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Invasion Woken Furies | BotM Invasion of NIO held Nirauan


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NIO PAGE CLAIM
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IT'S GORY AT THE TOP
THE_IRON_MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR
Nephilim | "Doombringer" | Shockgaunts | Sidearm | Grenades
// Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall \\

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The movement encouraged a second shot from the Lord Executor's weapon, seeing then it wasn't a kill shot outright the first time. However, Tegan was quick, and ready, fighting alone far behind enemy lines had that effect. Strasza darted with inhuman speed, weaving from left to right, bounding with the enhancements of her state, the explosions shattering the walls and furniture behind her.

And then, it collapsed. Beneath them both, the punished floor could withstand the witch's onslaught no longer, plunging the two into the offices below. The heavy weight of the cyborg saw her landing was most ungraceful, her crash into the floor as gentle as a meteor strike, though with the promise of blood to be found, she was upright in the next second. Through the settling dust and debris, the war machine searched for her opponent, her own position in the haze revealed by the gentle 'slllink' of her hidden blade brought to bear. "Come out come out, wherever you are..." her dead voice rattled through the rumbling, filling the room with the cold grind of mechanical ingenuity.
Rather than wait, the Lord Executor grasped the final Ravenous grenade from her belt and wrenched the pin from the activator. Seconds passed, the woman cooking it in her hand until it finally detonated, filling the room with the hellacious bio-agent and further plaguing it with a deep, red mist. Detached from mortal body, she could afford long-term exposure to such a horrific virus.

She doubted the same was true for her foe.


ALLIES | NIO | Rurik Fel Rurik Fel Ragnar Bloodfist Ragnar Bloodfist Khroraic @IMSAAVEINA Djorn Bline Djorn Bline Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr
FOES | BOTM | SITH | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren Jin Kyrel Jin Kyrel
 
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S A A V E I N A
IMPERIAL KNIGHT
'The Queen of Swords'
Bulwark | Saberstaves | Shield
// Jin Kyrel Jin Kyrel \\

FOR ORDER | Rurik Fel Rurik Fel Errant Errant Ragnar Bloodfist Ragnar Bloodfist Khroraic Lucien Dooku Lucien Dooku Mogra'teksa Mogra'teksa Waymar Geyer
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TREMBLE
"I won't let you win!!"

Emboldened by the call of the Iron Imperator and bolstered by the united strength of her fellowship, the Queen of Swords had taken a whole new approach to the conflict. Golden eyes flared with opalite brilliance, the tell of her joint efforts put forth into the Force Meld. She was unmovable as the fortress itself, her legendary will etched into the echelons of the spires. His words brought a pitying smile to her face, though the expression remained hidden behind the iron helm she wore. The rise of The Force about him coaxed her to stride backward, taking shelter within the entry hall of the fortress.

And as the crash of the earth's heave collided with the structure and flew through the door, she was thankful she had done as much.

She awaited patiently for a break in his assault, busying herself from her concealed position with the act of collapsing her shield and stowing it to her shoulder. Her second staff was claimed by her lower pair of hands after, while her upper pair split her primary into halves- one for each hand. Each offensive swipe from her attack to come would be followed by a fluid strike from her double-edged blade. It would be a test of his endurance, a trial of that very will he insisted would keep her from victory.

Between the hurling chunks of stone, the codru-ji lunged with her brothers' speed, whirling her sabers to a corrective position, aiming to pierce through his chest with the upper two, whilst the lagging blade of the staff would aim to sweep his legs. She descended upon him by ferocious leap, her words leaving with the collision:
"The words of a traitor mean nothing."


 

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M O G R A ' T E K S A
IMPERIAL KNIGHT
Armor | Lightsaber | The Twins
// Maestus Maestus \\

TOGETHER WE STAND | Rurik Fel Rurik Fel Errant Errant Ragnar Bloodfist Ragnar Bloodfist Khroraic
Saaveina Saaveina Ignatius Waymar Geyer Lucien Dooku Lucien Dooku

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SHE'S A MANIAC

I abhor generalities. I am Maestus, you may refer to me by my name. Now, remember you manners and introduce yourself.

