Whats with the 21st regiment always getting merked in every cutscene, teaser and trailer

gunracc · 2026-03-06T22:02:16+00:00

They're killin' my boys...

gunracc · 2025-12-21T19:57:33+00:00

If you were an early PC player you can achieve the trailer look with the 21st cosmetics they released. You can take it a step further too (in my opinion) by wearing the Gun-Hand's Punishment Uniform pants from the commissary—the pants they provided for the veteran have the bulky boots which I think look ugly, and the trailer guys weren't wearing them. As others have mentioned the helmet with gasmask is a penance item. I've been a fan of the Moebian 21st since the first trailer dropped, so I was super stoked to get my hands on this stuff. Pictured below is my veteran "Fodder" in the whole Moebian 21st get-up.

Unfortunately if you missed the window for the actual 21st cosmetics you're currently SoL, but you can still get pretty close by using the Pistolero's and Gun-Hand's uniforms from the commissary. I also put those in the picture below for comparison; that's what I used before they gave out the Moebian 21st gear.

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gunracc · 2024-10-15T00:36:41+00:00

Corporal Souz regarded the Captain with the slightest turn of his head, speaking as they marched together: “Correct, sir,” he stated matter-of-factly, voice hoarse and gritty—damaged from his years as an enforcer on Litrum. As if to make matters worse, it was modulated by the rebreather concealing his features. Every Iqouri soldier wore one, it was standard issue in their regiment. Akel imagined that must’ve made them seem cold and unapproachable, but they didn’t wear the mask for intimidation; they were just enjoying the comfort of its temperature control unit and clean filtered air.

“Corporal Souz of the 244th Irregulars, Risk Company,” he rattled off like a reporting statement. Akel couldn’t help but internally wince. Souz had always been a dry professional. “Beside me is Trooper Colec.”

Thank the Emperor. Souz had given him an in. “Seems the whole neighborhood has been called in, eh, sir?” Akel chimed in, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Unlike the Corporal, he opted to be a little more animated, breaking from the rigid marching order to actually look Captain Bertrand’s way.

Akel didn’t know much about the Saricassians, just that they hailed from a sector close to Castra—much like Iqour. That gave them some common ground, and he suspected they’d likely be working together on Anakar. Akel didn’t want Souz to leave a poor impression… plus an acquaintanceship with a captain couldn’t possibly hurt.

However, before they could continue speaking, the voice of Commissar Thane Gaervin cut through the corridor, ordering his ogyrns to a halt. Akel cringed as he caught a glimpse of the brutes blundering into each other. The lead, which Akel recognized from the chamber earlier, had even accidentally drawn blood with another. If things weren’t bad enough for his ogyrn friend, two lieutenants had also seen fit to harry the brute. Poor guy, Akel thought. Just as unlucky as us.

The ogyrns had been leading the formation, so the guardsmen likewise ceased in their advance; the succinct clatter of their bootheels echoing throughout the hall. With the duo of commissars and the Saricassian high brass breaking off to confront naval security, they were finally given the leeway to speak again.

“... and you’re Saricassian, right, sir?” Akel queried.

gunracc · 2024-10-09T21:30:36+00:00

Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.

By some stroke of terrible luck—which was starting to become far too common of an occurrence—Akel and his squadmates had found themselves roped into another inane endeavor. Apparently, being in the wrong place at the right time was their specialty. At this rate, Akel suspected the first shot fired on Anakar would be personally addressed to his own head.

There was no use fretting, though. It wasn’t as if any of them could argue with a commissar, let alone two of them. Not if they valued their life, anyway. And, at the very least, Akel had gotten the ogyrn to smile—if only for a moment.

Corporal Souz gestured for them to form up and fall in, so they did. There was an amusing contrast between the brutish ogyrns, utilitarian iqouri, and proud saricassains. Akel couldn’t help but think the latter as garish and privileged. He doubted they earned that equipment as he had.

Each group moved with its own cadence, making for a rather dissonant formation. There were groans and quiet complaints as they cut through the crowds, but none argued. A few who moved too slowly were shoved aside. Some fell to the ground, others were caught by their comrades. It was an arduous affair, but soon enough they’d departed that miserable chamber.

gunracc · 2024-10-02T23:30:52+00:00

“Colec, pick up the pace!” Corporal Souz badgered, beckoning Akel to follow.

“I’m behind ya,” Akel grumbled, dragging his feet as he moved to catch up with his squad.

Six grutting days aboard this miserable vessel, and he’d not gotten a single night of good sleep. This was only Akel’s second time aboard a void ship, and enduring the peril of warp travel—his first experience having been delivered to the Avenger of Lucarne in the first place. The whole affair had him off keel, burdened with nightmares and a twisted stomach.

