Junction [GA/NEO] Battle of Onderon [junction of Onderon and Vjun]

[Vince]

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A new Mandalorian threat has risen. The Neo Crusaders have established a firm presence in the outer reaches of the Mid Rim, centered on their ancient homeworld of Mandalore. While amassing their powerbase, the Mandalorians has acted with a forceful hand. Food and ships were seized during their raid on Contruum, large quantities of kolto was captured during the occupation of Manaan and raw materials was conquered from the fierce warriors of Umbara.

The Galactic Alliance had offered their aid against the Mandalorians on all of those worlds, despite resources being stretched between the Core Wars against the Dark Empire on one side and the War in the Rim against the Sith Empire.

In the distant past, the Onderonian moon of Dxun once served as the staging grounds of Mandalore the Ultimate's crusades. Now, it has caught the eyes of the Neo Crusaders once more. Conflict between the Mandalorians and the Alliance-aligned Onderonians has been brewing for some time. Finally, the Mandalorians has launched an attack to topple the Onderonian Crown and to reestablish their springboard into the core parts of the galaxy. Through increased war preparedness and good communications, the Galactic Alliance has been able to respond to the thread with both speed and force. Setting the scene for the Battle of Onderon.

The walled Onderonian Capital of Iziz, guarded by its powerful anti-air turrets, once used to ward its citizens against raids from the beast riders, has been beset by a potent Mandalorian strike force. The local military, scattered and slow to react, has been unable to offer much resistance against their attackers. Large and open plazas have been captured and narrow alleyways have been cleared as the Crusaders have carved a path towards the Royal Palace.

Elevated far above the rest of the Capital, the Onderonian Crown has one last line of defence: The Sky Bridge. A single massive bridge with a number of plateaus along the way, serves as the sole path to the top with powerful turrets protecting against those eager to take an aerial shortcut. Alliances forces have been able to land at the top of the path: An intense battle for control of the bridge is bound to ensue.

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Beskar littered the palace grounds far below, but a small number of Mandalorians have made their way to the Palace - proving that even a powerful air-defence cannot provide enough cover against a determined and well protected Mandalorians. Quickly making their way through the wide open corridors of the Royal Palace, the small force of attackers have been able to push towards the Throne Room with surprising speeds. In the grand hallways of the Royal Palace and the venerable Throne Room, between invaluable artefacts and pieces of art, fights for the life of the Onderonian Queen are to take place.

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Neither passive nor lacking in resourcefulness, the GADF and members of the New Jedi Order have launched a counter attack on what has been assumed to be the command center of the Mandalorian attack on Onderon. Deep in the dangerous jungles of Onderon's moon, Dxun, Mandalore the Ultimate created a stronghold from which he commanded Mandalorian armadas to raze planets. Now, four millennia later, a sect of Mandalorians led by Carduul Akahl has renewed its defenses for the very same purpose, bringing with him support from the Crusade.

Once serving as a training grounds for new recruits and a communication hub for the war, it has been fortified with hidden traps, defensive turrets, and the ferocious inhabitants of the jungle itself - providing a worthy target for the Alliance attackers. Their true goal, however, can be found in the command bunker, where Rally Masters have gathered to coordinate troop movements and plot the Crusade's next steps.

BYOO ​

Have fun! Feel free to bring your own objective

 

[Hakon Fett]

TAGS: OPEN TO DANCE
"I'm not a warrior. I'm a soldier. There's a difference. Warriors attack and conquer. They – they prey on the weak. Soldiers defend and protect the innocent – mostly from warriors."
"Nice speech. I bet you tell yourself that every night so you can sleep. But I am accept who and what I am. I don't have to justify it with words. Victory in battle is my justification."
―Carth Onasi and Canderous Ordo
VALHALLA CALLING

Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Vanguard
Iziz Operational Command HQ
Onderon; Ormbyr Rook PoV

The ancient stone walls of the house trembled, struggling to hold back the thunder of blaster fire and the booming crash of artillery shells echoing through the streets of Iziz, the capital of Onderon. Windows rattled in their frames and dust cascaded from the old mortar like sand slipping away to the merciless winds of time it had so far withstood.

So far.

Today that may very well change.

Empty bottles of tihaar clattered across the floor with each thunderous blast, remnants of a feast long abandoned. The Mandalorian crusaders who had 'liberated' the house in the early days of battle were now gone, marching toward the front lines. As for the former owners, their fate had been sealed—either cut down in the chaos or hauled off as spoils, given the grim choice: don the Armor or toil in the ever-growing war forges that now spread like wildfire across the conquered Mid Rim.

The new tenants, none other than Field Marshal Hakon Fett and several Rally Masters, had converted the old house into a true warrior's lodge. They encircled a holotable, its shimmering blue light of tactical holomaps gave life to their soulless visors as they discussed strategies to break through the stalemate. For it had truly turned into a sloggish stalemate beneath the great shadows of the Sky Ramp. The Mandalorians had wrought havoc across Iziz, carving their way through the valiant defenders and their allies of the Alliance until the momentum was stemmed by the plethora of anti air defences relinquishing them of their basislisk air superiority, the fierce, entrenched resistance of the defenders and their higher ground.

It was yet another conundrum for Hakon to solve, Ormbyr Rook thought, a conundrum far more complicated to unravel than that of the Battle of Bimmissaari and the Crusade of the Lantillian. The shipwright wondered whether his friend missed the stars at this moment, much preferring moving chess pieces in space, rather than on the ground. Alas, that glory had been ordained to Cimmer Kast and his fleet – the same fleet who had turned the tide at the Battle of Bimmissaari; it was only in line with Mandalorian tradition to bestow that honor to him.

Bimmisaari, where Ormbyr Rook should have met his end alongside his prized ship, the Stormbringer, only for Hakon Fett to have other plans. In the heat of battle, he stripped Ormbyr of the honor of going down with his ship, dragging the reluctant shipwright to the escape pods by force. Survival, not death, was his purpose now. Hakon's vision had demanded it—new ships, greater than the mighty Keldabe-class, forged for the Mandalorian cause. Battlecruisers that would reshape the future of Mandalore's war machine.

But here was neither in the shipyards, nor in space where his expertise would've been more useful; rather than his hands welding durasteel plates against frames or drawing blueprints of a vessel, they were busy with placing the blue Crusader helmet over a young Mandalorian, a few years past his verd'goten.

Khulainn Kryze, son of Haddur Kryze, the Spear That Pierced the Void, bore the mantle of a storied legacy. Haddur, a veteran of Mandalore the Wrathful's reign, had fallen bravely against a suicidal Alliance ship above Manaan ramming the orbital platform he had commanded. In death, he earned his moniker and his place of death had been told in newly weaved tales as Haddur's Watch. Khulainn, inspired by his father's valor, sought to honor that legacy, carrying forth the spear that pierced the void. Alas, also haunted by a family torn apart by the bitter internecine of his clan.

"The visor… it seems smaller." remarked Khulainn as his head swiveled left, right, up and down.

"A worthy sacrifice." Orm said unconvincingly. These Neo-Crusader practices Hakon had implemented from the ancient knowledge imparted by Carduul Akahl were hard to dispute when the Mandalorians had spread their reign across the Mid Rim and Expansion Region in such rapid fashion, but–

"You do not wear one, though." Khulainn noted, staring at the shipwright.

He scoffed a lie as he placed a hand over the young vod's shoulder, "Slow forgemasters." In truth, Orm's zeal stemmed from the ancient Crusaders, of the Indomitable, of the First. He found the Neo-Crusaders a tad too…foreign.

Khulainn averted his gaze to the side and Orm felt compelled to ask.

