Invasion Woken Furies | BotM Invasion of NIO held Nirauan

[Wilhuff Krieg]

F E R R A T A
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
KNIGHT ADMIRAL
FIRST CRUSADE FLEET 'SWORD OF RETRIBUTION'
CHAPTER 'IRON CRUSADERS'

THE VOID
NIRAUAN ORBIT​

Spoiler: Task Force 'Godhand'

TASK FORCE GODHAND
NEW IMPERIAL NAVY
STRATEGIC CRISIS RESPONSE | 28000m
NIRAUAN SYSTEMS FLEET PATROL | 3000m
COMBINED STRENGTH | 31000m

FLAGSHIP
NIV FERRATA | Highlord-class Dreadnought | 100/100 | 10000M

BATTLECRUISERS
NIV ANTARES DRACO | Legate-class Star Destroyer | 100/040 | 5000M

STAR DESTROYERS
NIV VENGEANCE.. | Pellaeon IV-class Star Destroyer | 100/100 | 2000M
NIV PERTURBATOR | Pellaeon IV-class Star Destroyer | 100/100 | 2000M

CRUISERS
LONGBOW I.. | Intercessor-class Star Destroyer | 100/100 | 1000M
LONGBOW II. | Intercessor-class Star Destroyer | 100/100 | 1000M
LONGBOW III | Intercessor-class Star Destroyer | 100/100 | 1000M
ARABLEST I.. | Cuirassier-class Cruiser | 100/100 | 1000M
ARABLEST II. | Cuirassier-class Cruiser | 100/100 | 1000M
ARABLEST III | Cuirassier-class Cruiser | 100/100 | 1000M

FRIGATES
COURIER I. | Vanto-class Escort Carrier | 100/100 | 500M
COURIER II | Vanto-class Escort Carrier | 100/100 | 500M
BILLHOOK I.. | Escolta-class Frigate | 100/100 | 500M
BILLHOOK II. | Escolta-class Frigate | 100/100 | 500M
BILLHOOK III | Escolta-class Frigate | 100/100 | 500M
BILLHOOK IV. | Escolta-class Frigate | 100/100 | 500M


CORVETTES
Vandal-class Corvettes | Several
Gurkha-class Corvettes | Several

STARFIGHTERS
Type | Fleet Distribution

Screen
TIE/OTx Outlander Space Superiority Fighters | 40%

Pursuit
TIE/INx Interceptor Starfighters | 15%
TIE/Vx Vanguard Defender All-Purpose Starfighters | 5%

Strike
TIE/GA Mauler Ground Attack Heavy Starfighters | 10%
TIE/HF Slasher Heavy Fighters | 5%
TIE/HB Heavy Bombers | 5%
Petard-class Droid Starfighters | 20%

NIRAUAN SYSTEMS FLEET

STAR DESTROYERS
NIV ASTARTES.....| Tyrannus-class Star Destroyer | 056/018 | 2000M

FRIGATES
NIV RAPIER I...| Mantero-class Missile Frigate | 074/012 | 500M
NIV RAPIER II..| Mantero-class Missile Frigate | 048/009 | 500M
​

The first spears thrown. The Antares Draco- the venerable workhorse of the First Crusade fleet was the first to bare the punishment of the iron jaws of the Maw. They fought with a deft, careful hand. Reluctant to raise their shields and charge brazen into the bloodshed with swords unsheathed. No, they kept their distance on the field. Skirmishers. Meant to ware down and bloody the New Imperial war ships with each throw of the javelin toward them. The Maw was unflinching, they wanted the battle to come to them. Krieg could not simply wait to draw them into the wolf's den.

The arrival of the other fleet compliments was a reassuring balance of the tides, certainly. But he knew the Maw would die only as they lived. By the sword. They would not embark into any battle where they could face the possibility of a total routing, a decisive victory for their enemy. To smite them as they arrived would a precarious feat. They would not reach too far into Krieg’s grasp as to allow themselves a measure of vulnerability.

He was reminded in that moment of an Archaisian analogy. In the far out bush lands of Archais, it was a common tactic of survival that if a man needed to find water, he’d dig a hole large enough only for a monkey-lizard’s hand filled with salt. The monkey-lizard would reach its hand into the hole but find its fist clenching the salt to be too large to pull it from the hole. Thus- leaving in the trapper’s grasp. All it ever had to do- was let go and it’d be free. But primal greed and hunger were often too compelling of variables to allow any measure of free will.

He had to present the salt and the Maw had to reach and grasp it.

Krieg had to make the same trap while all the same, avoiding the same himself. Such was the chess game that was naval warfare. Just as one could incite a move that seemed to be all but unwritten glories in the time of history, easily an opponent could shift it in their favor.

The Maw might have been marauders, but they did not climb this high by mistake. So too was the Empire once a frontier rebellion, betlittled in its danger by the Sith Empire. Overconfidence is what wrought the fall and death of armies. The Sith Empire was not unique in this circumstance, only the most recent victim.

"The Draco and its compliment are getting harassed by the Maw ships, they want to pull us in." Tyrin explained in observation, panning the actions as they took place along the Holotable. He was youthful man, fresh from the Prefsbelt Naval Academy but an Arkanian born and bred on Archais. Depending on the unit, he would've no doubt faced a form of discrimination due to Archais and Galidraan both offering their lion's share of the tithe of manpower to the Imperial Armed Forces. The Imperial Knights were far more impartial in contrast.

He seemed to ignore the analysis audibly, having made the same determination moments prior.

"Undoubtedly. The Draco is seemingly not tantalizing enough for the beast to emerge from its lair. What did our commscans tell us Ensign?" He asked in the direction of the officer as he firmly gripped the edge of the holo projection table, furrowing his brow over his crimson photoreceptors as he looked in the direction of the officer.

"Several vessels, multiple battlecruisers and star destroyers- their frigates are the ones doing the harassing. What seems to be the signature of a dreadnought, Code Name "Archon" They're hunting for the big fish if you would, sir." The Fatalis-class Dreadnought. The very same catalyst of destruction the Maw wielded over Coruscant and several other large scale campaigns.

"Good. Run everything through 'GHOST', determine any vulnerabilities we possibly can." Krieg replied. The Ferrata was, first and foremost, a slayer of dragons. But the Starbreaker-class Cannon at its disposal was best utilized in clusters of smaller vessels.

"Pull their frigates into the sights of the Starbreaker?" He said in relativity to the Ferrata, the Dreadnought still baked into tis layers of stealth and cloaking systems at the aft of the formation.

"Consider it all but done. Execute a turn of thirteen degrees, paint a point in the middle of the arrowhead once we have our vector." The Ensign commanded the way of the senior gunnery officer.

"To keep them still...hail the Draco." He commanded to the Comms officer who was able to hail Captain Ozric once more at the head of the battlecruiser at the forefront of Krieg's formation.

"Ready and waiting, Knight Admiral-" Krieg spoke before the Caridan native Ozric could inhale another breath.

"Begin interdiction. Remain stationary. Nirauan shall be their iron cage." Krieg commands. The Captain nearly swallowed audibly at the command before nodding once.

"It'll be their tomb, sir." He converted nerves into brazenness, smiling into the command with

"By the sword, Captain. Our will be done." The unofficial motto of the First Crusade Fleet. Referring to a quote muttered by an Imperial Knight of old. To die as one lives, by the sword.

"Their frigates are in our sights, now Knight Admiral...the Starbreaker is ready to fire when ready." As the saying goes. A weapon of this power...it would be foolish not to use it.

"Drop our cloak and activate 'Kriegsgeist'. Send its signal to all Imperial vessels. The hammer is soon to drop." The names of course...purely coincidence. The KriegsGeist however was a highly advanced, robust system engineered by the highest priority

A silence seized the room for a moment as Krieg eventually began to make his way from the holo table and toward the segmented observation panes of the command bridge. He grasped his hands behind his back before nodding once.

"Fire."​

With that one word command that needed no addendum to show intent or target, the gunnery crew on the bridge began its multi-step firing sequence. Target grid, seismic fuse distance, activation time and trajectory all inputted and confirmed by human and artificial intelligence. The Gunnery Officer motioned his nod to the other end of the stack of terminals and computers supervising the weapon systems of the vessel.

After the immense seismic round was loaded into the chamber, the vessel was stilled and aligned with the gauntlet formation and in an instant, the fleet went deathly silent as the Starbreaker fired off its payload with a crack of the gun.

Silence.

Silence.

DETONATION​

A titanic seismic blast erupted from just behind the leading frigate of the Maw's gauntlet formation of skirmishers sent out to hunt the Draco and the rest of Krieg's forward formation. After the Ferrata's jarring entrance into the battle, Wilhuff went to the comms once more, lording over his holotable he began distributing commands as the bridge came under a greater sense of urgency. They were nearly all exhilerated on the adrenaline now pumping through their veins in the wake of the Starbreaker's impact. It was time to press the advantage.

First orders went the way of the largest compliment to Krieg's task force, the Lady of Ord Trasi herself. He spoke in a voice strained and muffled by the cybernetic respirator nestled over his mouth.

"Lady Fortan. Welcome to Nirauan. I need air coverage over New Carannia. Rip them away from our skies, ensure we have full air and atmosphere superiority. From there we can turn the tide on the ground and force this parasite from our world. Your detachment will remain in our reserve and serve as the goalkeeper for our Nirauan System Fleet vessels. They bleed in the wake of the Maw's initial assault, if you've the resources to spare they have several vital repairs which need be made before they can join the fight again. Our will be done." He signed up before engaging the comms of his subordinate officers.

"Task Forces 'Ruinbreaker' and 'Faithhammer', you will accompany the Antares Draco at the tip of the spear to my formation. Screen your fighters and smaller vessels to fend off these skirmishers. They dare to harass and aggravate our vessels...we will make them bleed. Our commscans have indicated they have a dreadnought within the system. Be careful in your formations...as soon as it is within our range and scopes, we will drop the hammer once more. Our will be done." He commanded to the other subordinate officers Culas Vile and Scourge Harz as he eased back over the command table.

"Are you afraid we might risk giving them what they want, sir?" The Ensign Tyrin asked candidly to the Knight Admiral as his brow furrowed over the crimson photoreceptors once more.

"No battle has been won in our history by evading risk, Ensign. After all, we must match the brazenness they already so willfully display. They will not respect nor will they ever be defeated by men who care too much for what might go wrong. The Imperial Navy knows its mission and they know their duties. And The Empire will not be defeated on the back of its Navy. We will expend all heart and arms to purge this darkness." Krieg stated with a frigid ferocity to each word.

"Understood, sir."

