I’m going to head topside real fast and try to get a view of the situation.” For now, she left the channel active, but ended her transmission as she moved quickly from her quarters and towards the roof access.
She knew it was probably jare’la, but in her gut she knew she needed to get a better vantage point than she could get from the ground. Taking the steps two at a time, Anija shouldered open the roof access and took a few steps away from it to get a better view. Below, she could just see the outer edge of the perimeter fence in the pre-dawn light. Silently, she was fuming. She couldn’t sense a fething thing. But she knew it was for a good reason. In the hangar a few stories below rested a Bral vehicle, and it's full compliment of ysalimiri.
Sighing again, Anija turned slow circle on the roof, using her helmet’s built in magnifier and sensors to scan the area. Off to the east, she could just see the upper hull of the mining platform. It stood guard over the main mining location on Wayland, and if other reports were to be believed, there were potentially a great many artifacts in the partially collapsed complex which had been accidentally drilled into when the engineers from Mandal Hypernautics had begun drilling for phrik.
Kiran wasn't exactly sure why. Maybe it was the lack of sight, maybe it was the ease in which one could kill, maybe it was the heat, he wasn't exactly sure. What he was sure of however was the fact that he was happy to be here. After all of the things that had gone wrong in the galaxy, after Titan had been taken by the Vong and after the One Sith had hired him to kill so many, he needed a break.
That break could be found in war, in good old fashioned killing.
He never really cared about their politics, their religion, or really anything about them. All he knew was that the Primeval paid well, and they did so in their own leisure. Saeva Incorporated had made enough money off of the Primeval to build a dozen warships. Okay...maybe that was an exaggeration, but it was at least enough to make Kiran a very, very happy man.
It helped of course that their wars were fought against the Mandalorians, a bunch that Kiran had never really been too crazy about. The explanation for that was simple, a grudge that he had gathered in his own travels, more than a few contracts lost to Mandalorian mercenaries. He understood the why of it of course, they had grand reputations, but he was still bitter.
Twisting his grip on the Annihilator, Kiran frowned.
[SIZE=12pt]Objective 2 - [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]PVP in the Jungle[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]Enemies: Primeval[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]Allies: Mandalorians[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]They were on their way to Wayland. Arla walked from one end of the ship to another gathering her thoughts and putting in her mind what was at stake here. The Primeval, Sith. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]The last battle against the Sith had cost her clan dearly, it had cost her the sense of safety she had. Then the Rapture came and everything changed again. She felt she had lot even more. The answer that she needed from dead parents she got from dead parents that had finally settled in her mind whether she belonged among the Vod, she did.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]But now something else was nagging at her mind she had tried several times to do something, and several times it failed. She was strong she knew that, her hand instinctively went to the talisman given to her by Naimes long ago now. She kept it just as she promised.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]But now was not the time for a lot of this, now was the time to put all thoughts into the battle to come. Arla stopped to look out the viewport, there wasn’t much to see right now as they moved through space she had chosen to be dropped into the jungle. She seemed to be a loner again, her battle partner…well who knew where he was now. She knew she had to let that go it would seem he no longer could be her partner his duties took him to the far borders. A broken promise or circumstances beyond control she laughed at herself then. Grow up Arla she told herself.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]Arla was stronger now, even if her insides were soft. She had faith in her skills that she would give whoever a good fight.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]Lb’tuur jatne tuur ash’ad kyr’amur[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt] she whispered gathering her courage.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]In the jungle the mighty jungle the lion sleeps tonight[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]Arla had been dropped by drop pod onto the surface of Wayland. It took her several minutes to regain her bearings. Her armor would keep her protected and cooled as she worked her way through the jungle. The Objective here was to make it through the jungle and come out on the other end.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]The Vod had already been informed that the medical frigate, Jahaal’got would remain in orbit while the first responder medical teams were dispatched to aide any of the doctors and medics on the surface. Rianna Ar’klim would remain on board.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]Arla had respect for the medics in their company more than once a medic had saved the life of a brother or [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Arla hoped she would not need one this time. She hoped she would make it home, if not, then it was meant to be.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=12pt]She carried her rifle, her bres'briik grenades, her knife was within the slot of her armor, her pistol hung low around her hips resting in the holster. Her armor (link at bottome) would protect her to a degree she'd have to have some skill after that, and the crush gauntlets who give her a way to stab.[/SIZE]