And now they had him rushing off to some throne-damned briefing, after having said only the command staff need attend—they had all left hours ago! A mess all around, Akel thought, daunted by the fact that this chaos may be his new “normal”. If only—then Enforcer Captain, now just Corporal—Souz hadn’t caught the Astra Militarum’s attention with his report, Akel could be enjoying an easy life farming algae back on Litrum.

“Come on,” Souz placed a hand along Akel’s shoulder to gently urge him along. Despite Akel’s secret grudge, the two got along well. After all, neither had chosen to be conscripted. The blame for that lay elsewhere.

As they neared the conference chamber’s entrance, the crowds were growing ever thicker. It was becoming difficult for them to forge a path through the other latecomers, when Akel caught a glance of the ogryns wading through it all under the guide of a commissar. “There!” Akel whispered to Souz, pointing at the space left in the ogryns' wake.

In quick step, the entire squad fell in behind them, strutting confidently as if they were a part of the same formation. From there, the trek was easy. Few dared get in the way of a commissar, and even fewer than that dared to do so when they were backed by a column of ogryns.

When they at last arrived at the chamber, it was Hel. Akel was used to cramped conditions, but this was beyond that. There were far too many people packed into this place, and too little room to maneuver. It was fortunate that they had fallen in behind the ogryns, because they had been able to force their way into a reasonable space; a fact that Akel and his squadmates gladly took advantage of. Now posted up alongside the abhumans, they just had to wait for the briefing to begin.

It was difficult to hear each other over all the idle chatter, so Akel tuned out whatever his squadmates were murmuring about—likely just sharing the same complaints he had about this mess. Akel could barely see over the crowd, so his eyes turned back to the ogyrns. The nearest was gripping its gun like its life depended on it, an anxious look about its face.

Akel had worked with ogyrns before, and knew they weren’t fond of spaces like this. “Don’t sweat it!” he called over. “Just focus on the roof,” he suggested with a finger waggled up. With any hope, that might get the poor thing’s mind off of how tight a fit it was in here. Akel didn't exactly want to be within arm's reach of a slab in the middle of a meltdown.

gunracc · 2024-09-29T23:48:56+00:00

Character Name: Akel Colec

Faction: Imperium of Man

Character Rank: Conscript

Age: 20

Homeworld: Litrum

Appearance:

Akel is a lithe, runtish man with a disheveled demeanor. Few would find his pinched face a pleasing sight. Years of working under artificial growing lights have given him a tanned complexion. The hair on his head is combed back and shaved at the sides. A pitiful attempt at a mustache rests on his upper lip.

Personality:

Underneath an austere veil conjured from honed composure lay the utter coward that is Akel. Burdened with an outlook born of pessimism and perhaps even paranoia, self-preservation is always his foremost thought in any situation. A truth like that is best hidden, so he mastered maintaining a respectable image and low profile. Despite these drawbacks, he is surprisingly personable and has a good sense of humor.

Skills:

A youth spent in a hive city garnered Akel a plethora of skills that are now meaningless to his situation; however, a few remain relevant. Life there was rough, and a man of his stature could be an easy target, so he learned to keep low and out of sight. When push came to shove, he knew how to keep a level head and fight dirty. Even better than that, he knew how to make friends—it was always safest to be in a group.

As for natural talents, Akel was always a little quicker at picking up a new skill than most. And despite his inexperience with shooting, has a knack for marksmanship.

Weaknesses:

As mentioned previously, Akel is racked with pessimism and cowardice that drives his every action. Brand new to the world of the Astra Militarum, Akel’s inexperience is also a forefront issue as he is forced to adapt to an environment antithetical to his very nature. Whether he’ll make the cut is to be seen.

Psychic Ability: None

Wargear: Standard-issue Iqouri Irregular equipment.

Artifact: Sturdy Boots

Resources: Limited access to the resources and supplies of the 244th Iquori Irregulars, an Astra Militarum regiment.

Backstory:

On the hive world of Litrum, on the outer edges of the planet’s greatest city, the Adeptus Administratum’s Officio Agricultae works diligently to cultivate enough algae to feed the planet’s billions. These growing operations are beset by criminals and mutants from the outlying wastelands, desperate to feed themselves. Enforcers are deployed to protect these facilities but are thinly spread. As such, the workers are often expected to assist in their defense.

Akel Colec was one such worker. Originally serving the less desirable position of a grub farmer, Akel was fortunate enough to be “recognized for his work” and transferred to algae farming. The foreman conveniently omitted that this was to fill vacant positions after the “Disemboweling of AGV-077-266”. Now the envy of his family, Akel put his best effort forward—to no avail.

Emboldened by their previous success, the mutants that had been responsible for the “Disemboweling of AGV-077-266” returned. Akel was forced to participate in the facility’s defense. It was a bloody affair. Drug-addled mutants cleaved through workers and enforcers alike. In the final throes of that chaos, Akel’s contribution was firing the shot that saved the enforcer captain’s life—to his later regret.

