Campaign Dawn of the Plasma Wars [NEO-RNR]

[Brent Warnel]

Brent continued to walk forward, holding the Naboo guardsmen by his throat, weapon pointed ahead, scanning for enemies. There was no response to his challenge; whoever hid here continued to hide like a coward. Whoever this enemy was, they had no honor.

He continued to scan around, but there was nothing. There were no signs that anyone had even been here recently. Brent was sure whoever had shot him was in this area, but there was no one.

He continued to doubt himself, right up until the explosion ripped through his jetpack, igniting it and sending him and the Naboo guard careening forward to impact the roof of the Royal Abode. His undergarment and armor took the brunt of the damage, dissipating the heat, but he still felt his skin bubbling, and he was sure he had even more internal damage. He rolled over onto his back, his armor injecting stems to overcome the pain, and unleashed his rifle on full auto, covering the area to his rear, hoping to illicit movement.

The Naboo guardsman was a smoking corpse next to him. They had killed their own man? Hiding from a fight and now killing a would-be hostage, what type of foe was this?

It didn't matter. They were still here, possibly even close. He got to his feet, armor and suit still smoking, and continued firing his weapon in an arc, covering several areas where a would-be assassin could hide. His helmet scanned all spectrums, looking for an attacker. Once he saw anything, he would advance and try to take away their ranged advantage.

Allyson Locke​

 

[Zunn Zenraj]

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

Goren watched as the micro-rockets were ejected from the launcher down the corridor towards both Lysander von Ascania and Sibylla Abrantes .

He braced himself for the satisfying explosion that would surely follow, a display of firepower designed to incapacitate his foes. The rockets soared through the air, leaving a trail of smoke in their wake, and for a fleeting moment, he felt a rush of triumph.

But as the explosions erupted, sending debris flying in all directions, his heart sank. As the rubble and dust cleared from his field of view, he found no corpses nor heavily injured individuals. Instead a single piece of marble, was hurling towards him.

"Ah crud," he exclaimed as the piece of marble slammed into his chestplate.

The impact was jarring, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to take a step back. Goren staggered momentarily, a bemused expression crossing his face as he instinctively raised a hand to check for any damage.

It was just a rock, after all, but in the chaos of battle, even the smallest thing could become a nuisance. He glanced down to see the marble, once a part of something grand, now lay innocuously at his feet.

"How did I get outmaneuvered by a piece of stone? The boys will never let me live this down" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief but there was no opportunity for further commentary as Lysander von Ascania approached rapidly.

In response, he adjusted his Gauntlet Shields just a fraction quicker to intercept the arc of the lightsaber blade, with plasma striking the beskar-infused plates as another button was pressed as Toxic Gas flooded from the vambraces.

 

[Carduul Akahl]

There was a small pang of satisfaction as the first bolt struck true, interrupting the hunt of his newfound foe. The tide had parted about them and moved forwards, ceaseless.

The helm tilted upon her response—of what emotion that represented, it was difficult to tell. A daughter. Good. This one had something to fight for, something far more meaningful than the empty platitudes the Jedi so often hid behind. That would make for a combatant worthy of his time, his wrath.

One predator to another.

Carduul’s opening strike had found purchase. Slowly, he paced forwards as she slid against the ground. His grip shifted, raising the weapon high while keeping the haft forward. Then he saw her reach forwards.

He was pulled forward—could again feel that unseen pressure exerted upon him to manipulate his body. Unexpectedly, he did not fight against it, or jettison away as most Mandalorians would. Rather, the Field Marshal flowed like a viper would, adjusting his footing to slide forwards so that he would not be without stance when the pull lost its hold. Then there was a flash of motion. A blade crashing down. The poleaxe raised above his head to intercept it.

A grunt of exertion rumbled from within his helmet as he pushed against the weight, the song of steel reverberating across the battlefield from the sheer power of the blow. The energy of the blade itself was an afterthought amidst the clash—this was a contest of power, of will. Had he been unprepared, unfamiliar with the nature of her kind, he might have been felled. But he was neither.

“So you do strike with a purpose.”​

With a sharp twist, the poleaxe pivoted, forcing her weapon aside. With the same motion, the blunt end of the haft snapped toward her helmet in a savage, deliberate strike. Brutality meeting precision.

“Then prove it does more than merely warm thy soul.”​

Following that he made a single step sidelong, circling with a sudden twist of his body. The cloak billowed, briefly obscuring his form—until the spear-point of the weapon lanced towards her left leg from the new angle.

Just behind them, the battle raged on. Crusaders and Security Officers locked in a brutal melee. Stray blaster fire shrieked past, scorching the walls and floor. Inch by inch, body by body, his warriors pressed onward, their relentless advance burning a path through Naboo’s defenders. Above, the catwalks burned, thick smoke billowing from the devastation of wrist-rockets and flamethrowers. Warriors fell, only to rise again, armor scorched and battered but their resolve unbroken.

