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Castle Bast, acting as the Sith Empire's main stronghold on Vjun, the New Imperial Order prepares to conduct a large scale assault unto the fortress and its outlying fortifications in an amphibious assault split into two beachheads.
Taking place on the main beachhead of Castle Bast, a task force of New Imperial military assets move up to destroy and overtake the Sith fortifications of the Castle with fast moving infantry and amphibious units.
Attacking from inland, more heavily armored assets approach Bast to lay siege and punch through the defenses of the castle with aggression and overwhelming firepower.
C A S T L E _ B A S T FIRESTARTER
Embarking into the subterrean sewer tunnel system beneath Castle Bast, a task force of Imperial Force Corps Knights and other special warfare units enter to infiltrate the Sith Fortress. With them they carry the payload of a high yield explosive charge designed to destroy fortifications from within. It is their goal to get it as far into Castle Bast as possible before arming and detonating it.
V J U N _ O R B I T SCREAMING FOR VENGEANCE
In order to deploy the ground forces unto the surface of Vjun, the New Imperial Order thrust forward its first wave of naval assets into a bloody, costly engagement with the first wave of Sith ships set in orbit to defend the world. With both of the forces taking a reprieve to lick their wounds, the second wave advances into a debris field of destroyed ships to battle for space supremacy over Vjun once more.
The mad dash to seize the beachheads in the proximity of Castle Bast saw the tip of the spear, in the form of the Stormtrooper Corps, crash upon the fortifications of the Sith. The death toll would be high, and whether they gained ground or not, it was up to him, to ensure that as few of them died as possible.
Glancing behind him, he saw the light from the distant entrance vanish behind the winding tunnel they had just come from. The sounds of battle that had been faint were hardly perceptible now. With each step they took in the dark and dank tunnel, the weight of the case on his back grew heavier. The importance of it, the importance of their mission…
As the group took their first pause to gain their bearings, Val reached into the Force. The random spatters of the Dark Side were present, expected with the nearing Castle Bast, one time home to a Dark Lord of magnanimous power, the Force Corps knew the Castle would make lesser members of the Force Corps a liability.
The loss of life was instant, it felt, for those lucky enough to survive the initial battle in orbit, and then the subsequent race to the surface, just to meet an abrupt end. Yet, their will was Iron, and to do anything but respect their sacrifice was a dishonour of their memories.
Blinking himself back into the moment, Djonas reached behind him to ensure the charge was secured on his back carrier plate mount.
Had it just been him, he would’ve sped through the winding tunnels till he found the perfect location. His muscles itched for it, to forego following in the wake of the Storm Commando Grunge, and his unit.
Reckless as always, Pick up the pace, he uttered through the Knight’s bond. The small cadre of Imperial Knights that accompanied him were meant to be a bulwark. Whether it was physical protection, or their combined mental fortitude to shield against the latent Dark Side, they were there to pick up the slack. His slack.
I M P E R A T O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
1st BRIGADE 'READY-FIRST' COMBAT TEAM
PRIMO VICTORIA | BEACHHEAD MADINE Armor | Rifle | Pistol | Void | Melee | Grenades
<"The Sith have made their fate known to the Galaxy...and their fate is death."> Irveric said to the assembled troopers in the launch bay of the star destroyer, faceless stormtroopers and Imperial army assets offering nothing but the abrasive gaze of their helmets peering back at his own.
<"At Bast Castle...this is their main hold over Vjun, a world which the Sith have historically coveted. While armored units drop off target and move to siege Bast Castle...we will land on the beaches...and we will take it. There is little specifics to designate to all of you. Only...to breathe fire, to cover the trooper to the left and right flank of you...and to kill the enemy."> Irveric displayed in simple terms once more. This was no complex engagement and there was certainly no need for him to rile up an already vehement audience.
<"Each of you do your job, cover your fellow troopers and keep pressing forward...and we'll all be back home together. Understood?"> The 501st replied in kind with a passionate roar through their helmets, slamming their fists against their chests, clutching those closed hands over their hearts before speaking up.
<"Yes, Imperator! My life for the Empire! I will breathe fire! I will protect my comrades! I will kill the enemy!">
He'd now accomplished his first task as a combat leader. To inform his team of the plan, put it in simple terms and most importantly of all...have them believe in it.
The first wave of New Imperial Naval vessels pressing through the orbit of Vjun had experienced heavy losses, but they'd done their part, to ensure the ground assault element could reach the surface. With HVADs and RDAGs providing the means of landing, the main contingent of infantry assaulting the strategic point designated 'Beachhead Madine' advanced in the latter with low flying formations meant to disrupt motion sensors and avoid anti-air fire before surging unto the shoreline, dumping its payload of Stormtroopers donned in their tropical or shoreline assault armor variants. Feet pounded against stand beneath the thumping of enemy fire as they clammored for cover behind jagged rocks and squad based shield systems surging up around them to cover the emplaced heavy weapons being pulled from the gunship, allowing the infantry element to lay down far more suppressing fire.
Within the first few minutes, the 501st and other infantry units were dumping unto the beach head, scrambling for cover and unprepared fighting positions while under the hail of stressful blaster fire, conditions they'd been molded to operate under several times over. Within only a few minutes, a vast majority of Tavlar's men had hit the ground, covering their comrades and moving into momentarily safe positions.
Momentarily, because to stay any longer meant indirect fire assets could hone in on their location and disperse death and chaos at an alarming rate. On top of that, the rain. Acid rain. While their armor served to mostly protect all of them from the caustic precipitation, it was more than abrasive condition to fight in and worked ruinously on the vehicles and weapon systems they employed, often causing malfunctions, jams and corrosion unto each of them. They'd have to act fast and strike hard if they were going to advance past this beachhead.