"What's wrong, son?"

"My elder sister's off with the Duchess, my older brother's with that Sithspit Pretender. And I'm here, and we're all at odds, and… ugh, just... I don't know.."

Orm bit his lips, unsure what to say when a voice came from behind him, "When you find yourself surrounded by those who don't know or care who you are," Hakon stepped in, "comfort yourself knowing that you are part of something far greater and more powerful than they will ever have the privilege of knowing."

After a long pause, the boy gave a more confident nod. Rook wondered whether Hakon would be the man to take him as his ward. But his… tendency to often skirt between tradition and the unorthodoxy of the aruetiise – it was something Orm did not particularly like of his friend.

Perhaps Carduul, then… despite his propagation of the Neo-Crusaders, he was an honorable warrior that had preserved crucial Mandalorian history long thought gone.

The mulling was interrupted with the doors slamming open and a voice booming loud for all to hear,

"THE. BUTCHER. OF MANAAN."

In stepped, a Mandalorian towering like a fortress above the rest in the room. Shoulders as wide as the berth of a man o' war and a confidence as large as the galaxy itself.

Thorin Vizsla, the Hound of Concordia; a rival of Hakon Fett ever since their verd'goten. A warrior of unmatched skill, his fierce competitiveness droving him to ally with mercenary bands that opposed Hakon's, a defiance steeped in spite. In this same act of spite, he spurned the Neo-Crusader armor, choosing instead the steel of his own pride.

"I am envious of this moniker that has been bestowed upon you by the aruetiise, Fett." the bear-like Vizsla took several large strides until he could embrace with Hakon with a tight hug. "Come here, brother."

"Thorin." Hakon cleared his throat after being released from the large man's embrace. "It is good to see you."

"I am sure it is – I've seen what's going outside whilst you've been playing dejarik with your red bucketheads here. Where's your famed Alor – Careena?"

"She led the advanced force. Have not heard of her since."

"Loves the shadows too much that one, too much for a Mando'ad." Thorin said, and Orm noticed Hakon's head slightly tilt at the affront shown towards his Alor. "But you, too, love your trickery, brother. Gas? Could you have not blasted the darn Selkath with an old, time-tested show of broadside?"

"Thorin."

"Right, right. No infighting." Thorin pushed his hands out in concession. "In any case, Fett, I came here to bring you to the front. The vode need all the leading men out there in the trenches with them. Morale and all that."

"I am ready to go. And you?"

"I am here to claim a moniker of my own in this glorious battle against the aruetiise." Thorin grinned beneath the helmet and they both departed with their basilisk war droids headed for the front lines at the insurmountable Sky Ramp.

 

[Careena Fett]

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

| Location | Sky Bridge, Onderon​

| Objective | Seize the Sky Bridge​

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Hours Before the Assault on Onderon...

The bustle of footsteps aboard the Neo Crusader destroyer Fateshaper could be heard as Mandalorian Crusaders approached the Onderonian system boarding the Galactic Alliance and Mandalorian Neo Crusader territories. It was a bold move for them to encroach upon territory that was so close to Galactic Alliance space, but one that did not dissuade them; they were warriors above all and welcomed a challenge against an enemy greater in size.​

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Careena stood at the head of a large group of assembled Crusaders organized in the hangar, just before their arrival in system from hyperspace. She stood tall with her hands held behind her back. Her vocoded voice spoke in their native tongue, booming as it was amplified for all present to hear,​

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<"Crusaders!"> The thunderous sound of all present stomping in unison echoed as all those assembled in the hangar stood at attention.​

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<"You have heeded my call once and since then you have heeded the call that cries out to your souls. Honor... Redemption... Glory... Whatever the reason may be, you have chosen to rise up and follow the way of the crusader. I call upon you again to remind you of the vow you have sworn to uphold and honor upon becoming a Mandalorian. Let us meet our foes on the field of battle wreathed in the undying flames of our ancestors, to forge ourselves anew. Emerge from the anvil of war, reforged, sharpened and stronger than before!">​

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Her hands unclasped themselves from her back as she began to stride up the columns of Crusaders, tapping her fist against the chestplates of those she passed and giving them all affirmative nods.​

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<"Hear me now warriors of new! Gone are the days where we have allowed ignorance and turning a blind eye to our ways dull and cripple us. We are the sword that fells our enemies and the shield that protects our people and way of life. Let us remind the warriors of the Galaxy that we are not to be trifled with or to be commanded. We will not bend or break in the face of a great enemy. We will not buckle nor yield. Why? ​

<"BECAUSE WE. ARE. MANDALORIANS!">​

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She stood amidst the rows of Crusaders as she cried out, raising her fist in the air. A thunderous and unified chant of agreement rippled through the ranks. They came not as conquerors, but messengers. The Mandalorians were here.​

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<"Heed the orders of your rally masters and Look out for one another on the field of battle. Fight and survive; show those who have lost their way the one true path, and guide them back to us or let them succumb to the error of their ways. Victory to the Neo Crusaders. FOR MANDALORE!">​

<"FOR MANDALORE!">​

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A deafening chant in unison as hundreds of fists rose up along with Careena's alongside them. The hour of wolves had begun.​

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[Reserved for proximity tags]​

 

[Sig Dryggo]

"Death is inevitable. Those who fool themselves into believing otherwise are only causing more pain in the future.” -Mandalor the Ultimate
The Crusade: Feydrik Munin | Yuri Maji | Domina Prime | Trajan Fett
The Opposition: Vince | Jonyna Si | Haliat Kryze
Direct Tag: Vince

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It was a day he had seen only in dreams. Passing glimpses of what he hoped would be. Flashes of the future he one day strives to achieve. That day was finally here, today. The Dauntless had little to no problem diving in quickly and dropping Sig off outside the palace: his old home.

Unlike the previous engagements with the Crusade he opted to go alone. This was personal.

Although it was true he was the only one from his clan present, Sig wasn’t alone in the assault. Joining him was several vod equally determined to see Onderon brought to its knees.

Such powerhouse fighters such as Feydrik and Domina had been present, as was Trajan, Yuri, and others keen on securing Mandalorian glory this day. Yet Sig was determined this day would be his.

Though there would be those who surely doubted his allegiances, Sig was seeking to seize this day as a day that secured his place among the Neo-Crusaders people. No, after today it would be hard for anyone to deny the fire that burned within him.

Together with his vod the palace was breached without much issue. It wasn’t until they were inside, however, the sounds of alarms began to ring. The piercing alarm was drowned out quickly as the sound of at least two battalions worth of security forces began to move throughout the palace.

Sig knew this place better than anyone. Smirking he turned to everyone present, “This palace is well fortified,” he stated firmly, “They’ll use the limited movement and space in hallways to their advantage. You have to move fast and hard.”

He turned and moved forward to the main hallway door; beyond it would be the entry hall that would give them all access to various hallways and stairwells. “Elevators will be locked down,” he continued, splicing the door controls as he did so. After a moment there was a small explosive spark from the panel and the doors opened.

He turned one last time to the party gathered. “The throne room will be at the top of the building and is where the Queen will likely be held,” he gave everyone one last look over, confident they’d all see the mission through to the end. “Find the Queen and execute her: for the Crusade.”

The command was issued. How they proceeded was none of Sig’s concern. The moment the final word left his lips he had turned and began marching straight for the main set of stairs at the center of the entryway.

Without speaking another word he continued forward. Through the halls he winded and moved like an unstoppable wind. Nobody would stop him.

In fact, he counted on it.

