Reyn Australis
The Mandalorian Assembly
Workin
Posts: 58 
Affiliation: Clan Australis
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Post by Reyn Australis on Jun 14, 2022 3:52:55 GMT -8
On the bridge, Reyn's XO, Commander K'te'mok, was busy fighting his ship. For now, he had little to do beyond saying "Steady." every so often. They couldn't yet move, and they needed to keep blasting away at the minefield for a while longer. All their fighters had been launched, and so far, nothing in the tactical situation necessitated a change in their orders. They were copping a pounding from the enemy, but the shields were still holding, and their weapons fire was beginning to clear them a path free of mines.
Outside the besieged command cruiser, the starfighter skirmish was going well for the Mando'ade. The enemy squadrons fought well and took their toll on the Mandalorian fighters, though the Mando tactics of coordinating between the heavy fighters and the interceptors paid dividends, with the interceptors taking a murderous count of the enemy as the heavy fighters played bait while they cleared their tails with repeated high speed passes, slashing through the enemy again and again. The star wings weren't a match for the Starfuries' speed, and though they got lucky now and again, the Fangs and Claws were racking up the kill scores.
Wrath and Ruin squadrons had also taken hits, and casualties, and though they had heavier firepower, they were playing bait just now, to maximise the advantages of their craft's better protection from enemy fire. The Kyram Ar'pat could take a few hits, usually a Starfury couldn't absorb more than one good hit. The droidbombers did their work well, also losing craft to enemy fire, but they were taking a toll on the Interdictors, and giving the enemy something else to shoot at.
Reyn, meanwhile was congratulating himself on provoking the enemy, a round of self-congratulation that died upon seeing the missile lock indicator flash so many times it became a solidly lit warning light. That was less than ideal. He'd provoked the enemy alright, provoked them beyond sense, and though that was the intent, he hadn't, in a very Australis way, considered the consequences of that provocation until it was far too late. A swarm of TIE fighters was coming his way, and the massive ship he was approaching had just launched its entire broadside of missiles at him. At him. Osik, the flying required of him now was going to make the Braxant Run program look like a joyride.
Reyn let the oncoming wave of missiles and TIES get as close as he dared, then threw the Scythe into an evasive corkscrewing roll, though he kept the Excruciator in his forward viewports, keeping his mind on his target, even as he concentrated on staying alive with a horde of death on his six. Reyn was about to order his astromech to jettison the spare parts canister into the path of the pursuing missiles, but realized that his fighter possessed neither astromech or spare parts; both having been a concession to weight saving in the name of speed. The Red Baron took advantage of that speed now, as it was his only hope, redlining the fighter's throttles past the overload stops. This was not a time for half measures.
Reyn pulled out of his rolling corkscrew, screaming straight up, relative to his original course, then ripped the fighter around in a figure 8 turn so tight his vision went red and then black at the edges, and he'd have passed out if not for his Biot. The very high G turn caught the missiles and TIEs by surprise, allowing him to grip his triggers and rake laserfire across the pursuit, blowing apart a TIE and a dozen missiles, before the rest in a huge and angry cloud, fell back onto his tail. He brought the speeding fightercraft back on course for the Excruciator, jinking and juking and making targeting him as difficult as possible. Laserfire flashed past him, missles detonated incessantly in his wake, and he managed to keep just a hair's breadth ahead of them.
Excruciator had grown to fill his viewport, and he had to reassess his approach. There was zero chance of being able to slow down and maneuver inside the big ship. There was zero chance of escaping the hundreds of remaining missiles and the TIEs with them. Zero chance for the ship, he corrected. Then he realized what he'd have to do, and sighed. This was going to be even more insane than taking on a dreadnaught with a light fighter. But it was going to have to be done perfectly if he did not wish to die here and now. Worse still, he'd only get one chance, and it was coming up in about four seconds' time. He undid his restraints and grabbed his kit, swearing at himself. "Osik. Osik. Osik!"
Punching the craft to port, to avoid a collision with the flaming hole in the stern of Excruciator, Reyn, in full Beskar'gam, blew the fighter's canopy and leapt free into space, a red blur flying at high speed into that hole, as the Scythe flew on, unpiloted and unguided, to be blown apart by missiles. Reyn flew through space, through the blackness and the bright lights of explosions and fire, uncontrolled and at ludicrous speed into the darkness of the enemy ship's interior.
Then, impact.Fleety Stuff Actions
- Scythe destroyed, Reyn attempts to board Excruciator
- Red Rocket continues engaging minefield
- Fang, Claw, Ruin, Wrath Squadrons engaging TIEs, Starwings and Missile Boats
- Droidbombers continue attacking Interdictors
Status
Frigate Serroco (Lost with all hands)
Red Rocket 55% 95% (Halted, firing on minefield)
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Galaar Vhett
The Mandalorian Assembly
Posts: 356
Affiliation: Mandalorian Assembly
Traffic Light: Green
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Post by Galaar Vhett on Jun 16, 2022 18:43:38 GMT -8
As Abi, Kes, and Vera strap in back in the ship's common area, Harini leans forward to start transmitting the code that Galaar calls out to her, sending it on Allied channels as he instructs her to do. Not looking up as she inputs the code, Harini quips, Tion gar cuyir draar dinivir ni a sheb'viinir tug'yc cuyir gar? * * You're never going to give me a ride anywhere again are you? |
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Belisarius Vilebroth
Member
Preparing to infect a world near you.
