Dominion The Vinesworn Rebellion | BotM Dominion of Ool

[The Mongrel]

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Location: Ool, Infested Farmland
Tags: Alars Keto | Zachariel Steelblood | Khaostra Devoid | Darth Mori | Darth Saevius

At the edge of the forest burbled and churned a river, once a clean and clear irrigation channel used by the Chiss colonists, now so thick with Drengir pollen that it had turned to greenish sludge. The Mongrel did not wish to even consider the dangers of trying to ford it; leave that to those with dark, sorcerous gifts that he lacked, powers that could protect them from this strange plant-based corruption. As such, his first objective in moving into the haunted forest had to be to secure the northwestern bridge, the safest way to cross.

But Kryll - or whatever Collective now ruled his mind - had clearly recognized this vulnerability... and so the race was on to secure the structure. It was a perfect chokepoint for either side, controlling access from the farmland to the woods and vice versa, but the Drengir had far more to gain by delaying tactics; every moment they held back the Maw allowed them more time to grow, consuming the biomass of Ool's forest to create more twisted floral abominations. The Brotherhood had to break through, or they would soon grow too strong.

"FORWARD," The Mongrel demanded, scuttling amid his warriors. Once he had charged at their head, his power and ferocity an example to them. Now he was reduced to this pathetic form, a wretched, crawling thing barely able to interact with the physical world. But he still had his mind, and his Scar Hounds still served him loyally. Despite his present weakness, they looked on him with reverence for the legend he had forged. How long would that last, he wondered? How long before awe turned to disgust, and someone rose to replace him?

No time to ponder it; Kryll had made his move. Out of the trees came vehicles with which The Mongrel was deeply familiar: Raider Walkers, the scavenged two-legged assault craft that had accompanied the Brotherhood in many battles. The Mongrel himself had deployed many of them at Csilla, using them to fill in the gaps between massed marauder ranks during the assault on the NIO trenches. Now he was forced to consider how to counter vehicles that he had once commanded. Fortunately, that meant he knew their strengths... and their weaknesses.

"DEPLOY THE TARAR," The Mongel commanded, and the Tarar Warbands advanced as he directed. These scavenger-warriors carried plasma hand cannons, infantry versions of weapons that were usually mounted on vehicles... or starships. The deadly balls of white-hot plasma they fired were perfect for melting through armor, making the Tarar extremely deadly against light vehicles and heavy infantry. The AT-RTs fell into the former category, and would be ideal victims. But the Drengir growths still concerned the warlord. He had to be sure.

"SCAV KINGS, SUPPORT THEM WITH ROCKETS AND FLAME," he ordered, and his elite bodyguards advanced. The Scav Kings were what every Tarar warrior aspired to become: looters and salvagers so technically skilled that they built their own heavy battleframes, festooned with heavy weapons like missile launchers, concussion rifles, and flamethrowers. They would finish shattering what the Tarar's plasma barrage melted and made weak. They would prove that an infantry army like the Scar Hounds could still bring down vehicles.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Objective: 1
Nearby: Darth Tennacus

Ironic as it was Kyrel felt no surprise that the beasts known as the Drengir had been nothing more than a thorn in the side of the Maw. Once they were a force dreaded to be used against the enemies of the Maw. Now the Maw was here as they’re forefathers before them in the quest to vanquish an evil not even they could control. On board the transport studying the likes of the Xenomorphs studying the bio mechanical bodies he had been curious what depths of Sith Alchemy had taken place in order to bring about what some could regard as the perfect organism. One of them stared at Kyrel, or at least tried to, a hiss letting out some of its dripping saliva fell to the floor, as it looked to detach its second jaw out, but stopped as if it knew that in some way Kyrel was among his own kin.

While he had been asked to take part in this experiment, he wondered next to his Sith companion if the Xenomorphs could be truly controlled. What if the Maw couldn’t control them like the Drengir? Each Xenomorph already had the potential to evolve into a queen, what’s there to say something horribly wrong could take place and the Maw would suffer a tremendous backfire from one of its own assets. Such creations would have to be watched very carefully lest it would lead to a catastrophic failure the likes of which Kyrel has never seen before.

Upon reaching the surface, the Xenomorphs master had released them when the door open, and Kyrel watched with some type of inquisitive glee as they went scurrying across the jungle like floor to meet the plant abominations head on with terrifying hisses and screeching. Seeing the Sith carry an unusual handcrafted box within his hands he slowly jumped out on the jungle floor to meet him.

Walking beside him, watching as more of the horde spread out in a seek and destroy like motion. The Master of Ren felt a urgent question he felt that needed to be asked. “Tell me what mad scheme have you thought with this horde of perfect killers? They will do well against the Drengir but even I am wary around them… I often wonder if we can control them?”

 

[Kralmus Orr]

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Location: Ool, Infested Farmland
Approaching: Darth Mori

​

Tiny sprouts and tender vines, struggling to climb the stalks of genetically-engineered Chiss grain that dotted the farmland, squelched beneath Kralmus's beskar boots as he advanced toward the warfront. It had really begun now; the Drengir and their minions were responding to the Mawite attack, marshaling their forces in a twisted parody of the Brotherhood's own armies. It would cost the Maw, fighting itself, stamping out this internal rebellion. It would cost them time and resources and lives, adding further challenges to a war effort already struggling after the defeat at Jedha. Fortunately, Kralmus was no warlord. He didn't have to care.

All he had to do was kill, which to him was more sport than work.

As he advanced, nearing the river that divided the farmland from the edge of the Drengir's forested realm, Kralmus beheld a glorious sight: a woman whose every gesture spat raging fire. Though she possessed only one arm, the other ending in a cloth-wrapped stump, the wicked Mandalorian could feel the power radiating off of her... or maybe that was just the heat. In any case, he found himself intrigued. He neither despised the sorcery of the Force, as The Mongrel and his Scar Hounds did, nor worshipped it, as did the more mystical of marauder tribes. He saw the beauty in all tools of destruction, even ones he himself could not wield.

They all led to the same place: slaughter. The different arts of getting there were the spice of life.

The woman was alone amid the chaos of battle, though that was no disadvantage to her; it was clear that she needed no other in order to dominate her corner of the battlefield. Perhaps she desired no company, no allies, just the purity of destruction. Kralmus had lived that way for much of his life, stalking the devastated wilds of Mandalore on his own, killing any who crossed his path and making their flesh his feast. Perhaps she would incinerate him for daring to enter her company, turning that flaming grasp on him until his beskar armor ran down his charred flesh like quicksilver. But he was intrigued, and thus willing to take the chance.

Kralmus had no interest in beautiful people, women or otherwise. He saw beauty before him not in the physical form of this Dark Lady, but in the glorious killing power she unleashed, and he wanted to witness it up close. So he drew nearer, axe shouldered, walking openly to make it clear he was not attempting to sneak up on her. As the endless swarm of Vinesworn mutants arose around her, he fell into the dance of battle, taking his own position in the spiraling destruction. His axe would be useless against the Drengir themselves, as the vine-like forms of the plant-monsters could be split in two without being slain, but against the hybrids...

Here he cleaved away heads and limbs in an endless rain of mingled blood and sap.

Though they were not true Drengir, the mutants were not easily slain. Their fungal flesh, as hard as oak, split only reluctantly under the razor edge of his beskar waraxe, as though he were using the fine weapon to chop lumber rather than slay foes. He would have to sharpen it when the killing was done; the poor thing would be terribly dulled by this mistreatment before the day was through. At last, the combined slaughter - by fire and axe, ever the enemies of the forest - cleared enough of the foes that the Mandalorian could stop and catch his breath. Most of the hybrids infesting the farmland were either dead or scattered now...

... at least until more of them began to grow. The Drengir spores were endless.

Swinging his axe hard, so that the blade stuck deep in the torso of one of his felled foes, Kralmus left the weapon standing on its head, the corpse becoming a macabre weapon stand. He reached up with both hands and slid off his helmet, letting the scents of slaughter and burning wash over him. Intoxicating. "They fall easily to your power," the Mandalorian told Darth Mori, his first words to her. He grinned as he looked her way, showing off teeth filed down to razor points. "Someone should've told them they're made of kindling." Turning away, he drew a vibrodagger from a sheath on his belt and knelt beside his pile of victims.

