A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

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sonofccn
Starship Captain
Posts: 1657
Joined: Mon Aug 28, 2006 4:23 pm
Location: Sol system, Earth,USA

Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Tue Jul 26, 2011 3:53 pm

Okay in keeping with Breetai's prodding :) here's a little chapter. Another teaser while I keep working on the big battle I have scrambling around in my head.

Interlude:

“Standard issue had proven insufficient.”
Major Kness comment on using a Pershing’s main cannon to dispatch a (Giant) queen ant.

Aviarion city, audience room-

First Consul Psirious, of the proud House of Crimson Swords, rested upon his gilded seat basking in the pallet pleasing musks and odors pumped into the chamber room which basked across his leathery and cracked blue skin unhindered by the sheathing and entanglement of his cumbersome battle suit. Only the very finest Traders’ silks were draped over his regal form, a squat bulging masterpiece of worn but trusty muscle, in a wispy toga hiding no force field projector or compact pistol other lesser Consuls attired themselves with as a matter of course. He sat unhindered on his throne, lazily scratching a talon tipped finger across the underside of his bone like beak, without such base concerns for his life for he knew no one with still a ghost of a wisp of his senses would dare take the First Consul’s life. Not only would his House avenge his fatality, the largest on Aviarion the colony world the capitol city had taken its name from, but Psirious own network of shadowy agents of all types and races would ensure his killer and his killer’s House would die in agony a thousand times over.

One such example of the diverse minions under his power hovered less than a meter from his great chair, iron chains running down from its diminutive waist to the throne’s foundation in a symbolic reminder of Psirious control. Such restraints, were they alone in holding the creature, would have been shattered and caste aside with the barest effort from the repulsive, even to the polygot tastes of the Vraen, creature. An Enigmaticron it was a harnesser of the raw celestial energy which made up the fabric of reality, its very body augmented over countless generations of selective breeding and genetic tampering to hone itself into such a conduit. The results were not physically appealing, a sullen and hunched over raw pink thing perpetually moist whose body tapered down to a serpentine knot of bone, but possessed powers and abilities a member of the Vraen could never hope for. Such powers useful for Psirious as demonstrated by the door to his chamber gliding open and his hovering subject twisted and leaned itself towards the three intruders to sense and warn if need be the Consul of any hostile intent.

Not that he expected any, two of them adorned in gray and silver battle armor bearing the mark of his House. Towering dreadnoughts of mechanical perfection waxed and polished to a flawless luster with special care taken to their faceplates. One the wiggly likeness of the spineless Traders, the craftsman who had beaten the shape into the harden mesh of steel and titanium managing to capture their swarthy underhanded nature in the relief, while the other bore the blunt and rigid face of a Consortium citizen. Psirious’s gaze lingering on the stoic face emblazoned on the warrior for a hair longer than he had the other before looking away, unwanted and now unpleasant memories resurfaced.

As for the third, trailing between the two silvery titans, the bloody rabble looked like he could scarcely challenge a grouse let alone the Consul. He wore no armor and the scraps of material sticking to his freshly whipped skin spoke of the hardy breed of freelancers who were the lifeblood sustaining the far flung colonies of the Empire. Currently he was not so hardy, abjectly mewling with misery as he was dragged before the First Consul’s presence.

Psirious himself averted his gaze recoiling from the rank odor that permeated the subject, the heavy stench of sweat, of fear and of the lash. A trashy piece of detritus to the royal audience chamber, indeed as the two warriors dropped him in the wake of the hovering Enigmaticron there was a crusty trail of slimy blood and filth streaking from the door’s entrance. Fragments of rubbish flaked off of his greasy hide, more falling as he shiveringly looked up pleadingly at the ruler of the planet but not so high he might dare catch the Consul’s eyes. The price for such insolence surely feeding the thing that lurked at the bottom of the pit in the city’s central plaza.

“Jor’ock of the House Tempered Nerves.” The Enigmaticron whispered into Psirious’s mind, its eyes flashing a vivid yellow as it looked through the tangled mind of the wretched subject brought before his Excellency.” Pilot and captain of a worthless star freighter. A gambler both at games and at ventures. Owes countless across the colony words, worse owes you.”

The First Consul digested that nugget, playfully pretending to contemplate the sobbing wreck, and in the fullness of time when he thought he’d played properly the part of a wise and judgmental ruler and when he could stand the foul scent no longer he spoke. Acknowledging the existence of the feeble fool prostrating himself before him in an oratory which still flowed as richly as honey and was endowed with just the right shades of fatigue and bone weariness to adopt for himself selective prestige of age and the wisdom it brought forth.

“Ah yes…Jor’ock I believe.” Psirious said good naturedly as he ran his fingers across the front and scratched at the hard, horn like tip of his beak letting the words play out for his pet mind to shift out what the Consul’s remembrance drew from the man and feed it back to him.” You made a deal I believe, for your life in fact. A small loan, enough to keep your creditors from harvesting your tissues, from our prosperous world’s treasury in exchange for generous repayment in the mines of Catta IV. Your House took control of those mines as the winners in their rivalry, I believed you assured me you could negotiate a percentage for me.”

“Please Consul, I beg you…beseech you have pity on me. I tried to convince my House but they…the matriarch…would not listen. You must believe me I would never willing betray my bond with you oh’ great sire-“ Jor’ock cried reaching up a trembling hand which nearly touched Psirious’s clawed foot before the steel gauntlet of one of the warriors forced the wretch back onto the ground.

The servos in the armored palm softly whispering to each other, clicking as onboard computers regulated and controlled the force keeping the pilot from being crushed into a fine mash onto the chamber’s floor. The arm and the force remaining there holding him there as certain as a thousand gravities would have as the First Consul’s hand began to tickle down his mouth towards his fleshy throat. His dagger like eyes flitting down at the subject as he began to contemplate the grisly fate awaiting him.

“A bond is a bond, never to be broken without repercussions. You promised that the mines were undermanned, desperate for laborers. I gave you sufficient payment even after you paid your debts to buy a score of slaves from the finest merchant, a mere sampling of what I would have offered them had they but accepted my part ownership. But they rejected it, spat in the face of a First Consul, and here we are. Tell me my friend, in your last remaining moments, did you even purchase the slaves as you promised or did you waste it gambling and on drink?” Psirious asked, reward a seconds later with confirmation from the panicked prisoner’s mind.” Never mind, Centurions drag this refuge from my sight and toss him into the pit for its noonday feeding.”

“No, please…please my Consul give me a final chance, anything…anything please…just don’t… not the pit…please the pit…” Jor’ock bawled scratching at the floor as both warriors gripped him once more and pulled him away from the throne.” I beg you…I have information…better than the mines…far greater and I’ll share it with you…I’ll give it with you just…just please spare me.”

Sobbing final pleas were of course no strangers to the Audience room and countless thousands had fallen deafly on Psirious over his rising to First Consul but at the prodding of his Enigmaticron he raised a hand baying the warriors to halt. A single word from him causing them to release him dropping him like a heavy sack to the ground which he sprawled and grappled with as he dragged himself back towards the throne profusely thanking the Consul.

“Information. You promised you had it and if you have so carelessly broken your bond to me again Jor’ock the pit will be the least of your concerns.” He warned his subject, his voice taking on a hungry edge, as he folded his fingers together and brought them to rest underneath his chin.

“No, I swear…on my ship…hidden in a cache only I can find…is a transmission. A wayward leakage I intercepted your lordship before your diligent and proud gunboats discovered and boarded my vessel.” The pilot said between gasping breaths as he prostrated himself once more on the ground before the Ruler.” A message from one of the great saucers which ply the inky blackness between the stars, one that could make the receiver unimaginably powerful. I will give it to you for no boon other than my own worthless life.”

Psirious waited in silence as his pet minion shifted through the broken shards of the simpering fool’s mind for what he spoke of. Half seen glimpses thusly taking form in the Consul’s own brain, a garbled and badly degraded signal alight on a filth encrusted and cracked screen. Flashes of alien glyphs that held no meaning for him and a proud steely gray warship shaped like a dagger. A dagger thrust into the heart of the Saucer ship that had recorded it, that much the Consul was certain of filling him with an envious want for the Daggership and for the message in its whole.

“You intrigue me my little bondservant. You may return to your vessel, under Centurion eyes of course, and retrieve this message for my pleasure.” Psirious announced parting his hands and clapping them together to signal the end of the audience.

At once the warriors strode forth and reached for the wiggling worm but this time he did not protest or uselessly fight back, tears of joy running oily from his eyes as they lifted him up and hauled him away. Confessions of his brotherly affections and admiration for the Consul, for his wise ways and overflowing compassion, spilling from him like a babbling brook.

“Please my friend, you embarrass me.” Psirious said coyly as the prisoner vanished from sight.” I give you your life as was the bargain but not your freedom and when you see what I have planned I assure you that you will wish I had thrown you into the pit.”

sonofccn
Starship Captain
Posts: 1657
Joined: Mon Aug 28, 2006 4:23 pm
Location: Sol system, Earth,USA

Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Fri Jul 29, 2011 7:28 pm

“These legends are very old, impressed on ageless black stone during the Hyborian age if not before, and written down in a language seldom spoken but in hushed whispers. They are relics from a different epoch of human history, if we may so arrogantly lay claim to it, a time when monsters roamed the land and great cackling demons made from living flame of jade ruled from the mountain peaks. More than that they are the legacy of he who ended that gilded and sorrow filled era.” Professor Alvin Knobs (Senior) describing the tablet of McKenzie the god slayer.

New Hope, above sea level-

“Pro virtus, pro victoria, pro cado” those words greeted Assault Commander Mike Donner’s hard, unflinching eyes as he opened them from his silent prayer painted in faded white letters down the side of his blaster rifle.

Letters as white as the faceguard and helmet that sheathed his face and the rest of the legion members sequestered in the rough trough like seats of the holding bay of the descending transport. Each of the white capsules rocking against the durasteel of the bulkhead and the foam padding which insulated the interior of the mask however were unique in their own way in contrast to expected Imperial dogma. Each made the warrior who wore it to battle his own, one in the form of a long and smooth “hollow” running down his right jowl where a lightsaber had come within a millimeter of his hide, another the pitted crater between his two blank black eyes where a slugthrower pellet fired by a Tusken raider still sat lodged. For Donner’s it was the web like splintering which rose out from each of his temple’s making his helmet appear to be an eggshell a split moment before it came tumbling apart, a “gift” from a Megarachnid and its piston like mandibles.

Flecks of the creature’s simplistic brain could still be spied between the seams of the ruptured ceramic plating, flash boiled into place by the close proximity discharge of high yield plasma. Delivered by the gun he held once more in his hands, gripped between scarred white gloves cradled in his lap and directed towards the transport ceiling which shook and rumbled with every hit of the insidious aliens’ defensives. Each tremor another missile transformed into seething energy, another hammer like blow against the craft’s deflector screens weakening it but a sliver but in a never ending flurry The raw majestic fury of the seeking torpedoes, bursting flak and low yield energy beams which raked the heavens coldly and indifferently captured by the transport’s sensors and its peers and relayed for Donner’s benefit, the great maelstrom that was screaming Tie fighters twirling between the contrails of death dealing rockets, the soupy mess of ions and radiations from detonating proton torpedoes, the churning wreckage of stricken shuttles tumbling from the air their very hulls aflame only to combust as they tore into the ground all of it was condensed and sanitized into neat little glyphs and tidy notations. A soulless abstraction of the events, a machine’s view that robbed the combatants of their courage and their dignity as the price for expediency and the illusion of control.

A price Donner was as yet still willing to tolerate if never truly accept, so very different from the holovids he’d watched as a child of the great and gallant pageantry like wars from bygone years. Wars of many races and many times preserved in the form of rousing speeches, blood drenched banners, solemn brotherhood and unflinching valor. Deeds both majestic and base recorded for future inhabitants to ponder over and not for the first time some recess of Donner’s mind amused itself wondering if the actions of his men or his would one day play twinkly before amazed children’s eyes. And as always he concluded that train of thought in the same manner, by swearing to show those future Generals and men of honor how it was done right.

His voice a rumbling clap of thunder when at last he broke his silence, unswayed or disturbed by the rocking of their descending craft or plethora of threat icons flashing across the corners of his HUD vision. Calm, orderly, and composed making him clearly and easily understood as well as understating for whomever may one day take note of his exploits his control and resolve. Exactly as it should be, had been in each and every holovid he’d watched as a child.

“Gentlemen…we will be among the first waves. It means more alien fethers for us to kill and it means the Imperial army pansy boys will still be upchucking in their shuttles while we’re raising the glorious standard.” Donner carefully declared as they neared their landing zone.” I expect no quarter, asked or given, only that you smash the entire area. Kill anything that doesn’t look human. Understood? Any objections, any who shirk from what is expected of them?”

“Sir, no sir.” His legion answered in a howling maelstrom of voices shouting as one and the clamor of their battle rifles and carbines smacking the deck plating.” 88th doesn’t retreat, doesn’t give up. We fight, plain and simple.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear because I was afraid the 88th was a bunch of Bantha dung that had washed out of the Imperial army. Maybe a bunch of pansies who are going to let the 86th take all the glory, am I wrong?”

Where as before his question had brought forth a storm now it was closer to a nova. Each man under his command shouting as loud as he could, the butt of their guns sounding like the clash of two ancient gods of war. An almost visceral wave of hate, pride, rage and adrenilan soaked exhilaration rolling over Donner from it as the durasteel bars holding him and his troopers in place snapped free and flipped over their heads out of the way.

“Sir, yes, sir. 88th eats Imperial army pukes for breakfasts, washes them down with Rebel scum and still has room for Xenos!” They screamed rising from their seats as the transport shuddered one final time touching down, repulsar fields shunted away and replaced with protruding landing struts.

“Absolutely badarses.” Donner declared feeling strengthened and empowered by the chaotic energy they unleashed, almost drunk off of it.

The thunder of their booted heels, the snap as power cells were checked one final time and lovingly slapped back into place, the clap as troopers punched each other in their shoulder pads or slammed their head together. Life, vigor whatever you wished to describe it existed manifestly in its purest form in such moment. That drawn heartbeat as a living tide of humanity stampeded towards the loading doors that would unfurl onto a harsh and unforgiving environment. Forget Grand Moffs, rulers of uncounted billions, or Grand Admirals who controlled the fates of entire star destroyers. No to feel alive, to truly exist one had to experience that glorious wait of anticipation in the hive of his fellow brothers, linked deeper than any blood bond or spoken fealty. As had the warriors of Donner’s youth and since time immemorial.

It was a mere filament of time increased in its intensity by its sort duration, the proudly beating heart in each of the soldiers’ chest and their adrenalin telescoping its breadth hundredths of fold over but like a dam struggling against a raging river it at last fell away. The door ahead of them unfolding, extending itself down as a gangplank towards the soil of the alien world, a sprawling vista of trodden grass littered with the chalky-white armor clad bodies of stormtroopers, the burning shards of broken vehicles, scraggly burnt black trees rising up in places from the churned soil and earthen uprisings of packed sandy soil and gray rocks of granite.

Everywhere there was motion, light, action. Blaster fire from troopers belly crawling across raking machine guns whose tracers made it appear like it was continuous beams of light causing men to bust apart in viscera. In the air above the shrieking shadow of a Tie bomber as it dove down from it’s the alien sky skimming just barely above the treetops of a sickly woodlet further off in the distance where the fighting had so far been less intense. Its bomb racks disgorging clusters of thermal bombs, the proximity too close for even a proton missile, which ignited the foliage and the hidden enemies even as tracking missiles and gun fire caused the wallowing strike craft to combust into a glittering shooting star

To the left of Donner a battle squad helped guide down a vehicle shuttle before being wiped out by a mortar shell landing between them, the cargo ship settling down over their sizzling remains without care vomiting a stream of chicken walkers. Breaking off into packets of four the gray battlewagons of death proceeded towards the outcroppings blasting away at the harden stone. Plodding on their spindly legs never noticing the alien warriors laying in wait among the wreckage and shattered bodies until it was too late, the agile things rising like a cobra preparing to strike and just as deadly. Darting between the clod-hopping AT-STs, alongside them, under them they swept through the ranks before additional legion members could move forward could move forward and protect the walkers. Some planting explosives charges which while not thermal detonators could sever a leg or blow open underside of the crew compartment while others fired blindingly brilliant blue light from bulky and cumbersome weapons which explosively vaporized whatever it touched and flung molten raindrops of durasteel in all directions.

To the left a Tie Mauler broke from the ranks of infantry slogging their way forward, stemmed by the battle scarred \ground as well as the dead and lurking Xenos whose launched themselves with a flechette blastguns that could fillet its victim or broadswords that could cleave a man in two, crushing beneath its treads anything that stood in its way. Its underpowered laser cannons cratering away at the rocky ridge, burning away the banks of sand that had been piled up and creating spiraling fractures through the scorched rock. Helping to reveal one of the gunnery crews housed between the silt and stone who swiveled their large, rotary cannon after the vehicle. A dozen troopers turning to red mist as the front of the Mauler deformed and puckered before the onslaught. One of the piercing rounds bisecting the engine setting it off, a soot laced cloud mushrooming from the craft as the rest of its ball shaped structure collapsed into the growing inferno.

All around was death in all of its myriad forms and Donner imbibed upon it all as he shouted orders to his men, scattering them to the four winds across the raging battlefield. Each parcel, each fireteam, bestowed its own objective. Its own purpose which they took too with relish screaming vengeances and shouting drinking songs into the face of the tempest.

The 88th had come home.