 

[Katarine Ryiah]

Location: Onderon - Medical Examiners Office
Objective: Apprehend Serial Killer
Tags: Connel Vanagor [Note: Not open to others at the moment]

Katarine had been on the planet Onderon for three weeks. When the local authorities had uncovered a mass grave that contained seven victims, each with a rare seed pod stuffed down its throat, they had called the Jedi. As a Jedi Investigator who specialized in the criminal underworld Kat took the assignment. For years now she had been conducting an investigation of the escaped prisoners of Black Marsh Prison. The seed pod in the throat was a criminal signature she knew of and once seeing the mass grave it was obvious who they were dealing with. Ravix Lonok had earned the nickname "The Reaper" due to his tendency to splice his victims DNA with plant cells and then harvest them. The Reaper was an ecoterrorist and he was not likely to stop until he was apprehended. So far her investigation was slow, but some upsetting news might unravel the entire thing. It seemed Katarine had picked the worst time to go to Onderon, as the Galactic Alliance's war was now heading this way too. The timing made her cringe but she couldn't exactly tell the GA to just stop their war, especially when the body was in three of them last she counted. She was starting to think all this group did was war. She would just have to conduct her investigation while a battle raged around her. Maybe she'd get lucky and the fighting would draw The Reaper out of hiding.

Her first stop had been the local authorities but cooperation was less than ideal. Most cops didn't like Jedi sniffing in their backyards and that seemed to be the case here as well. Luckily backup was coming in the form of Connel Vanagor. Kat had been surprised the knight had agreed to the mission but she felt optimistic to work with him again. The last time they had met Connel had been friendly and cheerful and Kat figured the past was now behind them. She was interested to find out what the young man had been doing with his new path and hopeful that his expertise would help her catch this serial killer before more damage could be done.

She was waiting for him at the medical examiners office. It was better than waiting around the police station and seeing all the stares and whispers going her way. She could feel the tremble in the Force and knew the war was coming. She just hopped the battle didn't let a serial killer slip through the cracks as a result.

 

[Connel Vanagor]

"In my experience,
when you think you
understand the Force,
you realize just
how little you know"​

[COMM TRAFFIC]
LOCATION : Onderon | OBJECTIVE : 4 |TAG (FRIENDLY) : Katarine Ryiah | TAG (FOE) : @

NEED HELP OVER HERE! Came the familiar voice as a large, black clad, masked individual, well armed, called out carrying a local Constable, clinging to life. This wasn’t an infirmary, a medical wing, or a hospital, it was a police station, but the constable wasn’t going to make it. Immediately of course, the officers drew their weapons and ordered him to put his hands up. He just set the constable down and pulled off his mask.

I’m a karkin’ Jedi! Put your guns down!

“Show us proof!” Yelled out one of the younger officers, Connel just looked at him incredulously.

Seriously? Alright. How about something from the “Light Side”. Slowly, he emanated an “Calming Aura” and then a flash of light which brought them out of any trance they might have been put in. While the flash was not appreciated, many of them questioned if that made him a Jedi, or a Sith trying to fool them, which brought on more questions, and more questions.

“What did you do to this guy? What happened?”

You mean before or after the looter stabbed him in the neck? In fact, hang on. Amidst verbal protest, he put his mask on, walked out the front door, and then down the steps, grabbed a very irate, but subdued individual(the stuncuffs from the injured constable were helping) and dragged him inside kicking and screaming.

He’s the reason this guy is injured. Now are you going to do anything? Or are you just going to keep asking me questions? Many of them wanted to argue more, and even elevate the situation, but the Watch Commander spoke for the room, whether they wanted him to or not.

“We got this, Master Jedi. Thank you. We will need an eyewitness report though.”

I will before I leave. You have my word.

Turning on his heel, Connel sensed where Ka… MasterRyiah was located, and walked her way. Opening the door and pulling off his mask, he found her. Ohai!

 

[Vince]

Battle of Onderon

Tag: Sig Dryggo ​

A few moments of tenderness. Armored and ready for battle, Vince felt his mother's hand caress his cheek as he knelt before her. Memories seemed to flood his mind as his eyes gazed up into her blues. Even though he was very well aware of their contingency plans - that the heir and monarch should not be in the same place in a situation like this one - he clearly did not want to leave. In the distance, alarms were going off and the thunderous sounds of war could be heard. But in this very moment, it was just the two of them.

At least for a while. Soon, a pained smile grew on her face before she raised her chin high, regal and worthy. "It is time" her warm voice carried both love and a sense of urgency. She had always been good at knowing when to prioritise duty. This was apparently one such occasion. As her hand was retracted from his cheek, his head fell in a deep bow.

"Yes, mother" his voice, deep and trying to convey the same spirit as she was shivered just a little. The Prince then rose to his feet and offered the other defenders present in the throne room a nod, clearly appreciative of their presence. Flanked by a Royal Guard, he left the grand throne room by a side entrance, doing his very best to keep his emotions in check. Taking the helmet on helped, it was something which most soldiers associated with shutting off and going to war.

The Onderonians had taken quite a few precautions against an assault on the palace. EMP traps had been planted in elevator shafts and high by the ceiling to trigger against Mandalorians too eager to use their jetpacks. A few temporary walls had been constructed to create choke points and to counteract the effect Sig Dryggo might have - the lost cousin who showed himself to have fallen from grace on Manaan. Still, his knowledge likely extended far beyond what they could ever hope to rearrange in such an ancient building.

For now, he would move through the narrow pathways which snaked through the palace. In the past, they had been used for courtly intrigues - now, they served as a perfect path through which to ambush attackers. Receiving occasional bursts of information through his ear piece, Vince and his guard pushed on.

 

[Grissuk Ung Kusp]

Carduul Akahl Jasper Kai'el Braze ​

The murmur of the Neo-Crusader camp enveloped Captain Grissuk as he settled onto a makeshift stool, his massive green hands resting against the rough wooden surface of the table. The smell of roasted meat and smoke hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and the distant crash of beasts as they roamed Dxun's jungle. A constellation of torches flickered precariously, the flames battling against the cool, humid evening breeze.

Grissuk had never been one for intricate strategy or convoluted plans that emerged from the mind of Carduul Akahl . His strength lay in the simplicity of living in the moment, and tonight, he would revel in the primal thrill of chance while the rest of the Neo-Crusaders were pillaging nearby Onderon under the direction of Hakon Fett .

The Gamorrean Mandalorian captain was massive even by his species' standards, the distinctive heavy armor that hugged his bulky form marked with scrapes and scars—a history of battles fought and won. The green skin of his face glistened under the flickering firelight, a stark contrast to the bone-white Mandalorian crest emblazoned on his chestplate.

Around him, a rowdy group of fellow Gamorreans gathered, the air thick with anticipation and camaraderie. Each of them bore the scars of countless fights, their armor adorned with trophies—fangs, bones, and medals—that spoke to their ferocity and loyalty to the Mandalorian cause. This was more than a game of chance; it was an opportunity to bond, to forge alliances over sharp wits and the sound of rolling dice.

"Come, Captain! Show us your luck!" one of the Gamorreans called, thumping a fist on the table. The invitation ignited a ripple of laughter through the circle, and the stakes began to rise. He leaned in, eager but cautious. He knew well the unpredictability of dice and the foolishness of overreaching. But the thrill called to him like the distant howl of a predator.

Taking a deep breath, he produced a pair of polished, multi-colored dice from a pouch at his side, their surfaces smooth and cool to the touch. The other Gamorreans fell silent, their attention locked on the captain as he shook them in his hand, letting the sound fill the space between them. "Pipe down, pipsqueak and let the dice speak for themselves!" he bellowed, rolling the dice onto the table with a flick of his wrist. They tumbled and clattered before coming to a stop.