Posts: 65
Affiliation: Formerly of the Eye
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Belisarius Vilebroth on Jun 18, 2022 10:18:50 GMT -8
Creases lined the pale sweat slick forehead of Torviel as he managed the battle from his stratagem table, the pressure mounting as the battle failed to perfectly follow the course he had initially laid out for it. Armour glass cracked beneath the force of his heavy gauntleted grip as he leaned with most of his weight against the projector, watching fabrications of light wink out of existence or blink their way into his attention as the battle progressed. Crixus and the Scabbed Nomad gave their captain a wide berth, standing silently off to either side of the Reaper Lord as his mood continued to darken. Blood and spittle drizzled between grit teeth, misting out the sides of his respirator with every exhalation of steaming hot breath. His mood seemed to improve as he watched one light in particular blink from the holographic representation, bursting in an eruption of smoke and scattered parts as the Scythe appeared to have been destroyed."Looks like it was all bluster." Growled the Reaper Lord, a throaty chuckle rising from his scarred windpipe as his black lungs continued to expel a sour mix of combat stims and toxic gas. Unaware to the Captain of the GraveScythes, the pilot had survived and penetrated the hull through the wound where one of the Excruciator's engine cones had been disabled. Reyn would find the immediate area vacant due to the obvious void exposure, the crew in that section having literally been sucked out into space. Beyond the sealed blast doors preventing further atmosphere leaks, he'd find long stretches of dark corridors mainly occupied by a slave labour force. Emaciated worker gangs were whipped into performing various tasks by cruel faced umbaran cultists, wielding gore crusted cudgels and blood slick vibro-flails. Deck lighting was dismal and cargo trams swooshed by on magnetic rail lines that ran the length of the dreadnought, moving supplies and munitions from one end to the other at frequent intervals. The only security was scarred faced cyborgs, somewhere between the stormtroopers they used to be and the Phase Zero Dark Troopers they were slowly being surgically altered into. Half machine, half man, they looked like metal mutilated cybernetic zombies as they stalked the decks. Their flesh had greyed, more corpse pallor than truly pale. Not yet armed with the blast cannon they'd be carrying once their transformation was complete, these walking mechanical zombies were equipped with SE-14r light repeating blasters holstered on their hip.He listened as the factory ship received a plea from the ground forces already engaged for more reinforcements. Hateful eyes flicked from the holographic display to a side-readout monitoring the progress of the drop pods that were being loaded currently. 75% completed thus far. Good, they'd have their reinforcements sooner then later. Torviel tapped a finger on the access console in front of him and opened a channel to the ground assault force. "Subprime Soulscourge." The encrypted channel crackled with static and the sounds of warfare, to the point where Torviel could easily determine that his fellow brother of the GraveScythes was deep in the thick of it. He continued, his words laced with the authority of his command. "Continue your forwards push into the city. Let nothing stop you. Reinforcements will be arriving shortly. Look to the sky, brother." He failed to mention that when the drop pods were launched, they'd be directed to the South instead of reinforcing the position to the North, but there was no point in letting Dantioc know that. No sense bringing down moral.Silence, static, and then... Understood. We fight for the Reaper Prime! Faithful to the Order, loyal to their master, and dogmatic in their pursuit of conquest and glory in battle. These warriors whose lives he spent like currency were among the greatest he had ever known. That's what made it such a shame that they were all on expired time."Bring us back around." Hissed the Captain, his respirator practically frothing. "And prepare another volley for the surface. Our drop pods will ride in on the pestilent winds of death."Groans echoed the length of the hull as the Excruciator continued its slow lumbering turn, coming back around to face the way it had come as autoloaders lifted, punched, and locked missile tubes in preparation. Once more, hex missiles were utilized as the ordinance of choice as these warhead launchers were loaded. TIE debris scraped the hull where it was slow enough to pass through the protective barrier encasing the Arc Hammer design, some fizzling as it struck the deflectors and turned into metallic vapour before reforming and condensing in the frigid void. Nothing barred its way, for nothing could stop the goliath warship that threatened the planet and its brave defenders. Strobe lights around the central spire that protruded from the underside of the bow flared to life as the drop pod launchers swiveled, hydraulic conveyer systems turning as the launchers were warmed and readied. By the time it completed its turn and was crossing the stretch of orbit over the capital, the drop pods would be ready to fire.
A series of detonations occurred across the hull of the Tumor as a second gravity well generator exploded, starting a sequence of catastrophic events throughout the length of the Immobilizer. Captain Zepher could do nothing as he watched through the view port of the Mercury as its sister ship continued to deteriorate in consecutive explosions that saw it finally expand outwards in one final blast that scattered the remains of its hull across the battlefield and into the mine field. The effectiveness of the interdiction field had been halved in that moment, leaving Fenrik wondering if they should power down their own gravity well generators and focus on their defense. His orders thus far, however, remained unchanged. The Reaper Prime expected them to maintain the trap for as long as was needed, and so that was what they were going to do. He opened a channel to the Mining Explorers and requested aid. Minelayers, we need more support. Our TIEs are thinning and we won't be able to maintain the field much longer if we continue to be targeted. Not quite on cue but certainly close enough, a rumble shook the room as the Mercury's bridge tower took a direct hit from a passing droid bomber. "Shields down to 50%!" Screamed one of his bridge officers. Holding the speaker to his lips, the strain of Captain Zepher's voice was evident. Now would be good.Responding with all due haste, four of the Mining Explorers that had been taking periodic shots at the Red Rocket through forming gaps in the minefield began to maneuver towards the sole remaining Immobilizer. One of the four had its munitions door struck by an errant and well placed bomber, rupturing the protective barrier and prematurely igniting the mines still inside. It exploded at the neck, sheering the bridge away from the main body of the utility craft where it floated into the field and was summarily shredded by its own mines. The other three slowly crisscrossed, positioning themselves between the streaking bombers/fighters and the Mercury. Their turbolasers lit up the black blanket of space.The rest of the fleet was dealing with its own problems. Star Wings were dropping like flies, whereas the heavier missile boats were emptying their launchers faster than they could choose targets, some already having expended their stores of concussion missiles. Uncertain if the trap would keep the Red Rocket out the action for much longer, the three Victory 1s were no longer in a position to regroup with the Excruciator. The decision was made to prematurely launch their sentinel-class landing craft towards the planet, unescorted as the star wings and missile boats were all tied up in action of their own. Radzone troopers in gleaming white lead polymer substrate based plastoid sat in the holds with their blaster carbines held in their hands or resting in their laps. The cargo holds were full of partially dissembled AV-9s, which was why part of each troop complement included Stormtrooper Engineers, marked different by the individual brown pauldron protruding from their right shoulders and tech belts around their white plastoid protected waists. Even leaving now, there was no way they'd make it before the Excruciator's drop pods were launched, but they'd be coming closely on their heels.