ORDER
Fiolette Fortan | Scourge Harz | Culas Vile

CHAOS
Tu'teggacha | Isabella Pavan

TLDR​

NIV Ferrata has emerged and fired the STARBREAKER Seismic Cannon at the 'Gauntlet Formation'
Orders dished out to subordinates
Fortan : Hold in reserve and get air superiority over New Carrania
Des and Vile : Reinforce the Antares Draco and advance up to fend off the skirmishers​

 

[Vesta]

Angry Too​

Location: Nirauan
Allies: Brotherhood of the Maw
Enemies: New Imperial Order | Rurik Fel
Equipment: Red Lightsaber
Objective: Retribution, First Step

There was nothing idealistic in her approach to the moments leading up to this, no agenda to avenge an Empire that she hated, the only thing that filled the Shi'ido's mind was revenge, all of it personal. She hadn't ever minced words about whose fault she laid the blame for her misfortune on, how she hadn't accepted much personal responsibility in the way her relationship with Quinn had fallen apart at the seams, but this was more than that - the very circumstances which led to every last painful moment over the course of the past decade were because of a war which she was born into, a war which had a purpose she simply did not care about. Her family could have been the source of the greatest evil in the galaxy for the last ten thousand years and it wouldn't have changed the degree of fault she placed on the New Imperials for the way they had removed her chance to make a choice for herself in regards to whether or not she'd be a willing participant in their vie for power.

Their blades clashed with a shower of sparks that looked, to her, like the embers of what could have been falling - and fading - away in much the same way she could look back, in hindsight, and see where the conflict she'd been forced into with them had torn up her chance to just live.

What was there in this galaxy, in life, that made men like Rurik believe he could take all of that away from her? She'd asked herself that question when she'd discovered how her mother had died, almost pointlessly, despite trying to acquiesce to the woman's enemy - rejected because of some formality of being too late in response. Vesta had been the product of a mother and father that couldn't bear their own children together, a mere science experiment at worst, but a child all the same - a child shoved headlong into war because she was just as hunted as her cousins were all because she shared the same name.

She reeled at the blow of metal against the side of her head, seemingly caught off guard by the blow to her temple, but she did not relent.

A third arm speared out from her gut, a wet, fresh, hand with an open palm tugged for the lightsaber in the hand that was now too far to act - wordlessly blocking the man's countering blow by virtue of physically, literally, adapting to his chaotic stance. Lightning arced from the freed hand, the limb made vestigial by the creation of another, while she shifted a foot forwards, pushing herself into his space, and growled.

"Only if you are dead." She replied, hatred in her eyes.

 

[Khamul Kryze]

Allies: Tor’r Tal’Verda , BotM

Enemies: NIO (open for opposition)

The skies above raged with the pandemonium of war, echoing the chaos of the planet below. Khamul overlooked the battle from the dropship with a sickening grin stretching from ear to ear from behind his mask. There were few things in life as pure as the fires of war, and fewer that truly understood the siren song of battle. The Hellhound of Mandalore was aching to do another blow against those that impeded his goals. The taste of success from Coruscant only served to wet his appetite, and he was looking to gorge himself.

As the dropship neared its destination, the NIO's defenses roared to life, cutting through the first few ships as if they were nothing. Thankfully, the pilots of Death's Hand had the wherewithal to allow the rabble approach first, drawing the enemy's fire to them and allowing the dropship time to get into position. Despite their relatively smooth approach, Khamul found himself anxious to jump into the fray. He opened the dropship door, overlooking the ground below. One of Death's Hand grabbed his shoulder as he leaned out the open dropship door.

"My lord, is it wise to move so hastily?"

Khamul's masked gaze turned toward his fellow Mandalorian as turbolaser fire continued to shoot by the ship.

"Death waits for no man, so I shall not wait for it."

With those words, he dove from the dropship, his jetpack roaring to life as he descended to his destination. His faithful companion Tor'r had opened the doors; now Khamul simply had to take advantage of that opportunity. He made his descent, landing nearby as he looked to Tor'r.

"For Mand'alor, vod. Let us show these imperials the cold embrace of death."

 

[Ignatius]

SECOND BROTHER
INQUISITOR
HAND OF THRAWN
107th "THE SPOOKS" LEGION
ALLIES:
| Lucien Dooku | Rurik Fel | Noel Strasza | Saaveina | Ragnar Bloodfist | Djorn Bline | Keilara Kala'myr | Khroraic |
ENEMIES:
| Darth Solipsis | Tegan Starfall | Kyrel Ren | Jin Kyrel | Darth Mori |
EQUIPMENT:
| CyberScales | Imperial Saber | Specter Knife | SFP-60x Pistol |

​

To say that the attack befalling Nirauan, the once Capitol before the end of the Imperial Civil Wars, would be defining conflict for the Imperial Order, as well as the heathens of the Maw? Would be the understatement of the Century. For some time now, the Imperial Order has held off the forces of the Sith. Attacking them back into the hellhole they belong in. Religious fanatics that starve upon their connection to the force, and their new age false imperial views. Now? A Sith Order filled with those who fled, and seek to bring about destruction of not just the Galactic Alliance, but so too hopes to face against the Imperial Order and its growing military might.

I thought them fools, yet, on a deeper level that would never be voiced, or see the light of day, respect for them. Respect for attacking a force they could very well know that could overpower them. Yet they tried anyways. The Warrior within me, had to give in to the false bravado that these savages had. Seeking to bring chaos and ruling over the rubble of their worlds. In my mind, they were worse than the Sith.

The Sith had a religion that had eons of building, and structure. The weak die, and the Strong survive. Here? It didn't matter. All they cared for was the destruction of peoples who did not join them. Their machinations of vile intent filled my metallic bones with a heat I had not felt in years. I hated the Sith, but it was personal. I hated the Maw for just existing. A different kind of hate. One that could easily be fueled into the force as a weapon, as a tool of the Imperial Force.

Seeing the "Honor Guard" as well as Lucien leaving to personally take on the man who claimed himself to be a near Sith'ari individual, was something I found commendable. He wanted this man dead for killing a would be friend, brother, and almost Father figure to many within the Imperials. I nearly wished to add my own silver saber to his so that this man would perish for making such a blow against us. However, I had other duties. To show that Ignatius, Second Brother, was up to the task of bringing value to his Imperial Order. A Chapter for which he would further along in their endeavors as a mighty force of Order and stability against the Galaxy.

Many others also fought against the Steel legions of the Maw. Even the Lord Executor would be here today. Having been appointed the task after a dear friend of mine had perished. One who is no longer with us. Looking down at the charts, My location was closer to the very seat of our power. Protecting the Stronghold upon which was greatly valued. Leaning heavily over the center dias, projecting the current map of air defenses firing upon those who attempted to enter the air space, troopers pounding upon our own very streets to fight toe to toe against the Maw. These Sinners.

"3rd squad has intercepted a gaggle of Mawites East-Northeast of the Hand. Two KIA, and two wounded. Attack was repelled."
"Send out 7th to reinforce them, as well as a detachment of the 101st Nova's. We have had three attacks within 30 minutes from there."
"On their way, Sir."
"Also, send an 82nd detachment over to assist the Myrmidons. I want to make sure that should any of their New Sith show up, they are equipped to handle them."
"We have two who are close by we can move to those positions."
"No, we need to keep those fronts they are in. Air Drop them if you have too."
"Yes, Sir."
"Any news on Knight Dooku and his combat with the proclaimed Sith'ari?"
"Contact was initiated, and combat is still ongoing."
"Information on the other Knights?"
"Ragnar, and Khroraic have made contact with Force Users and Elite units. Shall we send them aid?"
"Give word they shall have some if they need it. No need to thin ourselves out."
"Agreed."

A metallic hand reached down to grab the saber. Holding it aloft, to the side, for it to float up and down into the air. Twisting as though it were a stress-reliving mechanism, or a coping tactic. I knew I did it quite often. In truth, its because I yearned for battle once more. Ever since Mygeeto, I had been on mission after mission out of NIO space attempting to get reports on the Sith, and most recently the Galactic Alliance. I was stonewalled many times and didn't find much. Now that I was apart of a Chapter, I had to prove my worth. I was willing to do anything so that my failures of gathering intelligence, would be overshadowed by my prowess upon the combat fields. Ever since Vaulk and I had rescued the First Brother out upon the Bridge, they knew I could fight well. they knew I could combat many foes at once.

I just wanted to prove myself again. A tool for the Imperials to use, a tool to bring about peace and prosperity for all the citizens of our Order. Connecting with Lucian limited in the past, I hoped that our current arrangement would bring forth more... well more. It was time for Inquisitors to be something other than just a shadow in the background who was like a child. Seen but not heard.

It was time Inquisitors were rightfully, a threat to all who opposed Fel, and the Imperial Order. This Chapter, was a second chance not just for me, but for many others.

It would not be squandered.

 

[Gabriel Taggart]

1st Dunwall Irregulars (The Devils of Dunwall)

Call Sign: Menace Actual

Allies: Willan Tal , DECEASED Erskine Barran , NIO

Enemies: The Mongrel , BotM

Some time ago...

Sneaking into a city always presented itself with challenges. Avoiding enemy patrols and surveillance, hoping to not raise an alarm... such were the risks one took upon receiving the call for cloak and dagger. Luckily, such was the MO of the Dunwall Irregulars. They built themselves upon subterfuge in the name of a free Galidraan, and had grown more than accustomed to such tasks. Nevertheless, never before had they had to sneak into friendly territory, nor did they expect such a need would ever arise. Nevertheless, they found themselves having to find their way through the peripheries of the enemy lines as they approached the city of New Carannia. Fortunately for them, they had arrived just as the Mawsworn had begun their approach, making it easy for them to slip through and into the safety of the city itself.

They slowly funneled their way through the city just in time for to see the skies blotted out by the enemy. Gabriel found himself cursing under his breath as they pushed their way further inward. He had heard of the Maw's attack on Csilla from the perspective of his men, and knew well what awaited the planet should the NIO fail in its defense. Despite the stakes, he would not allow his mind to falter, nor his knees to tremble. Today would be another chance for the DI to prove their worth upon the battlefield, and Gabriel would see them take down as many Mawsworn as they possibly could.

Gabriel quickly grabbed his commlink, sending a signal across known Galidraani channels.

<<All Galidraani units, this is Menace Actual. The DI 'ave made their way into the city, and by the looks of it, just in time. We await further orders. Tell us where to shoot, an' we'll get to shootin'. We'll show these fethin' Maw psychos what it means to wake the Lion. We await yer orders. Menace Actual out!>>

They continued to scramble to what defensive positions they could find as they awaited the order. Already the Maw had begun their relentless attack, meaning that there would be limited time to get into position. Gabriel just hoped that they weren't too late...