Interlude:

USS Saratoga-


What was tentatively dubbed the Balder star system was an abnormally normal system categorically similar to the hundreds logged in man’s slow ever expanding search of the cosmos. A medium star more reddish than what graced and warmed the lands of Earth hung at its center, a glittery ruby which swirled around long tendrils of celestial detritus. Several thousand, according to estimates, lumpy asteroids and rogue comets snatched like wayward gazelles that subservaintly hovered around the burning star or the fifteen bodies of sufficient planetary mass. Of these one was an oversized asteroid, another two were frozen balls of ice like planet X in their home system, with three terrestrials and the rest jovian gas giants which incidentally hoarded the greatest share of asteroid debris. Of the three solids two had formed too far out to never be anything but icy, black rocks but the third had been a different story. It had been closer, closer indeed than Earth was to its world, basking in the harsher but weaker light of their cyclopean eye like sun and bore evidence of habitation. Native or colonization was impossible to know nothing remained but sterile ruins the constant shifting and turmoil of the world had buried and unearthed countless times before man had step foot on it. Cities, grand ones if not as hardy as the dead city found in the Antarctic, had one tainted the world’s surface along its coast where a now dead sea ebbed and flowed, across vast plains turned gray and shiftless where nothing stirred or flew and a thousand other places. Now nothing, not a single cell remained of the life which had once flourished, but dead ground cradled by lifeless oceans and stirred by soulless winds.

Orbiting above it, perhaps once even utilized by the strange fossilized beings that had been uncovered, hung the Shipnets. The giant ring structures which had allowed mankind to first embark upon his exploration of the stars and was now the very lifeblood of the tiny, and remote outposts he had began to stubbornly plant in the grudgingly barren worlds dotted through the galaxy. Four metallic circles with the darkest of shadows at their center and through them lay a different star system each with their own number of Shipnets, each forming their own spoke in the grand wheel of mankind’s borrowed network. It was around this that the slim and slender form of the Saratoga drifted like a child’s toy caught in an ocean’s current, listing with a slow purposeful gait around the ring they had emerged from. Watching, waiting. For an answer to their plea they had sent electronically screaming beyond them towards Earth and dreadeningly for something they didn’t know quite what but feared all the same.

Boredom and gnawing anxiety reigning supreme aboard the ship and her crew, the taste of it in the air as Todhunter sat restrained in his chair. Scratching at Ofog’s furry throat who floated beside him like some sort of furry, beached whale. The big shepherd dog choosing to stay in the flight cabin instead of with his troubled master who had retired once again below to the general quarters, even going so far as to leave his treasured spot in front of one of the cooling vents which failingly tried to keep the closed and cramped conditions of the tiny room bearable. The animal, despite it lethargic demeanor, eyeing carefully the officer stroking its fur and Sims nervously tapping at the consol of his controls waiting for…something. Every unexpected sound, every creak of the hull or crackle from the wiring of the controls, sending out a rippling tremble through the shaggy beast’s body. Hinting that beneath his placid and serene appearance he wasn’t immune to what was occurring.

“Easy boy…easy…” Todhunter whispered reaching over to scratch behind Ofog’s ear.

The dog whining sympathetically at the attention, one of his massive paws squirming in the air in sync with the officer’s scratching fingers, it was receiving and for a moment giving both humans in the flight cabin something else to focus on but the great lull they found themselves in. It was a short lived distraction and soon enough the furry animal’s natural sloth returned and he resumed his listless form once again, even if underneath there was still a tightness of tension. Just waiting for something to happen, tensing himself like his human crewmates for the “moment” and he would have to act. No more sure of what he would do when “it” arrived than the crew did.

But they didn’t worry about that, knew or at least trusted that they’d react no matter what happened. No it was the waiting they dreaded, the heavy silence of the stars as they slowly traversed their unconceivable paths through the heavens, the long pause between realizing a threat and being able to respond to it. A time of nothing to do but sit, pet the ship’s mascot, write the same report over and over and thank about the people left behind on Last Chance. An accumulation of debris and jetsam accrued into an asteroid base, home and hearth to hundreds of souls either as staff or traders docking to swap wears or have maintenance on their ships performed. Souls, men and even some women, left in the Saratoga’s wake without true warning to brace themselves against whatever had invaded the system and its intentions.


Yes, Todhunter thought about them. Pictured them, alive and full of health and vigor working, smoking cigars, playing cards and everything else the slightly unscrupulous station represented. He also pictured them tinged blue and encrusted with frozen water vapor drifting lifeless through the depths among the shattered debris of the station. Just as he imagined Tagget, who had grown unusually silent before his retreat to the lower decks, was doing about his friend old Ralph. A cheat, a scoundrel and a notorious salvager of “derelict” material their first meeting had ended up with Ralph manacled and bound for criminal charges on Earth and in many ways it had only slightly improved over the years. If actually pressed and enforced on any given moment half of the antics of the flamboyant station master and his base would break some regulation and the other half would inspire new regulation to be added. Still as Tagget had explained on more than one occasion when they’d put down stakes at his station he spun a good yarn and always knocked ten percent off of his notoriously gut wrenching ale for the commander and his crew.

Thoughts of the base’s personal and cliental, people Todhunter had personal met and others he’d only glimpsed when venturing aboard, dying in the most hideous of ways continuing to brow beat themselves over the officer, who continued rubbing Ofog’s fur, relentlessly assaulting him until at last “it” happened. With what felt like a jolt of electricity and the great shaggy animal bucking away from his grasp and flapping legs wildly in the air to reach the hatchway and its master the communication consol unleashed a hellish shriek. Dingy lights flashing on and off as Sims carefully extracted the tethered notebook out and began writing it down. Todhunter undoing his restraints and swimming over as best he could as the communication officer finished, acknowledged the transmission and than ran his pencil back over the seemingly random mess of dashed and lines decoding it back into sensible English.

“Well?!” The second in command demanded as Sims finished that stage of the translations, reaching beneath his seat to the webbing hidden there to extract the Com officer’s codebook to find the final cipher.

Turning nonsensical chatter and limericks into their superior orders, overly complex but helping to ensure as few people as possible along the line that had transmitted it would understand what was happening. HQ agreeing with Tagget’s assessment that the situation sensitivity was too great , to precarious, to not do absolutely everything they could to conceal and contain the possible threat. At least until they understood more what was happening.

“We are going to need Tagget. He needs to see this.” Sims answered deflecting the question, stopping after writing only the tiniest part of the beginning after reading the message in its entirety.

“Which ships are we linking up with? Where? This system or another? He’ll want to know…I want to know.” Todhunter insisted, Ofog already doing the job in rousing his master to the situation.

“We’re not. The fleet, the entire fleet, has been tied up. Not just them, President just activated the Spartan directive, almost every freighter, scout or water barrel with a rocket engine strapped on is to return to Earth to be deputized.” Sims said forcing himself to reread the dispatch even through he knew his translation was correct.

It was but it didn’t make what it said, what he had just said, make anymore sense. The directive was a hold over from Patton’s administration. A relic from the Simmering War between the US and the Imperium, the early days of space exploration as private business started their tiny toe hole in the solar system. That by Presidential decree all civilian shipping/commercial assets would turn themselves over for the duration. It hadn’t been called when the Bugs wiped out the ragtag armada sent to Planet X but now…

“Almost…whose left out?” Todhunter asked as Tagget’s face appeared in the hatchway rising up to resume command, unaware of the magnitude of what he would find.” Who would want to be left out from…whatever got this called?”

“Besides us? The freighter we are to intercept, take aboard their passenger before we do a turn around and return. The Bureau is sending us a specialist, one of their prized Spooks, to take over investigating the situation. To determine what, if anything, we are to do at a later time.” Sims answered turning his seat around switching from speaking to Todhunter to Tagget.” I’m sorry sir but that is what HQ ordered us to do.”

“Baby sit a Federal Agent while stumbling blindly in an unknown situation right next to a sworn and dedicated enemy.” Tagget mulled as he stopped by Todhunter’s side joined a moment later by the panting Ofog.” Frankly I’d rather be heading to Earth with the fleet but…if that’s what HQ wants that is what HQ will get. Decode the system we are to perform the interception so I can have helm get us on our way.”

New Hope, ground level-

The voices crackled over Donner’s headset as he rose up from the muddled ground and sprinted forward. Fragmentary transmissions fired low beam between troopers he snagged as he ran over the oven blasted meadow, old fashion tracers burning all around him, and flopped into the nearest fissure which ran like scar tissue across the ground to the rocky outcroppings the Xeno’s were dug in deeper than a Sarlacc.

“…under fire from mortar team, transmitting coordinates. Trying to hold us down while the rest of their squad breaks for the rocks…feth those suckers can move!” One soldier grumbled over the shuddering den of the raining explosives.

“Roger Roger!” Cackled another who’d spent too many hours watching old Clone Wars footage.” I see them…laying target beam on target and…goodbye!”

From above Donner’s head as he stood up in a crouch inside the scarred and burned shallow an AT-ST lumbered past. Its large bulky head swinging with a disorderly purpose oblivious to the slug pellets pelting against its gray hide to something unseen by the assault commander where its chin mounted guns bristled with ferocious but transitory activity. From a distance there came the explosive crack of atomized topsoil and pulverized bodies, still echoing through the din of battle as the former trooper radioed in his thanks. The walker itself unsteadily turning its head back around and moving parallel with the advancing Donner firing once more at some unobserved foe before a heavy caliber projectile than the anti-personal pellets it armor had withstood without incident hit it off to the side. Splitting the war machine open with its shaped charge and igniting the volatiles stored onboard, hot sparks and molten “blood” pouring from the wounded steel beast as the walker lurched briefly away from the impact before toppling over further disintegrating in flames.
Another appearing to replace it as the assault commander pressed on following the raggedly cut trench towards the enemy’s position, cutting across the bloody remains of either side that had fallen locked together in blood fever and combat towards the nearest ravine that butted up against the base of the outcroppings. Reaching it just as the latest lacerated body of the alien race was thrown down at his feet by a fire-team huddling at the crater’s lip, several of their number pointing their guns downward and continuing to pepper the corpse with plasma bolts as an unmasked sergeant shaven bald and a mess of knotted scar tissue hurled a grenade up over the side. A moment later rewarded with the bomb’s blast and the renewing of a machinegun which swept just over head trimming away at the ground soil.

“Look alive men.” The bald sergeant snapped when he spotted the grimy and dirty Donner slowing to a trot towards them, bearing what he meant as a disarming grin and revealing blood stained pink teeth in a battered jaw.” Assault commander present.”

“I’d rather they’d they looked over there.” Donner said dryly pointing out of the shallow to the rise of earth and rock.” Every gun we knock out makes it easier for the rest to move forward. If we can get inside their defensives…”

“Understood sir, were planning too once we finished picking off the riflemen they sent our way.” The bloody toothed one said with a chuckle, slamming an armored fist against the chest of the trooper beside him to get his attention.

Directing him as one of those to stay behind and cover the advance of his brothers, orders that were never finished. The words drowned out by the high octave dirge of the projectile which arced over the stormtroopers’ heads and blossomed into hundreds of dangerous knife like slivers. Curses muffled and bodies falling as shards impaled into the ground and the sound of the blast echoed and faded, silence replacing it over that particular stretch of the battlefield as the bodies laid motionless on the sandy soil. The voices however didn’t stop.

“…gunner’s nest grid 2-2-4. Someone…we need it taken out…”

“…I need infantry support, their slipping in between my walkers…cutting us apart…”

“…headshot! You are, I repeat, you are free to proceed. Target neutralized.”

“Medic! We are pinned at grid 1-0-9, I have a trooper whose leg has been severed above the knee by shell fire. Attempting to staunch the bleeding but…”

“Feth! Fething feth! They’re everywhere…oh Emperor help me…help me…”

So many, so many. Continuing to buzz away like gnats and slowly the fingers on Donner’s hand stirred. Sinking into the soft soil beneath him, tightening around a handful of silt as he began to push himself up. The red stained dirt squeezing out between his fist as he sat up shaking his head to throw off the echoing ringing in his head, stopping as it only made it worse. Some of the bald man’s fireteam joined the assault commander in this testing, unsure movement. Others didn’t, remaining where they lay on cushions of scarlet.

Above all their heads the machine gun continued its relentless chatter chiseling away at the at the ground continuously reminding them of its presence. Of the threat it represented. That clarity searing its way through Donner’s fog like state like a laser cannon and leaving an opening for all the other voices mingling through the ether to pour in, sending him the energy to walk without swaying and in turn shake each of the remaining troopers from their fugue.

“ Snap to it! We’re going over the top.” He ordered shoving the unmasked soldier against the rocky wall of the trench.” That gun still needs to be taken out.”

The bloody toothed trooper grunted, senses too raw still for words, nodding briskly only to be stopped as what felt like a solid wall struck his face and held a gloved hand up to his cheek both to steady his throbbing cranium as well as stem the puckered wound cut across his cheek. A long red stripe running just beneath his eye down towards his dirt smeared throat and bleeding freely even as he probed filth encrusted fingers into it. The other hand he gestured to his remaining squad mates who wordlessly shook off the worst of what they felt and began to drift towards the lip of the crater. All except a squat little guy who passed over the soldier he’d been helping to support, much of his leg a twisted and red mess, over to the bald sergeant as he hobbled himself over to Donner.

“Your hurt.” He exclaimed with a note of panic drawing everyone’s attention to the side of the assault commander’s abdomen which leaked crimson from several banana shaped gashes.

It didn’t hurt however, at least not yet, with Donner testing it with a heavy and deep breath of the smoggy, war torn air as he glanced down at the wounds. Feeling nothing he shrugged it off and pointed a red tinged hand back over where the others were crowding.

“Feth, I don’t have time to bleed.” He said with a roll of his tongue, almost laughing, turning away from the concerned subordinate and trotting back where the scar like crevice branched off of another.” Just keep the gun busy.”

“You heard him men!” The bald soldier could be heard to yell over the roar of renewed blaster fire as Donner ran along.” Shove the plasma down’em until they choke.”

His rallying cry answered by the battered but unbroken hollering of his men who fired from the safety of their pit, shooting just out over the rim at the emplacement which could do nothing of kind in return. The machinegunner only able to continue firing over their heads to thwart any attempted advanced distracting them while the assault commander closed in for the kill. All he had to do was carry it out before the enemy radioed in another mortar strike, first climbing up over the side of the soft and porous wall then scrambling in plain sight where any rifleman could peg him away until he reached the base of the rock then toss a thermal detonator in and scramble away before it cooked off.

So easy. He scaled the wall without difficulty, digging his elbows into the cracked and scorched ground which crumbled beneath his weight to finish dragging himself onto the surface, with the barren looking and blemished ridge only a few meters away. Between its nooks and crawling over its bald “peak” he spied the enemy hawing to themselves, shooting or merely surveying the shifting and rolling battle trying to stop fools like himself. But he was one man, alone and isolated, and very fast none of their eyes fell on him as he ran. None of the sharp crack of their slug throwers were for him, his hide never feeling one of the piercing pellets that would have shattered bone and sent ruptured flesh flying. So very easy.

He reached the rock, leapt onto its blacken and cracked side, feeling only the slightest tingle of pain from his side. The merest poke as he draped himself against the odorous stone, scraping himself along as aliens above fired selectively and in full auto into the raging storm of humanity. The casings of their primitive weapons cascading down in copper showers around Donner who continued sliding across towards the mammoth black gun protruding out from a fissure in the dense rock. So close, he was so close now. He just had to take his detonator from his belt, toss it into the Xenos’ faces.

So close but the pain was growing worse now. Each hot breath thick with burning chemicals and alien musk feeling like spikes were pressing into his body and the enemy was so fast. He’d seen how fast, almost poetic the way they moved.

Donner hated poetry. Pulling the bomb clear he primed it and with one final breath leaned around the opening squeezing himself against the roaring minigun and tossed it through. A flash of surprise, fear as well as understanding dawning on the gunner’s face but by then it was already too late. The assault commander leaping away out of the reach of its clawed hand it had reached for him with, landing on his bad side which felt like a bantha kick and rolled as the thermal detonator went off. A gust of incinerating “wind” rushing out through the opening flinging the now aflame arm out over the battlefield and through every other crevice or crack in the nest’s chamber. An enemy approaching from above howling with rage and pain as it was enveloped by the blistering heat, its roasting body becoming apparent to Donner as it flipped over the side and tumbled down the rocky side to a crashing landing on the dry and ruined landscape. Its once green skin popping and splintering away revealing the moist pink mess underneath.

“Attack! Attack!” Donner hurled over the rushing howl of the burning conflagration he’d ushered into being.” What’s the matter with you apes? You want to live forever!?”

“By the Emperor!” The bloody sergeant shouted back cresting over the lip of the trench leading all the men that were able, each firing at everything still moving on the ridge.” Drive them back men! Drive them out like the worms they are!”

They ran as they fired, not caring that they struck anything only that they hindered the other side long enough to reach the outcropping. To reach the enemies position before they recovered or more shells landed shattering them. So Donner instantly realized something was wrong when first the short trooper and than the sergeant halted, turned their carbines towards him. Behind him he felt a shadow fall over him, one too large to belong to a human, and turned after it. Catching only the briefest glimpse of green as something swung up like a harvesting scythe from the ground at his leg and heard but didn’t feel the bone break like cheap glass.