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Reyn Australis
The Mandalorian Assembly
Workin
Posts: 58
Affiliation: Clan Australis
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Post by Reyn Australis on Jun 19, 2022 6:42:46 GMT -8
In near space, the battle continued to rage. With the enemy's landing and strike craft making a break for the planet, and the ongoing battle downside, the XO of Red Rocket had a decision to make. He knew the defenders of Obroa would want him to reduce the landing forces any way he could, but that wasn't his mission. His mission was to make a hole in this mine and interdictor trap to allow for friendly forces to relieve the system. The ship was taking a huge pounding, and the fighters and bombers were being steadily attrited by the ememy, however, they were giving as good as they got. Slowly but surely, the trap was being defanged.
Red Rocket's Commander held firm, ordering his remaining fighters, interceptors and bombers to press the attack on the pickets. He had a battle to win up here, the planet and everyone else would need to fend for themselves. Haloed by enemy fire, illuminated by her own continuous barrages, the command cruiser stood firm against the onslaught, holding her ground, and clearing out space around her.
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Inside the blackened and shattered interior of the Excruciator, Reyn Australis took stock of his situation. No backup, limited resources, and the enemy likely thought him dead. He needed to get his shebs inside before he ran out of power. Though rated for vacuum, the energy cost of heating his person enough that he didn't freeze to death was extreme when in the absolute zero of space. Getting inside was a priority. He considered and dismissed blasting his way in, or overriding an airlock. Both would give his position away earlier than he would have liked. A quick search provided the answer to his ingress issue; a small exhaust port, shielded, and large enough for him to squeeze through.
Penetrating the containment field with his integrated field disruptor, Reyn crawled through several meters of vent until he reached a cross passage crawlspace, larger by half, enabling him to crouch walk along. Through slitted grates he could see what looked like slave workers, supervised by some Umbaran thugs. This ship was more factory than destroyer, it seemed, with huge manufactories and long cargo conveyers. Those intrigued him. Quickly, the young Mando formulated a plan. He'd need time to do what he wanted, and for that he was going to need to risk.
He'd grabbed a bag from the Scythe, his father's fighter, and in the bag were some of Kaine's toys. Like all of his father's toys, they were advanced and expensive, and he didn't like to share. Reyn, like his father, had difficulty with some of the finer points of property ownership when it suited his purposes. The toys were twenty multipurpose remote detonators, enough to ruin several someones' days. Rhydonium based explosives, very compact considering the damage they could do, they came with a powerful burst transmitter detonator with a nice long range.
Using all the stealth training he had, the young red-clad Mandalorian moved quickly and expansively through the section of the ship, placing some detonators on fixed positons such as power junctions, while he scattered the rest on or in pieces of cargo on the conveyers, which would, he hoped, distribute them around the huge ship. Once that was done, he located a suitable corridor clear of enemy and of holocams. Reyn opened his comm, playing a large bluff. He began moving swiftly in the direction of the main bridge, hoping the enemy scanned for his comm signal.
"Execute now. All stealth units, converge on the main bridge. I say again, all stealth units, execute."
Then he cut the comm, turned, and sprinted back in the opposite direction, towards his true target, the engines. He'd sacrificed his explosives to distract the enemy and disorient them, so he'd have to improvise to carry out the rest of his plan. Stealth was less important now that the enemy knew something was up. Reyn avoided the droid-cyborg monstrosities where he could, and cut them down swiftly with his blades where he could not.
Now he was hoping between the distributed explosions, the damage, and his comm, the enemy would jump to the wrong conclusions, and buy him the time he needed. He moved incredibly fast, even for one with Epicant blood, and his beskar swords were honed to a monomolecular edge. When he encountered work crews, Reyn was careful only to incapactitate the overseers, taking hands and eyes. Each time he felled one of the Umbarans he shouted to the slaves "Kill the masters, break everything!" encouraging them to rise up. Sparing the overseers was a calculated move, giving the oppressed masses a target for their rage, now helpless before them. The indiscriminate use of blades also saved on ammo, which he figured he was going to need soon enough. After he decided enough time had passed, Reyn thumbed the detonator, igniting all twenty of the bombs wherever in the ship they had ended up.
Reyn encouraged as much carnage and confusion as he could as he moved through the massive ship, making his way to the remaining engines...
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Belisarius Vilebroth
Member
Preparing to infect a world near you.
Posts: 65
Affiliation: Formerly of the Eye
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Belisarius Vilebroth on Jun 24, 2022 8:26:02 GMT -8
"Reaper Lord!" Piped up a young officer whose lower jaw had been replaced by a mechanical prosthetic, causing the cybernetically altered man to screech as he talked, like some irritable bird. "We've intercepted an unknown comms transmission from inside the Excruciator. Playing for you now." Even birds had important things to squawk, from time to time."Execute now. All stealth units, converge on the main bridge. I say again, all stealth units, execute." "Open the blast door!" Hissed the mutant GraveScythe, spitting hot copper. "My axe thirsts..." A stormtrooper in filthy plastoid standing next to the door controls, turned his helmeted head to look at the Captain for direction. Under any other circumstance he would have obeyed the Scabbed Nomad without question. Mostly out of fear, but also because the diseased members of the GraveScythes were respected above all among the Reaper Prime's warband. But, the Excruciator was the Reaper Lord's domain and the bridge was practically his inner most sanctum, sacred by all measurements that mattered. Sizzling froth oozed from the sides of the Reaper Lord's half mask. Veins bulging across his gleaming shorn scalp, he nodded his head, and raised his war scythe.Hissssssss! There was a creak as the door mechanisms unlocked followed by a long hiss. Splitting at the centre, the blast doors to the bridge separated and retracted into the wall, leaving the three battle brothers and the braver members of the bridge crew looking out into a vacant stretch of dimly lit corridor. The Scabbed Nomad and Crixus rushed out into the hall, swinging and smashing at possible invisible figures, but finding none. Snarling like a feral beast, the Scabbed One struck the wall, showering the corridor in sparks and shattered metal."A trick, perhaps?" Growled the far more reasonable Crixus, casting the Nomad a weary glance before turning to Torviel and looking to the Captain for answers.Already returned to the holo-table, Torviel's bloodshot orbs flitted from side to side as he read incoming reports of an intruder in the ship. Several of the security drones had already gone silent after apparently encountering the stowaway. The Captain flexed the knuckles of his right hand, as he always did when he was deep in thought. Eventually the scheming cybernetically augmented brain of his came up with a course of action."Calgar." His voice boomed, instantly causing the Scabbed Nomad to cease his frantic pacing and cursing as he heard the Captain use his former name. Flashing his piranha like mouth at the Captain, the freakish GraveScythe stepped closer, dragging his axe blade on the floor. Torviel continued, unperturbed by his depraved brother's menacing behavior. "Find and capture this intruder. I will look them in the eye before I tear out their guts and strangle them with their own intestines."From the sides of the Scabbed Nomad's respirator, the corners of his lips could be seen curling upwards in a sadistic hungry smile. He raised his axe in both hands and snarled like a mad dog, then ran down the darkened corridor, the heavy footsteps of his hazard suit echoing throughout the ship as his feet pounded the deck.
