Faction [GA | NEO] Keshi Raid

[Aadihr Lidos]

Objective I - City Streets
Outfit: Field Attire
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

The wookie Aadihr had heard early was close enough to spot him and, to the Miraluka's relief, aided in guiding the evacuation.

With the citizens clear, Aadihr had enough time to track down the two injured and slow-moving signatures. He approached, breathing heavily from the exertion of constant deflection and the sprint he was now in.

An elderly man was carrying an injured Reina Daival towards the evac route.

Aadihr sped to their side, sliding to his knees to quickly touch the shoulders of both elder and the girl, flooding life force from himself to them, healing their wounds as quickly as he could. He spoke quickly and with a confidence he would not have been able to muster a month ago.

"They're closeby, stick to the sides of the buildings and follow the others, stay off the main roads."
Aadihr noticed the blood on the girl's hands, not far away a Mando with a knife broken off in their neck. A pang of sadness for the girl washed over Aadihr for a moment. A killer now, by circumstance. He reserved a moment to reassure the pair that they had only done what was necessary to survive.

"ROAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR"

The Wookie's emotionally charged war cry drew Aadihr's attention away. He could see the smoke from the flamethrowers over the nearby residences.

With a parting nod, Aadihr lit his pike and turned away from the pair to assist the wookie. Charging in alone could be suicidal, but with the Wookie's wrath-

Aadihr didn't notice the slugthrower before it fired.

On instinct he raised his hand to deflect the projectile - a grave mistake for a solid ballistic. The slug tore through his palm like wet paper, carving a scarlet path up along his forearm before kicking up a cloud of shattered ferrocrete in the pavement between him and Reina Daival .

There was no time to hesitate. Aadihr's left middle and ring finger were liberated from his hand and adorned the street, abandoned as he rushed towards the position of the slugthrower Mandalorian. He heard Kuhbee giving the Mando squad a run for their money on the opposite side of the building be approached.

Sidestepping another slug, Aadihr summoned every bit of force he could muster into his limbs and the trickle of telekinetic ability he did have to assist in leaping, vaulting with this pike pushing off the dirt for extra height. He landed on the exposed second floor of the building near the Mando's firing position as the armored combatant drew a blade of their own.

Close quarters, confined environment, one handed and wielding a polearm, Aadihr knew just how much a disadvantage he had. He just needed to buy time for the Wookie, Girl, and Elder.

Reina Daival | Kuhbee | OPEN TO PVE​

 

[Rakkon Yomaget]

​

Beneath the beskar-forged helmet, a sense of caution emerged as Gil Horn demonstrated his prowess as a well-trained adversary.

This indicated that he had progressed significantly in his training and rose through the ranks, as the New Jedi Order generally hesitated to deploy padawans in live combat except during specific periods of warfare, such as the Second Great Hyperspace War against the Brotherhood of the Maw, when the galaxy faced no alternative.

Still they would not defeat him in direct combat without the aide of the force, as the Neo-Crusaders were trained from birth to be the galaxy's most formidbale warriors which was proven on this day as the pair successfully parried and exchanged strikes with each other in a series of rapid confrontations, where the vibro-axe smashed into the lightsaber staff with considerable force on multiple occasions.

He moved the Shogar Tok Vibro-axe downwards, using the long handle to block the kick sent towards his head.

" How the mighty have fallen if this is the best the Jedi Order has to offer." Hod said in an attempt to ware down the foe's mental defenses to order for them to make mistakes, it was a bold tactic that unlikely to work but it provided enough of an opening for him.

Raising his right Modular Vambraces in a swift motion, brought to life the CZ Wrist-Mounted Flame Projector as its inferno flames emerged.

 

[Azurine Varek]

Return of the Rebel Ace

Outfit: Clothing/Armor | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 | Lightsaber 2 | Hook Swords

The cockpit hummed with energy as Azurine tightened her grip on the flight controls of the starship whose pilot seat she occupied—an RZ-1 A-Wing Interceptor of the Crynyd-series. The flickering readouts cast a cool glow across her sharp features, melding with the brilliant purple flames of her eyes. Below her, Keshi's endless expanse of green fields and deep blue oceans stretched like a living tapestry, deceptively calm despite the storm brewing above. She could already see the Mandalorian fleet cutting through the sky, their angular warships casting dark shadows over the planet's surface. The enemy moved with calculated menace, a pack of predators circling their prey.

She moved her hands to the comms system, linking directly to Valery Noble 's and Kahlil Noble 's frequency, a determined grin on her face. "This is Lyer Leader to Sword and Shield. Your aerial reinforcements have arrived. If there are any specific orders from here on out, send them in."

This was her master’s homeworld, a place that was as dear to Valery as Iridonia was to her. Through this alone, these were her people now too, their toil and hope intertwining with her own purpose. She would not let the invaders reduce Keshi’s tranquility to ash. Not if she had anything to say about it.

"Alright, squad," Azzie called into the comm, her voice steady but charged with fire. "You see those chevin choobies out there? They're here to burn, loot, and take. We're here to remind them that Keshi isn't theirs to take from."

Acknowledgments crackled in return, each voice filled with the same mix of determination and defiance. Azzie's squadron, a patchwork of fiercely loyal pilots, trusted her to lead them despite her place in the hierarchy thanks to her track record of experience. She would make sure that faith was warranted.

Her gaze shifted to the horizon, where the battle was about to spill into the planet's mid-atmosphere. The bright contrails of Keshi's atmospheric defense turrets painted the skies, intercepting the first wave of enemy dropships. "Formation Theta!" Azzie spoke swiftly, banking hard and dropping altitude to skim the upper cloud layer. "Keep it tight and trust your wingmates. We're not just fighting for Keshi today; we're fighting for everyone who still believes in a galaxy worth protecting!"

