Campaign Dawn of the Plasma Wars [NEO-RNR]

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Naboo Royal Palace
Interacting with Lysander von Ascania Goren Montross

Sibylla felt it creeping in then, the dull throb behind her eyes, the slight blurring at the edges of her vision.

Wonderful. As if dodging blaster fire and babysitting a Jedi weren't enough, of course the toxic gas she had inhaled earlier before getting the rebreather had to take effect now.

She tightened her grip on the blaster, sending another shot downrange.

"Jedi, if you're done fencing with finesse over there, I'd appreciate it if you hurried up... I'm starting to see double and I'd hate to shoot the wrong you."

Goren's voice cut through the chaos, dripping with condescension. Looting? Sibylla scoffed, her grip tightening around the stolen blaster.

Oh, the irony.

"Manners? You and your entourage crashed through a wall, blasters blazing, and now you're giving me etiquette lessons?" She called out to the Mandalorian and gestured vaguely toward the wreckage. "A good hostess deals with unexpected guests accordingly. And trust me, Mandalorian -- you are not getting a warm Nabooan welcome."

Her breath hitched as the floor gave the slightest lurch beneath her feet. No. Focus. She bit down on the rising nausea and fired again, forcing herself to keep the Mandalorian occupied with another attempt at a volley of blaster bolts. If the Jedi didn't wrap this up soon, she wasn't entirely sure if her next shot would hit their enemy or the nearest decorative column.

If they could break away, perhaps she could get them to the secret entrance to the escape corridors that led down to the lakes...

 

[Zhea Nox]

ECLIPSE
FOUNDATION STAGING AREA | THEED
ALLIES: TF | RNR
ENEMIES: MNC
ENGAGING: Droz Munin

MANTICORE​

He spoke and for the briefest of moments, Zheas heart clenched.

She saw the detonator in his hand and her mind raced. Did they really break through to the ship? That would mean...

And then the Kiffar's heart eased and the panic abated. No, neither Mother Askani nor her men or the volunteers were dead - yet. She would have felt them depart the Living Force. Even if a Mandalorian managed to sneak to the ship to plant the explosives, her people would find them. They probably already have. Children, especially, missed nothing.

"All that effort, and for what? A few whelps that can't even defend themselves?"

A calm spread through the Sage.
"For freedom, Mando'ad. For freedom." she said. "Barbarism is not the way." In an instant, the invisible barrier dissipated, and, for the first time since she started to engage him, she unleashed her mastery in the Light. Where, before, the blinding flash had been almost muted when she merely channeled it through the staff, it now beamed in full from her entire being, lighting up the entire area.

Capitalising on the moment immediately, still a conduit in the Force, she lifted fingers from both hands still gripping her weapons, to pull over one of the stone spires behind the Mandalorian on the roof.

Drained of energy, she didn't check if it worked. Taking a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, she merely settled into a defensive stance again with her weapons. She wouldn't move unless she ultimately had to, conserving what little energy she had left to still use her weapons.

If she was even capable of that still. Exhaustion set in hard now.

 

[Careena Fett]

[ Theme ]
​

D r o z _ M u n i n

| Location | Foundation Staging Area, Naboo​

| Objective | Pillage and BURN​

| Focus | Zhea Nox ​

​

"Freedom? Our way of life is freedom to do as we please among the stars! You Jedi should go back to your dark little temples and stay the kark out of our way." Droz shifted as he noticed the woman's attitude change, expecting something to happen. He had been weighing the options and approaches the Jedi might take against him in his head and what she could feasibly do. ​

​

Predictably so, she was attempting to blind him again, but her stance suggested she wasn't going to make an attempt to get to him. He raised his other arm to shield his eyes and cover his visor. The only logical thing she could do...Ah. There it was. His head shifted slightly as he heard the stone behind him begin to crack and crumble, the Jedi attempting to crush him before he had a chance to activate the detonator. He activated his jetpack as he strafed out of the way before rising high up into the air.​

​

His thumb rested on the glowing activation button on the detonator as he sneered and looked down at the Jedi who remained as she was. "Game's over Jedi. I am going to enjoy seeing your face when you realize that you got all those sheep killed."​

​

One press is all it took to snuff out the lives of everyone on that evacuation ship.​

​

C a r e e n a _ F e t t

A single blue bolt materialized out of thin air, the shot racing directly upwards as it struck Droz's hand. The Mandalorian cursed and cried out as the detonator was shot from his hand, the device falling to the ground. Droz snarled as he grabbed his forearm to stifle the pain. ​

