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He had to move. On Kashyyyk, that was fine, but if what he felt in the Force was right? Then there was a lot of trouble here. Coren arrived in the area of the Shadow Temple, and seeing the others gathered. The Jedi Master took a deep breath, acquainting himself with the Force on Kashyyyk. Looking for what he needed to do. He had a job now, it was to get Caltin and get him to safety. Did that mean Kattada? Only if the other Jedi had no other requests. That was why he had healers on standby at his own temple.
Looking at the gathered, he could see that they were prepared to move people.
He didn’t bother introducing himself, he was Coren Starchaser, after all.
“Kattada can accept any refugees.” They also had the ships to move them wherever they needed to go.
He saw the Jedi, one he didn’t recognize but saw her as a Jedi all the same.
“Who are we missing, I could… feel Caltin across the Force. Are there others out there that we need to find? That could be stuck? Or are they coming with the refugees?” Looking around, he was taking stock of everything that was here. “Are there any ships still nearby?”
They could close the portal, because if he had a ship? He’d get them off this world.
He was here to help, but how heavily? What kind of question was that? Where would they be without each other?The group needed to rely on each other's strengths to overcome the challenges ahead. Cooperation and trust were essential for their success, and I know it, he knows it, we all do. Together, we will achieve more than any of us could alone.
The mention that his Temple could take in more was such a relief. However the question of ships?
Ships? I… I Looking at the manifest, I felt a wave of relief. Not to mention the comm traffic. We have… 7… "Jedi Defender"Class Light Corvettes, and 2 "Centennial Osprey" Class Jedi Transports remaining. I sent out any Jedi Padawans coming in to fly out the fighters, so those are gone. We have … I couldn’t hold back anymore. The humanity… the pain… the loss… it was becoming overwhelming.
I’m sorry… I am not built for this… it’s too much… I’m a healer… a seer… I’m trying my hardest but I have not seen situations like this in a lifetime!
Get it together Jen! Walking in from the Starport landing bay, Aric did not want to act like that, but there would be time for this sort of breakdown later. Right now, they had to put their feelings aside to get the job done and get everyone else to safety. I get it, this sucks right now but this is not what Vanagor would want, is it? I’ll cry with you when it’s done!
Turning to see Master Starchaser, he answered a couple of questions. We also have Vanagor’s ship “Spectre” sitting in the lower bay. We can fly that out last if you want. General Kei Amadis
, and much of the resistance are still out there. I don’t know where they are headed. We have “Shyyyo’s Heart” tribe bringing in more who they would want evac’ed. The Foundation (Mother Askani
) , whoever they are, sent some blockade runners down… I don’t know if they are helping or evac’ing or what.
Even from the upper atmosphere, Valery could see the smoke curling through the dense canopy, dark scars tearing through the world's emerald expanse where fire and war had ripped into the Wookiee homeworld. Her hands tightened around the flight controls of her X-wing, her jaw clenching as she adjusted her descent vector. The battle had already begun.
Too late to stop it. Not too late to make a difference.
She took a slow breath, forcing herself into that steady, familiar state of focus. There was no room for hesitation now. Below, her sensors flickered with active engagements — blaster fire lighting up the jungle in sporadic bursts, bodies moving between the Wroshyr trees in an intricate, deadly dance. The forces defending Kashyyyk were dug in, holding the line with everything they had. She wasn't here for command. She wasn't here for orders.
She was here to fight. To help. To make sure Kashyyyk stood.
Keying her comms, she opened a broad transmission, sending it across encrypted and open frequencies alike, knowing full well it could be intercepted. She didn't care. Let the enemy hear her.
<This is Master Valery Noble of the New Jedi Order. I'm entering the combat zone and here to assist if anybody needs help immediately.>
A pause as her ship cut through the atmosphere, the heat of re-entry briefly licking at her shields before she leveled out, her fiery gaze scanning the war-torn jungle below.
Her X-wing veered sharply, angling toward the densest point of conflict, where the fighting was at its most brutal. She could feel it — rage, desperation, the chaos of battle screaming through the Force. It thrummed through her veins, but she pushed it down, locking in on her targets.
Time to get to work.
Open (No worries if it's too far along and people got their partners already!)
Rescue missions were never simple, but neither was fighting a war. And yes, it had been a long while since Coren found himself in a war, and time had played a little bit of catch up. But he was still in shape and had his major ally in the Force ready to go.