Kralmus was an experienced butcher, the kind of meat-slicer who could put a five star chef to shame. With practiced hands he cut a long strip from the belly of one of the mutants - a nice, fatty cut of meat, or so it would be on an ordinary person. Without manners or reserve the cannibal bit into the raw, dripping "steak", ripping off a large chunk. He chewed experimentally, head cocked as he considered, then turned and spat the masticated mess onto the ground. "Bah," he said, wiping his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand. "Tough and woody. I should've known." He spat again, trying to clear the taste from his forked tongue.

"Perhaps I should try one of the ones you've cooked," he mused.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

Objective 1: The Vile Collective
Affiliation: Brotherhood of the Maw
Nearby Allies: Kyrel Ren
Wandering Pilgrim
77-B
Whispering Swarm​

The concern for their feral-like behaviour was empathetic on observation. As the two stood there in the midst of their malicious slaughter, the blatant, merciless approach they possessed toward their enemy showed an undeniable potential for fine-threaded subjugation. But Tennacus showed no sign of dismay in being present among them. He waited for the chitinous beasts to thin the Drengir's horde, until there was only a small cluster moving between the trees, trying to use the terrain to their advantage.

Only then did Darth Tennacus set the black case down in front of them.

"Evolution requires change. In terms of their mentality, they are primal at best, driven by instinct and a need to mass their numbers. They can coordinate, cooperate - even express tactician and cunning - but only to serve that one purpose. Thankfully, people like you and I know the Dark Side; we know how to manipulate it - especially in simplistic minds." He thought back to the Holocron given him by Darth Solipisis, and the guardian hologram of Plagueis that relayed wisdom to him: every living thing must be seen as a tool to elevate you. Thankfully that was open to interpretation. "Their DNA lacks the strands that other beings possess. They'll evolve through all manners of species, only growing stronger. But architects like you and I can use that to our advantage."

The black case Tennacus set down before them loosened its seams. The exterior frames of the dark casing unfolded, releasing a cloud of vapour which quickly ascended into Ool's air. Rested in the centre of the loosened frames, an organic egg sac erected upright, quivering as something within it stirred restlessly. After a short moment the folds of its crown unfurled, revealing the bulging, white tendrils of a Trilobite as it pulled itself out of the sac and mounted itself on top of the organic structure. Its attention turned the two humanoids towering over it, analysing the situation and determining its chances of insemination, until eventually it concluded that it had little chance of reaching them. The eldritch, marine-like creature turned to face the slaughter ongoing around it, instead, scouring for a potential host in the midst of the calamity. Unlike the generic Facehuggers that were deployed from egg-sacs, Tennacus had developed this particular creature through Sith Alchemy and installed its embryo into an egg-sac for maturity, more for the convenience of not having to lumber around a live specimen until it decided to hatch; however, it also allowed the Sith to call upon the Force and manipulate it easier. Attempting to twist its thoughts in a living specimen may have brought complications in intense situations.

The Trilobite had picked a target: one of the larger, more bulkier Drengir that was putting up more resilience than its counterparts. Its wicked vines lashed and sprung aimlessly, knocking Xenomorphs from the high trees as they made attempts to pounce on it. The Drengir was smarter than most. The Trilobite had made a wise choice to select it. Thankfully, Tennacus had accelerated its maturity process to cut the time it took to develop. In only the short span of a few minutes, the Trilobite matured, expanding its mass until it towered almost parallel to the Drengir ahead of it, forcing Tennacus to step back as its tentacled pooled out onto the ground in front of them, laying claim to the soils they once stood on. The creature was ready to pounce, but Tennacus had called upon the Force to keep it at bay.

"This, right here, is merely the beginning of a winding path toward an unstoppable force of nature. The embryo within it is exactly what we need to infuse your DNA with - if said embryo is even minimally compatible with the Drengir. But that Drengir is quite ravenous; the Trilobite will surely kill it, and we risk losing a potential host if either of them put up too much resilience. If you can, this process will be made easier if you corrupt the resolve of that Drengir so the Trilobite does not have to put in too much effort to inseminate it. After that, we need only to wait until the specimen is hatched."

 

[Alars Keto]

The Vinesworn Champion stood tall and proud, his predatory gaze continuously surveying over the lands around him through the interconnected sight beyond sight granted through the Hive-Mind. Events were changing, he could almost smell the foul witchcraft as if it was his own nose sniffing out the Dathomiri workings.

The Drengir raged, their anger bubbling forth like an eruption. They knew the Dark Side of the Force well, the trickery of the Sith, and knew too well the magicks of a witch. A connection between a small detachment of their overall numbers, a colony of it’s own if you will, was severed from the trunk of the Hive-Mind. Their root-slaves, their Vinesworn, fallen to the Red Witch of Dathomir.

It was no matter. They had plenty of mutants and infected Vinesworn root-slaves to carry this battle, but it was obvious now the Red Witch must be made a priority. The death of Khaostra Devoid was crucial to victory here.

“It is time.”

Kryll gazed back toward his rear, three crimson armored warriors stood in silence, coated in vines and parasitic growth.

“Kill her.”

The Vinesworn Palatine Guards lifted their gazes and nodded, marching into the depths with eyes fogged and minds empty. Hollow. Deadly.

Their numbers of beasts, warriors, and imported Branchlurkers would have to hold the line. As long as they could. Nearby where Khaos stood, the dreaded Darth Saevius stood by, feeling watched. Watched he was. Vines rippled forth from the earth, mutants rushing from the brushes into a blood curling charge. An ambush.

​

The Drengir were more than primal hunger. They were hyper sentient, connected by a unique hive link and fueled by the ever corruptive Dark Side of the Force.

They knew strategy.

They knew frustration.

The Krath Queen Dyans Keto , Dark Taskmaster Tu'teggacha , and Grand Overseer of the Final Dawn Marlon Sularen in the newly christened flagship of the Neo-Imperial fleet. All expert commanders of the fleeting scene, all great minds set to the task of eradicating their infestation before they could spread across the whole of Maw Space.

The Tartarus was their only hope. A weapon seized from the jungles of Lao-Amon, crashed and burned. Left to rot. Abandoned. It took time to get it operational enough to fly again, resources moved under the notice of those rebuilding Goshen. They nearly were found out when the tomb of the ancient enemy was discovered, the sleeping terror found.

As the Brotherhood continued to wage war in the stars above it was clear an aggressive approach would be needed if they were to get any of the Drengir and their seedlings offworld. The Tartarus had to act, it had to be their blunt instrument. A shield to hold off the enemy until enough of their number could escape into the far reaches to spread their rebellion across the stars.

The Harvest.

The time had come.

As the Taskmaster Tu'teggacha and his battle group engaged the smaller vessels, weathering any damage thrown their way. The approaching Darkshears were intercepted, suddenly engaging a mixed bag of Final Dawn ace pilots and Mawite harbingers. Blighted TIE’s, Doomsayers, and Darkshears slammed into the wall of TIE/fd’s and Divine Eagles. Three brain-dead Vinesworn pilots lined their infested Darkshears out of formation and moved in to engage. Each trying to suddenly pin a lock on Electra-12 .

It was in that moment an explosion rippled through the empty vacuum.

Several.

Right into the belly of the beast, the newcomer, this mysterious Dalos Cameron, dropped into the heat of battle. Avoiding the thick of the enemy screen, the skilled pilot dove towards one of the normally heavily armored and shielded to boot Crucifix I Destroyers, one completely infested by the Vinesworn and their masters.

It was crazy, it was suicide.

It was genius.

Taking a hit from behind, his shields dropped to fifty percent, the enemy fighter craft hit on his trail. He yanked on the throttle and shifted the vessel sideways in a unique maneuver as he let off his Seismic Missiles payload between the support structure top and bottom. A weakness exploited, a capital ship taken to the grave. The enemy never stood a chance as the explosion claimed his pursuers.

All but a few.

Escaping the collapsing warship, the pilot strafed off and narrowed in on the prize his eye yearned for. The Tartarus.

Taking another hit, the daredevil came in hot. Suddenly he’d find the immense Battlecruiser springing to life as all it’s many point defense weaponry and defensive turrets began firing like madmen in an attempt to take down the Zeebo. Aiming for the hangar bay, the rotary cannon of the vessel, mass drivers, would come to life, firing as it lost it’s left engine and spun out into the hangar bay.