The operation was risk ridden, but relied on the other moving components with the subterranean infiltration and armored assault to disperse the focus of the Sith defenses and allow them to be isolated and eliminated one after the other.
Total war was a fickle beast. The deployments which began as meticulously planned exercises of military prowess, running through kill houses and field training for months at a time got a lot more expedited as the strategic demands changed and adapted with each passing week.
Subterranean warfare, on par with scrapping in an urban environment in the ability to stir and cause confusion, blue on blue, the rest of the bad. Vandal Squad and the Storm Commando corps in general were well versed in these operations and thus, Grunge, Commander of Task Unit Alpha, Special Operations Command was tapped to be one of the leaders in the task force assembled to carry through with Operation : Firestarter.
In the chaos and clamor of the New Imperial Army's two pronged assault over the Sith fortress of Bast Castle, Vandal, the Imperial Knight attache and the rest of the infiltration unit would try their hand at forcing an early surrender by planting and activating a Baradium charge as deep underneath the Bast Castle as they could manage.
Vandal took point, operating with hand signals and minimal communications, acting as the forward recon for the Imperial knights in posession of the explosive.
<"Clear. Move up."> Grunge spoke in a hushed tone to the rest of his four man operational detachment.
It was quiet for now, but he didn't anticipate that lasting a moment longer.
S H R I E K _ H A W K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
VJUN '65 | CASTLE BAST WIDOWMAKER
skira [mando'a] - settling scores, revenge. feud (different to vengeance - more personal)
Rustic. Barbaric. Uncivilized. Rough. These were just a few of the many words he had heard the aruetii call his tongue. They were also the same epithets they labeled his people across the galaxy, be it the Alliance of the Core or the Sith. Yet, no language spoken - that he knew of - had a specific word conceived to describe vengeance of intensity beyond reckoning or retribution. No word in the language of the aruetiise set ablaze the soul, stirring a fury beyond measure, as the word skira.
Driven by this same incarnation of comeuppance, both Azula Ordo and Amon Vizsla found themselves among the group of Imperial Knights and special operatives infiltrating the bleak Castle Bast. While the New Imperials had their own objectives, the two Mandalorians had a separate, personal agenda. Lex Talionis.
The familiar echolocation of his T-visor mapped the area ahead, carefully tracing different routes within a limited range. Amon's return to donning the beskargam, after wearing the Alliance's trooper armor, had felt like a rebirth. He felt being himself, his true self once again. Mandalorian through and through.
A glance at Azula beside him, he briefly wondered if she felt the same way donning the Mandalorians' second skin once more. The silent glance lasted longer than it should before he spoke up, the vocoder of his buy'ce twisting his voice.
"You see how the tunnels split up ahead?" he assumed her helmet also boasted the sonar mapper, "We'll diverge from the Imps somewhere down the line and make our own way inside, find what you're looking for and - ideally - leave before they set off the charges."
Ingrid was not on the planet today to take part in the war, her research brought her to the planet. Now that she was home again and had time to deal with this as well, she returned to researching how to bring Adrian back. At last she not only saw but felt him thanks to the soulshards. It still hurt her the same way it did on Dantooine on that day. They, the EE couldn't help it now, because of the NIO's punishment, but she did everything she could to bring Adrian back. They can't take this away from her.
She changed her look and Force Signature not to get to know her and so she came to the planet. In addition to her “homework”, she still didn’t give up to finally make peace. One day she will succeed. Something, it’s just going to work because she hasn't felt lucky lately. Maybe today here in this place she will find something that will advance her research, maybe this planet bring good luck to her.
Arriving by an average ship unrelated to the Eternal Empire, she landed with it in a more sheltered place, in the neighbourhood where, in principle, she will find what she was looking for. She was not trusted in the Force, scientific records led the woman here. Changed her Force Signature, as well as her appearance, today again the Red Witch was here, not the Empress of the Eternal Empire. Life was easier with shape-shifting abilities.
If the NIO were looking for her, well, Kessia Miran
replaced her, as usual, the Empress of the Eternal Empire was back home and COMPNOR agents could observe her. In the meantime, Ingrid had business to do, as she was several months behind.
Adrian L’lerim Terassi Vandiir Prince of the Eternal Empire, Disciple/Acolyte, assassin, sorcerer and alchemist
Uncrowned King of the Pocket Sand, Heir of the House L’lerim, Member of the Primyn Group
Adrian was here for a very different reason than his mother; he didn't even know that his mother was on the planet. Had it been so, she would have sent him back to Netherworld immediately because of the arriving NIO armies. He had learned this very well that it was unnecessary to argue with the woman. He was too careful and strict, and had to perform much better in more than he did during Eina’s upbringing. Telis Taharin-Zambrano
was no better either.
They both had a pretty interesting perception when it came to worrying and caring about someone. They both expected the boy to perform above maximum, in all areas, so he had to undergo a very rough training. Instead of being allowed to read his father’s notes and books all day. They were more interesting. He was now here on the planet Vjun, in acid rain. Alone.
He could only listen to the communication channel and it said the enemy would arrive soon. Great, that's all he missed. He hadn't wanted to be here before, but he hadn't. And he didn't really care that they were at war everywhere. He would rather have read in his bed or done something else there with someone else. He hated fights and wanted to stay out of it. In this his father was a son.
He was young, he just wanted fun, and wanted an average college life with many scientific experiments. Feth! Why was he born as the son of one of the leaders of the Sith Empire and the Empress of the Eternal Empire?
The infiltration of Castle Bast would be an in and out. Clean. Precise.
Said no one.
The small section of Imperial Knights along with the cadre of Storm Commandos was tasked with finding a detonation spot worthy enough to make the fortifications on top crumble into the earth. He was tasked to do the same, although he would not be tagging along. He was assigned his own little squad of Storm Commandos who were supposed to help with the job, yet he paid no attention to them.