An uneasy silence blanketed the group as they stared down at the numbers. The result was mixed; a good roll but not optimal. A chorus of playful groans erupted, and the previous victor nudged Grissuk with an elbow. "Your luck is slipping, Captain!" he jeered, but his tone was light, filled with brotherly banter.

"I'z don't need no luck. I am biggest!" He replied, his voice booming, imbued with confidence. "The trick is in knowing how hard to throw em against the wall!" With a roar of laughter, he reached for his second roll.

The dice flew once again, bouncing wildly across the table and landing with a satisfying thump. This time, the result was glorious—a near-max roll. Cheers erupted, banter turned to raucous applause, and Grissuk felt a swell of pride in leading his comrades. This was what the Mandalorian spirit was about—fighting hard, laughing harder.

 

[Jenn Kryze]

Beskar'gam
​

| Location | Iziz - Throne Room
| Objective | Before the storm...

Legacy.​

​

Such a simple word, yet charged with meaning. ​

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Not a day went by without the Alor of House Kryze thinking of hers. How would she be remembered, when the time finally came for her to be reunited with her family? What was the measure of a warrior, but the glory of their final stand - the legend of their Ani'la Akaan? Time and time again, the Mando'ade were driven to the brink of extinction, defeated by mighty coalitions and courageous foes willing to pay the price to stop their onslaught... and yet, for all of their defeats, their would-be vanquishers feared them, still. The warriors of beskar earned naught but the hatred of the Galaxy and a glassed world, but their visors invoked the memory of great battles that yet echoed through the halls of history.​

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Jenn met the prospect of her final battle with her head held high. If this was to be the final chapter in her story, then she would see it written in blood, and die knowing that she had made a difference. Under her leadership, the House of Kryze had been transformed into a family of families, a gathering of warrior-heroes ready to fight and die for the weak, the helpless, and the innocent. So too had the long-standing enmity between Mando'ade and Jetiise been put to rest, and newfound respect built upon their shared values; and from this unlikely alliance bloomed a new bond. ​

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Aliit Kryze would either triumph over the dar'manda scum, or they would be utterly annihilated. The Redeemer found comfort in the certainty that came with such a notion. Ever since their triumphant liberation of Onderon alongside the forces of the Galactic Alliance, the warriors of the House of Kryze had worked to set down their roots within the Highlands; with time, they came to regard Onderon and its people as their new home, rather than Manda'yaim and the people who stubbornly chose to live among its ashes. ​

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When the Dark Empire laid siege to Coruscant, Jenn had mustered her forces to stand alongside the Jedi, no matter the difficult past between their people - and it was through this selfless act of bravery and brotherhood that the measure of her worth was proven to the Galaxy. Time and time again, she proved herself an exemplar of courage and honor, ready to come to the aid of those in need, no matter the cost she had to pay in lives. For what was the purpose of a Mandalorian, but to die with honor?​

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Many were those among the Mando'ade who called her a naive fool for her willingness to bleed for the aruetiise. What kind of traitor was she, to shed the blood of her own people for the sake of mere outsiders? ​

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Win or lose, live or die, today would be the day she proved them wrong. All those she had aided in the past had not forgotten her; Corazona von Ascania had answered her call for aid, just as readily as Alicio Organa had dispatched an elite strike force to assist her in the defense of her home. So too did Minerva Fhirdiad and Drego Ruus arrive with their warriors to reinforce the House, bloodied as it had been after Coruscant and Echnos.​

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A mighty coalition of allies, friends, and family. Vode An.​

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The entirety of the House was deployed to hold the Sky Bridge, reinforced by the now battle-hardened Hastati and joined by Alderaan's troops; Anna Carden and Atin Tracinya , honored warriors that they were, were entrusted with the defense by their Alor. Her orders were simple; to hold the critical location at any cost. If the bridge was to fall, then nothing could stop the Neo-Crusaders from sacking the city and butchering the people under their protection. As sworn protectors of Onderon and her people, their oaths were for life - and only in death would their duty end.​

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A large holographic projection of the Alor soon came to life, addressing the assembled forces digging in to prepare for the inevitable assault by their foes.​

"My warriors, hear me! The day of reckoning is upon us, and the Crusade is at our doors. They are our vode no more! They have come to butcher those we love, and destroy all that we hold dear, and for this crime, every last one of the must die! We will not be undone by mere savages pretending at greatness - not this day, and not ever! Trust in your wargear, trust in those standing alongside you, and drive back the dar'manda into the darkness that spawned them! AND IF THIS IS TO BE OUR END, LET OUR NAMES ECHO FOREVER AMONG THE STARS THEMSELVES! OYA MANDA!"​

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Many were the voices that answered her, crying out in approval, in defiance of the odds - in celebration of the life they had lived thanks to her, and the death they were willing to face to preserve her vision. A good thing that she wore a helmet, for tears soon welled in her eyes at the sight of so many courageous souls ready to face the end for her. For the promise of a better tomorrow.​

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The projector was shut off, then, and Jenn exhaled softly. Although she longed to stand within the heart of the fight itself alongside her people, her oath demanded otherwise, for she was sworn to defend her liege with her life; the Queen of Onderon had been good to her, granting her lands for her people to settle upon. To betray that trust was unthinkable. Jenn would sooner die than break an oath, or go back on her word.​

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For this reason, she had made the choice to stand within the throne room itself, ready to give her life to protect that of the monarch.​

​

She turned towards her Nite Owls, then, and smiled. They were her finest warriors, and yet so much more. The dearest of friends, who dared to talk back to her when needed, keeping her humble when her ego got the better of her. Where would she be without them? Without their counsel, their bravery, their undying loyalty? ​

​

"Here we stand", spoke the Alor calmly, resting her hand upon the pommel of her beskad. "If this is it, I need you all to know that it was my honor to lead you. Now go - take up your positions. The hated foe will be upon us, soon."​

​

The House's elite fanned out to cover the entrances then, whilst Vince exchanged a few words with his mother. Jenn gave him an upnod as he passed her by, and even struck her fist against her breastplate, over her heart. A mark of her respect for him, even though the pair had never quite had the chance to get to know one another, isolationist as her people tended to be. If they survived the battle, then she would have to remedy that.​

​

There were no words for her to tell the Queen. Her presence here said enough, standing alongside the Onderon Royal Guard as she was. No, instead, she walked over to the most important person in the room... and wrapped her arms around Varys Amun , holding her treasured child in a warm embrace. Worried as she was for her daughter, the Ersansyr's heart was filled with pride, and she simply hugged her tighter, her helmet clinking gently against the girl's shoulder-plates.​

​

"Ni guuror gar, ner'ad."​

​

Simple words, yet uttered so softly. Jenn was almost afraid of letting her go - but when she did, she brought her hands to rest upon Varys' shoulders, turning to look at the towering figure behind her. An honored guest of their aliik, treated with the respect he was due. Herrel Eldar , Chaaj of the Mandokarla, whose words were ever heeded in spite of the difference in beliefs between the pair.​

​

"Vencuyanir ner'ad", ordered the Alor firmly, before finally parting from her daughter's side, though not before giving her one last reassuring squeeze. There was nothing for it now but to wait for the inevitable. ​

​

Her hand found Jonyna Si 's own, their fingers soon intertwined. If she dared to look at the Cathar, she feared that tears may spill from her eyes, and so she kept her helm facing the door, even as she chased the comfort of the one who had captured her heart so tenderly.​

​

"I love you."​

​

​

| Friendly | Varys Amun Jonyna Si Herrel Eldar Haliat Kryze
| Hostile | Feydrik Munin Yuri Maji Trajan Fett Domina Prime Sig Dryggo ​

 

[Domina Prime]

Burn Me At The Stake, Met the Devil, Made the Deal for it~
​

LOCATION: Ground Floor of Palace
ATTIRE: Primes Beskar'gam
OBJECTIVE: Throne Room

Sig Dryggo | Yuri Maji | Feydrik Munin | Trajan Fett

~

Haliat Kryze | Jenn Kryze | Rayia Si | Varys Amun ​

Amidst the ruin and chaos of Onderon a fierce gathering of Mandalorian Champions assembled in the great halls of the Grand Palace. Domina stood resolute as her comrades collected around Sig Dryggo . Five alien eyes glimmered with intent, darting through the pandemonium as she glided through the Grand Palace like a statue carved from stone. The elevators lay fortified, and the hallways brimmed with defenses, all to protect their Queen, who remained ensconced in the safety of the uppermost Throne Room.