​

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[Lucien Dooku]

B R O K E N A N G E L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
THE PRODIGAL SON

I'D RATHER SEE YOUR STAR EXPLODE

Darth Solipsis | Hand of Thrawn

​

“Perhaps you don’t understand.”​

Cobalt met crimson, the two blades of energy being brought to a thunderous concussion that rippled across the fortress' roof, and through the ranks of the clashing warriors who surrounded them. It was an emphatic display of what two beings could accomplish together, even when their goals were so far apart, and their intent was the other's destruction. The pinnacle of the force being made manifest, when the wills of those involved were unshakeable to the core. It was a feeling that Lucien had nearly forgotten, in the years since his greatest battles brought him to soar past heights that were once unreachable. ​

“Struggle, resist, defy. It matters not. We will not stop, we will not end.”​

The monotony of warfare had dulled him to the minute details that came as a result of these harrowing fights, where the life and death of another laid solely within the hands of yourself. Faced with unmeasurable power, in the hands of an enemy he could only hate, he could feel the rising fire once more igniting within his soul. It was a feeling that rested far deeper than the desire to engage in the bloodshed that surrounded them; it made him feel alive once more, tempting him to let loose the restraints that had sealed the darkness resting in his soul. ​

“You fight. You die. Rinse, repeat.”​

He could hear her voice, beckoning him to not let that part of him out once again. It had almost cost him his life on Korriban, and it wasn't for Auteme pulling him through that nightmare, he wouldn't have been afforded a third chance at life. But even with her on his mind, chains that were meant to be unbroken had finally been shattered asunder once more. The smoldering flame that was his soul was free to reignite once more; free to embrace of dark and light that would see him cut Solipsis down once and for all.

"No."

A flourish of superheated plasma rocketed in his direction, only to be met by the unnatural footwork of one of the Order's finest swordsmen. He fell into step with the Dark Lord, amber orbs tracking Solipsis as a devilish grin slowly crept onto his face. The brilliant showing of his foe's Makashi would've made his ancestors proud, a feat that not even Lucien could admit to accomplishing, given his foregoing of the stance in its entirety. Yet even the barrage of death incarnate could not stop the tracing of his feet against the ground, his body moving in tandem with the feint echoes of the force that allowed for his unnatural weaving and waning, and as a result his avoidance of being impaled on the end of the Sith's blade.

"You are wrong, and you don't even know it, you fool of a Sith'ari."

Almost on queue with the Sith'ari pulling away, Lucien jetted forwards to resume the offensive where Solipsis had left off. He bounded with implacable killing intent, transcending those limits that would no longer hold him hostage, and moved onto his target with the grace of a hunter who spotted his prey. If it weren't for the subtle details in his movements, one wouldn't be far off in assuming that the King of Serenno had finally lost his mind and gone berserk.

"You and your ilk were only capable of rising from the ashes of Vornskrs' dying corpse."

But it was unmistakable to the trained eye; those eyes of amber, and the reflective nature of his attunement to the force, and the rebounding of energy between hunter and prey-- to which either of them would fit the bill in this case. It was Form Seven in its rawest design, the only form that Lucien had ever bothered to truly begin to master. Even after barring himself from using it ever again, it felt natural to crash upon Solipsis' guard with reckless abandon.

"We fight, and we may die."

Tempestuous blows clamored upon his enemy, reckless and delivered with brutality made manifest. But with each strike that connected with his guard, the purpose behind the sword was surely revealed. Technique shined through the savagery, as each successive strike upon the Sith's guard would adeptly connect into the next strike that followed. The pressure would only continue to mount if the Sith would remain on the defensive, and Lucien would press for the kill if the opportunity was given.

"But you die with us."
​

​

 

[Keilara Kala'myr]

Ziare Dyarron
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent​

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 | Djorn Bline | Khroraic | Saaveina | Noel Strasza | Rurik Fel
Enemies: Tegan Starfall | Darth Solipsis | Kyrel Ren | Jin Kyrel | Darth Mori | Lord Letifer

[ Planet Hell ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >> ​

I no longer had anything to respond to the Lord Executor’s words, however, MANIAC indicated at that moment that the motion detectors were detecting approaching targets from the street behind us. What?! From the street behind us? How was that possible? Come on Ziare, try not to panic, try not to panic. I turned, raised my gun, as I knelt down for better targeting.

~ All right, Maniac, how many are there? ~ I asked.

~ I can’t say numbers, I don’t perceive life signs. ~

~ What?! Security vehicles are the approaching targets?! ~ I asked, but I had a very, very bad feeling.

~ Negative. The sizes of the approaching targets are equal with an average humanoid. ~ I got his answer.

No, no, no, no, no, no! I already knew the answer as I heard the footsteps, the shuffling. Undead! I saw such monsters on Carlac for the first time, but that was already plenty. I didn't want to see that anymore. I hate Force Users! I think my psychiatrist will get a lot of credits from me again after this fight if I survive. I was already sure I would need another therapy after this siege… combat.

It was then that I heard again the voice of the Lord Executor on the comm. channel, confirming what we were facing. I hate it when I’m right or my intuitions are good. To anyone, I would have given anything if I hadn’t been right. It was perhaps positive that the soldiers around me had flamethrowers, so the burning of the dead seemed to be resolved on our part. Just hold on!

The undead stepped out into the street where we were. I swallowed hard. Just hold on! We all opened fire on them…

 

[Jester]

​

Tags: Auria Blackmoore Konrad Harrsk

Weilding: Sword of the Dagda Mor

The dark creature known as Jester had come aligned himself with the Brotherhood of the Maw and come here in support of their attack. He did not really understand their objective, that was for intellects greater than his, but could support them by distracting and destroying the defences. His brand of violence could not be ignored and he had watered the ground with the blood of the Imperial defenders since he arrived.

Jester caught sight of the woman in front of her just as she placed her helmet back on, he could feel the force within her and he grinned. He had killed so many today, but nothing but guards and lowly force trainees, his blade hunkered for something more.

"..She will do.." came a dark whispered from within his blade, only audible to Jester.

"Then you shall taste her blood" he reached up his hand and tendrils of darkness rippled and twisted through the air toward the woman, seeking to command her soul into obedience. The tendrils looked like wandering serpents of oblivion with black smoke around them but they had no physical form. The power was new to Jester, it was like a mind trick but targeted the little shards of darkness present in every sentient creature, it could command, or cause enough inner distraction for his attack to be easier. Jester felt the power of the sword flowing through his body, enhancing the power of the attack as the trapped soul thoroughly agreed with this course of action.

"Come to me my pretty one, let me taste you" as he looked at her with piercing yellow eye filled with hatred, hunger and lust


​

 

[The Mongrel]

Location: Nirauan, New Carannia
Allies: Zachariel Steelblood | Halketh | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Maestus | Khamul Kryze
Foes: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Kolson Vrask | Ortʹtʹo Mikla | Aemilio Valaar | Alric Árheim | Sephi Karneh
Nukth Kelga'an | Mogra'teksa | Aurelian Sigismund | Willan Tal | Sturit Goan
Dante Corvus | Raus Garrat | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Errant | Gabriel Taggart | DK-03

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Willan Tal's bombardment falls on the Mawites in the middle of the city
  • This kills many marauders, but also countless innocent people
• The Mongrel's forces keep pressing toward the Saffia District
• The wardogs keep trying to kill Sephi

The Maw was chaos, disorder, change. This granted its forces certain advantages: they were innovative, flexible, and difficult to pin down. But it also left them with certain weaknesses: they were wild, undisciplined, and difficult to control. In an environment like the streets of New Carannia, full of twists and turns and alleys, equally full of distractions like slaves to be captured and loot to be plundered, keeping a Mawite attack force focused and on task was a fool's errand. One could only guide the tide and hope the waves crashed in the right direction.

They were the dark, savage inverse of the forces arrayed against them: the Nirauan Sector Army, trained for a highly-organized defense of every street and city block, fighting for hearth and home; the veterans of the Myrmidon Legion and Wildcat Battalion, who had often carried the day through unyielding formations and tireless discipline; the Imperial Knights, their rigid, focused grasp of the Force so much at odds with the wild, emotion-fueled sorcerers of the Brotherhood. It was a brutal clash of the primal against the manufactured.

And of Mandalorians against Mandalorians, of course. Perhaps it was inevitable that a culture so obsessed with war often ended up fighting on both sides of a given conflict.

To The Mongrel, it felt like a reunion. The most brutal battles of the entire Brotherhood Crisis, as the "civilized" worlds called the Mawite reemergence that had culminated in the Second Great Hyperspace War, had been between the marauders and some of these same NIO forces and commanders. In repeated battles against the likes of Barran, Gowrie, and Valaar, the warlord of the Scar Hounds had learned what it was to face the iron discipline of the New Imperial Order's finest. Now he had come to their territory, and the effect only intensified.

The Mongrel had learned much from these foes, from each battle won or lost, from the weaknesses his opposing counterparts had exploited. On Csilla, he had learned of the necessity of stronger air support and better counters to enemy armor. On Ilum, he had been again reminded of the strength of enemy artillery, eventually leading to the Mawites incorporating their own - though he still considered it cowardly to kill the enemy from such long range. On Korriban, he had learned that the Maw could not be a defensive army. It must have momentum.

And it seemed as though the NIO had learned from him also.

<<"Sir, Artillery seek permission to fire on the Mawite forces over.">>

<<"Permission to bombard don't let them get too comfortable old boy.">>

"Incoming artillery fire!" Callym bellowed, his macrobinoculars glued to the sky. "Against troops in the middle of their own city?" The Mongrel asked. He chuckled darkly, a deep, mechanical sound, like bones snapping when fed into grinding gears. "I didn't think they had it in them. We'll make Mawites of them yet." With a quick adjustment, his voice grew even louder, until it could boom out over many blocks without being drowned out by the sounds of combat. Up close, it was eardrum-shattering. Callym wisely covered his ears.

"Incoming fire!" The Mongrel bellowed, as the first shells began to fall. "Scatter and take cover!" This was the point at which a more organized and centralized force would have been ripped apart... but the Brotherhood, with no clear lines or clean formations, was somewhat more difficult to conclusively bombard. That was not to say the did not take losses, however. The Mongrel's augmented vision took in the scene: a shell would expand in a bright orange burst, and the dark shapes of a dozen men or more would suddenly be in the sky.

Until they reached the LuchsHais, they couldn't return fire.