The traditional entrance was taken by the first group, so he took another way in. 30 kilometers to the west there was a second entrance in the form of a hatch that allowed his squad to make it inside the tunnel system. It was cold and dark like any tunnel system, but another eerie factor weighed in. He could not recognize it, but it was there. One by one they loaded in, the echoes of the battlefield slowly being cut off as they descended deeper.
Turning on the flashlight on his rifle, he took up the point position. His squad followed closely behind. Loft could feel the rumbles of the explosions that rocked the area above him. The quiet of tunnels increased the level of anxiety in all of them, and the ambient noises made it worse. The last thing any of them wanted was to be caught lacking.
<"You all know the drill. Let's keep a lookout for the turns and keep the flashlight signals to a minimum. We don't want to give away our position, as we're bound to find something in this damn mess."> He said to the squad of Storm Commandos, who all replied back in a series of nods.
It would be a long day trudging through the filth.
Objective: Hold the Line Location: The beach near Castle Bast Equipment: Lightsaber Allies: TSE Enemies: NIO Tags: Irveric Tavlar --------------------------------------
War had almost a macabre melody to it, if one listened carefully and often enough.
The first shots of the blasters, some heavy enough in firepower to saturate an entire area with death. "Two squads moving up the right flank, put them down!"
The cacophony of explosions as artillery and grenades began their deadly addition to the orchestra. "Another landing on the left side, hit them before they get to cover!"
The sound of the death and desperation of a million soldiers serving as the base for it all. "Kill them all! Let not a single traitor defile this line!"
Altogether it composed a violent song.
A performance for death.
A symphony of war.
Once more Alisteri found himself dug in with several squads of Legionnaires, helping by yelling out orders and rushing crates of ammunition and explosives wherever they were needed. He was only so much use at this range after all, and with any luck they would stay at this range. The assault on the beach had come as a bit of a surprise, but the defenders were not completely caught off-guard. Trenches, makeshift bunkers and fortifications, and a couple arrays of anti-air and artillery cannons had fired off at the attackers the moment that the boots of the first Stormtrooper had touched the ground.
The castle's bulwark of fortifications would be the last line of defense.
The rain pelted down, adding to the noise of the battle as well as creating an obstacle for any sort of logistical or engineering plans. The worry of the inner workings of an artillery gun being melted was ever-present, but such things had to be handled if they did occur. They couldn't afford to allow any infantry through past the beach. The armored column of the Imperials would already be enough of a hassle for the defenders of the castle to deal with, let alone a beach full of Stormtroopers.
As usual the stalwart Legionnaires of the Sith Empire held no fear or remorse for the enemy. There was not a single step taken on the beach that went without a flurry of bolts to halt it. Given the Imperial assault inland, retreating to the castle would be an unlikely success if either front fell. They would stand and fight or they would die, that was the reality.
And not a single one of them flinched when they realized it.
The recoil causes more pause than anything else. He noted. The fortifications closer to the castle proper were still coming online and being prepared, but the ones that were already active had made their presence known. All the defenders on the beach had to do was buy time with their lives and hope that the castle would be ready to repel whatever came its way until the battle was won.
By the might of the Sith Empire, Castle Bast would still be in Sith-Imperial hands by the end of this day. That, or it would be a crater due to the unyielding defenders.
The New Imperial Order had found themselves at the gates of Vjun, one of the original homeworlds of the Sith species, one of the planets that everyone in the All-Massassi Cohort could trace their lineage back to. There could be no misplaced blaster bolts, not a single grenade thrown without the blessings of the Gods, there could be no invocation of the dark during this siege. This was a homecoming, afterall. There would be no hate behind their warmaking, there would be no despise, there would be no anger. This was purging an infection from a world that burns with live at it’s very core, a world that once spread the seeds of the Purebloods, a world that once gave his species a fighting chance at the Galaxy. The world that would give the footing from Moraband to the world of Tython, the world that could have seen the greatest of the Sith artists, musicians, and cultural founders born and die.
But that history was ripped from the Massassi.
When the exiles first came to the Sith, the Jen'jidai, they tore something from the Tsis people. They malformed and manipulated them, had the Tsis throw away their native Gods and beliefs for a magocratic worship of the Jen'jidai. This bled them for a dozens of thousands of years to come. Soon, the Sith people were playing second fiddle to the Jen'jidai, and it was no longer the Redbloods that wore their native title. Instead it was grand pretenders to the throne, instead it was humans and other exiles that dared to claim the right to the Sith culture through pointless bloodshed.
War had a purpose in the Sith culture that was normally held by praying in most of the rest of the civilized galaxy. War was their form of revrence, just and honest war was the closest that one could reach Yavin without throwing themselves into the gas giant itself. They tainted that, as they did all things they touched. They warred to sunder worlds and devastate peoples. They warred to impose their will against those that never could have hoped to resist. They warred, just as they did now, for selfish and egotistical reasons.
No more.
When the Imperial Army and Stormtrooper Legions were gathered in the Imperator’s Star Destroyer, listening to his words, letting the bravado of the moment fill them with hope and desire for defiance, a call rose out among the rest of the reply of Galactic Basic, the language of the Sith cutting through from the All-Massassi Cohort.
“Char, Imperator! Ki natura dzis ri Aiuso! Nu waria witi saud! Nu waria sosûtusamsi ki dikitija! Nu waria zudyti ri zûtaikima!"