The lethan afforded her opponent no such luxury, offering her only silence as she pressed the assault. She never understood the Sith's tendencies to chat so much in the heat of battle and had only done the same when her anxiety had spurred it on. But now that she was unified with her brothers in arms, she felt no such anxiety. No fear. A bulwark of sanctimony had replaced the vessel of human pitfall, the twi'lek a furious weapon of righteousness with the very strength of the Iron Empire itself as her tailwind.

The chilling strings of discord plucked at her psyche, but it was the very same she had been trained against. Marcad Marcad had been without mercy in his psychological prodding, delighting in exploiting the weakness she demonstrated when she was but his apprentice. She had grown beyond that, she had hardened her mental fortitude against it, and tempered it was now, in the fires of determination. Though the incantation was invoked, no such memories were gleaned, no insight gathered. She resisted it almost entirely with the strength of her brothers in arms bolstering her own. Such adaptations must be made when one's own psyche was not safe from the Master who should have helped protect it.

She was her own Master now, her own keeper, and it showed.

The Imperial Knight pressed the offensive, tumbling low to swipe an armored leg at Maestus Maestus ', aiming to take the woman down with her sheer speed alone, and hoping to break her concentration twofold. Mogra'teksa followed up her sweep with a spin of her blade to reverse grip and a backward thrust, driving her shifted momentum into a piercing stab aimed for the Sith Lord's back.

 

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E M P E R O R
THE EMPIRE
ORDER OF THE IMPERIAL KNIGHTS
CHAPTER 'IRON CRUSADE'
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
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The Sith before him expended every fiber of her mortal being to stem back the tide of retribution made manifest in the Emperor. He was unrelenting in his approach, whatever profane adaptation she took to his assault, he adjusted with inhuman finess and his frigid, disciplined brutality. He watched before him the grotesque sacrifice she staked in his battle of fates, to offer a limb for existence as a whole before a burst of telekinetic might streamed against him.

It wrenched him from the titanic high of power that rushed through his mortal coil if only for a brief moment, but long enough for him to only glimpse the shadow of her evasion, slipping from his grasp he heard her taunting sentiment once more.


"Remember this moment, Fel. You are powerless alone."

He honored the silence between them following her threats veiled in shades of vantablack darkness. His resolve was unwavering from the action. His form still well and able to surge forward in the assault...but with the world around him ruptured in flames, he could not afford to disturb her escape. With his argent blade still drawn in its errant hum of threatening vibration and luminance, he watched her with a gaze of unmoving metal before eventually, he would retort the exchange of words her way.

"You are not prepared, Sith. Whenever you see me again...I assure you, it will be the last vision that crosses your mind. Many have sought my end, many claiming to be the better have faced me at the end of their blade...but I will always endure."
He offered in return, his voice thrumming with the dark, strained distortion of his tortured being before he turned to make way from the very chamber that served as venue for their duel of fates.

It was a minuscule 'victory' within a flowing sea of strife. Nirauan burned and its Emperor had to snuff the flames.

[/CENTER]
 
Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent
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Objective II: Hand of Thrawn
Location: Hand of Thrawn, Nirauana
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Omega Phase Assault Rifle | 2x PV-16 "Sunfury" Pulse Pistol | Druetium Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Stealth field generator || OPBC-01m
Allies: Ragnar Bloodfist Ragnar Bloodfist | Djorn Bline Djorn Bline | Khroraic | Saaveina Saaveina | Noel Strasza Noel Strasza | Rurik Fel Rurik Fel
Enemies: Tegan Starfall Tegan Starfall | Darth Solipsis Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren Kyrel Ren | Jin Kyrel Jin Kyrel | Darth Mori | Lord Letifer Lord Letifer | Zori Kapshan Zori Kapshan
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[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

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More and more new data. Numerous new data were received through the network, which were immediately classified, selected and analyzed by MANIAC. It was very convenient to be able to do things like that. I didn’t have to sit in front of complex computers. And while he was dealing with this, I was able to help the others with information, not least to even shoot some Mawites who were fighting down there.

I had to state that assault rifles were not necessarily the best solution for this; I might need a sniper rifle. Something with light weight, unique. Yes, that would be effective.

~ MANIAC, please record this and you will remind me when I have time to deal with it next time in calm… and non-combat conditions. ~ I asked him.

