Invasion The Second Coming | TIC Invasion of TSO-Held Thandon Super Hex | Objective One

[T'zarna Khab]

Location: Behind Enemy Lines, Brosi
Objective: Eliminate Sith Command Staff
Tags: Lirka Ka

Brosi burned, trees and roots were blown to splinters, dirt and rock sent scattering to the four winds. T'zarna and Lirka were given a front row seat to the carnage, wind whipping past them as they joined in a grapple. Men and machines were both turned to dust at the epicenter of the blast, and those that survived were shellshocked or wounded.

Even in the face of the wave of death, the battle continued with those who were able to fight it. With the majority of the canopy turned to charred splinters, air support from both sides could be seen. A ballet of twisting metal frames, contrails cutting through Brosi's blue sky. TIE's roared, and Sith fighters chased them quietly.

It was impossible to hear much of anything for T'zarna though, not with that metal clanging against her exoskeleton. Once, twice, three times their heads collided! Even with enhanced endurance, the pain was considerable. Consciousness became harder to hold onto, she could barely see for the swelling of her cheeks.

In the haze of pain and clanging metal, T'zarna slowly gazed upon the battlefield only to see her salvation. She reached out with the force, focused in on a large chunk of rock from the blast. She sputtered under her breath, eyes seemingly gazing into the middle-distance. In truth, she was using the force to levitate the small boulder.

In a second, the rock was drawn to the Once-Sephi, aimed right at the center of her spine. Whether it hurt her or not, there would be enough of a distraction to get T'zarna a moment. In that moment, her hands went to her side.

T'zarna's right hand grasped onto the hilt of the blade in her side, suppressing a scream as she slowly dug it out of her side. Slowly, agonizingly, she rose to her feet. Instinct was her guide, her enhanced strength was their, but it was pushing her into dangerous territory. Even if she won this fight, it was unclear if she would live long enough to enjoy her victory.

The inquisitor lifted the vibroblade up, "If I should outlive my usefulness, death shall be a mercy... My life is for my hive," She screamed, bringing the vibroweapon down with an immense amount of force. Even as ichor leaked out of her side, and her own body rebelled against her, she resolved to kill this monster!

Once, and then again she slashed, a display of tenacity that would be impressive, were anyone nearby alive to see it.

As the two of them clashed, Lirka and T'zarna not giving an inch, something was happening overhead. Several Imperial support fighters swooped and twirled above them. They were requested by the imperial army, and their weapons bays were loaded with Concussion Missiles. Their aim was to launch at any of the remnants of the Sith forces.

 

[Amni Kazda]

Battle Armor
Kitty

"Oh! You fly now?!" Amni gawked at the Sith Lord floating above the massive tremor that she created. "Nice trick! But I can do better!" Amni raised her weapon over her head and was about to connect between the gaps of the woman's armor. Yet the Force Imbued blade met the crushgauntlet. Amni's entire body vibrated at the sudden force of the blow. A massive shockwave formed around them but Amni's remained intact thanks to her infusing more Force energy into the blade increasing its durability.

The smug expression Amni began to evaporate. What kind of armor did this woman have that she can just intercept her blade with a single punch? Was it made out of Beskar? Ultra reinforced durasteel? And the worst part was this Sith STILL refused to use her weapon. Fear started to creep inside of Amni. What was she going to do? Yet during that moment of hesitation, Amni was showered by Force Lightning unleashed by the Sith Lord. She screamed in pain as she was lifted from her feet and landed back first onto the ground.

"Damn!" Amni entire body pulsated with a dull pain as if she got ran over by speeder. She got to her knee realized that her blade was a few feet from her. "Got to fight back!" Amni reached out to grab it but her mind pricked with pain. "Frack!" Amni placed her hands on her head her entire body shaking.

"LET ME OUT!" The voice in her head cried.

"Not now!" Amni growled a dark aura surrounding her. "Not ever!"

She got to her feet trying to ignore the growls of the monster prowling inside of her. Amni's eyes narrowing at the Sith Lord with vicious intent. "Try this for size!" A dark sphere appeared in Amni's palm as she rushed towards the Sith Lord. Yet halfway through, she summoned a portal, entered it and behind the Sith Lord, another portal opened this time with Amni exiting the dark sphere still in her palm ready to strike the woman's back. "GOT YOU AGAIN!" Amni yelled.

Eira Dyn

 

[Eira Dyn]

​

Objective: 1 - Protect the tree
Armour Mode: WAR
Equipment: Marwolaeth Ddu, Lethal Pursuers, Vibrosword, Blaster Pistol
Allies: TSO
Opposition: Amni Kazda

Eira observed, remaining silent as she allowed the enemy to frustrate themselves with the lack of foresight in what this armour could be capable of. Eira was a Sith, of course the armour would be made of solid, durable material that could absorb Lightsabers and Force Imbued weapons. This was not someone who haphazardly dressed herself nor was it someone who was inexperienced with fighting. Eira had been forged. The dangers she posed were built with purpose and leaned into what she would need in any given situation.

Sensing the fear cracking the once smug facade, it demonstrated that this was someone who had not fought true Sith. This person expected someone who would fall for simple tricks and bravado. Eira was a killer, she fought people with nothing but robes, scars of close encounters with death. Experienced death once. However, she lived. She remained and there was no false confidence. There was no bravado. Just the understanding that she would win. The inevitability of her actions. Time was her ally in this fight and not her enemy's.

The lightning worked and Eira was satisfied, only desiring to inflict more pain. To cause damage that would never fade away.

When the imperial rose to her feet, rushing towards Eira, the Sith did not shift or change position. When the portal formed, Eira knew what to expect. It would be too obvious for someone to create a portal and attack from behind but when the palm strike touched the cold metal back plate. Eira sighed in disappointment. "Seems, you refuse to understand." Eira's first words. Robotic, warped without accent and deep in tone.

"Fight all you wish. Attempt your tricks as much as you can. I will remain." Eira turned to face Amni. "I am not a weakling, these tricks will not work. And now you are without a weapon." Gesturing to the discarded blade, Eira then raised the hand and splayed it out. "Your best chance of survival is to flee like the insect you and your people are." From her hand blasted a strong Force Push. Aimed to send Amni flying back so that she could run away. Eira was not here to play, she was here to destroy and demonstrate the power that was rising within the Sith. It was not merely the legends that the imperials should be concerned about, even the newer faces like herself were growing into threats that would darken the skies.