The A-Wing Interceptor’s twin ion engines roared as Azzie pushed the throttle to maximum, diving headfirst into the chaos. Around her, her squadron followed suit—a streak of defiance slicing through the skies. The battle would be fierce, the stakes monumental, but she knew one thing: no Mandalorian Neo Crusader would leave Keshi without knowing they’d faced a force as unrelenting as the storm itself. Maybe they would think twice about trying this again.

Valery Noble | Kahlil Noble | CLOSED (For now)​

 

[Feydrik Munin]

THE WORLD WAS CAST IN SHADOW

Keshi Streets
Tags: OPEN​

War.

War was all an all-encompassing act, required every facet of a person's attention.

Their physical self, their spiritual self, their moral self, their mentality. Every facet of a person must have be committed to war to both survive it, to endure it, to thrive in it. There was no such compuncture in the Jedi, Feydrik found. They were too multifaceted. Peacekeepers, yet pacifists. Warriors, yet monks. They were not accepting of who they could be.

And that is why they failed.

That is why they died. There was a Jedi defender, clad in his armor, standing tall on the streets of Keshi. Green-skinned, a near humanoid of which Feydrik was not familiar. Feydrik held his Beskar shortsword tightly in his left hand, his right hand tightening into a fist. The Jedi activated a blue blade, speaking words of wisdom to his apparent Padawan. She was nervous, he could tell. Cold, calculating eyes moved between the two defenders of Keshi.

The Jedi Knight moved first, instepping. Feydrik brought his left hand up, catching the blade in his crushgaunt. With his right, he pulled the knife across his torso- and then stabbed it directly in the neck of the Jedi, where his armor didn't cover. He left the knife in the Jedi, letting him fall over. The Padawan moved next, her lightsaber clearing the space between them. The Knight fell over, blood pooling at Feydrik's feet as he met to answer the challenge the Padawan posed. The lightsaber's heat was mere inches from him. He curled his hands into fists, dropped his right shoulder-

And drove his crushgaunt adorned fist right into the face of the Jedi. Experts with blades and lightsaber combat, some jedi rarely took the time to learn about the more savage, brutish ways of fighting. And out of all the things Feydrik was, a savage brute was chiefly how most would describe him. She cried out in pain as his fist met her, bones shattering and blood pooling. She recoiled back, but Feydrik pressed the attack, grabbing her leg- hauling her into the air. He drove her into the ground, and rained blows on her the entire way, eliciting a cry of pain from each.

He beat her into a pulp, her lightsaber deactivating. She raised her hand to use the force, gather it into her hands, force him away, perhaps trick his mind. All it accomplished was that he pulled his fingers around her wrist, his crushgaunt breaking bone just from the squeeze alone. He pulled her wrist out of place, dislocating her hand. She lay on the ground, crying, bleeding, broken.

Defeated.

Feydrik's disgust at her was paramount. He rose to a stand, removing the knife from her master. He pulled out his sidearm, shooting her twice in the chest to cease her incessant whining.

"Weak."

 

[Gil Horn]

Location: Keshi | Objective One
Tags: Rakkon Yomaget

"I could say the same, Mandalorian. Your people used to believe in something greater than attacking the defenseless," Gil said as he grimaced against the pain as his foot struck the haft of the warriors axe. Well, he should have seen that coming. Twisting his foot, Gil locked it around the haft of the axe, using the momentum of the kick and his weight to pull the weapon forward, attempting to throw his opponent off balance.

A flash of warning shot through his head, and Gil had just a moment to see the wrist flamethrower roar to life. Throwing his head backwards, Gil shot his free hand up, using the Force to propel the flames away from him as he threw himself backwards. Gaining a moments respite, Gil brought his saberstaff around in a spinning attack, both blades of the weapon darting in towards the Mandalorian.

"The honor of the Mandalorians," Gil said, his eyes narrowed, "I guess we have different ideas on what that term means."

 

[Aadihr Lidos]

Objective: Survive | City Streets, ruined domicile , second floor
Outfit: Field Attire
Weapons: Walking stick / Lightsaber Pike

The acrid scent of scorched ferrocrete and burning wires filled the air as Aadihr steadied his footing on the precarious second floor. His breaths were ragged, his wounded arm throbbing, dripping, but his mind was still razor-sharp. Before him, the Mandalorian moved with calculated precision, their beskar blade glinting in the haze of the ruins. The warrior’s T-shaped visor betrayed no emotion, but aura and motion screamed disciplined intent.

Aadihr adjusted his grip on the lightsaber pike. The longer reach of the weapon was an advantage, but only if he could maintain distance and avoid the walls of the building. His injured hand left his control imperfect, to say the least. The Mandalorian closed in, blade poised low in an unorthodox guard.

A sudden charge shattered the brief moment of stillness. The Mandalorian slashed upward, forcing Aadihr to pivot and bring the pike down in a sweeping parry. The beskar blade bit into the staff's haft, sending jolts of resistance through the Jedi's good arm. With a grunt, Aadihr disengaged, spinning the pike to deliver a quick jab toward the Mandalorian's side.

The warrior twisted, armor deflecting the searing blade in a shower of sparks, and retaliated with a horizontal slash. Aadihr ducked under the arc, but the blade's edge grazed his shoulder, slicing through his tunic and burning flesh. Pain flared, but he drove it into the recesses of his mind. There was no room for distraction.

The Mandalorian pressed the assault, cutting off Aadihr’s ability to maneuver. Each strike was precise and relentless, leaving no space for counters. Forced into a retreat, Aadihr shifted his grip, using the pike’s haft to deflect a series of blows that drove him closer to the edge of the crumbling floor. The Mandalorian feinted high before sweeping low, aiming to sweep Aadihr's legs out from under him.

Aadihr leaped back, his boot landing perilously close to open air. His aura in the Force flared. He thrust the pike forward with a burst of energy, the blade's hum singing through the dust-choked air. The Mandalorian sidestepped the lunge, but the attack bought Aadihr a split second to recover his footing.

“You fight passably, Jedi,” the Mandalorian growled, voice modulated through their helmet. “But you’re stalling. What’s your plan?”