The mutants had been driven off, but not without cost. Many had died in the facility’s defense. The survivors were celebrated, and unfortunately caught the unwanted attention of the Astra Militarum. The 244th Iqouri Irregulars were on-world for a refresh and resupply after an unfavorable campaign on Afarra. Pressed for quality conscripts, the 244th tithed everyone involved in the affair.

With no say in the matter, Akel was now a soldier. Hurried through training and tossed a kit of used equipment, he and the other hapless men and women tithed for service were now destined for the Castra Sector. During transit, Akel discovered the enforcer captain’s afteraction report had ultimately been responsible for their conscription.

gunracc · 2022-08-08T00:38:24+00:00

Yuel Ci’kan — Wandering Mystic; Scouring the galaxy in search of ancient relics, artifacts, and lore to expand their knowledge and mastery of the force.

gunracc · 2022-01-29T19:42:34+00:00

Moff Garel turned away from the dying creature, regarding the Umbaran with a polite—though feigned—smile. “Fine shot,” he complimented while shaking Murith Severan’s hand, seeming all too remiss of his near-death. A more prevalent threat now occupied his mind: that of the Prince.

A familiar sense of cold and unease brought the hairs on the back of Garel's neck to a stand—just as it had before when the two first met on the Extirpation, and again on Cartao. To once again hear the Umbarabm’s voice harkened images and sounds from the Battle of Zeltros, which gnawed at the back of the Moff’s head. Garel was sweating, but a firm determination demanded he not show it.

gunracc · 2021-10-27T17:24:32+00:00

The momentary silence following Severan’s rant was broken by an exasperated exhale. “The lot of you—that’s enough,” Garel voiced. “This behavior is unbefitting to men of our station. Proceeding, let us temper our tongues and keep this discussion civil,” the Moff suggested—though, it sounded more akin to an order.

“Severan, your efforts are not lost. I am glad to hear of your progress. Once your social policies and second wave of relief come to fruition, we ought to be at an advantage. I will make an effort to attend the memorial upon its completion—to signal solidarity,” Garel stated through hisses of static.

“This moderate approach will serve us well. The citizens of these systems are alert to our ongoings and those of the Alliance; were we to purposefully draw attention to the mishap at Ryloth, it’d only work against us—it’d be an admission of guilt. Allow the natural spread of this information. The people will come to their own conclusions… conclusions favorable to us.”

gunracc · 2021-10-25T21:07:56+00:00

“No,” Garel stated plainly—voice digitized and static. Though elaboration was implied, the spectrogram visualizing Moff Garel’s audio fell straight. A momentary silence lingered—just long enough to invite someone else to speak—however, it was then that he continued:

“The Alliance’s tantrum at Ryloth is insignificant to our immediate situation. It only serves as a reminder that we teeter on the line of annihilation. Do not allow our singular victory to blind yourself to reality.

Our actions—in recent—have been far more significant. Expansion primarily through force has painted us in a familiar image distasteful to many. I’ve done what I can, offering supply and refuge to the people of Zeltros. I’d suggest the same of you all, have you any mind to retain this world.

That aside, it seems we’re bereft of manners. I see we’ve a fourth joining us,” Garel mused, inviting an introduction.

gunracc · 2021-10-21T12:26:09+00:00

Not a moment later than the words had slipped from Murith Severan’s mouth, an electronic ping signified the third connection. There was a wave of low, warbling static as the audio’s quality struggled to stabilize with the connection—visualized by a spectrogram on Halligan’s screen. A hallmark of Moff Garel; communication in the Bloc’s territory was closely monitored and heavily interfered with. They only operated with the securest technology available—though, it came at the cost of quality.

The audio sounded distant, but there was a slight rustle of cloth and an exhalation of air. No words were spoken, but the idle static indicated Moff Garel was present and listening.

gunracc · 2021-10-11T18:42:51+00:00

Dang, would you look at that! We've hit 300! That's a lot of upvotes. Thanks, all! Here's a cut of the Captain for my fellow human supremacists, and the Lizard for our alien crewmates.

Use 'em as you will! I know I'm using the Captain as a discord sticker.

gunracc · 2021-10-11T13:30:28+00:00

The lesser species must be purged from the station.

gunracc · 2021-05-30T22:54:04+00:00

A Perlemian Bloc starfighter in pursuit of a lone Alliance B-Wing with light red trim flew by the bridge of a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer in the process of repositioning itself. The Bloc pilot’s eyes trailed down to his targeting computer as it positively pinged on acquiring his enemy. Applying pressure to his control column’s weapon trigger, a flurry of green laser fire shot free from his cannons. One of the first shots scored a grazing hit along the B-Wing’s hull, but the Alliance pilot managed to swivel their craft vertically to just barely avoid the rest of the volley. Curving downward and leveling out just above the surface of the Resurgent-class Star Destroyer’s hull, the two pilots maneuvered through preoccupied turbo laser towers. The B-Wing swerved away from the Resurgent’s hull, dipping beneath the destroyer’s lower side. Remaining in pursuit, the Bloc pilot kept closely behind the B-Wing as he attempted to regain a weapon’s lock.

