Introductory Fiction - Week 1
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NSD Invicta
Dajorran Space
Words were meaningless, forgettable. So they used none. They did not need to, for they could all see it.
The tide had shifted.
A dragon’s spectre flickered as another grand explosion shook the bridge of the Invicta. It was a spectacle. A show. And it was welcome.
The engines of the Imperial Star Destroyer before them erupted in a billowing plume of vapour and debris. The hull was already severely damaged, and there was little chance that any cohesion remained between the surviving crew since the bow and aft had been torn asunder. The communications deck and shaft floated aimlessly in the distance, and the bridge was nothing more than wrought metal. Now all that remained were a few isolated Assassin-class corvettes, and a Lancer-class frigate aptly named Enmity. Their complements had been all but eradicated by Void Squadron’s leadership of the Arcona Starfighter Corps and an unrelenting bombardment from the Invicta’s heavy turbolasers.
Arcona had plucked victory from the jaws of defeat.
Zoraan’s forces had spread through Brotherhood space, attempting to destroy the Clans and Houses while the affliction took hold. They had not counted on a vaccine. Least of all one which spread in the same way as the virus itself. Macron had outdone himself.
Reports had been coming in slowly. Naga Sadow and Tarentum had been hit the worst. Arcona, it seemed, had been spared. It could have been worse. A lot worse.
“Continue your attack,” The dragon’s visage stabilised. The bold figure loomed over his trusted summit, a ten-foot projection in the centre of the Invicta’s bridge. It was intimidating, even in the ethereal. Callous and cold and cruel and captivating.
“Leave none alive.” He let the words sink in before he finally disappeared.
Marick Arconae, Proconsul of Arcona, stepped forward. His soft voice was replaced by a bark only years of practice could teach.
“Arconans! You heard your orders! I expect you to come back with trophies of your triumphs!” The Hapan stopped for a moment, almost to soak in the atmosphere of war, before turning with all the poise of a nobleman and jostling his way into the turbolift with the remaining crew. He was not one to miss a fight. Especially not when he would get the opportunity to deliver the coup de grâce. None who dared attack Arcona would receive any quarter.
--==[]==--
Throne Room
Arcona Citadel
Estle City
Selen
The cavern. The lair. The Dragon’s nest. But it was different. Tame. Almost domesticated. Arcona’s heart had been transformed into a strategic epicentre. And it simmered with anxiety.
The room was colossal. Lavishly adorned with murals and tapestries of Arcona’s favours and failings, with a deep, polished onyx floor, it was a regal reflection of Arcona’s affluence. Walls clad with black marble seemed to shimmer sapphire as a palisade of blue flame licked at scorched pillars at the far end of the hall. And behind the infernal barrier was the Consul; a statue atop the Serpentine Throne.
Wuntila rapped his fingers restlessly against the cold stone of the armrest as the projection of Marick and Socorra disappeared. He had only recently returned from Antei... from a meeting that nearly cost him and his peers their lives. Consuls and Quaestors with weapons drawn. Barrels raised with blades and brawn. All driven to madness by Zoraan’s influence and destruction. But he had failed. The vaccine had been released, and it had begun to circulate. Tra’an Reith called it an ‘infectious cure’, and every Consul and Quaestor had become a carrier, along with the Dark Council. They had been relieved of their lust. Reluctantly, they had lowered their weapons and travelled home.
Upon Wuntila’s return Arcona soon began to recover. It did not take long for the signs of plague and affliction to subside. Still, he could feel it. An urge almost instinctual and entirely overwhelming. That is why he sat behind the flame. Since the incident he had taken any opportunity to cut himself off from the tumult of the forward operating base that was the throne room.
… not that these opportunities came often.
Kilvin paced behind the throne, his icy blue gaze fixated on the only entrance; a narrow walkway through the searing blue palisade. His ears pricked up and he began to growl as Fet’ai’narun rounded the walkway and approached the dais.
“Kilvin.” The Consul’s voice was a whip; the cythraul padded up beside him.
“Lord Consul,” the Chiss woman’s delicate features were awash with concern. “An unidentified craft bearing a Plagueian beacon has requested a personal audience with the Consul.”
The Arconae contemplated her words for a moment before he rose to his full height, striking an imposing figure in his new Aegis armour. It was a magnificent example of craftsmanships; bristling with horns, teeth, and heavy durasteel scales that clanked against each other as he moved. The helmet was fashioned into the head of a dragon, and the visor mimicked fire, shining a deep amber. It had been a gifted to him along with a lightsaber by the same design by the Grand Master himself on his promotion to Primarch. And it certainly had the desired effect.