Aadihr didn’t answer. Instead, he channeled his focus into his next move. With a feint of his own, he swung the pike in a tight arc, forcing the Mandalorian to raise their blade in defense. At the last instant, Aadihr retracted the blade, spinning low and sweeping the haft into the warrior’s knees.

The Mandalorian staggered but recovered with frightening speed, slashing downward as Aadihr lunged forward. The beskar blade carved into his side, shallow but painful, while his pike plunged into the Mandalorian's shoulder joint. The strike sent a jolt through the warrior, disrupting their movements just enough.

With a desperate shove, Aadihr drove the Mandalorian backward with the pike into a crumbling wall. The debris fell around them, pinning their legs for a critical moment. Aadihr’s chest heaved as he raised the pike, its glowing blade aimed at the visor.

The Mandalorian, still gripping their blade, froze. “Well fought,” they rasped between coughs. Their aura seemed resigned to their death.

Aadihr hesitated, his own exhaustion crashing over him. His gut urged him to act, to end the threat, but his heart stayed his hand. With a flick, he deactivated the pike.

“Leave,” Aadihr said, voice firm despite his weariness. “This is over.”

Aadihr kicked the Mandalorian's blade a few meters out of the Mando’s grasp, hearing it clatter down the stairwell to the floor below. The Miraluka seized the slugthrower from the defeated figure, slinging it over the shoulder of his still throbbing, bleeding arm. Aadihr stepped back. He saw the Mando's aura considering. Unlike the sith he has fought, there was some form of honor in this opponent, fighting for some form of purpose, not cruelty by their own perspective.

The Mandalorian’s visor lingered on him for a moment before they activated their jetpack, blasting through the crumbled roof and vanishing into the smoke-filled sky. Aadihr slumped against the ruined wall, clutching his bleeding side as the distant roar of battle echoed around him. He began to cauterize his arm and fresh cuts with his pike, casting his Sight away to check on the both the Wookie and Fisher girl.

Kuhbee | Reina Daival | OPEN ​

 

[Zandra Ruus]

The Sounds of Revolution rang out... (NSFW)

Zandra wasn't here to just raid and pillage, she wanted to make a point. To drive fear into the hearts of the Alliance senators as they no doubt would be watching from afar, all safe and secure in their comfy chambers. She wanted them to know that this could happen to them too, their people, their worlds, their blood!

Standing atop a destroyed alliance troop crawler, she held a thermal detonator in her hand. "Hear me people of the Alliance! I am Zandra Ruus, and your puppeteers in the senate can't save you anymore! They have failed you an abandoned your planet! Just like they abandoned Coruscant when the Dark Empire came around."

As she spoke, fire blazed around her and people ran and screamed, it was unclear if any of the fleeing Alliance civilians could even hear her. It didn't matter to Zandra though, this wasn't just for them, it was for. She gripped the grenade in her hand and smiled beneath her helmet. She pressed her thumb in on the detonator's fuse, before once more screaming her heart out.

"Let this be a lesson! Only through the strength of one's self can their be safety! Remember this day well people of Keshi, let this be the spark that starts the Revolution!!!" With that Zandra lobbed the thermal detonator through the air, aiming for a nearby building. It was a small Alliance barracks, where soldiers scrambled to gather their equipment. As the explosive rolled in, many people ran screaming in half gathered uniforms. An explosion rocked the barracks, blowing out the windows, and sending burning chunks of masonry flying.

It wasn't enough for Zandra to just damage the barracks, she wanted to make sure The Alliance felt this...

She climbed down from the Juggernaut, and started walking through the outpost. Her gaze was cold and unfeeling as she walked past the dead alliance soldiers, craters left in the wake of the Mandalorian bombing raids. She had a rather large backpack on, but it was not for a jetpack this time. She came across a group of injured Alliance soldiers, some reached for sidearms, but Zandra was first to clear leather. She blasted the ones who could fight back with a gout of flame. She would make sure that this small security base was a symbol of her frustrations.

When she was done setting this building alight, she would turn to the evacuation center beyond. No one would question the Crusaders anymore...

Jonyna Si

 

[Caelan Valoren]

ATTIRE: Link
WEAPON: Lightsaber
TAGS: Open

His lightsaber whirled in defense as a series of blaster bolts flew at him from an airborne Mandalorian. Behind him, several children cowered in fright. They'd been trying to get to their home when the fighting broke out, and had subsequently become trapped between defender and attacker, caught in a crossfire of death. Caelan could not allow that to stand, but the problem was that when he moved in to intervene, he'd become a target because of who and what he was.

It was only natural, and he accepted the reality that he would likely always be a target when it came to battlefields. If they didn't want to kill him because he was a Jedi, they probably would because he was a royal. It was inevitable that a target be placed on his back, and he knew that Mandalorian's had a tendency to very much dislike Jedi. Instead of dwelling on it, he drew upon a mantra he enjoyed and accepted.

You will find peace not by trying to escape your problems, but by confronting them courageously. You will find peace not in denial, but in victory.

The fighting would end eventually. At some point there would be a victor, and when that time came, there would be peace, even if momentary. Peace could not exist without struggle, especially in this galaxy.

He batted away several more strikes, harmlessly sending them into the ground or nearby trees. He could send them back at the Mandalorians but he was pretty sure that wouldn't do any good. Their armor was notoriously difficult to defeat, even with a lightsaber. Still, this wasn't getting him anywhere and so he enacted a protection bubble around them and then turned to grab the youngest of the children, barely even three, and scoop her into his arms while squatting for the oldest, a seven-year-old to jump onto his back.

"Come on. I'll get you to safety."