But the NIO was paying a dire cost with every shell they fired at the streets of New Carannia. Artillery was not so precise as a blaster, or even an orbital strike, and each shell's area of effect was large. In bombarding the Maw, the Galidraani were also bombarding NIO citizens, panicked innocents trapped in the warzone. Apartment buildings full of good, loyal, hardworking people exploded under the fire of those who had promised to protect them. Families who sang the Imperator's praises were ripped apart by NIO shrapnel.

Patriots died to friendly fire.

"Yeeeeees," The Mongrel rasped, the hideous remnants of his face drawn into a sadistic grin. "Embrace total war. At last you understand: we can only be beaten if you fight us on our own level. Welcome to the Age of Wolves." The mouth of the alley he was standing in exploded, firelight reflecting off the dark metal of his hulking cybernetic body. He felt nothing, no heat, no pain as fragments of shattered duracrete plinked off of his torso. He had surrendered his living, feeling body to the cause. Now he was an engine of war alone.

The bombardment would slow them down, reducing the Mawite progress toward the Saffia District and their waiting vehicles - and likely their progress toward the spaceport as well, for The Mongrel assumed that the same bombardment was falling on the Bloodsworn and Mawite Mandalorians. But it seemed that most of the NIO presence had been concentrated to the west, defending the spaceport and the major residential districts, for the Scar Hounds had yet to encounter truly heavy resistance. They could still push forward.

They could still reach their own artillery.

It was time to lead by example. The Mongrel stepped out into the cratered street, amid the ongoing bombardment, and began to march. He marched without fear, even as the shells fell around him, denting his armored body and melting the outer layers of his chassis with the heat and pressure of each near miss. He knew that fear was without purpose. If the Avatars had decided today was his day of dying, nothing would change that. And if they were with him, if they had decreed his survival and his victory, nothing could change that, either.

"Forward!" he bellowed, catching himself against a building when a nearby explosion made him stumble. He righted himself and then took up his assault cannon once more, firing wildly through the flames and devastation that were overtaking this collapsing district. "The gods are watching!" he reminded his forces, those marauders now seeking cover against the firestorm from above. "Let no warrior show cowardice, or the gates of the Galaxy To Come will be closed to them!" Nearly there now. Nearly to their smuggled vehicle support.

All they had to do was endure this brutal test.

"Blood for the Dark Three!" someone bellowed, and charged into the street. It did not matter that, some twenty meters further on, he was atomized by a direct artillery hit (so direct that the shell probably crushed his skull with its impact before it exploded him). It had already begun the process, shaking the horde out of its instinctual desire to cower in cover before the barrage. Mawite marauders charged forward, heedless of their losses, eager to embrace martyrdom - and to make of every foe a brutal sacrifice. Their momentum would not falter.

No matter the challenge. No matter the number of the dead.

----------------------------------
​

Above the blasted street, within that war-torn office building, the wardogs hunted Sephi Karneh . They scrabbled at the door, slavering, snarling, even more savage and primal than the warriors who had trained and augmented them. Charhounds were naturally tough creatures, powerful predators on their homeworld. The metal armor, gnashing durasteel teeth, and mighty synthmuscles added to their lean frames only made them even deadlier. Even with one trapped in the ruins of the door, struggling to snap at the NIO soldier...

... it took many shots to finally kill the beast.

With a sad little sound that was half-whimper and half datapad shutdown sound, the firefang wardog that had been hot on Sephi's heels collapsed in a heap of scarred meat and brutal cyberware. But there was little time for relief; wardogs hunted in packs, and where there was one, there would always be more. The sound of metallic mewling and barking echoed along the corridor, the beasts mourning their fallen packmate. Though they had been twisted into savage horrors, used to kill and to maim, there were still good bois deep inside.

A second wardog trotted up, nuzzling the dead one in an attempt to wake it... then howled with realization, the half-mechanical sound brutally loud in the tight quarters of the building. Then it turned toward Sephi, its augmented vision locking onto her. It took in a great inhale, an audible whoosh of incoming breath... and its chest glowed with an inner orange light. This was nothing the Mawites had added, for it had already been perfect. Charhounds were so named for their natural ability to breathe out fire, and this one intended to roast Sephi alive.

The building shook as the NIO barrage crept closer, shells blasting into the block. The offices themselves might not stand for much longer, depending on precisely where the bombardment fell. The dropship crash had delivered its survivors into the middle of a true hellscape, a city on fire where the munitions of both sides might easily kill them. The only way out, of course, was through. Assuming that the wardogs (and their savage handlers, Mawite beastmasters with their shock whips and spiked prods) didn't kill her first, she'd have the honor...

... of running the gauntlet her own nation had made.

 

[Shai Maji]

NEW CARANNIA | NIRAUAN
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | 501st LEGION
16th COMPANY | 1st PLATOON
34 troops | 4 Basilisks
ALLIES: NIO | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Alex Eldar | Sturit Goan | Willan Tal | DECEASED Erskine Barran |
ENEMIES: DA MAW | The Mongrel | Zachariel Steelblood | Alars Keto | Tor'r Tal'Verda
ENGAGING: Come at me bro
GEAR: In bio | Basilisk War Droid | Standard loadout

JUST DON’T TELL MOM...


//DIRECT MESSAGE//
//RECIPIENT:// Alora Vizsla
//RECORDING...//

:: Hey, Al! Uh... hope things are goin' chill that side. ::

:: I'm just hittin' you up 'cause, uh... kark, this is awkward... um... ::

:: I figured I'd let you know in case the worst happens... you remember when I said I had business stuff to take care of? I wouldn't be able to make it to Kandosii Squad’s party because I had to make a trip for the Enclave? For our fleet stuff? Yeah, uh... that's... kind of not what I'm doing. You'll probably not be very happy but... I'm on Nirauan. ::

:: We're gettin' ready for the Maw's attack right now, so I gotta go soon. I just... there's no guarantee on what's gonna happen so I figured I gotta let someone know. I just got a favour to ask of you right now. Please, Al, I need you to trust me on this. ::

:: Just... don't tell anyone I'm here. If you don't hear back from me after a month or so, assume the worst happened. But... please don't tell anyone. Kranak will fold me like a camping chair if he finds out... and my mom. Kark... she can't find out... ::

:: Please Al, I'm beggin' you right now. I'm not defecting or something, my loyalty is still with you guys, with our people. But... I gotta do this. If I don't take the fight to the Sith in any way I can, what good am I? What will that make me? I ain't a failure, Al. I'm not. I gotta do this. I gotta hit them in any way possible. ::

:: Please go check in with my mom now and then, she absolutely loves you. You’ll be fine. But… don’t tell anyone I’m here, especially not her. Please. ::

:: Don’t tell anyone I’m on Nirauan... ::

:: I’ll uh… I’ll see you soon. I’ll bring a case of some Galidraani liquor back if I make it out of this. They’re absolutely crazy and their accents are impossible to understand… but they’re hardcore. So yeah... ::

:: I’m missin’ you guys a lot. Stay safe on that side. But.. please, Al... ::

:: Just... don’t tell anyone I’m on Nirauan... ::

//ENCRYPTING...//
//SENDING...//
//DELIVERED//
​

... Gideon, on your right!” One soldier shouted as he flew through the air. The column of Mawites in the street beneath them fired wildly at the white figures flying around and tearing them apart from above. Missiles impacted between groups of Maw soldiers while particle bolts rained down all around. ”Second squad, bring the rain!” Shai ordered over the comms. Almost immediately four Basilisks howled overhead with their cannons buzzing away at the enemy on the ground.

Once they passed, Shai touched down on a rooftop with her rifle at the ready. ”Alex, take their right flank. I saw blips in the alleys, go clear ‘em out.” She ordered her Sergeant before she tossed her a satchel of thermal detonators. ”Misha, you too. Move up and clear the left, we’ll sort these guys out.” The Master Sergeant nodded and motioned for a group to follow as he blasted off.

Shai turned her attention to the enemy below once more, her particle rifle opening up on what remained of the crowd. Twenty of the forty troops stuck with her as she zoomed into the air and fired her own missiles down at them. Blaster bolts bounced off their white armour as they zoomed around or landed on rooftops. Thermal detonators rained down on the Mawites with simultaneous whines before flames engulfed them. ”We gotta refit, this group was way bigger than we thought.” One of her troops commented next to her. ”Yeah, we’ll mop up then we head back, we’re gonna need a lot more-”

”Misha, on your-” Comm chatter chimed in and immediately got interrupted with the screams of undead soldiers. ”All units, on the left!” Shai barked as she and her group flew overhead to see a wave of undead soldiers beneath them. Misha’s group luckily made it out for the most part, though the screams of the unlucky few blared through the comms. ”Open fire!” She ordered and soon the undead got the same treatment...

”... And finally, Misha Saxon.” Shai muttered as one of the soldiers sent a report to the higher ups. ”Congrats, Alex. You just got promoted.” She commented coldly as she walked to the edge of the roof. Out of the forty troops, just over thirty remained. ”Make contact with the others, find out where we got troops to spare.” She said to a nearby officer. ”The rest of the company is engaged already. We’re all we got right now.” Shai grumbled under her breath. ”Don’t care, tell them to send troops to first platoon if they can… and get our Basilisks regrouped, the karking things are all over the place.”

Shai went quiet as her comms came to life, this time from a totally different unit. It seemed the Wildcats needed some assistance. ”Alright, Alex. Get the group together, we’re rolling out. Armoured column’s calling us in. Let’s get to it.” She ordered her newly appointed second-in-charge as she slid her helmet back on.

”Colonel Gowrie, this is Sixteenth Company, First Platoon reporting in. We’re coming from above, don’t shoot.”

In no time at all the Mandalorians came down from the heavens and touched down around the leading vehicles. Some landed on rooftops and got to work on scouting out the area. Shai’s armoured form dropped onto Gowrie’s turret roof with a heavy thud. ”Colonel Gowrie, pleasure to make your acquaintance. Commander Shai Krayt, ready for orders, sir.” She spoke calmly into her comms as she removed her helmet.

This was going to be a weird mission. Sixteens weren’t escorts… though she had a feeling that this column wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing. ”Where do you want us, sir?” She asked him as she knelt down on the roof.

Spoiler: tl;dr

-Sappy message to best friend
-Shai's unit engages Mawites and gets attacked by zombies
-They fall back and report it to the top dudes
-Unit regroups and hooks up with Gowrie's unit

 

[Konrad Harrsk]

WOKEN FURIES
BORN TO RULE vol. I
Issue #5 w/ Auria Blackmoore & Jester

engel
​

The Sacking of Coruscant had been a message.