​

The air and dust on the roof below him seemed to shimmer and contort as Careena Fett seemed to materialize from thin air, having disengaged her cloak with her rifle held in one hand. She had been silently observing from the shadows, watching over the Crusaders to ensure that they were handling themselves accordingly. Her other hand extended and caught the detonator before she spoke in her native tongue, <"What good are hostages if you kill civilians anyways Droz? Fall back and secure the plasma as was planned. Am I clear?">​

​

Droz muttered under his breath as he cradled his wounded hand in front of him, anger written all over his body gestures, before he turned his head off to the side and dejectedly spoke, <"As you command marshal..."> Droz jetpacked off out of sight upon receiving his orders to regroup and secure the plasma. ​

​

Careena watched him fly off before looking back down to the Jedi for a few moments in silence. She then tossed the detonator down to Zhea before speaking, "A Jedi should look after her herd more closely. A shepherd is no good to anyone if they are dead, nor are they a shepherd any longer if their herd is killed." ​

​

The Mandalorian seemed to fade and disappear from sight as they reactivated their cloak, not staying around for a conversation, leaving Zhea Nox by herself in the streets below.​

 

[Thayze Montserrat]

|| DAWN OF THE PLASMA WARS ||
Head in the Clouds - Chapter 1

OUTFIT: Bespoke Jedi Armor
ALLIES: Lorn Reingard
ENEMIES: Ninurta Slaabur'r

Spoiler: THEME

PALACE COURTYARD, ROYAL PALACE OF THEED, NABOO

It seems that Thayze’s showmanship has captured the Kwi’s attention. He is special, he is aware, Thayze feels it from his eyes. The creature barred his fangs at him, his eyes locked at Thayze as the air is filled with the screaming agony of the now one-legged pygmy rancor. That scream stings in Thayze’s head, he knows that it was necessary but he’s not a cruel man to let the beast suffer too long. Still looking at the Kwi, Thayze drives his lightsaber straight to the pygmy rancor’s heart, ending its short-lived suffering.

Suddenly, the Kwi bounced forward, his gigantic figure launching itself towards Thayze. Instinctively, Thayze leaped away from what could be a deadly direct collision, yet the tremor impact still knocked him off-balance when he landed, and debris scraped on his armor. It didn’t take long for some of the Vanguard to shift away from their target to the Kwi, charging at the gigantic creature, yet the Kwi’s tail strike staggered them before they could do any damage towards him.

It did buy Thayze some times to recover however, and hopefully a distraction. With his lightsaber in his hand, he dashed through the dust cloud, moving closer towards the Kwi to grab his reinforced tail and drive his lightsaber on an exposed lower part. It could be a dangerous move for Thayze, but he’s adamant to get into the Kwi’s head.​

​

 

[Lossa Aureus]

Skinsuit | Jumpsuit and Armor | Poncho
Lightsaber | Turmoil | Concealed Blaster | Dual Broken Core Daggers
​

"Wrath and war are one in the same. They spare none but the strongest, but even they may fall to it's whim." She hadn't expected to be waxing poetic mid fight, but it felt good.

Even with the raging storm of emotions in her mind, she found herself oddly centered. Found herself focused in such a way she had not been since before all of the problems had come cascading one after another. As if her place was to be on the battlefield rather than sitting quietly and watching others learn how she moved. But that was a thought to entertain another time as her strike landed, but the vindication of the strike was short lived as her opponent pressed forward. Grabbing one of her wrists as his knee moved in to strike her core.

Her blade stuck in place for the moment as her free hand dropped into an elbow strike to keep the knee from finding it's target.

The strike avoided, he pulled both hands back to grab hold of his weapon in a sidelong strike. Switching to a reverse grip, her blade held out to keep the weapon from striking home as the two weapons connected once again with a shower of sparks and a grunt from Lossa. Keeping the weapon at bay with one arm as she closed the distance between them as her other arm extended in an elbow strike aimed for his elbows as she cackled.

"Aw. Nexu got your tongue?"

Carduul Akahl

 

[Stevru Klamat]

⠀

Location⠀ Second Story, Art Gallery, Theed, Naboo
Objective⠀ Repel the Invaders
Tags⠀ Ma'lur'kek'thwin Armel

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Damn if it didn't feel good. To rage against the dark. To war against the death of reason. The slack body of the dead Crusader fell away, dropped like a child's forgotten plaything. The commando pulled his rifle up to his shoulder, lips curled back fro his teeth in frustration as he struggled for an angle on the enemy as Ma'lur grappled with him.


⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The initial, clicking hiss of a flamer priming was something baked deep into his psyche. His body tensed on reflex, and was already in motion even as the gush of fire sprang forth from Armel's wrist.

"Shoot him!"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His body was angling even as his ears heard the words. His finger hovered on the trigger. He had scant seconds to act. To kill the enemy, to put him down so he couldn't hurt another. But he didn't. Boots gained traction on the tile floor and he charged forward, bringing up his plasma shield to protect his partner.
⠀⠀⠀⠀

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tags: Goren Montross Sibylla Abrantes
Location: Theed Royal Palace

He barely had time to process his target's words. Instead, Lysander's defensive instincts activated as the rifle slammed against the lower part of his chest; the impact jolted through him like lightning. For a moment, time froze. Then the kick to his abdomen followed. It felt like a hammer against a brick wall, honed through rigorous physical training. But even as he braced himself, it didn't lessen the sting. Pain began radiating from where both of the blows landed, knocking the breath from his lungs. It also sent the Padawan falling backward onto the ground.

As his senses recoiled, a myriad of emotions began boiling beneath the surface. Though he couldn't physically see the girl nearby, he could feel her presence, struggling to make out whatever it was she said. There was no doubt that the Mandalorian was a threat to both of them, and currents of anger began pulsing through his veins just as they had done so earlier. While he deeply appreciated her assistance, and felt a natural pull to protect her, Lysander couldn't help but believe she was no longer needed here. Determination swelled as he drew upon the Force, flipping back onto his feet with grace as natural as breathing to the Padawan. The pain still reverberated through his body as fingers began tightening around the curved hilt of his lightsaber."

His emerald orbs were drawn into inky depths as they narrowed. “Just save yourself!” he screamed, feeling the words scrape against his throat. His main focus was to keep the armored foe's attention on himself. Realistically, there wasn’t much time for anything else; pleasantries in chaos simply did not exist. Locking into the stance of Djem So once more, his muscles became engaged, coiling up like a serpent, ready to strike.

Unlike earlier when he was forced to charge in, there were now only a few mere strides separating the two of them. In his pragmatic mind, there was zero room for hesitation, and he didn’t entertain a single thought of disarming, either. As he targeted the foe before him, the intent was clear– it was kill or be killed.

The next time he lunged, his purple blade was raised into a high guard, true to Form V, and also initiating a swing. It was a feint, hoping to draw the Mandalorian’s attention upward with any luck. Then, while gritting his teeth and beginning to adjust the trajectory; it would be thrusted straight for the man’s heart.

 

[Goren Montross]

Sibylla Abrantes Lysander von Ascania
Gauntlet Shields | Crushgaunts | Crusader Assault Armor | Beskad | Kal Dagger | Mentor Carbine | Custom Vambraces

Goren maintained his attention on the Jedi Knight in front of him, yet his gaze remained fixed on the heads-up display within his helmet, where an alert suddenly appeared from the side. Although it displayed a relatively low-level threat, such warnings could ultimately determine whether he emerged from this encounter unscathed or missing a limb.

The blaster fire from Sibylla Abrantes was already heading his way, signaling her unwillingness to go down without a struggle, and certainly not without offering additional remarks that that transformed this serious confrontation into a lighthearted performance.

"If that's what your wearing to a welcoming party, you better get your credits back. Lady." Goren let out a sinister laugh, shifting his arm aside as the blaster bolts struck the side plates of his battle armor.

This maneuver enabled him to direct the Dur-24 Wrist Laser towards her, firing it with a mere flick of his finger.

His attention was drawn away just a brief second to long as Lysander von Ascania moved quickly from the ground with immense hatred, and the sound of a lightsaber coming ever close to deliver a killing blow.

He raised his knee to deflect the lightsaber blade away from his heart, relinquishing the carbine to seize the Beskad with his other hand.

"Maybe if you spent less time on hair products, you might be able to defeat me. " he taunted, employing the heavy Beskad to challenge him in a classic duel. The beskar and plasma collided repeatedly as the Mandalorian put all his strength into each swing.

 

[Armel]

Naboo

Armel began to feel the heat of his own tools, the smell of burning plastoid filling the air as parts of his armour melted under the strain of the jetpack. Of course that was still the least of his concerns as his arm continued to be torn to pieces by the lizard.

Then, she yielded, if the heat was too hot for his armour then it was definitely too hot for the Ssi-Ruu.

The Zeltron felt himself thrown towards the opening in the wall and there was a terrible crack and tearing noise that filled the gallery before they were separated. As he flew, now with the full power of his jetpack he leveled his left arm up and continued the furious spray of rhypalm. The lizard turned away and then a flash of a plasma shield. Armel could not tell if he had successfully doused her in flame, his own velocity was too fast and before he knew it he rocketed across the sky.