Getting the list of ships, he nodded. Having one of those to get Caltin would be good. But could he get him back here to take him through the portal?
He was considering his options, and knowing that if he was in a ship, he could handle a good lot of things. As Jenn started to panic, Coren reached out in the Force, to try to calm her down, but not before Aric came around the corner. There was the ship he recognized, Spectre.
“Corellian ship, yeah? Maybe leave that, get the rest of the materials out of here. Get who you can through the portals. And Foundation is here?” That was good, Coren knew who was in charge but had to wave that from his mind for a second. “They’ll help. Think you can hold this portal until I get back?” If not, he’d go take the ship.
You heard the man! Pull up an Osprey. Aric was not a diplomat, or a leader, but he knew what needed to be done. The deck crew were voluntarily the last remaining individuals there, they were helping get people through the portal and on ships headed out. Yeah, Foundation landed somewhere, probably near Amadis, I don’t know. I think he has a daughter out here somewhere who might be in trouble too. I can’t worry about who is where right now…. Jenara! Get on that ship and get out of here!
Turning to see Master Starborn, he would not listen to her protests. Several Wookiees carried her to a ship to escape. She did not fight them because she knew they were doing so empathically. Master Starchaser, we’ll hold as long as we can… but no promises. Caltin would not want them to wait for him.
Split second decision. What to do. He could not pull his lightsaber and block it in time. He could not redirect it, Force Stasis would not work. Only thing was going back to the well one more time and relying on his physical abilities. Force Pushing the shot at the last second set it off and the expended energy dispersed outward like an explosion, setting off a cloud of dust. A powerful scene to say the least.
Caltin was not unscathed. His scruffy beard, his outer cloak, they were singed and the big man pulled it off.
The spray of laser cannon fire was, beautiful. Muddled colors of green, brown and the like refreshed with carbon scoring and the sulfuric glow of thermal heat far too hot for flora to take. If the scene was a painting, then Saverok was the artist. But there was one problem. The jedi. He was still intact and even more so was able to evade. The ghost thread of his tapestry that seemed to elude him.
“Send reply; pull back on Sectors A6, D7, and J12. Not many of ours to begin with. Can’t miss when they brought that many, the di’kuts.”
The Jedi were all so proud. So sure of themselves, as if they were invincible. The wretches had shed Mandalorian Blood. They had amassed their armies here, aiming to stand tall and spread a message. Upon a battlefield that had already been lost, on a planet that would no longer welcome them. The flaw of every single Aruetiise; believing themselves above consequence. Out of reach from the Wrath of Manda’yaim when it cried vengeance for the fallen.
But their message would not be the one they intended. No, every single individual here had not arrived to spark hope. For alas, they had merely been sent to die. Like sheep to the slaughter. The Temple could have remained hidden. Out of sight. Waiting as the storm passed them by. Their hubris had drawn them out, like hyenas to the corpse of a lion’s kill.
And so he allowed their communications to be sent out. Their broadcasts. Their troops. All from a single point, believing themselves out of sight. No longer.
His people had called for aid.
He had answered.
As they did years ago, Mandalorians would stand tall over Kashyyyk.
“Raze the forests. Reduce their sanctum to rubble. Let their belief of what we are capable of, be shattered.”
The words were unbothered. Casually ordering the death of hundreds, with but a statement.
Their foes’ chance to leave unscarred had come, and passed. It had left with their foolhardy challenge. Now there was only death left for them here. There was no resource for them to hold over the Crusaders. No moral high ground. No reason to entertain their ravings. Every moment they fought longer would take a hundredfold more from them than they could ever hope to cost the Mando’ade.
Watching a holographic projection of the forest floor from the iron helm, Carduul Akahl’s words resounded across all of the Crusader’s communication channels. Echoing two unmistakable words from a predecessor long remembered.
" Danger close." He muttered to himself and retreated from the area in full. Moving his arse as fast as he could manage. Then the thunderous energetic payloads fell from the heavens and the forrest around him lit up with a bright green hue. Next came the shockwave that upheaved the floor beneth the large armored man. To off set the effects of the quake, his jetpack sounded off and was mute compared to the sheer destruction in the area.
They had called for the blood of his people. An entire army brought to bear, coordinated chiefly from that lone temple. Even now—the how unbeknownst to him—they ferried more troops, more supplies, more Jedi to their battlefield from the same place they claimed to be a mere haven. Then had the gall to appeal for compassion.