~ The note has been saved! ~ he replied.

Great; I had to keep one thing less in mind. And so I can totally focus on reaping victory. After all, that was the most important thing possible. At least for me. Another shot, another Mawite fell and landed dead on the ground. Meanwhile, MANIAC also analyzed and sent another batch of data.

It seemed that slowly we might be able to get over the enemy. I wanted it to be so. After previous failures and Maw attacks, a win would have been good. To protect our home. I think it would have mattered a lot to the troops' morale as well. In any case, I could not rest. I continued my work so far, as we couldn’t stop until we won.

After all, we must win at any cost…

Last post.​

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NPC Storyteller
  • Elahi assassinates Lieutenant Gorman



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Postlude: The War Rages On
DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran (and with his permission)​

Mission accomplished, Elahi supposed, watching the MOAB transport streak toward the ground.

The changeling infiltrator still wore First Lieutenant Bentley's skin; indeed, for all intents and purposes, she was Bentley. She performed his duties with the same efficiency he would have, tracking Fort Imperium's supplies and casualties as they fell and rose, respectively. She was calm under pressure, the perfect model of a disciplined Garrison Adjutant, keeping meticulous records of every expended shell and every wounded soldier. Until she heard the transmission, of course. That was when her Mawite brain snapped back to attention. That was when the words "target of opportunity" crossed a mind twisted by the Brotherhood.

<"Gorman to Lance One! All artillery-pieces resting, sir. Ammo-stores are officially dry on all counts.">

<"Good job, Lance Four! Return to the command centre at the double! Lance One out!">

At this point, with the guns of Lance Four dry, there was perhaps limited tactical value attached to Lieutenant Gorman. But that was only in this battle, and the Mawites - for all the perception that they were nothing but a savage, ungovernable horde - had begun looking beyond Nirauan before the battle had even begun. The Dark Voice had plans within plans, schemes within schemes, the full extent of his machinations (and of his ultimate goals) unknown and unknowable to any but himself... but all of his servants were privy to a few of them, the ones most relevant to their roles within the Brotherhood. And all knew that the war would go on.

The Maw, outnumbered and outgunned, could win that war only by seizing every opportunity.

So Elahi-Bentley tucked away the datapad she was working on and walked purposefully out of the barracks. She had found that, if you looked the part and walked with purpose, looking like you were clearly going somewhere to do something important, you were virtually never challenged. That was doubly true in the midst of a battle, when everyone had something important - indeed, something life or death - to be doing. So no one questioned the young Adjutant as he/she crossed the open yard of Fort Imperium, on an intercept course between Lance Four's position and the command centre the Lieutenant been recalled to.

She ran into Gorman about halfway, knowing him immediately by his rank patches and the crisp determination of his walk; he, too, was moving with purpose, though his was genuine. "Lieutenant Gorman!" she called out, her voice a perfect imitation of Bentley's. She'd forced her prisoner to recite all sorts of common phrases over the week she'd tortured him, rewarding him with a cool drink of water or a bit of food if he managed to speak clearly and crisply. He'd been desperate for those little kindnesses by the end, putty in her hands. She had practiced imitating each phrase, imitating them back to him in his own voice. He'd been past caring.

Gorman turned, and she saluted him crisply. Bentley technically outranked him... but only barely, and not as a combat officer, so she greeted him as an effective equal. "Excellent shooting, if I may say so, Lieutenant. I have the paperwork here denoting your ammunition use, to requisition your resupply, if I could borrow you just a moment." Gorman seemed to hesitate; he had been called to the command centre, and did not want to keep his superiors waiting. But a resupply would be important, on this battlefield or the next. If it would only take a moment to ensure his lads' next deadly barrage had enough shells, it'd be worth the slight delay.

Elahi/Bentley motioned to a nearby tent with a table inside, to give them a surface to brace the datapad against while he signed. She already knew it was empty; it belonged to a junior medical officer, one of the other two officers replaced by her shapechanging comrades. Gorman nodded, and followed her in. The changeling laid down the slate on the table, politely offering the Lieutenant a stylus. He nodded at her again, and bent to sign. It all looked perfectly genuine, because it was. The figures were accurate, down to the last scrap of ammunition. Of course, the requisition would never actually be filed. Not by either of them, anyway.