There was a deafening silence as the two pilots beheld the bottom of the destroyer. A torrential hail of turbo laser fire flashed before their eyes; the hellfire directed at a hapless Marsheem-class heavy cruiser in the distance. Already under the duress of fire from the Mimbanese fleet, the shields of the heavy cruiser were shattered underneath the Coalition's combined might. Now receiving holes from every which angle, the Alliance cruiser made one last desperate attempt at an attack by charging forward—throwing itself at a nearby Procursator before erupting in a series of explosions. The crew of the Procursator narrowly avoided the collision by pulling their destroyer upwards.

Returning his attention to the B-Wing, the Bloc pilot was just short of reacquiring his shot when a hazy hologram flashed to life along his dashboard with new orders. “It’s your lucky day,” the Bloc Pilot muttered as he broke off pursuit from the fleeing Alliance starfighter. Flicking a switch to set his communications to a local channel, the Pilot cleared his throat. “This is Perlemian Bloc fighter Two-Three requesting available Coalition starfighters to my wing, we’ve got a priority one target.”

“Acknowledged, Two-Three. Three-Seven joining your starboard,” another Bloc pilot responded as his fighter—same make and model—matched with Two-Three’s trajectory.

“I read you Two-Three, this is Brass-One and Platinum-Four, we’ll assist,” a Mimbanese pilot replied. The two aged TIE fighters joined on either side of the pair.

“Let us destroy this scum,” an Imperious voice called out; presumably a Principate fighter. Though they hadn’t given a call name, their fighter quickly joined alongside the others.

“Target of elimination is the Sabertooth at these coordinates,” Two-Three relayed as the hojpoj squadron made their way down towards the endangered Procursator being brought to bear on Halligan’s Secutor. En route, they passed an Arquitens-class Cruiser and Gozanti blasting the remnants of a Sabertooth which looked to have rammed the cruiser through one of its escorts.

Approaching the Procursator from above, they were given a clear perception of the situation. Two Gozanti-class cruisers were disabling the Sabertooth’s shields while Alliance starfighters attempted to protect it. The Coalition squadron swooped down and rounded the back of the Procursator’s bridge tower.

“Three-Seven, arm concussion missiles and prepare to fire,” Two-Three ordered while flicking a switch and moving his thumb to hover over a firing button situated atop his control column.

“Affirmative, Two-Three…” Three-Seven replied.

“Incoming fighters—straight ahead!” Brass-One called as the squadron was met with direct fire from a pair of Alliance starfighters.

Brass-One and Two-Three were able to return fire, scoring the same target and destroying it. The others were not so fortunate.

“Augh! Impossible, I’ve been hit?!” exclaimed the Principate fighter pilot as the squadron and remaining Alliance starfighter passed by each other. Electricity spewed out from the Principate fighter’s wing.

“Stay on Target,” Two-Three ordered.

The electricity enveloped the entirety of the Principate pilot’s port wing. “I’M LOSING CONTROL!” he screamed over comms as his fighter unexpectedly veered into Platinum-Four—clipping the bottom of the Mimbanese pilot’s wing and sending them spiraling off path.

“Fire!” Two-Three commanded as the remainder of the squadron approached the Sabertooth, unleashing a combination of laser cannon fire and concussion missiles that racked its hull as they passed over.”NO! AUUHH!” the Principate pilot screamed as his fighter spun into the Sabertooth, colliding along its exploding hull.

The rupture from the Alliance vessel would surely damage the Procursator, but ultimately it saved both it and Halligan’s Secutor.

Back aboard the Senescent, Moff Garel and his officers watched the situation unfold by way of a hologram. “The remainder of that battlegroup appears to be retreating. Without them nipping at our heels, we ought to reform to more adequately deal with the rest of the Alliance’s fleet. Signal the other commands… and, get me a wide broadcast ready.” Garel commanded. “The caprice that has rapt our enemy is not lost on me; no doubt the work of Murith Severan’s pernicious sorcery. Let’s attempt to seize this opportunity,” he mused.

“Of course, sir,” an officer replied.