Next came a hard landing that sent him tumbling between smouldering and abandoned stone houses, about twenty meters from where he had killed the first soldier. The echo of battle now ever distant as the rest of the Crusaders had charged to the plasma refinery.

Armel lay still for a second, battered and broken. Then the infallible words of his Rallymaster on Dxun filled his head:

To get up is to stay in the fight. To stay down is to die.
​

The words repeated in his head like a mantra. With a groan he stood up, his eyes immediately began to search for a weapon. A blaster rifle caught his eye first and he hobbled over and reached down to pick it up.

To the Crusaders surprise the rifle was still on the floor. He tried again. Nothing. It wasn't until the third try did he finally see his the state of his right arm. Raising it out in front of him a few muscle sinews and tendrils of flesh was all that remained, all the way up to the bicep. The wound was dripping blood and turning around to look where he came there was a constant trail of crimson liquid, right up to where he landed. The lizard had bit hard, harder than he realized.

Armel begun to feel weak and quickly dropped to his knees. He tried to call out for a medic but the words could not materialize, he could only stare as more blood poured out of his arm. The rest of his injuries began to catch up as well as the stim wore off, his left arm flopped to his side as the blaster bolt to his shoulder rendered the arm useless again and he began to slump as his broken ribs began to ache. War hurt like hell.

Stevru Klamat Ma'lur'kek'thwin Phelixia Skirata

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Naboo Royal Palace
Interacting with Lysander von Ascania Goren Montross

Sibylla had half a second to process Lysander hitting the ground before the Mandalorian turned his attention back to her.

Oh, lovely.

She barely had time to scoff before blaster fire came screaming her way. Sibylla ducked, twisting behind a chunk of fallen marble as sparks exploded against the ground. A headache, poisoned lungs, and now she was getting shot at by an armored brute with a questionable sense of humor? This was not how she envisioned her day.

Peering around cover, she fired back. "Oh, I love constructive fashion criticism from a man who accessorizes with explosives." She huffed. "Though I suppose if subtlety were your strong suit, that wall would still be standing."

The dizziness swayed at the edges of her focus, her fingers tightening around the blaster. Stay sharp. Stay standing. Lysander's voice cut through the battle -- something about saving herself -- which, frankly, was rude.

"Bold of you to assume I don't have an exit plan," she shot back, taking another calculated shot at the Mandalorian.

A flash of violet. Lysander was up again, his saber clashing violently against beskar, the fight spiraling into something brutal. She needed to think, needed to do something, before the next shot aimed at her actually landed.

Sibylla's mind raced, pushing past the haze clouding her vision. She needed an out, one that didn't involve leaving Lysander to get carved up like a festival roast. Her gaze flicked upward, locking onto the exposed support beams above the Mandalorian. The palace had already taken heavy damage. One well placed shot could send part of the structure crashing down -- enough to force a retreat, or at the very least, buy them time.

She inhaled sharply, steadied her aim, and fired. The weakened duracrete groaned in protest before giving way entirely. Chunks of debris rained down, hopefully forcing the Mandalorian to shift his focus.

Without waiting to see the full extent of the destruction, she bolted toward Lysander, attempting to grab his wrist in an iron grip.

"Move before he digs himself out!" she hissed, desperate to head toward the nearest corridor and get to the secret entrance to the tunnels. The Mandalorian was tough, so she had no illusions that this would finish him off. But a tactical retreat? That she could work with. Now, they just had to live long enough to make it matter.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tags: Goren Montross Sibylla Abrantes
Location: Theed Royal Palace

​

Hope danced in Lysander's heart, a firm belief that his strike would surely land; but in a breath that felt both long and quick, his lightsaber was effortlessly deflected by the Mandalorian's knee. It was a bitter realization that he was outmatched and out skilled by a formidable foe. It was a cruel reminder of the doubts that had been plaguing him recently, along with the whispers that the Light was abandoning the Padawan in a time of need.

Although the Mandalorian mocked him, the real battle raged within– a struggle between despair and hope, and a drive to prove himself worthy. Lysander was quick to realize the challenge laid before him as the man’s weapon was drawn. But more than a clash of weapons, it would be a test of his spirit.

As the taunt stung, his focus sharpened, though a smirk still tugged at the corner of the blonde's lips. “My hair's resilience is still far superior to your strategic thinking,” he quipped, trying to buy himself a few more seconds before their blades finally met. Gritting his teeth, he could feel his muscles aching under each parry and strike. “Besides, that helmet hair is so last year!"