Lossa Aureus

 

[Lossa Aureus]

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

He moved with the pull rather than fighting against it.

A surprise in some small way that excited more than frightened her. An opponent that knew of the tricks jedi employed mid fight. This wouldn't be the same kind of fight as the others. This would be something worth giving effort beyond simple brutality. He held against her strength alone. A grin hidden behind her visor as he spoke.

"Always." Glee that could not be hidden behind the crackle of the helmets speaker as he twisted to cast her blade aside. Her balance threatened by the sudden drag and finding her vision dominated by the blunt end of his weapon as she arched backwards to avoid the blow directly. Not entirely dodging it as the visor of her helm caught and jerked her head backwards violently.

A sound coming from her that was a mix of pain and annoyance as she threw a hand backwards to catch herself.

His words enticing another rumbling growl from her as he spun in place. His movement obscured briefly until revealing his greatest advantage over her in the form of a reaching strike towards her leg. Rather than take the strike directly, she focused her weight on the supporting hand. Drawing her legs up to curl inward as the shin guard met the spear point rather than her jumpsuit. Excitement dancing along her nerves from the jolting pain it caused to bloom there as the strike propelled her into an assisted backflip. Pushing off the floor to give her enough distance to recover her footing hopefully as the blade rose in preparation before she had landed completely.

"Don't know that you are worth the show." A laugh escaping as she returned the gesture of his attack with her own. Keeping to her strength and speed alone for the moment, ignoring the slow spread of warmth from where the spear point had struck her. Both hands used with her lightsaber as she rushed forward to employ an over head stab to put up his guard.

Not completely dedicating to the strike as the blade point slid upwards in a snapping arc, hands twisting in a tight circle on the hilt as the blade spun past her own shoulder to strike at his thigh.

Carduul Akahl

 

[Stevru Klamat]

⠀

Location⠀ Second floor, Art Gallery, Theed, Naboo
Objective⠀ Do Some Shooting, Most Assuredly.
Tags⠀ Ma'lur'kek'thwin Armel

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The idea that she might actually be surrendering never crossed his mind. Though there was a mild flash of concern, primarily for her safety. Secondarily though... she'd seemed earnest in their interactions. Had he had a hand in teaching her to lie? Not important.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There was no room for glory or honor in combat. Only results. It was with this in mind that he ungracefully scooted himself across the floor, the metal scrape of his armor and jetpack hushed by the thick, fire resistant fabric of the poncho that hung across his shoulders. Pushing himself up against the speeder, he gazed up at Ma'lur from where he lay. Tracking her gaze, he used it to judge the relative location of their new friend's reinforcements.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Everyone talked too much. He understood why. The wash of adrenaline and release, it was an instinctual soothing behavior. A way to pretend at normalcy amid the madness of war. A farce in which he did not indulge. Relaxation was for when every enemy before you was dead. Or you were.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Activating his jetpack only when Armel drew close, he slid out from behind the destroyed speeder on his back, jets scoring black scars in the flooring of the gallery. He killed the medic first, dual DH17 blaster pistols both set to full auto, stitching them with blaster fire so rapid that they remained upright, jerking like a marionette at the whim of a drunken puppeteer.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Hooking the leg of the other Crusader between his forearm and bicep, he dragged him to the ground with the force of his jets. Vectoring the thrusters, he rose up to a kneeling position even as the man fell, and with a sickening crunch and an animal roar of exertion, he broke the soldier's neck over his knee.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His voice came as a chilly growl from behind the weeping visage of his beskar helmet.

"Rip Him Apart."

 

[Ma'lur'kek'thwin]

LOCATION⠀|	2nd Story Art Gallery, Theed, Naboo
OBJECTIVE⠀|	N E S T

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He thought she'd have more fight? Just you wait, buddy. Just you wait. Amid the enemy forces tending to Armel, hands still akimbo, palms splayed high, Ma'lur's senses remained wide open, scenting tongues flicking out of her nostrils every so often. Cortisol in sweat, the soporific stink of opioids competing for aromatic dominance with the stimulating bite of amphetamines. The bitter lemon of fear.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Ssi-ruu kept her body facing Armel as he spoke at length, observing his allies as they worked to patch him up enough to keep fighting. Serves you right, she thought, grinning inwardly. She had been a schutta enough in the backseat of the speeder for him as it stood. Imagine what she'd be like in just a few moments. Prodo's jetpack activating set the stage for the hulking alien, crimson-black eyes shuttering in triplicate as she timed a crouch just as the medic went down, seizing. She let her better senses guide her, relying on the close proximity Armel had put himself in to align her body with his.