Immense and unchallenged, the lumbering Arc Hammer known as the Excruciator drifted across orbit, once more crossing overhead of the capital on the surface below. In consecutive sequence, the warhead launchers vented spent chemical exhaust as they fired their tubes, releasing another barrage of the dreaded hex missiles towards the surface of the planet. Unlike last time, the intended target was not the city itself, but rather the vacant stretch of terrain just south of it. A wasteful expenditure, perhaps, but the Reaper Lord's tactics always left a little room for the theatric, which was what this was all about. To put on a good show. From the massive column that protruded from the dreadnought's belly, the spinning conveyer began to launch pods, following on the wings of the hex missiles furious flight towards the surface. Fifty were launched towards the surface, towards that southern stretch of terrain, each loaded with a devastating X-1 Viper and thirteen Glory-class dark troopers. They streaked liked comets towards the surface.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Throughout the length of the Excruciator the hull trembled as a furious roar echoed from one end to the other. Explosions erupted at various intervals throughout the length of the dreadnought, damaging the continuous industry that never ceased throughout its blighted decks. Some of the explosions ruptured the hull in places, causing crew members and slaves to be sucked out into space where their lungs burst and their bodies crystalized into ice, before blast doors slid into place and magnetized energy barriers were raised. These frigid forms crumbled into shards as they broke against the hull or were shattered by the debris field that was beginning to form around the warship. Munitions trains carrying ordnance to the warhead launchers found their tracks destroyed, preventing the tubes from being loaded. There were numerous chemical leaks throughout the lower levels as the detonations ruptured tanks containing contagions and trihexalon, giving whole decks an eerie green glow. Slaves in these sections died quickly as their lungs turned to liquid in their chests and their organs ran like water, bleeding from the eyes and mouth as their insides rotted and turned to black mush. The umbaran cultists, those that hadn't been able to evacuate these contaminated decks or find evac suits, suffered the same fate. Only the drones, those mechanical zombies, remained unaffected. They no longer breathed."Explosions recorded across numerous decks, Reaper Lord." "Some of the task masters are reporting revolts among the slave gangs." Munition trams have stalled. We can't load the launchers! It wasn't right, thought Torviel. How could such damage be inflicted upon his unstoppable dreadnought? More pressing, who was responsible and how had they gotten inside? The Excruciator's warhead launchers were its primary armament, apart from some point defense lasers and scattered turbolaser emplacements. If they couldn't launch broadside volleys, their contribution would be limited, especially now that the assault force had all been offloaded. It was time to make a hard decision."Break from orbit and head towards the mine field." Angrily he grit his teeth, grinding the enamel from their yellowed surface. "We've done all we can."Treading across the bridge, Torviel Wormwood returned to the large command throne at its center and lowered his armoured bulk into the seat. Tapping the arm console, he opened an encrypted channel to the Scabbed Nomad."Are you still alive, Calgar?"
Red warning lights flashed overhead, giving the corridor a sinister crimson hue. Sparks sprayed from damaged consoles and small electrical fires poured noxious black smoke into the air. A groan sounded as a pile of collapsed debris shook and rose from the deck, spilling bent hull plates and broken struts. A rancid cloud of foul smell steam emitted from cracks in the pile, blowing from a respirator grill as a ghoulish figure rose from the garbage pile.Are you still alive, Calgar? The comms broadcast in his already buzzing ears was an unnecessary irritant. He shut it off. "Shut up..." Hissed the Scabbed Nomad, emerging from his previously buried position. His gunmetal grey armour was scratched and dented in places, but the seals still held and despite the cosmetic damage, it appeared otherwise unaffected. Reaching down, he wrapped his right claw tipped gauntlet around the haft of his great axe and pulled the repulsive weapon free, resting it against his shoulder as he regained his bearings. He sniffed the air, seeking an unfamiliar scent through his ruined almost absent nose. "...I'm hunting." His stalking brought him towards the rear end of the ship, near the engines. He occasionally swatted debris out of his way with an undiplomatic swing of his large axe, or dragged it along the deck, whispering in the dark... "Come on out, Poppet. I know you are here somewhere. Hehehe." Those chuckles always ended in coughing fits that saw him spit a wad of lung tissue and tainted blood on the deck at his feet.Unlike Captain Wormwood or members of the Reaper Prime's Plague Bearers, the Scabbed Nomad didn't share a connection to the fey, though that wasn't to say he hadn't been corrupted by it. Between the axe and his own hateful existence, he was practically a walking wound in the Force, a tortured creature whose only joy was flaying the skin from still breathing victims. Their screams of suffering were the only thing that could sooth his ravaged mind to slumber."COME OUT!" |
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Reyn Australis
The Mandalorian Assembly
Workin
Posts: 58
Affiliation: Clan Australis
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Post by Reyn Australis on Jun 25, 2022 5:09:03 GMT -8
Excruciator was a monstrous ship, and even moving as quickly as he could, it took Reyn some effort to get to where he was going. Once he reached the vicinity of the engines, he slowed his progress and began destroying anything which appeared to be in any way related to ship's operations, cutting into power conduits, blowing holes in generators, and making as much of a mess as he could with what he had to hand. Explosive rounds and disruptor blasts from his twin pistols were capable of inflicting severe damage, and Reyn tried to place his shots efficiently.