As Gorman bent down to sign, Elahi stepped behind him. She had practiced this movement a thousand times, both in the dungeons of Goshen Keep and in the field after that; it was so old hat now, so routine, that it hardly rated as exciting. She slid the tent flaps closed, letting them hang between her victim and the battle outside. Out of sight, now, and it would take some time for a body to be discovered in a hidden place while such chaos reigned all around the tent. A long, thin object slid out of her sleeve, and she caught it between practiced fingers. It looked very much like the stylus she'd handed Gorman. It could even be used that way.

But it wasn't just that, of course. It was one of the primary tools of her grim trade.

With that hand, she triggered the activator on the monomolecular stiletto. To the naked eye, nothing changed. The blade was far too thin to even be seen; that was what made it so impossibly sharp, easily broken by an amateur but incredibly deadly when wielded by an expert. With her other hand, she grabbed Gorman, twisting her fingers into his hair and jerking his head back to expose his throat. Slash. With a single, efficient drawing back of her hand, she opened his throat, ruby droplets of blood spilling from the thin opening. Then she twirled the weapon around so that it faced downward in her hand, a stabbing tool, and punched it through his spine.

He hardly had time to gurgle, let alone scream, before shock whisked him from the galaxy.

Dropping his hair, she caught him with an arm around his chest, easing him to the ground; perhaps no one would have heard the crash of his body hitting the table, not with everything else going on, but professionals didn't take chances. Retracting her stiletto blade and tucking it away, Elahi gently folded the man up, careful not to get blood from his weeping throat on herself. She tucked him into the fetal position, as if he were entering the world rather than leaving it, and slid him beneath the table. It was covered by a cloth, masking most of his body; she could guess that it would be quite some time before he was found, though his absence would be noted soon.

With the calm detachment of a professional assassin, Elahi quietly walked out of the tent and headed back to her post. What she had just done would not matter here on Nirauan. The outcome of this battle, this furthest, most dangerous, most costly strike the Brotherhood had ever attempted, would be decided by factors already in play - the bomb, the charge, the breach, the clash of fleets - and not by anything she could do now. But no matter what happened here, no matter which force stood victorious on this world, the war would not end. No one was fully broken yet... and hatred, the kind of hatred that always existed between pure order and pure chaos, was enduring.

The war would rage on... and the kill she'd just made was the first strike of the next battle.


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INVASION OF NIRAUAN
OBJECTIVE I
| GROUND ZERO
OPPOSING | BROTHERHOOD of the MAW
PINGS | DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran | Knight Knight
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A BEACH TOO FAR: PART. 6
— 868 ABY, Saffia Sector, New Carannia, Nirauan.

Dub-Fi looked at his brothers. After the skirmish into the 73rd North Street, Guardian Squad moved ahead alongside Hurley Squad while Squad had gone to another battlefield to support a unit needing help. The APCs were running at full speed, going through the streets while the gunners were shooting at the Mawites on the ground. With the combined forces of Hurley and Guardian, there were at most a complete squad — but a squad with two sergeants.

Double-Five was behind one of his APC’s machine guns, aiming for enemies under his sight and pinging allies that could not defend themselves. They were bringing support to their brothers in arms, helping as they could. The two APCs drifted on a turn, going slowly for a couple of seconds and then accelerated again to join the next crossroads where there probably were Mawites waiting for their inescapable sentence — death before all and because they had aggressed Imperial sovereignty on this planet. Le Sacrement — Fi’s APC — had in front of it Le Dérouilleur and the first was supposed to cover the back of the convoy.

<Here’s Dérouilleur’s pilot, reportin’ a Tods squad three centi-klicks ahead!> a voice exclaimed into Dub-Fi’s helmet.
<Copy that, Dérouilleur. Sacrement’s coverin’ the left while ya’re attackin’ Maw’s front.> Skull replied briefly. <To all units, be prepared for a support!>
<Wilco!>
‘55 answered while calibrating his DM&S-12.7 and looking at his HUD map.

Ya know what you’ve to do. Ya’re bringin’ ORDER on Nirauaun, an’ in this sector. Maw’s just CHAOS, an’ nothin’ else. It’s our duty to save New Carannia’s people, an’ we’ll do it.