Hâwmâr stood in the transport as it rattled down through the atmosphere, the sounds of artillery booming through the atmosphere and tearing New Imperial personnel down. Rolling balls of flame descending down into the sea and bolt soaked beachhead that would make the base of their assault. He kneeled down, setting the stock of his SFR blaster rifle on the floor, level with his boots, as he traveled his hand up and down the weapon. Pulling bits and checking to make sure the condition of the weathered blaster was up to this new adventure, eventually settling on the power pack, popping it free from it’s housing. He listened to the long hiss as it empted the excess tibanna that was in the receiver before slamming the pack back home, listening to and mimicking the high pitched hum the weapon made to let it’s operator know it was ready for combat. He rolled the weapon’s sling back over his shoulder before pulling his REC-PWL/01 into the same position. Overlooking the weapon with a much less practiced and much less intent search. Simply wanting to assure himself that it was still there, still taking up weight and meaning. The rocket launcher found itself back at home before he stood up straight, adjusting the helmet upon his head as he looked over the rest of his squad. The Sergeant turned around and let out a sharp whistle, drawing the attention of the other gathered eight soldiers.
“Alright,” Sarg Rûhin began. “We’re going to be hitting a beach landing. The Jen'jidai know that we are coming, and they have set up appropriate defenses that would demoralize and decimate a lesser army. That’s not what we are. We are the sons of Korriban, aren’t we?”
He smirked as he spoke.
“We’ve got orders from the top, the Jen'jidai are leading a determined defense of the world, Yavin wonders why, so there are bound to be a certain amount of high value targets operating on the beachhead. While breaching and capturing Castle Bast is our primary objective, as well as providing anti-armor support to the rest of the Strike Force and the 501st.” He nodded at Hâwmâr as he spoke.
“Our secondary objective will be one Darth Strosius
.” He brought up a small holoprojection from his wrist, a pixelated caricature of the man. A helmeted figure, draped in a hood, was all that it provided. Little to no context, comments on the armor or abilities of the man, simply a foreboding plate of a Sith’s facemask.
“All I can say is that the man is some form of Jen'jidai. Acolyte, knight, master? No idea. If you see him, call it out, focus the squad’s firepower… Hâwmâr.”
The Sergeant saying his name brought Hâwmâr to attention rather quickly, straightening up and meeting the man’s eyes.
“Yessir?”
“If it comes to it, slug a rocket his way. Those things are cheaper than the lives these Jen'jidai can reap, got me?”
Hâwmâr gave a nod to Rûhin, who simply winked in return and turned around to face the doors of the gunship. The pounding on the outside of the vessel began to sound more like some tribal war song than the cries of combat. They were in the open now, the beachhead.
“We charge until I make the call, take as much beach as you can before they force you into cover. Been an honor, boys.”
There was the moment before the doors opened.
Then it was gone.
“Affix bayonets!” Rûhin screamed at the squad as the doors began to shutter open.
Hâwmâr reached down to his side, fumbling with his straps and sheath, grabbing around the wrapped grip and pulling the bayonet free from it’s holster, slamming it onto the locking point near the end of the rifle before huddling down slightly, bringing his mass of gravity closer to the ground and keeping the stock of the rifle loose on his shoulder.
“Yavin na mus!” The squad shouted as the light blared into the gunship, the beach in front of them breathing to life with explosions from artillery emplacements. The rain of blaster fire scorching marks all across their pathway. Sending showers of sparks off of the hull of their craft as the Sergeant threw himself out into the beach. Feet slamming against the sand, Hâwmâr was right behind him. The rocket launcher bouncing against his back with every last step, with every kick of sand behind him, every twitch as blaster fire was an ever present reality. He watched to his left as the other members of the Imperial Army and Stormtrooper Legions departed. It was a world of difference seeing the members of the 501st in operation. It was less like they were fighting against the blaster hellfire and were walking through it. Calculated blaster shots would find those that got closer to beading on their squad, and when they did make their shots land, the betaplast armor of the stormtroopers simply rebounded it off in most cases. The Imperial Army, on the other hand, were falling in droves. Troops stumbling over their comrades corpses and trying to get traction, setting up emergency cover feet away from their landing craft.
Why had Terentatek Squad managed so long then?
Luck.
Hâwmâr reached up, realizing he had made it farther from the beach than he thought he would. His squad setting up at various points along the rush, behind rocks and displaced sections of gunships. Rûhin having managed to position himself behind a rather large sandstone boulder, firing off rounds at a group of Sith Legionaries that were attempting to push their position back.
A flash of black armor appeared to the left of Rûhin, outside of his sightline from his angle, shifting around to put a round in his back. Hâwmâr let out a scream, reverberating from deep in his lungs, which caused the Legionnaire to turn, just in time to catch sight of the Pureblood charging at him with all his might. He brought his SFR up and slammed the point of the bayonet into the Legionnarie’s upper shoulder, bringing the man to the ground as he threw all of his weight into the man. He nearly toppled over onto the Legionnaire, but just managed to catch his balance. The Legionnaire went to grab at the bayonet, assumedly a pain response, but a foot on the stomach for leverage and a sharp pull brought the weapon free. Barrel leveled to the betaplast helmet and a feathering of the trigger. Several bolts slammed into the faceplate before shearing it away, burning the man’s visage into a cindered crater into the sand.
“Good work squad, keep the push, we get into the castle, find our target, spend the night drinking!” Rûhin called to them, slapping Hâwmâr’s shoulder as he shifted to nestle behind the rock with his sarg.
Bright streaks condensed into singular points as the ship left the egress of hyperspace. Gray wedges against the void loomed in the distance, throwing red stripes of fire between one another. Zaavik took his hand from the hyperthrottle and quickly attended to several switches before grasping the co-pilot's yoke tightly. A chime sounded as atmospheric shields activated in preparation to enter the Vjun's stratosphere.