As he reloaded once more, Reyn considered overloading a couple of spare power packs as makeshift bombs, but then was suitably informed that he did not have time for such improvisational engineering. A metallic grating sound, which he'd dismissed as damaged ship's systems, was approaching. A voice came with it, barely audible, unintelligible except for what sounded like a laugh. Moments later, a shout removed all doubt from Reyn's mind as to the source of the noise. The noise was approaching from up the main corridor. He'd run out of time. They'd found him. Whatever damage hed done to this point would have to be enough.
A quiet command into his HUD to play some fight music, and he was as ready as he was going to get. Reyn walked out into plain sight in the corridor, and saw a disgusting looking armored figure approaching, dragging a large axe. Armored in his usual crimson, Reyn's pistols were holstered loose on each hip, with his blades in scabbards crossed across his back. His face was hidden behind the T-visor of his red buy'ce, but he was smiling.
"One twit with an axe? Who's running this shitshow?" Reyn remarked casually, goading his enemy as he was wont to do. He was nowhere near as casual and unpeturbed as he let on, putting up the facade of hubris while he studied a potential opponent for weaknesses. Outwardly Reyn tried always to portray the naive blustering fool, to conceal the ruthless tactical mind and skilled arm behind a mask of faux bravado. Experience had taught him never ever to underestimate a foe, while he always strove to have them underestimate him.
Casually, Reyn walked forward, but not directly, as if amusing himself or distracted, actually calculatedly closing the distance as much as he could without giving his enemy cause for alarm. Close in was where the killing work was done, and that is where Reyn wanted to be. Alert for a surprise attack, the wolf closed on his meal...(No fleet action this round) |
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Belisarius Vilebroth
Member
Preparing to infect a world near you.
Posts: 65
Affiliation: Formerly of the Eye
Traffic Light: Blue
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Post by Belisarius Vilebroth on Jun 27, 2022 7:46:29 GMT -8
Hot pungent steam wisped in filthy contrails from the Scabbed Nomad's respirator as he raged, bellowing and screaming as his ravaged lungs issued a challenge to whoever was sneaking about. Fortunately his impatience was rewarded. Yellow jaundiced eyes, bloodshot an ill, bulged in sunken sockets as he watched Reyn Australis step out from cover and walk into plain sight. Pestilent drool oozed from the bottom of his half mask, spilling over the chest piece of his gunmetal grey hazard trooper armour, as thick ropes of toxic spittle soiled his dented and scraped carapace. A sour reek filled the air, emanating from the rabid GraveScythe's rotten breath as he growled ferally into his breathing device."One twit with an axe? Who's running this shitshow?" "Heh Heh Ha Ha Hrrra!" That terrible alchemically crafted great axe in his grip slowly came up, raised single handedly in his right gauntlet at first, but then joined by its twin on his left as he gripped the haft tightly in both hands, holding the ruinous weapon across his chest as he continued to glare across the stretch of deck at his foe. A chemical mix of artificial adrenaline and harmful combat stims flooded his nervous system as his savage nature overwhelmed what little humanity he had left. He could feel his heart beating somewhere in his tumor afflicted chest. Thump, thump, thump. When he spoke, his gurgling voice was somewhere between footsteps crunching on gravel and nails being dragged across slate, unpleasant to the ear to say the least."It has been far too long since I have faced your kind...Mandalorian." Hissed his respirator wetly. Once upon a time, a far more sane human known as Calgar Gurnison had served in the NOE stormtrooper corps during the Battle of Myrkr. Back then, he had been only a trooper, garbed in white plastoid and armed with a standard issue E-11. It hadn't been enough. There in the jungle where the fighting had been thickest, a retreat had been called following the wounding of the Famine Lord by one of the Mandalore's personal bodyguards, a ball and chain wielding barbarian whose name still was whispered in hushed voices by those few that had survived. Orderly ranks had broken down and chaos reigned as it became every man for themselves as the assaulting force fled to their shuttles. While covering his brothers in the corps with precise blasts from his rifle, an enemy grenade landed near his feet and the next few moments were lost to him. He remembered coming to in the shuttle, unable to rise for lack of arms to lift himself, or legs with which to walk. The blast had annihilated his limbs, leaving only semi-cauterized stumps in their place. One of his fellow troopers had dragged his still bleeding shrapnel shredded torso into the shuttle. After, due to his condition, he had been inducted into the ranks of the hazard troopers. An easy choice given that his limbs were already gone and in need of prosthetic replacement.It was there that he had served until the Black Exodus, when the Order disbanded in the eyes of the galaxy, supposedly defeated by the just and noble Imperial Remnant. In those dark days, he remained in the service of the Famine Lord, joining the crusade into the Unknown Regions as He-Who-Hungers sought secrets in the galaxy's forgotten corners at the whim of their all-seeing deity. Years into their exile, the master and his most learned disciple had a falling out, splintering the crusade into two separate forces. It had been an easy choice for Calgar to decide who to side with. Every one hated and despised Famine, who utilized the soldiers under his command like a spoiled infant carelessly abusing its toys. He joined Belisarius, swearing an oath of service to the Reaper Prime. If only he had known the price. Dragus, being the spiteful monster that he was, left the departing force under Belisarius Vilebroth with a parting gift. A disease, created through dark science and his mastery of the alchemical arts. It ravaged everyone it touched, including even the likes of a half cybernetic man like Calgar.His very flesh revolted against him, turning leprous with the disease as his organs became cancerous and thickly laden with tumours. While some of his brothers resisted, maintaining control of their minds even as their bodies rebelled against them, Calgar accepted what he had become. He didn't fight the change as the others had, for he knew well from his