"Rip Him Apart."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My pleasure. A body made for close quarter kills. A frame honed by millennia of conquest and conflict, ancestry slick not only with the blood of untold trillions, but their souls as well. And while Ma'lur did not count herself among those who still clung to entechment as the pinnacle of her species achievements, she did still fancy herself quite the weapon in mortal form. A precision instrument meant solely for the thrill of the hunt. It was this thing that sprung forth at her companions beckoning call, all rending talons and shredding fangs. Intent only on filling Armel's personal space, Ma'lur bolted up close and personal, upheld arms closing down around him like a lethal hug, clawing for a hold on his hands even as her shovel-like head stabbed forward towards his pretty pink throat, maw gaping wide.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀How's this for more fight?

Stevru Klamat , Armel

|⠀TAGS

 

[Zhea Nox]

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

MANTICORE​

With the slight respite, Zhea heard him speaking in Mando'a and saw some of the marauders dispersing.

Part of her wanted to intercept, but the other part knew she had to keep his attention. The longer she could keep his bloodlust busy, the more chance Mother Askani and the volunteers had of evacuating all that they could hold. Hobbs and the men were also bred in the fires of an empire - they would hold their own against stray marauders that might make their way through.

Instead, her piercing gaze remained on the warrior in front of her as he readied himself once more.

Sure enough, he tried to capitalise on the distance in other ways.

This wasn't the first time she'd be fighting injured, so cerulean blurred as it deflected the bolts from his wrist-blaster straight back at him and toward any exposed gaps, gritting her teeth against the burn of the slice in her arm. At the same time, she was moving again, darting in. By then, the saber was free once more, this time thrusting a lunge-strike at the slight gap at the underarm. At the same time, she channeled the Force through her staff to release a blinding flash to at least overwhelm the visual sensors in the helmet for a brief moment. The Kiffar then immediately followed up with another saber strike low at the side of the knee.

By any luck, the quick flurry of attacks would hamper him somewhere, winning more time. She had to slow him down somehow. She wouldn't be able to keep the energy going indefinitely.

 

[Nelliel Kryze]

MNV-52 'Beviin' Class Space Superiority Fighter

​

| Location | Nearby Airfield, Naboo
| Focus | Maintain Air Superiority

Nel exhaled a slow, deep breath as she watched the N1 flying directly at her as they were both on an interception course for one another. Every fighter she came across had a personality to her, much like the individual pilots, and the better she understood it, the better she could fight it. She was all the more eager to find out her opponent and how well they flew if they had the confidence to come after her specifically.​

​

She eyed the craft as it launched proton torpedoes at her, two brilliant streaks of blue streaking from the front of the craft as they tore across the sky. She drew in a sharp breath and held it as she waited before jerking her flightstick, the nose of her craft dipping down sharply as the torpedoes shifted to lock onto her. She yanked back as she swiftly pulled upwards just as the torpedoes were about to make impact, twisting as her Beviin rolled, the torpedoes narrowly missing her as streaks of blue flashed across her vision as the torpedoes nearly grazed her right wing.​

​

Nel's Beviin was now oriented upside down as she whizzed past the N1, a brief moment where time seemed to move slowly as she looked up through her cockpit to sneak a glance at the pilot she was facing, glimpsing the Kaleesh painted mask. Curious. Time for her began to snap back to normal as she finally exhaled the breath she had been holding in as her Beviin zoomed past the N1. She pulled a lever as her feet shifted at the pedals, her wings unlocking as they rotated in opposite directions to swiftly reorient her ship before locking back into the forward positions, now on the N1's rear as she pulled on the trigger, firing short bursts from her laser cannons to try and keep the N1 in front of her.​

​

Arkhias​

​

 

[Armel]

Naboo

First came the roar of a jetpack, Armel swung round to fire his pistol but Stevru was too quick, two of his comrades lay dead on the floor. Then came the Ssi-Ruu. If the Mandalorian was fast then she was faster, hind legs springing her forward and immediately enveloping the smaller crusader and locking him in place.

There was no counter attack, no daring escape, just pure survival instinct. Armel felt his left arm trapped in place but his right arm just managed to slip free before the Ssi-Ruu could grab it. He held his pistol in hand but he did not aim it towards Mal, there was no time, he simply threw his good arm up to his neck to protect his vitals.

Then came the crunch of plastoid as the jaws of the Ssi-Ruu crushed through the armour, next the spurts of blud as gnashing teeth sunk into the flesh in his forearm. But it didn't stop there. The combat stim had the great effect of dulling any pain but that didn't stop the Zeltron from watching his arm getting torn apart in front of him. And after his arm was gone? The throat was next.

"Feth, feth, feth." his eyes widened as a spurt of blood covered his face, the feeling in his arm was now completely gone and his blaster dropped right out of his hand and clattered on the floor.