If not for the expert piloting the vessel would of been shattered, yet the pilot survived bringing the Zeebo slamming into a docked TIE before coming to a grinding halt. Quickly patching himself up, the madman waited for his time to shine. Successfully infiltrating the Drengir flagship as it prepares to engage the opposing Mawite fleets. Beginning it’s initial stages charging the Superlaser siege cannon and initiating fire from its heavy turbo laser cannons onto the closet capital ships.

It needed to get to the front of the pack to engage Dyans Keto and Tu'teggacha . To deal with the imposing Immortal brought by Marlon Sularen . Only the superlaser could possibly help bring the super star destroyer down.

​

The middle battle lines became fierce, Bloodsworn Chosen and the dreaded Wolf Pack engaged in a fight for the ages. No matter how many were killed it always seemed the Bloodsworn numbers swelled, each warrior replaced by another elite member. The Wolf Pack could not continue with a war of attrition, and with little purchase being found in engaging the thick, powerful armor of Zachariel Steelblood , another strategy needed made.

A quick fighting withdrawal was called, a mental beckoning to draw them further from the river into the darkened woods. It would be there that the forces of Zachariel Steelblood would be doomed. They had to be.

Many masters, three Drengir of the amassed hive, would go to meet this Warlord, this dark liege of Osseriton firsthand.

Meanwhile near the bridge…

"DEPLOY THE TARAR,"

The Mongrel called and his Tarar Warbands had come. Advanced scavenger-warriors perfect for melting through armor with their plasma weaponry. These foes made perfect counters to the approaching light vehicles. The Mongrel commanded his forces to purge them, to clean their filth with the use of rockets and fire. The Scav Kings would finish shattering what the Tarar made weak. The duo units would make short work of the enemy, pushing their advance beyond expectations much to the Drengir’s frustration.

A setback for sure but as the Mongrel would advanced his Scar Hounds into the forest they’d fall into the thick brush where Kryll had set his possessed Cirihut Warriors in wait, hiding for the opportunity to deploy in the coming advance or ambush as the enemy crossed into their lines. Armed with little to no armor and the devastating power maces of Mawite design. These warriors were elite killers, monsters of their own right ready to act as their root-kings deemed fit.

With that, the attention of the commander shifted once more. Inquisitively scanning outward toward Kyrel Ren and Darth Tennacus . Their actions worried the Hive-Mind, but until a suitable solution was thought up their actions would have to be weathered.

Another grave threat was the sudden arrival of the all consuming presence of Darth Mori. They had seen her hunger match their own, Rhand especially coming to the forefront of memory. The Drengir began to consider engaging this one themselves if the need arise, until then, units would need freed up. The Mandalorian Kralmus Orr at her side would be a welcome addition to the horde numbers, if he could be seized a powerful asset he would become.

 

[Heca Foliou]

Death would consume Ool as it was merited with the betrayal of the Drengir. Such pacts and coalition mattered little to the Maenan as were the plots and goals of the Maw. Then why bother to lend a hand to these zealots? She only did it to see what she could gain from this endeavor, and see how she could expand her power and potential. Typical of a Sith, only doing errands that could benefit themselves and their machinations. Selfish, although her loyalties lay to her Master and her machinations. A good way to establish herself amongst these zealots and barbarians, and grow like a beautiful parasite waiting to exploit its host. After all, something as that was to be expected out of the many Sith who adhered to the principles of the New Sith Order. Betrayal and deceit; plots and schemes. The cycle of this deviant order that continued and evolved generation, after generation.

She was drawn to the aura and presence of another individual whom reeked of the Dark Side, as powerful as her master's, Matsu Xiangu . She'd kept her distance to observe the Sith while cutting a path through the vines and bark of the twisted Drengir. Creatures of chaos and darkness, loyal to their hunger that sought to bring annihilation to the Galaxy. A wall bordered around her mind, basic principles of mentalism that were honed and focused with the teachings from the Spider. Paramount that her mind did not fall to the madness of the rebellious plants.

Mind over matter.

A pity those could not afford such luxury and their mind broke to overwhelming chaos from these carnivorous plants.

A repulsion wave erupted from her hands, a tactic to push off any creatures posing an ambush and to see what dead flora was destroyed from the radius. Anything that came near to a single Drengir was doomed to death, no matter what it was. Plants and other flora species would have their nutrients sapped and wither away. This was a dead forest used by these abominations as camouflage to maneuver swiftly without detection. Moans from the plants were sung as Heca eyed at the small group of them who were caught in the radius of the repulsion wave.

Vile and disturbing.

Darth Mori​

 

[The Mongrel]

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Location: Ool, Infested Farmland
Tags: Alars Keto | Zachariel Steelblood | Khaostra Devoid | Darth Mori | Darth Saevius

There were few hard counters to a unit of Tarar. The scavenger-warriors could chew up infantry and vehicles, ground-pounders and incoming spacecraft, even Jedi if they managed to concentrate their fire. They were lightly armored compared to their firepower, but given the opportunity to dig in, they could use their salvaging and jury-rigging skills to turn even light cover into decently fortified positions. They'd proven it on Korriban, holding the slopes of Mongrel's Hill against wave after wave of elite Petrite troopers and Sith.

The hill had broken before they did.

But there were hard counters to the Tarar, and the likes of the Cirihut Warriors were one of them. Eschewing armor in favor of the mystical protection of runes carved into their very flesh, the Cirihut did not fear plasmafire, and charged freely into the maw of death. The Scar Hounds, like their warlord, distrusted all things sorcerous, and employed neither Cirihut nor shamans among their ranks. But their technology could not easily break a Force-imbued berserker charge, and the champion who usually aided them against such things...

... well, The Mongrel was in no shape to fight.

Once again, all that was left to him was strategy. The Tarar could not slow down the oncoming Cirihut enough, and if the enemy elites reached them, the Tarar would be broken in hand-to-hand; they were primarily ranged troops, and although they could fight savagely in melee combat, their assorted bayonets, knives, and sharpened shovels would be no match for the power maces of their foes. Something was needed to intercept the charge before it reached the Tarar, something fast and fierce... and The Mongrel knew what it had to be.

"LOOSE THE WARDOGS," the warlord commanded, and his beastmasters scrambled to obey. Firefang Wardogs were unlike any other warbeast the Brotherhood employed. They were highly intelligent and well-trained, attuned to the warriors who fought around them. Scar Hounds hunted, trained, ate, and slept beside the wardogs, treating them as members of the tribe. The result was that, unlike the almost uncontrollable branchlurkers or bogaranths, the wardogs could take complex directions, and would never hurt their allies.

In a howling, baying mass, the wardogs charged through the ranks of the Tarar and emerged at the bridge, meeting the oncoming Cirihut head-on. The first rank of them drew upon their natural Charhound gifts and breathed fire at their foes, hoping to catch the vine-infested warriors alight... or at least break their momentum. Other dogs leapt over the heads of this first rank, latching onto arms, legs, throats. They worked in pairs to trip and pull down their foes, then set upon them on the ground, ripping out jugulars and mangling faces.

Many would die. Such was the way of warbeasts and shock troops, and the Firefang Wardogs were a bit of both. The fallen would be treated just as two-legged tribe members were: their implants would be scavenged for reuse, and then what was left of their organic bodies would be incinerated, burned to fine ash in a molecular furnace. It was The Mongrel's last gift to them, ensuring that they could not be ripped back from the gates of paradise. He had seen too many necromancers turning Mawites into puppets. Not for his warriors.

Too bad they hadn't finished him off when he fell on Nirauan.

As the wardogs strove to break the charge, the Tarar added their firepower, aiming high so as not to hit the waist-high Firefangs. Friendly fire did happen in such circumstances, but intensive training for exactly such situations kept it to a minimum, with Scar Hound warriors practicing again and again to shoot over the dogs' heads without harming them. The wardogs unleashed not only their cybernetically-enhanced teeth and claws, but also their fire breath, seeking to burn away the woody growths that kept the Cirihut rising again.

Would it be enough? Could they break the Vinesworn charge?