experience under the dreaded Devourer-of-Men that even a curse was a flip sided coin. His flesh might have turned rotten and black, but a new and welcome strength flowed throughout his diseased body. As his mind sank to new levels of depravity, Calgar was slowly transformed into the being now referred to as the Scabbed Nomad. A creature buried deep inside, who he was always meant to become. Now he existed only to inflict suffering."The Captain wants you alive, but when I am through feasting on the marrow in your bones, there won't be enough meat left to fill that bucket on your head! RRWWWAAARRR!!!" He meant it to. Perhaps a result of the disease, in the time spent far beyond polite galactic society, they had all developed a taste for the flesh of sentients.As Reyn began to walk forward, so to did the Scabbed Nomad, quickly picking up the pace as his own walk turned into a charge. The deck shook violently as his heavy footsteps pounded on its grated surface, each step like a hammer blow. Between his cybernetic replacement limbs and the exo-skeletal hazard trooper armour he wore, he was probably close to weighing a full ton. THUD! Shake. THUD! Shake THUD! Shake. Brown sludge streaked off the face of the great axe, running down the haft held in his gauntlets, showering the deck as it shook free with every step. The Scabbed Nomad held the flat face of the axe out in front of him as he charged, using the wider side semi-defensively to shield his only exposed flesh, from the top of his respirator just above the rotten gash where his nose used to be, up to his shorn and pus slick scalp.He knew from experience that Mandalorians often came equipped with an exotic arsenal of goodies, and judging by the size disparity between them, this one was probably quite a bit quicker than the GraveScythe. That's why he came full tilt.Rather than swing his axe, the Scabbed Nomad threw his full weight into his rushing body and attempted to run Reyn down into the deck with the forward momentum of his charge, using the haft of the axe like a glorified battering ram.
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Reyn Australis
The Mandalorian Assembly
Workin
Posts: 58
Affiliation: Clan Australis
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Post by Reyn Australis on Jun 28, 2022 0:25:04 GMT -8
Critically, Reyn's gaze assessed his enemy from behind the mask of his T-visored red helmet, his hands still free, presenting as little of a threat as he could muster. The chakaar was bigger and presumably stronger than he himself, and clad in armor thick enough to make even the biggest Mando armorphile jealous. Reyn had fought his brother König several times, and König had a fetish for thick plate. The bugger was coming on, fast."It has been far too long since I have faced your kind...Mandalorian." "The Captain wants you alive, but when I am through feasting on the marrow in your bones, there won't be enough meat left to fill that bucket on your head! RRWWWAAARRR!!!"
He waited until the last possible moment so as to give his charging enemy little time to react before he moved. Reyn pirouetted counterclockwise to his left, switching to right hand grip on his sword, coming around to deliver a reverse downward slash aimed across the side and back of the Scabbed Nomad's right knee. Joints were always harder to protect, and Reyn's blades were heavy and sharp. Without waiting to see if he'd struck flesh, the young Mando'ad continued with his momentum, falling left into a shoulder roll that would buy him a meter or two of distance, just in case that axe came around at him faster than expected.
"So you answer to a mere Captain, eh? That makes you a shabla lieutenant or something? You'd think a bloke your age would have picked up some rank and titles by now." Reyn continued, cheekily. "I have to say, I don't think your Captain is sending us his best people."
The words flowed freely from Reyn now that he was in combat mode, calculated to poke at his enemy's mental state, always looking for an advantage to be gained in provocation. His style was to frustrate an enemy beyond their capacity for rational thought; then he could take them apart. Reyn had fought Jedi, Pirates, Yuuzhan Vong, and many other Mandalorians in his young life. He'd never fought one of whatever this fellow was, and he was more intrigued than he was concerned. He'd rarely encountered an enemy he couldn't defeat, and this made him cocky.
He'd learned temperance by having his shebs kicked on numerous occasions, though he'd never lost a fight the same way twice. Reyn Australis was a young man who learned from his mistakes and grew from them. He had no sense of the Force, but he did have a way of reading individuals, and this one was not a healthy being. He decided he wasn't going to be removing his own helmet any time soon, and double checked at a glance to the corner of his HUD that the filtration systems were operating at full. He sure didn't wish to breathe in anything exotic. His biot might be able to deal with any infection, but then again, it might not, and he didn't wish to test it when he didn't have to.
Standing back up to his full height, Reyn turned to face his opponent once more, and drew his second blade, now twirling one sword in each hand. He had eyes for the massive axe his enemy was wielding, and was confident in his ability to relieve the being of his weapon.
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Belisarius Vilebroth
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Post by Belisarius Vilebroth on Jul 5, 2022 6:58:17 GMT -8
Gunmetal grey armoured plate shrieked and sheered as the more nimble beskar blade struck across the back of the charging Scabbed Nomad's right knee joint. A shower of sharks erupted from the spot struck, though if it was flesh the Mandalorian iron sword was hoping to split, Reyn was doomed to disappointment. The sword's edge scraped along the reinforced durasteel of the prosthetic limb, carving a furrow in the metal bone whilst severing a cable, spilling hydraulic fluid on the floor that bled down the freakish GraveScythe's right mechanical leg in a warm deluge of dripping sludge. He braced his feet, slowing his charge as his armoured boots ground up the deck underfoot like broken glass. The heel of his boots dug into floor, spraying churned bits of deck as metal gravel as he spun around, the monstrous axe held in his gauntlets sweeping once through the air between them as he faced the Mandalorian anew. His bulging sickly rimed eyes focused their acidic intensity on the young member of the Australis Clan as Reyn came out of his roll and drew his second sword.