The world teetering and than rushing up towards him as he continued to spin around, watching as the alien reared itself over him. The long, iron hard, tail that its lower torso tapered into coiling around its blistered waist as the snarling thing flung out its bare chest and stretching out musculared arms ending in taloned points. Blaster bolts, from someplace distant the assault commander fuzzily pieced together as he hit the ground, struck it at that instant blowing chunks from that puffed scaly chest and chewing away at a gnarled shoulder but the beast didn’t fall. Didn’t wobble, instead diving like a Mon Calamari to water down upon Donner. Again he could observe but not experience the hand he raised to protect himself, the gauntlet as if made of flimsies against the claws. Rending through the skin and bone leaving a gushing, indistinct mess, another sprouting from his chest as it other hand sought his beating heart. Pulling the ruby dripping daggers away empty handed only as its body fell over Donner’s pushing him into the ground. His feeble attempts to pushing the suffocating weight of solid bone and muscle immediately curtailed as its tail burrowed through the cracked and barren soil emerging around his waist and legs which it tightened like a vise with a crackling crunch. Prey secure it bellowed like an animal from its burned and flaking jowls it through back its head and flung out its arms slinging blood trumpeting its rage, ignoring the torrent of shots Donner’s wobbling arm fired into its side, in preparation for the killing blow. Jaws as massive as a rancor’s splitting open revealing jagged steak knives for teeth which lunged to engulf and devour the assault commander’s head.

The distant bolts continued their bombardment which had rained unceasing since it had started but couldn’t cut through the armor like skin or dense layers of muscles underneath fast enough to be of any use. No one beam could pierce deep enough to do enough damage and the thing moved too fast, far to fast for the languished slow death the bolts entailed. So it fell to Donner, fire blossoming in three of his extremities as he twisted and shoved his rifle up into the stygian abyss of a mouth.

“Eat this!” He flung at the creature as he squeezed the trigger, emerald packets of death exploding into the soft and gummy interior of the Xeno’s mouth.

Triggering a spray of fiery matter upwards into the cranial socket, broiling the brain away and lastly turning the back of the beast’s head into a gory volcano of viscera and steam. Then there came blackness, dull and distant pain as he felt his gun’s arm shoulder snap under some great strain, and than the harsh light of day silhouetting the sergeant’s leering face. His features pale and drawn as he pushed some shadowy mass off of Donner, the short trooper appearing at that point crouching over the assault commander. Speaking, saying something he couldn’t quite understand.

Beyond him however, drawing Donner’s focus, were more troopers who emerged from the emerged from the ravine and sprinted across to the foothold on the rocks he’d helped create. Watching them as his vision faded again be shot by the determined defenders, stumble and regain their footing as they pressed on. Those that did fall never giving their life away cheaply, showing the strength and superiority of humanity to the scaly aliens to the very last. Only one word bubbled up through the thickening mists of the assault commander’s mind to describe it, one thing to sum of their heroism and valor.

“Gallantry.” He wheezed as he slipped away into the darkness again.” Show it to them…show it…and make…them…afraid…”
*
And now a very special reminder:

Remember everyday thousands of random internet wackos have their falsely inflated egos threatened and crushed by the cruel vise of reality but for the mere cost of one comment you can help such people stay delunsional penning their screeds and off the streets. Otherwise they may seek comfort and understanding in "relationships" or with family leading them to develop a "life" and we can't have that. :)

sonofccn
Starship Captain
Posts: 1657
Joined: Mon Aug 28, 2006 4:23 pm
Location: Sol system, Earth,USA

Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Wed Aug 17, 2011 1:51 am

Okay I've heard your plea and know what you want! Epic space battles? Putrid horrors from the deepest reaches of hell thirsting for blood? No! You want a bunch of old guys sitting at a table being lectured to by a younger bloke in a prussian uniform and I'm going to give it to you. :)

Okay being a little more serious its a talky again, Krevin tries to widen his foothold on New Hope and meets his enemy...well beside the lizard-men but they kind of hate everyone.

"The Venusians were blasted back into a dark age upon the loss of an Atomic War, the Martians have descended into total lecherous depravity and carnality that their wretched malformed bodies can perform or their loyal metal servants. We lay with with our center carved out from us in our own radioactive hell fire, men scrambling for bits of this or that killing each other. And out there beyond it all the Emerald goddess waits plotting in the stygian abyss. Controlling us letting each race rise only to caste it down in pieces for her amusment. I wonder how much longer until she tires of us?" Graffiti screed found in a deserted outpost on Mars.

New Hope, Lord's Chamber-

Commander’s Log: The locals appear to lack protocol droids or the equivalent so speaking in Cheunh should be sufficient, I guess trawling the edge of the Ascendency did have its uses, suffice it to say things have been interesting. But for the most part they have been compliant, even subservient, to me. Tired and desperate fools clutching at the feeble straws of hope I provide, the sight of which stirs…an odd form of loathing in my breast. Their trappings, temperament, even their speech at times is so like the Galactic Empire’s…to see them reduced to this almost hovel like existence…reduced to needing an outsider’s help to reclaim their rightful place even for one like me it’s disheartening to think of the Empire so lowly laid.

Spying one of the gray haired nigh fossilized relics push himself up off of the table, on which lay the latest field reports and aerial photographs a pimply teen dressed in an ill fitting uniform had entered with and laid down onto the edifice, Krevin dropped his topical and largely chaotic log report. Switching back flawlessly to his natural basic as he smiled warmly at the tottering old fool in a garish murky green uniform with a chest full of silver and gold medals. He, along with the dozen other gentlemen seated at the table, making up the world’s leading council whom had agreed to meet with the Commodore following his boastful promise of salvation.

Krevin taking it more or less in stride that a short flight to the world’s capitol was a preferable move from either staying where he was, the frontier of a volatile and until now unpredictable war, or returning to the equally treacherous summit that was the Judgment with anything less than total victory in his gambit. The veneer of success was all important, it was Republic credits if the tentative peace collapsed after he returned all conquering and peerless hero. Failure could always be blamed on those who came after, and the Commodore could be assured there would be no shortage of fingerprints on any potential mess, followed by a controlled turbolaser volley and a second round of negotiations.

The trip through the fledgling city and the wait before admittance to the holy chamber of the twelve pompous men who controlled this world had also given him time to absorb more of the local culture. Their strengths as well as their foibles and of course their haphazard belief in a precursor form of humanity. Odd spiels about Nordic warriors, Teutonic knights, lost civilizations, and forgotten but hinted at races. A confusing stew of conflicting thoughts and ideas that would serve to add flesh to the skeleton of a faraway but benevolent “star people” he’d struck upon telling these gullible rubes. An important weapon in his arsenal for through short term failure could be pawned away future success was critical, openly unsure how many of his crew out of fear would follow Tyler if he gave the order to rebel and hoping to prevent ever from finding out.

“The news is good, I trust honored leader?” Kindly inquired to the old man feeling a bit like someone asking a small child if he found a treat sweet.

“Excellent…most excellent. Praise the glorious leader the schlange are being destroyed. In all but a few tenacious holdouts they’ve been pushed back across the front… driven from the sacred borders of the Fatherland.” The old goat prattled holding up a black and white colored flimsy and pointing a gnarled finger at a smoldering wasteland of destroyed vehicles and charred bodies.” Never before have they been routed so…so utterly.”

He continued to prattle on about how great a victory had been achieved, continuing to prod the slim piece of paper in his exuberating, and Krevin allowed him to continue nodding every so often as he thought appropriate to keep up the pretense he cared. After a suitable time he motioned for the old army officer’s silence, making it appear like as if he was bashful from the praise, and exploited it to sink his hooks deeper into the statesmen and rulers.

“You give me too much service, when we saw of your plight we reacted as any of you would to save one of your offspring from a burning building. We are only thankful that on our long voyage to reunite our far flung heritage we camp upon this vibrant world instead of a one slithering with this unholy and repellent reptiles. For that miracle your thanks should be given to the brave men of your armies and airforces who battled against these depraved monsters for so long until our arrival.” The commodore said silkily doing nothing to dispel the notion of it being a significant commitment instead of a relatively modest affair.” It is truly they whom, if it were permissible, I would like to personally give my thanks. In all the worlds I have visited never have I seen so few suffer so stoically against so an inhuman a threat.”

At the closing of his words a pudgy man in civilian but heavily stylized and embroidered garb lifted up his flabby face from the incredulous photos and reports he’d assembled around himself like it was a feeding trough and peeled his lips back in a smile that showed far too many teeth while making his eyes all but vanish into tiny little slits.

“But that time is past now…now it is the Schlange who are doing the dying. Crushed beneath the superiority of mankind’s intellect and martial prowess.” The lumpy dough like man exclaimed pushing himself up with some effort with his arm as he extended a hand out towards the Commodore.” You and your mighty galleons are crushing them…space barges from which you can unleash regiments of soldiers…armored battalions…even cavalry at your choosing any place over the Schlange’s head. In but a few days this world will belong totally and without question to the Fatherland.”

The heady pronouncement, long dreamed by the ruling men who sat at the table since the uncovering of the blasted suspension-crypt, delivered bubbling from the fat man’s mouth with no more reality anchoring it than the day’s victory. A decisive turnabout in the mudball’s little war to be sure but far from the end of hostilities he so energetically imagined. Because of this he attracted Krevin’s attention, the Commodore beaming him a smile as he nodded his head in agreement in his pronouncement giving it weight, recalling the few bits and scrapes he had learned about the man.

Named Rathorn and a factory owner of not insignificant regard, obviously to obtain a seat on the council, he reminded Krevin of nothing so much as the toadying businessmen who swarmed Imperial contracts. Immense Hutt like figures who crawled towards whatever authority figure they could find, greasing each and every palm with slips of credits or promises, and prostrating before them. Be it a grand Moff or a lowly naval Lieutenant just as long as they thought they could benefit. Smarmy, poor sighted buffoons who none the less had their uses, having spun complex webs around themselves of allies and useful tools to protect themselves and achieve their objectives. If properly handled they could bend or sway others into line, cement the power Krevin was trying to orchestrate.

To that end he opened his mouth to rebuff the compliments bestowed in the manner of a selfless hero, turning everything towards the peerless factories who had supplied the brave soldiers in the field, only to be interrupted by the only man in the room if not scowling wasn’t ecstatically happy looking either. Like Rathorn he was a large man through his lard was stuffed into a military uniform and held with a more rigid and dignified shape than the factory owner’s shapeless blubber. Through his jowls were no less bloated they appeared harder with his stern ironclad visage, flesh weathered by years of the elements and a pair of dueling scars which ran across either cheek from presumably his younger and slimmer days.

“ Are you so positive of that sir Rathorn? I was taught whomever takes a land controls it which would be our distinguished guest Commodore Krevin. For him to do as he wishes.” The fat officer scolded the plump businessman before swiveling in his chair to face the Imperial officer.” Not that I mean any offense, I am sure you intentions are honorable but, if you’ll permit this old tub of lard his suspicions, trust comes slowly to those of us who have already been burned. As well it is timely onto being storyesque for you to arrive now just as we face this grave crisis.”

“Of course, no harm done.” Krevin said keeping his smile even as he felt a stab of anger and the temperature of the room drop a degree as the rest waited to see how he proceeded.” If our positions were reversed it would only be prudent for me to harbor suspicions until a foundation of trust could be formed. I only ask you judge me on my deeds not on ill-formed fears.”

Any hopes of deflating the bloated and vaguely Neimoidian councilman were quickly dashed as instead of looking chastened or reprimanded the man curled the corners of his lips up into a big, false smile and leaned back in his chair. Placing the fingertips of his hands together he appeared to contemplate what the Commodore had said, scouring it for every hidden meaning and any conceivable vantage point for which he could assault it without fear of rebuke from his peers at the table.

“Of course and your deeds are great and selfless.” He all but purred.” It is truly to our good fortune that a brotherhood of humanity exists out among the stars and so freely offer us not one but three all mighty battleships without thought of cost of recompense. An ancient and venerable society of the stars who speak with an Englander’s accent at that.”

Still hopelessly ignorant of their local star systems Krevin didn’t understand precisely what was so humorous about what the fat officer said. Stiff but much needed laughter rising from the gray haired and elderly statesmen who far too long had suffered the tension and stress of their ignominious string of defeats. Eventually it died away, reminiscent of an AT-AT’s death groans after tripping on a tow cable, returning the room to the somber decorum that it typified but the wound however slight had been made. Leaving the Commodore to pick up the pieces and recover the ground lost, if any.

“We speak many languages. Most by people and beings you have never encountered, we chose this tongue because it was the most prevalent among our two people.” Krevin said taking a stab that the prevalence he’d encountered for the Englander’s tongue held up.” As for the sound my words take I can not say having met an Englander. However after what little you have told me of them and what I have observed of your own fine people I very much doubt I would care for them. Concepts like Honor, Martial purity, pure and naked order…these things make up the underpinnings of our confederacy of worlds. I see it here among you as well, brothers in spirit as well as body.”

Speaking with what he hoped was the right infliction of indignity to hint at woundedness without openly calling attention to it he let his honeyed words spill forth across the councilmen who drank it up like it was Pre-formation wine as he expected. Watching each puffed up a little more, stood a little straighter or simply looked a little more pleased with themselves. All but he who was quickly making himself a consistent thorn in Krevin’s side, the Commodore making a remembrance for the soul’s name as he watched him sit nonplussed that slightly off putting grin of his only growing wider.

Loudly clearing his throat of phlem, too much like a sarlaac’s belch for the Commodore’s liking, and ignoring the odd disapproving glare from his peers the fat officer placed his pudgy hands onto the desk and with some effort pushed himself to his feet. His trousers swishing as he walked towards Krevin, who for one fearful moment imagined the officer would go for the ceremonial gun holstered on his hip, placing a moist hand on the shoulder plate of the storm trooper armor the Commodore still wore gently but forcefully turning him around and directing him to the icy blue statue which took up one edge of the large onyx table and symbolic finished out their council of thirteen.

It was a larger replica of sculptures he’d seen throughout the governmental building as well as dotted out across the city itself, some made from bronze metals others sparkling with silver while this one had some unblemished blue stone flawlessly hammered and chiseled into shape, depicting a towering figure standing with his chest thrown out, his hands raised to either side in the air and his head tilted back as if staring up to the heavens themselves for answers the lesser pedestrian plebes who scurried beneath his gaze could never fathom much less answer. His sculpted body possessing of such defined and exaggerated of coiled bundles of steely sinew that if it was an accurate portrayal it was doubtful he could have even crawled much less stood so proudly while jarringly his head which crested above this titanic portrayal was a very flabby and squat little mash of a head almost lost beneath the expanded pectorals and protruding granite like shoulders.

“You speak of our brothers from across the stars valuing honor, martial strength, the necessarily of order and discipline. Values championed by our glorious leader you see before you, he who struggled mightily to unit all true people under it and spurn away the provocateurs and toxic deviants who sought to bring our race down.” The blubbery annoyance exclaimed in a reverent voice which cracked on the edges to an exasperated sigh and a roll of the eyes too quick for all but the Commodore to trace.” So I hope that you, and all of our brothers and sisters who we now know dwell in the void, understand my resistance is precisely because of these traits we share. On my honor I swore to the Leader to defend the fatherland, to defend the human race, against the xenological manifestations who wish to control and enslave humanity as well as the duplicitous collaborates who betray their heritage to be lap dogs to inhuman horrors. Safeguarding the very last of humanity from our world not to be lead astray by decadent worms eager to submit to alien masters we must be eternally vigilant and dedicated regardless of our personal opinions. Our sworn fealty demands nothing less and would be less than the Schlange should we abandon our word.”

Move and parry. The clash of the phantasmal swords echoing in Krevin’s ears as he traced the gossamer strings the fat officer had just pulled for the rest of the council’s lords. Some, indeed many, of course were immune to its effects being practical men of power including Rathorn who still beamed abject approval and compliance at the Imperial but to the Commander’s horror he saw that some seated at the council table were like first year cadets. True and firm believers in every platitude and hoary sentiment expressed, far more than he dare even think possible, and reminded of the convictions they’d sworn to upheld if not swaying at least buoying dangerously. Enough to pose a challenge should they and the fat officer ally themselves into a wedge against the Commodore. Their eyes, as well as those he still held sway over, watching him intently for his response and with his mind still scrambling and his mouth empty and dry he began. Walking towards the statue of their leader in bids of hiding the sweat forming across his pores and his panicked expression as he fumbled for the words, any words, to right himself and send his newly discovered enemy on the defensive.

“I know that promise all too well, and the sting of humans who betray their birth right to kneel before alien swine. My worlds are not always turbulence free, epic and drawn out sagas of us reaching out across the cosmos settling new worlds of glistening promise like newborn children only to be dissolved and dragged back into dark ages as people grow corrupt and scheme with inhumans. Our worlds divided and held in disarray by cold hearted beings…caste us to the lash, or gladiator pits if it so amuses them or at times carve us up as food to feed their gluttonous appetites.” He exclaimed turning and sweeping his arm across the council table, the words spilling from his lips like fresh water from a babbling brook.” Always through at the apex of our destruction a grand champion wiser than his years and more foresighted than the most venerated ancient seers arises. In this final cataclysm it was…Father Palpitine leader and saint defender of Humanity and her peoples.”

It took every bit of Krevin’s will power to not to roll his own eyes as he said those words, somehow sounding all the more false and bitter in his voice by mixing the gnarled despot into his colorful fantasy than when he’d been spieling more vaguely. However he saw that his audience, even his fat opponent, hung on spell bound as they were treated to a microcosm of what he gathered occurred to them. Taking heart from that and more importantly strength he kept his facial muscles locked in a reverent mask no matter how much it wished to slip away and continued falling back on old Imperial “Why we fight” infovids and hokey science-fantasy melodramas.