(Italicized text is a quote from J. Donald Walters)

 

[Lt. Bren Alazar]

​

Galactic Alliance 305th Special Forces Unit - Codename "Omega Squad"​

You know those types you ​

don't want to meet in a dark alley? ​

Yeah, we scare them.​

Michael, Gabriel, Azrael, Sariel, Raphael, Barachiel, Uriel, (Sgt, Vara)Jegudiel, (Cpl. Jax) Jeremiel, Salathiel, Seraphim
[Any text in brackets signifies comm-link usage and not face to face conversation]

BYOO​

TAG: WIDE Open for PVE, not necessarily PvP

They moved through the skies with the grace of predators, weaving a path between the stars that were Jedi and Alliance ships, and the ominous silhouettes that were Mandalorian vessels. Each heartbeat echoed in the confines of the stolen cockpit, the thrum of the engines a constant reminder of the urgency of their task. The night air was their ally, the shadows their cover. They searched for their opening, their chance to strike back at the marauding invaders.

It came in the form of a farmstead, a beacon of civilization amidst the chaos, now a playground for destruction. Flames licked the sky as buildings crumpled under the relentless bombardment. The ship streaked overhead, a silent specter of vengeance. Bren's eyes narrowed, and he saw the Mandalorians on the ground, too engrossed in their carnage to notice their approach.

Without a second thought, he brought the ship down, hovering just above the foundling Mandalorians. The team inside opened fire, sending a volley of blaster bolts into the unsuspecting group. The sound of the blasts was almost lost in the din of battle, but the sudden carnage was unmistakable. The survivors looked up, their armor glinting in the firelight, and their shock quickly turned to rage as they realized the source of the ambush.

The two pilots, Sgt. Vara and Cpl. Jax, took their cues from Bren. They disengaged from the dropship's hover position, leaping out and into the scorched skies above. The ship ascended again, spinning gracefully as it moved away to engage the incoming enemy fighters. The air was alive with the snarling engines of X-wings(realizing both in actions and through communication from Jax) as they danced among the stars, leaving a trail of laser fire in their wake. The dogfight had begun, a mesmerizing ballet of death that played out in the inky blackness above the ravaged farm.

On the ground, the rest of Omega Squad wasted no time. They sprinted towards the shattered homestead, their boots kicking up clouds of dust and ash. The smell of burning crops and the distant cries of the dying filled their nostrils as they moved into combat positions. The Mandalorians had been caught off-guard, but they were not easily defeated. Their armor was scarred, their numbers dwindling, but their resolve remained unshaken. They turned to face the new threat, their weapons at the ready.

The battle was fierce and fast. Each member of Omega Squad fought with the precision of a machine, their movements a blur as they engaged and took down Mandalorians with a mix of blaster fire and hand-to-hand combat. The ground trembled beneath their feet as the X-wings screamed overhead, the sky above them a tapestry of light and fire. The farm was a battleground once more, the quiet night shattered by the screams of the dying and the clang of metal on metal.

But amidst the chaos, there was a sense of unity, of purpose. The squad had become more than just soldiers fighting for a cause. They were a family, bound by shared battles and the knowledge that each member had their back. They had stolen this ship, this symbol of the enemy's power, and now they were using it to turn the tide of war.

And as they stood in the heart of the battle, the flaming farmstead a testament to the horrors of war, Bren knew that this was just the beginning. The fight for Keshi was far from over, and the Galactic Alliance needed every weapon they could get their hands on. The Mandalorians would learn to fear the night, for Omega Squad was coming for them, and they brought the fury of the stars with them.

The dropship hovered like a dragonfly above the chaos, its engines a gentle purr against the backdrop of the fiery destruction. The squad inside held their collective breath, waiting for the precise moment to act. When it came, they moved as one, the hatch dropping open and the team spilling out onto the ground. The enemy looked up, their helmets turning in unison, and the air was split by the sound of blaster fire. The Mandalorians fell, their armor no match for the focused rage of the Galactic Alliance soldiers.

Above them, Vara and Jax painted the night with streaks of crimson and blue as they weaved through the enemy fighters. The X-wings pirouetted and dove, their lasers slicing through the darkness with a deadly grace. The pilots' movements were a symphony of skill and instinct, a dance that had been honed over countless battles. The Mandalorians, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the stolen ship, were at a disadvantage, their own pilots unable to anticipate the unpredictable maneuvers of the Alliance aces.

As Omega Squad fought their way through the smoldering remains of the farmstead, they received a frantic transmission. The enemy had detected their presence and was moving to cut them off from the extraction point. There was no time to waste. They had to push through the enemy lines and link up with the Alliance forces scattered across the island.

The squad broke into a run, their boots thudding against the earth as they sprinted towards the distant lights of the city. The ship, now clear of immediate danger, dropped lower to provide cover, its turrets raining fire on the pursuing Mandalorians. The pilots knew the risks of staying too close to the ground, but they also knew that their comrades' lives depended on it. The air was alive with the whine of engines and the snap-hiss of laser bolts, a deadly sonnet that sang of the battle unfolding below.

The city grew closer, the lights from its windows a beacon of hope amidst the hellish landscape. The squad moved swiftly, their hearts pounding in their chests. They were not just fighting for the survival of Keshi; they were fighting for each other. And as they reached the outskirts, they saw the unmistakable silhouettes of Alliance ships in the sky, a sign that help was indeed on the way.

The stolen dropship was a beacon in the night, a symbol of their determination. Bren could feel the hope swelling in his chest, the fire in his veins as he led his team into the city. The streets were a maze of danger, but they knew they had to push forward. The Mandalorians had brought the war to their doorstep, and they would not rest until the invaders were driven back.

Their mission was clear: disrupt the enemy's hold on Keshi and reconnect with the Alliance. Yet, as they moved through the shadowed alleyways, they encountered more than just combatants. There were the innocents, caught in the crossfire, their eyes wide with fear. It was a stark reminder of what they were fighting for, and it steeled their resolve.

The night grew long and the battles intense, but Omega Squad pushed onward. They had become the ghosts of the war, slipping through the shadows, striking where least expected. With every step, they brought hope to the beleaguered inhabitants, a promise that the Alliance had not abandoned them.