"Activate, activate now. Full power." his tone was hushed but the urgency and fear in his voice was there.

His jetpack then sputtered and soon the jets were roaring, letting out wild force fighting against the grip of the Ssi-Ruu as well as a blistering heat for anything too close. Next the gauntlet on his left arm grasped by Mal came to life, a hidden blade shot out, then the flame projector came to life spraying rhypalm wherever his arm was pointed. There was no method to the madness, Armel simply unloaded everything he had left in his arsenal.

Stevru Klamat Ma'lur'kek'thwin
Do what you want with the NPCs

​

 

[Droz Munin]

[ Theme ]
​

D r o z _ M u n i n

| Location | Foundation Staging Area, Naboo​

| Objective | Pillage and BURN​

| Focus | Zhea Nox ​

​

Droz kept his ground, his stance presenting the most armored parts of his body to the woman as she expectedly deflected his shots back at him. Blaster bolts pinged off his armor with little effect as all the exposed parts of his body win his current position were plated. He shifted his arms as she lunged at him, her speed closing the gap in a flash as his reflexes immediately kicked in. Her speed was starting to grow tiresome to him.​

​

He raised his arm as the beskar vambrace moved to swat the incoming saber away, his other hand moving to swing downward with his blade. The sudden flash of light caught him off guard as he cursed, his helmet having dampened the sudden burst to protect his retinas from getting burned out. His aim faltered as the blade came swinging down mere inches off to the side of its intended target and missing as it slammed into the ground. This was followed swiftly by the searing sensation of a lightsaber grazing against the side of his knee, cutting through the outer layer of his pants and boiling through the underlying gel armor to get to his flesh below. ​

​

Droz cursed as the hand that gripped the blade that missed its swing flexed, a jet of flame roared to life, scorching the ground as it spread outwards to push the Jedi away and give him a chance to reorient himself, still half blinded as he began to sweep his arm to spread the fire in a wide arc.​

 

[Ninurta Slaabur'r]

Location: Naboo, Royal Palace Courtyards
Allies: Neo-Crusaders
War-Beasts: Zephyr
Jedi scum: Lorn Reingard Thayze Montserrat
Objective: STRIKE!

​

His visor flickered, cycling through heat signatures and motion trackers, analyzing the ebb and flow of combat. The courtyard was a theater of violence—Mandalorians clashed with Naboo guards, creatures tore through lines of disciplined soldiers, and in the midst of it all, a single Jedi cut a golden arc of defiance.

Ninurta's helmet HUD focused on the warrior below—a Jedi Knight, bloodied but unbowed, moving through the carnage like a waterfall. His technique was unmistakable and undeniable, aggressive and unyielding, built on sheer strength and yet precise and graceful. A counter-striker. One who meets force with greater force. The Falleen's lips curled into a smirk beneath his helmet.

Perfect. The Jedi had underestimated the battlefield. His focus shifted to the beasts, trying to regain a sense of control. A sense of order and peace. A mistake. The Puppeteer stood atop Zephyr's massive frame, the beast hovering mid-air as sniper fire ricocheted off its shield. The time to strike was now!

With a sudden, fluid motion, Ninurta stepped off the saddle into open air.

A freefalling shadow.

The wind howled past him as he plummeted toward the Jedi, his jetpack roaring to life, accelerating his descent like a meteor. The force of his momentum sent a ripple through the battlefield below, warriors glancing skyward to see the Mandalorian descending like death itself. In a single practiced motion, Ninurta raised his gauntlet—whipcord launcher primed.

A metallic click—then a sharp snap!

The whipcord shot forward, a steel serpent seeking its prey. In this instance, the cable sought to loop around Lorn Reingard , tightening with vicious speed. With a sharp tug, Ninurta twisted mid-air, attempting to yank the Jedi's footing out from under him and force him to eat his dust.

Zephyr
Location: Mid air
Target: Thayze Montserrat
Objective: Engage.
​

“No but, we don’t have time!” Thayze shouts as he pointed at the charging Akk Dogs. Having no other choices, the Vanguard focuses their fire on the feral beasts, while Thayze moves closer towards the creature and his rider. Just as he was making his stride, a Pygmy Rancor charged from his flank, which Thayze narrowly dodged by instinct. One more obstacle in his way, it seems.

Thayze ignited his cyan lightsaber, standing a couple of meters from the Pygmy Rancor. The Rancor took another charge towards the Padawan, while he stayed put for another second. He tapped into the Force, reaching for one particular soul. The Kwi. He is not sure if such creatures can even be reached by the Force, but he was captivated by him from his first look, he gotta try. “Watch this…” he said to the Kwi, as he took his stride towards the charging Pygmy Rancor, rolling forward under the beast’s claw attack while driving his cyan lightsaber on its right leg.