“Narrow response frequency to that area. I want them to hear this.”
His voice had projected across all communication frequencies once again - specifically for those present amidst the Command Center, and the Shadow Temple. A cold tone that yet seethed with wrath.
“You have organized an insurgency hidden amongst the people you have claimed to protect. Now you wish to slink away and hide behind them now that your folly is realized. A defense without honor.
You have killed my people. You have shed Mandalorian blood.
Even now, when I have merely fired a warning salvo, you press your assault.
How dare you strike at us, then plead for mercy when judgement arrives?
Even children know,
there are consequences for your actions.
These are yours.”
For a long moment, there was silence.
“Mand'alor?”
Then, a slow exhale of air. Manaan was the first example made of those who rebelled so boldly, who dared to openly revolt. If Kashyyyk had to be made the next one, so be it. They had laid down a challenge. He was required to discipline the subversive elements, harshly, if he ever wished to claim peace for his people.
These were the decisions a leader must make.
“The missiles. Load rhypalm. Fire the next salvo. I want the source of those transmissions to end. If they had wanted those people safe, they should have never set foot here.”
“And the distress signal?”
“Let it through. Draw out any who dare come forth. The more we kill here, the less we shall have to deal with later.”
He was not so cold-hearted as to fire any closer to the brave Crusaders engaging the enemy. The temple, however, was more than fair game. As for the rest of the Shadowlands, the bombardments continued. There were still plenty of targets approaching in their charge—and it was his intent to ensure as few of them survived to have the honor of crossing blades with their warriors.
They were intent on turning themselves into martyrs. He was happy to deliver that fate unto them, all the same. And as the missiles landed, the flames bloomed even more brilliantly than before.
Kashyyyk would burn, and they only had themselves to blame.
Across all Flanks, Central, & Backline: Bombardments resumed anew in the same targeting zones as before—slightly ahead of Crusader forces. Charging units risked exposing themselves for maximum coverage by the fires. Those that got close enough to Crusader forces would find a brief respite from the orbital fire, only to be locked in deadly close-quarters engagements.
A far worse fate was given for the locale of the Shadow Temple and the Command Bunker. A full missile payload from the Kandosii was unleashed, split between both zones and tipped with highly destructive Rhypalm. The area will begin to be consumed by an uncontrollable wildfire after the destruction of the missiles is wrought in an effort to neutralize the Shadow Temple, and all its constituents. Its slow encroachment can only be delayed for so long.
Reinforcements arrived in force to Armel
and Brent Warnel
's positions.
Distress Signal was purposefully let through blockade.
The Mandalorian Blockade
Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Fleet
Bridge of the Kal Kote Kashyyyk High Orbit
“Multiple ships have dropped in from hyperspace, al’verde.”
Garrus Bralor had squinted at the readouts. It was true, there were a surprising multitude of ships that arrived as a result of the transmission they had allowed past. But it wasn’t the Alliance Defense Force as they had been prepared for - rather, a motley band of smaller vessels. Freighters, corvettes, rabble from various corners of the galaxy. A result from the distress call, no doubt. “None of them are warships. This isn’t an invasion fleet - but a rescue mission.” Came a bland statement in return. Why it had been allowed through, the reason eluded him. He turned on his heel to the Rally Masters on the command deck, earning several glances as they awaited orders.
“Tighten up formation. Let not a single one through if we can help it.”
Suddenly, a voice fizzled through the air; “Belay that order.”
The visor turned back. Carduul Akahl. Mand’alor the Anointed. His long-time friend, and now his Sole Ruler. He paused, staring in a brief moment of confusion, before the other had elaborated further.
“There is a saying amongst outlaws; ‘Dead Men Tell No Tales’. Maintain positions and eliminate as much of the rabble as you can, but I will despair none if some slip through to deliver this story elsewhere. Bleed these fools for every inch. As Manaan did, this will serve to educate others on the price of resistance.”
Bralor’s head dipped. It made sense now, why Carduul had allowed the distress call to pass. Why their formation had remained as it was. “As you command, Mand’alor.” Came the words in return, as the hologram fizzled out. Turning to his deck crew, the orders were immediate. “You heard him! Maintain positions. Turn as much of these junk-haulers into scrap as possible. None shall be spared our wrath.”
