The Tragedy of Pallus(Mature FT/Closed/Invite-Only)

[Nazeroth]

" Where is the soldier and his rifle? Where is the Hero on top the mountain?....they have fell like shadows on the river...gone in the grey..."

Two hundred...the number of days the world of Pallus burned. It's great cities, testaments to a golden era, now reduced to oiled and smoking graveyards. The people, now shattered and scattered, survive among the ruins like ghouls in the final days of judgement. There was more than enough blame to go around, the power hungry politicians, the greed of the corporations or was it the unstable chaos of the masses and their ignorance. Nobody was sure, those that did had joined the mega-crypts that had now blanketed the planet. In the darkness of space, Pallus's extensive satellites now turned the orbital sphere into a death trap of active star mines, debris and broken vessels from it's former protectors. It was all lost now, for what? The artifact of course, the very source of Pallus's technological breakthroughs. This power source, known as the "Master Switch" was a gift of the stars. Once it had been integrated into the worlds energy grid it bloomed the world. Then, the sinful eyes of the stars turned upon them, it's gaze was jealous and full of malice.The Darkness came and in their fear they shut it down, hoping to shoo away the gnawing moths from Pallus's light.

Then, the others came...salvation? damnation?...when there armies came some bore the light of hope...others...conspirators in their destruction...


Welcome to The Tragedy of Pallus, a story of bravery in the face of untold evil, a quest for a powerful relic and the grim realities of war. The world of Pallus is now a smoldering wreck, it's people beg for your help while it's government has abandoned them to secure it's own future. Your people have already established a foothold and have been on the planet for almost a hundred days already, after braving the hostile orbital death field and skirmishes with the dark fleet that harasses you the entire way. Now you struggle to maintain your supplies, fight in the ruins of the once beautiful world of Pallus and her urban jungles. Find the "Master Switch", save the people of Pallus...or perhaps not...it is your destiny...and suffering that awaits.

NPC Factions: Pallus Planetary State (Remnant forces of the old government)

[Glanzenstadt]

---

Pallus
The Glänzer Incursion

The Switch.

It called us here -

One hundred days on Pallus. No respite from the raging onslaughts; no visions of the glimmering walls of Ostfalen; no encounters with the Master Switch.

We are here, and cannot go home.

A tent flap opens. The sound of hooves on dirt comes to a halt.

Frau Feldmarschall! - the courier stammers; she stumbles into the tent with a step or two - Oberst Schönbach has found an encampment. She's gone on ahead with her forces and wants to know if she should hold after taking it or if she should pursue!

The Feldmarschall extends her hand. Let me see that.

Jawohl, the courier stammers yet again. Oberst Schönbach's notes are scrawled onto a moist sheet of paper that nearly crumbles with the action.

This does appear to be so. Take this to Oberst Schönbach. Tell her - the Feldmarschall takes out her own notepad and begins to write - pursue if practicable.

Is that all?

The Feldmarschall nods and the courier salutes. Once more the tent flap opens. And as the courier exits, she hears the Feldmarschall mumbling about poor communication and being needlessly incommunicado, and something else which she can't quite make out. It hardly matters though - her mount's dull braying garners it a quizzical look, distracting the courier from her prior thoughts. The beast is tall and clad in light armour that has seen its better days.

I know. I want to leave too; Hedwig hoists herself up into the saddle and looks over the terrain for the path she took to get here. This way, she compels the beast and it goes.

The chirping of distant machine guns surf the tepid winds. Between them, her own intuition, and a well-worn map, Hedwig finds herself on due course without issue.

Of course, there isn't much between the various field-positions. Destroyed towns and burned forests all blend together after a while, and the decaying corpses of armoured men do not help mark the distance. Here and there burnt-out vehicles offer themselves to the beyond, but these, too, seem to meld into one. Haven't I seen that tank? Did I already pass that town? That corpse looks familiar... No...

Halt!

She stops the beast; it doesn't appreciate her suddenness. And despite its protests (and rather unhappy opinion on the matter), Hedwig still brings it to a stop. She then dismounts, and clanks onto the dirt.

Beyond them, the sentries cannot be seen. An irritance, but they're just doing their job. A moment or two later one advances out to her.

From headquarters?

Ja, das stimmt.

The sentry eyes the standards on Hedwig's mount dubiously. After a moment, though, she nods: this courier is expected.

Thus cleared, Hedwig leads her beast past the sentries and soon comes upon a small house. It, too, has seen its better days and is dominated by a cavernous hole in the roof that peers into the attic and what seems to be a few of the upper bedrooms. The Landsknecht here are far more relaxed, and it is obvious why with even the most cursory of glances skyward (a barrier stretches over the headquarters).

And speedily enough, Hedwig makes it into the headquarters and is escorted to Oberst Schönbach.

Frau Oberst?

The colonel grins and stands from her chair. Ah - von Barby - you made good time. She returns Hedwig's salute: you have updates from the Feldmarschall?

Pursue if practicable, she replies and places the orders on the table.

Schönbach nods and beckons Hedwig closer. That's good. We've already begun doing just that. It was an impressive attack - I was there. Right on the front. They ran. Should've seen them.

Will that be all, Hedwig avoids the matter entirely - perhaps prudent, given the clean and pressed state of Schönbach's garb, Frau Oberst?

I have nothing else for the Feldmarschall, Schönbach salutes.

Hedwig returns the salute and walks out of the room.

...but in the distance, a rumble.

[Olimpiada]

---

Pallus, Pallus Prime
Castellum Kumamoto, Legio IX Delphi

---

Corporal Hippolytus Flavian sat perched atop his tank, tearing open his third meal pack for the day. It was still salisbury steak and mashed potatoes, a rather unfortunate invention of Anglo-American cooking which had somehow survived Olimpiada’s journey across the galaxy, subsequent liberation war and civil wars, and centuries of evolutions in cooing. The experience was only made worse by the meat being reconstituted algae from a tank, and the potatoes being something not entirely unlike clay. They had run out of better meals on Day 86, and he envied every person who had actually opted to have a flavor altering implant installed back on Ivy. There had been an incident on Day 94 when one soldier had murdered another for his taste chip, and then been caught when he tried soliciting the biomech specialist to install it for him.

Out past the harbor, a section of the sky briefly turned a greenish color as a Hyperion-class submarine surfaced, vaporized a bit of debris high above, and then disappeared beneath the waves. A split second later, the mess of glue and staples holding Flavian’s arm together ached more than usual as the air pressure wave hit. He cursed.

“What, don’t like the light show?” A passing guard in his Praetorian armor. Flavian’s implants identified him as one Septimus Varro.

“Man, I run the light show,” said Flavian, rolling his eyes.

“Right, you tankers think your precious Aegises think you’re so pretty with all that shit you throw out. Can’t even be within a half-klick and see straight.” Septimus was surely rolling his eyes behind his helmet.

“Not my fault you don’t set your filters right in that fancy armor, tinplate.”

“The hypersonics make it through regardless.” A pause. “Don’t suppose you get out much now, do you?”

“Nah, not much need for tanks when we’re just killing tunnel rats and looking for the blasted Switch.” They both groaned.

“How the fuck are we even supposed to get it out if we do find it? Orbit’s filled with greys and shrapnel. Is this what it’s like being an Elysian when Chalcocondylas shows up?” Flavian chuckled.

“Probably. Can’t say I envy them, but I can sympathize.”

---

The center of Castellum Kumamoto was a prefabricated building which had since been reinforced with concrete slabs taken from the shattered remains of Concorde Financial’s headquarters. The rest of the dead skyscraper currently formed the base’s northern wall. Crowning this central building was a thick nest of antennae and communications dishes used for reaching out to the rest of the system and gathering together every last scrap of information possible. This was the C4ISTAR center, which had simply been reduced to the Star by everyone left in Legio IX Delphi.

General Thrasyllos Matsuno may have been the reigning king of Castellum Kumamoto, but he was the objective god of the Star. General Nikandros had never handled it half as well when he was alive, and that was what had gotten him killed on Day 61 when the tunnel rats had tried a surprise assault on the base and landed a drone guided mortar directly on the cart he was riding at the time. Matsuno, on the other hand, knew what he was doing. At any given time he was keeping tabs on search platoons, the Snake Eaters in the tunnels, and the incoming bolides that distant Nautikos X Gaia was in turn keeping tabs on from across the system.

Despite this constant attention to detail, there was still no sign of the Switch.