Meanwhile the deck and corridor walls around them continued to rumble and shake with the movement of the ship, as well from the resulting damage caused by the saboteurs explosives. Glowing green trihexalon was already beginning to rise through the grated floor at their feet, slowly seeping up from the lower levels where it was produced and spreading throughout the ship like a contagion. It misted around their feet, giving the otherwise vacant stretch of corridor a sickly green illumination. The deck lighting itself was sparse, flickering on and off with every groan of the factory vessel. If anything the rising contaminants gave the already grotesque appearance of the Scabbed Nomad an even more sinister aura, the poison mist rising to swallow up his armoured form, only to be rejected and blown aside by even more toxic exhalations from the respirator over his lower face.
"You're right, Mando." His voice gurgled wetly, followed by a sickly slurp as he sucked back black filth and diseased salivation building in his mouth. "He sent you the worst of us. Ha!"
Roaring so loud the bulbs of the deck lighting overhead cracked under the pressure, the armoured freak swung his right arm out, swinging his massive great axe into the corridor wall to his right. Between the GraveScythe's mechanical strength and the warped magics that had gone into the twisted weapon's construction, it cut through the metal like a lightsaber through blue butter, splitting an exhaust pipe that screamed as it pumped blistering pungent steam between them, obscuring the large cybernetic savage behind the curtain of moisture, the only tell-tale sign of him being the drip-drip of fluid still bleeding from the torn line on his right prosthetic leg. That would cost him mobility once the line had been bled dry, but he still had a little time left. Then, raising the great axe over his head in a two handed grip, he swung his arms forwards and released his hold on the haft. The great axe spun through the air, end over end, cutting through the sweltering mist towards where the Scabbed Nomad predicted his opponent to be.
He intended to be right on its tail. Thus, upon hurling his weapon into the mist, he leapt forwards into the heated cloud. The gore-stained clawed digits of his right mechanical hand lunging after his bilious blade.
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Reyn Australis
The Mandalorian Assembly
Workin
Posts: 58
Affiliation: Clan Australis
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Post by Reyn Australis on Jul 6, 2022 2:14:00 GMT -8
In a way, Reyn got what he wanted, though not in the way he would have wanted it. He was idle as the Scabbed Nomad crushed a hole in the bulkhead with his axe and released a cloud of noxious nastiness. The corridor quickly fogged up, concealing the immediate area in something unpleasant. In hindsight, the ease with which his enemy's weapon tore through solid durasteel should have been a warning, but Reyn was too cocky by half, and overlooked it in his amusement.
That oversight came back to bite him as the axe he had wanted to take away came flying at him out of the murk, faster than he could have imagined. Though quick to react, Reyn was too late to avoid the incoming weapon, he underestimated the weight of the hurled axe itself, along with the force with which it had been propelled directly at him. His parry barely diverted the axe, though he struck it aside with both blades, and it continued on past. Reyn's arms rang painfully with the impact, as the metallic clang of the parry echoed above the alarms and hisses of escaping toxin. He exclaimed, in an offended tone "Ow! What kind of dikut'la shabuir throws their weapon?"
Despite the inconvenience of the heavy impact, the imminent bull rush of the Scabbed Nomad wasn't a surprise to Reyn. People didn't generally throw weapons to retreat. For this, Reyn was far more prepared than he'd been for the axe throw. He'd seen the big fellow charge once, and he had his timing. "You see, what your bosses did, my fine stinky fellow..." Reyn said, bracing himself. The charge was meters away. The timing here had to be perfect.
"...Was dispose of their garbage." He struck with his weapons, right and left, moving his legs to brace. Thrust forward like spikes, Reyn used the Scabbed Nomad's own momentum to try to skewer him, at throat and groin, with his own weight braced behind the swords. He aimed for the seams in the seemingly impenetrable armour, between the legs, and at the neck. On a normal human, he'd be aiming for the femoral and carotid arteries, but he suspected this one wasn't going down as easy as all that.
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Belisarius Vilebroth
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Post by Belisarius Vilebroth on Jul 9, 2022 18:45:51 GMT -8
Calgar...No, that wasn't his name anymore. The Scabbed Nomad...yes, that's what he was, felt the stinging bite of the twin beskar blades penetrating his armour. The finely honed edges speared through his gunmetal plate, puncturing his ravaged throat and what mangled mutated thing stood in place of his reproductive organs. Diseased blood sluiced in a virulent spray from the throat wound, belching a filthy mist as his respirator continued to pump a blighted concoction into his ravaged lungs. Any other material might have found itself repelled, but the purity of the beskar iron was anathema to the darkside spawned illness that afflicted the hazard trooper and his fellow GraveScythes. The cursed fluids coursing through his infected flesh recoiled at its touch, the blood boiling where it came into contact with the near-sacred source of Mandalorian power, leaving a smoking residue along the length of either sword. The pain was fleeting, however, and some scarred part of the Scabbed Nomad's corrupt brain was sad to see it depart. It was replaced by the numbing effect of the combat stims being fed to him through the ribbed hoses connected to his mask, the only thing keeping the constant suffering he endured from driving him fully into the arms of madness.
His poisoned vitae drained into his esophagus from the wound, pooling there and preventing further breath from being drawn as he drowned in his own fluids. Despite these wounds that would have felled almost any other creature, be it through unbridled hate or sheer stubbornness, he continued to persist. He knew what awaited him on the other side and was not yet prepared to go. Not alone. With speed that belied his immense size, his arms swung around either side and attempted to meet at his armoured palms, effectively forming a bearhug around his prey. If successful, he would squeeze, relying on the mechanical strength of his exosuit and artificial limbs even as strength fled the parts of him that were still flesh.
It was a race against time. Could he crush a can before the last grains of his hourglass were spent? Already he could see formless things watching him from the trihexalon mist, calling his soul to the oblivion of chaos. Just a little longer...
The fleet warfare continued much as it had already, with the slow lumbering Excruciator dragging its moldering carcass further away from the planet, joining the Red Pox and its sister Victory-1s mid system. In the distance near the major hyperlane exit point, a myriad of brilliant explosions erupted and winked out like dying stars. The minefield was beginning to crumble.