Zephyr observed the turmoil below, his red eyes narrowing. The battlefield was filled with violence, fire, and blood, but amidst it all, a voice broke through the chaos. It wasn't one of the Mandalorians, nor was it the rider on his back. It was soft, curious, and reaching out.

A Jedi.

Zephyr's nostrils flared as he shifted his position in the air, still hovering thanks to his repulsorlifts. The beast within him snarled, resisting the unfamiliar presence, but there was something different about this call. It wasn't a demand or an order like the Force had imposed on others. It was a whisper, a request. He turned his head slightly, his keen vision locking onto the young Jedi, Thayze Montserrat the source of the voice. He was focused, his lightsaber glowing with a cyan brilliance, and—was he showing off?

Zephyr let out a deep, guttural growl.

A challenge?

The Kwi's muscles coiled, energy thrumming through his cybernetic limbs. The Jedi moved with agility, rolling beneath the Pygmy Rancor's swiping claws and severing its leg with a precise strike. The beast howled, collapsing in a heap of thrashing agony.

Zephyr bared his fangs accepting this display. If the Jedi wanted to impress him, he would have to do better than that.

With a sudden surge of repulsorlift power, Zephyr shot forward, his armored form a blur. He landed heavily adjacent to the area of Thayze, talons digging into the duracrete with a slam! A localized tremor erupting through the courtyard and kicking up dust and debris. His gaze pierced through the thick of it and into the Jedi's, studying and calculating. Not just any beast. Zephyr was sentient.

The Kwi's powerful tail lashed out from the dust cloud, the reinforced limb sweeping through the area.

 

[Carduul Akahl]

The haft of the poleaxe grazed the helm, using the shift in motion to transition directly to the next strike. His previous blow used as momentum, taking the force of his spear to her shin guard rather than bare flesh. Then she was airborne, flipping back and away, twisting midair with an acrobat’s grace. The Jedi moved well—fluid, adaptable. Quick to adjust even under the pressure of his advance.

She laughed. Her words carried a rare glee, a stark contrast to the indifferent facade that was Carduul’s visage. She enjoyed the fight. Took succor in it, much like any proper Mandalorian would. The adrenaline, the thrill, the glory - whatever version of it Lossa may have held, the similarities were undeniable. How curious. Was this one really a Jedi, or something else? It mattered not. If they understood the lesson the Crusade spread, all the better.

“Only by wrath can this planet be spared. By yours, or by mine.”​

Immediately following the words as he continued his advance, the saber cut through the air. The poleaxe was held forwards, the gap that would’ve served as an advantage closed in a heartbeat by his foe. His weapon made a small adjustment for the overhead, only for a twist. Reaction saw the opposite end move, but t'was too late. Despite his attempt to adjust, the blow found its mark—searing a strike along the outer plating of his thigh. Heat bit into beskar, a line of scorched metal and the sting of warmth bleeding through to the flesh beneath. A hiss of pain escaped the visor,

“I suggest you resolve upon which swiftly. You may not have another chance.”​

There were no more words to be had. Rather than recoil, his movement pressed on. His left hand released the poleaxe, suddenly snapping forwards in an attempt to grasp the wrist holding the blade before it withdrew—close enough to feel the heat of the blade just by proximity. With that, he drove his right knee forward, aiming to slam it into her midsection whilst leveraging the blade-hand away. The Field Marshal did not expect to break her guard, rather wished to force her back, to keep her reacting rather than give her a chance to dictate the pace.

The moment it struck or was evaded, her wrist was released as both hands took hold of his weapon. It swung in a loose arc directly for her side, the bladed edge whistling through the air in its motion.

As their movements of battle flowed, the ground shifted from tile to metal, deeper towards the battlefield of the Refinery Complex. The flames burned brighter, bodies fell and rose again, and the war machine churned ever forward. The Crusaders had pushed up to the catwalks, inching ever closer to securing the power generator grid that lay beyond.

But in this moment, on this stretch of steel and fire, there was only the fight. Carduul had no intention of making it easy for her.

Lossa Aureus

 

[Zhea Nox]

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

MANTICORE​

Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

Her saber had cut into the fabric around his knee and she had briefly felt her saber's contact with his flesh, but he remained true to his warrior nature. She had to jump back quickly to avoid the flames that spread from his vambrace.

How she wished she was still a young and spry Padawan or Knight. She was getting winded.

So instead of darting to and fro to avoid the arc of flames, she merely conjured a barrier with the Force and watched as the flames washed against it, catching her breath. Then, with one hand's fingers still upholding the barrier, the other channeled some Force into her staff and slammed it against the ground. A ripple ran through the cobblestones to try and unbalance him enough to disrupt the flame. Whether it was successful or not, Zhea wouldn't move, still trying to regain a little energy and rebalance herself to remain a conduit for the Force.

