Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Faction [GA | NEO] Keshi Raid



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Tags: Caelan Valoren Caelan Valoren

VIOLENCE


He appeared like a demon, a phantom of old. A monster from storybooks, emerging from the dust, from the fire. His armor was blood-red and black, and stained with the blood of the several Jedi and Defenders he had slain. He held something in his right hand, a pair of cylindrical objects-

And tossed them at the Jedi's feet, outside the bubble of protection.


"Go."

He commanded the other Mandalorians, firing at the Jedi. They departed quickly, eager to find more glory. That- and they knew Feydrik by name. He stared at the Jedi, then to the lightsabers he had tossed at his feet. He paced outside the bubble with the force, like a predator lingering in the treeline before their prey. Beneath his helmet, there were no hints at deception, no indicators of falsehoods with the force.

He scraped the Beskar knife along his forearm armor, sparking, sharpening. Dried blood from his fellow Jedi lie on the blade. He stared at the Jedi, while the battle raged around them. He didn't speak for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"We have no interest in the children, unlike you, Jedi. We are here for war, not to recruit, to enslave."

Perhaps the Jedi was protecting the children in actuality, perhaps he was saving younglings. War produced unnecessary casualties, that much Feydrik knew. But the Neo-Crusaders were not monsters, they were warriors, craving combat with worthy foes. Not the slaughter of innocents and children. No honor in that. Feydrik had heard tale of how the Jedi came to find their Padawans, Knights and Masters. Infants ripped from homes, sons taken from mothers, daughters taken from fathers to serve the Jedi. No family, no love, out of fear of what they might be.

Feydrik could not think of anything more monstrous than to deny a child their parentage to serve another Master, to serve an Order.

"Let us make war, Jedi. Hide, children. This war is not about you."

His helmet shifted slightly, if only. He was smiling, beneath that terrifying shape.




 

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Something in the Force flared near the far wall of the room. In the rapidly gathering smoke, Cora could no longer rely on her eyes.

She kept one arm slung over the widow, hand cupped over her head, and the other clasped over the strip of fabric against her mouth and nose. It did little to block the smoke, but bought them precious few seconds to make their escape.

A chunk of flaming roof beam fell from the ceiling, and she abruptly shifted their path before they could be struck, guiding the widow through the gap Roman had made with urgency.

Once the pair of women had exited the burning home, Cora removed the cloth from her face and gulped in the fresh air.

The widow, her hair streaked with ash and her clothes singed in places, had a sense of stalwart focus about her.

"We have a wine cellar," she rasped, coughing into her handkerchief. "A few blocks over. Underground will be safer. We can gather the people there."

Cora nodded, then reached out and grabbed the son by his collar before he could depart. "Help your mother," she snapped. The son was quick to take his mother's arm and lead her away.

The knight glanced over her shoulder at their departing figures, her gaze lingering. Suddenly, she turned on her heel, saber ignited to swat away a blaster bolt.

"We'll cover their retreat until those who cannot fight are sheltered," she said. A staccato of red bolts streaked through the air, caught by the blue plasma of her blade.

"Are you alright?"

She didn't chance a glance over at Roman, but there was a genuine note of concern in her voice.

Roman Vossari Roman Vossari
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ATTIRE: Link
WEAPON: Lightsaber
TAGS: Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin

A child on his back, another in his arms, two lightsabers at his feet.

He stared at them and then looked up at the brute before him. Armor, stained with the blood of protectors. Red and black. A Mandalorian through and through, caring not for reality, but for the tarnished vision of it they held within their muddied minds. He said nothing to the man, but turned and walked away from him towards the lines of Alliance forces that had been fighting back. There, he released the children into the care of a medic, who assured him they would get to safety.

Caelan then turned to the commander.

"Sir, please withdraw from this position and allow me to face this task alone," he said, staring the man in the eyes.

For his part, the commanding officer looked shocked. "But... you're just a boy and only a Padawan, right? Surely you don't mean to face him alone."

Caelan stepped forward and patted the mans arm. "I appreciate your concern but this is my battle, sir. Please go assist elsewhere. His fellows have withdrawn as well."

The commander looked as if he wouldn't comply, his hesitance noted with a smile from the young padawan, but he relented and ordered his troops to withdraw. When they did, Caelan turned back towards the giant of a Mandalorian and walked towards him, not drawing his blade, but sizing him up physically. It was impossibly comical to watch, no doubt: the young Jedi, a fourteen-year-old boy, walking up to a man the size of a small mountain who was decked in armor that could stop almost any weapon.