Objective Two
Allies: Mandalorians, [member="Arla Balor"]
Enemies: Primeval
Equipment: Heavy Beskar'gam, Terentatek Body Glove, Taozin Amulet, Vornskr Mark 8 Scattergun, Beskad, Etc. (Link to the Beskar'gam, Amulet and Body Glove are in his bio)
...the Warrior was there, in the jungle, crouching down amidst a sparse grouping of vegetation that he was using for cover. The Heavy Beskar'gam adorned him like a thing of beauty, it hung off him like it was a tailored suit, bulky as it appeared Garrus could move with an impressive amount of speed and agility in it thanks in part to the armorplast that replaced some of the areas which would have reduced mobility without sacrificing any of the durability. Underneath the Beskar'gam he wore a Terentatek Body Glove, skin tight, which afforded him further protection, especially against those pesky force users and to top it all of the Taozin Amulet imbedded into his skin over his left breast itched a little. Curious things those Taozin Amulets, Garrus never really cared for them much but he understood their necessity...
...surveying the jungle from beneath the cover of his helm he adjusted his vision to make use of the advanced optics he had at his disposal switching between regular eyesight and ultraviolet sight mostly so that he could get a beat on enemies as they closed in at a distance. A Beskad was sheathed across his back, the hilt extending up over his right shoulder, ready to be unleashed when Garrus took it in his hand. Gripped in his right hand was a Vornskr Mark 8 Scattergun, a treasure for those up close and personal encounters, which Garrus let rest across his right thigh as he remained crouched down. Of course nothing could take away from the Micro Grenade Launcher mounted over the left arm of his armor which needed very little in the way of an introduction...
...the advanced hud in his helm searched for enemies to tag with its fiend/foe designator while Garrus waited down, crouched down, not much of a care in the world. The Warrior was home in a place like this, not on a Capital Ship commanding legions, this was where he belonged and knowing his brother, [member="Strider Garon"], was out here somewhere with him made the Mandalorian feel even more at home in this environment. Eyes spared a glance upwards, Garrus saw the drop ships descending from the Primeval fleet above, then he looked forward again and waited quietly. It wouldn't be long now but Garrus was ready, he was prepared and he'd had a drink or two earlier in the day ensuring that his hands wouldn't shake due to withdrawals. It was time, his time, he only needed to have a bit of patience and Garrus had that in abundance when he needed it...
Objective: Destroy the Generator [A] Location: Outside Fort Monroe Allies: Primeval Enemies: Mandalorians Gear: A lightsaber, and the flesh on his back
Darkness. Darkness everywhere! Light exploded, and the elderly man recoiled in fright. He was without clothes, and sat in a rusted chamber devoid of any decoration. His wrists were chained to the floor and gave only enough ample room to squat. He couldn't stand, and it had been this way for... he didn't know how long. He had lost count of time, and he forget what it was to be free. He pulled at his chains, eyes squinted as they slowly adjusted to the light. It had been dark for so long that the pain the light was inflicting on his eyes was enough for him to want to gauge them out. Shapes and colors began to formulate before him. He could almost make out the grotesque figures of two Gulandi death knights. They only wore loin clothes and their bodies were covered nearly every inch with scar tissue.
If only I could get my hands free, he began to think before something electrocuted him. He jolted and fell to the floor, thrashing about madly. He tried to claw at the device around his throat but it only gave him another shock, and the pain continued to burn through every vein in his body like fire. He lay in his own filth, and stunk like he had been this way for some time. He had not had the privilege of a shower or proper means to relieve himself. They gave him sufficient meals, and he had not felt his strength diminish. So he knew they weren't going to kill him. They had another use for him. As the two Gulandi spoke among one another, they both took out lightwhips. Dangerous weapons, and quite rare. They twisted the nozzle and he knew they were setting it to a non-lethal output, but Ekul knew better than most than a non-lethal output was enough to incapacitate someone.