The city was a labyrinth of danger, each corner a potential trap. Yet, they moved with a confidence born of desperation and camaraderie. They were a unit, a single entity with one goal: to survive and to win. And as the sun began to rise, casting a bloody glow upon the shattered cityscape, they knew they were close to achieving it. The battle for Keshi was far from over, but for now, the night belonged to Omega Squad.

 

[Nima Torr]

The skies of Keshi burned with a fiery hue, echoing the anguished cries of those trapped in the streets, unprepared for the crusader's march upon their near-defenceless lands. Monsters and warriors alike, their purpose declared with every blaster bolt loosed and every explosive detonated as they carved their declaration upon the world. They would not stop; they would not accept surrender; destruction and misery were their objective, and the broken pieces of everyday lives were left in the way as they trampled over the shattered façade of an Alliance shield.

Alone in the cockpit of her I-33 Deliverance Starfighter, Nima Torr witnessed it all, the people below little more than ants scurrying around as zaps of light were flicked between both sides. Rubble and debris piled over the bodies as more destruction spread with every defence that faltered, caught off guard by the brutal assault, which battered its way towards the heart of the village and its people. Unaware of the sheer scale of the invasion, as crowds of fleeing villagers ran from one line of crusaders to the next, their panicked screams were the only warning others received before the blaster fire began.

Nima's hands gripped the control stick tighter, enough to leave the fingers bloodless as she watched, unable to stop the disaster beneath her. The two KX12 laser cannons on either side, almost taunting in their inability even as she attempted to line up a shot, only for another group of civilians to rush into the firing line.

"Don't worry about me, Pavond. You're going to have a lot more than me to deal with in a moment," Nima warned as her eyes scanned across the edge of her viewport; another ship, bulky and dagger-like, moved in from the side as it started to line up with her ship's approach.

With another wrench of the controls, she spiralled upwards, her ship corkscrewing in a twist that brought her up and around to fire into the incoming Mandalorian starfighter. Their shields flickered for a moment, then vanished in the hail of explosions as her cannons tore through something critical, then another, until theirs was little more than slag that crashed against the edge of the village.

A little too close for comfort, as a few of the villagers fled for the safety of the green fields. Their skittering escape, overseen by the starfighters above and incoming Mandalorian drop troopers, many deployed from a vessel that hung over the village, too large to blast away at without leaving salvage to rain down upon whatever remained in its way.

"This is a bad idea," Nima whispered before she tilted her ship towards the other vessel, slight nudges bringing her out of contact with flickering bolts of plasma. Their passage was little more than a blur even before she activated the afterburners; the sudden acceleration slammed her back into the protective padding of her seat, and her grip loosened from the control yoke for only a second. As the distance between herself and the infantry carrier was torn through in moments, she twisted up, the hull of her ship scattering only inches from the metal surface and external shielding before she spun back around, almost underneath the internal shields, before her cannons lit-up with the sequence of plasma fire that tore into the hangar bay ray shields, their flickering light disappearing just as her starfighter slipped inside.

Nima Torr landed in the Mandalorian hangar bay with her heart beating a heavy rhythm across her chest.

Tag: Shan Pavond Open! (PvE preferred but could discuss PvP)​

 

[Jonyna Si]

Here we stand or here we fall
History won't care at all
Make the bed, light the light
Lady Mercy won't be home tonight
​

TAG: Zandra Ruus

She moved like the wind. It was all she could do. Putting out fires, pushing back mandos when she could. The barracks ahead of her, manned by men using her equipment. Her armor. Her weapons.

The dead lay around her, as she emerged from the evac center. Massacre, that's what this was...

Hear me people of the Alliance! I am Zandra Ruus, and your puppeteers in the senate can't save you anymore! They have failed you an abandoned your planet! Just like they abandoned Coruscant when the Dark Empire came around."

Suddenly, the wind shifted. Zandra Ruus. Zandra Dryggo.

Mauti'Era.

She remembered the name, the same one that had burned the Halik tribe's Liko'we.. Now she was staring her down, snarling at the sight.

"Is that what you believe, Nylikosta?"

Jonyna's voice boomed along the wind, echoing from every direction, as if coming from all of them. A woman such as her was slow to anger. She struggled to hate, and wanted nothing more than to love the world around her.

But to burn a tree...

In Cathar culture, trees were more than just massive plants, homes, or even places of origin. They were part of the family, considered the eldest member of your family linage. The literal and metaphorical Family Tree of which all branches of your family grew off of. To burn it, to tear it down, it was an attack on the tribe itself. On everyone, and anyone who had once been birthed from it.

The snap-hiss of her ruby saber igniting fill the air, as the wind began to stir, clouds beginning to form above. The rumble of thunder rolled across the barracks ground, as rain began to fall. The fires that Zandra had set slowly began to fizzle, as Jonyna's saber began to spark with energy.

"You think yourself a liberator? A revolutionary? I've been both. I've fought against Empires, against corruption and tyranny. You're fighting against neither. You're fighting to bully those under you. Ruus. That clan once meant something good. Their A'lor passed a message along. Told me what you did. You're no warrior Zandra. Run home, foundling. Before I turn you into a lightning rod."

 

[Kahlil Noble]

A Jedi does not kill with the Force.

It had been an early lesson for Kahlil. Once, as a boy, as a Sith, he could summon up the very darkest sides of the Force, the most unnatural, to kill. He'd erased lives, desecrated corpses, all manner of evils before he was even at an age he would be allowed to drink. They were his darkest days, the most full of fear and hate he'd ever been in his life.

"Kahlil..." Her voice trembled, and she leaned her forehead against his shoulder for a moment, her breaths uneven. "I'm scared."

Or so he thought.

Rage wasn't an emotion he felt much of, even now. There was a coldness in the front of his mind as he didn't just hear his wife's fear, but felt it. One of the strongest woman in this galaxy, full of fear because of their unborn daughter. Their child who couldn't protect themselves, and the weakness Valery knew she had this far along in the pregnancy.