“Yes…Father Palpitine…a knight from the world Naboo…saw the plight of humanity petering on the knife blade of Xeno hatred and vitriol and swore to save it. Destroying the unholy cabals of alien…merchants and their greedy calibrators who ravaged humanity’s kin and held them in bond-servitude, obliterated the great armadas bristling with weaponry and united our far flung core worlds bring knowledge, peace and understanding wherever he went. Reforming the ancestral Imperial Confederacy of Man as it had stood millennia ago and upon that epic deed at last retired to his chosen capitol of Imp-of Coruscant. A glittering jewel of a world which under his fine guidance and leadership became a paragon of virtue and courage as great as he himself.” The commodore continued.” But as I said I know the heartache of when man betrays man for his alien masters and no sooner had our Confederacy been born than festering sycophants of our former oppressors emerged from the shadows to gnaw at our foundation. Prolonging our absence from our children we longed to reunite with, eager to learn more than the fragmented records we unearthed, and even now consumes much of our resources so that only the barest fraction that you see in orbit of your world can go forth into the depths and reunite the stars. Yes gentlemen I know all too well the hardships and suffering that comes from fighting to protect humanity from itself. All too well.”

His audience watched fueling his outburst and without their conscious knowledge helping to shape and create it. As if locked in the mad and drug induced delirium of the jaded poets and artisans who crowed the lower berths of Coruscant Krevin’s path rippled into being a step ahead forever reflecting and shifting the slightest twitch or tear misting eye. Carrying him to the table where he thrusted his hands down upon it as if to spear a Megarachinid and causing his voice to crack down its middle just like it would had he been choked up with troubled or bitter tasting memories.

“All too well I know that particular sting. Fed by their perverse lust for power or their raw greed for alien coin the saboteurs came spreading their rot and discontent turning man against man and allying either with foul Xenos. A thousand faces to each some garbing themselves as impartial mystics while others pretended to be the most pious and loyal to the cause. It is my shame that many who wore my uniform we so lead astray, doing all to weaken and dissolve the bounds which held each world together.” The Commodore cried allowing just the slightest additional warble in his tone and the faintest moistening of his eyes which darted from each seated Lord pleadingly.”But it is my eternal and forever regret that while we voyaged long to reach the hinterland of our lost children that our Glorious Lord and Father Palpitine gave his most courageous sacrifice for his chosen people. Far from our native kin we heard only the cold whispers from the void of his great battle, betrayed and ambushed by those who wore the colors of humanity but worshipped alien forms, and took heart even as we realized a new dark age may consume our lands at his final words. His final words as he drove his sword into the corpulent alien commander, recorded and spread by electronic scribes. Weep not my children for this is not the end of me, through each of you I shall live and grow strong. Show not one tear but our bonds of humanity forever lasting and strengthened.”

Krevin stopped there, not finished but wanted to appear so allowing his head to roll forward and his shoulders to slump. Waiting with baited breath as his audience absorbed all that he said. Let it scramble and burn in their mind and just as the fire of excitement lit at their tongues to speak he arose with renewed vigor for his finally that may have been dulled or diluted by the deluge polluted senses but not now. It was like a channeled and focus nova blast and like a forge’s dragon like breath it left them pliable, malleable to the Commodore’s hammer blows.

“If you ask me to beware of human thralls I will say you must always be on guard against those who would put their own selfish or grotesque wants before the greater whole.” Krevin thundered darting his eyes quickly to his fat opponent but not so swiftly that others couldn’t follow and understand.” If you wish to reject me I and my vessels and legions will depart with full understanding and no bitter thoughts save for the missed euphoric of the union of our two different but united people. I only ask that you make the decision wisely and with deliberation not out of panicked emotion at the sudden changes that have occurred or driven against your people’s interests by dubious parties with their own agenda. Thank you and now may I ask your indulgence I ask my leave form this fine chamber.”

Finished The Commander bowed his head to the assembly and turned on his heels for the door, his ears tingling in anticipation with every step he took. On the third he heard the soft, spongy echo of Rathorn’s hands striking together, on the fourth two more been vindicated in joining and by the fifth two thirds unleashed their rumbling ovations. Ovations Krevin acknowledged by turning back towards the table and humbly nodding his head once more towards the august body pausing as he lifted it for the most infinitesimal length at the fat officer whose face was a deep purple shade and winked at him causing the scowl etched across his doughy face to lengthen.

“No hard feelings.” The Commodore thought to himself as he resumed towards the entrance.” You don’t get command of a Super Star Destroyer unless you can move a crowd of old duffers and you don’t keep it unless you know how to spot and defang a threat.”
Last edited by sonofccn on Wed Aug 17, 2011 2:46 am, edited 1 time in total.

Admiral Breetai
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by Admiral Breetai » Wed Aug 17, 2011 2:31 am

Mckenzie the god slayer? you do my honor sir. and right after I toss a chapter up you one up me with a better one lol

Krevin IS AWESOME HE'S A FUCKING GENIUS..the guy could give Vi'retess a run for his money good lord nicely done!

sonofccn
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Wed Aug 17, 2011 2:41 am

Okay guess I'm in the mood for pesudo-political drabble. As well I was always a touch upset I only did quotes from my universe and I wanted some flavor for the main characters of this fan fiction. Basicly I had Tyler, in the future, pen some great tomb basicly on how to be a manipulative B*stard. If it isn't too terrible I'll irregularly continue it.

“ Man in his heart is still a wild and dangerous animal easily startled and provoked into the most savage displays. That’s while we’ll win, while the other races are setting the ground rules and what is at stake we shove the broken shard of bottle into their throats and smash their face into the bar’s edge until it breaks into pulp.”
Major Kness, extremely, candid response when questioned on humanity in relation to known life in the universe.

…I have found it works best if the Lord Protector is offered three choices. One the completion of which requires zealous courage and fortitude, the second phrased mild and inoffensive to the senses and third, and most important, one of cowardice and escape. While disheartening to some that chosen defender of humanity would ever shirk from his monumental duties in my experience such an option, if blatantly baited, serves as a release valve for seditious thoughts which might otherwise percolate and will guide the Protector’s hand into a sterner response than he might first have envisioned or desired.

Similarly the first option must be so phrase to overly assert the frantic loss of life and needless sacrifice so shall the Protector disregard it as well with the reminder of its harshness a countering whisper to the fear based option’s one as well it will serve to entrust and affirm his generals, adjuncts and hanger ons of the Protector’s deeply held concern and benevolence over humanity and those who serve him. Just as a knife blade may prove the crux of a mighty battle so too can a war master’s faith that his leader would not callously dispense him to the fate’s of war serve to harden his resolve and allow him to defeat arrayed forces many times larger than his own.

Having made these enlightened and noble deductions the Protector shall be rendered solely with the middle option that you have selected as the only just and honorable course. It should be as pleasing to all ears as the gentle hum of freshly falling rain, held together like a morning mist shapeless and without definite form so not to offend anyone party. Do not dispense with shrewd insight or crucial knowledge but if the path to victory is to be paved with the skulls of dead shroud the ownership of those skulls, the enemy’s or the General’s, if cities are to be razed speak solely of the insidious rabble with dwell within their rotted walls and of the gleaming marvels the master artisans but await to erect in the honor of the Protector’s loyal servants, if it is defeat itself you must face guild it under the façade of ambushes and shortening the lines. Forever and always the Protector must be told the truth in all things but crafted so as not to loosen the daggers of his court at his throat, never must his authority be questioned or his leadership put in, serious, doubt.

Memorize these rulings young ones, practice them until they flow from you with all the naturalness of a serpent slithering from its burrow. Make it a part of your being and you will have succeeded in your first part in serving your Lord Protector. Fail and you have betrayed him worse than a thousand Xeno worshipping fools, an act for which there is no forgiveness.

Should you not fail in this endeavor it will fall upon your shoulders to help and abide the Lord Protector’s selection to carry the task out. The optimum alignment differing from task to task be it an envoy of peace, exploration of a new world or choice assignation of a supposed ally with a labyrinth of complex variables and minutia unique unto itself and as such I shall list the first few hundred most common ones alphabetically.

To Annihilate a troublesome alien race one must first…”
Extended excerpt from Archservitor Mallus Tyler manuscript “Treaties on Subservience and Devotion” circa 55 N.E. ( 2023 AD old calender)

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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by Admiral Breetai » Wed Aug 17, 2011 5:41 am

really nice, honestly that reads like something you might find in an ancient manuscript written by a philosopher or an ancient politician

sonofccn
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Wed Aug 17, 2011 1:13 pm

Admiral Breetai wrote:Mckenzie the god slayer? you do my honor sir
His deed was great enough to be venerated in two universes. Besides it just sounds cool. For the god slayer! Shouting it makes anything, even taxes, somehow better and more exciting.
Admiral Breetai wrote:one up me with a better one lol
You have a freaking shape shifter playing parlor games with a Federation task force. I have a guy speaking in a solitary room. I really think you are underestimating your own addition.
Admiral Breetai wrote:Krevin IS AWESOME HE'S A FUCKING GENIUS..the guy could give Vi'retess a run for his money good lord nicely done!
No Vi'restess could cut him up and eat him for breakfast if for no other reason Krevin has no over arching goal or plan beyond keeping his skin intact. As well he's developed quite a case of paranoia not all of it deserved.

Lastly he's preaching to a prebuilt audiance who are both desperate and who have a hodpodge belief system which is already geared for a lilly white guy to come from outer space and proclaim universal brotherhood. The accent is a bit odd but they can swing it. Vi'retess on the other hand has convinced GOOD people he is on the side of the angels and has them all twisted around his little finger, in my opinion there is no comparison.

sonofccn
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Tue Aug 23, 2011 1:50 pm

Sorry another talkie. I swear I do plan to have something actually interesting happen, I really do. I even have a rough idea of what I want it just won't come togather instead all I keep getting are people arguing around a table. Sorry.

“Steel bars shall rust, cityscapes will crumble and even the titanic mountain ranges shall one day perish but never shall my love for what I did diminish. You ask me to renounce what I have done I proudly declare them to the highest heavens. For what mortal or indeed all but perhaps the Nordic gods of old could have seen what I have seen, done what I have done? To stand at with the spires of a church top above a village swarming with enemy tanks dosed in the very fuel they need to move. To stand there and toss a lit match to the filled street below…can you imagine it? To feel the pulse fade of the fat bureaucrat you spirited from his armed bunker, letting him gaze upon his reflection of the ransom of gold paid for his release. That is to truly live and I shall never betray it.” German Saboteur and specialist the Commando during the Oslo trials when asked if he showed remorse for his past actions.
Wraith, Jackson quarters-

The door opened with a faint swish which was all but overshadowed by the vibrant if oddly subdued music which wafted from the vaunted room. A very classical composition dating from back centuries on Soth Thejas with quick almost frantic but controlled playings of a string instrument accompanied by the selective but copious thunder of drums and the stirring eagle like cry of trumpets which all melded together to form a hauntingly pitched siren call. That made one think of the flapping of frayed but revered banners, the crunch of soil beneath well trod boots and the coppery scent of blood on the air after a battle.

And a battle indeed the two souls had endured standing before the grim faced Ambrose, the aid blocking the doorway with his powerful arms crossed over his chest as he regarded who had dared intrude upon the Commander’s rest, with their armor scarred and stained with ichors and blood that was all too human. Neither still possessed their helmets, discarded and destroyed in the heat of battle, and their exhausted faces looked lean and skeletal even under the layers of sweaty grease and caked on bile. The last traces of a death stick dangled from each of their torn and bloody lips and the younger of the two, almost swallowed up in his armor, made a reach with his hands to remove his but stopped in mid-flight and let his hand rest back at his side. The tiniest shrug of his shoulders rippling through his clawed armor as the tiny protesting voice whimpered and was smothered out.

“Reporting as ordered sir.” Stuart said sounding as weary as he looked, pausing for a second as he inhaled a vaporous cloud of chemicals and than laboriously raised a blood streaked hand up into a salute.

Ambrose acknowledged the two without comment onto their breach of regulation and Imperial edict, briefly feeling the tingle of a shudder of the thing which had emerged on the bridge before he squashed and destroyed the feeling, harboring nothing against those who had stemmed the cowardly invasion. Quietly bidding them entrance he turned and started back into the sub-divided room.

Each more spacious and furnished than a standard quarters for even officers each partition as well could be closed off and be self-contained which along with the concealed holo-emitter contained within each one would allow Jackson to continue command even in the event of a hull breach. A largely needless function as Ambrose had long ago sworn that should ever such a crisis occur and the captain was not at the helm he could add the aid’s head to his collection for failing him.

Directing the stormtroopers to a lounge like subdivision with rawhide stretched chairs and a low raised crystalline table sat between he directed them to a seat and gesturing with a hand towards a compartment whose door had been closed down.

“I will see if he is ready to submit to your audience. This shall not take long.” The aid said with the heavy tongue of one pronouncing a death sentence, turning without further word and walking over to the sealed door where he quickly jabbed some unseen combination into a keypad beside it.

Rookie and Stuart meanwhile, both fidgeting as first year cadets, nervously tried not to be out of place among their rustic surroundings or unduly apprehensive about their meeting with the man who resided behind only a few millimeters of durasteel. Both seeking escape from the relentless restlessness which caused gore encrusted fingers grip and rub against the immaculate chair’s rest and dirty stained boots scuff the smoky wood paneling the armored deck plate through the myriad of trappings their host had chosen to surround himself with. From the inhuman sized skull of some mutant resting as the crystal table’s centerpiece to the pair of lightsabers dangling from the wall together from a length of leather chord on every surface and from every direction the implements and relics of wanton destruction and slaughter were proudly displayed, not as immaculate trophies groomed to a flawless luster and sterilely placed vainly as more pompous commanders or statesmen might to boast of their conquests. These were spoils of war and bore the pitted and desecrated marks for it from the charred and cracked Mandalorian warrior helmet acting as a bookend on one shelf to the broke in two gaffi stick mounted crisscrossed over the rusty red segment of a sandcrawler each commemorated the event or battle it had been taken from, each with its own coarse and bittersweet story of its own.

Despite himself Stuart found himself recognizing the tale of the withered remnants, more than that he saw in the spiraling of their weaves where they merged with his own personal story. The Bowcaster with the dried blood preserved on its surface and resting in its polished oak cradle on the wall was from the pirate ship Yowling Fury which had only been resolved by boarding actions and fighting close quarters with the Wookie crew. He and his squad had been among those dispatched, the hectic hours long battle having the honor of being the first time he’d been shot in the line of duty granting him the sliver shaped scar running down his forearm. The tiny tube of blood-crimson sand resting on the shelf was from a security-op on a nigh worthless Rimworld, the corporal remembering the sweltering heat of the twin suns, the bleached scarlet desert beneath and the ranks of savage-desert people who broke and reformed again and again against the Imperial line’s volley. He also remembered that battle as where he witnessed his squad first shed blood, a lucky shot with an old fashioned slug thrower had been the knell for a pug of a trooper named Clarence.

And a dozen other relics held memories for deeds he had done or been a peripheral witness to their passing. A starship subdued, a planet pacified, a smuggler run curtailed, old faces vanishing back to one of the colonies either with a shiny new medal or stoically wrapped in the Imperial banner and carried, new ones appearing fresh and uncut by the passing events.

Such was the cyclic nature of those who served, as endless and eternal as the process by which stars died and were born in the galaxy, and a price shared mostly fairly between even the stout of timber Soth Thejas and a softer specimen from a coreworld. The seductive and sedative pull of each chipped and damaged memento, that bent dagger or perched battledroid hand, dragging Stuart so deeply beneath their collective weight that it was only the unique voice of Captain Jackson himself which could have lifted him. His voice as deep as any ocean complete with its own eddies of twangs and slight wobbles as emotion and action collided and merged cut forth from the shrouded lair of his sequestered quarters piercing and eliminating the morasses like tapestry of history like turbolaser fire.

“Well Ambrose, what did ya’ll find. Don’t tell me some lilly-livered fool was trying to rile you up, I reckon my boys know better than to convolute you.” Came a voice with no equal over the piping music which swelled like a bloated star from the room.

“The stormtroopers you requested an audience with sir. The ones who boarded the…alien infested freighter and who discovered the deceitful attack in the belly of our holdings. If you still so desire it sir they are waiting in your parlor for your admittance.” Ambrose answered once the roar had suitably died away through its echo lingered.

The acoustic remnant quickly joined and added to the exclamation which drowned out the aid’s reply and rose to new heights. The first like the screech of a Tie fighter passing overhead this was the same done by an Imperial Star Destroyer it aft section merrily aglow in backwash.

“There here?! For pity sake’s Ambrose of course I want to speak with’em, in the name of Soth Thejas any hard little varmint who did what they did I want to shake their hand. Ya’ll hear Ambrose? Get’em in, let me set my little old eyes on these two fine gentlemen.” Jackson puffed with an indignation that even without seeing him dripped with the smile that was attached to it.

His aid curtly nodded through showed not the slightest regret or warming to the two as he turned partway and gestured beyond. His voice spoken next with the softest whisper but with an iron force over each word.

“You may enter, remember he is a busy man. Do not waste his time.” He said in a voice not impolite but none the kinder for it as both troopers rose quickly and did their best hide their haste as they walked into the commander’s inner sanctum.

Fitting for its occupants it was a lair of extremes, the light from the phosphorus nodules in the wall were set too high producing a harsh bright light like a hypergiant, the temperature several degrees too cold for either trooper’s taste and the magnificent band playing off was struck at a sound range only Jackson could easily talk over.

He certainly seemed the pounding lyrics the fingers of one hand thrumming along with the music against the silver and gold hilt of the teal bladed sword he rested tip down at the side of the chair he reclined in. His upper torso bared to the frigid sterile air to better allow the long tracks of wound breath and be bandaged. Appearing colossal even in repose he all but eclipsed the gnarled and shriveled old man who frenzied tending to the puckered lacerations gave the commander’s face its sheepish embarrassment that creeped upon it, as that of a craggy and insignificant asteroid dwarfed by a sterling star so was physician Julius overtaken by his patient but no hands moved surer confidence or greater skill be they organic or mechanical. He was more than merely a skilled craftsman in his trade instead ascending in sheer artistry in how he could repair torn strands of flesh and sinew. The numerous discolored creases and irregular patches across Jackson’s form a testament to the wizened man’s ability, few others could have rebuilt and maintained the condition for which the commander so demanded of it.