“Have they mentioned their reason?” The Consul finally replied.
“No, my lord. Only that they wish to meet with you... as soon as you are able.” Fet’ai’narun struggled to regurgitate the request.
“Then they shall have it,” Wuntila stated matter-of-factly. “Send the authorisation through. Engage the tractor beam and guide them into the hangar bay. I will meet them there.”
“As you wish, Lord Consul.” Fet’ai’narun bowed her head elegantly, her jet black hair tumbling over her narrow shoulders. She smiled as she straightened up, turned and left.
The Dragon had been expecting visitors. But whether they were for the reasons he thought was a different matter.
--==[]==--
The Bridge
NSD Ascendancy
Kapsina Orbit
Jusadih System
“Brace for impact!” Tra’an’s words were lost in the chaos as another empty Gunboat careened into the Ascendancy’s hull. The Plagueian summit were thrown to the floor in a shower of sparks and failing display screens. Shouts and screams were drowned out by a deep, rumbling buzz. Lights flickered overhead, making way for the dim emerald veil of the emergency lighting. Another barrage of turbolasers rained down upon the starboard side, putting yet another hangar out of action.
A short break in the unrelenting attack allowed Kal di Plagia Vorrac to push himself to himself up and dust himself off. He offered a hand to Tra’an and pulled the Quaestor to his feet.
“We cannot keep sustaining such heavy damage,” Kal ran a hand through raven-black hair and turned to the viewport. “We will not survive much longer if we keep taking such heavy hits.”
“There’s little else we can do,” Tra’an was a leaner version of Kal, and he was looking in the mirror at a face flushed with concern. He turned and consulted the temporary executive officer before looking back to Kal. “We are spread far too thinly.”
“We can only hope Telum is successful. It will not be long before we are boarded. Would you like me to return to Eiko and the Instigator? I might be able to hold them off for a short while.” Kal’s hand instinctively wandered down to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber.
“You will be shot out of the sky for sure. Besides, Eiko will do just fine. He has Alaris and Arden. I need your help to prepare-” The words were shaken from his mouth as one of the The Baron’s engines imploded, ripping the other two engines from their mounts. The neighbouring Victory II-class Star Destroyer limped to a halt, and a number of bombers swooped in, releasing a blanket of bombs on the stern to ensure the engines would not spring back into life any time soon.
Tra’an recomposed himself before continuing, “... to prepare for our adversary’s boarding party.”
“As you wish.” Kal nodded to Tra’an before slipping off into pandemonium.
A skeletal staff manned the bridge of the Ascendancy as Tra’an turned and surveyed the destruction outside the viewport. A maelstrom of twisted Plagueian metal bounced off the screen as the flagship continued to orbit Kapsina. It was a scene of domination. And Plagueis were the dominated.
Their last hope rested with Telum. Their last hope rested with Arcona.
--==[]==--
Hangar Bay
Citadel
Estle City
Selen
A Firespray-31-Class patrol and attack craft sat alone in the hangar. Solitary. Motionless. It was dwarfed in the gargantuan space. Shining steel floors reflected Plagueis’ emblem from the body of the aircraft. And in the landing bay stood a silhouette. The pilot.
Footfalls echoed as he walked forward. There was a purpose to his stride... and an uneasiness. His helmet looked to be of synthetic design, smooth and metallic with mechanical, goggle-like eyes, and his physique was strong, muscular. His skin was all but covered, and he was dressed in a simple black robe. Helmet aside, he was as nondescript as can be, as was the custom in Plagueis.
Four members of the Arcona Summit guard walked up and met the guest as the striking outline of the Consul appeared through thick double doors. He was flanked by four other shadows, and all were surrounded by a sizeable force of the Summit guard.
“Greetings, Emissary,” The Arconan’s voice was as strong as steel and smooth as honey. Most people assumed that the Dragon of Selen was a vicious brute, and most were surprised at the calm tone of his leveled timbre.
Telum though on all the training he had received as a student under Kal Vorrac. His House was depending on him. Everyone. He steeled himself, dropped to one knee and bowed his head in respect.
“Thank you for taking the time to hear our voice, Lord Consul,” The Plagueian said mechanically.