Caelan didn't know if he could win this. He didn't know if he would even survive it, but to back down was not his way, not at this moment. Dreidi Xeraic Dreidi Xeraic had told him once that sometimes it was better to withdraw and live to fight another day, and while he believed that was true, he also believed that he had to try before he did that, which meant facing his adversaries, no matter how big or small they might be.

"You claimed this war was not about the children, but this world is their home. You brought war to it, and made it about them. Do not try to act as though you are innocent in endangering them."

He squared up to the beast, raising his fists, not his blade, and assumed a median stance, neither offensive or aggressive. Then he flipped his hand over and curled his fingers to beckon the large man to engage.

 

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Lightsaber: X | Talisman: X | Armor: X | Training: X | Casual: X
Tags: Corazona von Ascania Corazona von Ascania


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Roman's eyes, stinging from smoke, tracked the red blaster bolts arcing through the air. Each one a fiery threat, growing larger in his vision as they zipped across the square. He'd already taken a couple glancing blows – a burning sensation on his forearm, a sharp sting across his shoulder – but adrenaline masked the pain. His breaths were ragged, each inhale a burning reminder of the inferno he'd just escaped. He shifted his weight, assuming his Soresu stance.

Cora emerged from the burning building, the widow clutched in one arm. Relief flooded Roman, briefly eclipsing the immediate danger. He watched as she efficiently herded them towards the relative safety of the shadowed alleyway leading to the wine cellar. Then, the sharp crack of blaster fire jolted him back to the present. He had a job to do.

"I'll live. You?" Roman called out as he felt Cora take up position close to him. His head still throbbed and remnants of smoke still filled his lunges, but this wasn't the time or place to worry about it.

These invaders, the now visable Mandalorians were relentless; a tide of red bolts accompanied by the harsh clunk of their boots on the cobblestone. They pressed closer, their armor gleaming menacingly in the firelight.

A frag grenade landed near, a sudden burst of concussive force throwing Roman off balance. He hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his already aching head. Before he could recover, a Mandalorian, his armor a dull grey, was upon him, a brutal overhand punch aimed at his face. Roman rolled, narrowly avoiding the blow, and used the momentum to bring his lightsaber up in a sweeping arc, the blade singing as it sliced through the Mandalorian's helmet. The soldier stumbled back, momentarily stunned, giving Roman a crucial fraction of a second.

He was up, lightsaber already engaged, deflecting a volley of blaster fire from another Mandalorian. He ducked under a wild swing of a vibro-axe, the blade whistling past his ear, and countered with a kick to the knee. The Mandalorian cried out in pain, his fall creating a temporary opening. He disarmed one, his lightsaber slicing through their blaster in a shower of sparks. Another Mandalorian lunged, his fist a blur, but Roman anticipated the move, using the force to momentarily increase his speed, sidestepping the blow and using his lightsaber to disarm him while simultaneously sending a sharp jab to the soldier's stomach.

The fighting was brutal, relentless. Roman fought with a grim determination, they was outnumbered, outgunned, but he wouldn't falter. Not with the village vulnerable. The thought of their safety fuelled his every parry, every thrust, every block.
 
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TAGS: Ninurta Slaabur'r Ninurta Slaabur'r | OPEN (save me pls)
Diogo couldn't see or hear the Wyyyshockks, but he could sense them. Their bloodthirsty anticipation was palpable and sent shivers up the Padawan's spine.

"Jetii. I'll make sure to mount your scalp in my trophy room!"

"Gross," Diogo said with discernible disgust. "Come get your trophy, then, bucketbrain!"

The razor bugs sliced through the air. Five, as far as Diogo could tell. The green-haired boy surged the Force through his muscles, stretching them. With the improved mobility, he danced around the Razor bugs as they threatened to cleave through him. One, two, three, four—all dodged. Wait, where was the fifth? At the last second, Diogo tried to move out of the way but the sharp-edged disc carved through his arm. Fortunately, just the edge cut him, slicing through top layers of flesh and not muscle. It hurt like hell, though. He winced, feeling his arm slick with sticky crimson blood.

As the Mando shot into the air, Diogo reached around to the back of his NJO utility belt, and pulled out his grappling hook. With the aid of the Force, Diogo sent it shooting out, trying to wrap it around the dude's leg or torso.