“For Anaxes!” he screamed for himself.
“FOR ANAXES!!!” his brothers answered as a rally scream. “FOR THE EMPIRE! FOR THE EMPEROR! AVE RURIK! AVE ANAXES!!!

Dub-Fi clenched his fists on the machine gun's joysticks and aimed at the Mawites he could see, triggering the cannons and pouring a torrent of fire on the scavengers. Here they were, fighting against their greatest enemy in this war. The rage with which he fought had nothing to do with his seriousness when the enemy was the Alliance. ‘Divide and conquer.’ was the tactic with the Maw, because a brotherhood is built on relationship — and when they’re broken, the faction does not exist anymore.

WAAP! WAAP! WAAP! WAAP!

The sound of the machine guns’ cannons filled in the atmosphere, destroying any tentative communications into the Maw. Skull got his head out of the APC’s cabin, shouting orders to the TodHusars here:

“Get in your tank, soldiers! Le Dérouilleur will cover us while we can’t move ahead. Go! Go! Go!” the Sergeant ordered, trying to not be hitten by a shot from his enemies.

The parachutists nodded and entered their car while Dub-Fi was shooting enemies to cover their retreat. The sweat was beading on his face, going through his nose and the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t fear the Maw: they were just disorganized mercenaries trying to give a sense to their lives — and this sense was ORDER.

<We’re in, Sergeant!> a TodHusar said.
<Fiir-ir ral-oth! Attack this position, soldiers!> Skull ordered as the APC was moving in an assault forward and forward.
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Kelga’an looked at the battlefield through his macrobinculars, searching Specter of Night’s AT-AT — or its wreck — but nothing went to his eyes. He grunted:

“Mmh… bad news.”
“What’s wrong, Captain?”
the sergeant with him asked.
“I don’t see this stang AT-AT. Take the binoculars and tell me what ya see, OK?”

The commando nodded and took the device to put his eyes in, looking for this famous vehicle, but nothing went through the binocs. The Captain held his rifle containing explosive masers to bring havoc into Mawites’ ranks. Before engaging the fight, he turned around and faced his troops.

“Soldiers! Commandos! Anaxsis! Today, we’re on Nirauan! Tomorrow, on another front! An’ the day after, on another! Today is not just the day of a certain battle, of a certain war: today is the day of our independence; the fight between ORDER an’ CHAOS, an’ we all now who’s gonna win this fight, don’t we?!” Kelga’an started.
“YES SIR!”
“ORDER facin’ CHAOS! The great battle, above all, even Corrie! We’ll destroy our enemies, as they destroy our cities an’ our planets! They won’t take this district without going through us! We’re the Empire’s Shield! An’ this shield is an Anaxes’ one!”


He drew his sword from its sheath and he swung it to the sky while he was doing a pause for effect.

“ANAXES! Give us your strength an’ we’ll annihilate the Maw!” Kelga’an declared while climbing on the highest wreck “MAWITES! YOU GONNA KNOW OUR MOTTO: BRUTALITY, BUT QUALITY!”

As the Captain ended his reply, his soldiers had climbed the barricade, preparing them to charge — maybe for the last of their lives.

<Commandos! No surrender! No prisoners! Only ORDER! RAL-OOOOOOOOTH!!!> he declared solemnly.

And the seven soldiers charged alongside their Captain and while a tank was following them to provide support. Kelga’an threw himself at a Mawites in front of him, piercing him with his sword — his Sith sword. Ya recognize that, don’t ya? he asked in thoughts. A spray of blood spurted from his opponent’s wound and he let out a rattle and then collapsed on the ground, dead. Kelga’an moved ahead, bringing DEATH and ORDER on his path, killing all the Mawites facing him in a duel. He was no longer the Banshees’ Captain; he was Anaxsi, against all odds, for better or for worse. Suddenly, the anti-vehicle weapons fired on the APC, trying to make damages to it.

<Pilot! Get away from here! You cannot stand towards this cannon!> Kelga’an ordered.
<No surrender, Cap’! I’ll bring death until mine! GUNNERS! Fire at will on these Mawites!>

Kelga’an sighed, switching his coms:

<Forr! Take two soldiers an’ make me a mess of this cannon!>
<Copy that, sir!>
answered the Corporal. <’41, ‘82, come with me!>
<Yessir!>


The three-men detachment ran directly to the anti-vehicle weapon while the Banshees were still fighting against the Mawites.