"I think you should leave this planet, Mando'ad, because I won't let you pass. Live to fight another day."

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Naboo Royal Palace
Interacting with Lysander von Ascania Zunn Zenraj

“We’ll get through this.. as long as more commentary keeps coming my way; it’s like the only thing keeping my sanity intact?"

Normally, Sibylla was of the mind who tried to keep her sardonic quips to herself rather than out -- she learned early enough that a sharp wit did not make many allies or friends during her time in the Legislative Youth Program. When one wanted to build a political career, one had a tendency to learn quick to keep intrusive thoughts to themselves.

But if the Jedi wanted commentary... Alright. To the Void with tact!

The sharp hiss of gas venting from Goren's vambraces snapped Sibylla's attention away from Lysander's dramatic saber swings. A noxious green cloud slithered toward her like it had a personal vendetta. The teenage representative didn't know exactly what it was, but considering who was using it and that they were raiding the Palace, she didn't need to think twice to realize what it could be.

"Oh, perfect. Toxic gas. Because blaster bolts were starting to feel too friendly," she muttered under her breath, coughing as the acrid scent clawed at her throat. Lysander was too busy trading blows with the Mandalorian to notice, his lightsaber sparking against beskar with furious intensity. Sibylla, meanwhile, focused on the far less glamorous task of not inhaling. She ducked low, scrambling behind a half crumpled column, trying to stay beneath the rising gas.

Instinct kicked in. She grabbed the hem of her elegant, meticulously tailored skirt -- the one House Abrantes seamstresses had spent hours perfecting -- and tore a strip free with a savage rip.

"Apologies to Naboo fashion, but survival takes precedence." she mused to herself, wrapping the strap of fabric around her nose and mouth, the thin barrier doing little to block the sharp sting of chemicals, but it was better than nothing. Crawling low beneath the creeping gas, she shot Lysander a glare as he exchanged more blows with Goren.

"Lead the dance, huh? Looks more like you're tripping over your own feet!" she called out, her voice muffled but laced with biting humor, another grimace of pain from her shoulder crossing her lips.

Spotting the fallen Mandalorians nearby, she darted toward them, rifling through their gear with an efficiency born of desperation. Her fingers closed around a compact rebreather. She slapped it onto her face with a gasp of clean air.

"Blessed Shiraya, that's better," she added, gripping the blaster she pilfered from earlier. She moved to a kneeling position, aimed, and fired a quick succession of shots at Goren -- sadly, not with perfect aim, but enough to perhaps force him to shift his defenses.

"Consider that an opening, Jedi. You're welcome!"

 

[Droz Munin]

[ Theme ]
​

D r o z _ M u n i n

| Location | Foundation Staging Area, Naboo​

| Objective | Pillage and BURN​

| Focus | Zhea Nox ​

​

Flames scorched the ground between them as Droz braced his weight on his good leg, blinking rapidly to regain his bearings and vision. He wasn't dead, not yet, so it seemed the flames had stayed his death a little longer. Thankfully his helmet had dampened the flash to not permanently blind him, his vision soon returning as his gaze was fixated on the woman who kept his flames at bay with the Force. He didn't seem too particularly amused nor bothered by the fact. The faint tremble beneath his feet however did betray her intentions as he activated his jetpack, lifting off and shifting backwards as he was now perched on the edge of a roof looking down at her.​

​

Another Mandalorian came up next to him as the Jedi began to speak, advising that he leave. He listened intently to what the other Marauder was saying to him, out of earshot of the Jedi. Droz sheathed one of his blades as he held out the now empty hand to the other Marauder who promptly placed what looked like a detonator in his hand. ​

​

A twisted smirk was etched onto his lips from beneath his helmet before he looked back at the woman and spoke, "You don't need to let me pass Jedi. It seems my comrades found a nifty little shuttle that was being loaded to evacuate you rats. Would certainly be a shame for them to find out that my men had planted detonators on it, wouldn't you agree?" He held the detonator off to his side, confident in his advantage. He was far enough away that any sudden movement the Jedi made would not match his reaction time, and safe enough within the Force Null bubble created by the Yossubi gas cartidges on him that she couldn't simply use the Force to take the detonator from his hand.​

​

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

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Tags: Ninurta Slaabur'r | Thayze Montserrat

​

He barely had a moment to savor any victory, the raw taste of adrenaline still burning on his tongue. The courtyard was a slaughterhouse. Mandalorian bodies lay twisted among the fallen Vanguards, their brightly colored armor stained crimson. The air was thick with the stench of blood and the acrid smell of blaster fire.