Wuntila nodded his approval and motioned for Telum to rise. “I would have you speak then, but do not tarry.”
“Our fleet is taking significant damage, my Lord. We have never encountered a force like this before and we are simply outgunned. Even with the reinforcements from Antei. Lord Reith is requesting assistance from Arcona’s Forces.” To the Knights credit, he delivered the message without stutter or delay.
The Consul’s eyes revealed nothing as they seemed to stare right through Telum’s mask. His face remained impassive, but he nodded his head slowly in understanding.
“These are dark times we find ourselves in. This threat is not just an attack on individual units, but an attack on the very essence, the core of the Brotherhood. Arcona hears your words. Tell the di Plagia they will receive their reinforcements. Arcona is not in the business of leaving sitting ducks to drown.”
Telum nodded solemnly in response, “Thank you, Lord Consul.”
“What are you doing?” Strategos had remained quietly at Wuntila’s side, but was the first to query as the Plagueian was escorted back to his shuttle. “We can barely afford to reinforce our own effort, let alone offer Plagueis our help.”
“He has a point.” Sanguinius interjected, an uneasiness shifting across his dark face.
Wuntila said nothing.
Timeros scanned the faces of his peers quizzically before finally speaking. “Surely you must know why our lord Consul here has decided to make such a decision. Is it not obvious?”
Strategos and Sanguinius looked blankly at their brother. Wuntila smiled and nodded to the Adept.
“The reason our esteemed Consul decided to offer our services while we are in such dire straits ourselves is for the simple concept of relative gains. Best case scenario? We come away with Plagueis owing us a significant debt. Worst case scenario? Plagueis is all but wiped out, and we are the first there to scavenge what they have left. Seeing as we’ve only to force the fleeing attackers from the Dajorra system ourselves, we may as well attempt to make the most of Plagueis’ situation.”
“Timeros, Strategos, I want you all on the Invicta as soon as possible. I’ll coordinate the attack from here; Marick will command from the front line. Is that understood?” The two Adepts responded with a nod. “Sang, I want you to command the Darkest Night. Have Cethgus tag along with Spectre Cell. Tell him he has free choice over who he takes with him. I want you all gone within the hour.” Sanguinius also nodded before setting off into the warren of hallways.
Wuntila smiled on his way back to the throne room, Plagueis in need, Tarentum all but destroyed. This venture might turn out to be rather lucrative.
--==[]==--
Kapsina Orbit
Jusadih System
A nightmare sprawled in front of them. Wounded ships picked at by vultures. It was a sorry sight. Zoraan’s forces continued to press on, unyielding. The former Grand Master might have been dead, but the mammoth fleet once at his disposal was still strong. And it seemed like that fleet had chosen the Jusadih system.
An Imperial II-class Star Destroyer latched onto the engineless Baron, and another Vindicator-class Heavy Cruiser had set to work on the Instigator. The two remaining Victory II-class Destroyers in Zoraan’s fleet laid siege to the Plagueian flagship whilst their fighter squadrons polished off what remained of Plagueis’ defence force.
Upon the bridge of the NSD Invicta, Marick Arconae stood with hands clasped casually behind his back, his attention focused on the display screen before him. The Proconsul hated wearing his formal robes, but had been schooled enough times by Wuntila on the importance of appearance. The Consul did have a point - the lithe Hapan looked much more imposing in the plated mantle and flowing black robes that were etched with the golden patterns of the Shadesworn. The thin line of a microphone-comm protruded from the fine strands of his jet-black hair, flush against the side of his cheek. He reached a gloved hand out and swiped it across the display, his eyes mechanically shifting through the data stream scrolling across.
“Socorra, bring the Shadow around into flanking position. Sanguinius, have the Darkest Night do the same,” the Hapan said, his voice calm and steady.
Starfighters were engaged in skirmishes all around him, durasteel shredding, engines combusting, pilots screaming their last words as they tumbled towards oblivion or into the fires of of the afterlife. The enemy was falling, but so were Arconans. Marick felt each death through the Force, each one a prickle in the back of his neck. Despite this, the young Proconsul kept his face evenly keeled, unfazed by the weight of his command. He was merely playing his part, after all. A stone in the centre of a storm. From the earpiece hidden beneath his hair, the Hapan waited for his Consul’s next command.
Cease fire, Wuntila’s voice rang in his ear.
“Have the Invicta cease fire,” Marick relayed Wuntila’s order cooly. It sounded almost relaxed.