And Eira would be one that would ensure none of them felt safe.

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Preparing the first stage of defoliation
OBJECTIVE: To bring unlife and decay
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | The Enforcer | KRONOS
TAG: Srina Talon | Madrona A’Mia | Darth Carnifex | Revna Marr | Gerwald Lechner | T'zarna Khab | Ella Nova | Lirka Ka | Darth Prazutis
ENEMY: ALL

I AM THE HUNGER

While attempting to converse with Revna Marr , the Lord of Hunger could see it from the corners of his eyes, the forest was already reclaiming the bodies of those poor sods who had been part of his initial feeding ritual, having infected them and drawn both their lifeblood, their essence and their force potential into himself, he had already raised his overall war potential to a higher degree, but his attack on the forest itself, through the roots and system of the trees themselves was being stalled, as if his superior, highly infectious Blackwing strain was being met by a resistance he had not encountered before. It was rather annoying to split his attention over too many levels, for this would also affect his overal generation of power.

Thus he flipped the switch again, if pushing did not work, he'd pull, he'd pull so hard and so mercilessly that even the Psilofyr itself and it's caretaker Madrona A’Mia would realize it clearly. While the hunger of Revna marr might've been strong, Credius had evolved in hunger, he had been borne anew in the essence of Hunger, it was part of him as much as he was part of it. A universal constant made manifest, as there would always be hunger, there would always be predator and prey, with him liking himself to the former.

“I came on my own volition, dark sider. You called my name, looking for me…I heard your whispers through the roots you try in vain to control and bend to your own will. Perhaps against my better judgment - I am here now. So tell me, why have you taken an interest in me? And why should I care?”

"Your own volition... none of you do anything out of your own volition," The monster was clear and concise...yet, there was a hint of pity in his words, as if he found not just the woman in front of him, but the Sith in general to be wasted potential, beings who could've risen beyond themselves if only they didn't adhere too much to the dogma they followed, the cage they had erected around themselves. just like the jedi, the sith were beholden to rules, no matter how much they called themselves free...they wallowed within rules and restrictions. "You are hindered...you are so...small."

If those words sounded like an insult, it was because they were. The Lord of Hunger wasn't an idiot, he wasn't new to the game, he was old...very old at this point, having spent several decades wandering the nether, where time was so out of sync with realspace as naught but a starved spirit, he had raged and fed for what seemed not like decades, but eons of untold years and cycles, and even then, as he had been brought back from this hell, he found himself in a galaxy where the sith were... weakened, their vision distorted and their ambition stiffled. Some, were still beyond his power, beyond his will, but it mattered not, the sith were no longer his place, he desired something greater, something beyond the constructed cages of the jedi and the sith. To surpass even the Force itself, the Void, all of it, meant to find and tap into the idea of limitless evolution, to constantly evolve and grow, to break one's own limits with every step.

"You have so much untapped potential, so much strength you have yet to see blossomed into its true self," Taking in a deep breath, the monstrous man's presence within the force began to swell, to reveal itself more properly, for the constriction he held upon himself was waning, The Dolos Necklace he wore couldn't contain his strength for much longer, not as he was now. "You carry the strength of Hunger within you, but it is just so...small...at least as it is now, you are thus not even remotely close to what you could be if you were to fully tap into the potential you hold. As for Caedes... he's a brillaint sorcerer... his knowledge and practical skills simply would go to waste in the hands of those who'd hold him back. Holding back is such a pointless thing wouldn't you agree?"

As those words arose from his mouth, a snap could be heard, as if in silence, something had given away, had given up and in that very moment, whatever power she had felt coming from this monster before paled in comparison to what dreadful aura began to seep out of him. This was the Lord of Hunger currently at his peak without augmentation from the Jewel he had used last time, a jewel he still carried and could still employ if need be. Ofcourse the empress would've set someone on his path... after all, Srina Talon was well aware of just how dangerous Credius Nargath or The Lord of Hunger could truly be if left alone for too long.

“You tried to have my master and I meet you some place after our last encounter on the ill fated Death Star III. Is that why you have come here now and seek me out directly...?”

The monstrous man tilted his head a bit, moving his hand ever so slighly upwards, the black, thick miasma slowly gathering around his hands as his hand snapped towards the bodies around him, each and every one of them, blooms and blossoms included, began to sank into the darkness, until all which was left were naught but empty places where they had once been. "You both were and are intriguing and most interesting in my opinion, Sith who stand somewhat outside the usual order, whose very existence gives credence to the philosophy I hold dear. What I wish to offer you does not stand against the principles of the Sith, but it elevates you above them, it makes you into something more...more than what the sith can understand, more than what they contain. For I am no sith, I am no jedi, I strive not to be contained, but to grow beyond the very constriction of the Force itself."

Slowly turning his hand back towards Revna Marr , the miasma began to thicken in his hand, almost like plasma, as it began to split up, form tendrils and jagged lines in the air, crackling with energy and being fueled by the power of the Lord of Hunger himself. "I do not care to much about your choice, it is after all yours to make, not mine. You interest me and I wish to observe your growth, one way or the other... but bear your fangs against me right here, right now, and you will die as so many others, never to have reached what you could truly achieve."

 

[Joseph Torson]

S E C O N D_C O M I N G
Objective I : Timber

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
BROSI, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

​

Spoiler: Gear

• Pseudosonic Beam Rifle [1]
• KXV-VBS-01A 'Streiter' Vibroblade [1]
• AAF-8 Scattergun [1]
• Rhydonium Grenades [5]
• Mk II Viral Bombs [3]
• Zsinj-pattern Commando Armor Mark I [w/Jetpack + Service Droid]

Spoiler: Accompanying Forces

• Imperial Assault Gunship [0/1]
• Red Right Hand Operatives [29/36]

Inside the Gunship's Cockpit the Pilots watched as the Sith Empress used her force abilities to evade most of their attacks before commanding her flying beast to dive downwards. Knowing the Beast and it's rider were underneath them, they tried to lower the Gunship hoping to reach the same elevation as their opponents but unfortunately the Gunship's slow maneuverability meant that they were at a heavy disadvantage. Before they knew it, the Gunship was struck by concentrated flames and plasma which pushed it back upwards taking out the remaining shields that were left.