One of the two approached and unchained him from his shackles, and he rose defiantly. He knew any thought of intention he had of escape or even fighting his captors would involve excruciating pain that would temporarily immobilize him. Even an attempt at cutting off the damned neckbrace would activate it before he could complete the task. A ramp lowered, and for the first time since he had been in the chamber he realized that he was on a ship. There was jungles nearby, and a fort in the far distance. Many other ships were landing with primordial battalions. It dawned on him that he was about to be thrown into the thick of battle. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The Gulandi who had freed him handed him a metallic hilt, and his thumb slid down and activated the plasma blade. It shone a bright blue but it was not his own.
And so, as the two Gulandi whipped his back bare, he trod towards the fort, naked as he was born, with naught but a lightsaber in his right palm.
Location: Wayland; Jungles Objective: B Allies: The Primeval Enemies: Mandalorians Gear: Two well-blooded daggers, one lightsaber.
Again, she had wandered in a haze. The followers of Moross scattered to the galactic winds, their gods too. Her gods, and her... her master, her lover. All gone, just as she had begun to stabilize, begun to think clearly. It would have been enough to have [member="Cat Van-Derveld"]. The lack of the rest would have been managed. Something about family, that was where he'd gone. Family had taken him from her. Family had placed itself above her in his thoughts. Family could go feth itself. No family could replace what was taken from her, denied her, time and time again.
She had been found by [member="Loxa Visl"] - out of her mind, slicked with blood, chittering and laughing disjointed upon the altar of Erebos. The woman had led her, cleaned her up, and in time had taken her to a place where her mind could begin to find the dependent stability she needed to function beyond the end of something sharp and blood-letting. This journey had taken them clear across the galaxy, to another gathering, and other gods of a religion she could be lead to accept, given time. Already, she had been burned once. In the meantime, it was easy enough to be pointed in a direction and left to wander.
She would find what she sought, at the end of her points. She would find it here on Wayland, in the jungles where she now walked wordless, watching, and listening....
Ever since Conner had returned from the Netherworld he had been different to say the least. He had given up on comics, video games, nerdy things, he wouldn't go back to that life, not after the things he saw down there. Trillions of people crying out for help and he powerless to do anything about it, powerless to defend the weak and helpless. Hell he was even a liability himself, a coward. So when he got home he devoted himself to killing and war, to the Mandolorian ways he had grown up from a lanky adult to a hardened Mandolorian initiate ready to prove himself. This was his test, this was his chance to prove to his father that he was a man and he was was ready to be a mando and stand with his brothers and sisters.
Conner with his two pistols approached his uncle [member="Garrus Garon"] and gave the man a silent nod. Conner was done being weak, he was done being a coward and a nerd who was pushed around by the others. This was his time and he was going to stand by his family and not only earn his armor but earn his name this day.
"Uncle." Conner said in a neutral tone.
Gripping at his twin MT-14s at their holsters Conner had a bit of fear go through him, but it wasn't dear of death, he had seen hell and he wasn't afraid of it. It was dear of failing his family, but he had to keep pressing forward. Pushing that aside Conner was ready to fight as he stood in his armor and awaited orders from his uncle, if he was to be the tip of the spear or bring up the rear he wasn't going to argue with him. He would only do this day.
Objective: Take on the Primes in the Jungle
Location: Jungle Floor / Objective 2
Allies: Mandos [member="Anastasia Rade"] [member="Preliat Mantis"] [member="Garrus Garon"] [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Silas Mantis"] [member="Aela Darkstar"] [member="Strider Garon"]
Enemies: Primevals
Gear: In Bio
The jungle floor was to be where The Mandalorian Wrecking Ball stood against the false Mandalorians who allied themselves with the scourge of the galaxy, the Primeval. Nolan checked his rifle and sealed his helmet as the others in his unit were taking care of their own stuff. Waiting on the enemy was the worst part, he knew they were coming, he could sense them.