“Aye, sir,” Captain Ban Quell barked in response.
“Socorra, Sanguinus, hold fire until my count.”
“Copy,” each Quaestor replied in unison.
Marick’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he watched the enemy troops take the bait. Without the Invicta’s artillery barrage to stop them, they boldly pushed forward against Arcona’s starfighters, who began to fall back.
Shields.
“Captain, divert all power to our forward shields,” Marick repeated.
“Aye sir!”
The enemy ships closed in, and started to fire on the Invicta. Shields flared as warnings sounded all around. Marick ignored them, his eyes never leaving the display screen.
Just a little closer.
Marick’s hand raised slowly into the air. He held it there and waited.
Closer. Closer...now.
Maricks hand sliced down through the air, “Fire!”
The BAC’s Shadow and Darkest Night unloaded a flurry of missiles and turbolasers into the hull of the Vidicator-class Heavy Cruiser. It was a textbook manoeuvre, but it was effective. The Cruiser erupted, a cataclysm of the combined firepower of Arcona’s house flagships. The Instigator had been given a short respite.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Marick’s lips. No quarter, indeed.
--==[]==--
The Bridge
NSD Ascendancy
Kapsina Orbit
Jusadih System
The communication link flickered as the visage of the Arconan Consul came to life. Against short circuiting displays, the dim emergency lighting and the scurrying crew, the Dragon struck quite the figure. Tra’an Reith nodded curtly, and Wuntila responded in kind. There was an uneasiness in their relationship after their confrontation on Antei. Tra’an had held Wuntila at gunpoint, and the Arconan Consul was ready to insert a live grenade inside the Quaestor’s gullet. Both had been affected by the affliction, and it had required the Grand Master to shake them from their bloodthirst.
Now they met again, albeit through a temperamental comlink, and under very different circumstances.
“Quaestor,” Wuntila began, “I hope the Arcona Expeditionary Force will be sufficient reinforcement.”
“I hope so... ” Tra’an replied. A resounding clunk shuddered through the core of the ship; an enemy boarding tunnel. “... For the sake of Plagueis.”
Tra’an turned to Kal as the image of Wuntila rescinded, “Let’s just hope the Arconans can board the Ascendancy in time...”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Dajorran Space
Words were meaningless, forgettable. So they used none. They did not need to, for they could all see it.
The tide had shifted.
A dragon’s spectre flickered as another grand explosion shook the bridge of the Invicta. It was a spectacle. A show. And it was welcome.
The engines of the Imperial Star Destroyer before them erupted in a billowing plume of vapour and debris. The hull was already severely damaged, and there was little chance that any cohesion remained between the surviving crew since the bow and aft had been torn asunder. The communications deck and shaft floated aimlessly in the distance, and the bridge was nothing more than wrought metal. Now all that remained were a few isolated Assassin-class corvettes, and a Lancer-class frigate aptly named Enmity. Their complements had been all but eradicated by Void Squadron’s leadership of the Arcona Starfighter Corps and an unrelenting bombardment from the Invicta’s heavy turbolasers.
Arcona had plucked victory from the jaws of defeat.
Zoraan’s forces had spread through Brotherhood space, attempting to destroy the Clans and Houses while the affliction took hold. They had not counted on a vaccine. Least of all one which spread in the same way as the virus itself. Macron had outdone himself.
Reports had been coming in slowly. Naga Sadow and Tarentum had been hit the worst. Arcona, it seemed, had been spared. It could have been worse. A lot worse.
“Continue your attack,” The dragon’s visage stabilised. The bold figure loomed over his trusted summit, a ten-foot projection in the centre of the Invicta’s bridge. It was intimidating, even in the ethereal. Callous and cold and cruel and captivating.
“Leave none alive.” He let the words sink in before he finally disappeared.
Marick Arconae, Proconsul of Arcona, stepped forward. His soft voice was replaced by a bark only years of practice could teach.
“Arconans! You heard your orders! I expect you to come back with trophies of your triumphs!” The Hapan stopped for a moment, almost to soak in the atmosphere of war, before turning with all the poise of a nobleman and jostling his way into the turbolift with the remaining crew. He was not one to miss a fight. Especially not when he would get the opportunity to deliver the coup de grâce. None who dared attack Arcona would receive any quarter.
--==[]==--
Throne Room
Arcona Citadel
Estle City
Selen
The cavern. The lair. The Dragon’s nest. But it was different. Tame. Almost domesticated. Arcona’s heart had been transformed into a strategic epicentre. And it simmered with anxiety.