Turbulence shook the ship like a low-magnitude earthquake. A sigh of relief escaped the Zeltron's lips as the impression that they'd managed to slip past the naval theater above dawned. Their proximity exit from hyperspace appeared to pay off despite the risk. Until it didn't. The sound of interloping Ion Engines screaming clawed beneath the sounds of their own ship. A sudden jolt, crack, and rumble from within the ship killed snuffed out his relief in an instant.
"Chit!" Alarms began to cry out from the console in desperation. A holo diagram of the ship projected, sections of the aft near the drives all flashing red. The magnitude of turbulence had increased by a factor of ten. Zaavik threw on his pilot's headset and slowly fought the rumbling and came to an unbalanced stand within the cockpit.
<Keep us steady!> he shouted through the microphone, his voice vocoding directly into the next headset to be heard above the sounds of a collapsing ship. He staggered and wobbled against the unsteady ground, teetering with falling objects and sliding furniture. After a long stumble, he braced himself around the ladder to the dorsal quad laser turret and began to climb.
A sudden flash of heat was followed by a hard impact across his back. When his vision refocused, he was supine facing an inferno engulfing the upper part of the ladder. The headset crumbled and slid off as he raised his head slowly. He clasped one hand over the far side of his face, a burning sensation stinging at every nerve. An unurgent groan drowned beneath the alarms and rumbling as he slowly returned to his feet in a daze.
Snapping out of it, he readjusted his plan and started to claw through a disheveled interior toward the engine bay. A cryo-extinguisher that hd fallen off a wall bracing was promptly scooped up. He shot the carbon dioxide stream over every flame in his way until he made it to the drives. Tibanna was so thick on the air that he immediately wretched, coughing up a fit afterward.
Leaning on a wall, he turned his head up for a glance at what was left of their propulsion. This was it, wasn't it?
She stared numbly at her screen as the propulsions went offline. She could watch their decent on the holograph-- the digital horizon rushed quickly towards then, while Imperial fighters closed in to finish the job. Didn't they see there was nothing Aradia could do?
The ship's alarms vibrated through her, demanding action. She wanted to claw at her ears and peel their shrill echoes out of her mind, but there wasn't enough time for that.
"Zaavik," she croaked, her thoughts snapping to the explosion that had rocked the ship. He wasn't back yet. Panic sent her tearing out of the seat, her hands digging into furniture as she propelled herself out of the cock pit.
Gravity fought against her. The forty five degree tilt at which the vessel fell tugged at her limbs and dragged her back. The ship was small but the distance between her and the engine room felt insurmountable at that moment.
She breathed the force into her limbs and willed strength into her steps. If fate didn't want her to reach him, it would have to try a lot harder than that.
Step by step... she pushed forward. Another explosion rocked the ship-- a hit from the enemy fighters-- but the hulls held firm.
A scream of exertion tore through her as she pulled herself over a wall. Trapped there by the degree of the ship's fall was Zaavik. She crumbled next to him and heaved for air. A small voice in the back of her mind chimed that their time was numbered.
Her head lulled to face him, gravity pressing her flat into the wall like a lime being juiced.
All the effort they had put into survival, and now... Did he see it? Did he understand?
Her chest squeezed with terror as she stared down their death.
Before his arrival in the ancient stone halls of the Castle Bast, DarrVack the Detergent Sith had been absolutely furious.
Drenched in anger, ridden by his hate for this cesspool of inferior multicellular vermin calling themselves an Imperium.
How dare they, how dare they believe that could set foot upon this holiest of sites and lay siege to it as if it were just another battleground?
He had laid wreckage to his living quarters and ripped apart multiple laboratories upon his Darkstar Fortress before his guard was able to calm him down.
Months had been spent cleaning up the mess of their past sieges supporting the Conquest Consolidation Corps as best he could. It all seemed so futile though, witnessing the devastation inflicted upon the Sith he felt as if his past ambitions slipped through his formless grasp. The chaos their losses were bringing to the systems they had so meticulously steered to a brighter future weighed heavily on his spirit.
Did they not understand that the Sith brought balance to the constant pendulum of death and rebirth that governed every corner of the galaxy?
But this was in the past now, he had decided to pivot. To stop reacting and to act again, to give himself new agency.
He would throw his all at it, it would be his new prime, a second blossoming and it would all start here in this most ancient of castles.
Now having entered this site so sacred he was calm, he was laser-focused. It was as if there was suddenly more of him, he empathized with Bast as if he was part of every wall, every brick every nook, and cranny.
This place oozed with the dark side of the force, for a creature so sensitive to these energies it was an almost overwhelming sensation.
From the very first step he had taken through these most consecrated archways, he felt embraced by it, even within the thick walls of his exosuit the red slime experienced the embrace of darkness that cradled and empowered him.
The dark storms above the castle cracked and split with lighting and acid rain came pouring onto the mostly lifeless soil below as the mighty Sith stood upon one of the higher balconies overseeing the beachfront below.
It would soon begin.
-- Days later deep inside the Castle --
So let there be war, let it descend onto the mortals before him, let it lay claim to their lives, let it feast in their blood and bones and memories.
Cladded in his behemoth like battle armour the titan of a Sith strode through the dark underground halls of Bast. He could hear the battle rage on above and he knew soon it would be here too.
His Probebots were scattered all across the ancient structure, on the outlook for intruders alarming him over an open Imperial Legion channel for others to access if they so wished.
Flanked by the two even more massive Goliath Stampede droids that barely fit through some of the interiors he made his way to the beach side entrances from which he was expecting the most resistance.
His Decimator Drones would be on standby for now higher up in the castles ground floors ready to be called into action to vaporize any who crossed the Sith Overseers path.
His most trusted Akuza guard was stationed further out in the dark rocky hillsides overseeing the bombardment of the beachfront by his 3 artillery droids that fired canisters of Hellpyre into the approaching wave of New Imperial scum dropping from the heaves into a pit of all-consuming flames.