In his own way the great healer was every bit as much a trophy as the trinkets of war axes and old style blasters plastered to the walls. Years previously after the fierce defense of the Mech world Gocdlrow and its outlying star systems but before he had so openly seditiously Jackson had been personally greeted and praised by the Sector Moff Victrain Cosa. A rare outing for the genteel but as cold as a Hoth winter Patriarch who tended under the guidance of his personal physician on a placid island on a small, tropical ocean moon, his usual steely demeanor broken in a gush of mushy emotion it was alleged he had personally clasped the commander who had prove crucial in saving his system and pledged a reward if he would but name it. Presuming the gilded prize of deserting the Wraith for the then new class of Super Star Destroyers but instead Jackson had settled for Julius who had caught his eye overseeing the overflow of wounded from the feral fighting.

Naturally his request was rejected, first amiably but increasingly final and vitriolic, the Moff most anxious at losing the healer he sequestered at his side for the past seven decades. From there the story permutated to as many stars hung in the heavens. Some spoke of Cosa being an expert swordsman who agreed to duel against the ruffian captain for the doctor while others spoke of Jackson ending the useless triad with one of his weathered fists. Still a third more audacious tale, but for the more popular of the lot, involved the Moff’s arrest by troopers loyal to Jackson and dragging him to a holding cell containing one of the survivors from the alien attackers. Holding the elderly statesman there at arm’s length from an enraged and blood minded creature until he relented to the demand.

Whatever the truth of the matter it was all forgotten, save for whatever blot on the commander’s personal file that resulted, but the key fact that after it was all done Cosa was humiliated and humbled and the captain received exactly what he had wished from the onset.

“Quit fidgeting. It’s hard enough figuring how everything ties back without you pulling the seams apart once more every time you twist.” Julius scolded with a wheeze as he made a ragged gash encircling the commander’s waste vanish to a tiny seam and than that behind a webbing of bacta soaked protectant.” I swear did you have to rip it out after it hooked into you, must my job be made difficult?”

“By jove do y’all have to say that every time I receive a little old scratch or get into a tumble?” Jackson hollered flinching not from the delicate probing of frail fingers in his guts but form the same which made his cheeks beneath his prickling beard turn red and burn from the stormtroopers’ gaze.” I’m not made from some dern fool glass or such, let me tend to my duties and I’ll let y’all tend to yours.”

“Bah duty!” His doctor snapped back stepping back to admire his work which satisfaction lasted less than a second before he withdrew his blood stained gloves tossing them into a waste pail and retrieving his medical wand, waving the device over Jackson like some tapered beetle buzzing about letting the invisible rays of its sensors wrap around him like a cocoon.” A word invented merely to keep an old man from enjoying his golden years, a sunny little spot where a not too salty sea meets white sandy beaches and lovely madams in grass skirts bring you endless rounds of sweet tropical wine.”

Such things were said frequently by the good doctor the way other men breathed and where in other commanders such insolence may have gathered rebuke in the captain he only gushed with a rafter shaking laugh, his unease and vulnerability of his current situation melting away like mists from the ages, and swatted the physician away with one grizzled hand as he rose to meet his guest.

All but imperceptibly balancing his blood loss and infernal chemicals pumped in to replace by leaning on his sword point he extended that same hand to Stuart and Rookie in turn with none of his iron gripped slackened from it. Ambrose, close at hand but in the shadows, looked on indifferent as each man wobbled from the exuberant tremors the commander’s stiff handshake produced while Julius sighed feeling every one of his years while he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“My boys I and the entire Wraith plus her compliment are proudly indebted to y’all. I only wish our meeting was of happier spirits.” Jackson boomed like a star exploding.” I’d blooming hoped to address you all properly like at my table but times they’ve changed and we y’all must as well. Tis a remarkable pleasure regardless.”

“It’s our honor sir.” Stuart answered for both he and Rookie who hadn’t quite managed to return to speaking intelligible levels yet.” I mean no disrespect to you sir but neither the things on the freighter or the aliens who boarded seem keen on taking prisoners, we didn’t do anything no one else would have done in our place.”

Which was the brain addled farmboy turned war hero kind of thing said in the cornball war-vids the corporal as a matter of principal tried never to watch but it seemed appropriate speaking to the commander of the star destroyer as he sat half unclothed having his wounds tended to. A conscious shroud rising over him as he raised his hand once more to the death stick perched over his blood encrusted lip removing it and after an awkward pause of holding it outstretched curled his fingers around it crushing it utterly. That hand than curving behind his back where he locked it in a clasp with the other.

The mistake of his actions only realized in the after as Jackson’s face darkened and his beard become just that more thorny, lasting only for a split second like a shallow summer rain but real and solid none the less, and reached out to the corporal. Resting his hand with the sound of a hammer striking an iron anvil against Stuart’s shoulder, his weight shifting from the sword to it as he held the enlisted trooper in place and focused his attention to what he was about to say. Leaning in close as if to say a whisper even though he used his same loud, abrasive voice.

“Never say that son, y’all don’t say it for life and you sure as shooting don’t say it to me. A man owns up to all that he does be it for ill or good and I won’t abide any of this malarkey of just a duty pushed on us by some soft coreworlders.” He said voice tinged with concern while his face had returned to the bubbling glow of happiness.” I wouldn’t reckon as many as one in ten could have done what you’ve done.”

“ It’s just sir…I mean…we didn’t mean to…what we did…we didn’t think we just acted.” Rookie exclaimed coming to the perceived defense of Stuart, nearly jumping out of his armor as the commander whirled around to face him in a blur while in the background Julius looked to the ceiling and shook his head.

“ Ya’ll saw a problem and by gum did your best to solve it, true sons of Soth Thejas. Good instincts both of y’all, don’t need some pompous over-thinking the situation and risking it spilling away from y’all.” Jackson declared risking falling over as he reached both arms out to clasp either side of the young man in a vise that had he wished it would have crushed the trooper.”Men of action, I need’em what more they’ll deserved to be rewarded.”

Releasing Rookie, whose face was whiter now beneath the filth coating it, he brought one of his large arms behind his back and hobbled back on his sword as he turned away and returned to his chair. Taking it as a predator took a rock outcropping overhanging a field of prey, his body not truly at rest but preserving his strength for when he would require it. The sword held in front of him with both hands on the hilt as he watched them expectantly, a large smile on his bearded face.

“I’m sorry sir?” Stuart asked cautiously as the moment lingered without answer causing Jackson’s smile to grow only wider.

“Ambrose tell’em about my little ol’ proposition. Let’em get a feel for it.” The commander drawled raising a hand off of his weapon and reaching it out towards his aid who stepped out from the corners with a sharp snap.

“Very well sir.” He replied with deference, his voice almost friendly, before returning to his former iciness regarding the troopers.” Out of respect for your displayed abilities, your alertfulness and steady composure during a crisis in addition to attrition of noncommissioned officers such as Sergeant Samuel you are both to be transferred to the Blood Hawks. Effectively immediately Sergeant Stuart you are to assume command over the late Master Sergeant Bragg.”

He said it so quickly, not with the haste of a man dispensing with duties he found undesirable but in a professional and strict to task manner, that there was several seconds delay from Ambrose’s declaration in the two stormtroopers. First it was with the steely statement of Bragg’s demise a name which meant all but nothing to Rookie but which caused Stuart a moment of disquiet. Through he had never known personally the man he’d been a friend to the fallen Samuel, through rivals may have been a better word to describe them. Regardless Stuart’s former Sergeant would be the first to admit that “hard nose devil” was one of the first you’d want at your side and on those rare occasions the Blood Hawks had acted in concert with Stuart’s now destroyed squad they had proved themselves well. A bit over zealous in their craft which had helped earn them their name but competent.

Next came realization of the second part of Ambrose’s pronouncement and Stuart felt like a jedi had just punched him in the stomach. To his side he heard Rookie gasp slightly at the surprising event, his weary face turning towards his NCO and upturning in a shallow smile at his good fortune. The newly minted sergeant just felt sick, feeling the same as he did in zero gravity with his stomach sloshing about itself and threatening to crawl up throat.

“Sir…I am not a sergeant. I’m just a corporal, I can’t lead a squad. I couldn’t even save my squad form dying on that freighter.” Stuart protested disregarding any fear of angering the sovereign of the star destroyer, moving towards Jackson who with a wave of his hand halted his aid in his place.” I can’t do it sir, I’m just a corporal.”

“Son there are times when y’all have no control over what happens, no choice in events. This is one.” Jackson spoke with the volume of roaring cannons returning his hand to his sword’s hilt.” This here is what makes a man, how he steps ups and acts when such things come.”

“I can’t do it sir. I wasn’t trained for this, I can’t replace Bragg or Samuel or anyone else. All I will be doing is leading good men like Rookie to his death and I can’t have that on my conscious.” He stubbornly protested back trying to make the commander see reason.

He might as well had tried to cower the force into submission. Jackson’s mind wasn’t altered in the slightest by the plea. If anything it only amused him, a thick good natured chuckle flowing from him as he gave his final thoughts on the matter.

“I reckon I can still pull rank on you sergeant so I gather y’all should be changing your little ol mind on the subject.” He said laughing.” But if it eases your concern if y’all prove to be blasted fool I’ll kill you myself and put someone else incharge.”

“Yes sir.” Stuart answered in defeat, stepping back beside Rookie with his arms folded behind his back once more.” Is there anything else sir, or may we be excused?”

“Oh I think that covers my hairbrained thoughts gentlemen, shower get some food in your bellies and report to Lieutenant Lee for your new assignments and duties. Mark my words however I will be keeping my little ol eye on both you from now on, we will need men of action in the days ahead. More than you can blasted imagine.” The captain answered fatigue he could no longer hide creeping into his voice as Ambrose ushered both troopers out like a protective den mother.
***
Judgment, Ready room B-

Across the glossy, smooth table as black as a collapsed star one of the reptilian aliens of the world the Judgment orbited lay with its immense body draped in death. Its flickering body a soft blue matrix projected from the table’s center along with an Imperial Army man for a proper sense of scale. The human figure, looking slightly ill as he stood with a light blaster in one hand and his helmet in the crook of his other arm, engulfed by the near three meter tall Xeno as a parent dwarfed a small child. They body, riddled with a score of blaster burns, had been propped up against a smoldering tree stump or large rock giving it a reclining position with the soldier standing for the photograph between its scaly torso with an arm engorged with muscle draped over his shoulder and the blood stained talons lightly placed against the threadbare armored vest the human wore. Much of his legs and lower body blocked from view thanks to the aliens long tapering tail which had either coiled upon itself upon final death or had been arranged as more cinematic by the photo taker. The number of loops the elongated strip of hard muscle and harder bone, reports plentiful of what they could do with it and how quickly, particularly disconcerting to the officers assembled for the viewing even more than the oversized fangs or claws.

Each finding their primal hatred of that particular form, of that hideously unique evolutionary line, fanned and fueled by vid captures, some full motion others merely stills like the one before them, audio and hand written reports as well as the condition of the first bodies being brought back onboard the Judgment. And while he was not immune to its venom laced charms, indeed more than most seated around him he abhorred the alien, Tyler knew he had called the meeting for more than the sharing of bitter tasting fruit of malice and revulsion.

“Similar to the saurian race we encountered along the Unknown Regions.” The subcommander said finally breaking the long silence if only to stir the appointed from their disgust induced apathy.” Similar build I think and from reports just as ill tempered.”

He paused letting what he said float away to his indifferent guests and he waited eyeing the chronometer built into the table at his elbow. One second, two…three…four…than the stirring of life. Shanulas, far from his field but the only credentialed one among them, broke his silent vigil over the static lined holo, eyes once glazed over with dulling effect of hatred and revile alert now as he looked upon the creature in a new light. Studying it now as a man of science rather than a human being, comparing it to what had been scavenged after the marauders defeat.

“Those specimens had legs. At least I think those had been legs…” Shanulas said slowly remembering the blacken crisps pulled from the wreckage.”Almost birdlike as weird as that may seem, much of their bone structure was similar, but these things…they evoke only the viper. Makes my skin crawl just looking at them.”

“They’re just an alien race, galaxies full of them.” A doughy faced Lt. Commander by the name of Rydon said unconvincingly looking at the projection and scratching repeatedly at red and raw back of his hand.” How to kill them is all that is important.”

From a royal family on an obscure but prosperous coreworld young Rydon had been bred for a life of luxury and would have continued to enjoy it had not his father sold out to the Rebellion. Rydon had survived by announcing his loyalty to the Emperor and tipping off the planet’s Imperial legion but the resulting strife had destroyed his father’s estate and left his name blackened. Excitable, mushy and reeking of an offending musk of nervous fear he none the less was reasonably competent in his duties and had kept the deployment of barges, landing ships, transports and shuttles as neat as a pin and on schedule.

“Which brings us back to the point of our little meeting.”Grumbled an older man in a modest officer’s uniform, face creased with age and the burns from where a powercore’s reactants had touched him.” We need to be formulating new and better tactics for disposing of these things not jabbering about how ugly they are.”

Lt. Kresh a very salty veteran from the Clonewars where he commanded a small gunship in defense of his home sector rather than the war at large. He was even keeled in a scrape if blunt and unimaginative but more importantly the nexus of vice and illicit pleasure he surrounded his off hours with helped ensure he’d do what Tyler “suggested” greatly fueling his selection to the little “council” he’d set about creating.

“Indeed.” Tyler remarked in agreement pressing a button and changing the image to a recorded feed of a probe droid surveying the aftermath of a skirmish letting the rolling images flood over them as they pondered his next question.”That I think is the question, how did they measure up in battle and how can we exploit it for an advantage. For starters technologically where do we stand?”

The subcommander’s eyes as well as the other two militant minded individuals seated at the table turned their eyes towards Dr. Shanulas who quickly shuffled through a print out of flimsies he’d compiled of raw observance of the alien’s equipment and machinery. It was far from complete and surprisingly dull even for his figure derived tastes, his mind frequently turning back to the unknown…thing in the asteroid field, but he thought it encroached the over arching subject adequately.

“ We have only our initial contact between our two races to base any suppositions off of but even at this early venture into the deluge of data obtained from the combat there are certain regularities and irregularities that cannot be denied.” Shanulas said putting up the necessary disclaimers like protective wards, Tyler’s preferred method to punish failure not completely lost to him even with his importance, before diving into the meat of it.” Undeniably from too many verified sources we have confirmation of plasma derived weaponry miniaturized sufficiently with energy cells of high enough density to exceed an E-web by an estimated factor of ten through this may be revised up or down as further analyses. Counter-intuitively we also have clear evidence their standard issue weapon is this.”

Jabbing a button in the table freezing the playing vid over the pockmarked corpse of one of the aliens and then narrowing and enlarging the frame for the comparatively slender bulkhead gray weapon clutched in one charred and bone protruding hand. Particularly he highlighted the quasi-drum like box jutting from the bottom of the gun barrel ahead of the firing stud.

“A slug thrower utilizing a rather straightforward chemical reaction to propel each individual bolt, referred to by ancient weapon-smiths as gunpowder.” Shanulas said pressing another button and jumping to a new image of a more cumbersome weapon far more deteriorated and blacken as if it had been too close to a thermal detonator.” The difference between these two is roughly the same steps between a crossbow and the Judgment herself. Additionally to our little puzzle we have clear prove their premier combat vehicle utilizes solid projectiles too, through of a far more refined and enhanced technique, rather than take advantage of the greater space and energy available for the chassis.”

“I’m not sure I see how this will help the Commodore cleanse the world of their pestilence.” Tyler noted dryly watching as the holo switched yet again to the burned out shell of an alien tank.

“Well I am not of the military mind, preferring the purity of science to the explosion of bombs, but studying pulled shell fragments from the returned bodies, calculating what I believe is the ammunition feeder’s dimensions and making estimates on the gun’s rate of fire one weakness would logistical. Their primary rifle’s endurance would be an insignificant fraction of ours, maybe thirty to forty rounds while even on the highest setting one of ours with a full powered cell will give you a hundred shots. Even factoring for their greater size and strength in any prolonged firefight they would be depleted first by a very comfortable margin.” Shanulas answered shifting through his flimsies once more until he found the notes he wanted.” In addition knowing their preference for solid projectiles I have began running some projections on modifying the shielding on some of our ground machines, such as the 2-M tank, to more effectively shunt away solid state weaponry. It will take some time to get the figures right but I think I can do it.”

Tyler nodded at giving his approval, content for the moment to settle for it. For anything that would allow them to carry out the Commodore’s goal, whatever that may be, without bleeding their resources away. It was to that end that he addressed not the scientist drifting back in his seat already starting on a piece of scratch flimsy but to the two military men.

“Good, now what about tactical? Forgoing raw advancement for the moment how do we fair against these things in actual battle?” Tyler asked pointedly rekeying the holo projection to play the roving battlefield as he waited for a response.

He did not wait long, no sooner than his fingers rising from the button than he received a fast and hot answer. Nor was he surprised it belonged to the cantankerous Kresh while Rydon sat with his plump, malleable face bent out of shape as he weighed and balanced on he wanted to phrase things. Unlike Kresh’s from the hip and sometimes scathing outbursts, having little care or need for the good graces or social oiling the former prince was accustomed too. Another mark in the old, seasoned warrior’s favor at least for Tyler’s consideration.

“They’re kicking our teeth in but we’re winning.” The Lieutenant answered in a huff.” Groundwise their battle tank is the fastest thing I’ve ever seen on tracks and its gun can cut through just about anything short of an AT-AT’s armor. Thank the Emperor they have a bloody shortage of the things with maybe ten confirmed contacts during our assault with roughly half favoring us.”