Domina's gaze sharpened, her senses heightened, while her tail flicked playfully, a stark contrast to the gravity of the moment, as Sig and the other members of their strike party convened in the grand halls. Her azure optics temporarily examined the others. Yuri Maji a hound of a man she did not recognize, Trajan Fett yet another unfamiliar face. She was however mildly familiar with Sig, if only in passing during the few operations Domina had participated in.

With her four arms folded in a stoic embrace, she listened intently as Sig laid out the plan—an operation ultimately distilled to a political assassination.

Domina rolled her five eyes in disdain at the notion. While she relished the thrill of snatching gleaming crowns from the unworthy, the prospect of bulldozing through a legion of lackeys just to eliminate a defenseless woman was far from exhilarating for the savage heart of a Mandalorian Primarch.

No, she yearned for a grand display of power and fury, a spectacle worthy of her gods. The soldier boys could handle the grunt work; Domina had loftier ambitions. She sought to send a resounding message to the godborn and their crowned puppets. Still, she would be their shield regardless of her feelings on the 'plan'.

"For the Crusade!" Sig proclaimed, eliciting a broad grin from the Prime. She leaned in, unfurling her four massive arms to envelop Sig and the others in a warm embrace, attempting to pull them into a huddle. The teeth lining her cheeks chittered with excitement, a primal sound echoing her anticipation.

"We fear no gods! We kneel to NO CROWNS! Mmnf, so exciting ain't it little brothers? Should we race to the top? Last one up buys a round yeah? If we live~" she teased, her boisterous laughter booming like thunder before she abruptly released them, playfully shoving one of them forward. With a swift motion, Domina donned her Mandalorian mask, determination igniting in her gaze. "Been itching to drag a godling all week!" she snarled, her four arms slicing through the air as if engaging in shadowboxing with an unseen foe, each swipe a testament to her pent-up energy surging through her crystalized bones.

The elevators may have been locked down, but Domina was sure there was more than one way through the tower. Even if she had to break through the ceiling to get there~

 

[Feydrik Munin]

"Today is a good day for someone else to die."
-Mandalorian Proverb


SUFFER ME NOT YOUR WEAKNESS, YOUR PITY OR YOUR MERCY

​

Pity.

Compunction.

Mercy.

Empathy.​

Compassion.

Sensitivity.

These were terms, the words that defined the Jedi and the Alliance. They were words that held weight to them, flags flying to enforce them.

They fought battles, they waged wars, in the pursuit of peace. In the pursuit of justice. Fairness.

But they waged a fruitless war.

Equality, kindness, is a false God.

Mandalorians have no equal.

They are without equal, without measure, without comparison.

The galaxy trembled at the word alone.

The thought of a Mandalorian uprising put the galaxy on edge once more.

The Jedi, the Alliance feared them.

As they should.

The Mandalorians, the Neo-Crusaders, throughout history, rarely left a passing impression as they marched.

The fields of dead served as evidence of their passing. They trampled empires, felled their foes with such ferocity that thousands of years later, they were still discussed in the halls of history. Jedi took lessons of how to fight a supposed opponent. They studied the actions of Revan, the pure desperation needed to stop the Mandalorian Crusade in its tracks.

And yet-
​

They could not, and would not stop it. The Alliance, these false Mandalorians, lacked the stomach, lacked the resolve, lacked the will to do what was necessary. They would not burn a thousand worlds to stop the horde. They would not use weapons beyond comprehension, violence beyond measure.

So, they would fail, time and time again.

They were constrained by rules, laws, beliefs. Their scruplity was beyond disgusting to a man like Feydrik. The Alliance defenders were staunch, stalwart- but they lacked what the Mandalorians had on the bridge: the will to fight. They were bound by duty, perhaps enlistment. But the Mandalorians did not do this for flag, for country, for peace. They did it because it was their way. They believed in it. No death was too much, no price for victory too high. The Alliance, these false Mandalorians, these pretenders of the Resol'nare- they lacked the faith, the drive to win.

Feydrik's rifle cut down to ribbons several Defenders, and a false Mandalorian met him in close combat. Feydrik drove his crushgaunt into her chest, grabbing at her chestplate- ripping the metal off of it, the heavy beskar plate falling to the floor. He drove his fist over and over into her flightsuit, caving in her ribcage, crushing her heart with a savage pounding from his crushgaunts.

He shoved her aside without so much of an afterthought and gestured his rifle forward, commanding his squad forward. To push into the city, to face their new enemy: The false Mandalorians, and the Defenders that dared to partake in the battle. The war had come, and the Crusaders were ready. The Defenders, were not.

It was quite simple. They were going to die because they were weak.

And the Galaxy had no place for the weak. It was as true in the jungles of Dxun and the fields of Onderon beyond these walls, nature did not allow weakness or mercy. So why should they?

Their, the Crusaders, the Mandalorian answer came with fire and blood, two simple words echoing across the planet in a hail of violence:

They wouldn't.

 

[Carduul Akahl]

Tags: Grissuk Ung Kusp , Jasper Kai'el , Braze​

“Do you really think they’ll come here?” Queried Garrus Bralor, the man who had followed him for so long he may as well be his second. The Preservists had shored up the defenses already present in preparation for the coming battle.

“They will. They think they can cut the serpent at its head. They are wrong.”

“Why stay, then?” Was the blunt question in reply.

“It is our history.” Came a soft decree, as Carduul turned about from the holo-projector displaying a real-time map of the Onderonian battlefront. Comms officers, clad in standardized blue armor, were hard at work across several terminals, for it took more than simple helmet comms for such long distances. Still, theirs was a smaller force than a full army. The Preservers who followed him had always been that stubborn few - but this time, they stood a proper chance against the powers opposed to them.

He paced across the room slowly, taps of metal from the poleaxe he always carried being made in his wake. “If I were to give it up so easily, that would not bode well for this Crusade. Nay - I have sworn myself to the preservation of our past, and our future. We shall stand, and make them pay for every inch of this sacred ground. They will have to earn it, a claim forged in war.”

A hand rested upon the table, as he leant forwards to peer at those gathered. This time, there were more of those clad in the very same crimson armor he bore. The renewed Crusade had grown, and so too had the need for those to lead it. Yet still, he did not take up the golden armor of the Field Marshal, as was appropriate. Perhaps it was some manner of obligation to his current role, or maybe even sentimentality. The only way to tell them apart from each other was the weapons they carried, and the subtle differences in markings.

“Perimeter still reporting clear as they carry out orders.”

“Have the majority remain in the jungles. They are to finish laying their traps, and remain where they are until called - they know this place better than any of our number.”

It was rare for a Mandalorian to be on the defensive. Carduul, however, knew this was only a matter of time when the battles below started. The wretched alliance would undoubtedly come for them again regardless - they were just striking before their opponent did.