A red glow emitting from the two eye sockets lit up as he began to indulge in the chaos, the death and the agony that was slowly rolling in like an early morning mist. Soon it would bear a closer resemblance to a racing stream, knee-high and steadily flowing all over the battlefield.
The day has come for the New Emperor to be crowned and his palace on Corbos is rife with military activity. The Tower of Saud'Akute itself is stocked with brave men and women of the Empire, each marked and bound to the Tower for it's defense. The Eye of Flame watching from above. As the battle begins on Vjun the New Emperor has sworn he shall be anointed as any Lord of the Sith should. In fire, blood and war. There a ritual begins of an unspecified purpose and a group of the Sith Empire's finest has been selected to carry a beacon into the fray at Castle Bast. Instructed to find an open space nearby, and not within the castle, this coronation promises to be an interesting affair for all.
Objective 2: Rebirth (Defense of Castle Bast)
With the New Imperial attack on Castle Bast incoming, the New Emperor has decreed that our victory there should serve as a symbol of our rebirth into a Reborn Sith Empire. Come occupation or successful defense, Castle Bast will not fall into their hands. Buried deep into the foundation of the castle itself slumbers a tool planted there by the New Emperor. One that, should it be awoken, shall herald a glorious rebirth for the Empire. One way or another the defeat of the traitors here shall herald a fiery prognostication of renewed purpose and spirit to the Empire.
Objective 3: Retribution (Coordinated Fleeting and Ground Objective; Defend Surface-To-Space emplacements and Fleet engagement)
With the New Imperial Fleet incoming the stage has been set for their penance, a bloody justice awaits. Drawn in now to support their invading ground forces, we are intent on drawing our pound of flesh from the New Imperial war machine. We shall dismember their fleet as best we can, ship by ship if necessary. To this end a single pair of both an Anti-Capital Ion Pulse Cannon as well as a Hellscream-Class Plasma Railgun have been renovated for use as Surface-To-Space weaponry to aid in the defense. These defenses must NOT falter and are of the highest priority for supporting our fleet. Go with the Emperor's blessing and rip them out of the sky one by one.
Corbos; The Tower of Saud'Akute
The Shaper sat upon a makeshift throne of living stone, overlooking his Palace from outside the Tower of Saud'Akute. The Flaming Eye roiling with malevolent, dark power above him. Casting heat, fire and shadow on the land below. The squirming, obsidian-like stone that comprised the tower weaving all about him in an intricately complex web of ancient runes, carvings and markings that most would find as foreign as the scrawlings of a child. They were, however, meticulously woven and melded into the very tower itself. Ingrained into it's very structure from the wake of the Flaming Eye itself down into the very roots of Mount Naefas. The Shaper's breathe came slow and near agonizing in intensity, power crackling along his skin like the prickling of a thousand tiny needles, his eyes twin howling abysses of yawning nothing as his fingers dug into the throne. His focus intense as his spirit, his very being, writhed unseen within the Force in agony and concentration, though he was vaguely aware of the presence of at least two individuals.
Closest to him was, of course, Pandora
who he could only vaguely feel the worry emanating from at his actions. The precious creation's concern for his Master would be touching were it that he could reciprocate such an emotion. Standing close-by as well, and with a much more immutable, inscrutable expression was Sabine Delacroix
whom he had chosen to be the one to coronate him after their.... misadventure into the Fortress of Naga Sadow. The woman whom had bathed in a font of pure Dark Side energy and whom had insisted on being here. Even now, she stoked his curiosity, and his interest. But for now his mind was wholly consumed in it's task. Sweat beading on his forehead and skin growing cold and clammy as his spirit strained to even maintain a connection to it's mortal shell.
The Flaming Eye above turned, swiveled and roared with endless fire spilling from it's depths, it's gaze upturned to the stars and gazing out across the void of space itself toward Vjun. Where he had dispatched the Lady Marrow
alongside others to deliver the beacon, unharmed, to a suitable resting place. The preparations were nearly complete, ALL of them, and with the Tower as full of military personnel and defenses, shield generators and power sources all secured from the rest of the palace. Those that wished to be present for the coronation were, of course, also allowed to enter the Tower and would no doubt be waiting below. But for now even he, even an Emperor, waited. Placing faith into a flower, of all things, and into those who would spell the Empire's future. Who would be now defending Castle Bast as he readied his coronation. He knew, as surely as he made each and every mark upon the Tower. very symbol, scrawl and marking, that they would not fail.
Primary:Custom Blaster-Pistol(Right-hip Holster - left-or-right hand draw) Secondary:Basket-Hilted Vibrosword Claymore(Left-hip Sheathe - right hand wielding) Last Ditch/Second-Blade:Fairbairn Vibroknife(Right-hip Sheathe - right-or-left hand wielding) Pocket-Weapon:Berach's Brass Knuckles(Right-pocket - right-hand wielding)
Blue-Heart Brigade (Mechanized-Infantry) 220 Cataphract Tanks 32 AFVs 6 ACVs 1 Battalion of Riflemen 1 Company of Combat-Engineers 1 Company of Elite Combat-Medics
BEACHHEADS AND METALLIC MEAT-GRINDERS I - A TIME FOR RIPPING, AND FOR TEARING!
'Milord, it appears we have ourselves a clear line-o'-light to Castle Bast.... Shame it's almost twenty-kilometers away, much too far away for Smoothbore-sniping sadly.', Captain Brand shouted over to the Saga from the (still damaged from their fight for Ilum) slide-door of AFV One, the only truly-affected part of her. Looking ahead again, the newly-promoted Captain smirked as he saw the Sith's defensive preparations in their entirety, like a sprawling, panoramic view of the ground they would need to clear on their way to the Zambranos' infamous coastal bulwark, Castle Bast. After snorting with confident, derisive mirth at the sight, the Rooster turned back to the Stormchaser and concluded,'Plenty that can be done for now though, Milord. I dare say it'll take a while to mow that lot down!', with the same level of nonchalance one might expect of a quiet huntsman or groundskeeper.