The all black armor of the recently lost Mandalorian shined in the light overhead, never used and waiting for the first test of the masterly crafted suit of Beskar'gam. Geared up to the brim, Nolan stretched his limbs to prevent pulling something when fighting the squirmy little Vong-lovers. Nolan checked on his HUD and the names of his allies in the forest as well popped up. Scanning the forest line, Nolan waited for his first kill to arrive.
Location: Outside the base, landing. Objective: A Allies: TBD Enemies: TBD Gear: Armour | Weapon
Unit: The Gulandi Warriors Strength: 150 Location: Right by Anja Objective: Protect Anja Controller: Anja Aj'Rou
Black clouds of flak fumed across the blue sky, shattering rays of sunlight as they tried to fall below. The metal hulls of droships descended rapidly in swarms, their patterns seemed chaotic to the naked eye but truly the intricate flight paths were not without their purpose. Many would die before they reached planetside, others would die the moment the ramps dropped, and by the end of the day blood would paint the dirt and the leaves in crimson. Pollen-filled air already reeked with sulfur and death, but the soldiers who fought didn't notice it -- there was something different about fighting; it left you empty.
A thousand heartbeats echoed like little beating drums, the breaths drawn in their praises and prayers almost made it seem tranquil. For Anja the sound of battle was a silence, metal and weaves clad to her skin, tightly holding her flesh in place as she became one with the Phrik. A vibroblade was drawn from sheath by her servant, a hilt offered to her hand which wrapped itself around the steely handle. Behind her in black were the Sepih of Gulamendis, they did not fear death and neither did she. They would march even as their feet bled, they would fight with shrapnel dug into their chest and face, and until their last breath drew they would not relent.
The dropships touched down, hers no exception and the ramps fell. Laser fire and slugs riddled the plate, men and women lost their lives instantly in the charge of many. One of the vessels carrying a tank was immediately destroyed by heavy artillery before it hit the ground, pieces of panels and glass flew outward towards them missing most but hitting some. the Vonduun Crab Armour protected them from lacerations and her Phrik did the job all the same.
This was not a war to The Primeval, it was just the first step towards their real enemy, an enemy that they've always planned to fight before achieving absolution. To cleanse the galaxy of its sins and achieve sanctuary in the gated gardens of the Three and the One.
Feet carried the witch forward and the Gulandi followed, sky above looked down on the world today with sorrow. At first she thought it was rain, the droplets that fell but the dark red colouration which dotted her armour told a different story. "Your death will further our cause, fallen one. Your blood may not bring us victory, perhaps not even your sacrifice, but to have believe at all... Well, that is something." She whispered to herself before turning to her troops.
"We make for the base, we fight, and if we have to -- we die. Our March will not end!"
Looking back to the fray she drew in the air and pushed forward.
Location: Jungle
Objective: Rumble in the jungle
Allies: Mandalorians
Enemies: Primeval
Gear: single phase lightsaber, dual phase lightsaber, light foil, skinning knife, E-11 blaster rifle, bandolier of grenades, night ops armor, Sith power gauntlets, comlink
It had been a long time since the man know as Muad Dib had been heard from. Only recently had he returned to known space. But a call to arms had been sent and so Muad had answered the call.
As transport ships were dripping off soldiers around key locations so too was the Mad Knight taking position. In the jungle.
Standing there he wrote his brown tunic and pants with the knee high boots. But over this was written the personalized night ops armor he had worn to combat for many years. There among the trees he stood, a beacon of power waiting for the first drip of blood to be shed.
He was a warrior and a vod yes. But he was so much more. He was a sadistic psychopath who loved, no craved, combat. Life and dearth, chaos, war mongering, these were like air to a sane man for him.
His blood boiled and ran hot in expectation. Fingers twitched within their gauntlets. Blue eyes glowed with his insanity. The force swirled around him as he sensed the darkness from other force users approach.
In the jungle waited other vode who were prepared for battle. Some hid stealthily. Others merely waited for the enemy to come upon them.