“Alor, we have incoming!” Called a warrior from the terminal. He turned back to the holographic map, pulling up a new addition of the surrounding area. “Sound the call, man the guns!” His finger jabbed backwards to the warrior, “The enemy intends to hunt us today, and they shall find themselves punished for their hubris by our hand.”

He turned to face the rest of the Mandalorians present in the room - organized, prepared, ready for a glorious fight.

“My vode,” Carduul raised a hand, sweeping across, “For too long we have sequestered ourselves in shadow. Too long have we allowed our enemies to trample us into the dirt, and reduce us to shells of our former selves. No longer, for now the time has come for us to prove our mettle.”

“Once more they have returned to take from us our history, intending to strip us of our Way and scatter us to wander aimlessly in the dark. To bind us to their rotting Senate, or to exterminate every last one of us. I refuse this fate. Who stands with me?” He bade, arms raising in grand display as a cacophonous roar came in return.

“We shall deny them their victory, lest they rob us of what makes us Mando’ade once more! This hallowed ground shall again stand the tests of war! I bid you: STAND!”

“For our Way!​

FOR OUR PAST!​

FOR OUR FUTURE!”​

“OYA!” Came the call in return, as the warriors began to leave the debriefing room in a hurry to their positions. Powerful anti-aircraft guns were manned, ensuring whatever approach would be forced to ground early, or be shredded altogether. The rest fanned out into the well-acquainted jungles, where a war amidst the trees and dense foliage would unfold. He strode out to join the front - where he would lead once more. The powerful anti-air guns would force a landing in the jungle, where it was home territory for many of the preservists who had opted to defend their home.

This battle would mark a bloody day. One where the sword would determine the victor. Not words, not politics, not diplomacy.

It was victory, or death.

 

[Jonyna Si]

I walk a wild new world
The strangest sights surround me
I grow into
This sense of wonder that I've found
There is pain
There is joy
There is so much they destroy
Every soul here is a two way battleground
Ride into the fire
Face up to the empty promise
Walk a little wiser
Fight hard for the honest​

TAG: Jenn Kryze Yuri Maji

This was not her moment. This was not her story. This was the story of the alor of House Kryze.

And yet, she stood alongside them. Standing not for pride, or ego, or legacy. No, today, she stood here for one reason. An empty promise. A promise to not give the Crusaders a step of ground. Everywhere they attacked, she'd be. Everywhere they'd burn, she would fight tooth and nail. She couldn't stop them alone, but she could be a thorn in their side. A reminder that the galaxy was just, was fair. That recompense came for us all. That Justice prevailed in the end. The Empire she had been born into had fallen to a farmboy. The Sith had risen and fallen a hundred times. The Force balanced in the end, back and forth.

The Crusaders believed they could end it through brutality.

They were wrong. They were always wrong. Because at the end of the war, at the end of the crusade, it would always end the same. Two leaders, two people smarter than the warriors, sitting down and talking. Signing a treaty. Finding a peace. Jonyna was certainly not smart enough for that, but she was definitely a warrior.

Jonyna couldn't help but grip the hilt of Lucy. Her mother's saber, wrapped in the wood of her ctiy-tree. It calmed the nerves of the Cathar, knowing she had a piece of home where ever she went.

"I love you."

And words like that, they kept her stable. Kept her sane.

"I love you too, Lyrana."

Every time, mandalorians spouted on and on about strength. Their strength, their superiority. Their deserved right to victory through strength.

Strength meant nothing in the hands of a weak soul. In the hands of a weak heart. In the hands of a man who only knew strength. She'd seen it with the Empire, seen it with the Sith, seen it with the Mandos. She had seen it time and time again, those of weak spirit coming into power, and seeing themselves as hot chit. Seeing themselves as above everyone else.

She wasn't above anyone. She wasn't the Sage of Cathar. She wasn't a Jedi Master.

She was a woman, tired but firm, standing in the way of wannabe tyrants. Bullies to the rest of the Galaxy.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

LOCATION: @ | OBJECTIVE: 1 | POST #: 1
TAG (ALLIES - Nearby) : @ | @
TAG (FOES) : Feydrik Munin | Nearby: Careena Fett | Hakon Fett​

.

“The Force has a way of leading us to exactly where we need to be, when we need to be there.”​

“The war had come, and the Crusaders were ready. The Defenders, were not.”

Nothing lasts forever.

The defenders may have been suckerpunched, and they were, but that in there lies the problem. The defenders are getting back up, and rolling up their sleeves. It’s easy to fire on someone from a hidden position and attack someone, clearly of no threat to you. It’s easy to be a bully. Who is really exhibiting “weakness” here?

Master Vanagor was “late to the party” but he was there. He was there to stand with those who would defend the skybridge. Just as he had in the past. This was an act of courage and commitment, and a sign of true strength and courage. Master Vanagor was willing to sacrifice his own safety in order to protect those who needed it most. It was a testament of the strength and courage that he displayed throughout his life.

It disgusted him at what he saw when he approached. The silver Beskar clad individual brutalizes a fellow. Did it matter if her opinion was different? Did it matter what side that she chose? This was a battle, “kills” and “deaths” were going to happen, like it or not, this? This was a message of intimidation, of hatred. He may look at her like a “traitor” and maybe in some semblance of truth she was, but this? This was unnecessary…

This ends now. He could no longer stand among defenders, not at the moment, he had to make sure she would become one with the Force with at least some sense of dignity. Walking forward, breaking ranks of the defending line, he caught eyes of the brutal attacker. Cover me please. Saying this back to his compatriots, he hoped they would, if they did not, that was fine.

He could handle himself.

HEY CHAKAAARYC! The big man yelled out one of the Mandalorian insults he had picked up over the years directed at the imposing fighter. You can take her down! Why don’t you try taking me down?

He had yet to reach for his weapons, either of them. Right now, this was a matter of pride. Not for him, but for her. For all of his brutality, this dangerous and bloodthirsty warrior showed him only one thing.

Cowardice.

Yes, what the big man had seen was just a sample size of the capabilities of this Mandalorian, no doubt, but at the same time, it showed him something more important. It showed his character. Maybe “character” means little in battle, but in reality it means everything. There is strength in knowing you have won a battle. There is strength in knowing when to walk away. “Honor”? Where is the “honor” in bloodlust?

The Sith have never drawn this level of emotion from the elder Vanagor as the Neo-Crusaders here. It will be a horrendous ending for them when their "Crusade" comes to an end. Though they will see it differently, these Crusaders will have no-one to look to blame but the ones in the mirror.

Who’s really the “weak” one?

​

 

[Trajan Fett]

R E T R I B U T O R
CRUSADER
MANDALORIAN NEO-CRUSADERS
CRUSADE | Sig Dryggo | Feydrik Munin | Yuri Maji | Domina Prime
ALLIANCE | Jonyna Si | Jenn Kryze | Haliat Kryze Vince
The Hunter's Quarry | Haliat Kryze
Armor | Gun | Side | Blade

RETVRN​

It's all a game of seconds. Inches. Words. Ever a dreaded reminder, the water splashed his face and he peered up into the mirror. It was ever a dreadful sight, one spared only in the most necessary circumstances. In his adult life, he'd worn many of them, none of them his own. Only the visage of an adopted identity over his mortal flesh and form. Any chance seized to peel back the metal skin and look at who he truly was. He reviled. He traced a finger along a sharp burn that coursed from his left brow along the side of his skull, carving into the flesh. A Maw Scar Hound thumping him in the head with a flechette rifle, shattering the duraplast of his recon helmet. His RTO, Recruit Ansel Kove, TK 773, was far less fortunate.