As the Gunship was knocked upwards, the troops inside struggled to maintain their footing as some were launched towards the ceiling. Fortunately since they were holding on to the support rails attached to the ceiling it did allow them to maintain some footing and stability preventing any serious injuries and fatalities. However they didn't have enough time to recover from the initial strike as the Gunship was struck a second time this time from above as another beast smashed the unshielded gunship causing the pilots to lose control as it suffered major structural damage with one wing snapping off.

Before long the Gunship was plummeting towards the thick jungles below, saved only by the dense foliage that allowed it to make a soft crash landing on the jungle floor which in turn kept most of it's occupants alive save for a couple unlucky operatives who either perished in the crash or critically injured. As soon as the dust settled however, Torson and his men did not waste anytime. They quickly forced the doors of the Gunship open as they disembarked as they assessed their situation.

Above them, the faint silhouettes of the two beasts that had taken out their Gunship were still visible and thus they still had a chance to accomplish their mission. "I need four men to stick with me. The rest of you form a perimeter around the Gunship and take cover. We'll draw our targets here and use the terrain to our advantage." he instructed through the encrypted comms. The Operatives nodded in compliance and got to work as they quickly scattered into the jungle while only four of them stayed with Torson near the Gunship's wreckage.

"Grab the Rocket Launchers. I'll see if the Gunship is still operational." Torson further order as he climbed on top of the downed Gunship making way towards the cockpit. Meanwhile two of the four Operatives that were with him went back into the Gunship and retrieved a pair of Rocket Launchers from it's cargo bay before coming back up. At the same time Torson made his way into the cockpit, breaking through the protective glass and throwing the dead bodies of the pilots overboard as he tried to manipulate the controls. Fortunately for him even though the Gunship was down it's weapons were still operational.

Then Torson proceeded to give new instructions to the four Operatives that were with him. "When i give the signal, open fire on those flying beasts." he said. The Operatives nodded once more and took aim with the Rocket Launchers while Torson guided the wing-mounted Beam Cannon and took aim towards the beast flown by the Sith Empress. Then he gave the signal and just as instructed the Operatives locked onto the pair of mounted beasts and opened fire unleashing a volley of around two dozen guided missiles towards their targets.

Once the missiles got the attention of their targets, Torson then launched his own attack and fired a concentrated laser beam towards the flying beast mounted by the Srina Talon aiming at it's wings in order to bring the Sith Empress down with him where his forces could begin the process of capturing her.

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Torson's Gunship is taken out of commission with 7 Operatives also either killed or critically injured.
• Torson's men upon exiting the Gunship on the Jungle soil quickly scatter into the surrounding jungle to prepare an ambush
• Torson and four remaining Operatives stay near the Gunship to serve as bait.
• The four Operatives use a pair of Rocket Launchers to fire two dozen guided missiles towards Srina's and Mercy's Battle Drakes
• The Missile volley is followed-up by a direct attack against the Wings of Vaelcryx by Torson using the downed Gunship's remaining wing-mounted beam cannon.

Tags [Targets] | Srina Talon | Mercy ​

 

[Ronhar Tane]

CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
OBJECTIVE I: TIMBER!!
BROSI

Ronhar could feel himself visibly tensing up as he stared down Darth Carnifex .

If his HNDA-Mk I was at all working on the Sith, it wasn't having any visible effects as Carnifex seemingly created what appeared to be a number bolts of red plasma from thin air, aiming them directly at Ronhar's body. He didn't fire them at Ronhar, of course, as he was probably savoring this moment, enjoying the torment and suffering that Ronhar was currently experiencing. How truly Sith-like of him, to "play" with his food instead of eating it, and how utterly predictable as well. Ronhar was counting on the Sith Lord to take his time in dealing with him, as the longer that he took, the more distracted he would be and the less he would be able to focus on the forces advancing toward the World Tree.

Yet if Carnifex seemed at all perturbed by Ronhar, he didn't show it, and from the chatter that was echoing throughout Ronhar's comms, the lighting hadn't ceased completely, though it had been greatly reduced for the moment. Ronhar began to circle around to his right, only daring to take the briefest of glances at the fight between Reina Daival and the surviving members of Reclaimer Squad.

It was going about as well as Ronhar had expected, which is to say not well at all. The Sith had unleashed some form of sonic scream at his men, and had nearly hit Ronhar in the process, before she went in for the kill, swiftly dispatching three of the four combatants trying to take her down. Ronhar was truly shocked and relieved that his Storm Commando had managed to knock her off the ritual platform, though he himself had been nearly knocked off the World Tree in the process. Still, that meant one less opponent to deal with, though the Storm Commando was still dangling from the branch that he had managed to wrap his Whipcord Launcher around, saving himself from immediate death but now making it more difficult to come back and assist Ronhar.

Ronhar decided to call out to him, demanding he come over and help him fight Carnifex.

"Forget about the girl! We need to deal with the Sith!"

If the Storm Commando had heard Ronhar, he didn't respond, seemingly fixated on destroying his opponent. At least he had the sense not to dive in after her, and was instead fumbling around with a Rhydonium Grenade that he just couldn't seem to get out from his vest.

Fumbling around perhaps a bit too much, it would turn out.

With all of the extra weight hanging off the end of the branch, it couldn't support the Storm Commando and his armor, and with a sickening snap, both branch and soldier plunged downward into the water below.

That meant that Ronhar was on his own.

As he continued to slowly circle around, he decided to try and put a bit of cover between himself and Carnifex, looking to seek refuge behind one of the statues that was surrounding the ritual site. Only, as Ronhar neared closer to the first statue, he realized something was wrong. That's when it dawned on him, a sudden realization that made it him sick to his stomach, and everything clicked in his augmented brain.

Those weren't statues, they were people!

They had been so still that Ronhar had mistaken them for inanimate objects, but upon closer inspection, they were very much real, living, breathing beings. The fact that they hadn't attacked Ronhar but were still here meant that they were important to the Dark Lord, perhaps connected somehow to the lightning that Carnifex had unleashed against his forces. A plan was slowly forming in Ronhar's mind. He would need a lot of skill and a little luck to pull it off, but it was the only way he'd be able to save the lives of his remaining men. Swallowing hard, Ronhar decided to taunt Carnifex once more:

"Animal? That's rather rude, even coming from a Sith. In fact, the only animal that I see here is you, you piece of Bantha-!"