 

[Darth Saevius]

Tags: Alars Keto The Mongrel Khaostra Devoid Darth Mori Zachariel Steelblood
Objective: 1 - The Vile Collective; 3 - BYOO (A Most Worthy Specimen)

The feeling of being watched soon became a reality, as the stillness which had settled upon the forest surrounding him erupted in a flurry of action. Vines shot forth from the ground, several of which entwined to grasp at his ankles while a host of mutants burst from the surrounding foliage. Before he got pulled down to the ground, Saevius' blade slashed at the grasping vines, cutting through them with seamless efficiency before the first of the mutants came within arms reach. The first few were able to lash out with their claws, ripping at Saevius' flowing robes as he came about, a few coming dangerously close at puncturing his skin. But he was able to break free of the vines and come about with both blades ignited at full bore. The first blade bisected the lead mutant, slashing the half plant/half creature in half in one stroke. The second blade; the backside of his dual bladed lightsaber, decapitated the second mutant, its head flying past Saevius and behind him near the faded vines.

This did not stem the tide of the many other mutants who surged forth, grasping and clawing and shrieking as they fell upon him. He lept back in the force, putting distance between them before he lashed out with a stream of lightning from his hand, which bathed across the advancing tide who lurched toward him. An unearthly cry bellowed from their mouths in unison, but they slowly seemed to... adapt to the pain which streaked through their nervous system, bypassing the natural deterrent of pain their hosts were experiencing as their collective consciousness pushed on. With his saber hand, he guided as if using a baton a pile of stones and fallen branches forward, which crashed into their advancing ranks with a sickening crash as bones snapped alongside saplings. Soon enough, his maelstrom of lightning ended, and he charged forth once again to thin the numbers of the swarm surging toward him. He entered Form II, with his body moving about as if in a dance as he carved through the haggard ranks of the mutants. A few limbs broke through his defenses to batter at his body, but the vast majority of limbs which did so were severed from their hosts, with their bodies soon to follow as he weaved and slashed, the twin blades of his saber drinking deep from the tainted blood of his enemies.

Eventually, he made his way through the relently swarm, nearly twenty bodies thrown asunder at his feet. His lungs drew greedily as he caught his breath, beads of sweat lining his brow. But respite would elude him for now, as more bodies surged forth. This was not his mission - slaughter of the mindless thralls under the Drengir's sway was the mission assigned to those such as Kralmus Orr or The Mongrel - he needed to break through to find the true specimen deeper in the grove. He turned and ran, calling upon the force to bend a particularly large tree in his wake as the reinforcing mutants pursued him, crushing six under its girth. But they advanced ever still, which caused him to run deeper and deeper into the woods. He eventually happened upon small drop off which fell roughly 30 feet to a lower elevation of the forestry. He lept off, guided by the force to roll and avoid the damage one would suffer from a fall. The remaining thralls stopped at the top of the cliff, preparing to go around when he reached out with the force, tugging the host over the edge as they fell to their deaths.

He did not wait to ensure their demise was certain however, continuing on, hoping to avoid further detection as he did so.

​

 

[The Human]

Tartarus Hanger Bay​

Injuries: Partially Crushed Left Hip (Medicated, Dull Pain)
Equipment: Atmospheric Suit, Red Lightsaber, Twin Wrist Flamers, Uproar Blaster, Vornskr Revolver, Firedrake, Firebrand Grenade Launcher, Gravitas Launcher
Cargo Bay of Destroyed Starfighter: Equipped Surprise in Cargo Bay
TAG: Darth Solipsis Marlon Sularen Alars Keto Dyans Keto Darth Tennacus Kralmus Orr Tu'teggacha Darth Saevius Khaostra Devoid The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Darth Mori Electra-12

The sounds of those climbing around him were getting much louder and he was not very impressed. Undoing his straps around his body at long last, he undid the cargo section of the Zeebo and let its precious cargo drop onto the ground from behind inert. Taking his lightsaber, he ignited its red hue and cut around the top of the cockpit and then used Force Push to throw it off with massive force, throwing off Drengirs that were on the glass. Getting up rather quickly, he held in his other hand the Uproar Blaster and began to fire into nearby Drengir with soundwaves splitting apart some of the Drengir, making them take more time to reform he hoped.

Sliding off the crashed starfighter, he clipped back on his lightsaber and with both hands, steadied his aim at each Drengir while approaching the anti-grav lift and using the Force to pull it along on his pathway. Going towards the doors leading into the corridors of the Tartarus, the doors would open to reveal multiple Drengir that fired blasters directly at the Human. Two of them hit him directly into the torso and upper right arm, throwing him down as the Uproar Blaster skid underneath the wreckage, lost now.

The blaster fire would stop as they approached the downed human, aiming down at his prone body yet a small bit of rage built up in the Human. Controlling the Force with both hands, he used the Force to Push again but this time, created a Force Shockwave that rippled the insides of the Tartarus. Parts of durasteel, electronics and various others were shreaded and destroyed around the hallway as light fixtures were blown off from their hinges and flung far down the corridors. Once the Drengir were thrown off and slowly being reformed all around him, the Human took a moment to breath before standing up and dragging the special surprise into the corridor and noticing he had created a large hole for them to follow.

Going further into the corridors, he ran into an old blast door configuration and taking out the Vornskr Revolver, shot it as the blast doors started to close behind him. Now the question was where he was supposed to go from here. Pulling the large device on the anti-gravitational lift, he encountered a set of elevators that were blocked off with tendrils of the infected ship. Pulling off his back, he turned on and pumped forward to load a thermite grenade in his Firebrand Grenade Launcher and fired a small spread around the elevator door. The thermite then activated and started to burn away the tendrils one at a time before finally letting him through.

Pushing the anti-grav lift to the edge, the Human pulled out a small device that would activate his special surprise, the special surprise being a Thermal Annihilator Bomb, capable of destroying an eight story building with little ease. Holding out the controls, he starts to set the bombs detonation by remote when blaster fire erupted and blew apart the remote in his hand. To make matters worse, the anti-grav lift was shot and failed, moving it forward as the Thermal Bomb started to slide off. With no cover, the Human decided to push forward the effort to not get blown up prematurely and fell through the elevator shaft with the bomb.

Falling several stories, he finally landed on top of it as its spikes dug into the walls and was now lodged inside. Giving a loud groan from the pain but thankfully nothing broken or sprained, he heard more noise from above as the Human scrambled to stand on top of the bomb and aim the Gravitas Launcher. Firing it at the elevator doorway he fell through, the disc would attach and activate when the Dregnir got close, increasing the gravity to a factor of eight and smashing them into the ground by the sheer weight. Counting the minute he had, the Human let it slung back behind him and crawled to the side to manually set the bomb.

Putting the timer at fifteen minutes, he felt something slither beside him as the tendrils of the Dregnirs ship came back for revenge. Grabbing the Humans leg, he only had enough time to set the bomb as he was pulled downward into other tendrils, trying to choke the very life out of the Human. Reigniting his lightsaber, he cut the tendrils into pieces before realizing nothing was supporting him as he plummeted down the elevator shaft again in a free fall. Thinking quickly, he went to the edge and slammed the hilt into the wall, cutting through it on the way down as it slowed his descent just enough to lodge him into the elevators shaft. Breathing a bit hard and looking, he started to hear a beeping noise already from the bomb.

The only way it would beep this early is if it hit a five minute timer...meaning when he set it, he must have deleted the first number on pure accident...being the one. Realizing he was in larger trouble than before, his right shoulder strained beyond belief and in a lot of pain, he jumped towards a nearby grate and sliced it off, falling straight through as it was a downward chute. The lightsaber deactivated, he slammed into different duct parts before smashing what would be some form of control area that was being sealed off for some procedure. Panting rather loudly, the Human tried to get up and wondered how much worse it could get...and that was when he realized, he was in the control room with no protection, near the Super Laser.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Location: Near NT of 'Mutant' on map
Tags: Alars Keto | Khaostra Devoid | The Mongrel | Darth Saevius | Dalos Cameron |
Links: Weapons

The foe fled, running from the advance of the Bloodsworn. Snarling low, Zachariel's lenses blazed red with hatred. All would run before them, all would fear them. Glaring about, Zachariel took in the state of his Chosen, noting them all. Four of them had been cut down, a third of their number on this planet, but they had died well. The rest carried wounds of some sort, but were able to continue fighting with ease. Grinning sadistically, Zachariel noted those who had fallen, only to rise again. A few of them had fallen in combat, laid low, but they hadn't died, instead merely being wounded. As they advanced once more, they rose behind them, joining the ranks again.