And so it was. The turbolasers and point-defense ion cannons of the pair of Kyramud battleships in orbit roared to life. A repurposed Bes’drahr Heavy Cruiser served as a vanguard to fill the gap in an evolving skirmish line. Nimble Crusader-class corvettes had moved to intercept what they could, well suited for the task set before them with large arrays of point-defense laser cannons. Kom’rk’s were sent out to aid in the screen, engaging in tense dogfights with rugged smugglers and ne’er-do-wells. Alas, the ships that opposed them were ill-suited to withstand sheer firepower for long.
There would be some that slipped through, but those ships were no longer the focus. And as Garrus peered at the dark scars of smoke that rose from Kashyyyk’s surface, at the blazing red fires that began scouring the surface near their foe, he would content himself that they could do nothing that would undo what has already been done.
As for the ships that remained in orbit, they would be outnumbered and outgunned. Speed and precision would be their ally, this day.
Multiple ships from the blockade remain in position, while more nimble craft intercept particularly daring blockade runners. Kom'rk's engage in dogfights.
The invasion fleet has difficulty intercepting small & agile craft, with several slipping through on the first run.
Outright destruction is prioritized more than interception, with much of the raw firepower of the blockade directed onto frigates, corvettes, and whatever else unlucky enough to be in the firing path and not quick enough to avoid everything.
A shatterpoint in the Force—heroic escape, death at their posts, surrender to spare the civilians, or something worse? Decided by the battleship above and the brave rescuers breaking through. So many came. The galaxy showed it still cared for Kashyyyk's suffering.
Saviors from the stars—brave and reckless enough to risk their lives for a wounded planet gripped by pain and suffering. "Ships on approach, friendly, they might make it!" Hope rekindled, an excited Wildcard looked up, Kei's firm hand finding his shoulder, the refugees would be alright.
Then the choice.
"Sir… they are… they are targeting the refugee coordinates, they are intentionally firing on the fleeing civilians." Consequences meant for those fighting—not the innocent caught in their wars!
Their families, tribes, elders, those he loved, friends, younglings. No SJC soldiers fell to their distant barrages—only the unarmed and innocent of this world, and perhaps a Jedi or Ranger aiding their escape.
"You have your Haran'parjai Dar'manda", Hells'Victory, Soulless One. The disgust from the few Varad Mandalorian crusaders with him was written over their faces. Death in combat was expected—taking an enemy's life was just another day's work to them— they had assumed they would fall in battle here, but this was the act of a warrior without a soul. Not even face to face.
"Order the retreat. Get to the ships if you can." Some would stay to sacrifice themselves, holding up any advance, while the rest of the resistance began to disperse. Retreating from the last openly SJC-protected world, was something he thought he'd never do.
Amadis tried to keep his voice steady, despite knowing what was happening that he could not change; lives still needed saving; every one of them mattered, broadcasting one final time.
"Kashyyyk owes you a debt, they slaughter the innocent from judgment on high; save any you can. Flickers of hope matter most when it's darkest." Hope. A broken word today, torn asunder with the soulless slaughter now occurring, and his own folly in facing it as he had.
He directed ships or civilians where they could before contact was lost, trying to scatter those fleeing into small groups to avoid orbital fire. The command staff ran out of the structure at the end to help coordinate.
@All
Walking out onto the battlements, he heard—felt—the screams of dying Wookiee elders, younglings fleeing the forest, refugees, and the SJC civilians or non-combatants who had once lived peacefully on Kashyyyk. This entire resistance stand had only ever been a delaying action for them, to buy time. He had fatally misjudged what his opponents claimed to be.
Amadis brought up a personal holo communication with his wife, she told him of their burning log cabin, neighbors dead, those he loved, like family and his actual family, then their missing son and their found daughter, the only flicker of hope.
"Failed you all Elara. When it mattered most. I'm sorry." Elara Amadis
Before she could reply or they could share anything but a sorrowful, loving last look, Kei knew this was the end; her communicator went dark. Behind him, the command center was struck, exploding in a sea of stars, and he was thrown from the fire, tumbling into branches, platforms, and the darker forest below.
Silence….
Darkness…
Death…
….
Dragging his bruised, broken body up, dented and torn armor, saved from capture or death at his post only by the dishonor of the Dar'manda Commander. Kei's duty finished; he pulled his way toward his home, despite his injuries. Time seemed to blur, a friend, a father and husband looking for those he loved shouting their names. Amelia, Mathayus, Elara, Zacka, Patches… and on the names went of their family.