Before Ronhar finished his statement, he lunged forward...but not toward Carnifex. Instead, he charged the nearest remaining Sith supporter with Burnblade in hand, fully intent on chopping the man in two. As he did so, he pulled his BG-D 6 "Outlaw" from its holster and fired a pair of shotgun slugs directly at the Sith supporter to his left. As tempted as Ronhar was to use his Acid Rifle, he was worried that Carnifex might redirect any streams of acid that Ronhar fired back at him, due to the distance between them and the relatively low velocity of the weapon's payload. What he did instead was have his Wampa-Pattern Industrial Exoskeleton aim the Acid Rifle directly down at the Ritual Circle itself, spraying the ground with stream after stream of acid. Ronhar wasn't sure if killing the supporters or destroying the circle would be able to stop Carnifex entirely, but he had to try, least he allow his army to face complete and utter annihilation!

As Ronhar pressed his attack, a single TIE/ew flew passed the ritual site, though it had not come to support Ronhar or engage Carnifex. It was instead gathering data on Sith troop locations, which it was passing along to Imperial forces operating on the planet. In particular, the data sent by the TIE/ew was soon received by a pair of nearby TIE Walkers, who began firing their AFT-14.4000B FLAK Turrets at Mercy and the winged beast she was flying on, trying to assist Joseph Torson and his forces any way that they could.

TAGS:
Darth Carnifex
Reina Daival
Mercy
Joseph Torson​

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Spoiler: Ronhar's Equipment

• Wampa-Pattern Industrial Exoskeleton
• Mk 45 Protective Vest
• Mahporeem Acid Rifle
• AAF-8 Scattergun
• BG-D 6 "Outlaw"
• Rhydonium Grenades
• ABC Scramblers
• Burnblade
• HNDA-Mk I
• Carapace Knitters
• ABC - Aerosolized Bacta Cannisters
• 5 ARC Troopers
• 2 Storm Commandos

 

[FN-999 (restored)]

Units: 7th Imperial Army, 24th “Dart" and 31st “Silgo" Regiments
Allies: Imperial Confederation | Ronhar Tane & co.
Enemies: Sith | Nerralyn Raaf | Sophia of House Marr | Open

The Sithspawn swarm showed no signs of stopping.
​

Even as Imperial walkers tore into them from above, entire groups of monsters falling with each blast from their laser cannons, even more vile creations took their place. They struck from both the land and the air, coming in all different sizes and shapes. Tiny beetle-like beasts emerged seemingly out of nowhere, quickly smothering troopers and small vehicles to deliver a particularly brutal death by a million blows. Meanwhile, larger beasts of claws and teeth and venom tore through camouflaged armor as if it was paper, gleefully feasting on the dead before returning to torment the living.

At the same time, the red lightning continued to fall upon the Imperial lines unabated. Almost every soldier in the 7th Army outside the protection of the shield generators that had been spared the wrath of the Sithspawn had been thoroughly electrocuted, leaving only charred bodies and fractured armor behind. Worse yet, the forest itself had begun to strike back with a vengeance, trees spared by the Imperial bombardment uprooting themselves to ally with the Sith against the invasion force.

That was when it struck FN-999. The reason why his initial strategy, based on his experiences on Mon Calamari and Csilla, had failed, was due to the fact that Brosi’s similarity to the two was entirely superficial. Unlike the fairly ordinary jungles on the islands of Dac, the Sith had complete control of the forest, exemplified by their ability to summon the trees themselves to fight the Imperials. Additionally, FN-999 now realized that the Maw beasts who destroyed Csilla had been successfully resisted for a time not only because he had overseen the construction of effective trenches, but because many of the Maw’s warbeasts were warm-blooded and consequently likely unaccustomed to the frigid climate of Csilla. By contrast, the temperate climate and abundance of natural resources in Brosi made it the ideal hunting ground for all sorts of highly active beasts tainted by Sith sorcery.

Short of subjecting the entire planet to a glacial freeze, there was only one viable solution.

The destruction of all living things on Brosi.

To the general in command, to the men around him and under his command, a voice would be carried through the wind and rain, slipping into his mind, their minds, her voice... "If you throw down your arms, you will not come to harm. They will not touch you. You will be allowed to leave this world alive for your homes. Those who refuse will die. This is your only warning."

A tremor of fear ran through FN-999’s body at the intrusion, but it did not last long before being smothered by rage on behalf of those under his command, the valiant troopers he refused to let down.

[Do not listen to the ravings of this madwoman.] declared FN-999, still speaking through the command tank’s comms. [The Sith do not intend to spare any of us, not when they live off of violence. They want surrender because they need us alive to create more Sithspawn from our bodies. How else do you think the more humanlike beasts are created? Do not let them turn you into a monster. Keep on fighting.]

The general’s reply seemed to work well enough, the line holding even as the number of beasts slamming into Imperial defenses only kept on multiplying. Yet he knew even without being inside the AT-SGs holding back the worst of the assault that something had to give soon. Once the shields collapsed, there would be nothing keeping the entire Sith army from descending upon the Imperials from all sides.

Fortunately, there were ways to prevent such an outcome.

[SG-7 and SG-8, lower your shields i-]

The comms cut out to static. Seconds later, a few sparks flew out from the transmitter. Clearly, it wasn’t just on the receiving end - all comms were down. Furthermore, because of the timing of the comms shutdown, FN-999 had just made a grave error. He had intended for the two AT-SGs closest to the World Tree to lower their shields 30 seconds after issuing the order to allow Imperial forces inside the coverage of the other shields to create a multi-direction kill zone for Sithspawn entering the gap. Instead, the walker pilots would assume shields were to be lowered immediately, opening up the Imperial center to Sith forces entirely unprepared.

“COMMS ARE DOWN!” shouted the general from atop his command tank, hoping other troopers nearby would hear. “ASSIGN MESSENGERS TO COMMUNICATE FURTHER ORDERS!"

FN-999 didn’t bother sending a messenger to modify the orders for the two AT-SGs, as he doubted they could rush over to the walkers and climb their way up its cables before they lowered their shields according to the general’s incomplete order. Surely enough, barely a few seconds after the comms went down, AT-SGs numbered 7 and 8 lowered their wavering shields, opening a wide gap in Imperial defenses that the Sithspawn hastily rushed towards.