Democracy had failed. Proven to be too fickle to stand the test of the Maw's chaotic fury. Proven that the sickly Sith Empire was merely a punching bag compared to what the cultists of the Unknown Regions could unleash. Proven that it was only the New Imperial Order that could vanquish the Brotherhood and their Sith overlords.

For it is in the burning pits of Chaos where the strongest steel of Order is forged.

To Konrad Harrsk, this trial of fire was far more intimate than this. It was in these flames that he would forge his own destiny and escape forever the shadow of his late father Jaeger Harrsk's legacy.

"You done playing with your accessories, Princess? Time's up." she told Konrad before turning her attention back down the corridor.

Rolling his eyes, he placed the final piece of his outfit on his utility belt. "It's not as simple as putting a dress on, which is surprisingly not what you're wearing today." the assassin replied sneering and as he stood up to leave, added, "Maybe there's still hope for you, Auria Blackmoore."

Hope was a word he despised. It based itself on the intangible, on the surreal - it had no place among reality, but there was no other word he could use to describe his sentiments regarding the witch. In his last communique with his grandfather - He of Two Horns, Konrad had mentioned her existence to the Head of Shadows and his notion on bringing her in the fold of the Axis of Shadows. His grandfather had agreed that a witch could be an asset but Konrad was no fool to bring Auria without her at least showing an adequate level of skills and mindset.

Auria's future could wait. His came first.

Konrad's thoughts were interrupted at the first sight of the enemy encroaching the Hand of Thrawn. A man, one looking more like a walking corpse than anything else, stood in their way.

"Come to me my pretty one, let me taste you" as he looked at her with piercing yellow eye filled with hatred, hunger and lust

"I think he likes you." the Demon's Head remarked, snickering at the witch. Three little pellets materialized between the fingertips of his left hand.

"Your taste is as bad as your repugnant caricature of a face, freak!" he barked at the man, hurling the pellets at him. They'd explode in a burst of stun beams to incapacitate the marauder.

 

[Zachariel Steelblood]

Objective: Kill, Maim, Burn!
Allies: The Mongrel | Halketh | Tor’r Tal’Verda | Maestus | Khamul Kryze
Enemies: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Aurelian Sigismund | Willan Tal | Shai Maji
Fighting/Interacting: Yes
Links: Weapons | Ships | Chosen

War raged and the Brotherhood rejoiced in its flames. Swarming out from crashed ships and into the city, killing as they went. They let out mad howls as they ran, occasionally pushing into buildings to clear them out of everything valuable. Slaves, goods, and simply to gain vantage points. It was a mad and glorious procession, one with few counters. For who can counter a force that goes where it wishes, merely directed towards an objective, but able to take it however they pleased.

As they rushed forward, heading towards the spaceport in search of clearer landing zones, the NIO opened fire upon them. Looking up upon hearing the shrieking of shells, Zachariel paused as the shells slammed home, exploding amongst the Brotherhoods forces. Explosions rocked his forces, forcing many into cover, even as buildings all about began to explode under this fire. Standing out in a street, he began to laugh as the explosions hit home.
"YES! Let loose and slaughter all!"

His mad laughter was only drowned out by the sounds of shells, even as they came more and more. Now they saw, now they were reborn, if only partially. The signs of the Maws influence were seen clearly now, as they had been at Rhand. Some of their foe had realized only total war would help against the Maw, only merciless violence stood a chance. Still, they were the few amongst an endless tide of enemies. And it was those masses that were cause for concern, and needed to be changed.

A nearby explosion knocked him free of his reverie, prompting him to look towards the distant spaceport and the much closer fortress. More foes awaited them there. Raising his axe high, Zachariel bellowed out to his followers.
"Forward you dogs! Let nothing stop you!"

Marching into the street, Zachariel set off at a jog, his Chosen following behind. And out of the woodwork, like rats, came the marauders once more. Rushing forward, they ran towards their objective and the foe. However, there was some more calculation to their movement now. Though they may not fear death, they feared not earning their place in the afterlife. So they moved in cover, rushing in leaps and bounds while avoiding the artillery as best they could. Some still died, but more continued on, replacing the losses.

Before Zachariel came tanks, soldiers, and the NIO. Behind him swarmed the marauders of the Brotherhood, some with heavy weapons, more with regular weapons or melee ones. This would be a good battle, though Zachariel saw that the forces arrayed against the Brotherhood were more numerous than expected. If all went well, that simply meant there were more skulls to be taken for War.

 

[Tu'teggacha]

​

Location: Nirauan, High Orbit
Tags: Wilhuff Krieg | Fiolette Fortan | Culas Vile | Scourge Harz | Isabella Pavan

Spoiler: TL;DR

• Two Samael-class frigates are destroyed by the Starbreaker weapon
• The Mawite Doomsayer fighter-bombers deploy, target the Draco to further weaken its shields
  • They are screened by squadrons of Thornwaves and Darkshears
• The Mawite fleet advances into range of the Draco, targeting it with ion fire
  • The Fatalis and Praetorian-class ships begin charging their big guns
  • The Crucifix Is guard the flanks

Spoiler: Strike Force Gehinnom (31,000m)

Fatalis, a Fatalis-class Star Dreadnought (10,000m)	Charging Big Guns, Ion Fire on the Draco
Aeon's End, a Praetorian-class Star Destroyer (3,000m)	Charging Big Guns, Ion Fire on the Draco
Nightmare Eternal, a Praetorian-class Star Destroyer (3,000m)	Charging Big Guns, Ion Fire on the Draco
Forge of Laments, a Praetorian-class Star Destroyer (3,000m)	Charging Big Guns, Ion Fire on the Draco
Wrathborn, a Crucifix I-class Star Destroyer (1,800m)	Charging Sublight Engines, Guarding Flanks
Oblivion Herald, a Crucifix I-class Star Destroyer (1,800m)	Charging Sublight Engines, Guarding Flanks
Mournfang, a Crucifix I-class Star Destroyer (1,800m)	Charging Sublight Engines, Guarding Flanks
Soulbreaker, a Crucifix I-class Star Destroyer (1,800m)	Charging Sublight Engines, Guarding Flanks
Ten Samael-class Frigates (398m)	Gauntlet Formation, Ion Fire on the Draco
Two Samael-class Frigates (398m)	Destroyed

"Ah, there you are," the Taskmaster burbled, the Ferrata reflected in his glassy black eyes.

He had suspected that his foes would not face the Mawite warfleet without bringing a beast to equal the Fatalis... and he had been right. Only a true clash of the titans would be a battle worthy of Nirauan, once the heart of the New Imperial Order and still among its crown jewels. The Ferrata dwarfed even the formidable Antares Draco, and its systems were clearly incredibly advanced. It was a fleet-killer, the kind of ship that could break multiple Star Destroyers on its own... the kind of ship that, so long as it remained sound and in the battle, could ensure that Nirauan would not fall. Until it was gone, there would be no orbital bombardment.

More and more NIO task forces closed in on the system, joining the Ferrata and its mighty battle group. Tu'teggacha imagined he could hear their transmissions, all those clipped Imperial accents smoothly and brusquely directing each new arrival into the proper defensive position. The arrival of the Royal Galidraani Armada caused him a quick intake of breath, a strange, squelchy sound indeed when rendered by his squidlike ring of a mouth. But they did not throw themselves into an immediate assault, or even aid in the Draco's probing attack. They were ordered into close orbital support, a fresh disadvantage for the Mawites on the ground.

The Brotherhood had to clear that air cover, or New Carannia would be much strengthened.

But there was nothing Tu'teggacha could do about it in the present, or even the near future. The Royal Galidraani Armada was even larger than the NIO force presently facing down his fleet, and he certainly could not defeat both at once. The industrial capacity of the vast NIO territories, far greater than that of the smaller Mawite dominion, was clearly showing in their relative naval capacity. The Taskmaster could only fight the battle that lay ahead of him, bringing down the most direct foe, and hope that the Final Dawn support he had been promised would arrive in time to help him clear the rest. If not, this battle was doomed to be one-sided indeed.

He needed Isabella Pavan and her forces. Force-willing, they were already en-route.

There was no use worrying about it, and no time to wait; the battle had already begun. Tu'teggacha knew immediately that the Ferrata had not emerged simply as a set-piece or tool of intimidation. That was not the NIO way. They were a practical, straightforward people, making no moves that did not lead directly to results. Sure enough, the enemy SSD's Starbreaker seismic cannon charged up... and unleashed its full might toward the skirmishers. The massive blast that ensued was more than capable of blowing apart a Samael-class frigate. This was a capital-plus-class weapon; the gun itself was probably as long as the ship it'd targeted.

The benefit of the gauntlet formation, however, was spacing out its constituents.

​

The formation, based on a modified version of the two parallel lines that Tu'teggacha had been forced to run between as a child, was a long, open V shape, with the craft in each line relatively evenly spaced. This allowed them to engage the enemy on the flanks, rapidly retreating and dispersing if they were engaged while the ships in the other line exploited the enemy's distraction. The result: rather than the seismic charge blowing apart the entire skirmish group, the blast - aimed just behind one of the lead ships - could only catch two of them at once. Still, the Taskmaster flinched slightly at the sight of two frigates lost in an instant.

It was a grim reminder of the NIO's advanced technology and legendary fleet power.

Two ships lost, the first kills of what promised to be a bloody engagement... but perhaps not a strategic defeat. Tu'teggacha remembered a grim Ebruchi parable he'd heard as a child. Not that anyone had told it to him - he was the outcast, the Accursed One, his weird magic making him a target of mockery and savage bullying rather than bedtime stories - but he'd overheard it as he skulked in the vents of his pirate clan's cruiser. In the story, a young Ebruchi was stalked through the corridors of his clan ship by a huge voidborne predator. He was too small and weak to kill it in a head-on fight, so he had to think quickly to survive.

Knowing the beast's hunger for warm meat, the Ebruchi child had carved off small pieces of his own flesh, leaving them out in the open to lure the beast. Each time the creature came to feed, stooping its huge head to slurp up the bloodied chunks of rubbery skin, the child stabbed it from behind with his small but sharp knife. The cuts he made into the beast's flesh were deeper than the cuts he made to his own, and in the end, the predator bled out first. The story might not be particularly good at soothing a child to sleep, but it did contain an important message, one enmeshed in Ebruchi culture: you can endure pain and sacrifice...

... so long as the end result hurts the enemy more than it hurts you.

In their skirmishing attack, the Samael frigates had significantly drained the shields of the Draco, and the cautious, strength-bleeding approach had lured out the enemy flagship - and caused it to expend a potent weapon, one that likely had limits due to either limited ammunition, reload time, power consumption, or some combination thereof. These were the advantages that Tu'teggacha would hold onto and exploit, hoping that the sacrifice of flesh he had made was a smaller one than the figurative wound he'd dealt to the enemy. After all, the battle was now do or die; his sensors showed that the enemy fleet was interdicting the system.