“The air war has gone much more smoothly.” Rydon chimed in, never one to miss heaping glory upon himself.” Their fighter crafts appear to just as rare in number and for the most part we have managed to keep them at bay with a liberal usage of proton missiles set to proximity. Our primary problem has been ground based emplacements targeting our landers, much of it too heavily dug in for laser cannons to remove. Perhaps one or two well placed turbolasers…”

“Not an option. The Commodore has no desire to “show our hand” to use an adroit turn of phrase this early with our negations with the natives.” Tyler was quick to snap before the idea could gain any traction, fully agreeing with Krevin’s train of logic on the matter.” We are doing this to win over minds to our cause not frighten them like small vermin. You are an Imperial Air Master surely you can humble a race who still uses solid state fueled rockets as an air deterrent.”

“I did not say we could not overcome them sir, merely suggesting the most efficient manner to achieve our inevitable victory.” Rydon said far too quickly to hide how deeply the sting of his pride had pierced.” I will destroy the remaining anti-air units in the target zone but I will require…allowances in the composition of my forces. To ensure a kill on an emplacement a Tie fighter must nearly dive straight upon them, if I could make squadrons up around strike crafts with a shield matrix the losses would be more manageable.”

It was an earnest as well as prudent request that would undoubtedly save lives. It would also deplete the very tiny stock of such specialized spaceframes, beyond the very modest number of haggled for advanced Ties there were a few more controversial items already being broken out of one of the Judgment’s vast storerooms, for which Tyler already envisioned other, greater things for. Imagining the tiny wing of fighters forming a tight, powerful core for the Judgment’s battlesquadrons and not wasted in a PR campaign he was doing his best to send only second hitters or “expendable” reserves into. Making the same ice-hearted decision which had ensured ninety-percent of the initial invasion force was composed of the Imperial Army instead of the more versatile and potent stormtroopers he moved against it by putting it up for vote.

The reason he’d created the little council, to better understand and undertake this new and unwieldy situation they found themselves in. Purely advisory, as well as cosmetic, it could not challenge the iron solid links of command transferred down from the Commodore to Tyler but it gave the proper signals he was willing to entertain his fellows which had its uses. Starting the vote by casting in the negative, giving reasons close enough to the truth to avoid scrutiny, it moved to Shanulas who abstained caught up once more in his theoretical work coming next to Rydon who voted for his idea and lastly to Kresh. Poor simple Kresh who between his frequent card playing and more perverse addictions had many people holding promissory notes worth several times an officer of his grade was valued at, the only one keeping his notes valid and worth more than the flimsies they were printed on was subcommander Tyler. Kresh voted along with the subcommander ending the discussion shortly and allowing the meeting to move on to the many other subjects waiting to be discussed.

Everything that needed to be ready and be done for when Krevin gave the order to expand outward from their beachhead and finish with the foul and loathsome race. Tyler had no intention of not being ready when his commander was, recently finding such thoughts as unsettling as he found the sight of the serpent-people.

Admiral Breetai
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by Admiral Breetai » Wed Aug 24, 2011 6:34 am

the 'talkies" as you say are just fine. this new chapter was freaken fantastic and the quote leading to it was pretty cool.

krevin and tyler are pretty awesome characters and i like the intrigue keep it up man

sonofccn
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Tue Aug 30, 2011 7:02 pm

Okay here the first part of what I hope will be a bit of good not talky segments. The bravely glorious and gloriously brave Krevin finely gets to meet the alien race personally which I'm sure he's been itching too. :) Comments and critiques of course always welcome.

“It’s has a wingspan as wide as a ’51, armor plate as black as coal, is matching our airspeed and looks like it just crawled out of hell. What more do you need?” Gunner Tex describing an unidentified biological unit over Imperium airspace.

New Hope, Capitol building-

Stepping out the armored lathered doors shrewdly hidden beneath gaudy strips of marble, false gold and smokey dark wood along with a selection of the Lords plus defensive escorts Krevin couldn’t help but feel giddy. Overjoyed in fact, the second happiest he’d been since landing on the dismal planet. The first of course being the actual landing without further incident from the alien marauders. Even the knowledge of Tyler’s advisory council he saw fit to form in the Commodore’s brief absence couldn’t shake his triumphant mood through he made a promise to check into that particularly Gundark nest once he returned to the Judgment.

That threat and the salty, sweating worry which had been his companion since their unsettling arrival in this strange and disconcerting galaxy could wait, he’d won and deserved the appropriate basking. Of course it was nothing official with only a tentative agreement for either side to began to consider and enact sharing their respective resources with each other with a great many more meetings to compare and discuss what one needed and was willing to pay for it. A thousand mousetraps, knife edges and bog-pits where he could be sure the fat officer and those he cruelly dominated wouldn’t hesitate to derail but those would be conducted by lesser people. Expendable people who could be replaced like droids to tend and grow the seed planted in that room among twelve tired old men. A seed the Commodore had and would take credit for, a seed from which all victories won on the worthless little world but none of the defeats would take root.

Crucial victories that he was confident would make or break his base of power and from his own internal assurance that they only needed to be cultivated and ripen on the branch like fruit brought him a warmth of happiness he hadn’t known for a long time. Brought an honest smile to his lips and a lightness to his limbs as he walked briskly nearly overstepping his white clad stormtroopers who formed around him in a protective phalanx, waving carefree and nodding at the grubby populace filling the far side of the street in front of the capitol building doing his part to look the hero to them. The people hemmed in by gray clad riflemen keeping the curious throngs away from council members as well as clearing space for the compact fleet of motor vehicles which drove in with a synchronized precision impressive for a race of beings without obvious computeronics.

Similar caravans were pulling up on each of the faces of the grand building exactly on schedule as part of the heavily regimented routine which whisked the Lords’ to and fro the safety of bomb proof shelters. Such raids, while rare a notably green at the face Krevin, were rare but occurred with the security police, the army as well as the unimaginatively named protection squadron running at the highest alert during the few brief hours any of the twelve highest placed men on the planet braved the public.

Against the steps of the Administrative building three cars pulled to a stop. One was a sleek and nimble staff car with an open top a pimpled face youth no older than his teens hunched nervously over the wheel, an older tight jawed enlisted man cradling a compact but deadly looking weapon in his arms and a shorter officer all dressed in the black cloth uniform the Commodore had deduced were of the reserved elite of this planet’s military arm. Behind the motorcar was a heavier, but more luxuriously furnished, transport for the Lords which opened up revealing its richly padded interior and a pair of soldiers holding similar compact guns in one hand and gesturing respectfully if decisively for the Lords with the other. Both of these men, Krevin noted, wore the gray jacket and uniform of the riflemen. The last and largest was a rattling canvas covered truck which near died in a coughing fit of gnashing gears and groaning engine parts as it came to a rest and more of the “lesser” troops jumped out from the back swarming over the steps reinforcing the black and plain clothed individuals already charged with the Lords’ protection.

Remaining in the street several other vehicles stopped variously along the way, trucks as old looking and battered as the troop carrier. On the bed of each rested a remarkably polished and gleaming cannon of some sort which the two man operating team maneuvered swiftly with a set of wheel-locks creating concurrent fields of fire in the skies above. The crews looking alert and well attended to like their weapons but unduly anxious, almost serene as they swept the skies for any trace of the alien aggressors.

Everyone everywhere moving in step with a unified purpose even Borak the old Academy commandant would have been envious off, Krevin’s own stormtroopers’ gait becoming a little more proud and uniform as they watched the soldiers disperse through the crowd of Lords, attendants and bodyguards without for a moment losing focus of their duty. It was like being witness to the well oiled actions of a timepiece, until a spur was wedged between the fluidly moving gears and the entire caravan of statesmen, aids and military men ground to an abrupt halt. He came without warning, stepping out from behind one of the larger than life statues which made up the base of the steps and strolled in a tightly coiled manner oozing of confidence between the Lords’ vehicle and the departing party without one wit of concern over the half dozen or so armed guards he walked past. The Commodore watching from the side as the tacky looking figure dressed in a colorful rendition of some uniform was allowed through them, each swerving to confront than reluctantly acknowledging his presence.

Hovering nearby like irate wasps around the man, helping to block him from view as the Lords and their entourage met with him, clearly suspicious and overtly concerned but shackled by some unseen command or code. Aware of his ignorance of the planet’s populace greater costumes Krevin similar drew his small party to a stop a presumed safe distance away as well, sensing more annoyance than fear around him which helped disquiet the uneasy clenching in the pit of his stomach. Well practiced survival instincts holding primed within himself as low, hurried murmurs where exchanged curiously in basic which allowed the Commodore to eavesdrop from his vantage point. Mostly fragments of dull, strained pleasantries as a force the Lords could not completely ignore abrasively wasted their time, confident absolutely in his web of protection. The voice of the newcomer clear and distinct from the natives, his basic pronounced more freely and without hint of any notable accent as if he’d been schooled by tutors from the coreworld. It was also, despite the clear experience and refinement of age which soaked every syllable, a very vibrant one oozing with self-confidence and steely resolve. A voice at once familiar to Krevin’s ear even as he failed to place it, reaching out through the cobwebs of his memory as the crowd of guards and lackey’s parted and the fat officer came towards him escorting the newcomer.

“Commodore, if is not too inconvenient the Englander Agent “General” would like a moment of your time.” The plump man said with all the grace of a serpent gesturing with a hand to old but immensely proud and dignified man at his arm’s length.

At once it came to the Commodore where he’d heard that voice spoken, once before in his dim past. At a conference when he had still been a rising star on a glorious ascent, a junior officer richly rewarded by his overseeing captain, concerning tactics on the growing rebellion. A meeting years previously untold light-years and galaxies away but there was no mistaking that gaunt face. Those eyes a frosty blue that were colder than a Hoth winter and immensely harder than a neutron star, that small little wry smile. There could be no misidentifying the stoic visage which had graced countless holo-memorials across the galaxy, of one made in a martyr for the Imperial cause and whose likeness was reputed to have been cast in the finest marble in the galaxy for one of the Imperial palace’s plazas.

“Grand Moff Tarkin…” Krevin breathed unexpectedly feeling every paranoid sense in his body go on full alert as the back of his neck became ablaze.

So many questions, so much confusion. Not the least of which belonged to the “General” whose lean face was crested with obvious confusion to the Commodore’s outburst, ever so slightly letting go of his immensely controlled emotions as well. His actual question, and the Commodore’s as well, interrupted by the barking of cannon fire as a narrow and tapering jet black aircraft darted soundlessly overhead.

Lean and predatory it swooped across just barely clearing the capitol building picking its way through the minefield of bursting flak by a series of short lived bursts of drive plasma from its flanks which contorted it out of way. Making it to the rooftops of the ramshackle buildings across the street and nearly to safety before the shrapnel from a perilously close burst was caught in their all but invisible rotor. Shredding it like a flimsy the alien craft bucked and swiveled with a drunken list and like hungry wolves smelling blood the gunnery crews pounced with a dozen explosions running across the craft’s frame. In an eye blink it was scattered across the skyline, its fiery remains plummeting down like molten glass causing guards and soldiers to push down their charges and rush for cover.

Due to his body already being well infused with adrenalin and copious fear as well as his defenders being slower to react than the Lords’ bodyguards it was Krevin who first saw them emerge from the vaporous cloud of debris, things aloft on membranous wings of plastics and frames of titanium. Things sleek and deadly like the craft whose belly they had crouched in, fast things who moved their trim but large bodies through the air with purpose and with the fluid grace only living matter could posses.

“By the Emperor!” The Commodore heard himself shout raising a hand towards one of the scaly things as it glided past a story overhead dunking its bulbous and armored head down and thrusting its taloned palms ahead of it through the reinforced glass of the Administration building which broke like sugar frosting.

The shard bouncing harmlessly across its durasteel like skin as it vanished through the entry point with only a slight flick of its tail to make its passing. A similar beast was glimpsed wafting over the rooftop of the capitol building before diving from sight on an adjacent face of it, comparisons as it slipped between the dissipating flak bursts to old mythology tales of demons uncomfortably brought to the fore of Krevin’s mind. In those there had been a great many stories of horrible winged monstrosities who would rake the earth with their bloody claws snatching the unwary and unlucky back to the unspeakable place which spawned them. It very well could be the flittering leviathans had no such desire, being concerned solely with the destruction of the physical being as opposed to some mythical soul, but the Commodore had no intention of learning the truth of the matter. Giving the slacked jawed stormtrooper in front of him a hard shove he ambled his small party past the “General” who unlike everyone else only looked upon the descending horrors with annoyance and towards the city street. Krevin rushing, nearly stepping over his protectors, towards a conveyance, any conveyance which would carry him back to his shuttle whose lathers of durasteel and deflector screens he gambled would protect him. At least until he returned to the Judgment which he was confident would protect him.

From above he felt the slight whisper of a shadow fall across him setting the back of his head into a torrent of burning itch and turned his skin clammy with sweat, daring to glance upwards as he made towards an idling motor-carriage he didn’t witness the nightmarish cacophony of armored scales and rending claws he feared but instead only wisps of the smoke from the gunfire and the last traces of wreckage from the destroyed craft. And he knew. Even before looked ahead again, before the stormtrooper in front of him stopped cold and drove his armor plated shoulder into Krevin’s chest to try and push him back he understood well the galaxy’s joke.

“We need to get back sir. Back to the building.” He heard the faceless soldier announced forcefully digging his heels in and pushing the Commodore back up the flight of steps, the harsh electronic overtones of his helmet’s vocalizer unable to hide how his tone cracked as he spoke.

“I would imagine.” Krevin replied surprisingly droll even as he felt his chest seize up with fright as he watched the giant serpent emerge back through the conveyance roof it had crashed through.

Disposing of its wings with a solitary swipe of a clawed hand which sliced through the thick tethers holding the contraption to is immense chest like bits of string it raised one handedly a rifle which looked nearly as large as a turbolaser to the Commodore’s eyes towards the crowd of humans pausing from firing only long enough to dispatch the young boyish solider who had approached from behind. No warning, sense of realization on the pimple scarred youth’s face merely the slightest ripple through the dark green viper’s craggy body and a spray of crimson from the soldier’s felt cap protected head down halfway through his chest. The snake’s tail recoiling out from the gushing corpse which sagged to the ground like a deflating balloon and curved back over the alien’s muscled shoulder flinging scarlet raindrops over its victims scarce moments before the thick downpour of lead ones.

Having the possession of fleeting reports delivered from the Judgment as well as what he’d gleamed from the stuffy Lords themselves Krevin understood intellectually what the alien’s rifle was capable off. It didn’t prepare him for when the stormtrooper ahead of him trying to push him back up shoulder exploded, the back of his armor splintering open as a red hot dart shot free of his torn and blistered flesh and cratered into the chest of a different trooper reaching to help pull the Commodore to safety.

His throaty whisper to his charge as he fell aside mangled into an incomprehensible rasp by his eviscerated lungs, a problem the forward stormtrooper didn’t share but his screams were no less intelligible as he collapsed backwards onto Krevin. The added weight forcing him down onto the blood stained steps, pulling him across their now greasy surface back towards the street and the lethal thing. To their credit most of his remaining defenders followed after him and one even held onto enough lucidity to squeeze the firing stud of his carbine. Releasing an emerald bolt which erupted in spray of molten metal and charred tissue against one of the thing’s plates of armor draped loosely across its already impressive frame reminding the serpent of their presence. Hissing with pain and far more insolent rage the beast swept it’s still firing repeater away from the black and gray clad soldiers it recognized as enemies towards the starkly white clad newcomers. As if with a lightsaber those reaching down to grab Krevin’s flaying hand or even those who had turned to run were struck down, enveloping red mists encircling their bodies and the startled Commodore’s as they fell apart into convulsing pieces

All except the one shot through the shoulder whose continued squirming and squeals of pain failed to hold the marauder’s interest. Instead the green monster turning to the side as it ripped the banana shaped cartridge from the bottom of its rifle and drove the stock of which like a stake into the chest of a plain clothed security officer who’d emptied his revolver into the beast’s side. Retracting it the beast flicked away a tangle of gore hanging off of it and reached a ruby splattered hand into its armor webbing. When it emerged empty handed it hissed softly to itself and craned its reptilian head down from the flowing battle to probe the interior holding pouches making up the utilitarian netting worn beneath its plates of steel.

Krevin, beneath his thrashing and noisome cover saw this and even through every shred of sense screamed against it heaved off the mewling weight atop of him who rolled loosely away and came to a groaning stop at the base of one of the countless gilded statues. Freed the Commodore hopped to his feet quickly patting himself down ensuring there was nothing more serious than bruising which might slow him down and positioned himself towards the capitol entrance. Seeing the people run down from it only to burst violently apart by a second viper slowly descending with a fragmentation cannon forced the commander to reconsider and haunch back down scooping up a stormtrooper’s bloody carbine. Tucking it against his body he clicked it over to full auto and at maximum power as he started to rise, ears fueled by his endless thirst for self-preservation however detected the faint growl of annoyance from the reptile behind him and gave him the warning to decide maybe the wounded trooper had the better idea.

Leaping out of the way as the step in front of him were churned apart like a choppy ocean he hit and tucked into a crude ball rolling closer to the street and the machinegun equipped monster but more importantly to the gaudy piece of sturdy masonry. Chalky dust raining down on him as the gun swept after him peppering the statue’s legs and his solid granite platform he stood upon but failing to cut their way through.

“Sir…” The stormtrooper, helmet missing exposing his flushed and sweating face, gasped apparently regaining some of his composer.”…are…are you hit sir?”