This was how many of the Chosen operated, taking anything and everything, falling only to rise again. Still, none of them were unwounded, though a few only carried superficial wounds compared to others. As they advanced and Zachariel examined them, one or two took note of him, seeing that his armor bore many new scars, though the rest form a forward semi circle as they moved. Nodding at that, Zachariel's eyes swung forward, focusing on the foe to be. Those that had ambushed them were retreating, no doubt preparing another ambush of some sort. In turn, the Chosen were ready to smash through any obstacle, arrayed as they were. Once more they marched in formation, those with shields at the very front, the three that they were. At their flanks came four further Chosen, each bearing single or double handed melee weapons. And behind them came the remaining five, each bearing ranged weapons of some sort, primarily heavy repeaters.

At the center back marched Zachariel, eyes already searching for the next ambush, the next attack. Instead of an ambush, the Bloodsworn were treated to a terrifying sight, three massive Drengir advancing towards them. With them came lesser warriors, but they were a small pittance against the beasts that the Drengir were. They had fought alongside the Drengir before, seen the carnage they could bring, and to have that arrayed against them? It was a terrifying thought, even worse to see. Where the Chosen faltered for a moment, Zachariel simply continued on, barking orders at them.

"MOVE! Spread out and surround these beasts, we will kill them all. Let none stop you, KILL, MAIM, BURN!"

Roaring those final words, Zachariel planted his feet and pointed his sword towards them. Chanting low, he drew the Dark Side into himself, glaring daggers at the foe, even as they grew ever closer. Behind him, the Chosen had done as he'd commanded, spread out into squads, preparing to attack as one. Then, one of the Drengir attacked, spearing through a pair of Chosen with ease, picking them up and flinging them away as if they were mere toys. In turn, the Chosen opened fire, even as they began to move. And at the center, Zachariel finished chanting and unleashed a blast of Force Destruction.

The chaff before the Drengir were killed with ease, even as the center Drengir faltered for a moment, unsure of the wave of death coming towards it. Then it was cut into, halving the beast as the lower half died to the blast. Its two counterparts turned towards Zachariel then, roaring and charging him, even as the last dragged itself in his direction. Roaring in turn, Zachariel rushed forward to meet them, axe and sword raised high, he leapt into the fray with reckless abandon, voice echoing as his inhuman roar rose in volume.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Ool, High Orbit
Tags: Dyans Keto | Marlon Sularen | Alars Keto | Electra-12 | Dalos Cameron

"BRACE!" burble-howled the Taskmaster, and the bridge crew of the Tyrant's Aegis rushed to their deck chairs to strap themselves in. Some made it just in time. Others weren't so lucky. As turbolaser fire poured out of the Tartarus, slamming into - and, in some cases, through - the shields of the much smaller Aegis, those who'd failed to reach safety in time were tossed about like ragdolls. Overwhelmed intertial dampers guttered out, and for an instant the bridge was full of flying bodies, slamming into bulkheads and rebounding off the ceiling. Tu'teggacha himself stayed in his command throne only thanks to heavy straps.

He had no time to attend to his organic minions, groaning and bleeding all around him - not that he cared about them beyond their combat effectiveness anyway. The Ebruchi's attention was urgently needed all across the ship, for the damage control readouts in front of him blared ominous orange and red. The Aegis couldn't withstand firepower of this magnitude! And if that superlaser hit them... well, it would all be over in a literal flash. "Intensify forward shields!" the Taskmaster roared, spittle flying from his writhing facial tendrils. "Divert all power from the engines! Strip life support from damaged decks! Give me SHIELDS, damn you!"

Whatever it took to last just a little longer in the crosshairs of this behemoth.

The Aegis and her escorts couldn't even risk shooting back at the Tartarus, because that would allow the smaller Drengir ships to slip through. There was no overestimating the amount of havoc that even a single Drengir-infested warship could cause if it reached another Mawite planet. After the kind of casualties the Brotherhood had suffered on Jedha and Nirauan, an internal struggle that lasted beyond today could shatter their war effort, leaving them too weak to fight back when the NIO and Galactic Alliance inevitably retaliated. This had to end here, or the great crusade to purge the galaxy would be ended by a Mawite collapse.

Tu'teggacha could only hold the line. It was up to his allies to turn the tide.

 

[Marlon Sularen]

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O P E R A T I O N_L A W N M O W E R

FINAL DAWN
OOL , CHISS SPACE

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SHADOW HAND COMMAND - TASK FORCE VADER
Fleet Composition FDV Immortal [Immortal-Class Star Dreadnought] FDV Tyrant [Supremacy I-Class Star Destroyer] FDV Nemisis [Supremacy I-Class Star Destroyer] FDV Exactor [Supremacy I-Class Star Destroyer] FDV Dynamite [Ascendant-Class Pocket Star Destroyer]
Fighter Compliment x40 TIE/fd Fighter Squadrons [480/480] x33 TIE/fd Interceptor Squadrons [262/264] x11 TIE/fdH Hunter Squadrons [44/44] x10 Chariot-II Class Missile Boat Squadrons [40/40] x8 FD-120 Starfortress Bomber Squadrons [64/64]

The Engines of the Warships of Task Force Vader came to life roaring as the Vessels began slowly advancing towards the Drengir Flottila , ready to unleash hell against the equally-hellish Drengir who had dared to rebel against the Brotherhood of the Maw. Soon enough the Immortal was in range of the Drengir Flottila ready to fire it's Powerful Array of Weaponry upon the closest Drengir-controlled Vessel. However before the Grand Overseer could give to order to open fire , something emerged within the many Vessels of the Drengir Flottila. A Vessel long thought to have been destroyed at Lao-Mon , that once rivaled Sularen's former Flagship the Predator and served as the Flagship of none other then the Dark Voice Himself. The Tartarus. How the Drengir came to possess such a behemoth remained a mystery to the Grand Overseer but regardless of this little show of strength on the Drengir's Part , their defeat was inevitable and nothing , not even the former Flagship of Darth Solipsis could save them.

"Sir , the Tartarus is charging it's Superlaser!" One of the Bridge officers said. "Begin charging our own Superlaser and focus all firepower on that Warship. Once it's destroyed , the Drengir will be at our mercy." Sularen ordered. "In the meantime , deploy all our TIE Fighters and Interceptors and keep the rest of our Fighter Compliment in reserve. Once we secure total Starfighter Supremacy , the Drengir Flottila won't stand a chance against our TIE Hunters and Chariot Missile Boats" Sularen ordered. Soon enough the Immortal began the initial stages of charging it's Superlaser Seige Canon while TIE/fd Fighters and TIE/fd Interceptors emerged from the Hangars of the Vessels of Task Force Vader rushing towards the enemy Fleet , ready to clear the Battlefield of any hostile Fighter the Drengir had at their disposal.

As he sat comfortably in his Command Chair on the Bridge of the Immortal , Sularen remained confident that the Brotherhood of the Maw and the Final Dawn's Forces would eventually emerge victorious. They had dealt with similar threats such as the Shi'ido Resistance at Lao-Mon and the Chiss Holdouts at Kinoss and they would defeat the Drengir just like how they had defeated the Shi'ido and the Chiss.

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Tags | Tu'teggacha | Dyans Keto | Dalos Cameron | Electra-12 | Electra-13 | Alars Keto ​

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[The Human]

Tartarus Superlaser Bay​

Injuries: Partially Crushed Left Hip (Medicated, Dull Pain), Two Blaster Burns (Chest and Right Arm)
Equipment: Atmospheric Suit, Red Lightsaber, Twin Wrist Flamers, Vornskr Revolver, Firedrake
TAG: Darth Solipsis Marlon Sularen Alars Keto Dyans Keto Darth Tennacus Kralmus Orr Tu'teggacha Darth Saevius Khaostra Devoid The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Darth Mori Electra-12

There was not much time left. The klaxon alarms went off as the Superlaser Siege Cannon was starting to prepare to fire. The radiation levels were starting to increase, the whole area was whining the Thermal Annihilator Bomb was soon to go off but it would not go off in time to stop such the Superlaser Siege Cannon from going off. The Human looked around as he started to look towards the consoles, igniting his lightsaber as he started to slash the consoles to create conflict in the system. The screen would show that the time had increased by another thirty seconds but it was still not enough. He needed more time, his body started to feel ill, he felt the voices of the Drengir fill his mind, he was starting to die, starting to lose it. Breathing a bit heavily, his mind clouded as he started to remember something, memories flooding into his mind.