Day 100 was almost over, and despite that, there was nothing yet. No magic boxes that contained K1 power supplies, no PPS VIPs with knowledge of it, nothing. He knew where they had already looked, the spot on Triumvirate where his getaway blink drive was to take the Castellum, the exact number of follicles on their president’s balding head, and yet there was no sign of a power supply which had rocked the galaxy. Submarines scoured the seafloor with sonar sweeps, search platoons literally tore buildings apart trying to find the thing, and still no man-sized box with a planet’s worth of energy coming from it. The entire thing was ludicrous. Moreso than anything at this point, he wanted to wrap up and go home. Unfortunately, doing so would be impossible unless they won. So the answer was clear. They’d get their magic coffin, kill anyone in their way, and earn some medals along the way. Maybe he’d finally get around to doing normal dad stuff with his kid, rather than trying to video call him through a slowly degrading QE connector. Maybe he’d finally take that vacation to Emerald he’d always wanted to. Maybe he’d just get struck down by another well placed mortar from some local who hadn’t gotten the memo yet. At this point, half his motivation was his drive to show up the planet which had spent the last three months emptying its bowels into his morning coffee. He’d be damned if he didn’t do that, and survive it out of spite.

[Fuvuni]

OOC: Thanks Nazeroth for letting me have fun in your thread ^~^

New Avad
Pallus
Delta Quadrant

It really was rather a splendid day, in the opinion of one General David Morrigan, lack of natural sunlight notwithstanding. Oh, he was quite sure that eventually the good admiral and his girls would manage to secure the orbitals, but until then they could only clear temporary paths in the massive debris field surrounding the planet, only sufficient for resupply runs and the transporting of more men and materiel. As it was, he and Admiral Tuk'tirax were having a bit of a wager over who would succeed in their part of the liberation campaign first.

As he sipped his tea, the facemask of his armor retracted while he walked among the men and women under his command, he admitted that, perhaps, his job was the easier one, given he could fortify his position without having to worry about orbital strikes due to the nature of the system.

The acrid smell of gunpowder and rocket propellant was repelled from his sun-bleached white mustache by the warm vapors of his drink, whose faint aroma reminded him of his birth-world, a world so bright and so close to its parent star that almost all of the inhabitants' skin were almost obsidian in color due to the gene-treatments required to live there. For a brief moment, his mind returned there, bringing a slight smile to his weathered face before he dragged himself back to the present, his languid, but long strides carrying him through the trench with surprising quickness as he inspected the soldiers under his command, a hand on the shoulder here, an inspiring word there, his short suvitani aide's quadrupedal form trailing after him.

David wasn't entirely sure what the name of this one was, if he was being honest, he had a good six of them and whenever one died a new one would slot themselves into place like a replacement cog in a well-oiled machine. Probably another one of those quirks of the species, he mused.

The name of the shorter, skinny man huffing behind the two of them, however, came quickly to his mind. Captain Jon Carver, formerly of the New Avad police force, was not adjusting so well to the pace the general was keeping, although at least the exo-frame David ordered built for the man was working properly. They might not have the resources or supply windows to supply power armor to all of the natives on Pallus, but they could certainly spring for less-advanced exoskeletons to complement the native armors, even if the food shortages prior to the liberation of the city meant that they didn't quite fit into those armors anymore.

Well, with the Concordat Civil Defense Force on hand, that particular problem would be solved, at least. For all their faults, the fuvuni engineers of the past were utterly brilliant with the Smekutinya. While it wasn't exactly pallatable to the tongue, having a steady supply of food and alcohol for the first time in two months did wonders for the morale of the survivors who had been fighting the Nazerothi from within the ruins and sewers. The general suspected a few even took a grim satisfaction in the source of aforementioned steady supply.

"A fine day, wouldn't you say Mister Carver? While I'm sure the prefabs, refurbished buildings, and bunkers aren't as magnificent as either the architecture of your people or a proper Imperial city, combined with the fort-lines we've a pretty good setup to continue the liberation of Pallus, wouldn't you say?"

"I'm still not sure I understand why your 'Second Empire' can't just come here and push them out with all their strength instead of sending a-, what did you call it, 'expeditionary force'?"

A shadow passed over the trench he was in, causing him to look up from the tiny, long-eared fuvuni who was in the middle of presenting her weapon to him for inspection. The faceplate of his helmet closed before he had finished pulling himself up to full height, his right arm moving to pull his prized rifle from where it was resting as everyone in the trench, native and alien alike, began to grab for their weapons. This was the second fortification line surrounding the city, of four, and there were no overflights of gunships or interceptors scheduled for today.

The HUD of his armor immediately found the heat signature of the creature which had bounded across the first trenchline directly into the planned dead-zone between fortification lines two and three. Something some of the enemy prisoners had called a 'worv', large lupine hunter-killers. Already he could see tracer fire blooming across its back and front as the heavy machine guns opened up, the foul beast's roaring drawing more attention to itself.

It would make a fine trophy to add to his collection.

His excitement was cut short, however, as the beast had blundered close to one of the Smek's attached to the second line, the large warbeast quite small compared to that mechanical monstrosity, its size rivalling that of the old lander-crawlers of pre-space Terra. Those machines weren't bristling with machine gunners and missile launchers however, nor were they packed with four large arms. Two of which immediately barreled into the worv, the plasma-cutters and chainsaws rated for rapid disassembly of buildings digging into corrupted flesh quite easily, as the machine levered the struggling beast directly into the cavernous maw at the center.

Growls and roars of defiance quickly turned into whimpers of pain and fear as the warbeast was shoved, unceremoniously, into a series of rollers, grinders, and saw-blades that ground up the beast within seconds, even as the other two arms on the Smek' had to help shove the creature back into the maw as it vainly attempted to struggle free before its torso disappeared out of sight. From what David knew, next would come the intense, almost ridiculous heat of its pressure-cookers and the chemical wash, purifying it with fire and acid of any corruption or taint, before intricate internal devices turned the protein chains and other organic material into an edible, if foul-tasting slurry.

"Well, I suppose the alcohol and porridge ration can be increased just a tad today, with that. If we're lucky we've still some hardtack about. Splendid! Ah, what were we talking about? Yes."

Slinging his rifle back onto his shoulder, General Morrigan opened up his faceplate once more and took another sip of his tea, his long legs once more striding across the trench as his augmented eyes scanned the horizon.

"Well you see, Mister Carver, there's the rub, isn't it? The Vipran Imperium, and the Concordat, well, we can't exactly be everywhere at once, now can we? We can be in many places, but, well..."

Cybernetic eyes turned back to look at the Pallasian native, swirling and inscrutable orbs of metal and omniglass.

"After all, yours is but the seventh world to come to blows with the Nazerothi. Perhaps the twentieth this year to fall, or almost fall, to an abomination bent on the destruction or subsumation of all intelligent life."

The former police chief was silent, pale, grey eyes staring back.

"Last month an entire system within the Fringe was lost to a nightmare of flesh. Not destroyed, Mister Carver. Lost. An entire world filled with people, turned into a hungry, rabid extension of itself merely by the titan's presence. In the unlikely event we manage to get it to leave or it moves on of its own volition, we will still be quarantining and cleansing the system for decades. Yours is not the only world on the precipice of destruction, Mister Carver. Indeed, compared to most, your world is in far, far better shape."

"How do you figure that?"

The dry sarcasm from the native human almost made David smile, as they continued onwards, up to one of the overlook bunkers that provided visual spotting for that section of the trench.

"Well, for one the air hasn't been infested with microscopic machines trying to turn your lungs into nano-fabricators, no one going to sleep has to worry about spiders crawling into their eye sockets and worming their way into the nervous system, and half the planet hasn't been swallowed into a hell-dimension, for one thing. Although I suspect that the latter might enter into the plans of the Enemy should they find what they're looking f-"

His faceplate deployed before his ears heard the sound of the shot, sensors in the armor activating several self-defense protocols as a supersonic shell passed by his head, just shy of the teacup in his left hand. He let the armor track the trajectory of the shot as his augmented eyes followed it to its destination. Acting before his mind could fully process the action, his armor thrust out his left foot, pushing a nearby fuvuni out of the way of the bullet, the clang of metal on metal ringing out as the bullet impacted the trenchworks beside the smaller vulpinoid's head. His eyes tracked back to his hand, noting that his custom subroutines had prevented a single drop from being spilled.