There was no escape except across the broken hulls of Task Force Godhand.

"We have bled them a little," Tu'teggacha told his bridge crew. "Now, let us taste their flesh. Advance! Let us toss their battlecruiser back to their flagship in pieces, laying the broken corpse of the son at the father's feet." It was time for an old favorite of military strategy: "defeat in detail". When the overall strength of the enemy is greater, focus a large proportion of your own strength on a single point in their line, targeting their elements one at a time. In so doing, your concentrated forces will be able to crush the enemy piece by piece, rather than be slowly worn down in a large-scale skirmish. The Draco would be first.

While the frigates kept up their ion barrage, moving to fill in the line in the places where their comrades had been lost, the Praetorian-class Star Destroyers each disgorged their ten squadrons of starfighters... and the Fatalis its fifty squadrons. These were a mix of craft, with Thornwaves and Darkshears flying as screening fighters, but the true goal was to unleash the Doomsayers. These fighter-bombers were strange craft, unequipped with any laser cannons - or even bombs. Instead they carried yet more ion cannons, their goal to add to the intense fire continuing to target the Draco's shields. Their missiles would help clear enemy fighters.

And when the Draco's shields fell, the big guns would come fully into play.

"Charge the MegaCaliber guns and Orbital Autocannons," the Taskmaster ordered, "and load the Mass Drivers. Move us into range, and prepare to fire on my mark." The sublight engines of the Fatalis roared to life, slowly and smoothly moving the giant predator forward, so that it could add its own ion cannons to the barrage. The Praetorians did the same, taking up positions with two above and below it, forming a sinister triangle. The Crucifix Is protected the edges of the fleet, to keep it from being quickly or easily flanked... but also fired their engines, for they would have their own, quintessentially Mawite part to play soon.

For now, the strategy was simple. Target one foe. Drain shields. Shatter ship. Repeat.

 

[Alex Eldar]

S H A D O W
SERGEANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
NEW CARANNIA | NIRAUAN

ALLIES: Willan Tal | DECEASED Aron Gowrie | Shai Maji | Sturit Goan | Gabriel Taggart

SECONDARY: DECEASED Erskine Barran | Alric Árheim | Ortʹtʹo Mikla | Aemilio Valaar | Kolson Vrask | Sephi Karneh | Raus Garrat | Nukth Kelga'an | Knight | DK-03 | Aurelian Sigismund | @anyone else I missed

ENEMIES: The Mongrel | Halketh | Zachariel Steelblood | Tor'r Tal'Verda | Khamul Kryze | Baize Reav

GEAR: Armour | 2x Pistols | Battle rifle | Sniper Rifle |Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives | Basilisk named Hack | Grenade loadout

DON'T TREAD ON ME​

War.

So many had no choice. Some felt compelled to defend their homes. Their families. To preserve something for the next generation. Only to rinse and repeat.

And then there were those that thrived on it. The warrior cultures of the Galaxy. But even they fought for something. Alex, on the other hand, had nothing. For her, there was only this. The preparations. The flitting around the Galaxy from battle to battle. She no longer had close family.

The Sixteens had become her Clan.

The Empire her home.

The Iron Will her Resol'nare.

"Alex, take their right flank. I saw blips in the alleys, go clear 'em out."

Hellfire rained down on the Maw goons all around. Hack howled past her along with the other Basilisks as their particle cannons turned in unison in thunderous salvos on their strafes. Her own rifle bombarded zealots, hounds and undead alike from above.
"Copied Commander." Alex said before angling her body off to the right where Shai directed her. Her squad followed suit and the unison jetpacks howled toward the Mawites flank that tried to flank the Galidraani unit.

The cry to Misha rang in her ear before getting abruptly cut off. The Sergeant only momentarily closed her eyes in a sad sigh but did not break off the advance as her squad and two Basilisks cleared out the flank.
"Well this a right mess, innit?" Corporal Taylor Skirata commented over the close comms as he let loose a quick particle burst from his rifle.
"Yeah, well who better to clean it up than us?" she asked. "It's not like those Duraplast pansies can aim. But let's mop up here and regroup with the Commander."

Alex and her team touched down on the rooftop just as Shai gave the KIA report.

"Congrats, Alex. You just got promoted."

Alex pulled a face beneath her helmet.
"Aye, Commander." was all she said. It just didn't sit right to immediately be promoted in a dead Mando'ade's place. Almost vulture like.

Her inner guilt trip was interrupted by Shai as she gave the order to meet up with the armoured column of Colonel Gowrie. With a sigh she took the sky with the rest of the squads now under her command. Basilisks flanking all of them, they moved off in the direction of the Colonel's column.

Touching down on the turret roof alongside Shai, she took off her helmet, shaking loose the helmeted flame locks.
"Honoured, Colonel. Ser-uh...Master Sergeant Alex Eldar at your service." she said before awaiting further orders from one the famed Galidraani.

Her heart still clenched slightly at the death of a good friend and superior.

Another loved one lost at the hands of Darkness and Chaos.

 

[Auria Blackmoore]

ALLIES: Konrad Harrsk (if you could even call him that) | NIO
ENEMIES: BOTM | NSO
ENGAGING: Jester
GEAR: Not a dress and even a gun

Oo~~>DANCE MACABRE<~~oO​

Another chill raked through Auria's body as she looked into the yellow eyes.

Instinctively, her empty hand lifted to erect a barrier straight from the Nether to withstand the Dark tendrils that the gaunt man sent her way.

"Come to me my pretty one, let me taste you"

A huff escaped the witch's nose as she pulled a face at his words.

"I think he likes you." the Demon's Head remarked, snickering at the witch.

"You don't say?" she said sarcastically. "Smartass." she added almost under breath.
"Sorry, Oil Painting, but I kind of have a thing for blonde and blue-eyed and sharply dressed, and unfortunately you don't fit that bill." she told the Dark Sider before releasing a fireball at him before moving back a few paces.

And at least Sunshine wasn't a salt pillar this time.

"Your taste is as bad as your repugnant caricature of a face, freak!"

On second thought, she should have let the rancor crush him.

As the little balls soared toward the strange man and his demented sword, Auria looked at Konrad, her hands on her hips.
"Only the smooth of mind can manage to incorporate an insult and compliment into one." she told him before drawing her sidearm and firing off a sonic blast to follow up the neat little impact bombs.

Drawing back the blaster she looked at it quickly.
"Huh." she said in surprise. "This thing isn't too bad."
She was not fond of blasters, but she was no stranger to them at least. Her coven did not rely on them, but at least they carried one at times, just in case of Force nullification measures.

Even the more passive of balance keepers had contingency plans.

She should have used one earlier.

Not that Thing 1 had given her much time to invest in anything proper earlier, but that had been rectified when he had come back from Coruscant all banged up and grumpy.

​

 

[Alora Vizsla]

Location: Gambit, Landing Pad, Kestri
Mood: Party Mechanic

Just another day in Hell Frozen Over -- or as the Enclave called it 'home.' Alora sat in the middle of her mechanic bay in the belly of her ship, the Gambit, with a blowtorch in one hand and some new device she would building because she could -- plus it'd probably sell for some Manda-credits! It'd been a short minute since she last saw Shai pop by, which occupied the violet-haired woman's thoughts between needs to focus so she didn't burn her fingers off. Long enough Alora planned on checking up on the trouble maker later that day.

"Incoming encrypted burst transmission," The Gambit announced. "Audio only."

Alora blinked, snapped the torch off, and pushed the shield up out of her face. Burst transmission? Someone didn't want to hold a conversation. Not a good first sign. "Who's it from?"

"Shai," the ship responded surprisingly succinctly.

"Huh. Well, go ahead and play it. I've been waiting to hear from her," Alora replied before she bent back down to ignite the torch again. Maybe Shai just wanted to tease Alora about something so she didn't bother with a two-way communication channel. Always the trouble maker. The young Mandalorian woman brought the shield back down to work as she listened.

:: Hey, Al! Uh... hope things are goin' chill that side. ::

:: I'm just hittin' you up 'cause, uh... kark, this is awkward... um... ::

Torch in hand, Alora had frozen in place at the tone of the other woman's voice. Awkward? Shai? That only happened when she was in a really bad place. Like after the massive amount of cybernetics replacing body parts kind of bad.

:: I figured I'd let you know in case the worst happens... ::

A soft fwip sounded as the torch went out again. "Pause!" Alora lifted the shield and set her equipment aside. "Seal the ship." She got to her feet and turned around to watch the ramp lift from the ground. Sure, it was cold outside, but Alora usually wore her armor and didn't mind a little cold weather. The torch was keeping her toasty. From what Shai just started to say, however, this wasn't going to be a frivolous, rambunctious letter. Alora didn't want anyone eavesdropping, and the Gambit was the most secure place you could have a conversation without fear of being heard.

Once the ramp clanked into place with the hiss of pressure equalizing, Alora cast a glance up at the ceiling. "Resume."

Seconds later, Alora echoed loudly, "Nirauan?" What in the Manda's name was Shai doing literally on the other side of the galaxy?

Fighting the Maw? On her own? Of course, on her own. She ran off on crusades because Shai was a fighter! Alora was not happy, but only because Shai always did this on her own. Why was she so insular? Even after they'd been together for weeks working on her cybernetics, sharing cocoa, talking girl talk... The woman just ran off and joined the Imperials in fighting the Sith because "that's what Mandalorians do" these days, wasn't it? What about the squad? The Enclave? What about her?

:: Just... don't tell anyone I'm here. If you don't hear back from me after a month or so, assume the worst happened. ::

The... The worst? Honey brown eyes batted as Shai continued.

:: Just... don't tell anyone I'm on Nirauan... ::

"Transmission ends," the Gambit then announced so Alora wouldn't stand there waiting for more.

Alora stood still as a statue for several seconds as she mentally processed what had been said, distance, time, and sequence of events. With a suddenness that would have scared someone half to death, the youthful Mandalorian turned around and strode toward the ramp that opened without her saying anything. "Gambit, I'm going to Shai's mother's, then the party. By the time I get back I want the fastest course to Nirauan laid in and you refueled -- I don't care if you need to slice the maintenance roster to do it."