The explosions of mortars before him, the path that was supposed to let him bring his wife to safety engulfed in flame, confirmed it in the back of his mind. The Force shimmered as he made a barrier to keep Valery safe, a shining glimmer of gold amidst the explosions. And he smiled. A confident, loving smile as he looked to his wife and gently sat her down. Another barrier formed, etched into the very concrete. A bubble around her, to keep her safe. Reinforcements would come, soon enough he knew.

But that didn't help the now.

The sound of a jetpack close made it all the more important. Would they know it was him by that barrier? Possibly. But they would certainly know now. A shot rang out, likely for his back, but it never reached him. The shot dropped suddenly, burying into the ground under an immense, invisible weight. The Mandalorian that shot it followed in turn.

Beskar wasn't something Kahlil could crush, he knew. But their armor wasn't fully Beskar was it? They hit the ground, and by the wet crunch that sounded after their body had been suddenly scattered and broken in the process. Beskar perfectly unmarred, as it's armor should be.

"Back me up from in there. Nonnegotiable, love. We're all going home tonight."

He turned his gaze out to the growing flames, his smile fading to a grim, focused determination. With his pregnant wife's life on the line like this, Kahlil was no Jedi. As they'd all soon see first hand.

Valery Noble | Carduul Akahl

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Wedding Ring

Valery gasped softly when Kahlil gently set her down, the golden shimmer of his barrier wrapping around her like a cocoon. Her amber eyes darted up to meet his as he knelt before her, and for a fleeting moment, her lips parted to protest. But the calm, unwavering resolve in his gaze stopped her words short.

"Nonnegotiable, love," he said firmly, and despite the chaos around them, there was a tenderness in his voice that grounded her.

Her heart ached with the need to stay by his side, to fight together as they always had. But this time was different. The life growing within her made her vulnerable in a way she could not ignore, and Kahlil's determination to protect them both was unshakable.

Valery's hands trembled slightly as she reached out to touch his face, her fingers brushing softly against his cheek. Her lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile — a small but heartfelt token of the trust she had in him. "You'll get us both home," she whispered, her voice steady despite the fear that lingered in her chest. "I know you will."

As he rose to face the firestorm ahead, Valery's hand lingered in the air for a moment before falling back to her lap. Her amber eyes followed him, a mixture of pride and worry etched into her features. "I love you," she called after him, her voice carrying through the golden barrier as he stepped away.

Then, closing her eyes, Valery shifted her focus inward. The Force surged around her, powerful and steady, as she reached out across the battlefield. She couldn't fight directly, but her connection to the Force was vast and precise.

She extended her awareness to locate Mandalorian squads approaching Kahlil, subtly redirecting their attention or disorienting them with faint Force manipulations. Sweat beaded on her brow as the strain of her efforts mounted, but Valery didn't falter. She couldn't fight, but she could still make a difference.

She'd always support him, and keep him from slipping away.

Kahlil Noble Carduul Akahl​

 

[Ninurta Slaabur'r]

Tags: Diogo Talon
Beasts: x2 Webweaver Spiders​

Ninurta turned sharply at the taunt, his elliptical pupil narrowing behind his armored visor as he assessed the Jedi. The green-haired whelp radiated the cocky arrogance typical of the Order. A youth, foolish, and brimming with false bravado. He tilted his head slightly, his cracked Maalraa armor still speckled with the blood of fallen Faedra.

"Jetii. I'll make sure to mount your scalp in my trophy room!" He hissed. His voice was laced with the violence to come. He raised an arm slightly, signaling the Wyyyschokks with a subtle pheromonal pulse.

Skrel and Rynka responded instantly, skittering into position. Skrel flanked to the left, slipping away unseen into the underbrush with unsettling silence, while Rynka crept along the treetops, her massive legs effortlessly gripping the thick branches. The air grew tense as their venomous mandibles clicked softly, anticipating the strike.

Ninurta stepped forward slowly, his hands holstering his blaster carbine and delving into a pouch on his belt. " Your in over your head boy." His voice was low, calculated, every step deliberate as he inched forward through the jungle floor. Then with a jerk his closed hand opened wide and released 5 roughly fist shaped disc's into the air. Originally they were stacked on top of each other but then they all seemed to separate and take flight into the air with wings! They were Razor bugs and poised to flay the jedi alive where he stood!

Meanwhile Ninurta's jetpack fired off loud and took him airborne for superior positioning.

 

[Shan Pavond]

Too far. The firing lines were too far for Shan to get to them. He could hear the blasters going off. Pushing himself to move faster even as the scent of smoke was filling the air. The planet was going to be suffering from this attack. How long were the scars going to be here? He had no clue. But he was going to have the planet fight back. To aid him as he watched Nima Torr fly into the hanger of the Mandalorian vessel. Well. That was a smart idea. Now he had to get to work protecting people himself as he focused on the ground below his feet.

He didn't have the speed to reach them. His blaster wouldn't do much against the Mandalorians either. But the one thing he did have was the Force. This would potentially be more useful in the more populated areas, with buildings to create narrow paths or evacuation routes. Though as Shan slammed his foot down into the ground to steady himself, he focused on the nature around him. The hard ground beneath him and he urged it. He pushed it. Forming jagged walls of earth and rock that ripped through the green fields. Bringing into being various walls of rocky cover for civilians to hide behind and recover energy.

It wasn't something Shan would ever admit to, but this was the part that he missed. Using the Force to protect people. Being a wall between the dark and the innocent. Doing something that pushed him. Even as he lifted chunks of earth from around him and catapulted them into the distance to try and cause disruption amongst the Mandalorian ranks and their weaponry. An explosive hitting a rock was an explosive kept from it's target. Even if every chunk sapped away at him. He was fine. For now at least. Just had to pace himself.

 

[Rakkon Yomaget]

Hod Yomaget remained resolute as the Jedi's kick struck the shaft of his axe. As his adversary maneuvered to secure the weapon with his foot to throw him off balance, the Mandalorian anchored himself by pressing his boots firmly into the earth, harnessing the power of his muscles to dig the blade into the ground to prevent it being pulled from his grasp.