With a flourish his right arm pulled his rifle off of his shoulder, his hand letting his tea drop, his suvitani aide catching it smoothly in a well-practiced action drilled into every single one of his alien assistants, and the general pivoted on his feet, using the fuvuni his left foot was resting on as leverage to push himself forward as his rifle swung up to his shoulder, the armor bringing him automatically to bear at the location it tracked the rifle-shot to.

The Kisian-pattern rail rifle's coils and rails crackled with electricity as a flick of his eyes brought the rifle up to full power, the gravity-assisters causing the air in front of the rifle to distort in a faux heat-haze as his target came into view.

A human traitor, bearing the marks of the enemy on his arms and armor, sixth floor window on one of the few surviving buildings downhill from New Avad, near the water processing plant. The man ducked away from the window, but it was no help as David triggered the thermal tracking program, exhaled, and fired.

The uranium alloy round designed to punch through tanks and mechs flew out of the barrel, pushing the general back a step. If he had not been wearing powered armor the force of the recoil would have ripped his arm off. The round tore through the wall of the building, and the thermal image of the sniper grew brighter for a brief moment as it impacted him, his rifle, his armor, and kept going.

He kept his eyes trained on the building, his mind tuning out the sounds of suppressing fire as gunfire erupted from the layered trench-lines as more snipers opened up from the lower half of the city. The tower bloomed in his infrared sight as figures began to move, one moving to the downed sniper attempting to tear off the dying man's boots.

For the sake of his inner completionist, he fired a second shot through the would-be graverobber's head before turning on the command channel.

"Brigadier Commander Konyarzyk, it appears that we have let the enemy get a touch too cozy down in Lower Avad, we'll need a few forward observation posts down there seized to spot our missiles so we don't hit the water processing center, is your legion up for the task?"

A high-pitched voice rattled through the suit's comm-system after nary a second, the tone and pattern emulating a religious chant.

"We light the way, you follow."

"Splendid."

---

Pushystti's cropped, pale ears twitched within her helmet, barely taking note of the general's response to her acknowledgement, her short, four foot frame already on the move as she barked orders to the officers of her brigade. While the entirety of the 'Fires of Civilization' sect of the Nihint's Lanterns was elsewhere, being sent on support missions with other brigades, more than enough were free to assist her in judging the aspirants who desired to replace those who died gloriously in the line of duty.

More than three months they had been testing them, and so far only twenty percent of the would-be Lanterns had died. That was both good, and bad. Good because the unthinking chaff who would otherwise have been liabilities were already dead. Bad because it also meant that there was a larger pool to choose from. There was always the Hive Hunters for the excess, she supposed.

And as the flash-cracks of ion rifles and scattered thunder of rifles and missiles sounded all around her, her eyes spotted a particularly dense fuvuni who forgot that his armor contained extendable cameras to peek around corners, a rocket almost taking off his fool head as it impacted the wall of the trench.

The war isn't over yet. The Winnowing continues.

A blue light flashed in the corner of her HUD, and the daughter of Bezdinnyjina smiled, fangs and filed teeth flashing unseen as she let out a satisfied chuff, switching to her brigade channel. Her officers worked fast, as expected and demanded. Her legion was ready for the charge.

"Lanterns. New orders from command. Regiments two through five are to devolve control to their Lieutenant Commanders for the time being. Your objectives are marked on your HUDs, and I leave it to your discretion as to how they are seized."

The Winnowing was not just a test for the aspirants after all.

"First regiment on me. Standard urban-clear, watch for snipers and traps. Kalamus vho madra Achrovka Ambrori!"

At Kalamus she was over the top, war-sledge in hand, her battle rifle remaining on her back for now. This would be close in work, and outside of the specialists, most of the current opposition weren't known for their accuracy. The charge down the hill would be precarious, and while the Brigadier-Commander would have vastly preferred orbital strikes to precede the charge, Morrigan's cover fire would be an adequate substitute.

Achrovka and the aspirants to her legion had joined her, armor-augmented legs pushing them down the hill in great, bounding jumps as machine gun fire and anti-armor shells erupted all around them. Hover-technicals and light mechs swarmed down from the higher trenches, their own weapons slamming into the ad-hoc walls and ruined buildings of the enemy's fortifications. The dissonant growl of gorc quads and flak-mechs soon joined in the chaos, a horde of mutants and vehicles spilling out of Lower Avad in a counter-charge.

Most unpleasant, as while normally a counter-charge up a hill was suicide, the gorcs bred fast, and sacrificing thousands of them to blunt a charge long enough for their siege artillery to zone in on her legion was a simple, but brutally effective tactic they had used before. With an ingrained motion with her teeth and tongue, the angry, red-eyed fuvuni ordered her plasma-caster units to set their 'casters to 'wide-beam'. The charge would not be stopping, not for these wretches.

Upon Ambrori, the entire line joined in the shout, and the covering fire tearing over her head increased even as her vision was obscured by a torrent of white-hot, plasmatic near-fire that streamed past her and into the gorc mass attempting to bog them down. Heat enough to melt bulkheads of lesser ships and flash-incinerate bone carved clear paths through the horde for her legion to tear through.

Her armored legs touched the ground once more, and there was no longer time for thinking. Only bloodletting.

An axe painted in old blood entered her vision, and her thumb slid down the haft of her war-sledge, the rockets on the sides of the head rotating as the internal cylinder's vector was changed before she activated it with the press of another button. Her warhammer rocketed up and to the left, smashing through the axe and into the skull of the gorc wielding it, sending the mutant's head and body flying in two separate directions. Pushystti's eyes flicked to the right as another one closed in. This one much bigger.

O'luk.

This one wielded a spiked maul almost half again as long as she was tall in one hand, the other gripping an autocannon whose make she couldn't place. A flick of her tongue and her armor forced her down to one knee fast enough to bruise her leg, a storm of armor-piercing bullets stitching over her head and riddling the unlucky aspirant behind her with holes. Her hands triggered the rockets in her war-sledge again, pulling her arms to the left as she jumped, rolling to the side just as the maul came down, smashing into the ground hard enough to send up a cloud of dirt and what could charitably be called mud by a less cynical person.

It was much too red to Pushystti's eyes.

Another armor-assisted jump, another rocket-boost, and she was behind the lumbering beast. Its hide was too thick for her war-sledge to do more than inconvenience it, unless she got a shot to a joint or to the head, but it was already turning to meet her, its dim eyes drawn by her movement even as it held down the trigger to its gun, peppering rounds even into the gorc lines. By the time she would be close enough to go for a vital strike, it would be swinging again.

Her left hand released the haft of her hammer, moving down to the thigh compartment of her armor, pulling out her Vipran-issued rail-pistol. A versatile thing that could fire almost any ammunition put into it.

Her preference, however was for the 18mm rounds.

Simulated trajectories began to flash across her HUD, changing as she pulled the heavy pistol up. Four rounds barked out of the pistol, rattling the bones of her hand through the armor, and the O'luk screamed, toppling sideways to the ground as first his right knee failed him, then his left. Two more shots into each eye finished the down beast, and the fuvuni was dodging and swinging again, her pistol barking and her hammer swinging as the battle raged around her.

In the corner of her vision she saw a flak spider and a crystalline war mech locked in battle, both too close to fire their cannons and lasers, both leaning back on their hind legs and battering each other with the forelegs of their vehicles, like an obscene mating dance. Quads and technicals were trading fire further off weaving in and out of the front lines, occasionally one or the other going up in a massive fireball as it was pummeled, crashing into its allies and causing chaos.

They were stuck in, and likely about to be on the receiving end of an artillery bombardment any minute now.

Unfortunately for the enemy, the towed artillery of the Concordat and the Pallus Auxiliary had ranged in before the gorc siege tanks.

The air was filled with the screams of mortar rounds and falling rockets as the horde's rear lines were slammed with detonations, causing a brief moment of hesitation across the entire line, which the fuvuni were quick to exploit.

Brutally.

The next few moments were flashes of blood, fire, and screams as her legion finally made it to the relative safety of the urban ruins, biting and clawing their way over the ad-hoc walls until they had a foothold. A victory, if a small one.

The brigadier-commander knew that they had a great deal of work ahead of them, as they now had to clear several multi-floor buildings with minimal support, as blind-firing the strategic assets would result in damage much more difficult to repair than simple sabotage to the water station and other urban assets. After a brief inspection of her HUD and chatter with her officers, she suspected the charge resulted in a good ten percent or more casualties across the aspirant legion. Well within acceptable parameters for both the primary and secondary missions.