The room was colossal. Lavishly adorned with murals and tapestries of Arcona’s favours and failings, with a deep, polished onyx floor, it was a regal reflection of Arcona’s affluence. Walls clad with black marble seemed to shimmer sapphire as a palisade of blue flame licked at scorched pillars at the far end of the hall. And behind the infernal barrier was the Consul; a statue atop the Serpentine Throne.
Wuntila rapped his fingers restlessly against the cold stone of the armrest as the projection of Marick and Socorra disappeared. He had only recently returned from Antei... from a meeting that nearly cost him and his peers their lives. Consuls and Quaestors with weapons drawn. Barrels raised with blades and brawn. All driven to madness by Zoraan’s influence and destruction. But he had failed. The vaccine had been released, and it had begun to circulate. Tra’an Reith called it an ‘infectious cure’, and every Consul and Quaestor had become a carrier, along with the Dark Council. They had been relieved of their lust. Reluctantly, they had lowered their weapons and travelled home.
Upon Wuntila’s return Arcona soon began to recover. It did not take long for the signs of plague and affliction to subside. Still, he could feel it. An urge almost instinctual and entirely overwhelming. That is why he sat behind the flame. Since the incident he had taken any opportunity to cut himself off from the tumult of the forward operating base that was the throne room.
… not that these opportunities came often.
Kilvin paced behind the throne, his icy blue gaze fixated on the only entrance; a narrow walkway through the searing blue palisade. His ears pricked up and he began to growl as Fet’ai’narun rounded the walkway and approached the dais.
“Kilvin.” The Consul’s voice was a whip; the cythraul padded up beside him.
“Lord Consul,” the Chiss woman’s delicate features were awash with concern. “An unidentified craft bearing a Plagueian beacon has requested a personal audience with the Consul.”
The Arconae contemplated her words for a moment before he rose to his full height, striking an imposing figure in his new Aegis armour. It was a magnificent example of craftsmanships; bristling with horns, teeth, and heavy durasteel scales that clanked against each other as he moved. The helmet was fashioned into the head of a dragon, and the visor mimicked fire, shining a deep amber. It had been a gifted to him along with a lightsaber by the same design by the Grand Master himself on his promotion to Primarch. And it certainly had the desired effect.
“Have they mentioned their reason?” The Consul finally replied.
“No, my lord. Only that they wish to meet with you... as soon as you are able.” Fet’ai’narun struggled to regurgitate the request.
“Then they shall have it,” Wuntila stated matter-of-factly. “Send the authorisation through. Engage the tractor beam and guide them into the hangar bay. I will meet them there.”
“As you wish, Lord Consul.” Fet’ai’narun bowed her head elegantly, her jet black hair tumbling over her narrow shoulders. She smiled as she straightened up, turned and left.
The Dragon had been expecting visitors. But whether they were for the reasons he thought was a different matter.
--==[]==--
The Bridge
NSD Ascendancy
Kapsina Orbit
Jusadih System
“Brace for impact!” Tra’an’s words were lost in the chaos as another empty Gunboat careened into the Ascendancy’s hull. The Plagueian summit were thrown to the floor in a shower of sparks and failing display screens. Shouts and screams were drowned out by a deep, rumbling buzz. Lights flickered overhead, making way for the dim emerald veil of the emergency lighting. Another barrage of turbolasers rained down upon the starboard side, putting yet another hangar out of action.
A short break in the unrelenting attack allowed Kal di Plagia Vorrac to push himself to himself up and dust himself off. He offered a hand to Tra’an and pulled the Quaestor to his feet.
“We cannot keep sustaining such heavy damage,” Kal ran a hand through raven-black hair and turned to the viewport. “We will not survive much longer if we keep taking such heavy hits.”
“There’s little else we can do,” Tra’an was a leaner version of Kal, and he was looking in the mirror at a face flushed with concern. He turned and consulted the temporary executive officer before looking back to Kal. “We are spread far too thinly.”
“We can only hope Telum is successful. It will not be long before we are boarded. Would you like me to return to Eiko and the Instigator? I might be able to hold them off for a short while.” Kal’s hand instinctively wandered down to rest on the hilt of his lightsaber.