'Agreed, start by opening the line as wide as ye can get them to go oan ten-metre vehicle spacings. Then, as soon as ye get confirmation back oan that - have every tank load Incendiaries, then patch through for further orders.... Nae jumpin' the gun the-day, Brand. You've got that eager look practically drippin' aff ye, an' that costs lives you neither have the money nor the power to replace. Birell was as good as dead already, you're still in one piece - better keep it that way!'
Giving his best fist-over-heart salute with the limited mobility the small slide-door's spacing offered him in the situation, Brand rolled with it by nodding, replying,'Right away, Milord. Stand by for further Sit-Reps.', and letting his driver speed AFV One away without so much as a moment taken to consider addressing the cramped moment of awkwardness. Time was against them, this was made painfully obvious by the sound of artillery, LMG fire and explosive impacts in the distance, and with the sight of approaching landing-craft beyond, both Barran and Brand knew they couldn't hang about for idle chit-chat for too long. Watching as the AFV kicked up dust on it's way north up the line, the Lord-Commander began to dwell on the fact his acting-2IC had a clear line of promotion but wasn't at the correct rank to achieve it, wishing in that moment that Brand would survive this next campaign for his own sake; Blue-Heart HQ had become much too quiet since the establishment of Wildcat Battalion, and all the replacements were nowhere near experienced enough to step up for the vacant roles within the Brigade itself. Nae use in needlessly turnin' my 2IC an' Adjutant positions intae the Brigade's meat-grinders, pointless waste in officer-manpower. They can wait.
<"Proost to Blue-Heart Alpha! Standing by for fire-orders!">
'Barran to Cataphract One! Tell you what, Archaisian - I'll let you do the honours this time. Lets see what these incendiaries can really do!'
<"Copy that, Milord. We have some ideas, so leave this part with us and we'll see what we can do. Cheers! Cataphract One out!">
BEACHHEADS AND METALLIC MEAT-GRINDERS II - SEARING PRECISION
<"Baird to Blue-Heart Alpha! Requesting permission to clear the southern overlook, Milord. From there we can lay down sniper-fire on just about anything lying in wait for our allies, and I mean just about anything from that beauty of a nest in the making!">
'Barran to Guardian One! Permission granted, but be sure ti get busy up there, aw'right?'
<"Will do, an' do be sure t'mark targets for us fae time t'time, eh? Guardian One out!">
Billowing smoke could be seen all across the nearest, and potentially most-lethal segments of their approach to Castle Bast, though Lord Erskine was never one to hang back; seeing that the incendiary barrages were widening out to the farther edges of their own arcs of fire, and seeking to extend their searing reach to distances that didn't make them feel like they were using overly-expensive grenade launchers, the Stormchaser decided it was time to step into the archetype his epithet was aptly named after, nodding to Sergeant Deaney as he reached for one of the three SA-35's onboard in anticipation. In response, the Saga's driver started the engine, put her into gear and set off into the burning madness ahead, before turning back around to exclaim,'Just the gesture ah wanted ti see! Was honestly seconds away fae chompin' oan mah fingernails there, Milord! Been waitin' ti test oot these engine modifications for weeks, an' that's me putting it mildly!', in his usual accidental-pundit's spoken tone.
Murdoch would take an SA-35 for himself, then pass the third and last one to Munsten, Johnstone's Carrack-born ammo-loader from Galidraan IV, letting Barran settle in to his spot by the Sloane-door as he set his barrel to poke out one of the left-viewports, poised in anticipation of the Lord-Commander's need for cover when alighting out to the combat-zone. Turning his head to visibly gauge the Brigadier-General's response, Murdoch jokingly asked,'Been a while since ye last shouldered wan o' those, sure you're no better aff wae the Blaster-pistol instead, Milord?'
Aye, ye'd like ti imagine so, but ah can paint masterpieces wae most weapons oot here.
Words could not describe the anxiety that Pandora felt in every fiber of her being as she hovered close to her beloved Master. She had complete faith in Arctus Silmar
of course, but something in her just couldn't shake the feeling that something could go horribly, terribly, wrong. What, exactly, could go wrong? Pandora had no inkling of knowing.
So until then, she would stand by her Master in one of his most defining moments.
Crimson colored lashers curled loosely around herself, as she resisted the urge to dig her own claws into her forearms as the time ticked by. Despite her rising anxiety, Pandora knew she had to stand at the ready to defend her Master, but still her mind wandered to all the horrible things that could happen. The image of her creator dead on the ground flashed in her mind, and she shuddered.
Nothing could go wrong today.
She would not allow anything to happen to her home. Not today. Not ever.
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IDENTIFICATION: PRIVATE HENRY LUCAN, 912th Armored Battalion, "Metal Men"
OBJECTIVE: PUNCH THROUGH CASTLE BAST'S DEFENSES (DESIGNATION: OBJECTIVE ONE)
LOCATION: aprox. 2 click from
EQUIPMENT: (in signature.)
WARNING: Henry has the mouth of a sailor. Curses ahead.