The sound of thunder crashing behind her interrupted her thoughts for a moment. It appeared the enemy artillery, in lieu of the juicy target the charging infantry had presented, had decided to start bombarding the first trench-lines. Her legion would have to acquire spotting towers fairly quickly then, in order for proper counter-battery fire and airstrike missions to go through.

Preserving the people of Pallus and acquiring promising recruits for Nihint's Lanterns would be significantly more difficult if the fortifications fell, or if the water plant was damaged too badly.

[Nazeroth]

The Glänzer Incursion

Hedwig's ears would perk at the rumbling in the distance, the crunching and knawing sound of a group of Gorc-Halftracks could be heard and the black smoke from their engines would very well have given them away. About half a dozen moved in concert with each other, a few hoisting anti-aicraft autoguns and others simply carrying groups of Gorcs and other warriors across an exposed patch of cracked earth. They were moving somewhere, it looked as if North. That wasn't what was rumbling towards them, and the horses would spook as the rumbling of an engine could be heard. From the sky, heavy and horrifying came a Gorc Fighter-Bomber. Weighed down by it's belt's of munitions and bombs. As it edged closer to their encampment it's dark armor could be scene and the roar of it's inefficient but powerful engines could be heard.

The pilot, Kogag, grinned his twisted teeth at the opportunity to strafe the horsemen. He had found them as targets of opportunity. He was unsure about these newcomers, they did not look like the native of the planet he had been harassing the past few days. It didn't matter to him as he pulled on the lever of the craft and dove from the smoke ruined heavens like a dark angel coming to bring destruction and sadness to the people below, a vengeful spirit of hate. The red hue of his afterburners creating a comet like effect in the gloomy sky, engulfed by the black frame of the aircraft and it's barreled forward.



Castellum Kumamoto


The newcomers, established and proud of themselves, would soon have a guest among them. A wagon with a strange alien sitting on top of if, two chained humans of Pallus near his knees. The filthy xenos name was a Krax, a lizard like alien whos scales had since been branded wit the mark of the dark lord and his scales scarred from years of battle. But battle was not he was initially bringing to them, he was hear as a messenger from Nazeroth, the dark kingdom wanted a path to success and the hearts of men or alien could be swayed, with money or lives if need be. The strange wagon would soon arrive near the outer perimeter of their encampment. A great speaker beckoned, in the shape of a howling dog, towards them.

"U zubbhak müzduvz gzÿv daznäzgvÿbv,Grohzord urzabg nyzzuv dhræmgär, grohhyg bårgbgåzhyd?" Krax yelled in black tounge, licking his lips with a forked tongue. When he did not receive a response, a slave driver whom used to be a Pallus man, whipped one of the Pallus thralls to scream into the microphone. His yell was part question and part cry for help.

" I have come to speak, whom do you serve!...what master!" The slave whimpered before being silenced, a sick grin came across Krax's eyes and the membrane on his reptilian eye went over and retreated. In his right hand a strange scepter was gripped by his scaly claws, a symbol of authority as an emissary, though in the past he was a warrior like so many others. He awaited for a response....drool dripping from his horrendous teeth.



New Avad

The soldiers of the Concordat came at the hordes of the Dark Lord with zealotry that was not typical of their enemies. They were agile, elegant, strong even, their power armor and skill slaying before them a host of Gorcs and war beasts on their assault of the water plant. The Gorc warchief who had initiated the counter-charge was one of the first to die in the blaze of plasma fire, his body little more than burnt rags, ash, and stench. The battle was drawing in nearby Gorcs as the sound of war was a call, and with that call came war horns. It was a Frenzy as the two sides were now butchering each other in the hallways and ruins of the old world of Pallus. The ehoeing of gunfire, both projectile and energy based, rattled the courtyards and aquadrums which were usually accompanied by horrific screams of foul war beasts, Gorcs or the whimpering of Fuvuni as they slaughtered each other without haste. The honorable zealotry of the Concordat soldiers met the unholy strength of Nazeroth's armies on the battlefield.

Laphas, a warlock of Nazeroth, moved forward among the ruins, his retinue consisted of six Gorcs and an O'luk bodyguard. He had been sent to bolster and help reunify the shattered garrison at the water plantation. His own guard were better armed, with dark steel weapons, even his Gorcs were older, more experienced and less chaotic. Laphas was a human, with long black hair falling to his shoulders and a scar running down his neck, a result from an earlier skirmish during the early parts of the campaign against Pallus remnants, he was lucky to have survived that fight. The implants in the back of his head focused his psionic energy and connection with the Nefarium. He wore a black robe and carried an Nether Caster in pistol form, inside a raging Nefarium moved about, furious at it's future as merely ammunition. It was a higher level weapon, fit for only his kind and other worthy, to dangerous to be trusted to a Gorc.

His was now so close to the fighting he saw Gorcs and others rushed past him to join in the blood letting, they moved inhumanely as what was left of Pallus's sunlight was starting to disappear and the eye of the Gorcs began to adjust. When they finally arrived at the central fighting location the noise was deafening. His crew raised their weapons, grunting and cursing in black tounge as they were now in the primary casualty zone. A blast rocked the outside of the building they were in, Hakrautakahm missile's no doubt as the blasts came in spurt of waves typical of the Concordat weapon. Moving down the great hall the O'luk complained and moaned, having to shrink himself down somewhat. There were dead in the hallway, mostly Gorcs and Fuvuni who seemed almost rivals in the art of butchery. The bodies were already being looted by other Gorcs, both the corpses of ally and enemy being shredded by other starving Gorcs, the fur and flesh being shredded off a dead Fuvini after it's armor had been quite literally ripped from it's lifeless body.

Laphas ignored the macabe display even as the Gorc looked up at him, it's mouth covered in bloodied fur, whimpering and going back to chewing. He sensed something as the retinue made it's way into a warehouse containing Kr'orn knew how many chemicals for the water treatment plant. They immediately began taking fire, Laphas should have known better judging from the pile of dead humans, gorcs and xenos which had fell into the killzone of a Concordat Ion rifles, their bodies still steaming of boiled and expanded innards. He could hear the yelling of the Fuvini they were close as well as what he could have sworn were Suvitani. The canine like foes began firing and moving in tactical motions around the warehouse in an attempt to kill them more efficiently.

" U gḧurghul häzöth!(I want them!)" Laphas yelled to his guards as they returned fire, the O'luk with him began roaring before holding up two Pasters, belt fed shotguns and unleashing suppressing fire, deadly pellets flooding the area. Two of his Gorc guards were killed almost immediately afterwards Bysmer rifles being the culprit leaving, their bodies twitching as the exit wounds leaked their oily blood, mixing with the water treatment chemicals that were starting to cover the floors of the warehouse.

Laphas was jumped by three Fuvuni, the small fox-like xenos were all tossed back by a pisonic shock wave, sending them flying, he fired his Nether caster into the chest of another as it approached from his flank, the sickly energy of the Nefarium engulfed the fanatical warrior, it yapped in horror as it's body was consumed by unholy fire, corroding it's flesh, rotting him alive before falling over instantly putrified. Laphas was now focused in the battle as his remaining guard were pinned down. More Gorcs poured in from the rear, hearing the violence and like sharks frenzied towards it. A Prrukaza warrior smashed into him, knocking him to the ground, it leaned over him and opened it's wicked jaws as it's face almost split apart. Laphas raised his left hand as the Concordat servant bit down onto his arm brace. He yelled as his armed began to bleed, he realized the creature had knocked his weapon free from his hands. He poked the creature in it's eyes, the mucus from it's body oiling his hand and he slipped. He drew a blade from his side, forged from Dread Iron, and blunged it into the chest of the warrior, it began to pummel him even as it bled all over his robes.

The Zealotry of the creature was astonishing, Laphas could several blows to the face, his eyes quickly beginning to be blinded by blood as he struggled before the warrior finally slumped over. He wiped his face as a Gorc tried stripping him of his gear, he quickly turned and slashed a foot long gash across the filthy things face before it scurried away from the gunfire. Laphas slowly stood up and picked up his weapon, his left armed bloodied and broken. He then focused his psionic energy and his body began to heal itself, he was weakening his psionic powers in the act but he needed both his arms now as he took cover behind a dead O'luk, it's head caved in by some Concordat pulse weapon.

The world slowed down...but the whispers of "other things" still haunted him as the songs of war continued their chorus...