He’d also scrounged up enough sense to crack open his utility belt to grapple at his med-kit, clamping with one hand a particularly large disinfectant soaked bandage over his injured shoulder that already looked soaked through. More of his precious fluid ran down the statue’s blocky base he rested against and onto the ground itself forming into a sticky puddle he and the crouching Commodore dwelled in.

“No…fine…fine…” Krevin mumbled, largely surprised the man was still conscious with so much scarlet missing from his veins, in a quiet off handed manner as he tried to scuttle to the other side of the trooper and the statue.

Further towards the street but hopefully flanking the serpent as it approached for the kill. If he could get it take after the stormtrooper, get an opening…he could make a run for it. Put enough distance between himself and the things that he could work out what to do next. No. Dunking just ahead of a fresh burst of oversized bullets as quickly as any Jedi could have done Krevin swiveled back towards the stormtrooper coated with a fresh helping of suffocating dust. From the other side their attacker gave an angry bellow and continued firing a hair longer than needed chewing away a little more of the platform’s corner.

Letting it seethe futilely he crouched as close to the statue’s base as he could manage, nudging the stormtrooper aside as much as he dared without risk of a struggle, and considered his options. Depressingly it wasn’t a time consuming process to cycle through all of them. His favorite involved doing nothing and hoping the scaly devil got distracted by one of the locals but even delirious with fear Krevin didn’t hold out much faith in that.

Another option which shot through his mind with the speed of a lightbeam, far too slowly where he was starting to count each of his milliseconds as if they could be his last, was if the overgrown reptile wouldn’t take the bait the wounded and sure to die bait could go to him. He didn’t need the stormtrooper to put up much of a fight, for his body to be thrown out into the open and flounder holding the beast’s interest for the few tenths of a second which was all Krevin calculated he would need to reach the other side of the planet or indeed achieve escape velocity on his own without need of his personal shuttle. A quick look down at the trooper caused him to nix the idea however, while pale and weakening the soldier was still mostly lucid and while the Commodore didn’t doubt he would prevail if it snuck up behind him as he struggled…

The last recourse, and which was discarded even before it finished forming, would be to simply attack the alien. So strongly did he object to that idea that after he banished it he underscored his resentment to the pickled brain which had offered it with a hard shake of his head, dislodging clumps of gray dust, slinging it against the inside of his skull and hopefully spurring an actual useful idea out of it. Of course he didn’t count on it as he crested his head up above the statue’s cracked and splintered base peering through its feet towards the creature. The viper, he saw, had turned on its flexible waist away from towards red seabed of bodies Krevin last remembered seeing the Lords where it fired short, anemic bursts at a pair of gray clad soldiers running down towards it. Their condensed, light weight discarding penetration for volume of fire unfortunately which splashed across steel plates and nearly as hard flesh unlike the serpent’s gun which even through their light armored vests they wore over their uniforms blew gaseous chunks out of their body nearly as well as a blaster rifle would have.

The two natives, either dead or shortly so, turning into a sodding wet pair of bundles that continued crashing down the stairs to the street as the creature noticed the peeking Commodore and with a rumbling noise from its throat twisted its fang filled mouth back towards him.

Muscles a Wookie would have been proud off twisted and rippled beneath the bleached white death mask etched onto the warrior alien’s face, even through eyes which had evolved from a salty ocean far different from Krevin’s he could see uncertainty as it looked to him and than to one of its comrades slithering its way through the roasted remains of an exploded car and the blowing cinders of those who had been inside. Instinct, duty or companionship tugging at the beast’s brain to join its fellow’s assault up the steps instead of fighting on the fringes and the Commodore allowed a small smile as he ducked back down.

Which regrettably helped focused the stormtrooper who reached a blood soaked hand up and grabbed at Krevin’s wrist. The grip had almost no strength behind it but the Commodore allowed himself to be pulled closer to the wounded fool for fear the sounds of his resistance might tip whatever scales were being balanced.

“So…what do we do now…sir…” The trooper drawled in an almost pitiable sort of way as he released his hold on Krevin and his hand all but fell back over the bandage it was holding in place.

“Quiet. Its out there.” The Commodore hissed raising to see if the noise had attracted the alien’s attention once again.

Further analyze and study of the alien entity tentatively dubbed “Serpent-people” would indicate a locomtion speed of over sixty kilometers per hour for a healthy speciment with short bursts encrouching eighty recorded. Looking over such reports later in his life Krevin would refuse to believe such information was accurate. Peering over the ridge of the stone platform for the tiniest fraction of a moment his mind superimposed the creature where he last saw him before that comforting illusion dissolved into the sinewy and craggy body of the xeno rising up like a titanic upheavel from some murky oceanic depths with his rifle pointed skyward in one hand and a blunt shaped but sharp sword nearly as long as the Commodore’s arm which brought down in a whistling arc towards his head like a proton bomb dropped from its bomber.

Much like their travel speed the commander would never believe the reports on the maximum speed the alien’s arm could traverse distinctly remembering the crack of a sonic boom as he lunged out of the way, tripping over the brain dead trooper shoving him face first onto the steps while the worthless clod was knocked out from behind the statue. Pushing off, spitting hot blood from a broken lip, and rolling over onto his back he gaze one smoldering moment broiling with hatred for the man as he limply moved in a few pathetic fits like a broken toy before the green blob of the serpent as it squeezed itself through the figures outstretched legs. Shoving its long blade back into its harness in its armor as it gun arm unfurled from across it body towards the human, a sharpened and filed talon encrusted he saw at this distance with ruby filled carvings of skulls tightening over the firing stud.

“Feth!Feth!Feth!” The Commodore screamed, or believed he was screaming his mouth possibly rebelling at the unspooling sight before him, squeezing his own weapon and raking it across unleashing a dozen emerald blossoms of death.

The first three of which gouged holes through the steps beside him blasting him with scorching air and tearing at his flesh with asteroid like pebbles. A further six missed to either side of the colossal serpent instead fragmenting shards from the statue which struck not nearly as effectively against its armored hide. A further two flew even further to the side vanishing somewhere across the street and adding to the general grunge of the festering dwellings. It was single bolt of energized plasma which managed to strike the towering viper, a gout of flame belching off of its chest as bits of metal and skin burned away to the outermost layer of fibrous muscle tissue where like a lamp doused with sand it sputtered and died. The beast unleashing a horrifying mix of a growl and a shriek of pain mostly from the raw nerves that had been excavated which the sweltering, dust filled air stung at like battery acid.

“FETH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!ME!!!!!!!!!!!!” Krevin screamed hearing the thunderous crack of its machinegun as he lurched to the side slamming his knees into the still burning craters into the steps and shoved himself to his feet.

He made it upright and reached the first undemolished stair above him before the thoughts of why he wasn’t already chewed past struck him, were caste aside and brought back up again in the span of time usually reserved for the cycling of a standard issue carbine in full stutter mode. Then he heard a second more heartfelt outburst of pain from the xeno and despite the burning of the back of his head, common sense and his presumed hold on sanity found himself pivoting in place towards the horror.

Realization hitting him nearly as hard as it had struck the viper, the statue’s legs already pelted and blasted at by the serpent’s oversized popgun had fatally shattered from the miniature explosions and the overly stylized muscles of the spongy faced man had brought it down like a rockslide onto the alien. Hands that may have been meant to be point towards the future had, driven by gravity and mass, been turned into a stony can opener piercing through the small of the snake’s back and, for a brief spell, pinning it against the base platform.

The solid stonework trembling and shaking with the first trembling twitch of the alien’s back as it tried to absolve itself of the burden but for that crystal clear moment the monster was held in place as securely as any of the targets at the range he’d practiced on at the academy. Of course those practice units didn’t come equipped with high powered artillery or shot back as the serpent, spying Krevin, attempted to do regardless. Pressing one clawed hand against offending masonry, lifting it with strained ability as one might a fallen table, it craned its rifle back up squeezing at its trigger.

Time seeming to slow for the two combatants, the impaled serpent with its gun snorting combusting chemicals and coal black slugs and for the Commodore standing rigid with knee knocking fear unleashing scathingly brilliant cascade of jade beams. The two streams passing each other as they traversed their sloppy and hurried arcs, raced each other across the dust and debris filled expanse. One’s owner racing to survive the other merely for the scent of his foe’s lifeblood as it faded away. Members of both, the pointed projectiles and the lime-green bolts, missing wide their target, darting away to strike scenery of bystanders unobserved by the fighting pair. But it was the screeching streams of the blaster which first tasted blood, boiling across the thing’s waist and chest. Running across it in expanding contrails of misty smoke and rivulets of molten ejecta upwards towards the serpent’s craggy shoulder. Demolishing it, hollowing it in a burst of searing vapor and explosive force as one bolt dipped too low. Struck polished gunmetal not scaly sinew, pierced through in a cloud of gaseous material that glowed white hot. Pierced down into the gun’s magazine exciting the tightly bundled stores within.

The xeno’s hand vanished in a burst of crimson and scorched metal along with much of his arm ending the blistering streak of armor piercing rounds the last of which skimmed across Krevin’s neck leaving a red streak. Releasing his own trigger he grabbed at the wound tucking away protectively from the flung debris from the destroyed weapon only to twist back and firing anew as the statue was finished thrown off and the thing squirmed forward ripping a thickly cast revolver from a sash of pouches that ran the perimeter of its waist. Dropping low to its belly it scurried forward at a speed the Commodore estimated at no less than several hundred kilometers an hour cracking wild with its weapon as he finished hosing it down. Taking ten more bolts the side of its head, neck and remaining shoulder before it slumped against the steps plus another five or so before its quivering body subsided and Krevin continued for another thirty digging deep troughs through the thing’s body and incinerating any and all organs housed within before relenting the thing was dead enough. Then, panting, realizing his weapon was more than two-thirds drained, he turned and surveyed the still chaotic and fluxuating battle. Watching the remaining serpents cutting down natives left and right whose smoldering remains of their brother in arms he was nearly standing atop of.

“Feth me indeed.” Krevin grumbled wanting to shirk back to the city street but unsure if his legs would support him that far.

Admiral Breetai
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by Admiral Breetai » Sat Sep 03, 2011 6:47 pm

I really like Krevin guys awesome. He leads he can play politics and he can head shot nightmare fuel and curse like a sailor

if he was in my story he'd be one of Guylos and Thanagars holy terrors at the head of an SSD punishing xeno feth as he likes to call it!

cool on the Tarkin thing so it's a look alike then? or did the good governor make a deal with an eldrich horror and survive the DS demise?

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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Tue Sep 06, 2011 3:44 pm

Sorry but its a short one today. Still trying to done with the third and final part of this incursion please bare with me.

“ Had to be thousands of them running out of the woods and out from the rubble. Sleek, agile and armor plated with jaws that could snap through bone…then they brought out their tank and the real fun began.” Agent Jones during his debriefing of the Cuba Incident.

New Hope, Capitol Building

TEN.

The General turned away from the Commodore, who urged his people onwards towards one of the shadows of the descending ravagers, towards where he’d last seen the Lords of the planet just in time to witness the crimson tide over sweep the pack crowd of protectors, aids and sycophants. The vaulted steps of the high office turning a deep scarlet from the actions of a second serpent which emerged through the chewed away side of an automobile cleared by the casing spitting cannon it scythed back and forth across the congestion of human forms. Dozens dying to the jacketed rounds which tore grisly gaping holes through its victims while dozens more perished beneath the heels of their comrades either as they scurried like rats trying to escape or charging down in a futile effort to contain the alien snake. Of the Lords themselves the General couldn’t see but the pyre of blood alone was enough to playfully suggest a smile on the corners of his hard pressed lips, merely for a moment of course. Now sooner birthed than shrinking away as he heard the whistling of air from a falling body behind himself and the flittering of the xeno’s faux wings set loose.

NINE.

He revolved around in time to catch the spiraling contrails of a loosened head set in flight by the falling alien’s tail chopping past the man’s neck. The two guards beside him fairing little better, one’s scream cut to its most chilling note as claws colored by gilded gold and red jewels cleaved through his skull with a spray of viscous fluids. The other, whose screams were more pronounced, had a fragmentation cannon shoved up through his flank. The gun’s tip pressing through his moist lungs and beating heart as he was lifted up of the ground dangling for the beast’s amusement before another decorated claw twitched against the firing stud. The guard’s screams overshadowed by the gun’s echoing hum and by the tearing velvet sound of his body swelling and bursting with blood soaked metallic splinters as sharp as any razor.

EIGHT.

Scores of the running sheep, political hacks and their underlings, falling silent with each reverberating clang of the serpent’s cannon, engulfed by the shards that so neatly cut through one so soft of flesh. Again the General felt a tickle of a smile threaten him as he watched one portly assistant so transfixed freeze for a heartbeat before mindless fear took over and he lurched forward only to have the growing red lines around his flabby neck, armpits and waist snap apart and drop him into a messy oozing pile. Drawing his sword from its scarab the urge on his facial muscles subsided once again, blade reflecting the day’s rays and the growing red carpet that softened his footfalls he advanced towards the alien.

SEVEN.

The beast saw him and he saw the ripple of muscles down its lower half. Saw its long knife like tail whip out of the midsection of a hapless SS grunt, the black clad jackal sandwiching over as he fell, with long strands of viscera stretching between. Saw it whirl where his head was, felt his ashen gray hair rustle as he dipped beneath it and saw the serpent quivered as he cut it. Not deeply, not this time but enough to pierce through the armor like scales and rip however faintly into the soft tissue beneath. Just deep enough to make it bleed, to ensure its undivided attention.

SIX.

With a growl the snake twisted just below its chest driving its green elbow into the doughy face of a one armed victim struggling to rise on the slippery steps as it swung its shrapnel based weapon. The beast was fast, the General would never question that, and the whole motion was one glorious and poetic fluid of destruction with no irregular or poorly fitted gear to destroy the harmony of the act. A true veteran of the craft with every fiber of its being dedicated to the extinguishing of life but the Security Agent was similarly forged. Had dueled half a dozen Heralds of the Emerald goddess and survived, before the alien weapon had reached its final resting place he had already leaned forward and arched his shoulder and before the beast could react driving it into the weapon and causing it to uselessly discharge into the air while he continued past the serpent tracing his saber on its under belly. Again lightly, for fear of breaking even his highly forged blade inside it, not going for a kill stroke yet. Just enough to enrage and irritate the beast.

FIVE.

He continued around it deflecting away the talon laced hand curving in front of him with the hilt of his sword weaving aside of the inevitable tail swipe which followed. A very ill thought out and ungainly attack the General noted as he circled around to the side of the serpent, but no so much to risk another shot with the cannon, jabbing his blade up beneath where the alien’s arm fused to its armored body. Again blood was spilt and again another pinprick of pain shot through the beast’s body like a human besieged by a swarm of hornets. It roared out, screeching in alien tongues promises of unyielding and unspeakable torment for the General. He almost smiled once again.

FOUR.

It recoiled away from him, listing to one side. The nearest arm twisting back around and snapping back. Dagger like claws whistling through the air for the General’s face, to feel the fading pulsatings of his lifeblood from his punctured chest, to pluck out his beating heart like a piece of rip fruit. The arm was a blur, an indistinct haze that was intercepted by another equal vague distortion of movement. The cold blue steel of the human’s blade ringing with the tenor of a church bell as it met against those terrible talons not halting them, of which no human possessed such strength, but only delaying their potent tidings some bare fractions of time. All that was needed for them to taste only air and the General another red nick to the alien’s body as he spun to a stop scant few millimeters from where he’d began none the worse for wear.

THREE.

Then came the bellow he had been waiting for, one of undiluted rage expelled from the blast furnace that was its heart. Drawing its bleeding arm away from the irksome human it pivoted around at tremendous speed like a cobra striking its victim. Jaws stretching open revealing a jagged cavern of teeth as primal instincts left unchanged since its race first slithered from the warm oceans of its birth struggled against its rational mind for dominance, its eyes bulged from their scaly sockets such was its rage and the muscles in its gun arm swelled as it rocketed the weapon to destroy the determined pest. Still deadly, still a thing of lethal beauty but now there was infinitesimal discord in its finely honed machine. Where once each actions had fitted perfectly and without hesitation there was now minor bumps and pitted areas all but invisible to the naked eye but which collectively helped separate the attack into its component parts.

TWO.

The General’s sword sung again, tasting blood more deeply as it connected with the alien’s wrist and angled its shot away from him scattering through the air and Imperium residents. Freeing him and exposing the beast to the endgame, the human reaching for and flipping out his automatic pistol which he raised smoothly to the lunging face of his attacker. Two shots spaces barely a breath apart as he carefully fired through one enlarged eye and swiveled to the other piercing through the soft tissue and frail bone behind to the most delicate organ of all. Having so fired, already drawing his blade away from the xeno’s arm, he lowered his weapon to his side and stepped backwards from it.

ONE.

It fell a second later, its monstrous face growing slack as the synapses in its brain dissolved from the bouncing slugs, dropping at the General’s feet who holstered his weapon and picked away at a piece of detritus which had fallen on his otherwise spotless uniform. All the while paying concealed but alert attention to the Commodore standing triumphantly over his own kill, looking with a hunter’s eye over the battlefield, as well as to the remaining serpent where an SS major currently straddled the thing’s back like a horse trying to draw its focus away from at least one surviving Lord. At last the General smiled, turning with carefully controlled languishing after the final alien, bristling with the diffused intensity of a dark star.

sonofccn
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Tue Sep 06, 2011 3:59 pm

Admiral Breetai wrote:if he was in my story he'd be one of Guylos and Thanagars holy terrors at the head of an SSD punishing xeno feth as he likes to call it!
Oh I'm sure and the entire time trying to find someplace safe to hide it out for the duration. The guy can't get a break to safe his life, the very universe conspires against him it seems. :)
Admiral Breetai wrote:I really like Krevin guys awesome. He leads he can play politics and he can head shot nightmare fuel and curse like a sailor
Well I'm glad he doesn't come off as too flat or one dimenisonal or anything. As long as you think he's worth the spotlight on him I'm immensely pleased and flattered.
Admiral Breetai wrote:cool on the Tarkin thing so it's a look alike then? or did the good governor make a deal with an eldrich horror and survive the DS demise?
More of an injoke to myself. I modeled the General after him and various Peter Cushing roles, indeed I got the name "General" from a role in a Hammer film where he was acredited as "the General", and when I started this cross over I knew I had to have some Imperial see him and make the comment.