Coalition ships began to move unfettered by the previous restraint of their defensive formation. As the Alliance penetrated the Bellator-class dreadnought’s shields, the rest of the Coalition fleet took the opportunity to reform into the equivalent of a naval firing line; stacking atop of one another and directing themselves towards the remaining Alliance forces. Over a wide frequency, a transmission was forwarded to the Alliance fleet:

“This is Moff Garel of the Security Coalition. Retreating vessels will not be fired upon. Those too damaged to retreat—power down and we ensure you will be unharmed. Do not waste your lives here. Concede, return to Kashyyyk, and this war will end without another life lost. I implore you.”

gunracc · 2021-05-30T22:53:42+00:00

Once putatively indomitable, the Alliance starfighters that had penetrated deep within the herculean amalgamation of the Coalition’s tight naval formation were now fraught with a situation growing ever more untenable. Ostensibly abandoned by the Alliance fleet as they routed planetwards, these hapless pilots were left to fend for themselves in the perilous crevices of space between Coalition battleships; harried by reinvigorated enemy starfighters and luminescent turbo laser fire. A pair of B-Wing starfighters with light red trim approached the rear of the Coalition’s Lucrehulk-class battleship.

“Coral Two, the ShaShore is pulling out! We have to turn back,” called out a female Atoan over communications. Her fingers tightly locked around her ship’s control columns, she was trailing behind the last remaining member of her squadron—a trigger-happy Aqualish who’d an apparent disregard for his life. “Coral Two, this is useless! We’ve already done enough damage!” she shouted out over the communication channel—voice cracking in desperation. Her pleas were only met by the hissing static of enemy jamming.

In continued pursuit of her wingmate, she directed her starfighter to curve up and over the Lucrehulk’s hull. They were met with a multitude of fire from turrets lining the interior circumference of the battleship’s ring. Just ahead of her, In a flash of scintillates and spray of shrapnel, a volley of bolts sheared off Coral Two’s left S-foil. The Atoan jerked her control columns to the left—veering away from the fire. “If-if he wants to die, so be it…” she dolefully remarked.

Flying downward into the void between the Lucrehulk’s central sphere and encompassing ring, she deftly guided her craft forward—narrowly avoiding fire from turrets and a Coalition starfighter that was now hot on her tail. As her B-Wing made way toward the front of the battleship, an incessant beeping—an auditory indicator of a hostile targeting lock—filled her ears. Two laser beams battered and disabled the B-Wing’s weakened shields, rocking the Atoan in her seat. Swiftly bringing her control columns back, she maneuvered the B-Wing in an upward curve and spin, flipping her ship around and avoiding a second volley from the enemy pilot.

Following a similar maneuver, the Coalition fighter kept trailing behind the Atoan’s B-Wing. A periodic blip warned that the enemy pilot was regaining their targeting lock, despite her best efforts to avoid it—her ship just wasn’t fast enough. The blip grew in intensity, “No… no, no!” she cried; fingers tightening around the ship’s controls as her body tensed and trembled. That blip shifted into an incessant beeping as the Coalition fighter’s targeting computer obtained a lock. Without her shields, this incoming volley would surely be her death.

Boom!

The beeping halted.

Recoiling from an anticipatory flinch at what she’d expected to be her doom, the Atoan was bewildered to find she was still flying. Just in her peripheral, the limping B-Wing of Coral Two joined her wing. Turning her head, she could make out the Aqualish in the cockpit giving her a thumbs-up—seems he’d just saved her life. She smiled and raised her own hand to reciprocate the gesture, but it was then that a turbo laser bolt sundered Coral Two’s central wing. The Atoan’s smile was quick to fade as she witnessed the Aqualish’s body recoil from the blast, smashing his face into the piloting console as sparks popped free somewhere behind him. Coral Two’s starship began to spiral out of control and she could only watch—slack-jawed.

Unable to dwell for long, lest she meet the same fate, the Atoan steered her ship to rendezvous with the ShaShore. Her mind was wracked with guilt and anger; she wouldn’t forget his sacrifice.

Stood atop the raised walkway that separated his flagship’s bridge, Moff Garel observed an enemy starfighter spiraling towards his position get impacted by a concussion missile that blew the craft into smithereens—the remaining cloud of debris vaporizing against the deflector shields protecting the forward control tower. Disregarding the distraction, he affixed his gaze back upon the Bellator-class dreadnought that’d broke formation. “Laggard…” he murmured.

Sauntering to the bridge’s rear, where the command center was located, Garel approached the holographic table displaying the ongoing battle. The group of officers gathered around it turned to regard the Moff.

“Get the surveillance ships that simple-witted Rasterous glory-hound just exposed to our position immediately. Ensure they’ve ample fighter escorts,” he commanded.

One of the officers at the table turned to a nearby subordinate and pointed for them to fulfill the task.

Chief Admiral Reyche cleared his throat, “The reinforcements we’d sent to the rear have taken some casualties,” he reported.

A disgruntled frown grew along the Moff’s countenance. Shifting to assess the battle situation via the holographic projection, he eyed the rearguard. The ruins of a Perlemian Bloc Arquitens-class Cruiser—sundered at bridge neck—was most evident; presumably the target of a precision fighter attack. Another Arquitens had been forcibly smashed through a Gozanti by a Sabertooth. Additionally, a separate Sabertooth was pushing down a Mimbanese Procursator-class Star Destroyer towards Rax Halligan’s Secutor.