[Olimpiada]

---

Pallus, Pallus Prime
Castellum Kumamoto, Legio XI Delphi

---

At the current point on the hundredth day, Septimus was trying to do his guard route with his eyes closed, reasoning that sirens would go off in his helmet if anything truly important happened. He counted a dozen of the Praetorian’s long, loping strides, turned left, and bumped into a wall. His eyes clicked open with a start, and he looked around. The only other person was Flavian, some distance away, staring dejectedly into an open meal package a few dozen meters away. He resumed his route.

Five soldiers were crowded around something in the muck. A closer zoom revealed it to be a disabled Cataphract support drone, and a poker game on top of its now weaponless back.

“Full house! Read them and cry!”

“It’s ‘read ‘em and weep’, dumbass.”

“Hey, cut him some slack, he’s pretty fresh from Nova Varangia. Wizards tend to have shitty latin, you know.”

More walking. The northern entrance to the encampment. Every seventeen minutes or so, Septimus passed Masaki here. The exchange usually consisted of one referring to the other by a nickname, receiving the same in turn, and then an exchange of opinions on the terrible weather.

This time, it was an exception to the rule.

“Sep, we’ve got company.” Shit.

“How many?”

“One. Scratch that, three.”

“Armaments?”

“A funny stick.” Septimus paused at that.

“Mas, stop fucking with me.”

“I ain’t.” The creature drew nearer. Those were slaves it had with it. Pallies, to be sure, but humans were humans. It made a long, drawn out sound, and then tried again in another language which came out as proper Greek in the translator.

“I have come to speak, whom do you serve!... what master!” Septimus couldn’t get his eyes off the slaves. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in days.

“You have exactly thirty seconds to let the humans loose, state your name, and state your business, or I will take your fucking head off.” Septimus had tried to come off as tough, but the threat was missing most of its bravado and sounded more like a statement of fact than anything else. Maybe this grey’s culture found that more threatening. He didn’t know.

Next to him, Masaki had already pulled up his rifle.

“Captain Iacomus, this is Corporal Varro. I have an unidentified xeno at the gates, wanting to parley with local command. Xeno has slaves and appears largely unarmed. Requesting orders.”

[Glanzenstadt]

Pallus
The Glänzer Incursion

No, I don't know why that tree is there. Hedwig pulls the reins to maneuver the beast around a felled tree.

It stomps incredulously, but goes with the request and moves around the charred husk.

You're right. It's just...

The beast, unimpressed, stomps again.

Fine. She looks at her map. They aren't lost. No, in fact they're almost about back to her unit. Running courier missions overstays its welcome rather quickly, even if it does save you from having to stare at the same sorry faces for however long they last.

She looks up from her map. The dulcet tones of language drift about with the choking dust. Probably around here, she pokes around, searching, before stumbling into a small group of Glänzer:

Well it's because of the emptiness of course, that's got to be the reason.

That's ridiculous, it doesn't make any sense.

Of course it does - here, look at thi-

Hedwig's rustling grabs their attention. They don't rush for their weapons - her approach has been known for some time and noted on their HUDs - thus (five or so in number) they turn to see their fellow Landsknecht.

Hedwig! You're just in time - a few groans emanate from the assailed listeners - I was just telling Klara and the others why this place isn't flat.

Klara raises an eyebrow. Don't single me out. This is the most absurd thing I've heard all day. Look up in the sky and she's trying to tell us all those worlds out there are all round too. Please. Give me a break.

The group chuckles; another adds: and there are probably some cubes up there as well, to which more laughter marches forth.

I told her to stop telling such nonsense, another of the group, the squad leader - by the heraldry adorning her shield - tells Hedwig. I don't know why she insists.

Erika, Klara goes on, all this talk of... Round realms reminds me of the time we were campaigning in Dunkelstaat. You know. Where they had those opaque barriers? She pauses to see if anyone recalls.

Hedwig dismounts and unties her weapon from the beast. She places it on a rock, sits in the dirt, and notices the others don't seem to have given Klara much heed.

Anyway, we'd attack and try to break through in the left, and they'd shift all their etherists to the left to reinforce the hole. And then we'd swing right and they'd all do the same thing again.

Erika sighs. What does that have to do with sph-

The dull rumbling of Gorc halftracks trundles over the ground. Some distance off, their tall outpourings of smoke are unmistakable. Gretchen, the squad leader, is quick to her feet and motions for the others to adopt more combat-ready postures: Those aren't locals.

No, Hedwig shakes her head, they aren't. And she remembers it -

The dark smog on the horizon wafted high like the burning of Waldland. And like the crimson blazes of those timbered realms, that smog, too, had a distinctive odour - that of unbearable stench - an unpleasantry quite unlike the rather soothing auromas of the burning forests of the hardy-reaches.

As Hedwig walked back toward her mount, the rumbling grew louder. It wasn't the sound of approaching foot-soldiers or ground-vehicles. No - it was something else - and the realization hit her with the sight of scurrying artillerists.

A single streak of red crashed through the clouddeck. Attack craft! The roar and cough of heavy engines urged the craft forward: it surged - straight and true - driven forth with purpose closer, closer, closer.

Boom!

Hexagons tessellated out in vast ripples upon the surface of the barriers held high above the headquarters. Moving with the hexagons, raining down to the dirt below, debris skirted along the curvature of the barriers. Whatever objectives the bomber had, they could no longer be accomplished.

They have to be them. The smoke, the sound, the demeanour - ja, they have to be.

The first contraption sputters into view; putrid exhaust spits from its ragged form and large anti-aircraft weaponry sit idly atop its frame. A few more churn into view out from behind it - they seem to number a half-dozen themselves: one halftrack for each Glänzer of Hedwig's squad. Still crouched low in the dirt, with her halberd and shield now, she sees the bright flashes of muzzles, and the audible craaaaack! of ranged weapons whizzing past arrives just as the shouting of the alerted foe does:

Zörgḧ dazguhr häz kuzburdnyz!

Ryvvybvdaz zurzamb! Häz kuzburdnyz udaz dorb!

Gorznyz häz urzynäæz züürd, häznyz ånr dorb!

We can't stay here, Gretchen, concerned, motions to a position further back, we need to link up with the rest of the platoon. She turns to Erika: Get them on the line and see if we can't get some support here.

Erika fumbles and stammers her reply: Jawohl!

The squad leader nods and begins to draw in the dirt. She divides her forces in two - three to attack the incoming waves, two to guard Erika, but their planning is cut short by the untimely arrival of smoke shells. She picks up her own halberd and points to the infantry now pouring from their carriers: Los Geht's!

Hedwig follows and Klara drifts off to their side. With combat afoot their barriers are raised and they hover off the ground, held aloft by their greaves, with just enough height to clear the blades of grass if they remained. But the ground is brown and barren and marked by the scars of battle. There is no grass.

And the oily smoke cakes their barriers as they skirt over this barren ground. Thin films congeal and Hedwig, more than once, is forced to cycle her barriers to keep them clear. The others have the same issues and they can only wonder if the enemy is so bothered by the smog as well. The incoming fire is sporadic and seems to corroborate this truth, at least if only in appearance.

But alas, no matter - Gretchen is the first to make contact with their lines. Led to them by the indicators on her HUD, she impales a Gorc warrior at full speed with her halberd. The force of the impact knocks it back, and it falls onto a protruding rock. The warriors near their fallen comrade react poorly to his death and Gretchen is forced to raise her shield to protect her face and torso from incoming fire. Her barriers flash as shotgun rounds tear through them and into the heavy metal of her shield beneath, but here they are halted, and she rushes forth again as they stop to reload. One Gorc is cleft atwain and another attempts to move in with a foul blade. With his inferiour reach, he, too, soon joins his comrades in the beyond.

Riding to the fore of another smokescreen - dust from the downward thrust of their greaves - Klara and Hedwig move in to support their leader. By now the Gorcs have taken notice of the advanced Glänzer positions and their infantry carriers adjust their sights of their heavy support weapons.

Get down! Mo-

Anti-aircraft rounds, trained against Klara, explode along the ground. She disappears in a puff of smoke; Hedwig stumbles and falls into the dirt.

Gretchen doubles back and circles Hedwig. Can you stand? She moves to help her up. Hedwig's halberd is nowhere to be seen - lost, no doubt, to the charcoal-tinted filth hanging in the air.

Y-yes, I think so, Hedwig stammers back. She takes Gretchen's support and the two move out of the line back to Erika's position. Behind them, the Gorcs continue moving forward.

There's only two of you. Where's Klara?

The question stings. Gretchen helps Hedwig sit before moving to a better spot to explain. Well, there are a lot of them. Did you contact platoon?