But Muad did not want to wait. He wanted the baptism of an enemy's blood to wash over him. He wanted the blood lust to flow. He wanted to reap the whirlwind. So he roared out his challenge.
"I am Muad Dib, Mad Knight of Mandalore! Come to me! And I will meet you on the girls of battle! Remember my name for when you meet your gods you can tell them who sent you to hell!"
Vessels glowing cherry-red with the heat of atmospheric entry shrieked toward the verdant, equatorial surface of Wayland. Scores of adversarial craft swept up from the planet to meet them. Contrails curled in ribbons through the air, looping and twisting as they danced among the clouds, blasting away at the incoming transports, enveloping them in further, and final, flame.
Bal'gul sat placidly inside a dropship, all eight eyes fixed at a wall even as the ship shuddered and groaned. The fate of the vessel was out of his control. The ship bucked violently. Bal'gul decided from the subtle clues, such as the sudden nosedive and the abrupt rotation of the ship, that the vessel had not in fact experienced another bout of turbulence, but rather been hit by one of those pestering fighters.
He heaved a watery sigh. Time to die, again?
A tremendous crash answered his unspoken question, slamming him against a wall and nearly turning him into Iyra jell-o. He came awake in a pile of wreckage. The smell of electrical fire was pungent. Eight tentacles squiggled as Bal'gul extracted himself from a crate. Fortunately, Iyra did not have many bones to speak of. Nothing had fragmented. He appeared entirely uninjured aside from a few minor cuts that steadily leaked ichor from his gelatinous form.
The same could not be said for the crew. Bodies and body parts were strewn throughout the slowly smoldering wreckage. Bal'gul started to crawl away, propelled with the locomotion of his eight tentacles, when he spotted a silvery sphere.
Ah. More good fortune.
He scrambled atop his hover sled and slapped at a few buttons. The rather durable piece of equipment lifted up out of the wreckage with a whir of protest, then began to move steadily out into the jungle. Eight stalk-eyes swiveled in eight different directions. The smell of the wreckage was slowly replaced by the muggy musk of fungi and other rotting tropical delights. Bal'gul didn't mind. He enjoyed the oppressive humidity, which kept him comfortably moist.
One eye spotted an anomaly in the vegetation. A faint blue glow. Aha.
"Greetings," burbled the amorphous blob, voice dripping like a lethargic strand of molasses. Slightly muffled too, as if speaking from underwater.
"Are you one of the insipid, hubristic loricated quadrupeds, master lummox, or merely an errant nimrod?"
Objective B The Jungle Target: [member="Auswyn Nothrael"] Allies: [member="Arla Balor"] [member="Conner Garon"] [member="Nolan Detta"] [member="Muad Dib"]
...crouched and down in cover Garrus only turned his head slightly once the footsteps of his nephew registered behind him..."Connor."...he said acknowledging the son of his brother before outstretching his left hand back behind him and motioning...."Get down."...kids these days walking around without any sense of cover. Jungle warfare was like guerrilla warfare. They needed to strike quickly and then sink back into cover before their enemy knew what was happening which is why Garrus made a point to know his arcs of fire and to have made a mental note where the best cover was in the surrounding area. If Connor was close enough and didn't make himself less of an obvious target Garrus would even reach out for his arm to yank him down into the brush where he was concealing himself...
..."Now look."...the Warrior started to explain..."Don't get yourself hurt bad out there."...pearls of wisdom from the veteran before he turned his head to scan the jungle from beneath the cover of his helm once again. No sooner than had Garrus given his advice to Connor than would the ultraviolet sight of his enhanced optics package pick up movement ahead. Someone was walking in their direction. No this was to simple. It smelled like a trap. Garrus didn't care for traps. Looking at Connor he'd have said..."This one's mine but if any others poke their heads out. Intercept them with extreme prejudice."...then he would push up to his full height and trek forward through the vegetation of the jungle...