He saw the ruins.
Slumping to his knees, he let out a broken roar, mourning the seeming deaths of his wife and loved ones. He'd lived in solitude as their father and protector for decades. Amongst the blooded-soaked ruins of his log cabin home, its crystal clear waters forever marred a charred crimson black, sitting with those he couldn't save. His hubris—believing he could achieve the impossible—had cost those he loved everything.
It was all he could do through his grief to call to the nearest brave ship breaking atmosphere, his coordinates sent on a secure channel, and solemnly try to stand. A woman's body carried in his arms, her long red hair trailing down, Amadis's head bowed. Walking like a ghost, he didn't know if he was dead or alive, leaving or staying, or if she was.
Actions:
Full resistance retreat with stragglers left behind to hold the Dar'manda up.
Resistance Command is destroyed.
Trying to scatter civilians, refugees and noncombat personnel to avoid enemy fire.
Kei calls to a ship, any ship and carries someone he loves away.
Fin for the resistance, but Kei might have a post or two.
OOC: For everyone
This was epic. Thank you all. The crusaders post were muse fuel!
OOC: For Elara
This is Kei's perspective, not dictating what actually happened to her or her own family members / their shared friends. The body can be Patches wife or your aunt etc if you prefer.
Through the veil of fire and ruin, Kintan's priestess walked paths unknown, farseeing, dreaming and drifting between flickering probabilities, as Amelia and her group pressed forward. Amidst devastation, she moved with her usual grace, a beacon of shelter in a storm for refugees, while above a dreadnought's fury rained destruction upon them.
Threads of fate unraveled, reformed, and vanished into fiery chaos. Destiny wavered, a delicate balance between salvation and the oblivion ever-denied to her. Closing her eyes, Sera surrendered to her waking dream, silencing wails of those forsaken, ones she could not reach. With each step, more refugee's gathered, their fear raw but hope kindled in fragile eyes. A handful at first, then dozens, huddled and trembling, clinging to whatever light remained in their tormented hellscape.
Once her hands had guided a Sith Emperor away from his rightful judgment. Now, they stretched outward to shelter people from a Mandalorian's relentless wrath. A presence drew nearer, hidden. A ship or a Jedi? She could not say. Only that help was coming or they were getting close to home.
"Come," she whispered, her voice a distant silver thread woven through their tempest. "Hope is not yet undone."
A step forward, then hesitation. A whisper of warning on her currents of possibility. Unclear distortion curled at her feet, the path shifting, treacherous. One misstep, and all would be lost. The future narrowed, with two choices remaining. Left or Right?
She breathed in fate's answer and stepped into her future's embrace.
That’s everyone? Everyone either through the portal or on Vanagor’s ship. He asked as the final ship assigned to others had launched. They were hearing the missiles slam into the ground, explosions ringing out nearby. They were hidden a lot better than these tin cans thought that they were but were not going to take the chance. Vanagor would not want them to.
Vanagor…
… damn them…
Damn them to Mustafar…
Everyone on the ship. I’ll shut the portal.
He shut the portal, promising himself that they would be back one day and they would open it again. Aric was not one for this “touchy feely” crap, but this was the first “home” he had in his life. A purpose he finally felt that didn’t make every day a fight. Now it is gone. For now. Taking “Vanguard”, Vanagor’s “backup” saber out of his office as he was one of the few who knew where the big man kept it, Aric headed to the ship but before getting there he put the weapon down onto the floor, and left it there.
A message…
They’ll be back.
He’ll be back…
… and anyone here will see just how “weak” that Jedi are not...
… even if he has to show them one at a time.
Getting on the ship, and bringing up the loading ramp, Aric exclaimed. Get ys out of here. Kattada Temple, and let Starchaser know. Don’t let those A-holes figure out where we’re going.
Neo-Crusaders collided with the NJO Regulars, reminiscent of battles of old. The enemy soldiers were brave and worthy enemies, but their spirit had been shaken when the heavens spoke. Brent knew their battle-net was awash with the death of civilians and soldiers alike.
Brent had preyed on their twisted version of courage and honor, driving his forces to target coordinates he knew would sow the most confusion amongst the enemy. The advantage of the enemy had been negated with the arrival of Choruk and @Carduul, and the Crusaders were able to push them back, cutting them down for daring to show their faces here.