<Knight! Watch their six an’ do not pay attention to this anti-vehicle device! Good luck Sarge!> the Captain ordered.

Just a little effort, an’ we’ll be fine…

Now, the battle of New Carannia was coming to an end.​
 

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// Voidwalker-Actual // 501st Legion, Black Hands //
//
Objective I : The Great Flank
// ALLIES: DECEASED Aron Gowrie DECEASED Aron Gowrie - DECEASED Erskine Barran DECEASED Erskine Barran - Dante Corvus Dante Corvus - Sephi Karneh Sephi Karneh - Kolson Vrask Kolson Vrask - Alric Árheim - Ortʹtʹo Mikla Ortʹtʹo Mikla - Aurelian Sigismund Aurelian Sigismund - Julian Qar Julian Qar - Willan Tal Willan Tal - Nukth Kelga'an Nukth Kelga'an - Knight Knight
// ENEMIES: Brotherhood of the Maw, New Sith Order, Witches of Rhand, Zachariel Steelblood Zachariel Steelblood - The Mongrel The Mongrel - Alars Keto Alars Keto - Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze
// Engaging :
// Gear : Tenebrae, Tidefall, Left-Handed Grav Glove
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This time there was no mountain to scale, or a sandstorm to assail their Free State compatriots, making it near impossible to see even a metre in front of them. Nothing to force the Woad-Wildcats to rely on their stormtrooper allies to navigate the field. No fissures breaking the earth to swallow up entire vehicles and their crews. Thankfully, no lava. And being crammed in an AFV? No Cirihut Warrior tearing apart his leg with his filthy knife.

The Black Hands took to the warcry easily. Disciplined was instilled in them, but the opportunity to let loose? Hulls were banged, loudspeakers ran down every street for blocks at a time, even reaching Torayga holding down the fort in the Pellaeon District.

There would be no stealth for the Imperial Flank. Their mission? To instill fear and shatter the rear guards of the Mawite Hosts just as they were beginning to gain footholds in the Myrmidon Quarter.

Returning to the holographic display, Valaar heard from the comms chatter emanating that the other column was engaged with zombies - though progress was unimpeded. For them, split off, most of it was clear. There was no true strategic value in this part of the city, and if there was anything to take away from the briefings about these western rim savages, it was that they were prone to learn.

Their ruckus continued, flowing from the rear as the frontal vehicles suddenly grew silent. Determination, adrenaline, and purpose racing through them.

"Contacts!"

Through the glasteel viewport, Aemilio could see the flurry of blaster bolts that were lancing out toward them. The tallest of the buildings were not based in the suburbs, most of the housing were only a handful of stories tall. Still, the column was on the ground plane, while being rained on from above - but they still did not stop.

As the Marauder's fire cascaded over the armoured vehicles, responding fire finally streamed from the repeaters and LMG mounted emplacements atop the AFVs. Permacrete walls were quickly peppered with slugs and laser fire, chipping and scorching stone. The once pristine suburbs quickly becoming disheveled like the rest of the city.

"I got the gun!" Valaar said moving to take the controls.

He needn't use the physical reticle that came with the AFV, his own helmets more advanced systems tracking and picking out hostiles as soon as their muzzles fired in their windows. It'd been a while since he handled a big gun like this, probably not since Korriban, and he quickly fell into the groove of it all over again. Familiarity settled on his mind, under fire, the grips, the pull back of the heavy gun as carefully constructed architecture was peeled away to the durasteel reinforcement.

"RPG!"

The called out voice said from the comm in front of him. Up ahead, he saw the muzzle flash - picked out by the Battlemind - and it raced toward AFV One. The rocket crashed into the front plates of the AFV and erupted in flame and shrapnel, blackening the dusted and ashen coloured bulkhead. Full throttle ahead, the AFV punched through the explosion with barely a tick down of speed.