In the background, Sibylla’s boldness pierced the air with audacity that left him wondering if he should be annoyed or entertained. What the feth was that girl going on about now? He couldn't believe the nerve she had to draw such attention to herself, especially at such a time when the stakes were higher than ever.

Then the air crackled, but it was from a source that Lysander didn’t see. Instead, he felt it. A ripple carried through the Force, like a silent scream that echoed in the boy's mind. It whispered of destruction. Before he could fully process the reckless maneuver, before logic itself could even catch up, he felt the girl's grip. It was surprisingly fierce, and yanked him away from the scene. Lysander stumbled at first, caught off guard. His reaction wasn’t from fear, but amusement instead. “Well, that’s certainly one way to redecorate the palace!”

As he straightened, he let her pull him forward, trusting that she was more familiar with the royal palace. "So, you're saying we're not staying for tea?!" He could then hear debris collapsing from behind, but it blended with the chaos that ensued from every other direction and beyond. "Alright alright," he muttered, the Padawan’s wryness was now tinged with a healthy dose of adrenaline. "Lead the way. Just try not to bury us in the process!"

-Exit-​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Brent Warnel //:
//: Equipment in Signature //:

The arrow sang true, cutting through the air, piercing the jet pack, and blasting the Mandalorian and the soldier. Sadly, the guard lost their life with the lack of protective coverings. The Mandalorian had only survived with the strength of his beskar. Allyson rolled her eyes; this meant the annoyance of the Mando-commander would continue. Quickly, she moved along the rooftops, heading towards his location. The bow was ineffective, and the Corellian was going to be stupid. As she sprinted, guided by the Force, the lightsaber fired into the palm of her hand.

It was dishonorable. Allyson knew from her youth with the Mandalorians the way she was about to attack the man was foul. Speed was her friend as the Mando fired his weapon blindly, hoping to strike where she was coming from. His one landed on her shoulder, burning through the fabric of the semi-blaster-proof leather jacket she wore. The coat was old, so the protection wasn't the greatest, but it was enough for her to only feel the heat of his attack. As his focus was elsewhere, the Corellian swung the ion blade from her hip, a grand swing as she faded into sight from the Force cloak.

Her aim was his core, hoping to strike him down faster than he could realize. It would make her job more manageable, and she could finish the rest of his platoon, the ones lucky enough to have avoided her explosive arrows. Her feet settled as the attack bore most of her weight. Allyson was prepared for whatever the Mandalorian had in his back pocket or up his sleeves. If the strike went through or missed, the blade would flip in preparation for a second strike downward at the same angle. She needed to keep him on his heels; a prepared Mandalorian could prove difficult for her.

Tion'jor cuyir gar olar, vod? Having not spoken Mando'a in years, Allyson wondered if the man could even fathom what she was saying. There wasn't a complete understanding of why the men would attack the peaceful state of Naboo unless there was a more devious plot formulating in the shadows. A thought that she would keep to herself once and if he answered.

 

[Brent Warnel]

Brent continued the barrage of fire towards the area he believed he had been shot from. It was methodical, but also hectic. A burst here, a burst there, a full auto spread in front of him. He was trying to cover as many angles as he could that he believed an attacker could be hiding.

The blue bolts sizzled ahead and impacted on walls, tiles, or continued to soar into the distance, impacting nothing. Until one did. One round did something the others didn't, and he barely noticed it; it disappeared.
There was no cry of anguish or pain, no other obvious sign of anything amiss, but Brent scrambled to his feet and continued to pour fire into the direction of where his bolt had disappeared.

He was so focused on the position in front of him he barely registered the attack from the individual that materialized next to him.

The lightsaber and the female Jetti wielding it struck at his midsection with all her force. Brent had a millisecond to scrunch his body in preparation for the attack, but it wasn't enough. The lightsaber scraped off the bottom of his beskar chest plate and bit into his armorweave. The armorweave and ceramic plate took the brunt of the damage, but the lightsaber was still a lightsaber, and his HUD lit up in red as his torso was burnt, blackened, and compromised as the lightsaber scraped across him.

His armor dumped more stems into his body the second it registered the damage, soothing his pain as best it could, and keeping him in the fight, but he was hurt, and bad.

The lightsaber struck through, flipped around, and dove again for the same spot. Brent saw the angle of the blade and the footwork of his opponent, seeing where the redirect was coming, and prepared for it as best as he could. Brent also heard her speak Mando'a in a cruel and broken imitation of his culture's language, which gave him some fury for the ensuing combat.