"It will take--"

"I don't care," Alora snapped as she turned on the ramp to stare back into the interior of the ship with whom she argued. "I don't care how long it'll take to get there. I'm not waiting here a month to find out if the worst happened. You and I have gotten into war zones before. This won't be any different. We get in, find her, and get out. They'll never know we were there. And prepare a message for Kranak! I'll need a cover story..." her brow drew low over her eyes as various options tumbled through her mind. A second later, Alora called out, "Arkania. We need to pick up some exotic equipment. Shipping disruptions due to Coruscant. Blah, blah, blah."

With that she turned and stormed down the ramp into icy tundra of Kestri to build the cover that Shai so desperately wanted. Then Alora was going after her. Because the worst case wasn't happening. Not so long as Alora and the Gambit were around -- even if they went to the ultimate lengths to save Shai's life and the woman hated them for it. It wasn't about what Shai wanted now, she'd get what she wanted; now it was Alora's turn.

Mood: On the War Path

POYO! Shai Maji​

 

[Rika Hiro]

Asa Yubari|Niraun|Carannia
Tags: Halketh

And so the blind lord of Carlac had played his hand, were it not so expected that the Miraulan was to be inclined towards treachery and disobedience to the Imperial state and the rule of law, the ruling committee of COMPNOR might've been surprised. But like the rest of the Warlords, petty or grand Halketh had been of great interest to them. With the agencies curiosity peaking and culminating with the necromancers show of defiance on his homeworld, both butchering and raising the corpses of many an agent and stormtrooper on Carlacs cursed ground for waging his revolt against his former overlords.


All that remained was termination; Halketh or Caelitus as the rebel called himself was to be eliminated and promptly struck from the records permanently. Even if it meant grinding the Siths body to ash and dust to prevent the ghoulish lord of the dead from rising from the great beyond. So COMPNOR sent their own version of the grim reaper to follow the dark lord into the very depths of hell, for the task of killing something so soulless, it required one of their HRDs to do the deed Where a living, breathing being could not.

Ravenous fetid hordes shambled and shuffled through the crater pockmarked streets, their stinking masses marching lockstep forward at the behest of the lords bidding and to devour the flesh of the living. Where the throbbing beat of life lay, they'd follow in reckless pursuit, but curiously they did not take note of the figure passing among them who gave off no life or heartbeat. Much like the rotten counterparts she passed, she only had one singular goal and target; the man who had raised them from the dead and controlled like a puppet master who waxed and waned in his own sadistic pursuit for power.



Though they brainlessly served the forces of the Maw, the undead provided Yubari with a decent enough cover to move through the streets overran with Maw as they took no notice of the woman who gave off no warmth or life as they did. She'd find the source of the horde soon enough, and she'd return with Halkeths head parted from his shoulders.​

​

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

SECOND POST
THE_WOAD
IMPAF-COMMAND

OBJECTIVE 1: GROUND ZERO

Alric Árheim Ortʹtʹo Mikla Dante Corvus Aurelian Sigismund Julian Qar

Aemilio Valaar Konrad Harrsk Aridius 'TK-1575'

Kolson Vrask Sephi Karneh Raus Garrat

Willan Tal DECEASED Aron Gowrie Gabriel Taggart Shai Maji Alex Eldar Sturit Goan

Nukth Kelga'an Knight Mogra'teksa Keilara Kala'myr

BOTM: The Mongrel Zachariel Steelblood Alars Keto Tor'r Tal'Verda
Maestus Halketh Khamul Kryze

ERSKINE'S LOADOUT
FRAGARACH MODEL DISRUPTOR PISTOL
BASKET-HILTED VIBROSWORD CLAYMORE

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 2

Spoiler

Saffia District
The Hand of Thrawn's western far-boundaries
The Myrmidon Quarter
Fort Imperium
The Spaceport outskirts
Pellaeon District
Fiyarro District
Thrawn District
Outer northern suburban districts

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

-00:55:24 BEFORE MAWSWORN ATTACK....

'You're not slashing with your guard, sirrah. You're extending yourself and leaving openings. Mind your position. Move from the guard, not against it.'

It was good advice, to which all three turned graciously to the new face in Fort Imperium's war-planning room, and in seeing that Captain Frayne was with him, the training trio of officers quickly surmised it to be none other than Alric Árheim. Silently shaking his head at his self-perceived impertinence, the well-renowned innovator of classic ordnance and melee-weaponry would adopt a more humble posture than before, concluding the announcement of his presence over the noise by inquiring,'Beg your pardon, I am looking for an Erskine?', with a kindly tone of humility that very quickly revealed his noble heritage. Addressing Barran as an equal also was a giveaway of sorts, though in the process of understanding who and what Alric was to these plate-armoured infantrymen, the Woad found himself in something of a humble demeanour also, seeing for himself that the new arrival wasn't trying to intrude or pull rank on any of the people there.

'That would be me, Alric. Welcome to IMPAF Command's war-planning room, you're just in time to see our support slowly flock to Fort Imperium in dribs an' drabs. Feel free to offer instruction while we wait, these fellows are almost completely new to swordsmanship an' quite open to any help they can get.'

1st-Lieutenant Wyll would get a clean break from exertions (as was deserved for being the first to step up for sparring) soon after, receiving whispered orders to,'Retrieve Mikla. Briefing's starting soon.', before turning back to Árheim so he could draw the noble's gaze to the top-down display on the wide-reaching map-holographic table. Not that he'd have the time to quickly give his new acquaintance a short rundown of his battleplan, as a new arrival had walked in to the war-planning room before Erskine could continue his opening response to Alric, pacing across the room from the entrance in marching cadence as his eyes sought out the Lord-General in the low-lit, smoke-filled setting for IMPAF's best-laid plans. Adding to the weight of his armoured footsteps was Aurelian's great height and uncharacteristically brawny frame, standing head-and-shoulders above 1st-Lieutenant Wyll's muscular 6'5" form in stark contrast to the former Stormtrooper non-com who walked past with a kindly bow on his exit, a sight alone that was particularly surreal for the Woad and his remaining staffers to behold.

'Lord General.'

'From the tactical feed I take you have the supreme command and will commit to it here from the command center, is that correct?', Sigismund queried, only looking for quick responses in the sound of his tone, an urge for conciseness that Barran found himself unable to begrudge, especially under the steadily-intensifying circumstances. Indulging the hulking giant's need for haste, Erskine would simply respond with a quick, concise nod to affirm Aurelian's assumption. Satisfied with the Lord-General's silent reply, the latest arrival would look down to the top-down display between them before looking to Erskine again and further-querying,'What is your take on for the collaborateurs and rebels here in the city? Do you have prisons large enough?', to which Barran raised an eyebrow and shook his head to leave no illusion of any orders for merciful assimilation kettling being issued at any point.

'Before I will move out, heading South-West, I will leave one of my Agema guards with you. Take it as a token of respect and to keep you safe.'

'My thanks to Vandemar, I'll keep 'im close - an' alive! Stay sharp out there, Princeps.', Erskine replied verbally, clearly hoping not for the last time, as was evident both in the content of his reply and in his evident respect for Vandemar's localised Imperial customs. After trading nods of mutual respect, Aurelian would walk out in his heavy-stepped military cadence, to which the guard who remained would exclaim his customary,"Sol Invictus!", as the Agema's grandmaster, the leader of his people, passed him by to head out to the battlefield. Quite the intriguing defensive array by then, especially as according to the Lord-General's estimation, but it wouldn't end there, especially not when a familiar face was about to show up and pleasantly surprise the Woad in the best possible way. Though it would keep Lord Erskine preoccupied, it still left room to wonder who else would show up as a result, as the array elsewhere was surely established in predetermined leadership and attribution alike, and everyone who'd shown before the latest arrival was new and eager to prove themselves.

'Lord General.'

Dante Corvus, however, was different to the previous new arrivals in almost every conceivable way, walking in with soft-stepped, leisurely comfort as one who obviously had nothing to prove. Neither a new face, nor one who could escape the fate of his legion's namesake-district on Nirauan, not while Lord Lucien Dooku still had a soul to strike out with, the King of Serenno's (as according to more than just Lord Erskine) best and smartest subordinate would play his part in turning the tide for the Imperium's struggle for survival once more. In the act of exchanging half-bows, it would become obvious to everyone in the room that Barran and Corvus had fought together before. Stepping forth to be counted among the other strategists, Corvus calmly raised his voice to say,'You have my thanks and the gratitude of my Legion for the...expeditious aid, given the swift nature of our foe.', as he approached the group at the top-down display table across the room with just the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

'I've been tasked with coordinating the efforts of Nirauan's armed forces, along with the Legion elements of Lord Dooku's Knight-Chapter, with those who were brought off-world in our mutual defense. As such, I might not be the Lord-General, but it seems we once more stand as equals.'

As equals?

Looking to the shoulders and left-pectoral segment of Dante's armour, it didn't take long to surmise that the rank-plates and decorations had grown and multiplied exponentially, realizing soon after that Corvus had been more than merely tasked with coordinating the local-armed forces, he was leading them as their sole military-commander under King Lucien. Dooku's answer to Tal's warhound, and climbing ascension's proverbial mountain at metaphoric inclines sloping every part as steep as Lord Erskine's own, the Woad couldn't help but adopt a congratulatory tone as he replied,'Not bad, Corvus. I'd expect nothing less of a Myrmidon. Was wondering when I'd get to work with the 173rd again, but the lads are here noo - lookin' set to be makin' a habit of it as well. Welcome aboard, again.', as he extended his hand to somewhat formalise his well-wishes whilst kindly attempting to veer away from expressing saccharine kindnesses at the same time.

[WARNING - WARNING]

-00:00:00 HOURS PRIOR TO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

[ENEMY LANDING-CRAFT: INBOUND]​

Then all of a sudden, crash-landing through the upper-atmosphere, and onto Nirauan's surface in the northern parts of New Carannia's sprawling mass of city districts, the Mongrel's unexpected early arrival would mark an end to their preparations as his burning dropship sent fiery metallic particles gliding across the evening sky in it's trail's wake. The crash itself would be felt in a rippling, deep thud as the dropship's ascent came to a halt at peak velocity, though fortunately for the Mawsworn aboard, these dropships were built to handle much worse on the way down to surfaces far more hectic than Nirauan's own, but that didn't stop the Imperium's anti-air ordnance from hurling entire payloads it's way once it burst through the clouds. After the landing however, cultist elements within the city would collectively take this as their cue to rise up from several spots within the city, giving rise to enough mayhem that would facilitate the safety of whatever reinforcements chose to join the Mongrel in his endeavours.

This was it, the great battle between the NIO and the Maw was finally underway, and there was nothing anyone could do to avert this battle any more.

Good to see you again, dear Crucible. Its been a while.