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"It is to late! The freighter is going down! We are burning up! We cannot hold!"
"She will hold! I will it!"

The memory showed the males hands outstretched, holding it out as he focused, creating a large barrier in the Force as it enveloped the freighter. Down...down...down-
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​

The Human stared to regain his thoughts as it was thirty seconds before the superlaser would fire. Getting up, he felt immense pain throughout his body yet he kept moving, opening the door towards the main walkway as the atmospheric suit went online, allowing him to walk out into an oxygen restricted, zero gravity atmosphere. Walking along the walkway bridge as the superlaser siege cannon started to aim at its target, the Human stood right at the middle, staring down at the barrel as it was going to fire directly above him. Seeing it starting to charge up, he took deep breaths as his body smelled of smoke, his body burning from the outside and inside. Outstretching both of his hands, he finally spoke for the first time, his eyes turning a sickening yellow as he felt immense power flood into his body.

"You will not fire, for I will it!"

As the superlaser started to make the ionic whine, both arms shot out as he aimed directly at the barrel itself. Feeling his own skin almost peel, he screamed out in pain as the green light of the Super Laser started to shine around the inside and outside, making a glow to all the starships outside. The Superlaser Siege Cannon would then attempt to fire but whatever it aimed at, it was not going outwards more than a few feet but it kept building, pushing out further and further like a stopped blaster bolt. The Human dropped to his knees, his eyes feeling as if they are on fire and his whole body felt as if it was going to burst into flames. It only been eight seconds but it felt as if it was eternity...then the Thermal Annihilator Bomb went off.

The concentration was lost as the Superlaser Siege Cannons laser went off unopposed, hopefully now missing its target or at the worst, a glancing blow. The explosion cascaded around the area as the kyber crystals nearby started to shatter, the superlaser cannon being damaged partially yet with the superlaser going off and the explosions echo, the Human was shot backwards off and was shooting out towards into space itself. Feeling every inch of his body on fire, he barely had enough strength to call upon the Force for a loose cable nearby to shoot into his hand, gripping it and having it steady himself. Gripping it completely with his arms and legs, he held onto it as he loosely hanged off in space, feeling rather cold but his oxygen supply being good.

Every part of his body was now in the worst amount of pain he ever felt in his life. Radiation had eaten parts of his body, using the Force in such an extreme way cooked his body inside and out, he felt portions of his skin burnt black and peeling and with previous injuries, he felt exhausted. Looking out towards the massive hole he had created, he could only grin lightly as the infested ship slowly crawled towards his location...the Human had almost no strength left to fight back. He glanced around weakly, trying to figure out if there was one more escape he can pull off...or if this was truly the end.

 

[Alars Keto]

The Drengir groaned in utter frustration, the hive mind writhing with scattered signals and a uniform desire to see the Maw undone. The moves they made were like a game of dejarik, the pawns set forth making small sacrifices for the larger pieces. The problem was these Warlords and their ilk were making significant inroads, the sacrifices becoming costly plays.

Firefang Wardogs were indeed unlike any other warbeast the Brotherhood employed. Quickly the savage counter to the Tarar Warbands were met by the Scar Hounds favored pets, vicious beyond comprehension with apex predatory instincts. The wardogs hounded the Cirihut and immediately turned the tide, their ilk unused to dealing with the charhound gifts which set ablaze the Vinesworn infested ranks. Fire meant fear. The hounds mangled and burned out all in their path, tearing flesh and root from the infestation. Coupled with the now re-emergent Tarar ranks, the Vinesworn were falling apart on the bridge, something had to give.

The lines fell back beyond the bridge and into the forest lines. There on the other side of the river edge, the ground parted, the earth opening up to something unholy, something unnatural. Vines, roots, growthy appendages rose up from the scattered soil in immediate offense of any of the Mawite ranks in pursuit. One of the mighty kin of the Eldervine rose up, a Drengir raging against the storm of enemy troops. It attempted to raise and rend any in it’s vicinity. The Dark Side pulsating forth like a palpable aura emergent. All would feel it’s wrath, the Vinesworn in retreat began to regroups around their divine root. The battle would continue with a Drengir at the front.

​

The battle in the space above roared, the fighters engaging the Final Dawn and the merciless Mawite fleets. As the Tartarus charged it’s great weapon, the Immortal prepared it’s own in counter. The Star Dreadnought ready to wipe the damaged former flagship of the Dark Voice himself, there would be no victor here if the shots were fired both, only death.

The Taskmaster held the line, his forces taking all the fire thrown at them with heavy resistance and numerous systems taking heavy fire. The Krath-led vessels of the Holy Crusade under Dyans Keto attempting to do the same and stop the fleeing vessels carrying the errant seedlings of the Drengir filth.

The situation looked grim for all, until..

The Tartarus lit up in glorious light, explosions from within by a unknown saboteur. Dalos Cameron, would he survive? Would he live past the now imploding Battlecruiser?

The Mawite numbers rallied as the flagship of the Drengir fell apart, leaving a huge opening in the enemy fleet.

The Bloodsworn Chosen slaughtered their way to the front of the enemy ranks, the scattered defends fighting alongside their three powerful masters as the mighty Zachariel Steelblood ended their number one by one. The Dark Side raged, each side wielding it like a savage blade as the powerful Warlord fought tooth and nail against the Vinesworn and their masters.

As the mighty master of the Bloodsworn leapt into the fray against the final master in the Vinesworn vicinity, the Drengir host threw it’s tendrils about, several more emerging from the delicate earth trying to snatch the Warlord from the air in it’s vice-like grip.

“There is no victory here, no honor Warlord. We. Shall. Feed.”

A pulse of dark energy roared outward, fallen warriors left unburned to rise once more. The Drengir screamed in a guttural roar as it opened it’s great maw seeking to devour Zachariel Steelblood once and for all.

 

[The Mongrel]

​

Location: Ool, Infested Farmland
Tags: Alars Keto | Zachariel Steelblood | Khaostra Devoid | Darth Mori | Darth Saevius

At last they had drawn out the true foe.

Through the sensor input being fed into his brain jar, The Mongrel beheld it: one of the monstrous Drengir. Though his Scar Hounds had cut through a swarm of their minions, and though the creatures had been ostensible allies of the Maw for years, he had seldom encountered one of the actual plant monsters themselves. That was likely for the best. These were creatures considered so dangerous that even the ancient Sith had sealed them away, leaving them stranded at the galaxy's edge rather than trying to wield them as living weapons.

Perhaps the Maw should have done the same.

But there was no time now for regret or recrimination. Though the combination of the wardogs and the Tarar had broken the enemy host of vehicles and fanatics, they would stand little chance against the Drengir itself. Biting fangs and slashing claws would do no harm whatsoever to the thick, oaken vines of the creature, and what flames the charhounds could muster would be insufficient to light the leafy monster ablaze; it was like a young, green sapling swollen to monstrous size, too wet and springy to burn as easily as its minions had.

Nor did the plasmafire of the Tarar seem to be enough. Even if they could have concentrated the full force of their fire on the Drengir, which they could not while also holding back its ongoing waves of minions, the plasma was not designed for such a task as this. It clung to the surface of whatever it struck, burning through armor and searing flesh... but the living wood flesh of Drengir was far too thick and flexible to collapse as the light vehicle armor of the AT-RTs had. The monster shed the plasma like raindrops and kept coming.

Slowly but steadily, the Scar Hounds lost their momentum. Though the Scav Kings laid down heavy covering fire with their rotary blasters and rocket launchers, buying the Tarar and wardogs time to recover, this was still ill news indeed. Brotherhood marauders were at their most powerful on the charge, using their momentum to add strength to their blows, letting their fanatical devotion to the Maw carry them forward. If they were instead tasked to hold a position, or forced into a fighting retreat, that advantage was lost. And in its place...

... division, disarray, and lack of discipline.