I - Well, yes, but-

How long will they be?

Erika wipes a film of oil off the barriers protecting her face. No more than ten minutes.

Gretchen sighs. Alright. We should try to hold, then. I don't think Hedwig is in a condition to be moved.

No, Hedwig shakes her head. I can move.

The Gorc fire seems to be landing closer now. Erika's barrier flashes - a glancing blow, perhaps? - spurring her to turn to Gretchen. She opens the visor on her helm: If we meet them halfway it would cut the time down.

Gretchen sighs again. She grabs the reins of Hedwig's beast, kicks her greaves into a higher-power setting, and - while motioning for the others to follow - skates off towards the rest of the platoon.

[Fuvuni]

New Avad
Pallus
Delta Quadrant

Dust shook from the rafters of the subterranean bunker built under the hillside of the trench-lines, the ever constant rain of artillery shells only briefly being answered by punitive gunship raids, the self-propelled artillery units of the enemy ducking behind ruins and using the buildings of Lower Avad as cover from his scouts. General Morrigan hummed over his third cup, debating on the merits and costs of simply ordering a blind bombardment of the lower half of the city and the possibilities of such a bombardment damaging the water control system, before dismissing the thought entirely. Perhaps if the bombardment continued unabated for a week, and even then the lines would still hold for the most part.

His aide was busy waddling about, refilling the cups of those officers with him inside this tertiary command bunker, moving through the small horde of short, fluffy fuvuni that was angrily squeaking in and out of the bunker, ferrying reports, orders, and documents up and down the line. Mostly it was for the benefit of the Pallusian units, as while they were slowly getting the radio situation handled with the regular supply drops, not everyone within the fortified half of the city had access to real-time status reports as he did with his helmet.

It truly was a pity that they couldn't clear the airspace and get some proper equipment for the natives, David was quite sure that they'd have been able to keep up with his forces. As it is they were holding the line well enough, though there were a few enterprising individuals who had decided to take the initiative!

A bit unfortunate that the enemy's artillery was currently cutting them off from support while they were in Lower Avad fighting the hordes, though. On the bright side the Nihinti legion had sufficient numbers that they could spare a few to help them take some of those towers. Particularly the ones they were reporting enemy paranaturals.

While he had every bit of confidence in his army, the brigades present were simply better trained and equipped to handle such things, and a quick flick of his eyes sent the order across. They would decide amongst themselves who best to handle it.

With that done, he was allowed to return to much more important matters.

His tea.

---

Veryn's day had started out splendidly, in the dark-furred fuvuni's opinion. Really the year was looking to be a grand one. Head out to one of the relatively more civilized quadrants of the galaxy, impress upon the natives the glories of Vishya, and cleave holes in barbarians. Keep half an ear on the new blood to make sure they don't do something stupid, like try to eat their chain-swords or walk around with their helmet undeployed, as green boots are wont to do. Simple, difficult to fail without deliberately attempting it, and to top the last month off on a high note, his squad had been recently winnowed and merged with a fire team from another blooded squad, so all of those too zealous to actually be useful in the long-term had already expended themselves in the act of killing the enemy. And with all those too cautious to be proper brigade-members also removed from the equation, he could spend more time enjoying the spilling of nesuzemutsvujiy blood with his chain-blade.

If things kept up along this fashion, it would make a rather splendid year for the Lanterns, in Sergeant Dobruvya's opinion.

Which, of course, was right about the time someone had to ruin it. Magnificently.

Brigadier Commander Konyarzyk's stern voice echoed through the inside of his helmet. Specifically his helmet, as it wasn't using the main command network, but specific point-to-point contact. Never a good thing.

"Dobruvya, the xenoi have reported contacts with a paranatural. As you have experience dealing with such things, I leave you to confirm. If found, terminate."

As I have experience.

He supposed hiding behind cover while frantically tossing grenades over the top after an omega-class screamer turned everyone else around them into soup counted as experience.

Red eyes unseen closed as the barely three and a half foot tall vulpine sighed within his armor, taking a moment to think while he cleared his chain-blade of viscera.

"Squad, prepare zip-lines. We're needed in Tower Six. We're going witch-hunting."

Based on the briefing, Nazerothi psykers were fairly versatile, not being simple 'blasters' as screamers were, capable of empowering their fellows with defenses or summoning abominations, among other things. Priority targets, and fairly lethal, often carrying effects covered in paranatural residue that imbued them with more power than they were naturally born with. Often with elite bodyguards, or at least better-equipped ones.

Thus, they needed to remove the psyker's presence before it could summon any support creatures, and be wary of its own offensive power.

Joy.

His armor shook the glass dust on the floor as he approached the window, watching his squad set up the anchors for the line-launchers, eyes flicking so often to suit-sensors as the battle raged outside as more and more support units from both sides entered the fray, aerial units now dueling above and in the city streets as Concordat drone gunships and the enemy's flying monsters danced around each other.

"Corporal Milakorrman, adjust launcher targeting by ten degrees, we want the lines to anchor into support pillars."

"Yes sir!"

Veryn nodded once the launchers were adjusted to his satisfaction, turning to better watch the scene outside as one of the flying lizards the enemy liked to use as aerial support dove past, dodging with far more agility than something with its size and wingspan should be able to as missiles detonated into the ground below it. A part of his mind was dedicated to detailing known weaknesses, counting the number of plasma-casters in his squad and the charge status of the two specialists with ion rifles. Another was wondering how it tasted, and if it would go well in some marisik. Then again, just about everything tasted decent in marisik, it was just a matter of what spices you had to scrounge up, really.

"The launchers are ready, sir."

Well, time to get stuck in, then.

"Form up, room-clearing protocols. Plasma-casters in front, bathe the room in fire, and keep your eyes open. Remember, the enemy psykers like to cloud the mind, so if you feel your eyes drifting away from a spot because it seems hard to focus on, or unimportant, best to shoot in that area a few times just to be safe. If it really seems suspicious or especially innocuous-looking, use a grenade."

When the launchers finished burrowing into the floor, the anchor-lines burrowing into support pillars within their designated tower, Veryn gave the signal, air warping in front of the launchers briefly as they launched their payloads, grappling hooks crossing the distance in an eye-blink as they screamed through already broken windows and tunneled through support columns on the building across from them. He knew that they would deploy several claws both outside of and inside of the pillar to secure themselves, only removable with heavy machinery or a special pass-code put into the device.

He and his squad linked to the zipline using attached cables built into their armor, and within a moment, ten armored fuvuni warriors were sliding across the cables, assisted by gravity and timed blasts of plasma-caster jets and war-sledge rockets. His feet impacting through the commercial-grade walls of the opposing tower did not jostle or surprise him, the ten small aliens quickly rolling to their feet, plasma-casters bathing the entire room in white-hot flame as their suits automatically disengaged from the zip-lines.

Not a single object or corner was left untouched by purifying flame, even after their suit-sensors reported that the room they had smashed into was completely empty.

They might be fighting more on the lower floors with the regulars.

Still, no sense in not clearing the rest of the rooms on this floor before moving down to continue the hunt.

It was a manner of meticulous minutes before his squad met in a semi-circle in the centralmost room, the corporal ready with his war-sledge. At Veryn's nod, the squad's plasmacasters were turned upon the floor on a lower setting, deliberately weakening the floor as the rest of the squad readied grenades. After several seconds, Veryn signalled them to stop.

"Standard clearing procedure, as before. Try not to land in the same spot as the one before you."

Milakorrman's war-sledge slammed down into the floor with all the force imparted by its rocket engines and his armor, a rough circular hole shattering outward from the impact. The grenades were armed and thrown down onto the next floor before the opening had finished forming, the fuvuni with the plasmacasters leading the charge as they jumped, 'casters spewing hot plasma all around them to clear the landing zone as the rest of the squad barreled down from above.

I hope they let me keep the witch's skull this time, it would make a nice flute to send home to the kits.

[Nazeroth]

Castellum Kumamoto

The disgusting lizard-like xeno hissed at the threat of having his head blown off. It then began to speak again, it's whimpering slave translating as fast as he could. The clawed hand of the dark lord's servant pulled tighter on the whimpering one's leash.

" My name is Krax, I come from the lord of all, the bringer of the dim green....the dark lord of Nazeroth demands me speak with you fools. You have the choice, kneel before the black throne or...have your bones turned to bread when our hordes drive you into the ground...." He said, his forked tongue flying out. The other slaves looked out with depression, but perhaps some had hope that they would one day be free of their masters...free from the yoke of the black throne, others cursed under their tounges for not volunteering to serve in the dark lord's warbands. Pallus had been their home, now to see it torn asunder by all sides, even if some of them were there for liberation, was more than many could cope with. The suicide count alone would never be known, but during the initial panic it was high.