With a flick of his wrist, the CZ Wrist-Mounted Flame Projector came to life, unleashing a torrent of fire. A sense of satisfaction washed over him, tempered by caution as he observed the Jedi's eyes widen in surprise. However, this moment of triumph was fleeting, as Gil's rapid reflexes summoned a wave of Force energy that effectively diverted the flames away to safety.

"These people stopped being defenseless as soon as the New Jedi Order arrived to defend them." Hod responded with a tone of dismissal to Gil Horn , recognizing that the Jedi was trying to shift the focus by portraying these individuals as vulnerable. The presence of a lightsaber and a Jedi was certainly not indicative of defenselessness.

He had encountered Jedi previously, and they consistently exhibited a tendency towards decisive maneuvers. As the lightsaber staff approached, Hod crouched down, executing a roll to the side just as the blades cut through the space he had occupied moments before. Rising back to his feet, Hod grinned, his helmet reflecting the glint of light from the duel.

"Honor? You are looking at the wrong side of Mandalorian Tradition. We are not honorable mercenaries but Neo-Crusaders." Hod replied, bringing the Shogar Tok Vibro-axe from the ground, gripping it firmly with both hands. He employed the weighty blade as a blunt instrument, forcefully striking both sides of the relatively light lightsaber that was advancing toward him.

 

[Brent Warnel]

Brent held his helmet as the drop ship he was aboard shuddered around him. Entering the atmosphere caused the vessel to buck and leap under his feet, causing him a sense of unease. The metal around him groaned as the ship made combat maneuvers to avoid any potential fire from the planet below.

Brent peered into the visor of his helmet and lost himself to thought, waiting for the inevitable battle below him.

Metal tearing, explosions, fire, space, floating, fear, loss.

Brent's eyes shot open as he relived his near-death experience again. He couldn't get the sounds and feelings out of his head from that day. He dropped his helmet to the deck of the drop-ship with a clang as he wrapped his head with his Crushgaunts and squeezed. He had been inactive for too long after that day. He had left his brothers to their fate as he walked the galaxy, lost. He was a failure, the only reason he was here was to try to atone for his past sins. He knew he couldn't though, he would never be able to face himself in the mirror for leaving those he once called friends and brothers. The pressure on his skull built to a crescendo, but he didn't stop, this time he wouldn't stop until the sounds faded.

Klaxons bayed and red lights snapped on around him as the drop ship neared its destination. Brent tore his hands away from his head as he brought himself under control and back to the present moment. A brother nearby slapped Brent on the shoulder as he walked past, "Oya! It's time."

Brent stared at him for several seconds before nodding. He grabbed his helmet and slid it on his head. The HUD lit up with information, too much information, he shut it off. His armor was battered from too much recent use, and several systems were barely hanging on. He didn't mind, more reason to avoid getting hit.

Brent checked his holstered pistols and made sure they were ready. He took his rifle from where it sat next to him and double-checked the charge, readying it for battle.

"Drop the ramp! Open the doors!"

He heard howls of war around him as the ramp at the rear of the ship descended and bright light poured into the troop bay. Doors on both sides of the ship slid back into their housing as the men and women around him clustered towards the exits, ready to leap into battle. Brent was near the ramp and looked out at the battlefield below him.

Smoke rose from battles all around the countryside below him as Mandalorians and Jedi alike fought one another. Blaster bolts lanced every which way as the conflict continued to grow as more Mando'ade dropped from the skies. Mando'ade weren't the only ones out there though, this was a Jedi world, and the Jedi would give their lives for the people around them. "Good", Brent thought, "Let them."

Brent began to recall memories on purpose this time. Past battles and stressful moments, life and death scenarios that may come today, and his heart rate and blood pressure began to spike. His breathing was still calm but came quicker. He was ready for what was to come.

Lights on the drop ship turned green as it neared the ground and several Vode launched themselves into the open air, jetpacks carrying them to their destination.

Brent watched the ground race up to him and once it was close enough he pushed his way through the brothers near him and leaped from the dropship's ramp. Landing heavily, Brent brought his blaster up and advanced. The fire team he was attached to spread out near him as they began to engage the locals who were brave enough to fight.

Blaster bolts lanced out from his rifle towards those who would stand against him, causing them to seek cover as his men advanced. His mind was clear now, it was time to atone.

 

[Gil Horn]

Location: Keshi | Objective One
Tags: Rakkon Yomaget

Talking was not going to get them anywhere. The Mandalorian was set in his ways, and it had been a distant hope at best that Gil's words could have changed the course of this battle. He had an obligation to try, but now it was clear that he had to do his duty. Whether the Mandalorian saw the civilians of this world as innocent or not, Gil did. He had taken an oath to defend the citizens of the Galactic Alliance from all threats internal and external.

He had made a vow to do what had to be done.

Grimacing, Gil gave up his offensive with the saberstaff. It was clear the Mandalorian warrior would not be brought down that easily. The heavy axe he used gave him an advantage in close quarters combat; the blades weight clashing against the near weightless blades of Gil's saberstaff. Against a similar weapon, there would have been little issue, but against this axe standard doctrine was thrown out the window.

Ducking underneath another strike from the axe, Gil deactivated his saberstaff, clipping the weapon to his hip. Tightening his fists, Gil came up inside the guard of the Mandalorian warrior, and began to launch a close range assault of his own, using the metallic heavy weight of his right arm as a weapon as much as the saberstaff had been.

 

[Azurine Varek]

Return of the Rebel Ace

Outfit: Clothing/Armor | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Lightsaber 1 | Lightsaber 2 | Hook Swords

The roar of engines and the distant thunder of exploding ships filled the air as Azurine sliced through the chaos. "Keep them off the city. No matter what.” Her voice crackled over the comm, tone carrying the same fire that burned within her, an unyielding determination that fueled the blaze behind her eyes. The squadron plunged through the thickening atmosphere, the glow of Keshi’s golden sky giving way to the shadows of clouds. The Neo-Crusader fighters were relentless, swarming like a flock of predatory hawks. The skies erupted around them with the laser fire that streaked between vessels, each shot illuminating the clouds like a distant thunderstorm.