"I've got toys, too," Diogo smirked, then spun his lightsaber, ready to pounce after his foe's reaction.
 


Feydrik looked at the small Padawan, unable to stop himself from smiling when the Jedi brought up his hands. Feydrik didn't bother with a logical retort. He wasn't going to debate politics or morality with a Jedi, there was simply no point. The Jedi and Sith burned the galaxy twice over for their religions. Who were they to comment on the Mandalorians' glorious conquest? Additionally....

Feydrik was the last person that most Mandalorians would want to get into a fight with.

Especially- Especially....

Unarmed combat.

Feydrik Munin, after all, was the Outer Rim Fighting Coalition's Champion several years running. Feydrik Vrak, before he became a member of the tribe. Feydrik took up his own fighting stance, blading his body- and brought his leg up, rapidly, twisting his powerful body. His leg came straight not for the Jedi's head- but for the trunk of his body, on the right side. He kicked with his left. The trick was, that yes, you could protect your ribs, stomach, torso with your arm but-

Getting kicked as hard as Feydrik Munin could, armored- well. That still hurt a lot, whatever it came into contact with. He let out a sinister, cruel chuckle.

 


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ATTIRE: Link
WEAPON: Lightsaber
TAGS: Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin

The mandalorian settled into a stance poised for attack, as Caelan had expected. He breathed deep and waited, not allowing the size and the armor of the man to intimidate him. He'd fought Mandalorians before. He'd broken beskar with his fist. He remembered it clearly. It had surprised him back then, but afterwards? Afterwards he figured out that his skills in the Force weren't like that of most Jedi. He didn't excel in telekinesis, or mastering elements, or seeing the future. He excelled in body modification.

Caelan could strengthen the muscles within his body through the Force to allow him to achieve temporary feats that most would find astounding. Huge jumps, faster than usual speed, strength of many. Breaking Beskar should have been nearly impossible, but his fist had done it. He could do it again. He could bring this man down if he chose to fight in a way that relied on his advantage: a lack of armor meant he was faster.

A little speed and he pivoted on the same foot as the side exposed to his attack, his arm sweeping around behind the attacking leg, and guiding it on past him. At the same time, he pushed the Force into his non-pivot foot, used his momentum, and struck at the exposed back of the Mandalorian. It wasn't meant to break his armor, not yet. The idea was to unbalance him so he could take advantage of that, and also show the Mandalorian that it didn't matter how big or small, how armored or not, one was, he could still lose.

 


Telegraphing.

It occurred when one was too confident in their abilities, or facing an opponent who knew what to look for. For Feydrik, fighting for nearly 25 years of his 30 some odd of being alive- made for a rather gifted combatant. He may have been lackluster with a blade or average with a firearm, but he was in fact, great at this.

All he had to do was not stop the impact of the leg, but the actual mechanics of the boy's leg. Pivoting, spinning, all that- not good in a real fight. Fancy theatrics, sure, but not something you'd want to do with a trained combatant.

Feydrik caught the boy by the upper leg- his crushgaunt adorned hand digging into the fabric of the boy's pants to stop the movement. The boy was a lot smaller. A lot. His other hand went to seize the boy by the scruff of the collar- and throw him as hard as he could onto the ground. Jedi or not, fights were still fights.



 



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If You A Demon Show Your Damn Claws
And She'll Introduce The Blood To Fang

Knew She Was Evil From The Damn Start
She Would Dance On Your Bloody Grave



Ko Vuto Ko Vuto
Open to Conflict

LOCATION: Keshi
OBJECTIVE: OBJ 1


The desolation of Keshi spread beneath Domina Prime and her mighty mount like a canvas of smoldering ash and despair. Villagers scattered, their lives torn apart by the Mandalorian assault, while the Jedi—noble defenders of the weak—busied themselves with evacuating the fleeing masses. Domina observed it all with an unsettling calm, her five glowing eyes narrowing as the unsettling feeling gnawed at her. Something was off. The scene of chaos should have exhilarated her, filled her with divine purpose in the name of Kad Ha'rangir.

Yet, the absence of worthy opposition left her hollow.

From her perch on Azura, Domina tightened her grip on the reins. The Dovahdrake trudged through the embers of the ruined village, saliva dripping from its serrated maw. A pathetic wail caught its attention, and Domina glanced down to see a woman sprawled in the mud, trembling beneath Azura's looming form. The beast snarled, jaws parting wide as if to swallow the woman whole, but a sharp pull on the reins snapped Azura back.