Inside the now incomplete circle of Imperial shields were what remained of the 7th Army’s two regiments: several thousand stormtroopers with a few hundred flamethrowers between them, two dozen AAT Railguns, six AT-AAWs, and four AT-TLs, excluding the ten AT-SGs occupied with maintaining a perimeter around the rest of the 7th’s forces. Since the primary weapons of the AAT Railguns and AT-TLs were much less effective at close range, their crews rapidly switched over to their secondary laser cannons and machine guns, their original objective of long-range artillery bombardment forgotten entirely.

Almost immediately after the two AT-SGs facing the World Tree lowered their shields, shadowy figures appeared within Imperial lines, bisecting bodies with red lightsabers before vanishing into the shadows from which they came. They seemed to target squad leaders and specialists, further degrading the Imperial response to the premature opening of the shield generators. Worse yet, improvised Imperial messengers began to fall in droves, their heads or necks pierced by arrows with unnerving accuracy and power. Dissent grew within the 7th, stormtroopers abandoning their messenger duties out of fear of being targeted by the archers whose arrows seemed to pierce straight through masses of men.

Elsewhere, the same horrid winged creatures that had destroyed the last few TIE Crushers descended upon the Imperials with almost total impunity, shrugging off small-arms fire with little effort while emitting various lethal gases. An ever-expanding index of large monsters clawed and scythed through the stormtroopers with impunity, an entire generation of the finest men and women the Imperial Confederation had to offer destroyed in a matter of minutes.

There would be no saving the 7th Army’s offensive. The best they could do is withdraw before facing total destruction. Yet with comms down and Imperial messengers in disarray, what sort of retreat could be organized?

FN-999 was left with two miserable options.

Oversee a total rout, or be killed to the last man.

One meant survival, at least for FN-999 and a small portion of the 7th Army. But he knew all too well what sort of reputation would be left behind. Both the general and his surviving men would be pariahs, accused of utter cowardice by forfeiting the mission and abandoning the approximately fifteen thousand dead on a Sith planet. At best, FN-999 would face a court-marshal. At worst, his own Imperials would pull off what two generations of Jedi, Sith, Mandalorians, the Galactic Alliance, and monsters of all stripes had failed to do: execution.

The other option meant the total destruction of an entire half of the Imperial Seventh Army with nothing to show as a result. It would go down on official records as a honorable end, but what good was honor when without it the deaths of twenty five thousand Imperials could be avoided? Did the stormtroopers who remained standing amidst the Sith onslaught not deserve to withdraw from a situation far beyond their depth and apply its lessons to succeed in future battles? If the Seventh Army simply stood their ground, all their knowledge of Sithspawn would die with them.

Ultimately, the lives of the approximately ten thousand Imperials still standing were far more important than his own. Besides, the Seventh Army was not the only Imperial ground force on Brosi. Captain @Ronhar Tane’s Maphoreem forces were formidable and could almost certainly succeed where the 7th had not.

“RETREAT!!!!"

The order could barely be heard over the noises of gunfire, roars, and screams both human and inhuman. However, the order did not need to be universally heard. Once the first few squads began to break formation and rush back towards the transports they had arrived in, others naturally followed. Every man and woman in the 7th Army was scared to some extent, but their fear of punishment had kept them in place. With an official retreat order being issued, there was no longer any punishment to fear, and Imperials broke formation en masse. Thousands upon thousands of stormtroopers turned tail and ran, looking back only to fire hasty shots back at their pursuers. Exiting the shielded perimeter of the AT-SGs, the Imperial survivors ran the gauntlet of Sith lightning, which seemed to descend with renewed fury upon the exposed troopers.

As stormtroopers fled to safety all around him, FN-999 stayed put at the helm of the command tank. Finally, he rose up from the turret hatch and stepped outside the tank, walking towards rather than away from the advancing Sith.

“General, what the frakk you doing??” shouted the tank’s gunner, peeking out through the turret hatch.

“Covering your retreat from behind.” replied FN-999. “Go flee with the others!"

A look of understanding passed between the pair. The gunner gave a brief salute before closing the hatch, the tank lurching backwards as it joined in the retreat.

Ahead of him was a scene of utter devastation. Waves of stormtroopers rushed by, their armor cracked and bloodied. Some nursed severed limbs or deep cuts that bled green, while still others, mutilated beyond recognition, were carried away in stretchers. Tanks and walkers lay wasted as smoking heaps of durasteel, their hulls warped in the shape of inhuman claws and bulging torsos. In the distance, the sounds of animal roars and screeching grew ever closer.

Standing before this scene, FN-999 was absolutely terrified. Had he been entirely alone against the Sith horde, he would have bolted in the opposite direction minutes earlier. However, standing amongst thousands of his beleaguered comrades, the general had something truly compelling to fight for. He was fighting for the lives of ten thousand honest, good soldiers devoted more than anyone else to upholding the virtues of the Imperial Confederation. He was fighting in honor of the fifteen thousand troopers who had fallen in the struggle against pure evil personified in the Sith. He was fighting for the legacy of the New Imperial Order, personified in the mission of the Imperial Confederation.

So although his body trembled and his voice shook, FN-999 stood tall before the Sith horde. This would not be a suicide mission. FN-999, alongside the majority of his remaining 7th Army, would live to see another day. For them, even his phobia of Sith could be endured.

All he had to do was withstand the galaxy’s most dangerous exposure therapy.

Spoiler: Summary of Orders

• Total 7th Army rout​

​

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

WEARING: This | WEAPONS: Ferrum Solus | Blodmåne | Howling Death
ALLIES:: Srina Talon | Madrona A’Mia | Mercy | Darth Caedes | Revna Marr | Taeli Raaf | Darth Prazutis
ENEMIES:: Taregh Garon​

The blast did not announce itself. It arrived as pressure. Shockwaves came suddenly and crushing, like the world inhaling and forgetting how to let the breath go. The rain flattened for a heartbeat and the forest bowed beneath it, while even the storm overhead seemed to recoil before it surged back into motion.

Gerwald took the impact square in the chest.

The force tore his footing away and hurled him backward through water and churned soil. Armor rang as he struck and skidded across the ground, roots scraping along his greaves as they recoiled from the violence that had passed through them. Howling Death was ripped from his hands in the same instant, the haft torn free by the shockwave and flung end over end into the rain-dark undergrowth. It vanished between smoke and roots before he could track where it landed.