This would never have happened if the tribe had been at full strength, wielding its full range of warbeasts, light vehicles, and various elite troops. But the losses on Jedha and Nirauan, battles where they had been the Brotherhood's vanguard, had bled them all but dry. They had no reserves here on Ool because they had no reserves anywhere. Back on Mar'zambul those too grievously wounded were being fitted with cybernetics, and a new crop of aspirants cloned or recruited... but they would not be ready for quite some time yet.

But they must not break. They must not betray their long tradition of being among the Maw's proudest warriors, not here, against this pathetic rabble of mutant traitors. In that moment, suspended in his brain jar, The Mongrel raged. To be stranded in this weak, spidery body, unable to lead his troops from the fore, was unbearable. In better days he would have taken the field at this moment, charging the Drengir personally, tearing it apart with his blades and savage tricks or dying in the attempt. But now he was powerless to do such a thing.

All that was left to him was strategy.

If he killed the Drengir, if he felled the Vinesworn's "divine root", then their little rally would collapse under the pressure of his veteran troops. But how could he slay it when he himself could not lift a finger to fight? He had already sacrificed all that he had to give... but perhaps he could inspire such sacrifice in others. Thinking back to the dropship that had deposited him and his bodyguards on Ool, he opened a comm channel, contacting the pilot directly. "SERVANT OF THE MAW," he thundered, "THE TIME HAS COME TO ENTER PARADISE."

It was a simple plan that he laid out, but a brutal one - both hallmarks of the Maw. The pilot accepted his calling without question, for this would be her path to the Galaxy To Come, and the blessing of the Avatars. Swiftly the shuttle took off, setting a course from the farmland to the edge of the haunted forest. It flew low over the battlefield, skimming across the Scar Hound lines, heading for the woodland just beyond the bridge. It came in low, and then went lower still. Its blasters would do little good against the Drengir, but the fuel it carried.

The ship's nose dipped, pointing straight at the monstrous plant creature, coming in on a collision course. The pilot stood from her chair, sidearm in hand, leaving the controls locked. Calmly, without fear, she walked back to the engines in the instant before impact. She opened the fuel tank, staring at the sloshing, volatile liquid inside, and raised her blaster pistol. In the second before the shuttle crashed headlong into the Drengir's position, she stuffed the barrel of the gun into the refueling opening. "War. Death. Rebirth." she whispered.

She pulled the trigger, and the crash became a fireball.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Ool, High Orbit
Tags: Dyans Keto | Marlon Sularen | Alars Keto | Electra-12 | Dalos Cameron

This was it. He was finished. The Taskmaster's illustrious career of pillaging and torment, breaking slaves and ravaging worlds, was going to come to an end aboard this wretched Final Dawn vessel, and at the hands of one of the Mawites' own ships. Already the Tyrant's Aegis was near the breaking point, many crewman dead and many decks breached, holding together only by the sheer strength of its Epochian-forged armor plating. And now the coup de grace. Tu'teggacha stared into the maw of the superlaser siege cannon as it lit up, preparing to fire point blank into the Aegis's bridge. He would be its first victim this day.

The Ebruchi howled his raging defiance, slamming his knobby fists down on the arms of his command throne. He had no illusions that he would pass to some mythical Galaxy To Come. He would simply be gone, erased, turned to ash by the power of this weapon. All that he had worked for, the position of power he had clawed his way up to reach, would become irrelevant in an instant as that massive beam tore through him. It wasn't fair. Not after all the battles he had survived, all the trauma he'd suffered - and inflicted in turn. He was Tu'teggacha, the Taskmaster, and he deserved better than this! How could this be happening to him?!

But as the superlaser fired, casting a vast beam of light across the Ool System, something unexpected happened. It missed. The Ebruchi blinked quietly for a moment, not quite believing what he was seeing. There was no way any gunner with a functional brain could possibly have missed that shot; the Aegis had been not only in range, but practically point blank, and a gun that big was hard to miss with in the first place. But as he continued to watch, the truth became clear. The Tartarus was listing, explosions breaking out along its decks, its big guns breaking free of their mounts to loll about like the head of a dead man.

They hadn't hit it very hard. This had to be internal sabotage.

Whatever had happened, the Taskmaster chose not to question it. "The Tararus is damaged!" he shouted into his comm unit. "Transfer power back to our weapons systems! Intensify our barrage against all other Drengir vessels! We will sweep them from the system." For even with the threat of imminent death eliminated for the moment, the threat of the Drengir's potential escape was still a pressing one. Every vessel under the Taskmaster's command continued their attack on the infested warships, missiles and turbolasers slamming into them, fighting to overcome their bizarre regeneration long enough to destroy them.

They would still need all the help they could get to see this through.

 

[Vesta]

Venus Fly Trap​

There was no language that could have been exchanged to curb the approach of either side in this conflict, no common ground that could have swayed Mori to leave the Drengir to their own devices or from the Sith herself to push the haughty overgrowth into submission. There was a shared wariness, something she was distinctly aware of given the relatively pulled punches aimed her way, perhaps hoping to avoid biting off more than they could chew - instead directing their advances towards a more likely, easier, route to success. It didn't matter to her, of course, and perhaps didn't to them either; she'd continue on her path with a burning vengeance and they would press on with the intent to accomplish what they could with the means they had available to them, a direct conflict between the two would, in all likelihood, be too much for the singular woman to deal with now --

They didn't need to know that, however.

"They're focusing on elements of the Maw that they know best." She answered, her tone as flat as her enthusiasm for their particular circumstance. "If they understood how to deal with me then I would be faring about as well as the shipmasters suppressing their attempt to get off-world." Mori said, explaining her rationale for the rather subdued attempts on her life thus far as she widened the circle of scorched earth around her. 'Which is to say: not well at all.' She thought to herself, her lips curling into a deep frown as she cursed the timing of this all. It would be so simple to deal with such a threat if she wasn't in such a state, and if they hadn't just left Nirauan in the way they'd arrived on Ool.

Uncertainty was a thorn in her side that she was never willing to concede to, and defeat was something she was incapable of accepting.

"They do burn, though. I'm certain someone with your.." Her voice trailed off as she turned her gaze towards Kralmus Orr for the first time, trying to figure out whether it was worth even offering the tail end of her thought that she'd based on the stereotype of his sort of discipline. "...resourcefulness.." She added after that momentary pause, selecting it carefully, with emphasis, before continuing on with what she'd intended to say. "..could figure out a way to take advantage of that." She hadn't ever truly thought much of the Mandalorian discipline, despite being the architect behind the planet's independence some years back, but they were the closest thing that someone without the force typically came to in matching their betters.

Nearby, though not quite in the immediate vicinity, a clearing was forced open through a line of trees that had been reduced to a rain of splinters that ignited mid-air as they drew too close to the Sith and the man who had happened upon her. Heca Foliou appeared to be dealing with the monstrous plant life in a more direct and kinetic manner, literally pushing them aside with everything else caught in the wave used to do so. "Three is company, they say." She said, far less cheerfully than the typical use behind the phrase implied. She abhorred traveling in groups, much less so relying on anyone other than herself for even the most mundane of tasks, but above all her preferences she was pragmatic - there was no tricking herself into thinking she could resolve things on her own in her current state, barring a miracle, and the first impressions she had from the two of them seemed to implied a shared pool of skills that might compliment the other.

In far less words: they would help her more than they could hinder her.

That was the reasoning she had in mind, at least, as she began walking towards the younger-looking woman.

 

[The Human]

Tartarus Outer Hull​

Injuries: Partially Crushed Left Hip, Two Blaster Burns (Chest and Right Arm), Full Body Radiation Burns, Full Body Force Damage (Skin Peeling).
Equipment: Atmospheric Suit, Red Lightsaber, Twin Wrist Flamers, Vornskr Revolver, Firedrake
TAG: Darth Solipsis Marlon Sularen Alars Keto Dyans Keto Darth Tennacus Kralmus Orr Tu'teggacha Darth Saevius Khaostra Devoid The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Darth Mori Electra-12

This was it. He could see the flashes of missiles, blaster fire around him, turbolasers hitting the hull of the Tartarus. He had completed his mission, he was now going to die. His whole body was screaming in agony, he barely had the strength to keep himself on the large cable he was apart of. Not a single person was going to save him, how could anyone considering he was on the outside of a large falling apart dreadnought? As parts of the Drengir fell away, the tendrils no longer going towards him, he looked back at a nearby star destroyer that started to fly by rather closely. It was giving a large barrage as he heard in the back of his mind a saying.