Brent did not have much time to react, and he was still in his firing stance (albeit it slightly hunched over since he had nearly been disemboweled) as the attack had happened so fast. All he could do was drop his rifle and angle his right arm to try to deflect the blade's second attack with his beskar vambrace, and if he was lucky or skilled enough, it would impact the cortosis blade that sprung from the vambrace housing.

With his left vambrace he would activate his flamethrower, amplifying his voice and stating, "You have no honor Jetti! How dare you speak my tongue, you are no Vod to me!" As flames erupted around himself, which he hoped would throw the Jedi off-balance.

Allyson Locke​

 

[Carduul Akahl]

There was a soft click of the Mandalorian’s tongue. “So close to understanding. Yet here thou art. Shedding blood on behalf of a planet that can barely defend itself. Taking its burdens as your own, sapping its strength.”

His knee met her elbow. A harsh crack from the impact would resound nonetheless, though not upon its intended target. It sent a jolt through his armor, though he pressed on with ease. Within moments, the poleaxe came rushing forth. Only to meet the blade once more, in another brilliant shower of sparks and metal. Then her elbow shifted, and so too did he - his own wrist adjusted, leaving off the grip of his poleaxe once again to meet her elbow strike with the back of his arm. Another trading of blows. An interminable conflict. A brutal contest of will and endurance. The kind of conflict he relished.

“War is not stopped by defenders. Only warriors. What will you be, I wonder?”

The battle around them had raged, but the circumstances had shifted. His troops were breaching the inner sanctum, towards where the Plasma was stored. Where Feydrik Munin awaited to link up with forces of his own.

In the time the statement was uttered, his wrist shot up again. In the blink of an eye, a wrist rocket was loosed, the payload whistling - not towards, but past Lossa. It soared and impacted off the archway of the plasma refinery doors, right where reinforcements were moving through at that moment. A thunderous detonation rocked the structure, the air splitting with the violent crack of durasteel buckling under the blast. Shrapnel and fire rained down, engulfing the entrance in a wall of flame and debris. The advancing reinforcements were under threat of being caught in the explosion, forced to scatter as it came tumbling down.

He was always loath to leave fights unfinished. Alas, the demands of a leader required his presence elsewhere. Carduul would not fall victim to petty hubris as enemies closed around them. There was only so much he could kill and maim before he would be overwhelmed. Better to leave them to count their dead.

“We shall see.”

With a push off of his feet, he had propelled himself backwards. The jetpack ignited, billowing dust and smoke in its wake past the catwalks where his soldiers forayed through. Flowing with the tide of conflict, always.

Lossa Aureus

 

[Aiden Porte]

“And should I fall,”

“do not stay here to avenge me. My handmaiden will need you in the situation room.”

Aiden couldn't help but laugh, and perhaps it wasn't the right time it was still funny. "Oh no, you will be avenged." Aiden said with a small chuckle, as she knew that he was talking worse case scenario as was she. The words that came next filled his mind and heart with much strength and hope. Not that it wasn't there already. Still, the words were encouraging and it reminded him once again about who they both were and how far they have come.

“The two of us have never failed before,”

“You’ve been protecting me since I was a little girl. I don’t expect you’ll fail now.”

"Of course not, that would be a terrible day. Let's just stick together." He said with a smile as they made their way forward. And he though back on all of their times together, having each's support and backing. It was a friendship that would stand the test of time. Hope and Light filled both of their souls, that was evident.

“Don’t ask,”

“This will do,”

“C’mon, let’s go. Maybe we can beat them, or at least surprise them; they won’t be expecting any resistance from the lift.”

"Don't worry I won't. Just promise, you won't ever do that to me." Aiden glanced with a smirk as they moved about the maintenance lift to go further into the Plasma Refinery. The Padawan could sense the presence of aditional indivudals. They were not forces that were familiar to him, and it could only be one thing, the Mandalorians.

Aiden led first, subduing one sentry quickly before the other turned his way and the Padawan sent a strong force push towards him, as he sent flying back into he wall.

"Hopefully we aren't too late."



Kalantha

 

[Phelixia Skirata]

Armel begun to feel weak and quickly dropped to his knees. He tried to call out for a medic but the words could not materialize, he could only stare as more blood poured out of his arm. The rest of his injuries began to catch up as well as the stim wore off, his left arm flopped to his side as the blaster bolt to his shoulder rendered the arm useless again and he began to slump as his broken ribs began to ache. War hurt like hell.