Now, however, a new enemy, or enemies, had presented themself. Brent watched as streaks of light tore down from the space above Kashyyyk, bringing friendly reinforcements to the Jetii still hiding in this world. X-Wings, freighters, and a myriad of other ships had come to defend this planet.
It was a foolish endeavor. It would cost them their lives.
"I want AA guns spun up and targeting these ships from low orbit!" Brent barked into his comm to the men local to him.
As Brent watched missiles and blaster fire streak upwards to meet the new enemies descending from orbit, he felt a resounding thud as something impacted next to him. Brent spun around and witnessed the behemoth of a bes'uliik staring him down.
"A'den this is Aaray. Take it; its rider is dead, and it is leaderless. Time to prove your worth."
Brent hesitated as the beast seemed to measure his worth before it lowered its head, inviting him to climb aboard. Brent tapped the gunner beside him, "You have command of the tank."
"Shuk'oruk, change of plans. The bes'uliik calls, and I must answer. I can cover you from above. My men will continue forward but won't enter orbital bombardment range."
Brent slid down the hull of the AAT and climbed aboard the Basilisk, in awe at this monstrosity of armor and weapons. He willed it into the air, and it answered his call, launching forth towards the sky. Brent held onto the reins of this beast as it rocketed skyward, giving him a view of the battlefield that was second to none.
He watched ships descend from orbit toward the enemy's rear lines, weaving through the orbital bombardment from Carduul Akahl
. Brent sped towards them, hoping to engage them before they could assist those on the ground. Before he arrived, a voice erupted from his helmet comms; Mand'alor spoke:
“You have organized an insurgency hidden amongst the people you have claimed to protect. Now you wish to slink away and hide behind them now that your folly is realized. A defense without honor.
You have killed my people. You have shed Mandalorian blood.
Even now, when I have merely fired a warning salvo, you press your assault.
How dare you strike at us, then plead for mercy when judgement arrives?
Brent veered away from the enemies rear lines, knowing what would come next. Long smoke trails descended from low orbit, almost like they were in slow motion. Brent watched from on high as they streaked downwards until they impacted at a distant point where the enemy base had been.
Fire lit up the treelines, and Brent knew the devastation those missiles had just sown into the enemy was terrific. He smiled under his helmet, knowing this battle was concluding. They had tried to hide beneath civilians, using them as a shield, and Mand'alor would make them pay for their foolishness.
Brent scanned the skies, seeing a few enemy ships approaching the stricken defenders. The Basilisk's engines roared, and he shot toward those who came to help; he would harry them on their descent, attempting to stop them from landing.
The two Sledgehammer Corvettes did their best to shield the Modular Transports as they burned dirtside. More than a few times deciding to ram a smaller vessel aside with how thick the engagement zone had become.
Even the transports were not free from the tactic as a number of their Allied starfighters buzzed their noses chasing a bogey.
One of the tailing transports catching a shot aimed for a frigate behind them. The engine array sputtering briefly as they twisted in flight. Grazing another's hull as it was pulled into the gravity well of the planet. It's crew thrown from their stations and against bulkheads. Unable to reposed in any meaningful way as their ship spun into atmosphere to its untimely end.
Another being caught up in a game of cat and mouse between two starfighters as friendly missiles locked onto it with fatal precision. More than a handful of angry and desperate voices flooding the comm chatter before being silenced.
<Check your fething targets you bantha fodder idjits! This is-> Vexx hollered across the comms as his Tantara took incoming fire. Sparks flying across his field of vision as the lights flickered and damage control crews reported in.
His teeth grit tightly as a comm alert came through, head snapping to the comm officer before sending the information over the line to the rest of the Irregulars.
<Two standards till more friends arrive you mangy pyjacks! No heroics if you can help it! But chick's dig scars and no one lives forever!> Vexx called over the line. An uproar of renewed energy from the remaining Irregulars.
<Giv'em hell folks!> His final words before centering himself once more into the fight. Each vessel they had trying to punch above their class as starfighters wove in and out of the blockade lines. Focusing their attacks on weapon hard points and sensors while engaging what jammers they had to interfere with systems they passed by.
Several Irregular starfighters splashing against Mandalorian hulls as they tried to evade the enemy bogies.
The line of Irregulars was thinning quicker than they wanted, but they were still baring their teeth all the while.