HOLDING THE LINE - NEW ROLE, NEW STRATAGEMS: PART 3

FORT IMPERIUM, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (868 ABY)

+00:22:15 HOURS INTO MAWSWORN ASSAULT....

<"Lord-General,">​

'Ease up on the chatter, lads!'

<"I hope you've got a ysalamiri body dump ready!">​

'Give me that comm-device, that one over there! Quickly now!'

The Mongrel's allies had finally made landfall, and as far as Erskine could make out, error had befallen both sides of the initial engagements on New Carannian soil. Neither the Imperial commander's well-placed beachhead defences, nor any of the Mongrel's initial landing-intentions had occurred, resulting in the sort of bedlam that could only facilitate the harshest urban pitched-battle scenarios as the battle progressed in it's many ebbs and flows already.

<"I'm requesting med-evac speeders to get bodies off of my line!"​

Turning up just in time to assure Erskine of his ability to handle every facet of Aemilio's request, another old friend of the Lord-General's recent Imperial past caught the right periphery of old Barran's gaze. Having not been sighted on duty since they parted ways two years prior, (after recovering from the Third Battle of Ziost in adjacent hospital wards) the NIO's best Surgeon-Cyberneticist, Julian Qar was waving back as if by some godsent miracle, after seeing his Woad-born friend waving amiable greeting as Valaar's opening transmission steadily reached it's conclusion. Seeing for himself that the Lord-General was a tad on the busy side, the good doctor would stand by Sigismund's equally-freakishly tall Agema guardsman and let Lord Erskine get to work, observing in amiable silence as Barran worked to delegate and move against the unforeseen; it wouldn't be easy by any means, but everyone in the room with the Woad could feel Lord Erskine's supreme calm for themselves, though they did wonder what the old general had in mind for the next phase of the battle.

<"And AFV transport!">​

'Heh! It would appear all these parameters can be honoured in full this time around. These small blessings are starting to add up now.... Watch this, lads.'

<"Barran to Voidwalker! All of this is being arranged, but I'll need you to hear me out - this will alleviate some pressures, and hopefully present you with some advantageous opportunities at the same time.... You should pull the wounded as far into Pellaeon District as you possibly can, as I have plans to use Pellaeon as a means to counter-strike, but enough o' that. Better if I stick to the issues at hand, so here's my opening plan.">​

There were more urgent matters to attend to after all, the likes that Lord Erskine would never allow himself to neglect to the Imperium's detriment.

<"Leave three o' your smallest fire-teams in the southern boundaries of Fiyarro. Get to Pellaeon District, hand over your wounded, rearm an' coordinate with whatever AFV-contingent shows up. Further plans pending, so keep your comm-device at the ready. Lance One out!">​

Politely placing the comm-device on the oaken edges of the display-table, Erskine would lean back in his seat and suddenly turn at the sound of the war-planning room's creaking door, finding the radtroopers' commander standing by Dr. Qar after closing the door behind him, along with the accompanying IMPAF-Command staffer who'd driven a speeder to bring Ort't'o Mikla back to Fort Imperium. The commander of the radtroopers had been kind enough to 1st-Lieutenant Wyll for Lord-General Barran's unexpected summons to the command-centre, as was evident with the Lieutenant's kindly nod back in Mikla's direction on his way back to his station by the display-table, clearly understanding the growing intensity of the situation and reporting his findings as soon as he hopped onto the back of Martin's swoop-bike, findings of which would be reported as soon as everyone was ready to make the first serious defensive play of the battle.

'You heard the man, LETS GET THESE BODIES TRANSPORTED, TRIAGED AN' TREATED ON THE DOUBLE!!!! the Lord-General's gonna need an open transmission-line on EVERY available local-channel! LETS GO, LETS GO!!!!'

<"Barran to Wildcat One! The 501st need AFV support, get them back to Pellaeon District an' have them stick t'Valaar like glue! Move it!">

<"Copy that, Lance One! Moving them in now. Wildcat One out!">​

'Dr. Qar, you're sending out medics to Fiyarro District! Have them equipped for medevacs en-masse! We can catch up when you're done!'

'Sir, a moment? Believe me, this can't wait.', the scar-faced staffer whispered in the old Woad's ear, revealing a supremely-concerned look in his eye when his head pulled back to search his commander's gaze for hopeful signs of acquiescence. Barran's assent would be quickly granted, purely on the grounds that he had never before seen this look in Wyll's eyes, walking towards a quiet corner of the room as the 1st-Lieutenant quickly concluded,'The Miraluka's brought his undead to the fight, thousands. Moving south and infecting everything they catch in their grips. How do we proceed, sir?', fully reflecting the gravity of their predicament with inadvertently-applied (though oddly-perfect) ethos. Understandably worried, Lord Erskine could tell his subordinate understood that matters concerning Lord Halketh were still something of a delicate subject in the Imperium, with psychological scars still plaguing many of those who fought on Carlac, but Barran wouldn't let the latest Mawsworn arrivals dissuade him from responding to the increasing threats.

Not in his first command at the helm of IMPAF, not on Nirauan.

'Likely true. After all, there's been nothing normal about this battle so far, eh?', the Lord-General responded with a slightly mirthful tone, smirking throughout and even when he snapped his fingers for the 1st-Lieutenant to bring the nearest comm-device. It had enough of an impact that it put Wyll's mind at ease as he quickly snatched up the receiver and handed it to Barran in mildly-grinning silence, exactly the kind of confidence that Lord Erskine would try his utmost to instil in every other Imperial that required his help that day. The setting sun would give a bleak picture of what everyone was to expect, and with the latest development considered, the fight itself was very much looking set to be a constant onslaught of gore, jump-scares, pain and horror of almost every possible variety, an old acquaintance of sorts that Barran wasn't to keen on seeing again so soon. Inhaling through his nostrils, the Lord-General would ready himself to make his first proper tactical counter of the battle.

<"All units, this is Lord-General Barran! It's time, the great battle of Chaos and Order is finally upon us! But do Imperials falter, do Imperials wilt under Mawsworn pressure? Of course not, this kind of talk barely even counts as real wording in our vocabulary, and thus we do not entertain it. We do not entertain the word, an' thus we do not entertain the thoughts an' feelings such language conjures. NEVER!!!!">​

'Not while I still draw breath to uphold that philosophy, lads. Not while the Imperium still reigns supreme, UNDERSTAND?!?!?!'

<"IT IS NOT IN OUR NATURE TO BE COWED, BENT OR BROKEN SO EASILY!!!! WE'RE IMPERIALS AFTER ALL, ARE WE NOT?!?!? An' you want to know the best bit? We don't have to keep them out as previously assumed, they've flown past our defences an dropped right into the heart of the city itself. But take heart, as I have no intention of giving up at any point whatsoever.... AVE RURIK - LONG MAY HE REIGN!!!!">​

 

[Knight]

Allies: Nukth Kelga'an Mogra'teksa Keilara Kala'myr DECEASED Erskine Barran
Enemies: Open

---

Knight had been placed in Strikegroup Er'kit and his confinement to Bastion during the Investigation into Colonel Wuxlar had been lifted. Apparently his involvement was minimal enough in the grand scheme of Imperial politics that his 'testimony' had been plenty. During this time he returned to service in a temporary unit simply known as 'Er'kit' for the purposes of the Strikegroup's mission. The soldier's right hand tapped along one of the handle bars idly as he heard the General's rousing speech. It was one of the better ones he had heard in his time "Good speech I'll give him that." he muttered to himself. In the distance Knight could hear an AT-AT's legs pushing through narrow streets. The occasional explosion and wrenching of twisting durasteel made Knight believe that the crew must've been stepping on abandoned groundspeeders.

The AT-RT that Knight operated was of an old design but a new make. Limited in production scope but ultimately the same AT-RT design. Matte grey paint with a single black band across both legs above the knee joint, the New Imperial crest emblazoned on the front above the chin mounted blaster cannon. Knight's particular assignment was anti-infantry support and rapid response. He had been given a personal shield generator unit to extend his life expectancy as well.

As the walker pilot straightened himself and put both hands on the controls he took a few steps forward so that he began to walk forward on the side street he had been assigned to for the time being. The leg's actuators made dull humming noises and the metal feet clanged dully on the stony surface. Despite the strange gait of the machine, the stabilizers within provided a rather smooth riding experience all things considered. It was no AT-AT but it beat the unique strain of dealing with a crew.

 

[DK-03]

Location: New Carannia
Objective: Defend the City
Allies: NIO

"Why can't you just be normal," the Commander asked the Darktrooper.

"DK does not understand the question."

"Am I being punished by High Command? Fel me, man. Was it the military review board? Captain's Mast? XOI?"

DK-03 was moving the lower jaw of a freshly plucked skull from one of the deformed MAW mutant infantry, the bones still covered in goop and sinew. He was moving it at the speed in which the Commander was talking, mocking his words. The makeshift fortification the squad was holding in the street was currently on the outer edge of an intense Mawite bombing run, one that was shaking the ground and concussing the air so incredibly hard that you could almost feel your teeth shivering like a door stopper.

"They're pushing from the Northeast pretty hard. I can't imagine the Generals are very happy about this."

"Let us pass," a mechanical voice growled.

The Commander and DK-03 both turned, a bit startled, staring in awe at what stood before them. Sons of Mandalore, flanked by two battalions of Stormtroopers - COMPFORCE. The Commander's face turned a bit pale as he stood up and saluted. The leader of the Mandalorian contingent traded passkeys, the elder Mandalorian nodded, and moved on through the fortification and into the open street. The clacking of Imperial boots hitting the pavement in unison echoed down the street as the entire battalion moved towards the smoke and into the target of the recent bombing run.

Reinforcements, of the finest caliber. The Imperial Order never pulled punches.

"Ha, DK-03, what the hell they got you back here for." A soot-covered stormtrooper stopped and clapped DK-03 on the shoulder, giving a nice blackened handprint on his left pauldron.

"DK didn't clean his room, DK got demarc'd." DK-03 looked at the ground.

"Ha, always got jokes, man. Well, it's a shame, my family would feel a whole lot better with you out there having our backs. See you on the other side of Hell, brother, word on the street is High Command's about to BRING THE RAIN!" He barked a few times, rejoining the ranks of his trooper brethren as a few began barking like mad dogs in response. Stormtroopers always did have a bit more... unstable mindset when it came to the travesties of war.

DK-03 looked at the floor and began making circles in the dust with his new skull toy, grinding the teeth in the ground as the Commander looked at him bewildered, gesturing to him and to the Stormtrooper that was leaving. Then back to DK-03.

"You didn't clean your room??"

"DK thinks it sounds better than 'killed my last Commander'."

"Excuse me, what?"