Midst the carnage of the battlefield a large body moved rather methodically over each Neo-Crusader body. Wounded and dead alike, There was no discrimination. Light blue lattices of scan-lines flashed out from a device mounted on yellow clad armor and relayed information directly to its wearer. The armor color signifying one thing. A Neo-Crusader field marshal. Through their internal HUD, biological information surged past in seconds to be categorized and compartmentalized into likely probabilities of survival. The process of this triage took seconds and was preformed mid movement. A series of leaps from power alien legs.

It was only from vantage point that the field marshal took notice of fallen comrade, scan lines would extend over Armel identifying their armor serial number, tags and species biology. With a positional burst of his jetpack the Vratix crusader recognized priority. Landing near the Zeltron with a heavy thump. From one of their limbs bacta spray hissed from a vambrace port as the other primed a coma gas grenade and chucked it within the vicinity of the blue reptile and another soldier Ma'lur'kek'thwin and Stevru Klamat . The combatants were not a priority.

"Your respiration is erratic. Suboptimal. Inhale precisely, exhale precisely." Phelixia commanded motioning to drag Armel away with one limb.

" You will not perish if intervention is successful. Remain still

 

[Ma'lur'kek'thwin]

LOCATION⠀|	Inner Art Gallery, City Limits, Theed, Naboo
OBJECTIVE⠀|	Reconvene, Reengage

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The shield came up on her heels, and through the blur in her vision Ma'lur glimpsed Prodo coming to her aid. Like a good comrade ought to. Fast as he had been though, the wash of rhypalm had been just a scale faster. The runny chemical splattered dots over the bodyglove covering her back, chewing through it at speed, and raced a white-hot web of agony down into the snug folds. Ma'lur howled, the torn arm in her mouth falling with a dull thud in the same moment that she herself did. Throwing herself to the ground and rolling in the hopes to smother the inferno, each time she thought the effort smothered them out and started to stand, a lick of the fire remained and caught again. After the third attempt, amid rivulets of black smoke and angry pink flesh peeking out from the holes in her suit, Ma'lur had extinguished the flames.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Just in time too, it seemed. A hollow series of clattering sounds echoed from the gaping hole in the art gallery, and she smelled it before the canister popped- narcotic gas. Many species with less keen olfactory senses thought they were odorless, but they were not Ssi-ruu. They weren't Ma'lur. Still fueled by the actinic bite of adrenaline she surged to her feet- snatching the dismembered arm as she went- and hissed, "Knockout gas." Grabbing onto Prodo's wrist with her other hand, together she made for the inner halls of the gallery, hoping to come upon a stairwell somewhere along the way. They'd need to get away from the gas before it caught up- even the cursory whiff had done a number on her hypersensitive scenting tongues.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Amid the chaste escape- and through the sleepy ache- she did not forget her manners. Rounding a corner out of sight of the hole in the building, Ma'lur set her flinty crimson-black eyes on her ally. "Thanks for the cover back there." A grin, lopsided and stricken with pain, curled at the edges of her lips. "I'll pay you back sometime."

Stevru Klamat , Armel , Phelixia Skirata

|⠀TAGS

 

[Lossa Aureus]

Skinsuit | Jumpsuit and Armor | Poncho
Lightsaber | Turmoil | Concealed Blaster | Dual Broken Core Daggers
​

"I am adding to it's strength. Helping it stand so that I will not need to be so vigilant. Leading by example." Her words spat back in the heat of the moment rather than thought out as the Mando chastised her. But did she truly feel that way? After this place had failed her once already? Had taken from not only her but those she called family? Did it deserve her ever thinning patience with each mounting failure? Or was it her own failures that she had placed on it?

Her hand buzzed with the block of his knee. The pain of the impact making her teeth clack together against the feeling as warmth slowly stopped spreading in her leg. Another set of words from him that got her blood boiling,

She had never been much else besides a warrior. Fighting. Bleeding for others.

Stepping in for those that needed assistance. Even getting herself into trouble in place of others so that they might learn instead of being punished for the error. Had her efforts been for nothing in that measure? Had it been hamstringing everyone around her to act like they needed her assistance and help? When she had relied on someone else, it had earned her heartache and misery. Giving her time elsewhere had brought nothing but pain and remorse.

But did that make her time helping worth any less?

Clouded in her thoughts she had missed his intention with the wrist rocket. Thinking she had pushed away the blow to realize too late that it had been purposed in distracting her.

War is not stopped by defenders. Only warriors.

The words echoing in her mind as he pulled away from her. The heat from his escape causing her to turn as her hands rose. Bent the Force around the failing doorway. A move she had used to secure her place on the foothills of Romi's training grounds so long ago now. The crumbling debris being diverted away from those that had panicked and paused in acceptance of their fate. Only to find the way now secured for them as she bent at the knee to keep the way open.