As she weaved through the maelstrom, she focused heavily on the auras painting the battlefield in vivid patterns of emotion and intent. Each pilot’s presence glowed in her mind, their fear, aggression, or focus leaving streaks of spiraling shapes across her consciousness. The Neo-Crusader fighters burned with hostility, their auras flickering with single-minded intent. In contrast, her squadmates radiated trust and confidence, their auras bolstering her own.

Azzie banked hard to the right, narrowly avoiding a burst of laser fire from a Neo-Crusader fighter that had been tailing her. She twisted her interceptor into a tight corkscrew maneuver, her mind already anticipating the next move as the visions of precognition flashed through her eyes. Her ship spiraled upward, cutting through a break in the cloud cover. From this vantage, she could see the battlefield spread out below her—a chaotic dance of ships and explosions.

“On your six, Lyer Leader!” came the warning shout from one of her wingmen and a steady presence in the heat of battle.

“I see the kriffer!” She responded swiftly, jerking the controls to the left in a tight barrel roll that brought her out of harm’s way, their fire just barely skimming across the top of her ship and grazing the shields. It threw off her trajectory, which she had to take a hot minute to correct, all the while muttering some curses in Zabraki. A quick flick of her targeting system and a precise volley of fire sent the pursuing fighter spiraling out of control, erupting into a fiery blaze. "Nice eye."

Even as they gained the upper hand, Azzie’s sharp eyes caught a glint of something below the fray—a larger vessel cutting through the clouds toward the city. Her stomach dropped as she recognized the unmistakable silhouette of a bomber-class ship, its payload primed for devastation.

“Break off! We’ve got a bomber heading cityside northeast!"

Acknowledgments as well as a few protests crackled across the comms, but the squadron didn’t hesitate. One by one, the interceptors peeled away from the dogfight, engines screaming as they raced toward the looming threat. The bomber was heavily armored, its defensive turrets already spitting fire in a desperate bid to protect its deadly cargo. Soon, it unleashed a payload of decoy drones, their small frames buzzing around the squadron like angry hornets. Azzie growled, banking hard to avoid a collision. “Stay focused! We don’t have time for this!”

It loomed closer toward the heart of the city. She gritted her teeth, the empathetic flame in her chest igniting into an inferno. “Not today,” she muttered, slamming her interceptor into a steep descent. Her twin-linked blasters lit the sky as she tore after the bomber, the rhythm of her shots precise and unrelenting. "Cover me!" It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse, one that pushed her ship to its limits as she weaved through the anti-air fire of Mandalorian fighters. She didn’t care. Every second mattered; every moment bought her more time to stop the destruction.

“Bomber’s shields are down,” called one of her wingmates, relief clear in his voice.

“Good,” Azzie said, her lips curving into a hard smile. “Let's finish it.”

They unleashed a concentrated burst of fire at the bomber’s engines, watching as they erupted into a fiery plume. The bomber listed and veered off course, crashing into an abandoned industrial yard just shy of the city’s outer edge.

CLOSED (For now)​

 

[Nima Torr]

The untouched frame of Nima's starfighter came to a graceful landing as it swooped into the Mandalorian hangar, a flare of smoke and fire trailing behind her from the damaged shields. Around her, the few Crusaders that remained onboard started to react with blasters raised and a collection of violent implements turned upon her vessel. Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath; Nima saw none of the threats that surrounded her, outnumbered and outgunned by the last defenders of a merciless crew.

There would be no retreat, no opportunity to surrender.

Her presence here was an acceptance of the danger that surrounded her and the necessary violence to break through to her objective. The path she'd chosen would be bloody and brutal. Her blood and tears in sacrifice for those who would find themselves defenceless otherwise; in this matter, she would accept no other compromise.

With a final inhale, threads of air and essence gathered in her chest, seeping deep into the lungs and her surrounding tissues as the world around her became clearer, the distractions of blaster fire that pitter-pattered against the hull of her ship and the fragile viewport ignored for a moment, inconsequential to the stretching threads of starlight and direction. Around her, men and women of brutal strength and incessant rage hammered against the shield of the Alliance, important but not, their threads stretching further and further outwards as they intersected and merged together in nodes of connected chains.

A warrior stood, prideful not in honour or duty but in his sheer strength. He who would lash against mountains, an axe to grind against the Galaxy and all who would dare to stand in his way.

A broken shield, shattered and reforged through dishonour and shame, never to defend again, but as a blade to tear and gut the whole wide world. He who would atone in the blood of innocents, whether they be his hands that dealt the cutting blow or not, it mattered not when one was a knife.

A master of beasts, strength in unity, each piece of a puzzle trained and gathered with a cunning eye. He who would chain them all for people and creatures are not that unalike; only their worth to him changes.

And somewhere, closer than all, yet so far away, an eye overwatched it all without a semblance of emotion, no pride, no glory. He who had been given purpose not through emotions and desires but through the deeds he would commit and oversee.

With an exhale, the threads of air and essence retreated, drawing Nima closer and closer to the crude matter from which she resigned in body and soul.

Just in time, the Jedi Knight juked her head to the right, a piercing red blaster bolt scattering across the transparisteel canopy and narrowly avoiding the edge of her skin as the heat lingered—a vague wave of rapidly cooling air left behind like a mirage. Her bright red skin pressed against the fissures, hands splayed open before there was a mighty crack of thunder, and then suddenly, the canopy shattered in a thousand pieces held dangling in the air before they danced across the hangar like specks of sand unleashed in the roar of a sandstorm.

Her feet landed, cat-like, upon the dented and torn remains of her fighter as she pounced forward—dual blades of blue bursting to life.

Tag: Open! (PvE preferred, but PvP could be discussed in DMs)​