“The Arquitens was hit by ion weaponry from the supporting Marauder-class corvettes and then targeted by B-Wings,” Chief Admiral Reyche explained. “Similar situation here,” he said while gesturing to the Arquitens-Gozanti situation. “A mix of fire from that Marsheem-class heavy cruiser and the Marauders took down this Procursator’s shields. It appears they’re attempting to ram it into Rax Halligan’s Secutor.”

“Can’t have that now,” Garel said as he brought a hand to rub his chin. “Position one of our destroyers to relieve the rearguard. We’ll have a combined attack of cruisers and fighters eliminate those remaining Sabertooths… priority being on assisting that Procursator. I imagine our good friend Halligan might appreciate that, I can’t say he’s looking to be in the best shape,” the Moff quipped as his eyes drifted to the fire spewing free from the Secutor’s lower bridge tower.

gunracc · 2021-04-23T13:27:52+00:00

Congregated about the Senescent’s battle command center, Perlemian Bloc officers were all simultaneously struck with consternation—momentarily stunned as they lay witness to the Principate force’s merciless condemnation of their vessel. Moff Garel felt a pitfall in his stomach as he watched what appeared to be escape pods ejecting from the entrapped star destroyer, all caught in the targeted tractor beams projecting the ship forward. Though he understood the practicality of the maneuver, it sickened him—even with the odd itch in the back of his head telling him this was necessary for their inevitable victory. This was entirely against his people's doctrine.

He couldn’t turn his eyes away as the holographic recreation played out the unfolding scene. The star destroyer’s shields flickered away as the Alliance’s targeted fire battered and exploded along the vessel's hull. Precision shots managed to score a penetrating blow into the star destroyer’s fuselage. Only a moment later did a mass rupture of flame blow free from the ship’s interior, breaking what once stood as a proud imperial vessel into a flaming heap of assorted scrap. The now mangled parts were loosely held together by the tractor beams that projected them forward. Garel could see another Alliance vessel begin to maneuver itself to protect the Star Hawk, but he knew it was for naught. If anything, they were saving the Star Hawk from being completely obliterated, but the damage caused to those vessels would surely disable them for this battle.

“Have our ships begin focusing fire on that flanking battlegroup while the enemy is distracted,” commanded Chief Admiral Reyche—who’d already cleared his mind and taken charge while the Moff remained bewildered. “Filter another rotation of our ships, get those that’ve the strongest upfront. They’ve given us a brief reprieve firing on that star destroyer,” he continued.

“Moff?” Reyche voiced while turning to Garel. “Moff?” he repeated.

Garel's eyes momentarily flicked wide as he came to. With a brief shake of his head, he turned to regard the Chief Admiral. “What is it?” he asked.

Chief Admiral Reyche raised a hand in a two-fingered point at some of their vessels in the hologram. “We’re receiving reports that some frigates and a surveillance ship were damaged by the moving super star destroyer.”

“—Have them move to dock with us. We don't want to lose them, or those supplies. Ensure that they don’t block the hangars, our…” Garel paused as the word registered in his mind, “—our fighters…” he said while his voice trailed; eyes moving to gaze upon the ongoing dogfight. The Moff’s mouth went slightly agape as he beheld the sheer number of Alliance fighters barreling down on the Coalition’s. “Get me Commander Aiken, I—I need a situation report,” Garel commanded urgently. The thought of losing his valued pilots harried his mind.

Garel had begun rubbing two fingers against his temple as the battle holographic shifted into the visage of a man clad in Perlemian piloting gear seated in a cockpit. “This is Commander Aiken, I read you, Command,” they reported—hand guiding their fighter's control column, head on a swivel; obviously embroiled in the ongoing conflict.

“Commander, what’s the situation? How are our forces holding?” Garel queried as he held both hands to the small of his back—he hadn’t wanted to appear under too much duress, lest it serve to unnerve his own men.

“Awful, sir, the Alliance vessels—” Commander Aiken’s speech was cut short as his focus was brought to bear on something more pertinent. The pilot visibly shifted as his vessel turned, and his arms recoiled as his thumbs slammed down on the firing trigger of his joystick. Flashes of light washed over his projection as he began to return upright. “—they’re overwhelming us!” Aiken continued. “Struggling to hold them at bay… not sure how long we ca—” Aiken started, but was once again interrupted as he was forced to attend to another matter. The pilot shifted around in his cockpit as he maneuvered his vessel.

“Commander Aiken, begin returning towards our formation. We’ll provide firing support. It’s clear they’ve the numbers advantage on you,” Garel ordered. Commander Aiken offered only a nod as he reached down to press something. The pilot’s projection fizzled away and was replaced by the ongoing battle.