“You will be shot out of the sky for sure. Besides, Eiko will do just fine. He has Alaris and Arden. I need your help to prepare-” The words were shaken from his mouth as one of the The Baron’s engines imploded, ripping the other two engines from their mounts. The neighbouring Victory II-class Star Destroyer limped to a halt, and a number of bombers swooped in, releasing a blanket of bombs on the stern to ensure the engines would not spring back into life any time soon.
Tra’an recomposed himself before continuing, “... to prepare for our adversary’s boarding party.”
“As you wish.” Kal nodded to Tra’an before slipping off into pandemonium.
A skeletal staff manned the bridge of the Ascendancy as Tra’an turned and surveyed the destruction outside the viewport. A maelstrom of twisted Plagueian metal bounced off the screen as the flagship continued to orbit Kapsina. It was a scene of domination. And Plagueis were the dominated.
Their last hope rested with Telum. Their last hope rested with Arcona.
--==[]==--
Hangar Bay
Citadel
Estle City
Selen
A Firespray-31-Class patrol and attack craft sat alone in the hangar. Solitary. Motionless. It was dwarfed in the gargantuan space. Shining steel floors reflected Plagueis’ emblem from the body of the aircraft. And in the landing bay stood a silhouette. The pilot.
Footfalls echoed as he walked forward. There was a purpose to his stride... and an uneasiness. His helmet looked to be of synthetic design, smooth and metallic with mechanical, goggle-like eyes, and his physique was strong, muscular. His skin was all but covered, and he was dressed in a simple black robe. Helmet aside, he was as nondescript as can be, as was the custom in Plagueis.
Four members of the Arcona Summit guard walked up and met the guest as the striking outline of the Consul appeared through thick double doors. He was flanked by four other shadows, and all were surrounded by a sizeable force of the Summit guard.
“Greetings, Emissary,” The Arconan’s voice was as strong as steel and smooth as honey. Most people assumed that the Dragon of Selen was a vicious brute, and most were surprised at the calm tone of his leveled timbre.
Telum though on all the training he had received as a student under Kal Vorrac. His House was depending on him. Everyone. He steeled himself, dropped to one knee and bowed his head in respect.
“Thank you for taking the time to hear our voice, Lord Consul,” The Plagueian said mechanically.
Wuntila nodded his approval and motioned for Telum to rise. “I would have you speak then, but do not tarry.”
“Our fleet is taking significant damage, my Lord. We have never encountered a force like this before and we are simply outgunned. Even with the reinforcements from Antei. Lord Reith is requesting assistance from Arcona’s Forces.” To the Knights credit, he delivered the message without stutter or delay.
The Consul’s eyes revealed nothing as they seemed to stare right through Telum’s mask. His face remained impassive, but he nodded his head slowly in understanding.
“These are dark times we find ourselves in. This threat is not just an attack on individual units, but an attack on the very essence, the core of the Brotherhood. Arcona hears your words. Tell the di Plagia they will receive their reinforcements. Arcona is not in the business of leaving sitting ducks to drown.”
Telum nodded solemnly in response, “Thank you, Lord Consul.”
“What are you doing?” Strategos had remained quietly at Wuntila’s side, but was the first to query as the Plagueian was escorted back to his shuttle. “We can barely afford to reinforce our own effort, let alone offer Plagueis our help.”
“He has a point.” Sanguinius interjected, an uneasiness shifting across his dark face.
Wuntila said nothing.
Timeros scanned the faces of his peers quizzically before finally speaking. “Surely you must know why our lord Consul here has decided to make such a decision. Is it not obvious?”
Strategos and Sanguinius looked blankly at their brother. Wuntila smiled and nodded to the Adept.
“The reason our esteemed Consul decided to offer our services while we are in such dire straits ourselves is for the simple concept of relative gains. Best case scenario? We come away with Plagueis owing us a significant debt. Worst case scenario? Plagueis is all but wiped out, and we are the first there to scavenge what they have left. Seeing as we’ve only to force the fleeing attackers from the Dajorra system ourselves, we may as well attempt to make the most of Plagueis’ situation.”
“Timeros, Strategos, I want you all on the Invicta as soon as possible. I’ll coordinate the attack from here; Marick will command from the front line. Is that understood?” The two Adepts responded with a nod. “Sang, I want you to command the Darkest Night. Have Cethgus tag along with Spectre Cell. Tell him he has free choice over who he takes with him. I want you all gone within the hour.” Sanguinius also nodded before setting off into the warren of hallways.