The Glänzer Incursion

The Gorc half-tracks met their resistance in battle, killing one of the enemies hero's in a flash of hellfire. The battle was fierce but quickly became a route as the enemies of Nazeroth began to flee. Perhaps the Gorcs didn't realize they were attempting to regroup with their fellow platoon element, it didn't matter, they would advance until broken or killed. The black gasps of the half-tracks oily engines cast more smoke into air as greasy Gorc hands frantically began loading more belts of ammunition and chanting unholy war cries as they pushed the advantage.


New Avad

The blood bath of New Avad continued as the Concordat pushed into the garrisons of Gorcs and other hideous traitors to Kr'orn. Their superior technology allowing them to be superior in the art of individual combat, but the mangled bodies of Gorcs were beginning to drag the fight out, for every Gorc that fell two more took it's place or worse...something unnatural or corrupt did. Laphas actually didn't know how much longer the struggle could be maintained, in the middle of battle and chaos things were lost. He gathered a few corrupt auxillarys to his side, a few from the realm of Nazeroth and a handful of Gorcs with traitor Pallans who to bore the mark of Kr'orn upon them. The prisons were a primary target for the initial invasion, the inmates were more than happy to kneel...especially the worst of them, they pledged their allegiance first.

The floor below the Fuvuni was caught off guard for their breach, the poor Gorcs below them turned into tattered and bloody rags from the searing plasma that rinsed their flesh from their bones, one barley alive could only gurgle on the boiling blood leaving his lungs before a Lantern sent his filthy head across the room. To Laphas a rumble could be heard in the building, a loud blast from one of the rooms, a breach or explosion. It could have been either with all the noise and screaming. He then began moving towards it, raising his pistol, his energy was slowly returning and the whispers of the Nefarium were coming back to him...

[Olimpiada]

---

Pallus, Pallus Prime
Castellum Kumamoto, Legio XI Delphi

---

Iacomus had sprinted over to the gates as fast as his augmented legs had allowed him to. As he wasn’t on patrol at the moment, he was dressed in his fatigues rather than his power armor. Around the rugged bulk of all the other soldiers, he actually looked somewhat weak, despite the genemods and augments beneath his skin.

By the time he reached the gate, Varro was shouting at the xeno to unhand the slaves while the repugnant creature remained entirely unfazed by the affair. He didn’t even stop to wipe the sweat from his brow before defusing the situation.

“Varro, you’re wanted inside the camp for something. No idea what yet. On the bounce!” The soldier left, any frustration he may have felt entirely concealed by his faceplate. “Masaki, separate our ‘guest’ from his slave labor, would you?” The other soldier obliged, moving toward the beaten and battered humans. Iacomus drew his pistol and leveled it at the creature. In his head, he quickly reviewed the transcript of the alien’s words. Lots of doom and gloom, standard fare for the galaxy’s finest despots. He sighed.

“Mind telling me why the hell you think you have the right to come here and attempt to frighten us with some bargain bin second rate Jack and the beanstalk nonsense? Give me one good reason not to grease you right now just for that.” He doubted it would. The gorcs had hardly been cooperative in this entire affair, as evidenced by their orbital blockade. They were the biggest thing standing between him and his home right now, and he was hardly in the mood for any of their garbage. The entire operation was meant to have been a one month smash and grab. Get the artifact, seize it, and ditch back to Cobalt so it could be studied. Seventy days past the deadline and now he was wondering if he would actually get to see his daughter’s birthday. Just the thought frustrated him. He gripped the pistol tighter.

[Fuvuni]

OOC: Sorry for being slower than frozen molasses ;-;

New Avad
Pallus
Delta Quadrant

Jon had had better days, if he was being honest with himself. Dusty as it was Morrigan's command bunker was much safer than where he was at the moment, but the good general had decided to 'show the flag' again and walk the trenches. 'Good for morale' and other nonsense. Captain Jon Carver knew the real reason though. You don't cart around a piece rated for light anti-armor work for nothing. The man was a hunter spoiling for prey, and until the all-clear was given to hit the guns that were hemming them in, he couldn't order an advance without 'unsustainable casualties'.

Not that the former police chief could blame him, supplies of food restored or not, he was restless to take the fight to the enemy himself.

He could do without being separated from the general and his numerous bodyguards, though.

As it was he was currently sitting out another bombardment inside a trench bunker with a mixed squad of fuvuni and his own people, the smaller vulpine aliens chattering excitedly in their high-pitched tongue among themselves between rolling bombardments. He sneaked a few looks at them when he thought they weren't looking, seeing what they looked like with their helmets rolled up into their armor. He figured that once upon a time they could've maybe been called 'cute' once, like a pet cat or something.

The cropped ears and crisscrossing lines of scars and burns quickly chased that thought away from his mind, followed shortly by brief confusion as he saw one of the men nominally under 'his' command walk over to the alien, handing off a squirming, twelve-legged monstrosity to the fuvuni in exchange for a small packet.

"The devil you doin' there givin' him a barkback, boy?"

The two soldiers froze briefly, the merged squad all looking at the former police officer. The man with the barkback opened his mouth before the alien motioned with his hands and stepped forward, his high-pitched voice squeaking out with a barely understandable, yet frustratingly familiar accent.

"Is fine, is fine, yes! Taste good, like cinnamon!"

Jon stared at the shorter alien for several moments, watching the cropped ears twitching slightly as red eyes glittered up at him, joined by a grin that could belong on a dog. The insectoid in question did have a cinnamon scent, after all, because the pest species would devour various bits of wood and paper and made itself as spicy as possible to prevent most predators from eating it. Its primary predator, as a consequence, was a native bird that Captain Carver highly doubted existed anymore. Not even native Pallusians would risk trying to eat the damn things, outside of some of the ones from the southern continents. It was just too hot.

He slowly turned towards his fellow, raising a single eyebrow that said all he needed it to say.

You trying to pull a fast one on the aliens?

"Sir, they uh, I've seen them catching them and crushing them into their rations sir."

With a blink he was looking at the fuvuni again, who was nodding rather emphatically.

"Makes broth taste better. Lothkrak too! Especially lothkrak!"

Jon suppressed a shudder at the mention of that particular drink. He supposed if there was anything in the world that could cover up the taste of the paint-stripping rocket-fuel they called booze that came out the ends of those 'smek' things it was probably ground up barkback.

"Right, well, s'long's everyone's gettin' a fair deal then."

Shaking his head, he went back to the wall to most definitely not slump against it as the squad went back to bartering over exactly how many raisins and cigarettes the not-quite-spider, not-quite-insect was worth in trade.

Well, some things are universal.

There was a brief lull in the bombardment as the good-natured bickering continued in the background as he allowed himself to close his eyes, before he was jolted awake by an incessant tapping on his shoulder. Slowly bringing himself slightly more upright while grumbling, he opened his eyes to an armored suvitani, the pseudo-quadrupedal creature tilting its head and snapping to as close to attention as could be for the lupine alien.

"General Morrigan requests your presence sir."

Unlike the fuvuni in the room, the grammar and pronunciation of the six-limbed alien were absolutely perfect Pallusian, rather than stilted Galstandard Deltan. From the shine on the armor and the stiffness of the posture, Jon would wager a good week's worth of rations that the creature standing in front of him had mechanically perfect handwriting skills in the language on top of everything else.

"Right, and he's got himself wh-"

"Bunker forty-six, half-a-click east, sir."

Captain Carver sighed, using the wall to steady himself as he pulled himself up to his full height, even with the exo-frame's abilities to compensate he still didn't trust his own balance at the moment, the human waving off the suvitani's attempts to help him up.

"Well, better get going then."

With a shallow breath he marched out of the bunker, readjusting the strap of his rifle as he exited the bunker, giving a brief glance to a small troupe of the six-limbed aliens that passed him by, using their armored forms and four lower limbs to wheel carts and wagons around behind them, saddlebags and wagons both laden with ammunition, food rations, and spare pieces of kit for anyone that needed spot repairs. His tired mind noted the stiffness of the fuvuni that treated them with before they saw they had come bearing gifts, and filed it under personality clashes. They all seemed the type to care more for the letter of a regulation than the spirit, and the vulpine aliens were a touch more free-spirited.