If only he was little faster to the draw, he thought. He gunned the man responsible dead, but by the time his ride to any hospice was in the air, his lungs had filled with his own blood and all he could do cry tears of screaming bloody anguish to his comrade, Sergeant Trajan. He always shirked the clan name then, not wanting to dirty its identity with his reluctant Imperial service.

He splashed water over his face again.

His gaze shifted to the more comforting visage, set haphazardly over the rest of his loadout for the coming task. He took ahold of it, staring into the reflective black sheen of the Beskar'gam's 'T-visor' before he turned it in his grasp, slipping it over his head. He closed his eyes out of habit as the HUD sparked to life with contrasting black and white. The system automatically adjusted the brightness, gain, level and contrast to his preferences before he went about equipping the rest of his panoply.

His disruptor carbine. Three round burst, one round kill usually. To Alliance troopers? Typically the first round would burrow through the armor while the second punched into flesh, cratering and pitting into the body with horrific burns. The third delivered the coup de grace. If none if it hit the mark, a quick tap of the trigger did it all over again.

Hybrid pistol. Disruptor to kill, sonic to stun. Useful tool against force users. Little a lightsaber could do to block sound, nor could it be deflected. He remembered the first time he delivered a kill with it, a padawan missing his mark before his brainpan imploded from the sonic blast of the thing. Gruesome sight.

Blade. If it was up to him, he'd avoid it, preferring to dispense of Jedi with fire, traps, explosives and disruption. Honorless killing, many thought. But a honorless killer was worth more than those clutching to their chivalry from the grave. Never the less, a good tool, used defensively mainly to buy space and time to utilize something better.

Then of course, thermal detonators, plenty of them.

Within a matter of hours, he was in the serene, ornate halls of the Palace in Onderon. A willful servant, ever treated well by her grace, ever privileged to be a humble servant to that of the crown was crawling away with a spittling trail of blood in his wake.

"Please- please, please, please- Don- don't-" He was an older man, likely an inheritor of his job within these halls. He was pursued by the slow, methodical and foreboding click of Trajan's steps. Like the rattle of spurs he followed him with such insulting nonchalant, crouching down as if he was plucking some primitive penny from the dirt.

<"I've a stimpak...a medkit. It's yours along with a clear path out of here..."> He said, watching as the man crawled toward a wall, slinking up against it was clutched the heaving wound cored into his stomach.

<"I just need a couple things from you..."> He remarked, crouched by the man as she spittled away his own lifeblood.

"Whatever it is, Mando just- please let me live! Plea-"

The barrel of Trajan's pistol whipped across the man's cheek, drawing another spittle of blood from his mouth as he offered up some horrid note of pain along with it.

<"I truly don't care for the sound of a grown man begging for his own life. Now, you're going to give me whatever access credentials you have on you...and you're going to tell me what this serene royalty has in store for us."> He said before pressing the muzzle of his pistol against his forehead, drawing a wince from the man before he nodded in feverish compliance.

"It-it's biometric! I don't have any keycard...the droids have a special binary frequency they can use to get where they need to go, everyone else is eye and fingerprint. They- they've got the elevator shafts trapped...you can't get up there." The man said to which Trajan nodded a few times, silently.

<"Then if you had the aim of getting to the Queen, how would you go about it?"> He asked the man to which he shook his head, lip quivering in fear as he tried to speak.

"I- I don't-" He coughed up more blood, spraying some unto the visor of the Mandalorian before him. He then offered a hand to the man who reluctantly took it only for the Mandalorian to pull him toward himself, the other hand snapping his wrist mounted vibroblade out before thrusting it into his chest. He watched the life leave his eyes before he collapsed, slumping back behind him. A rather pathetic sight, he thought.

His senses finally centered him on the chaos that had enraptured the palace. The security forces swarmed to meet the Mandalorian interlopers, every hall and corridor swarmed with blaster bolts. Trajan was on the balcony of a third story garden part way along the Palace's height, opting for a more clandestine approach once the first shots were fired.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth twice and with it, a team of three other Mandalorians crawled over the ledge of the balcony to join Trajan. Fett then dragged the body along toward the nearest blast door, splaying open one of the man's eye lids with one hand as the other pressed the back of his skull against a retina scanner. It illuminated green and the door slid open with a metallic hiss.

He nodded for the others to pass through as he let the servant's body fall limp to the ground again. His hand smoothly drew his pistol in a seamless, well practiced motion as he made his way down the corridor.

<"Gotta be a maintainence way, something for the security to move between floors if they've knocked out the elevators...lest they're content to die in place, in which case, I'm no man to deny him his well earned fate. Worst case, me and the three of you have a good few thousand pounds worth of blast force in det packs. If we can't get the Queen..."> He shrugged, nonchalantly as the next blast door opened, a squad of security detail stacked up on a door, ready for a Mandalorian advance. Trajan took his spare hand, pulling a thermal detonator from his waist, clicking the activation to the shortest fuze time before he tossed it ahead with an underhanded lob. It landed center among the formation, exploding with a horrific combustion that killed all but two of them instantly.

He advanced forward, executing one with a shot to the head before he grasped ahold of the other, forcing his eye against the next retina scanner, the door opening to his will.

<"Dryggo. Report your status."> He tapped the coms for Sig. He wanted a lay of the land at least.

 

[Feydrik Munin]

Caltin Vanagor
​

Feydrik didn't say anything, opting not for a moral riposte or to exchange words, but instead-

Aimed his wrist-mounted rocket at the approaching bigger, burlier man that he knew right away to be a Jedi, and fired- not at him, but at his feet, about four feet to the right.

He tucked his rifle back up into the high ready, and closed the distance, blaster bolts streaking across the ground as the Crusaders pushed forward against their foes, dug into their positions. The Neo Crusaders pushed on, slaughtering, killing, maiming. Wordlessly, violently, and without remorse.

 

[Haliat Kryze]

​

| Location | Iziz Throne Room
| Objective | Win, or die well

It was...a good speech. Both of them. But then, Haliat had been keenly aware for some time of his chieftain's gift for oration. And while, on occasions past, the former nomad had been stirred by Jenn's fiery words even at times against his better judgement, this time he paid them little heed and less acknowledgement. He simply stood at his post, and awaited the coming storm in silence.

Haliat Kryze knew why he was here. He knew what must be done, he knew what was at stake, he knew the price that may be required of him, and he accepted all of this without anxiety or regret. But perhaps more importantly still, in its own way, he knew Jenn Kryze now.

Perhaps, in the strictest sense, he didn't actually know anything new. He had known what this woman represented when he had first followed her to this world. That was why he had followed her here. And he knew, at the very least, that her creed was more than mere words. Had she not placed her life behind those words as collateral many times, even just in the time he'd known her? But somehow, even if in a manner he could not fully articulate even to himself, this seemed different from Coruscant, or in the first fight for Onderon. The woman had not just chosen a side here, but chosen her ground as well, and she'd placed herself in a corner. Here, at the very beating heart of Onderon, was the proverbial last ditch. No retreat from this ground. No point in retreat, even if a physical means presented itself. There was only succeed, or perish. And in this dire moment, she had allowed him to stand at her side and share the same fate. Not so long ago, he had not envisioned himself making such a stand with so much at stake. Come what may, he didn't imagine he could ever truly thank her for that.

But he could at least acknowledge, and so he had done so in a way more profound than any cheer, chest thumping or war cry that either Mando'a or Galactic Basic could furnish. For one thing had changed, and most visibly. His beskar'gam, soul and identity of any Mandalorian, had been newly repainted in preparation for this fight. The unbroken dark blue which he had worn all his life was now broken up by the armor's pauldrons, the iconography of the Nite Owls proudly on display. Would a fresh coat of paint make any tangible difference in what was to come?