He barked orders, pointing towards strategic points, desperate to regain some semblance of order. "Form ranks! Hold the line!" His voice strained against the din. But his words were lost in the screaming wind and the ceaseless roar of battle.

Then everything slowed. The fighting faltered. Heads turned skyward. Even the Mandalorians seemed momentarily stunned into silence. Lorn followed their gaze. A figure, clad in dark Mandalorian armor, a jetpack spitting flames, was plummeting towards the earth. The puppeteer. The one who had unleashed this nightmare.

Damn him. Lorn snarled, ready to attack when a sharp tug locked around his ankle. His reflexes screamed, and he barely managed to yank his leg away, feeling the abrasion of the whipcord graze his boot. He was losing his footing when he caught a glimpse of the whipcord pulling taut the ground, smacking face first into the stone.

With a snarl, Lorn brought his lightsaber around, severing the whipcord with a sizzling crackle. The moment of respite was short-lived. A low, guttural rumble shook the ground followed by the thundering sound of a Varactyl charging towards him.

He sprinted towards the Varactyl, a desperate gamble fueled by instinct. Just before the beast could trample him, Lorn gathered the Force around him and leaped. Time seemed to slow as he soared through the air, landing squarely on the Varactyl's back, just behind its thick neck.
Panic flared in the beast's reptilian eyes. It bucked and roared, trying to throw him off. He could feel its muscles trembling, its heart pounding like a war drum.

"Easy, easy," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing drone. He reached out with the Force, touching the beast's mind, projecting calmness, reassurance. He felt a flicker of fear, confusion, and then, slowly, a hesitant acceptance. It seemed the beast was just as confused as everyone about what was going on.

He had done this before, many times in his youth. Animal bonding came to him naturally.

With a gentle nudge, he directed the Varactyl's head towards the falling beastmaster. He brought his gold lightsaber up to the side, its blade a shimmering arc of deadly intent to swipe at him if he jumped out of the beast's charge.

"Let's see how you like being the prey now!" Lorn shouted as he kicked the side of the beast to charge forward.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tags: Zunn Zenraj Sibylla Abrantes
Location: Theed Royal Palace

The thrill of battle surged through Lysander. He had anticipated the more cautious opening strike to be intercepted, as an entire sequence was already mapped in his mind: block, counter, riposte. But the atmosphere shifted, the air filling with gas around him. His heart raced; after all, in combat, any type of gas usually meant bad news. And Padawan wasn’t about to stand there and risk becoming a target for whatever was being unleashed.

Amidst the cacophony of blaster fire and explosions, he could still hear the quips from Sibylla echoing down the corridor. Her voice was just as vibrant as the purple blade he wielded. Sure, the girl had saved him not once, but twice now; still, perhaps something more supportive like "You're unstoppable, Lysander!“ or "Show them how it's done!" would have been preferred. Instead, it only suggested more doubt. The boy's eyes narrowed. In a swift motion, he retracted a hand from the curved hilt to summon the Force Barrier, but not before the gas lightly touched him; a scorching burn seared through the skin of his dominant arm.

If there was one thing the Padawan truly depended on, it was both his speed and footwork. Shifting his weight, he was forced to switch out Djem So for the finesse of Makashi, now relying on precision, rather than brute force, which would've been difficult with only one arm. As he made the first pivot a heartbeat later, he detected incoming blaster fire with his heightened senses.

Some of the shots were unwelcomed, and Lysander wasn’t about to go down from friendly fire.

Hoping to capitalize on the incoming distraction, another pivot instantly followed, moving to circle around the Mandalorian. Instinctively, he was already zeroing in on his target. Did their foe have Beskar protecting his booty too? Surely not!

“I ain’t no spooked nunaaa!” Lysander yelled, as though it were a battle cry.

True to Form II, elegant and precise, he flicked his wrist, delivering a jab aimed at the vulnerable area of the Mandalorian’s armor. It wasn’t a powerful thrust; rather, if it actually landed, it would hopefully graze the armor, and singe some skin. With his skewed logic, he was trying to avenge Sibylla's burnt shoulder.

 

[Zunn Zenraj]

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

Goren's eyes examined the data displayed within the helmet, assessing the remaining levels of Toxic Gas contained in the vambraces.

Only a quarter of the tank remained, insufficient for further use against these individuals if the primary goal at the refinery was to be achieved. Nevertheless, it remained a significant threat should they choose to become much more than an nuisance.

Thus far, Sibylla Abrantes appeared to be managing well, as he observed her retrieve a piece of his fallen comrade's weaponry and fire it in his direction.

In a typical engagement, he would have retaliated swiftly and overwhelmed her; however, with Lysander von Ascania positioning himself between his carbine and her, the task became challenging yet not unfeasible.