ENGAGING | OPEN
Sky was gray and black when we entered the atmosphere. All the smoke and embers, the other sh*t that was floatin' around in the air, and the fires made it turn that color, adding a depressing, hopeless overtone to the already grim scene that I could glimpse on the ground. Burning wrecks of tanks, all ours by the way, and smaller, also charred shapes who where most likely the poor bastards who had come in before us. Barbed wire that stretched out from the castle's walls all the way down the sand to the ocean's edge, like the coils of a snake. Vjun. some gray, depressing little rock on the outskirts of Imperial space, a world we had seemingly, at least from what I could hear from the mission briefing, paid no mind to before. But the Sith had paid it mind alright. They paid it more mind than a junkie who's dealer is a zombie, they got fortifications, anti-tank weapons up on the walls, men on those walls, in fighting holes on the beach, covered with sand so they could pop out from beneath you and light you up before you even knew what was happening. Mines buried in the sand, anti-air guns. You name it, they had it. This was feeling more and more like a suicide mission by the second. I jumped a little at every shake of the HVAD, thinking it was a AAA picking away at the HVAD's ion shields. I was on edge, sure. I felt like no matter what we did, we were screwed. But, there was one caveat, one glimmer of hope that I might make it off this hellhole alive.
The XT-62. XT's, if you don't know, are the NIO's main battle tank. Remember how I said that the Sith seemingly had everything on their fortress? Anti-air, anti-tank weapons, anti-infantry, yada yada? Well, this thing could make up for such a deficiency. They were outfitted with the fresh off the assembly line turbolaser cannons, mega-caliber, sh*t that could cut a Wampa in half. Concussion missile launchers, perfect for punching through Sith fortifications. Anti-air flak cannons, chainguns, missile guidance systems, jamming devices, EMP's, hell, even f*cking carbonite if you felt like taking home a souvenir from the battle.
And to top it all off, there were hundreds of these war machines, just in this HVAD alone. And there were dozens upon dozens of HVAD's cruising through the dark skies of Vjun, all towards the same location. Spearhead Veers.
I felt a large jolt shake the HVAD and our tank, dust cascading through it's enclosed space. A few seconds of silence later, I made out the sound of the massive door opening. The engines of the tank roared to life, and we began to trundle forward.
Suddenly, I felt a lot better about my current situation.
As the moments passed, every attempt he made to peel himself from the wall grew more and more difficult. Like moving through clay, Zaavik's hand came forward and clasped around a jutting section of pipe. His cold prosthetic sizzled against the heated durasteel, but his grip didn't falter. As his muscles strained, he seemed to lift in slow motion. Teeth grit together, he began to shout with exertion through them.
The ship was suddenly jostled again. The pipe came loose, and with it, Zaavik was pulled upward and slapped pinned against the wall again. The force of their descent kept him stuck like a fly in a glue trap. He writhed, struggled, shouted, cursed, fought battles with every muscle in his body just to peel away.
Calling upon the force, he reached again. The cockpit seemed an impossible distance away, but it was their singular hope. He gripped his hand into a corner wall, the crushgaunt tech on his prosthetic crumpling the panel beneath like paper. The makeshift handhold gave him the grip needed to pull upward. His body peeled off the back wall slowly until only his feet were flat upon it.
He tucked on arm over the now side-ways threshold into the room he'd been trapped in. Like hanging off a cliff, he dangled with his toes just inches above where he'd been pinned beside Aradia. Over his shoulder, he slowly turned against the forces on his body to look her way. As he reached down toward her in an attempt to help, his arm was whipped sharply downward. His shoulder popped almost loud enough to be heard above the blaring of death's descent.
Yet another jolt. Zaavik was ripped from his hold and sent back toward the wall. He tucked his chin, but it did little to stop his head from slamming back with whiplash after his back and shoulder. The arm he had offered became trapped beneath his torso, pain spiking from shoulder to finger. The second concussive daze in a matter of minutes took the fight out of him.
Once the stars had faded from his vision, he was surprised to discover they were still falling. His neck muscles strained as he looked to his side. An apologetic look was offered Aradia's way. As best he could manage with his face subject the same g-force as the rest of his body, at least. His free hand slithered down and over hers. Fingers fought through invisible clay to close around the much smaller extremity.
'Trusting the Force to keep you safe' always sounded like brainless rhetoric before. Now, though, it wasn't like he had any other options. He clenched his eyes shut as tight as possible and hoped.
He was an idiot for trying to resist it. They could barely defy the Imperials, what chance did they have against physics?
He tried to jump off the wall anyway. G-force brought him crashing back. Her teeth rattled as his shoulder cracked. He didn't have to scream for her to feel it echoing through the force. Chills speckled over her skin. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see yet another friend die.
Terror clawed at her chest like a wild animal. She couldn't move, the invisible force sat on her chest like a thousand speeder. Better gravity than an Imperial.
Fingers encircled her own. She jolted in shock and opened her eyes to find him staring back. The touch was electric, her skin tingling as she felt him brush across her mind. Clammy fingers gripped his back.
Hope blossomed through her, from his skin to hers. It chased away her fears with ease that surprised her. She felt everything he did, just like in the escape pod, when they had combined their energies and found the strength to...-
Her lips parted at the idea.
Dark coalesced with light, forging a shield around them.
She didn't really have a reason to come for this coronation but its always nice to see whose turn it is on the big chair these days, but she didn't care about that she only cared about being allowed to...Well..be her and just as wild as she is too, Though she wasn't really in a mood for that right so she kept with the new lord to be and Pandora
who in herself was a ...unique creature that made her curios about her but that is questions for another time, for now though she just fiddled with the hilts of her sabers. Mostly bored out of her mind then anything but there wasn't much else to do so all she can do is wait and see what Arctus Silmar
wanted to do and go with the flow.
She dawned her light basic armors in there dark black color, she wouldn't want to wear anything different color wise outside of black and or red, might be a psychological peeve of hers but then again what goes on her brain is a mystery even sometimes to her.
Irveric Tavlar
Willan Tal
Arctus Silmar
Valen Arenais 
Darth Strosius
Telis Taharin-Zambrano