Wuntila smiled on his way back to the throne room, Plagueis in need, Tarentum all but destroyed. This venture might turn out to be rather lucrative.
--==[]==--
Kapsina Orbit
Jusadih System
A nightmare sprawled in front of them. Wounded ships picked at by vultures. It was a sorry sight. Zoraan’s forces continued to press on, unyielding. The former Grand Master might have been dead, but the mammoth fleet once at his disposal was still strong. And it seemed like that fleet had chosen the Jusadih system.
An Imperial II-class Star Destroyer latched onto the engineless Baron, and another Vindicator-class Heavy Cruiser had set to work on the Instigator. The two remaining Victory II-class Destroyers in Zoraan’s fleet laid siege to the Plagueian flagship whilst their fighter squadrons polished off what remained of Plagueis’ defence force.
Upon the bridge of the NSD Invicta, Marick Arconae stood with hands clasped casually behind his back, his attention focused on the display screen before him. The Proconsul hated wearing his formal robes, but had been schooled enough times by Wuntila on the importance of appearance. The Consul did have a point - the lithe Hapan looked much more imposing in the plated mantle and flowing black robes that were etched with the golden patterns of the Shadesworn. The thin line of a microphone-comm protruded from the fine strands of his jet-black hair, flush against the side of his cheek. He reached a gloved hand out and swiped it across the display, his eyes mechanically shifting through the data stream scrolling across.
“Socorra, bring the Shadow around into flanking position. Sanguinius, have the Darkest Night do the same,” the Hapan said, his voice calm and steady.
Starfighters were engaged in skirmishes all around him, durasteel shredding, engines combusting, pilots screaming their last words as they tumbled towards oblivion or into the fires of of the afterlife. The enemy was falling, but so were Arconans. Marick felt each death through the Force, each one a prickle in the back of his neck. Despite this, the young Proconsul kept his face evenly keeled, unfazed by the weight of his command. He was merely playing his part, after all. A stone in the centre of a storm. From the earpiece hidden beneath his hair, the Hapan waited for his Consul’s next command.
Cease fire, Wuntila’s voice rang in his ear.
“Have the Invicta cease fire,” Marick relayed Wuntila’s order cooly. It sounded almost relaxed.
“Aye, sir,” Captain Ban Quell barked in response.
“Socorra, Sanguinus, hold fire until my count.”
“Copy,” each Quaestor replied in unison.
Marick’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he watched the enemy troops take the bait. Without the Invicta’s artillery barrage to stop them, they boldly pushed forward against Arcona’s starfighters, who began to fall back.
Shields.
“Captain, divert all power to our forward shields,” Marick repeated.
“Aye sir!”
The enemy ships closed in, and started to fire on the Invicta. Shields flared as warnings sounded all around. Marick ignored them, his eyes never leaving the display screen.
Just a little closer.
Marick’s hand raised slowly into the air. He held it there and waited.
Closer. Closer...now.
Maricks hand sliced down through the air, “Fire!”
The BAC’s Shadow and Darkest Night unloaded a flurry of missiles and turbolasers into the hull of the Vidicator-class Heavy Cruiser. It was a textbook manoeuvre, but it was effective. The Cruiser erupted, a cataclysm of the combined firepower of Arcona’s house flagships. The Instigator had been given a short respite.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Marick’s lips. No quarter, indeed.
--==[]==--
The Bridge
NSD Ascendancy
Kapsina Orbit
Jusadih System
The communication link flickered as the visage of the Arconan Consul came to life. Against short circuiting displays, the dim emergency lighting and the scurrying crew, the Dragon struck quite the figure. Tra’an Reith nodded curtly, and Wuntila responded in kind. There was an uneasiness in their relationship after their confrontation on Antei. Tra’an had held Wuntila at gunpoint, and the Arconan Consul was ready to insert a live grenade inside the Quaestor’s gullet. Both had been affected by the affliction, and it had required the Grand Master to shake them from their bloodthirst.
Now they met again, albeit through a temperamental comlink, and under very different circumstances.
“Quaestor,” Wuntila began, “I hope the Arcona Expeditionary Force will be sufficient reinforcement.”
“I hope so... ” Tra’an replied. A resounding clunk shuddered through the core of the ship; an enemy boarding tunnel. “... For the sake of Plagueis.”
Tra’an turned to Kal as the image of Wuntila rescinded, “Let’s just hope the Arconans can board the Ascendancy in time...”
TO BE CONTINUED...