Shaking the cobwebs from his mind, the tired native human let the armor do most of the work of carrying him to his destination, ducking down into hand-carved foxholes only once when another barrage came down, ducking down until the rumbling stopped. It didn't take very long before he found himself before the bunker, the armored foreigner leading the expeditionary force quickly ushering him inside, the chatter bouncing through his ears without Jon registering most of it.

"-not that the savages could stand up to proper Imperial firepower at any rate, eh Mister Carver?"

" 'suppose not."

There must've been something in his voice, because the other man quickly turned, his faceplate folding away as Morrigan grabbed the former police chief's chin, turning his head from side to side, with Jon only grumbling lightly in protest.

"By the Gods, man, when was the last time you slept? Medic, get this man a sleep aid-"

"Don't nee-"

"Nonsense! Can't have you assisting me if you're too tired to stand on your feet without the exo-frame's help. No need to worry good sir, we've things handled for the moment, and when we get proper spotters in place we'll be able to stick a proper charge."

The rest of his protests were shut down as he felt a prick in one of his arms, looking down as a fuvuni scurried away from him and his vision started to grow dim.

"Besides, I can't have you on the lines if you're too tired to shoot straight."

---

The Winnowing continues.

Veryn's thoughts were grim as reports filtered through his ears on the status of other squads, as more and more filtered into the towers. They needed to clear them fairly soon if the hover MLRS' sitting back in Upper Avad were to be of any use in clearing out the enemy siege tanks. Even with his mind churning with each new death, his body was occupied with more important matters as enemies flashed into his HUD. A pistol barking into the face of a gorc here, a slash of the chain-sword through the torso of a human traitor there, as every room they entered became bathed in fire. Sometimes they busted down doors and lead with grenade and plasmacaster, sometimes they simply elected to punch through the walls after they were weakened by the heat of clearing the previous room.

They had not yet found the enemy witch, which was bothering him. That could only mean it was either preparing an ambush, or already tampering with their minds in order to observe them. Neither option was palatable, and his irritation at not finding his target was bleeding into his orders as they started including even the ceilings in their 'burn and clear' tactics. Even the face of one of the Enemy, locked in a final moment of eternal surprise as his chain-sword bit through armor and into flesh, his armor allowing him to simply power through and bisect them entire, did not bring him any joy.

The longer it took them to find the enemy paranatural, the more likely it had time to summon some abomination from whatever hell-realm it had sold its soul to access, which would complicate his mission significantly.

As much as tearing through unarmored infantry ill-equipped to handle his squad without trying to bring bulky anti-tank weaponry to bear on them like a smekutinya through a wheat field was cathartic, the longer it took for the cave-in to happen, the worse it was going to be.

It was always worse.

He was only proven right when a hypersonic spike of dark, corrupted metal blasted through the wall mere inches away from his face, his entire squad scattering, camera pods shimmying out in all directions as they tried to find a location on the sniper. Three more rounds punched through the wall where Veryn had been standing even as the camera pod extending from his helmet peered through one of the holes they made.

"Building across from us. Further into the city, thermal suggests three-"

His suit screamed a warning as the entire squad rolled away from the wall as it exploded inwards from a rocket detonation, shrapnel peppering Veryn's visor.

"-four heavy weapons teams."

The magnification function on his armor briefly caught sight of a flash of pointed ears and purple skin from what he gathered was the officer before thermals showed the entire enemy squad hustling to different positions as another rocket barreled across the street towards him. Milakorrman managed to shoot it out of the air, but its premature detonation still obscured thermal sensors for a few critical moments as a series of hypersonic spikes punched through the expanding cloud of fire and gas and into one of the recruits, the first denting the armor and sending him reeling back, the second cracking it, and the final one punching through and out the other side as the fuvuni warrior was cast back from the force of the blows through the opposite wall.

Likely dead.

It mattered not, he was in the hands of the Gods now, as were the rest. He let his pistol slide back into its thigh compartment and slung his chainsword over his back, bringing out his rifle even as his squad filtered around him, those with plasmacasters securing their rear further into the building as those armed with rail-rifles began to return fire, using projected enemy locations calculated by their armors whenever their visions were obscured.

The fuvuni had the advantage in sheer weight of fire, but the enemy rail-rifles packed significantly more punch than the Pallusian anti-tank rifles they had been dealing with before, the heavy spikes refusing to be deterred for long by their armor, or the walls. Veryn half-suspected that either there was a spotter calling in the shots or the officer he spotted had access to thermal binoculars. Neither option was good, but at least if it was the first one he'd be able to do something about it than just fire back, as spikes tore into the floor and walls around him even as his own rounds tore into the walls in the opposing building.

An urgent message flashed in the upper corner of his HUD, and he began to hiss.

The rearguard was now engaged in melee, a horde of gorcs armed with small arms and grenades was trying to push his squad closer to the openings in the wall made by the incessant rocket fire they were being struck with.

I hate it when nesuzemutsvujiy get smart.

[Nazeroth]

Castellum Kumamoto

The arrogance of the approaching human humored Thrax, they had seen many like him before, brave...but brave and stupid a man could be at the same time, in fact some of the very whimpering slaves that carried his bloated and scaly hide across the wastes of Pallus. Though, if he could sweat, he would have after seeing the man level the blaster. Unlike many others, this man seemed to not be joking around too much. He then began to speak again, his sharp teeth knashing the black tounge of Nazeroth as his whimpering slaves began yapping in translation.

"If you kill me...you will not be gaining anything. Do you not want to see your home again? You have come a long way and many of you have died, and for what? This world is but rubble and it's treasures surley to fall into the dark titans hands...it is only a matter of time" Krax said, his long tounge climbing the side of his elongated muzzle, licking his eyes clean of the polluted air before sliding back into it's maw.

" Now...lay down your arms...and some of you will live...to serve..." He clacked.




New Avad

Laphas had heard the latest reports that they had began pressing a squad of their enemy in of the buildings. This came from one of the D'rath Elendel (dark elf) officers which was pinning them down with her heavy weapons teams. This was the time to close the distance and erase one of their groups of warriors. As he got closer to the chattering of the heavy weapons group, he approached then the D'rath Elendel, her purplish skin betrayed her black eyes as she signaled him to stay low.

" Where are they..." Laphas demanded

The dark elf's arrogant stance went to ease as she realized who he was, a warlock, a psyker of Nazeroth. She pointed her finger towards the building across the way that was being pounded by Gorc Autocannons, Scream Sticks and Autoguns, communicating between the deafening shots as the Gorcs gleefully fired in their chaotic manner.

" My lord, we have them pinned...I have another group of warriors pushing their rear but they have slayed all they encountered...but I'm sure you can do something to...hasten their demise..." She said, smirking.

He thought for a moment " You have smoke or gaspers?" He asked, she shook her head, " Used them up clearing the other buildings, and even that was just enough"

" Draw your blades..." Laphas said calmly, the Dark Elf looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

" But...my lord...They will cut us down before we can close into melee, I have seen their weapons, they cleanse flesh from armor" She said crouched over, her arms crossed, pressing against her half exposed breasts, covered in tattoos and runes. Laphas was amused but assured her.

The firing began to slow down, and the Gorcs around them drew their weapons, crewed dark steel blades, Shivs fashioned from enemy tank armor, spiked fists and whatever else the Gorcs loved to use to bash or slash there foes with. They began snarling, if there was one thing they really like it was charging headfirst into battle. The Dark Elf and Laphas lead from the front. She drew a thin but wicked looking D'rath Elendel blade, curved from refined dark steel. He readied his Nether Caster which was getting close to spent. It's glow far dimmer than when he had received the weapon.

Laphas focused on the finding the enemy in the buildings, he could feel their presence but was unsure exactly how many were there inside, not that it mattered at this point. He looked at the Dark Elf one was time before they began to sprint, leaving behind a single Gorc to keep firing pot shots at the building. As he ran he focused on his enemies minds, attempting to cause them to lose focus, their minds becoming...heavy or tired, some may get motion sickness, others a cold shiver down their spine. As this occurred the barbarian feet of Gorcs and traitors ran towards the building, mud and oil splashing as they sprinted, there hearts beating out of their chests with every heft of their legs.

The Gorcs grunted and howled as Laphas eyes widened, his mind battle focused....before something wet hit his face and he began to lose his breath, falling down into the mud and dirt, he could only see the dark elf and her warriors continue to run past him in what seemed like slow motion...but he was not gone...no...not yet...