The Dread Wolf rolled onto one knee and stayed there for a breath.

He was not stunned, but he was forced to recalibrate as the world settled around him in pieces. Sound returned first, then weight, then pain, distant but present, a reminder that he was still standing in the middle of a battlefield that refused to remain stable.

That blast had not been his doing.

The distinction came easily. The force behind it carried a weight that dwarfed anything he had fed into the storm. It had not been shaped or coaxed, and it had not answered instinct or opportunity. Darth Carnifex had acted, and the battlefield had bent around the decision.

Gerwald pushed himself upright as the rain resumed its full violence.

He felt the consequences ripple outward through Brosi’s skin. The ground groaned beneath his boots as roots withdrew and tightened again, reconsidering their grip on the world. Somewhere beyond the curtain of rain and smoke, something vast had shifted, and the pressure in the Force did not disperse. It deepened.

Then he felt the second wound open.

The sensation reached him like a scar being torn wide, distant in space but close enough to memory that it bypassed reason and went straight to the gut. The air thickened. The forest recoiled. The storm shuddered as if something beneath it had leaned upward and pressed.

Another Noćna Mora had been loosed.

Rage surged before he could stop it. It was sharp and personal, dragged up from a place he rarely allowed himself to touch. Darth Prazutis had done it again. He had reached for the same weapon and bound it to the world without hesitation. Gerwald felt revulsion first, clean and immediate, followed by a colder and unwelcome relief that the thing was not being turned on those who fought beside him.

He did not let either feeling linger.

Movement cut through the rain ahead of him.

Taregh was still there, still advancing, still pressing forward as if the storm, the ground, and the forest were inconveniences rather than warnings.

Gerwald reached back on instinct and found only empty air.

The axe was gone.

He did not look for it.

The Lord Commander’s hand went instead to his belt, fingers closing around the familiar hilt at his side. Blodmåne came free in a smooth motion, its ignition answering the rain with a low, predatory hum. The crimson blade cut a clean line through the downpour, steam flashing briefly where water met plasma.

The difference settled into him immediately.

The lightsaber stayed close to his center and moved with him rather than against the shifting ground. Where Howling Death demanded commitment, Blodmåne allowed adaptation, and that mattered now.

Overhead, shadows crossed the storm.

Drakes moved through the cloud cover in wide arcs, slipping in and out of sight between lightning and rain. Gerwald caught glimpses of them without lifting his focus, aware of Srina Talon and Mercy holding the sky above. The storm did not fracture around their presence. It held.

Missiles screamed though his line of sight. Gerwald reached out to his Empress and her battle companion.

<< "Missiles inbound. Headed for Psylofir!” >>

The forest answered again.

Roots shifted underfoot, not grasping blindly but reshaping the terrain into something that punished certainty. Insects rose in swarms near the treeline, their droning swelling as Imperial machinery began to fail and sputter. Smoke clung low where rain could not quite scour it away.

Gerwald lowered his profile and moved.

He did not step back into the open. He moved sideways into rain and smoke where distance lost clarity and depth became unreliable. He let the storm break his outline and allowed insects and drifting haze to soften his shape. Roots brushed his greaves as he passed and then settled again, as if the forest itself had lost track of him for a breath.

That was enough.

The Dread Wolf changed direction without warning.

He surged forward out of concealment, boots finding purchase just long enough to drive momentum into the strike. Blodmåne rose from low to high in a tight arc aimed toward Taregh’s left side, cutting toward the space between shoulder and helm where armor had already been stressed and rain made footing uncertain. The blade did not chase or overextend, but pressed into the moment and trusted the disorder already at work.

Gerwald stayed close as he moved, ready to adapt if the Inquisitor met him head on or slipped away into the rain. The forest shifted again around them, roots tightening and releasing in small, treacherous increments that denied stillness to anyone who tried to claim it.

The storm continued to bear down from above.

Greater powers clashed elsewhere. Monsters were loose, and the world screamed in places he could not see.

Here, in rain and roots and narrowing space, the Dread Wolf became the hunter.

 

[Taregh Garon]

Brosi
Equipment: Greatsaber | Inquisition's Fist | Menasor Armor
Allies: Imperials
Enemies: Sith | Gerwald Lechner​

---

By the time Taregh had regained his footing Gerwald Lechner had disappeared.

Assaulted by the torrential downpour that was the byproduct of Sith Magic and the uneven terrain that accompanied it the Inquisitor was slow to his feet.

Up above there were signs of battle. Drakes in the sky, bright lances of laser fire, missiles that scorched across the atmosphere amidst atmospheric fighter duels. Yet all this seemed distant to Taregh.

He was alone in a hostile environment, assaulted by the elements. The Forest itself was fighting against him.

He advanced, stepping over the soft earth and through puddles that were deeper than they looked. The Ground, uneven and shifting beneath his feet made it difficult to maintain his balance at times ensuring that his footing continued to be a weakness to be exploited. It was harder to harness ones strength on uneven ground too.

The Purge Troopers? They were forgotten for now.

Ironically it was only the force that hadn't abandoned the Inquisitor.

Amidst the smoke and rain it was not Gerald's silhouette that gave him away but the crimson of his lightsaber. That deep resonating color associated with the active plasma blade of the weapon ensured Taregh would notice it in his peripheral.

Turning Taregh would have met Gerald's forward surge were in not for his uneven footing. Instead the Inquisitor resorted to waving his lightsaber defensively and tucking his left arm close to his side, over the rib to tighten the angle of his swing meant to catch his foes lightsaber on the outside as it arced around in a blow meant to pass over his shoulder in a move meant to decapitate. It was not perfect but it would suffice and Taregh used the prodigious strength he commanded to maintain a lock of their sabers.

Nonetheless leverage and footing would have been Gerald's, the earth would shift and already slick with rain betrayed Taregh.

He'd lose footing again. This time he didn't fall onto his back, he slipped only enough to come crashing down onto his left knee ensuring that Gerwald would have the leverage in their saber lock if he chose to maintain it.

The Inquisitor, no less enormous down on one knee would find himself looking at the Lord Commander from behind the visor of his helm...

"It seems even the earth itself conspires against me."

...his voice was a crackle over comms, bitter but no less wreathed with a dark sort of mirth. Taregh was serious more often then not but he had a sense of humor, especially when it came to ironies such as these.