...[member="Auswyn Nothrael"] wouldn't have to wander alone for long. Once Garrus had singled her out with the ultraviolet sight of his optics he'd switch over to using the rangefinder integrated into his helmet package while his advanced hud designated her as a foe. Simple stuff. As he started his approach Garrus would raise his left arm and take aim. The Micro Grenade Launcher integrated into his Beskar'gam was a party favor that he enjoyed, it had a payload of four grenades before needing to be reloaded, dangerous and reliable when it came to doing damage over an area of effect. Aiming as he lift his left arm Garrus tensed the muscles of his forearm before the launcher responded in kind by firing off its initial volley...a Fragmentation Grenade, pressure sensitive...
...the grenade served a purpose. It would detonate and throw deadly shrapnel in all directions. Wicked pieces of metal and debris which were designed to rip into the bodies of those in the vicinity and deal grievous wounds, incapacitating and demoralizing the enemy. Unarmored opponents could expect the worst, heavily armored opponents probably didn't have much to worry about. Once he'd heard the explosion Garrus didn't waste much time going on the offensive, those heavy booted sounds he made as he rushed ahead were difficult to miss unless you were already preoccupied...
Getting down on one knee Conner looked to his Uncle and only nodded in response for him to get down, after going to hell Conner didn't speak much and who could blame him. There wasn't any shortage of horrors to be seen by a young boy down there, but the past was the past and there was only this moment, this kill. He didn't know who the hell the Primeval were but whoever they were he was going to help send them straight to the river of the dead with their tails tucked behind their legs.
So keeping low Conner shouldered his Viccae assault rifle and began to scan the area with his rifle until his Uncle pulled his attention back over to him, he said a few wise words of wisdom and gave a command to engage anyone that was on their way to attack this fine stretch of jungle. Conner simply nodded at that again and responded in a calm neutral tone to his uncle.
"elek, ba'vodu" Conner said as he watched his uncle go off to be a badass.
Keeping low Conner aimed down the sight of his Vong rifle meant to kill force users and continued to scan the area. There was a loud crashing sound nearby and smoke billowed nearby from a crashed dropship. He would call it in and move to investigate. So getting on his comm link he hailed his uncle [member="Garrus Garon"] and decided to relay the message in galactic basic.
"Downed drop ship, a good two hundred meters to your three o'clock. Moving to investigate and engage any alive." He said in his cold voice.
Keeping low to the jungle floor Conner made his way over towards the dropship and watched as a gross oozing creature rolled it's way out. He didn't engage at first, he wanted to see what it was before charging in fool hearted and potentially getting killed before the battle even began. So Conner watched it from afar and wondered exactly what the hell [member="Bal'gul"] was.
Here we go again. A jungle populated by predators, an invasion by Cthulhu cultists. Been there done that, wrecked stuff, lost a limb or two. Well, hopefully she would get out of this battle without losing limbs! Otherwise her wife and [member="Mia Monroe"] would probably be cross with her. Or troll her. She found herself having the moderately hilarious thought whether Primeval would end up summoning Cthulhu. Then again, Lotek'k had been punched out twice and Adril had killed another Cthulhu once. For a moment she wondered whether her old teacher was watching her from the depths of the netherworld.
Sio had had little interest in being drawn back into war. But...there was this thing about promises and good intentions. They tended to be broken. She was a good deal more distant from the Mandalorians then she used to be, after what had happened to Ordo and Mia's departure from them, but she still counted them as friends. Besides, the thought of Cthulhu zealots being so close to the Sanctum did not sit well with her. So she was here and kitted out for battle.
Her hands, both flesh and bionic, gripped an MKI boltgun, which came with all the ammunition types. A sonic shotgun, originally won at a Black Sun auction ages ago, rested on one hip, her Cylix bolt pistol on the other. A miniaturised flamethrower rested inside her gauntlet, a vibroknife, lightsabre and an absurd amount of grenades were tied to her belt. Nothing about this arsenal was even remotely subtle, but then that was not the way Siobhan rolled. She was clad from head to toe in the beskar'gam Ordo had made for her so long ago. Before all the mess started. She suppressed that thought, completely focused on battle as she made her way through the jungle alongside the other Mandalorian warriors, searching for enemies to fight.