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Reyn Australis
The Mandalorian Assembly
Workin
Posts: 58
Affiliation: Clan Australis
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Post by Reyn Australis on Jul 10, 2022 0:54:02 GMT -8
Reyn saw and felt his blades strike home and penetrate deep, one with the beskar swords as they smashed through armour, and into flesh beneath. Whatever the damned chakaar was made of, he'd just put two large holes through it. Exulting in the moment, Reyn roared in triumph.
"YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
The arms closing around him came as a rude shock. He had no time to consider escape, but moved to twist his body, letting go of the swords, shooting his left arm up and his right arm down before the huge hands closed behind his back and the arms of his enemy encompassed him on all sides. His cry of triumph trailed off into one of alarm.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH SHIIIIIT!"
His armour was no bloody help at all, simply the can in which he was encased that could now squeeze him inside his undersuit. The enemy's kriffing power armor was going to turn him into squished meat in no time at all, as the vice-like grip began to crush Reyn Australis. His heart began to beat faster in response to his dire predicament. Twisted as he was, his left arm was able to move, and he punched at his enemy's face. Seemingly all he could do in his defence, Reyn wanted his enemy's attention away from what his other arm was up to.
Swinging wild left punches at the Scabbed Nomad's jaw, Reyn stretched with his right arm, reaching for the holstered weapon at his right hip. He struggled to get to the gun, and to twist his body out of the line of fire. Punching desperately, jerking in the inescapable grip of his enemy, Reyn seemed doomed. He hoped he seemed doomed, as his fingers found what they were searching for. He had to fire from the hip, through the holster, but he was able to torque his wrist to pull the pistol into what he prayed was a clear shot. He had little air left for any sort of verbal sparring, being squeezed as he was, so he just glared and thought the words "Eat this."
Then Reyn pulled the trigger of his Mandalorian Disintegrator, aiming for the Scabbed Nomad's body. He, like his ship Red Rocket, out there in the battle beyond Obroa-Skai, was nearing the limit of his endurance. Black spots danced before his eyes like sparks of explosions in the void. He just had to hang on...
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Belisarius Vilebroth
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Post by Belisarius Vilebroth on Jul 11, 2022 10:00:54 GMT -8
THUD! THUD! THUD! Hammer hard fists struck the slowly expiring giant in the face as his arms continued to encircle the Mandalorian, squeezing ever tighter like a serpent coiling about its prey, refusing to release even as his respirator began to disintegrate in rusting flakes that shook loose with every jarring impact. The pain was most welcome, a delicious appetizer to precede the final course. Those mechanical limbs groaned at the joints, hydraulic pistons increasing the pressure on the beskar plate, causing micro-fractures throughout his heavy armour as it sought to crumple the hardest known substance in the galaxy. Reyn's punches inevitably shattered his breathing grill, revealing his black gums and a sparse thicket of serrated teeth filed to needle like points. Those too loosened and spat free in a thick deluge of bloody spray with every retraction of the intruder's fist as the Mandalorian reloaded his arm to strike again and again. Feral acid yellow eyes focused with malevolent intent on the warrior held firmly in his vice grip, filling with dark blood that seeped from the corners of his deep set sockets."RRRRAAAAAAAAWWWWWWRRRRR!!!" Even as he was dying on his feet, drowning as he choked on his own diseased blood, he managed a savage roar that shook the deck and echoed throughout the kilometer long corridors of the Excruciator. Work gangs whipped to bloody submission after their attempted uprising quivered in fear at that sound, more afraid of whatever created such a terrible symphony, more so than they dreaded the lash of the ritually scarred cultists that split the flesh of their backs. The demonic apparitions at the corners of his visions grew more numerous the closer to death's gate he drew, forming into recognizable figures he had come to despise during his time of exile. A cyclops with a baleful eye, a hooded skeleton wielding a scythe, a fanged drake with bloody claws, a madman with eyes of unequaled intensity, and a blind seer holding a quickly emptying hourglass. These things were not real, or at least, they weren't really there in the poison mist. But he saw them all the same. It drove him to new depths of fury, rather than despair, as the figments watched him with cruel amusement. Another hammering fist struck his jaw, cracking the bone and sending splinters jutting through the exposed leprous skin of his chin, refocusing his attention on the physical threat in his arms rather than what waited for his black soul in the afterlife. The Mandalorian said something, though the pounding in the Scabbed Nomad's ears prevented him from discerning it clearly. Nor was the puss leaking gash where his nose had once been able to detect the tell-tale sign of burnt ozone as something discharged below the squealing arms of his hazard armour. As the Mandalorian disintegrator bored into the inch thick plate, it began to glow a brightening orange, initially resisting as it had been designed for the most hostile of environments. The orange glow gave way to a blistering white and soon the armoured plate began to run like water, spilling molten metal on the deck at their feet as warmth spread across his chest. A searing, agonizingly intense pain overwhelmed even the heavy concoction of stims circulating his system as his flesh began to cook. Flames erupted from his chest cavity as the tumor pocked organs within boiled into vapor and his bones blackened and fused to the molten slag his suit was transforming in to.Now as was stated, Calgar Gurnison had been no Force sensitive, so what happened next baffled most logical explanation. Perhaps the warped sorcery that created the disease that infested his brethren and he somehow imbued a connection. It's unclear. What can be said for certain is that his next words were delivered not in spoken word, but broadcast at his foes mind as a telepathic shriek.<< Death will not be the end of our feud, Mandalorian. A curse on your line and all who share your blood. >> Heat and flame spread to his face, blackening the flesh and disintegrating it into ash. His sulphuric gaze remained fixed on Reyn even as his yellow eyes began to boil in their sockets and burst as miniature cauldrons of rancid steam. A final rumbling roar of rage escaped his flame engulfed throat."A CURSE!" Even as the words left his mouth, his face cooked down to the bone, and the true death consumed him. The motorized grip of his mechanical arms and armour slackened, releasing Reyn as the charred meat within that cooked shell expired and the power-pack on the backplate of his suit overloaded. The weight of the dead armour dropped it to its knees with a heavy deck shaking thud, followed by another as the dead GraveScythe's upper body toppled forwards face first on the deck, scattering ashes across the victor's feet. |
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