The heating up barrel found the culprit that fired the RPG, already in the midst of rising up from their stomach down position on a balcony. Before they got through the doorway and into cover, Aemilio's squeezing finger on the trigger belched the fire out to extinguish their life. Body riddled and shuddering, Aemilio caught sight of a severed body split in two as he found a new target.

'Straight ahead!'

That was Muir.

AFV One shifted, turning down the street. Lo' and behold, buildings were shattered. Caved inwards where debris and shrapnel of shot down ships had come down. Luckily concentrated in a single area, the AFVs turned down the streets, multiple in the following moments following their leading officers.

Knifing through the initial defenses, Aemilio fired from the repeater for as long s he could until he felt the grips tighten. Seizing up in his hands as the barrel overheated.

The bombs alleviated from the earlier TIE bombing runs left smoke reaching up into the skies. From those locations, Mawites seemed to flee from for some semblance of protection. A gathering for another wave on the Myrmidon Quarter, perhaps, Aemilio didn't know, but he saw the crossfire as Guardian Two's column sliced through a clump of barricades.

He dropped down a moment later from AFV One's gun turret, reaching for his rifle from one of his troopers.

"To Comma-"

A screeching pain punched through his helmet, melting through the process of thoughts and his consciousness. Equilibrium off, he wavered, instinctively reaching for something to hold on to. Shattered duracrete created a shelf that altered the roads plane to raise partially to the skies. They veered, hitting the makeshift ramp, and the AFV rushed over it, careening off to its side and Aemilio went head over heels until everything went black.

Blood stained the side of his face when he came too. The emergency lights were flashing. Behind his visor, he could see their glaring lights summoning him back to the land of the living.

Eyelids fluttering lightly, he shot straight up with the sound of a loud bang, his mind racing as he racked his mind in that split second to remember a similarly sounding noise. The AFVs hull. Light flooded in, a heavy pistol was pointed towards the light and through blurred eyes he realized it was the side door open.

His finger was already depressing the trigger as t he door opened, firing a pair of heavy rounds through the portal to the outside world. The face that had peeked in ducking out of the way, the Battlemind AI already reading them as an Imperial trooper - though he saw nothing save for their green outline.

"Friendly, friendly!"

Dropping the pistol and reaching his hands up to his helmet, he tugged it off his head and wiped his eyes. Staring up at the betaplast features of a stormtrooper.

"It's Garm, Sir."

"Gar-? Check on Reed."
Twisting and fighting to rise up to his feet, other troopers were stacked outside the overturned AFV. He made way for the medic and was hefted out the side door.

"Sonic hit. Don't know from where." Someone spoke up before he asked, causing his features to twist and contort in annoyance before he remembered where he was. In his helmet he saw his own blood, and felt the scarlet ichor caked to the side of his head. Helmet rising back up,

"Let's flatten this shit hole."
 

Auria Blackmoore

Guest
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PAIN IN THE BUTT: Konrad Harrsk Konrad Harrsk
ALLIES: NIO
ENEMIES: BOTM
| NSO
ENGAGING: Jester
GEAR: Not a dress and even a gun

Oo~~>SCHISM<~~oO

Auria pursed her lips in annoyance as she pulled her open, flaming hands into fists in front of her face in frustration.

Despite the gravity of the situation, he still had the gall to throw about invalid arguments about her dress code on Dathomir.
"I think you hitting that tree killed the last three braincells you had left. I swear you grow more stupid each passing day." she almost sneered at him. But he kept talking over her.

No surprise there.

But he put his foot in it now.
"He clearly has the fancies for you - as egregious as that isis, even for a walking corpse - you shall play bait and I will strike from a concealed position."
That. Does. It.

A snowball hit Konrad against the side of his head.

It should have been a bloody boulder that she should have conjured, but the fool did save her life just now. So she opted for something softer, yet still a projectile.

"How about you be the bait and I burn both of you to cinders at the same time from a concealed position?" she said coolly. If there was one thing that gave her the heeby jeebies, it was the Dark sided freak in whose mind she had scratched around in. But of course, Konrad was too daft to grasp the concept of the prowess of the Force and its alignments.

The scarred man creeped her out, plain and simple.

"You know, if you resembled the backside of a Bantha a bit less, people would be more inclined to follow your lead more. But you make it damn near impossible to want to do anything other than physical cognitive reprogramming." she told him with great exasperation. Why did she even bother preaching to him? It was bloody pointless.