On the HUD located inside his helm a holographic prompted flashed in one corner of his vision. It flashed, awaiting activation and the Inquisitor granted it. A moment later Taregh felt a sharp pain across his spine and in the back of his skull as miniature syringes filled with stimulants injected themselves into him.

He began to scream.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Dark Lord watched His apprentice tumble off the edge and fall into the deep waters below, followed not long after by the Imperial that fell with her. After that, all of the lightning emanating from His fingertips slowly abated, leaving broad streaks of colorless void where they'd passed. He turned back to watch the sole remaining Imperial slowly edge his way in a half-circle around the Dark Lord, keeping as much reasonable distance between himself and Carnifex as he could.

As if distance was a barrier, an obstacle.

Nothing so limiting could hold the Dark Lord back, He was so far beyond such mortal constraints. Nonetheless, He watched the man with cold, unfeeling eyes. Even when he insulted Him, even when he raised his weapons against the inert sorcerers, even as those same ones died where they knelt. Not one thing could change the merciless, predator look upon the Dark Lord's face; like one who had finally cornered a rodent, and was just waiting to pounce and shred.

But it was when the Imperial started spraying acid on the ritual circle that brought the most emotion to the Dark Lord's face ever since the battle started. The edges of His mouth curled into a sly grin, and He began to laugh; chuckling in the back of His throat.

"You ought not tamper with what you do not comprehend, galère." He could have explained how Sith Magic required a master to truly wield, and how disrupting the leylines of such complicated spellwork would only spell doom for whoever was foolish enough to do so. But He didn't, the Dark Lord didn't care to waste the energy necessary for such an explanation. He would allow the Imperial to discover what might happen should he continue to pursue such reckless action.

Ultimately, it wasn't the circle he should be concerned about.

It was the sorcerers he'd just slain.

Rising up from their bodies in swirling black mist came forth spectral apparitions. The vengeful spirits of such Sith sorcerers, slain before their purpose had been fulfilled, were a haunting and dangerous sight. Bound to pursue their killer even after death, they would stop at nothing to destroy that which had deprived them of life. Long, misshapen swords sprung forth into their hands, each one wreathed in a deathly aura like blackened flame.

The Dark Lord, meanwhile, had turned His sights onto His next work. Reaching out with the Force, He seized the bodies of the slain Imperials on the platform and forced them off and into the water below. As they fell, their armor was stripped away piece by piece, their naked bodies hitting the water's surface with a deep resounding thud. The dark waters began to swirl violently, churning round and round as the newly added bodies were torn apart; the water streaked with dark red.

Darth Carnifex wove a new spellcraft, one entirely centered on His apprentice hidden beneath the surface. New power flooded her body, filling her up with a shadowy malignance that was His alone to bestow. The Dark Side flowed freely from the water, radiating out as a disturbance in the Force felt 'round the galaxy.

All the while, the forces assembled at Carnifex's camp had begun to disperse since the initial attack on the platform. With the now verified rout of the Imperial 7th Army, the reserves that Carnifex held back were now being put into action. Graug and Blackblade began to surge out, carried by winged gunships and landers from the tree's upper boroughs. They would marshal out to reinforce the Sith lines where needed, coordinating with already deployed formations on the ground and in the air.

The storm above swirled, not as vicious as it had been before, but nonetheless an ever-present and unrelenting force. Lightning struck less frequently, but no less accurately. Explosive amalgamations were rarer, but still occurred. Anything passing through the storm-cover was likewise bombarded by a deluge of electricity within the clouds themselves, such as several of the missiles launched from orbit towards the battlefield below. Two of which were directly struck by lightning and knocked off trajectory, instead spiraling down towards the retreating Imperial 7th Army.

Darth Carnifex watched all of this quietly, only turning away to regard the lone Imperial; who had survived against all odds.

"Brave little plaything you are, not like your friends down there. All of their little choices and personal oaths have led them to the same fate, butchered and eaten. I told my Graug that they could have their fill of your companions. They're messy eaters, they don't even properly kill their food before taking the first bite. In truth, I think they prefer it that way. Something about the screams and the terror of being eaten alive. Perhaps you can ask them after I've delivered you into their hands."

Reina Daival | Ronhar Tane | Srina Talon
Madrona A’Mia | Taeli Raaf | Gerwald Lechner
Mercy | FN-999 (restored) | Revna Marr ​

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Outer Rim
Stygian Caldera
Brosi
Tags: Friends — Srina Talon | Gerwald Lechner | Mercy | Revna Marr | Darth Caedes |
Darth Strosius | Lirka Ka | Eira Dyn | Spencer Varanin | Lysander von Ascania |
Darth Carnifex | Reina Daival | Darth Prazutis
Foes — The Lord of Hunger | Ronhar Tane | All TIC forces
Load-out

Upon The Soil
​

Hoards and swarms saw to it that throngs of soldiers met their ends in gruesome fashion. Not even droid units were safe from massacre, as hungry Spark Bugs landed upon them in droves and fought to access the juiciest sources of power hidden within their chassis. In the mayhem, some ships were even downed.

These moments of victory, the punishing strikes dealt out by allies on behalf of Brosi's defense, each one made a difference against what felt like an endless stream of men, women, and resources that TIC was willing to sacrifice to the meat grinder of war.

Missiles screamed though his line of sight. Gerwald reached out to his Empress and her battle companion.

<< "Missiles inbound. Headed for Psylofir!” >>

Engrossed as she was, A'Mia might not have caught the warning but Psilofyr sent a sickly message of alarm through the vast mycelial mat interwoven through Brosi's soil. It was sharp and chemical, the botanical recognition of danger, and unmistakably signaling fear.

The neti, sat as she was in a pose so reminiscent of meditation were she not bleeding from dozens of seeping cuts and surrounded by raring conflict, gasped in terrible pain. Her hand came up to grip her own shoulder, arm suddenly hanging limp and grievously wounded. A'Mia knew it correlated with one of the tree's giant roots which had suffered a direct hit from one of those accursed missiles, the area of forest surrounding it lay in ruin.

Guard yourself, Revna! More of those vile things are—
​

The words never finished but the benefit of psychic communication such that the neti employed was in meaning deeper than words could convey. Revna knew to brace for impact and A'Mia conveyed the potential devastation of a direct hit, given that she'd felt Psilofyr suffer it.