"It seemed they didn't teach you any manners, Lady. You don't desecrate the deceased by looting. " Goren spoke with a tone laced with malice, employing the Gauntlet Shields to deflect the fire towards more armored sections of his body.

He remained vigilant, observing the Jedi as they sought to maneuver around him, shifting into a different form of lightsaber combat.

" You really are an idiot, trying to flank someone with a 360 hud. " He mansplained.

Adjusting his stance within the Jedi's guard, then propelled himself forward to strike the Jedi with the rear of his carbine. He swiftly followed this action with a forceful kick to the abdomen using his armored boot.

 

[Feydrik Munin]

WAR UNENDING, VIOLENCE UNMATCHED, WARRIORS UNPARALLELED

​

The attack on the refinery, rather the movement to it- went flawlessly. The Defenders had no setup that were a match for Feydrik's Company, let alone any Mandalorian they set forth. While the Jedi and the handful of Alliance that littered the planet offered a steep resistance-

The Naboo Republic was simply not ready. They were not built for this. They were built for art, for peace, for life and for appreciating beauty. Living life to its fullest. However, in the face of the cruelty of the galaxy there was little to match the ferocity and unceasing violence of the Mandalorian rampage. Their battle drills were impeccable, each soldier spent hours upon hours drilling even the most basic of tasks. What made Mandalorians stand apart from any soldier in the galaxy, was not their capacity for violence, their tactical finesse, or weaponry. Feydrik would've taken his men into battle with slugthrower muzzle-loaders and T-shirts. The armor did not make a Mandalorian Warrior, a Soldier in the Crusaders. The ability to perform any basic task to perfection at any given moment made them stand apart.

From firing their weapons to jumping off of trucks properly, they were unparalleled in their dedication to training and drills. They had no equal in the galaxy. Even the word Mandalorian made the Senate Chambers tremble in fear, causing panic. Jetii and Dar'Jetii tried time and time again to folly the Mandalorian resolve. Sith Lords, more concerned with their concubines and their wine, tried in vain to quell the Mandalorian with strip mining and attacks.

They failed.

They all failed.

The Crusaders had come to Naboo to prove a point:

This was the Way.

Traditions and history dictated that the arrival of the Crusaders was an inevitability. They were not the weak, peace-loving New Mandalorians who favored mulling over what it meant to be a Mandalorian. They were not the Enclave fighting for survival. They were not the Mandalorian Empire who faltered and shattered the word, the people. The Crusaders simply were. They were the fire that cleansed the weakness. They were the righteous return of the Mandalorian people. The Mandalorians were built for war, their culture, their words, their armor, their hearts- all forged for war, all forged for the crusade.

Pretending otherwise, was a fool's errand. A disgusting, heretical view.

Feydrik's Company arrived at the Plasma Refinery, ready to receive their prize. With the loot they were securing here, and the convoy's protection, their Crusade could burn twice as bright. And thus far, not a one had been able to stop them.

 

[Ma'lur'kek'thwin]

LOCATION⠀|	2nd Story Art Gallery, Theed, Naboo
OBJECTIVE⠀|	Repel the Invaders

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀One little skirmish with a handful of Mandalorian extremists would not be enough to stanch the bleeding wound over Naboo's skies, but damn did it feel good putting teeth into one of them. Ma'lur came upon Armel like a tidal wave, a crash of shimmering blue and white that slashed and bit against him. She'd missed getting both handholds and getting her jaws around his throat, but the urge to protect his soft parts had rendered his right arm a mangled, bloody ruin in her mouth. Even now she continued to gnash against flesh and bone, rewarded with a squelching tear as the limb from below the elbow came free entirely.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ma'lur's considerable weight jerked. Heat began spilling out around the Zeltron's flanks, the rotund hiss of boosters kicking to life at their wearer's desperate call. At first she considered bearing down against the thrusters' forces, the baser instinct within demanding she not let prey escape... But the mechanical clicks and shifting vibrations in her right hand gave her pause. She had just enough time to see the nozzle emerge before the cloying flames and toxic fumes spewed forth, and Ma'lur wrenched his arm away, angling the projected chemical fire out into the hole over the alley-street from which they'd come from.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With Armel unleashing all the tools left at his disposal, Ma'lur was keen to separate from him before he chose martyrdom and baked BOTH of them alive. Against the still surging jets at the Mandalorian's back, the Ssi-ruu forced him to remain in hand just long enough to shove him out the same hole, out into open air where he could- much to her displeasure- possibly escape, yelling "Shoot him!" as she did so. No matter the case- whether Prodo managed to line up a shot or not- letting the Mandalorian go would leave her open to getting sprayed with the flames, but if she was fast enough... Maybe, just maybe it'd hit her tail. If she'd learned anything after the raid on Mygeeto though... Well, she braced anyway.

Armel , Stevru Klamat

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