Planetside
The Harpy burned bright for re-entry.
Like a falling star onto a burning world his ship shrugged off the flames and slowed against the atmosphere before a signal came through. A secure line in an isolated position.
But it was there.
<Solid copy on your position. ETA in one mike.> His voice tried to reach the lone signal, his thrusters vecotring the ship into the dense brush that remained as the Harpy engaged both turrets to clear out a path for the ship to venture forth.
Limbs and debris snapping or being pushed aside as the Harpy ventured deep into the forests to reach his pick-up.
Floodlights engaged to give clear line of sight against the stark shadows cast by the fires around him. A few times being thrown about in his seat as something crashed against the roof of his ship until he spotted the lone figure. Squinting to figure out why it was such an odd shape. Wondering if he hadn't come across some sort of critter before realization dawned.
"Aw no. Nononono."
It wasn't some random critter or a being he just didn't recognize; Kei Amadis
was carrying someone as the freighter touched down. The landing gears not even fully locked before Trent was out of his seat and moving. The shipboard A.I. already dropping the loading ramp as Trenton rushed out to meet the pick-up and offer whatever help he could.
Second floor, starboard side is a medical room."
Guiding them throught the empty cargo hold to the steps before directing him to the tiny medical room and engaging the sterilization field before slapping the auotdoc on.
"I'm sorry I can't help more." He spoke quietly, stepping back to let the man remain in the cramped room before moving towards the cockpit.
Brent Warnel
The transports, sledgehammer escorts, and a smattering of eta interceptors had begun to fan out.
Searching for zones to land as the eta interceptors picked up the approaching bogie. Two breaking off to directly tangle as the rest followed the transports as they moved to land near transmitted coordinates. The Sledgehammer's speed greatly reduced as one smoked and the other had armor plates dangling from the frame.
Both preparing what weapons were still operational as the twin eta interceptors sped towards the Mando starfighter.
There was so much work to be done. This world was the last stronghold of the Silver Jedi, the place he held Grandmaster for probably the shortest time in history of a Grandmaster that wasn’t just murdered by a Sith. This world held history for him, it gave him a place and purpose after the fall of the Alliance. That was not a thought he had when he showed up. His first thought was on his friend.
But as he looked around, and the beings that were here, he remembered what it was like. What they’re fighting for.
“Get the portal closed and get out of here.” Coren nodded, agreeing with Aric. He’d get Caltin and whoever else out of this world on the ship.
Moving to one of the terminals, he patched himself into the combat frequencies.
“Kashyyyk defenders, Silver Jedi, and those who remain. This is Jedi Master Coren Starchaser. Your fight is not in vain. The galaxy hears you, and we will not abandon you. Protect yourselves, protect your friends. Bring those who need, away from here. The Jedi will be here for you. For light and life.”
It was short, simple. And he used the term Jedi Master, no longer wayseeker. He knew what he was in this galaxy, what they needed to hear, even if he wasn't ready for it yet.
“Light and life,” He muttered again, looking to the others. He saw the Spectre and powered it up. Falling into the Force, he was searching for where Caltin was, where he had fallen.
Location: Heading toward the signal. Hiding behind a rocky outcrop. PCs: Sera / Amelia (Alternating) Coren Starchaser
| Caltin Vanagor
Farseeing... like always, everything could turn in an instant becoming chaotic and unpredictable. An explosion ahead of them sent her carrier stumbling; she slipped from his hairy protective arms. Pain shot through her knee, but she barely noticed, pressing a hand to his fur. He roared and kept going. Some lay injured, but they couldn't stop, there was no time to mourn.
Ground broken, dangerous, and scarred. Air screeched with sounds she had never heard before, and never wanted to hear again. Her heart caved in under the weight of what she saw in frightened eyes. Everything she knew was gone. Fear clawed at her, claws to drag her under. But more than fear or grief, there was a raw, seething anger. How had her home turned into this? She kicked, and screamed a moment of emotion overcoming her in blind panic.
A voice crackled through a broken communicator. Someone had found help, a way out. And then—they ran. All of them! A desperate, mindless dash to survive! They carried what and who they could, possessions, the living, the injured, and the dead. Sera tried to calm them, but it was useless. Panic had taken over, she would be trampled if she didn't move aside!