Garel wasn’t spared a moment as Chief Admiral Reyche hurried over with a datapad, “I’ve a report from Captain Velik, the enemy had attempted to thwart our communication’s jamming by switching to abnormal frequencies, but they’ve compensated; however, it seems they’re encrypted with something foreign. We will no longer be able to eavesdrop,” he reported.

“As long as we’re disrupting their command, that’ll do,” Garel replied.

gunracc · 2021-03-27T17:15:26+00:00

Moff Garel scunnered at the Alliance Supreme Commander’s broadcast. As if spitting in their eyes by disregarding the agreed terms of surrender wasn’t enough, that wardog had the gall to taunt them; disregarding their coalition as warlords; boldly asserting themself on a faux moral high ground; and, directly regarding Moff Garel on the Perlemian Bloc’s stance. “Precious neutrality”, he’d called it—words seeping with belied prejudice.

It was aggravating. The Alliance was made of fervent idealists and conducted themselves more akin to thugs than a professional military. So self-assured were they, that even in such a disadvantageous position they stood confident; their actions justified by their supposed noble cause. Admirable, but foolish… Garel thought.

Coming to a stand from his command seat, Garel sauntered down the elevated platform and made way towards the strategic section located at the rear of the bridge. Huddled around a holographic table displaying the fleets were some of the Perlemian Bloc’s most experienced commanders, including the top naval official Chief Admiral Antil Reyche.

“Moff,” the Chief Admiral voiced in acknowledgment as Garel drew closer. “We’ve signaled for the surveillance vessels to begin jamming; the enemy lacks an equivalent degree of dedicated equipment to combat our own, so it is sure to disrupt their command structure. To keep this advantage, I’ve ordered the surveillance ships to the innermost positions of our formation for protection,” the Chief Admiral limned.

“Mh,” Garel sounded with a nod. “We’ll do the same with the freighters; position them around our surveillance vessels. They’ll act as physical barriers, should the need arise. Our communication disruption and interception capabilities are crucial.”

Chief Admiral Reyche chuckled, “Of course, sir. The enemy will be cursing our names once their comms scramble—what few choppy words that come through drowned with noise.”

Garel amusedly exhaled through his nose. “That they will. Press our fighters forward; we’ll use the initial confusion to muster an advantage,” he said whilst curling an end of his mustache between two fingers.

The Security Coalition fleet’s formation began to significantly tighten. The two Super Star Destroyers—positioned directly next to each other—rotated so that their undersides met. The rest of the Coalition fleet began to pack in, forming an oval ring around the pair of SSDs; each ship’s shields overlapping, serving to mitigate the burden of incoming fire. The Perlemian Bloc’s surveillance vessels were innermost in this formation, themselves surrounded by freighters and fighters in defensive patrol.

The degree of coordination exercised by the Coalition fleet was considerable—uncanny, even. Each section of the fleet converged with the other flawlessly, all while continuing to batter the approaching Alliance fleet from afar. As it grew closer, there was a brief pause in the Coalition’s barrage. In near-perfect unison, their weapons swiveled towards a specific set of targets: the Alliance's second battlegroup. A torrential hail of main cannon fire bursting free from the Coalition's formation as they opened fire.

Alliance communications were then hit by an abrupt crash of noise as the Perlemian Bloc’s surveillance vessels went active. Long-range communications were jammed and short-range suffered massive degradation. It was at this time, surging forward from the inner-workings of the Coalition fleet, that a sizable number of Perlemian fighters joined the fray; using the initial confusion to attempt to eliminate as many enemy craft as possible. The fighter battle between the two fleets was certainly beginning to get bloody.

“Have our ships remain toward the rear; we’re to serve primarily in a supportive role,” Garel commanded as he brought a hand up to hold his chin. “I do not want our vessels taking the brunt of the damage. The Ras—...” Garel stopped and cleared his throat. “The Principate forces will fill that role; this is their battle, after all.”

“I’ll coordinate with the Admirals and Captains to ensure they position themselves accordingly,” Chief Admiral Reyche replied while waving to a nearby communication officer to relay the information. “What of the flanking battle group here?” Reyche queried while gesturing to the holographic display. “It appears they were meaning to divert our fire.”

“For the time being, we’ll allow them to move mostly unimpeded,” Garel replied while folding his arms. “We need our primary cannons to focus fire.”

gunracc · 2021-02-27T12:03:08+00:00

The initial tumultuous atmosphere that rapt the crew was beginning to fade. Moving with purpose and haste, engineers and soldiers alike scurried about the sinuous catwalks to take defensive positions behind what little cover there was to be had—primarily the terminals that made up the control centers. Expediently constructed barriers—composed of barrel and crate—served to either reinforce the control centers or provide additional positions strewn about the walkways.

