Chansent - Bison gelidochandrillensis

"16:47 Rotation 259, 25059 GSC
For hours we had been marching in the haze, remnants of a whiteout that raged for weeks. Conditions were abysmal—we could scarcely see the ground beneath us. The temperature had plunged 40 below. Our scanners were shot, our blasters jammed, and coms could not be restored until the storm lifted. But, the directive from Hanna City was quite clear: return with a Chansent horn, or not at all. The new governor was eager to exploit weakening Imperial wildlife protections, and it had been many centuries since one of these gargantuan creatures was trophied in a noble's palace.

2:21 Rotation 260, 25059 GSC
We were startled from our tents by the booming sounds of a thousand warhorns. They began low, nearly imperceptible, before quickly rising into a relentless series of high-pitched wails and hellish shrieks. For hours, the pattern repeated itself before fading into the wind and darkness. Nothing, not even during the war, has sounded quite so haunting.

10:23 Rotation 261, 25059 GSC
We had mere seconds before we saw the Chansent. We had felt it minutes prior—the ground shaking as the herd approached—but unable to see, we could do nothing but wait in the blinding white. Whether they smelled us, or felt us, or heard us was irrelevant. There was no avoiding it. Breaking from the fog to our six, a bull—larger than an AT-PT—reared its head and charged. The beast trampled Jax, crushing the plastoid-alloy composite—and the man inside, before delivering the same fate to an Imperial officer and a local guide. Dropping my gear, I ran, hiding behind the nearest mound of ice and snow. The rest of our unit scattered, fearing the beast would continue its rampage. However, satisfied, it bounded towards the drove. The governor would not be receiving a horn today, or ever."