Why did she fight for this place?

"Go dammit!" Her voice booming despite the slight shake in her form. Demanding those momentarily stunned into action. "Move before I throw you off the walkways!"

An empty threat even with the slight hiss as she breathed deep. Focused her mind. Strengthened the barrier that made the way clear for the pursuing security forces. That bound her in place rather than chasing a promising enemy. When had that become important to her? When had chasing promise become the focus of her thoughts?

Carduul Akahl

 

[Stevru Klamat]

⠀

Location⠀ Inner Art Gallery, City Limits, Theed, Naboo
Objectives⠀ Reload, Regroup, Reengage.
Tags⠀ Ma'lur'kek'thwin Armel Phelixia Skirata

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The shield blocked some of the ravening fire. But not all of it. And that which it did block, it could do little for the radiant heat. He could feel his skin pucker and sizzle as it cooked inside of his armor. The combat drugs made it a disassociated sort of thing. Errant drops of rhypalm dug their way into the fire resistant bodyglove he wore beneath his armor. His body protested, nerves screamed. And his jaw tightened. The weakness of the flesh collided with the beskar sureness of his will, and the will won.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The commando didn't cry out as the flames ate at his suit and flesh. Instead, he simply shifted his fireproof poncho over one shoulder, snuffing out the flames that consumed his suit and skin. Cramming a tube of bacta into the port near the joint of his elbow, he injected the paste into the space beneath his body glove, massaging the limb to ensure the paste spread evenly. Which was about when something landed in the room with them. His first instinct was that it was an explosive of some sort, and he moved again to place himself between his partner and the problem, shield arm moving up despite the feeling of flesh separating and cracking beneath the armor.

"Knockout gas."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He had just enough time to paw at the gear of one of the downed Crusaders, after one thing and one thing only, before her hand wrapped around his wrist and she pulled him away. The beskad hung in his grip. Though he didn't venerate Beskar the way many of his cohorts did, considering it merely a means to an end, as useful as any other blaster resistant material, he was loath to leave any that lay within is reach behind.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Cramming his newfound toy into his webbing, he turned to face his companion, head cocked to one side as she thanked him, even as he pressed himself against the wall, head poked around the corner as he reloaded.

"You stand with me on a world that is not yours, with nothing to gain."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pulling her towards him, he began to tend her wounds, using an applicator to spread bacta over her wound, then breathable bandages, and finally a layer of tough, fibrous mesh, which he secured in place with a number of clips, protecting the wound from further abrasion.

"You owe me nothing."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He glanced at her souvenir.

"Though the other arm of the jehaatay would not go amiss."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Lips, split and bleeding, curled into an animal snarl beneath his helmet as he spoke.
⠀⠀⠀

 

[Kalantha]

Dawn of the Plasma Wars
Plasma Refinery, Theed

"Don't worry I won't. Just promise, you won't ever do that to me."

Inara smiled rather deviously. “Don’t give me a reason to.” She was mostly joking, Aiden wouldn’t be on the receiving end of her martial arts aptitude any time soon. But if there were any doubts that she could handle herself better than any other monarchs, they were surely gone now.

In a similar fashion, Aiden dropped another Mandalorian sentry as they pushed deeper toward the facility. His hopes of not being too late to stop them were hanging by a thread, it seemed; Crusaders on patrol this close to the refinery certainly meant that their main force had reached the plasma already. “Stopping them entirely may not be an option,” the queen said, more to convince herself of the shift in their objective than to pacify Aiden. She knew he was quick to adjust as things unfolded, it was she who needed more convincing. “We need to preserve what we can, gather intelligence… if we can identify any prominent individuals, we could issue marques against them through the Guild.”

Inara knew that Aerin Denno was more than happy to push letters of marque and reprisal –bounty contracts, really– to the Spacers, who were far freer to travel into Neo space than the Republic Navy.

The queen nodded to herself. “If we can save some of the plasma, let’s try. But I want to track these bastards down if they get away.” Inara’s ferocity spent so much time resting beneath her white makeup and the Scar of Remembrance; it felt quite liberating to let it loose now.

A slight hum filled the elevator pod as they rode deep below the marble floor, descending to the plasma refinery. Inara would normally have used this time to share her thoughts, but she decided that both of their thoughts were better left unsaid for now. They needed to focus on the task ahead, as the once impressive refinery was now a den of vipers, and they would soon be stepping into it.

Tags: Aiden Porte​