"Trust in the Force, let go. Let it guide you."

The Human blinked as his response in his mind was rather simple, grabbing the Firedrake from behind as every inch of his body was on fire, screaming in pain but he used that pain, using it to keep going.

"The Force does not control me, I control it. I will my destiny, not it. The Force shall Free Me, but it shall not Bind Me."

Gripping the Firedrake, he let go of the cable and glanced back towards the star destroyer passing by. Aiming away from the star destroyer, he would fire the Firedrake as his body was launched almost uncontrollably into space. Spinning, he barely could see the star destroyer passing by, taking out the Vornskr Revolver and firing it once as his body was sent even faster towards the hull until he impacted. Hard with the Firedrake flying off into space. Feeling parts of his body cracking, the Human screamed out in pain as his right arm was most likely worse than crushed, pulverized be a better word. Gripping part of the hull with his left hand, he was lucky the shields were not turning him to dust. With his left arm loosely gripping the revolver, he started to use his legs to move in very rough fashion, climbing the top part of the hull.

Upon seeing a small access hatch, his left hand moved barely and fired once at the locking mechanism, sheering it completely off with the Revolver then flying out of his hand. Opening it up, he slid right on inside and closed the hatch to feel rather suddenly gravity turn back on, falling several feet before almost landing with a loud THUD. Giving a long groan, he felt his vision fade as people surrounded him with blaster rifles, his helmet being forcibly removed as he noticed the forces of the Maw. However the soldiers recoiled as his skin was extremely red, parts of it black as coal, parts of it peeling and all hair was burnt off of his body.

"How the hell did you get on this ship!"
"I...flew...in."
"What the- that is absurd!"
"Agent...blew...ship...tart...ar...us."
"Someone get on the line for Tu'teggacha , let him know the Tyrant's Ageis has a new passenger. Tell him he is seriously injured."

 

[Kralmus Orr]

​

Location: Ool, Infested Farmland
Tags: Darth Mori | Heca Foliou

​

Well, neither of these sorceresses seemed particularly impressed with - or interested in - Kralmus's contribution to the battle. But then, if he conjure shoot fire and kinetic energy out of his hands, he probably wouldn't have been too much awed by... a guy with a big axe. So the Mandalorian took the whole thing in stride. He had nothing to prove to anyone, least of all himself. He might not have the flashy gifts of the Sith, but he was still at home here, in the heart of the battle. Well, more or less the heart, anyway. As the Maw's front-line troops pushed the Vinesworn back into their haunted woods, the farmland was being scoured clean of mutants.

"They do burn, though. I'm certain someone with your... resourcefulness... could figure out a way to take advantage of that."

"Naturally," Kralmus replied dryly. He might not be able to generate fire, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't shoot flames out of his hands. Advancing toward a knot of straggling mutants, now cut off from the main Vinesworn host by flanking Mawite forces and the sluggish river, he raised his arm and squeezed his fist. Accelerants flowed through internal hoses, and a lighter at the end of the long tube clicked. The flame projector built into his beskar gauntlet roared to life, bathing the trio of tree-men in fire. Kralmus had carefully worked out his own personal blend of fuel and accelerants, designed to stick to whatever they struck and burn white-hot.

The Vinesworn mutants screamed as they burned, flailing about with their twisted, oaken limbs as they shedded blazing pieces of their own woody flesh. It was as if two voices screamed at once within each one, a human howl of agony and terror intertwined with something far more alien. Each voice was a little different, striking diverse notes of overwhelming pain, forming a choir of the damned. Joined with the familiar sound of wet campfire wood popping and sizzling as it slowly dried and caught flame, it was a vile symphony. And it was accompanied by a balletic dance as the mutants pirouetted in hopeless circles, trying in vain to extinguish themselves.

What a beautiful sight. The manifold sights, sounds, and flavors of death brought Kralmus much enjoyment.

One of the mutants, reason finally powering through panic in its mind, turned and rushed for the river, its bark-skin blackening as it ran screaming toward the water. Well, that wouldn't do, would it? With a weary sigh, Kralmus interrupted the concert, drawing a heavy blaster pistol from his side and shooting the thing through the back of the... well, it looked vaguely like a head. It was hard to tell on these half-plant wretches. The blaster impact would normally have had little effect, but the flames had clearly weakened that durasteel-hard bark-flesh, and the bolt punched messily through it like a nail through a rotten board. He shot it five more times for good measure.

Stalking over to the corpse, Kralmus crouched beside it and drew his butcher knife again. Maybe he should try a different cut of meat, something easy to eat right off the bone, so he could taste it on the go. Hefting one of the creature's feet, he counted down its toes. "This puffer-piggy went to market," he murmured, his voice singsong but off-key. "This puffer-piggy stayed home. This puffer-piggy ate roast nerf. This puffer-piggy had none. And this puffer-piggy," he paused, slicing the mutant's big toe cleanly off with his razor-sharp knife, "cried wee-wee-wee all the way home." Whipping his helmet off again, he raised the severed digit to his lips.

... and immediately spat it out again. "Bleh. The char hardly helps. Needs some seasoning, I think."

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Location: Near NT of 'Mutant' on map
Tags: Alars Keto | Khaostra Devoid | The Mongrel | Darth Saevius | Dalos Cameron
Links: Weapons

On and on they battled, back and forth. Zachariel had merely cut one of the Drengir in two, not killed it, and the other two were still very much alive. Behind him, he could sense his Chosen continuing their battle, raging against the Drengir and the chaff that came with them. Said chaff was cut into easily, but the Drengir were true dangers. Even with all the skill and strength the Chosen had, they were still small compared to their foe. All around, they fought for their lives, cutting and blasting into the Drengir, but being cut into in turn. Here, one Chosen was cut in twain by the maw of one beast, there another was skewered through by a tentacle. Still they fought, death came for them, and they would die in glory.

To Zachariels left, the Chosen battled fiercely, cutting into the Drengir there with controlled ferocity. Still, their numbers were cut in half in the battle, and they weren't done yet. On his right, the Chosen battled there as well. However, rather than stand and fight, they had decided to draw it closer to them. Zachariel himself battle on, having already cut his Drengir in two. Another roar and further battle, the beast had been killed with fire and sword, leaving Zachariel to turn to his right. By now those Chosen had dragged the beast away, leaving its back wide open. Laughing in sadistic glee, Zachariel charged the beast from behind, leaping onto it and hacking and slashing at it. From the front, this Chosen squad continued to battle, now finding more openings in the creatures agonies.

Neither party realized that the other squad of Chosen was losing ground, being cut down and eaten one by one. Still they fought, yet they died. It took several bloody more minutes before Zachariel and his Chosen realized it. By then they had cut this Drengir down as well. Turning towards the last Drengir, scowls crossed their faces as they watched the final Chosen be eaten whole. With a curse and a cry, Zachariel leapt towards the final Drengir, blades raised high to cut into the beast. Rather than crash into it, tentacles shot out and grabbed him midair, halting him in place. Roaring his hatred, Zachariel thrashed in its grip, even as the undead warriors rose once more. Said monstrosities targeted the Chosen, even as they rushed to aid their master. Instead, they were held up as they battled the undead hordes.

As Zachariel was drawn closer, the beast spoke to him, telling him of its plans, and Zachariel growled at it in turn.
"I never lose, beast."

Struggling in vain, Zachariel was drawn closer and closer to its maw. When he was within a few feet of it, Zachariel let out an unholy roar and changed. Armor falling away, Zachariel skittered free of his metal shell. As the Drengir had been grabbing that, he came free and emerged in all his inhuman glory. He had begun unlocking his armor as soon as he was dragged towards the beast, seeing no other escape. It was a first in a long time, that he would wage war without his armor. Roaring as the last of his armor fell away, revealing the mass of writhing tentacled glory of a gen'dai, Zachariel shot along the vines and tentacles of the Drengir.

Clambering over the shocked tentacles of the beast, Zachariel spread out as he grew closer. Avoiding its maw by crawling around it, Zachariel's form spread across the beasts 'head', and he rose above it like a wicked cowl of death. Roaring his hatred, the tendrils of Zachariel's form stabbed forth, jabbing towards the beast.
"YOU! SHALL! DIE!"