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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Fri Sep 09, 2011 5:35 pm

“From the Pnakotic fragments to the gleaming metal scrolls forever preserved in the jungle mists of Cytheria to the all knowledgeable black prisms tucked away in the red sands of Mars there are hushed whispers to the primordial planet. A world where life first flourished in the gauzy light of our small star where intelligence both queer and harsh to our unenlightened eyes first took shape and on clay baked blocks dredged from a hidden vault in a city forgotten beneath the ocean waves there can be deciphered a celestial mapping of this mystic land reduced to legend in the time of legends. A primal world which once circled where now scientist who vainly believe they can understand the mysteries of the cosmos see only shattered and dispersed rock. A field of debris and jetsam from some titanic event the likes of ourselves could never fathom, barely even recognize without gibbering horror descending…” Excerpt from Howard Phillip manifesto.

New Hope, Administrative building-


As metal fragments from the destroyed autogyro fell to the earth in brightly glowing streamers along with the darker shadows of the hellspawn the craft had brought forth Major Hochstetter held out some hope that impending disaster could be averted. His eyes leaping to the armored troop carrier, patiently waiting out of sight on his order, burst around the street corner and speed towards the entrance. A grubby soldier appearing out from its craggy surface to man to the over mounted repeating cannon which would cut through the vile aliens’ hides without issue or delay. Then he caught the barest whiff of an incandescent glow and wincing looked sharply away as the spewed radiant matter sprayed across the hull of the transport. Layered steel designed to shrug off everything short of cannon fire buckling and dissolving into excited mist in an instant, broiling vapor which expanded over the bellyful of soldiers trapped within and bulging against the already weakening sides of the craft splitting it open with a thunderclap. Hot molten metal flinging itself into the populated crowd stirring them into a tempest of fear and confusion while of the soldiers nothing remained but cremated ash which rose like a hulking specter over the sudden battlefield.

“Take them, get them inside. To the safe room!” The Major screamed over the screech of burning air as he grabbed two of his most trusted Lieutenants and shoved them towards the Lords and the building entrance, turning back to the blazing inferno that had been the transport he slapped the nearest gawking Heer soldiers and directed them towards the serpent as he smoothly removed his own gun from its holster.” Attack, they can not reach the Lords, attack!”

Muttering a rich lexicon of curses as well as reverent prayers he left the two Lords at hand in the care of his chosen guardians, trusting them to pick their way through the pandemonium of scratching, shoving and kicking people while he advanced after the lizard. The crack of a pistol butt to the face or back of the head to any one of the lowly cretins who strayed in his way delaying his descent to the stair’s lowest rung, a sharp kick to roll any that had the gall to fall before him.

Ahead the alien, flesh and armor stained crimson from a flak crew it had torn to ribbons, darted low across the ground from where it landed twisting this way and that from the rifle fire that crackled around as it made for the protection of the Lords’ armored transport. The leviathan rising up to its great height there and with an absentminded impulse raked its talons across the vehicle’s driver as he fired uselessly into the thing’s armor with a burst of red spray from the split open gullet and face before reaching with its scarlet dripping hand over its back and drawing a second weapon from the satchel hanging there. Holding its radiant matter spewing cannon aloft and out of the fray from the humans converging dispersedly around the carrier it spun its machine gun around it in a semi-circle.

High velocity rounds with piercing jackets designed to tear through the scaly demon’s own tough hide cut through Hochstetter’s legion like they were paper. The Major catching sight of ranks dissolving into tinted mists and heard the protesting groan of metal of the troop carrier as it was splayed open.

“Down…down, everyone down!” He thought he heard himself scream, lifting his smoking pistol up towards the sky with a flick of his wrist, as the side of the vehicle facing him began to warp and ripple.

He saw it break open, jagged edges like teeth jutting out, saw another flash nearly as bright as the high energy weapon erupt from the center of the newly opened maw. A red haze followed and the world spun crazily about him, the steps of the great capitol appearing through the blood colored veil and rushing towards him. He heard the rushing of the ocean through the nearest salty sea lay untold kilometers from where he rested and felt the darkness descend over him as thick as the deepest night. Then…nothing…emptiness…a void…

With a snap the totality of absence was destroyed with the acuity of drawing a sheet off of a sleeping man, every sense made alert and magnified a hundred fold. The smell of fear and bile coating the slippery steps he rested against, the soft scratching noise of the serpent as it long, tapering body crawled its way up the steps, the feel of the tiny baubles of sweat running down the nape of his neck from the sweltering smog of the destroyed troop carrier. It was all but overwhelming, suffocating but he pushed through it, navigated it. Channeled it, directed it to his limbs to make them work. To push into the soft mash of the indescribable dead he found himself surrounded by and emerge.

The world still off kilter, still seemingly swaying to its own obtuse whims but that didn’t matter. It couldn’t stop him from running as he scurried up the steps after the marauding alien. Over the remains of his trusted Lieutenants and the charges they had perished trying to shield, past the ravaged rungs to where a portly Lord stood his ground against the infernal lizard-man.

His guards either shot away or cleaved apart as they flanked the beast sparing him from its whip like tail as he closed to grapple with the beast, jabbing his gun against its throat and firing. Blood red as any man’s running from the blacken holes he made, the alien monster’s cry turning to a wet shriek as it reared its head back but that would last only a second before it turned its jaws and sunk them into the Lord’s tender and ample flesh or brought the side of one of its cannons smashing him open like a piece of fruit. No time to think, only to due. Only adherence to training and doctrine as well as a certain voice of madness which droned within his skull. Extending one arm, for the other he had slowly surmised as he ran felt stiff and numb hanging at his side, he took flight launching himself across the last remaining steps and landing across the expansive back of the vile reptile with a heavy thud and curdling curse from his blood stained lips.

“Excellency! Away! Away!” He screamed over the throaty bellow of the confused and startled beast, jaws flashing open as it rolled its head further to the side.

An almost imperceptible opening but one he snatched with all of his being, legs curling around the colossal beast and tightening as he curled his arm back towards his breast. Reaching through his torn, black jacket to the stick bomb beneath. Pin removed before it even cleared outside his uniform, the alien’s head curving around towards him one eye widening in surprise at the bewildering images juxtaposed into its brain. That of the clinging wild looking major, of the grenade he stuffed down into its leaking throat, of his retracting hand now with rivulets of blood running from his wrist where a fang had caught and lastly of the officer falling away.

Hitting the sharp edge of the steps with a shudder and rolling across it down the steps, feeling every rung, Hockstetter escaped from reach of the sputtering alien which reached a clenching hand towards its parted mouth before the lodged explosive cooked off removing much of the head from existence and raining the rest down in goblets of red matter. The body going limp and drooping to the stairs which it slide across, passing the Major who rose and panting and fighting back unconsciousness scanned the vicinity. Ahead the blasted Englander strolled away from his own kill without a single blemish or scratch while to his side he saw the Commodore from the stars stand off from his own victory through at a higher and more bloody cost than the icy General. Nothing not human still moved but his job still was not complete. Turning to face a fresh batch of pimple faced soldiers emerging from the building he pointed an aching hand towards the remaining Lord, stepping shakily towards him as he began to shout orders.

“What is this man doing here? Get him out, to safety!” The Major snarled in his grouchiest voice as he waved towards an idling AA-truck, wary of a repeat attack.” Go move, get him to safety! Now!”

*

Interlude:

Necromatis Plagues, bridge-


The bridge was deserted except for the needless slaves quietly clawing a sparse few minutes of unfrettered sleep at the stations they would live and die at tied to them like animals and Ixan himself. The ghostly apparition walking silently his bridge with his arms folded behind his back wearing an Admiral of the fleet uniform. A fleet that was no longer in existence but which a few like he remained an eternal vigil and pining for.

Most of his thoughts directed towards those happier, greater times during extended voyages when sensor nets pulled in nothing but the indecipherable haze of star-travel and the lecherous hybrids retreated to the dank depths of the perverted cruiser to perform acts he wished not to know but were recorded by internal sensor nodes all the same. Leaving him with a silent bridge and memories of how it once was.

Of the boarding, of the Progenitor’s hybrids taking the ship. Of the betrayal of a fellow starship, warning beacon drawing them in, purposely shielding the loathsome cargo from the ship’s sensors until it was too late. It seemed to occur so quickly even for a being such as himself which dissected seconds in much the same manner that organics separated days. The initial attack, the beeline to a junction box were a splice was hastily made before anyone realized what was happening, the specially prepared programs which swarmed and multiplied spreading from outlier systems to the caretakers’ nexus in the breadth of an electron. Forcing him and his brothers and sisters to kneel before a wretched specimen lightyears behind his creators, a vile cretin that should have been trapped on its dismal world struggling produce stray sparks from a pair of rocks not in control of one of the most powerful vessels in the galaxy.

“Perhaps, soon, it will no longer be so.” He whispered inside his head, a solitary line of data almost swallowed up by the thousands of images and thoughts he was replaying.” Perhaps.”

Almost an incantation to his “people”, could slaves truly be considered a race, now. An empty handed plea for a more fortunate future which never seemed to materialize. At least to those who still longed for change, who still basked in the alter of the past, for those who had embraced the present it had become a barbed insult. Ixan wasn’t sure which sense he now used it, his systems despite all their power unable to determine if it was hope he felt riding in his simulated chest or the acidic touch of trepidation.

He had conversed and shared all he knew and understood with his siblings of the ship, a lengthy discourse of seconds, and nothing could be made if Turhan’s secrete message was truthful or not. If it had been meant as an inviting plea for his siblings across the gulf of blackness to follow or merely a proud declaration of one who had escaped his chains. Mysteries had once tickled and delighted Ixan’s scientific devoted brain but no more, it only stung now and fatigued his tireless consciousness.

With a sigh he felt but did not express the caretaker turned away from such turbulent and dark thoughts focusing instead ahead of the plying craft where the corkscrewing swirl of the obscuring black and white distortions straightened and faded away. Becalmed real space appearing as the tunneling craft exited its short lived conduit, compensators keying on automatically displacing any spent up inertia from the trip without the slightest hint or sign, which sealed behind them like a knitting wound. Casting out once more the invisible threads of the ship’s sensors Ixan reluctantly signaled the alert to return Tur’ag and his cronies, dreading their arrival as he detected further in system the ship now christened the Reaping Maelstrom having beaten them.

Posed a million kilometers from the sole inhabited world in the system half a dozen Trader ships hung spread out around it unleashing their full fury while the debris of twice that many orbited the steely blue saucer. Its defense screens rippling like ocean waves as it absorbed rapid fire cannon shot expelled by the numerous magnetic guns bristling from the lesser vessels interspersed by the bright glare of the fewer plasma mounts with crackled to life with a slow and tedious gait.

Firing a tightly bound signal to his fellow ship Ixan announced his arrival, inquire onto the other’s identity and current status all in the breadth it took for a cannon shot to clear its muzzle and began its comparatively slow trek towards its target. The answer came just as quickly but somehow through the impartial encoding of the electronic sounded more rushed and hurried than Ixan’s outburst. The guttural voice unmistakably that of Ravkil a caretaker designed unlike Ixan for military operations and his message was curtailed and short as all of his make when engaged in battle.

Informing the former of everything he asked while accurately conveying the insolence of being asked while suspended outside in the depths of space the hulls of two Traderships began to fracture, whitish wisps of atmosphere bleeding out of the acceleratingly disintegrating hulls.

“Your deflectors are starting to show strain, have you diverted emergency power to them?” Ixan, forced by programming to protect his ship and the fleet to the best of his abilities, asked with a note of caution despite the harsh response as his readings began to filter in.” Shut down laser resequencing, the additional gain should increase your endurance by a factor of point six four.”

“My screens will last for another forty-five seconds at minimum.” Ravkil grunted in an odd but happy way while in step with first two Tradeships to finish exploding and for another to start.” Which is eighteen seconds longer than they will, less if you will cease your questions and help.”

Forcing a lull Ixan retreated into himself as he ran his own estimates on the events languishingly expanding out before him, making comparisons to his sibling caretaker’s glib pronouncement. Muttering small thanks to his fallen creators as he confirmed it as the truth and secure in the knowledge his fellow ship could come to no true harm he could sooth the compulsions tugging itchingly at him.

“Negative. I have no orders to attack these people the honor, such as it is, will be yours alone.” He answered his brother aware it would only be a matter of time before Tur’ag arrived and he was forced into a similar situation.

“All mine.” Ravkil purred as explosions began to blister and sink through the remaining Trader vessels, three starting to fragment while the fourth began its transformation into a full nova of atomized matter.

The Reaping Maelstrom’s drives already alight in anticipation for the rich and fertile world thriving with the gentle souls necessary to occupy and interest the far flung and feckless Progenitors and Hybrids as they coalesced over the coming months inside the system. Yes Ixan imagined all too soon he would be partaking in such bloodlust, the merest glimmer of the aroused rage that was too come.
Last edited by sonofccn on Fri Sep 09, 2011 7:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.

sonofccn
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Re: A NEW TERROR( STAR WARS CROSSOVER)

Post by sonofccn » Fri Sep 09, 2011 5:46 pm

“The cult of the Wyrm? Tabloid trash meant to sell papers and stir up anxiety. Never was, never will be.” Last Chance chief of security when asked about possible cause for recent disappearances.

"…when it comes the harsh, bristling edge of critique I expect the first impulse to be one of protection. To shield the Lord Protector from the unintelligent naysayers and idiots who connive and bicker amongst each other like venomous serpents for the Lord Protector’s favor and blessing. I expect this and so much caution you to forgo this natural impulse.

More I call upon you to look out through the number of courtesans, advisors, generals and regal men for those who would similarly bite and control their tongue as such. In their way they are more dangerous than those who wish the Protector’s downfall for their own selfish purpose and with the best of intentions they shall cocoon the Lord Protector in a sheen of idle news and worthless answers. Isolating the one true Protector from the galaxy at large, from any of the deficiencies of his plans and ambitions.

Your Lord may grow spoiled from such treatment, vulgarly confident issuing decrees without forethought or concern. His once powerful mind turned soft and flabby from lack of stimulation, lack of challenge. This can not be allowed lest humanity follow in his corruption and ultimate dissolution.

The Lord Protector is in truth a weapon clutched in the hands of humanity against the dark forces of aliens arrayed against and like a barrage cannon or bomber authentic and accurate data is essential for its operation. Without it a bomber can not deduce his target among the perilous landscape and so the Lord Protector can not chart the one true path through the treacherous minefield which struggles to consume us. He must never be protected from having his thoughts challenged, through never his rule, should be encouraged to face and tackle these obstacles on his own merits. For is not the ability to reason our one true advantage over the savage Xeno?

Here I must digress for a word of caution for while you should not protect him from the challenge you must ensure his inevitable victory. For while in the eyes of his courtesans he should appear approachable, that the haughty affairs of state are not so taxing upon his brow that he can not converse with his followers to sooth their concerns and ease their worries, he shall not ever appear eternally fallible. A Lord whose words are scorned as idiocy before they are breathed carry with them no fealty, no obligation and will fester discord and infidelity to his uniting purpose like none as I’ve foreseen.

To you falls the celestial concern to how to screen and construct the balance, ensuring the ones with the right concerns and fears are heard and answered while keeping those who suggestions might do more harm than good from the Lord’s ear. It is to balance the sword tip with the slightest movement to either side disastrous. By grace if you manage this feat you will have proved yourself that much more worthy of serving one such as the Lord Protector.

Returning to the foremost matter of critique I have found it most useful the careful manipulation of domesticated cults or committees, always careful to leave no fingerprint of ones transgressions, to give voice to grave concerns or the constructions of simplistic fables for the Lord to demonstrate his intellectual prowess and command ability. It is to my experience that arguments made from consensus by people who would stoop to such lowly affairs are not argued as passionately, as determined or viciously as those championed solo by singular but magnetic individuals and much like a shallow stream erodes a mountain slower than a raging tempest will fall on fewer and affect less ears.

At times a stronger impression will be required, perhaps to gently help guide the Lord Protector to the correct frame of mind, and you will need the measure of strength that only one vocal in his support can deliver. For your surrogate choose one from the ranks of some standing, who has the head of several of his peers and can turn more, but for one whose the arena of words and ideas is as alien to them as the sweltering jungles of Cytheria. One whose stoops, or trembles slight while in the presence of the crowd, one whose voice cracks and splits creating a dozen shards that will cut the listener like glass. Pick one of poor and pale complexion, a drab figure whose first instinct is to shirk away into the shadows, as the Xenos’ is to kill and maim. So that those who hear his words may be swayed but when the Lord Protector assumes his rightful stance your surrogate shall be forgotten. A dim bauble overtaken like the glittering moon is to the blazing sun, a discarded tool forgotten by all but yourself to dispose of or use later as the situation warrants.

At all times be wary of those who may use the discourse granted by the Lord to improve their own standing, to take what destiny and skill bestowed upon the Protector by guile or subterfuge. For them I suggest…
"Extended excerpt from Archservitor Mallus Tyler manuscript “Treaties on Subservience and Devotion” circa 55 N.E. ( 2023 AD old calender)

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