And Coren—oh, forcers, Coren. He was about to be swallowed by more people than he could ever hope to handle. They were running to him! Maybe more than they could take? Could they fit them all, or would a tragic choice be made at the very end of who had to stay?
Uncertainty twisted in her gut, sick and heavy. She already knew the answer. No miracle for everyone. Maybe she should stay. Maybe she deserved to.This was her home, wasn't it? Maybe not now. The thought made her stomach twist. Shaking, she sank into her furry friend's arms, small and lost.
Behind a rocky hilltop, they hid. Thick with trees and tangled vegetation, it was the best they had. No bunker or guarantee, but enough to disappear; at least for now, Bodies collapsed around them. Dozens—maybe more than dozens. The air choked with crying, screaming, and shouting. Calls back to Coren's ship were varied and garbled. Some were frantic; some were empty-eyed and silent. The whole place pulsed with raw, unchecked emotion, tension pressing in from all sides. Her Wookiee friend set her down gently, as if kindness now could make anything okay. Then another lowered him beside her. Caltin Vanagor
. She curled her knees to her chest, staring at the body next to her.
People were still getting ready to board. Others searched for another way out. Some had already volunteered to stay behind or find another ship coming for them. There was hope above. But she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make it all disappear. The fear, the grief, the unbearable emotion pressing down on her. But it didn't. It never would.Make it stop.
THE BATTLE:
Brent had engaged with the unknown allies of the Jedi as they had entered the atmosphere. It was a short battle, as they were buying time to pull what forces they could from the surface. Enemy ships had engaged him over the forest, and with his squad of Basilisk droids, they had beat back what star fighters the Jedi had brought. It hadn't lasted long before those same reinforcements took their ships back through the blockade and disappeared.
Brent and the rest of his squads had systematically gone through the forest after the enemy had left, culling what defenders were left abandoned and dealing out the Crusade's judgment to those who had killed his kin. It didn't last long.
THE AFTERMATH: Brent's boots crunched on the debris as he walked through what remained of the defender's encampments. Dead bodies littered the area, sprawled in unnatural positions. This far back from the front, only Jetii and their followers lay among the dead; no Mandalorian had died on this ground.
A twinge of...regret? crossed Brent's mind as he saw the corpses of civilians intermingled with that of soldiers. His face twisted into a scowl quickly, remembering he had not been the one to cause this destruction. They, the Jetii, had. So self-righteous. They had launched an attack from a secret base, killing his brothers and sisters, and then hid among civilians. And for what? So, they might inflict damage on the Crusade? They lauded themselves as saviors of the galaxy, always doing the right thing for those they protected, but how could they defend their actions here? They couldn't.
Foolish.
Crunch. His boot broke through charred bark from a Wroshyr tree as he continued through the corpses.
Brent knew what he was. The Mandalorians, to his left and right, knew what they were. Warriors. They did not deny to the galaxy what the galaxy claimed they were. Death was his trade. Honor was his compass. However misguided the Jedi believed it to be.
Yet those same Jedi would have the galaxy believe this Crusade was the ultimate evil. He scoffed, a muffled discharge of breath reverberating from his helmet. This Crusade gave his people what the galaxy had taken from them for thousands of years. A purpose.
Brent glanced around the burning forest, soaking in the destruction Mand'alor had let them inflict on this world.
Now, these same Jedi would use these scenes of carnage as a rallying call to their friends and allies. They would call for the death of his kin, stating how the Mandalorians had caused this wanton destruction. The ember in Brent's chest burned hotter as he knew these Jedi would twist their actions here to paint themselves as the heroes and saviors of Kashyyyk.
Foolish.
A muffled whimper broke his concentration as he snapped his head in the direction he heard it from. Brent stalked toward the sound until he found where it had originated from.
A young Wookie with black and silver fur lay propped up against a tree, glaring at him with dazed eyes. Blood matted its fur, and several parts of its body were burned. It was dying. Around it lay the bodies of other Wookies, dead from the orbital bombardment or the Basilisk gun runs. Their fur was the same color, which led Brent to believe they were his family.
He heard a safety switch and the whine of a blaster charging behind him. Brent's hand shot out, stopping the Vod from firing.
"Sir?"
"He is in my care now, brother," Brent told the other Mandalorian, "A new foundling has made its way to Clan Warnel."
"He's too old; he'll never forgive you for what happened here."
"We shall see," Brent replied as he began administering aid to the young Wookie.
Jenara Starborn