Another missile landed elsewhere and was responsible for the interruption of her warning. The neti gasped and her nymph like face pulled into a visage of agony. Somewhere in the distance, an altar had been struck and its destruction combined with the shockwave of the bomb, sending a rippling wave of wild sorcery loose upon the surrounding land.

A'Mia's healing capabilities slowly engaged, her drooping arm steadily cracking back into place. Still, the damage just kept coming and soon she heaved with the weight of it all. Hands upon her temples, cross legged body rocking back and forth, the botanical woman reached deeper into her connection with the yet living land to try centering herself in its vastness.

Those remaining roots continued to lash out, ensnare and crush, some even began to drag the dead or dying from far off field medic tents. Walking trees hauled the dead indiscriminately to those remaining altars in order to replenish hoards lost, and again the very soil of Brosi heaved with activity. Regrowth and possibility burgeoned just beneath the surface, defiant of damage already wrought.

As Seen On High
​

Concurrently with happenings below, the watchful drake suddenly rocketed from the storm clouds he'd been using to obscure himself. The dutiful Sithspawn had spotted a third missile hurtling directly for the tree and pushed his powerful form to its limits to intercede the wretched thing, to throw himself between its promise of destruction and his newfound home.

Maw opening wide, the beast aligned himself perfectly to swallow the damned weapon whole. Though incredibly powerful and resilient, the Sithspawn wasn't equipped to eat such a thing unharmed. Time seemed to slow to a stop as the soaring beast was top-lit by a flash of nearby lightning.

¡BOOM!​

Below, A'Mia screamed. Above, her drake's tattered corpse was blown into some of the highest branches of the world tree. His sacrifice having significantly softened the explosion.

Arms thrown wide, head dropping back so that her voice rose to intermingle with the cacophonous echoes of war, A'Mia let loose such a primal sound of pain that it carried through the air unnaturally.

Brosi itself seemed to quake with the neti's lament.

Rocked by the innumerable sensations of loss, utterly dazed by the upwelling of seemingly insurmountable pain she was experiencing, A'Mia sobbed.

Brosi was more than just her home, it was where her life's work had taken root. She'd spent countless hours walking the metaphysical landscape and living through the eyes of innumerable creatures. A'Mia had experienced this world in a way that mere words would fail to convey and it was being ripped from her more grotesquely than a heart pulled from a ribcage.

For the first time in over a century of life, the neti experienced the depth of true grief and cutting sting of having that which was precious to her being ripped away from existence. She wept streaking green-black trails from large eyes which squinted into the middle distance as her hands clutched at her own torso.

The neti's lament rang out across the various theaters of war, echoed by every tree still standing, and Brosi shook with her mourning.

 

[Lirka Ka]

ALLIES - TSO
ENEMIES - TIC, Direct: T'zarna Khab

Peace was a Lie. There was but chaos.

The first line of her creed. The most paramount of all. Pandemonium, suffering, the sheer bestial insanity of civilizations brought to war and the cruelty of a Galaxy that was built upon the bedrock of sentient murdering sentient. It was exhilarating. It was all-encompassing. It was holy. It was the workings of the Primordial Darkness beyond and its infinite tests to weed the weak from the worthy.

It did not matter from whom it came.

Brosi was a graveyard that grew with every waking moment. Yet Lirka had no intent to join this great monument to death anytime soon. Even as she felt the massive boulder slam into ther back, the thing exploding upon her metal frame into a dust cloud of shattered stone and flung debris. With the uneven ground beneath them, the Once-Sephi stumbled for a moment.

And a moment was all it took in this deadly dance.

Still in the insanity of it all. Lirka still found time to sneer at her foe in something that danced between disgust and pity - as if looking into a mirror of a future that could have transpired for her own wretched existence. She listened to the crackle and sizzle of her blade beginning to be turned against its creator - and when she spoke, it was a plain thing. A warning, perhaps.

"The life of a slave, is a miserable thing."

She had been the hound before, walked beneath the shadows of giants and felt the scorn of all those who had looked upon her as little more than the weapon forged in the bowels of the Malsheem. She had seen many creatures like herself in the endless battlefields she had walked - yet now, with a mind enlightened by Darkness, how could she not look upon them with pity?

Then the blade, singing through the air pulled from the meat of the Inquisitor, found purchase. That blade of alien make, light for its heft bore through the already weakened plate upon Lirka's body. Electricity crackling, arcing from the metal it burned its way through till it sunk within the foulness hidden beneath all that black metal. The very moment the seal was broken, the smell of rotting chemical foulness shot into the air like a wave of repulsive filth. An attack upon the senses from the sizzle and crackling of a bubbling wound.

That should have been it. That should have been the decisive blow in the deadly dance of blades. But Lirka Ka was not like them. She had surpassed such wretched normality. For a moment ever so brief - silence. The chance to witness if the giant would fall. In that moment, the sheer chaos of it all began to bristle within Lirka's being.

Something began to ooze from the rent, a thick and viscous horribleness. A mucus made sludge of abyssal blackness that congealed at rapid rates as it bonded with itself. The gestalt of Lirka's being. The ichor of Darth Carnifex melded within her being from where she had gorged upon his flesh and took that piece of the Kainate lord into herself. The disgusting union of monsters, a marriage of flesh and blood. And in the gestalt, the void became a drop in the ocean. A glimmer of the force, soft and weak.

But it only took a glimmer to be smothered with sensation. And for that moment ever so brief Lirka felt it all. The agony, the terror, the fear. The horribleness of it all that was sweeter than any of the chemical pleasures that coursed within her. The terror of the routed Imperial 7th underneath FN-999 (restored) and the wailing agony of @Madrona A'mia that was like music to Lirka's twisted ears. Friend. Foe. The Primordial Darkness did not discriminate. The worthy would drink of suffering, and find the transient strength within.

And in that twilight where death should have come, Lirka exploded to life once more. Her mangled hand, clawed fingers like an array of knives surged forth to ram itself into the open wound she had hacked into the Inquisitor. She destroyed her body, a puppeteer cadaver forced to move without its strings as flesh tore and metal cried out as all of her mechanized fury was forced into digging herself into that weakened hole within the insectoid's carapace.

Let her would-be-assassin feel the agony of folly, and the dangers of pride. This meat that writhed and wiggled could be replaced, when all was said and done. But this moment? That glimmer of beautiful misery?

Well.

That was priceless.

​

​