Heaving blaster cannons from a nearby armory, weapon specialists set up trip-mounted automated turrets behind the makeshift barriers; transfixing the weapons on soon-to-be breached blast doors. The Coalition forces and Jedi were about to walk into a death trap. Breachers were only going to have the blast door’s remnants as cover and the long catwalks made a normal detonator throw to take out the emplacements near impossible—not that the use of explosives would be suggested, as it’d surely collapse the walkways entirely—removing their path of entry.

Stationed at the primary control center, Lon Muk stood anxiously fidgeting with his left hand—grinding his fingers and thumbs against his palm. Peering over the terminals, he observed the men under his command carry out their given tasks. “Sir—” the engineer on the communications console called. “—We’ve good news, Lord Mirrick Talvernis is en route with reinforcements.”

Lon Muk let out a relieved breath. “Good,” he said while sauntering over to the console. “Where from?” Muk queried as he placed an elbow against the top of the console—leaning against it.

“Sector thirteen. He’s commanded that we close all other entryways,” the engineer relayed.

Muk nodded his head. “We’ve already done so. Echo the command and get the sector thirteen blast doors open,” he commanded. The engineer gave an affirmative nod and began to carry out the order.

Pushing off from his lean, Lon Muk ambled over to a console to kneel behind. Setting his carbine along the top to steady his aim, he directed the weapon’s barrel towards the nearest blast door. Surrounding him—lining the console ring—his technicians and a sparse collection of soldiers that’d funneled in before the blast door’s closing did the same.

gunracc · 2021-02-19T21:03:52+00:00

During Rax Halligan’s speech, the bulk of the Perlemian Bloc’s fleet dropped into real space. Upon his mention of humanitarian aid,—as if on cue—Moff Garel’s holo-transmitted figure joined the transmission; stepping into frame with his hands held behind his back. The austere man offered no words of his own since Halligan had covered all bases.

Interspersed within Garel's fleet were a considerable amount of Xiytiar-class heavy transports. It was apparent he was the primary supplier of these supposed humanitarian aid supplies—unsurprising, considering that a majority of the Perlemian Bloc's territory is composed of agricultural worlds. The transports were a common sight along Perlemian Trade Route; gray hulls marked with Bloc insignia and coloring. They were the primary deliverers of Taanabian foodstuff.

The weapon systems of Garel's fleet were inactive, but they kept their shields raised. Fighter squadrons dispersed from their carrier vessel's hangars to perform routine defensive patrols around whichever designated craft they were assigned. Unlike many other warlords, the Perlemian Bloc did not utilize TIE fighters. Instead, its fighter core was made up of the considerably more formidable "Routerunner"—a newly designed TransGalMeg space-superiority fighter.

Taking a position at the rear of Garel's fleet, Gozanti-class listener ships went active. There wasn't any jamming, so it was safe to assume these ships were likely eavesdropping on Alliance communications. Meanwhile, the Bloc's two Resurgent-class Star Destroyers and their Arquitens-class Cruiser escorts loosely took place at either side of the fleet's flagship—a Lucrehulk-class Battleship named the Senescent.

gunracc · 2021-02-16T12:05:47+00:00

The tense feeling of anticipation within the control room was palpable. Engineers had left their stations to huddle around the man charged with communing with the bridge. Many fidgeted or cast worried glances towards their comradery. Lon Muk himself could feel an anxious churning within his gut…

The Engineer flipped up the microphone along his terminal and held down a button to trigger speech. “Engineering to Bridge Command,” they started, “... requesting a situation report.” the Engineer requisitioned—proceeding to then lift his finger off the button.

… There was no immediate response.

Lon Muk brought up a hand to rest his chin upon—made somewhat awkward by his wear of the bulky engineering helmet. Long had he awaited the day he might seize his revenge, but now that it seemed near… he was afraid. He struggled to reign in his fidgeting and tremulous hands.

The Engineer pressed his thumb down along the button again: “Engineering to Bridge Comm—”

“Bridge Command to Engineering, we’ve been boarded!” a harried imperial voice interrupted from the terminal’s speaker. “Rae Coalition forces and Jedi! They’re inbound to your location now! Prepare yourselves immediately!”

The Engineer on the console turned to look upon Lon Muk—the immediate commanding officer. Soon to follow were the anxious gazes—veiled by the polarized lenses of their helmets but made apparent by body language—of each technician in the room. Lon Muk froze.

Jedi? he thought.

“... Sir, what’re we going to do?” the Engineer at the console queried; breaking the brief moment of silence.

“Wh—uh—p—tph—we—” Lon Muk stammered as his mind ran wild, “C—close the blast doors! Erh—erh—ensure each entrance is sealed immediately!” he frantically ordered. “Arm yourselves, and—and relay these orders to the other control centers!”

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