Yes, of course it would.

And yet her words, noble and impassioned as they were, meant nothing to him. It didn't matter what poured from her mouth. He had seen her heart, and he had seen iron. And upon that iron, this band of glorified thugs would dash themselves bloody. And whatever it may amount to, Haliat of Clan Kryze would so his part. And if he should die in the course of it, he could die contented, which was more than most could say. When at last he spoke, if primarily to himself - For he had as much right to set his affairs in order privately as she. - he said the only thing that could possibly have mattered in the end.

"This is the way."

​

| Friendly | Jenn Kryze
| Hostile | Trajan Fett ​

 

[Sig Dryggo]

"Death is inevitable. Those who fool themselves into believing otherwise are only causing more pain in the future.” -Mandalor the Ultimate
The Crusade: Yuri Maji | Domina Prime
The Opposition: Vince | Jonyna Si | Haliat Kryze
Direct Tag(s): Vince | Trajan Fett

​

The thud of a body wasn’t the first. Dead on the ground before Sig was a member of the palace security force. Around that fresh corpse was others, seven total, all fallen at Sig’s hand. He didn’t know how the others faired so far. He didn’t care.

He knew the palace better than anyone else in the Crusade. It was a fact he was gleefully using to his advantage: while the goal was the Queen’s demise, Sig would ensure he’d be the one to extinguish that flicker of life. Standing above the bodies before him he took the brief moment to catch his breath.

Not from excitement or exhaustion. Anticipation.

It was then that a familiar voice rang into his ear. Trajan was asking a status update. <“Security is sweeping the palace. They’ll likely have ray shields and sentry guns setup closer to the throne room.”> Sig paced momentarily, letting the update go through and his words be heard. Yet he couldn’t and wouldn’t let anyone know his intimate knowledge of the palace. <“The maintenance tunnels are the best bet for moving between floors where stairs aren’t an option; words of caution, they’ve likely fortified these narrow passages.”>

Suddenly the communication unit built into the armor of the guard began to ring with voices begging for a status report. Opting to end the transmission with Trajan and the rest of the forces present, he leaned down and ripped the sleeve of armor of the dead guard, bringing the comm unit up to his helm.

“Remember me,” he questioned plainly. “I know you’re listening, your majesty,” he continued, taunting the no doubt listening Queen. “Don’t worry aunt, I’m home now.”

Dropping the unit, he continued down the hall. He wasn’t far from the throne room, thought he was opting to take one of the longer routes, knowing from his childhood they’d be less secure.

As he turned the next corner he stopped in his tracks. Another target on his list was standing at the opposite end of the hallway. His cousin, Vince, was hardly a surprising encounter.

Without saying a word his dual pistols were drawn and began firing a barrage in his direction. As he did so he moved forward and moved to the threshold of one of the nearby rooms, using it for cover.

Despite feeling confident in his abilities over Vince, Sig was well aware that the tactical advantages he had extended to his cousin as well.

Regardless, he wasn’t going to let Vince, or anyone, stop him from finding and ending the life of the Queen.

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

LOCATION: @ | OBJECTIVE: 1 | POST #: 2
TAG (ALLIES - Nearby) : @ | @
TAG (FOES) : Feydrik Munin | Nearby: Careena Fett | Hakon Fett​

.

“The Force has a way of leading us to exactly where we need to be, when we need to be there.”​

Yes, no words… just fight…

The wrist rockets, for whatever reason missed him, and while he inwardly paid them little mind, the big man “dodged”. Running to his left gave Vanagor the moments he needed to grab “Conservator”, the long handle lightsaber that had been with him since his second year as a Jedi Knight. Igniting the golden blade and cutting into Neo-Crusaders who made the mistake of getting close to him. His weapon’s advanced cutting lens and circuitry did enable him to cut into Beskar, but many of those to whom he had hit had “special” armor of their own, or in some cases he just missed…

… he was running at Munin in a “roundabout” way after all…

Those to whom he did not miss, but the blade did not cut, he managed to reach their “open” or “soft” points and either took them down or slowed them to a stop so compatriots could fight back. The Crusaders were blinded to their own weaknesses and failings. Their own weaknesses were the cause of their demise. They had no one to blame but themselves. They would just have to learn this the hard way.

Munin was a good shot, any of them would have turned him into a window with the holes that would have opened up in his body. The Force has a funny way of keeping that from happening.

​

 

[Minerva Fhirdiad]

Onboard the sky ramp Minerva looked out to the ongoing battle. Holding her helm by the right hip the warrior bore defiant eyes at the carnage before them all. Fire and blood claims Onderon. In many ways this ancient world represents the galaxy in how it is often dragged into combat. Songs will be made about this day. Years ago that would've been enough for Minerva but her heart has changed.

Taking a deep breath before releasing it she looked to the commandos with her. After the recent Tython operation their strike force could only muster two platoons at near strength out of the original four. The rest of the survivors were recuperating and refitting back on their home base in Corellia.

She counted ninety six Talons assembled in formation. Leading Platoon two, numbering fifty seven was Gakot Cal and Platoon Four at thirty nine under Irni Rognut. With her being the exception in wearing her ancestral Mandalorian armor, the rest of the Talons had changed up their original gear for their own modified Nemean armor with greenish and black cameo. Their appearance bore similarities to the clone troopers of the famed 41st Scout Battalion that fought on Kashyyyk centuries ago.

She can tell if some of them were still getting used to wearing their new gear but the times call for them to adapt. Against the likes of the Neo-Crusaders every bit counts. Irni with her sniper rifle swung on the shoulder, approached and said.

"We're ready, boss."

The warrior nodded as Gakot came over, remarking.

"This is quite the show already. We'll give them something to talk about."

Even though his face masked Minerva can deduce the former pirate was smirking by his body language and the tone of his voice. He is always like that. Shaking her head the Mandalorian captain then addressed the unit.

"Talons! Today we face not the Sith nor the Empire but the Neo-Crusaders. They are brutal and dedicated to their path and should not be underestimated. Yet neither are they invincible."

Pointing out to the burning city she continued.

"They believe you are weak and hypocrites for fighting to defend fellow sentients. They see me, Clan Kryze, Ruus and other Mandalorians fighting them as traitors and dar'manda. Well here's what I think of those self-destructive, imperialist child murdering cultists!"

She spat in full contempt to the side, causing some of the Talons to chuckle. Minerva can care less what the Neo-Crusaders thought of her. She followed her own interpretation of the Way as they followed theirs.

I don't need nor want their approval. Never again will I seek it. Minerva thought, concluding long ago that reasoning with their kind is a complete waste of time and breath.

Because such zealots proved time again that they love killing their enemies and slaughtering anyone else inferior in their eyes more than anything else in the galaxy. Yes they love death more than their own children.

Minerva brought her left hand down and squeezed it into a tightened fist.

"I as a Mandalorian warrior am proud to stand beside you Talons to fight and die if it is my day to do so. Together with our brave Alliance comrades, our Onderonion and Mandalorian allies we will make our stand. Let our enemies come and let's give them hell. Fight for your homes, fight for your loved ones and most all fight for each other!"

Minerva lifted her left fist high toward the smoke filled sky as the Talons let out a collective roar. Several raised their weapons repeatedly and others threw fists in the direction of the battle line, repeatedly shouting their defiance. Their allies around them would certainly be able to take note. Grinning Minerva put on her t-visor helmet and its HUD came online. Turning around she drew her particle rifle while calling the Hasti, Clan Kryze and Ruus warriors.

"Strike Force Talon ready. Just give us the word."