Like playing chess with a pigeon...

The Force pelted her with turmoil from an entirely different direction and source. It had been present throughout the whole ordeal, but it was bolstered by something grievous.

Something big had happened.

Something bad.

Her inner nature was torn in two between wanting to rush head first into the turmoil to attempt to heal who and what she could or to stay by Konrad's side to face down another monster.

Memories of Ryloth ran across her mind once more - the fear and the destruction the Agents have caused. The body of the girl she had not been able keep safe.

Always the failure.

Despite her efforts, she always failed to bring the balance she and so many others yearned for.

The lifeless eyes of the Twi'lek girl still swam in front of her eyes as she glanced at Konrad. Rapidly blinking back some tears that had started to form, she squared her shoulders.

Not again.

Not another individual.

"We face him head on. And after him we face others. Together. No more petty tricks. We finish it." Her voice was stern, the cool of the Nether dancing in it as she drew on the arcane.

No more lifeless eyes where she could have done something about it.

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Maestus Fury
Dragon Shield Talisman
Maestus Bracer Shield


Interesting. That was the singular thought that ran through Maestua mind as Mogra'teksa Mogra'teksa was able to resist her mental assault. Few were able to mount any sustainable defense against Memory Walk.

Now, however, Maestus faced a decision. Does she sustain the Memory Walk and dig deeper, penetrating Mogs mental barriers? Doing so would put her in physical peril. Perhaps. Her bracer was strong, but had not been tested against an opponent hellbent on sending her to oblivion.

Marstus was not yet ready for that possibility. She had much yet to do. Goals and tasks thus far unfulfilled. Today was not a good day to die.

As Mogs attacked, Maestus dropped the mental assault. More pressing matters, you know.

She raised a hand, and in synchronous movement, one of the hilts on her belt smacked into her palm. Instantaneously, a 6 meter whip of blazing red plasma shot forth.

As Mogs came into her in attempt to run her through, Maestus dropped to one knee and snapped her whip up, over her head. The blade ripped through the air viciously, aiming to ensnare the blade in Mogs own hand.

She stiffened her free arm, lowered it and took the hit from Mogs kick. The Force of the kick and the vibration from the two limbs connecting ran through Maestus. It jarred her so significantly, her overhead whip swing was not as precise as it normally would have been.

That isn't to say she was going to miss entirely. The sheer length of the whip ensured contact of some kind.

Maestus gashes her teeth together, a small growl escaping at her imprecise aim. Failing was not something she accepted from herself. Had she truly been so long from the battlefield? Was she...Rusty?

That would simply not do.
 

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M O G R A ' T E K S A
IMPERIAL KNIGHT
Armor | Lightsaber | The Twins
// Maestus Maestus \\

TOGETHER WE STAND | Rurik Fel Rurik Fel Errant Errant Ragnar Bloodfist Ragnar Bloodfist Khroraic
Saaveina Saaveina Ignatius Waymar Geyer Lucien Dooku Lucien Dooku

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NIGHTMARE
Preternatural senses cried out, the lethan learning soon thereafter precisely what flavor of danger she was in. But her course was set, and she had committed, and now she would suffer the consequences for her actions. The lightwhip crackled to life, sparking overhead to coil its insidious tendrils around her arm. And it was by the grace of her beskar armguards that she was spared the worst of the damage. The longer the coils remained, however, the greater the heat would grow. There was more to this weapon than meets the eye, as much she gleaned as soon as she started to feel the burn through the protection of her prized armor.

Rather than wait for following repercussions, Mogs took initiative thusly. The Sith Lord, Maestus, had tanked the staggering blow meant to topple her well, holding her footing. Yet from the position behind the Imperial Knight had claimed, it left a vital weakness- their kind's worst weakness- exposed. Lekku. The twi'lek used her free arm to grab after one of the tendrils, aiming to wrench it toward her, with hopes that would be enough to sever the focus Maestus demonstrated to snare her saber-wielding arm from the lightwhip's grasp.

After doing this much she would twist, carrying her momentum through the spiral which saw her left leg snap downward- her heavy metal heel focused intently on shattering the Sith Lord's right collarbone from behind.

 

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