"Ah-ah-ah, ZuZu," Domina chided, clicking her tongue. "What fun is prey that doesn't move? You feast on what you earn." She patted the Dovahdrake's scaled neck, ignoring its frustrated whine.

The woman's petrified stare drew Domina's attention, her body locked in terror as though death itself stared her down. Domina's claws sparked as she snapped her fingers, a sharp SHLINK slicing through the tense air. "Alright, alright, focus pretty girl~" Domina drawled, waving one clawed hand lazily toward the Jedi far in the distance. "You're gonna want to go and fuck off uhhhhhh... that way." She gestured toward the rescue forces.

The woman blinked, frozen.

Domina snarled, her voice cracking like a thunderclap. "NOW! RUN, RABBIT! FUCKING RUN!" Azura shrieked alongside her, the beast's cry echoing through the ruins. With a startled cry, the woman scrambled to her feet, stumbling through the mud and toward salvation.

As the figure vanished, Domina leaned back in her saddle, her tail twitching in irritation. "Mmn, Prime can't tell if these people are watered down or sugar-coated. Have Jedi always been this soft? Sweet like candy, no bark, no bite." Azura huffed in agreement, clearly displeased with letting a meal escape.

Domina tilted her head toward the skies, where warships and capital vessels clashed in a symphony of destruction. Rolling her shoulders, she reached up, peeling away her Mandalorian mask to reveal her alien visage—teeth chittering, sparks of energy arcing between her mandibles. Her bioluminescent scales flared brighter, a glowing azure that illuminated the smoke-choked air around her.

With a sharp tug, she snapped the reins. "Fine then, time for some fun…Upsy-daisy Azura!" she commanded.

Azura launched skyward with a powerful beat of his wings, their ascent cutting through the ash-laden clouds as blaster fire streaked toward them. Domina leaned low against her mount as they twisted and spiraled, weaving between enemy fire and incoming starfighters. Her fury burned hotter with each passing second, and when she spied an incoming fighter, her rage erupted.

The fire in her chest built to a crescendo, and with a guttural roar, she unleashed a torrent of plasma-infused breath that struck the ship head-on. The craft erupted in an explosion of azure fire, spiraling down to the surface in a plume of smoke. Azura roared triumphantly, his own breath scorching another vessel that veered too close. The flames engulfed its hull, reducing it to molten wreckage as it plummeted to the battlefield below.

A gunship broke through the clouds, unleashing a salvo of missiles and blaster fire. Domina snarled, forcing Azura into a dive to evade the barrage. The Dovahdrake twisted beneath the vessel, circling around with predatory precision. Domina's Mythosaur axe gleamed in her grasp as they surged upward. With a ferocious cry, she swung the ancient weapon in a wide arc, cleaving through one of the gunship's wings. Metal screamed as it tore away, and Domina followed up with another blast of azure plasma, obliterating the ship's engines. Flames erupted from its hull as it tumbled to the earth in a fiery death spiral. "C'mon! Is this the BEST you have to offer!?"

Domina's lips curled into a savage grin as Azura banked hard, propelling them toward another target. Fighter after fighter fell beneath her fury, their shredded hulls and burning remains a testament to her power. The skies of Keshi had become her domain—a realm of fire and death where none could challenge her might. Yet, even amidst the carnage, that gnawing unease remained.

Why did this victory feel so empty?



 
The scar is gone, the wounds remain
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Objective: Ensure Safety of Jedi Padawan
Outfit: Clothing/Armor
Weapons: Heavy Blaster Pistol | Vibroknife | Loadouts in bio


The humid air pressed down on Nos as he perched on the broad branch of a tree, the dim light filtering through the canopy casting dappled shadows over his crimson skin. His sharp eyes tracked the chaos below: the Mandalorian Neo-Crusader circling in the air, jetpack roaring, while the green haired Padawan fought to stay alive, firing a grappling hook at the Crusader. The Falleen’s razorbugs were relentless, and the wicked-sharp mandibles of the Wyyyschokks lurked just outside Diogo’s immediate area, a silent threat poised to strike.

Nos didn’t hesitate. His goal was clear: keep the boy alive. He reached for his utility belt, pulling free a Stun Grenade. Twisting the activation ring, he lobbed it into the clearing with practiced ease. The device detonated in a burst of disorienting light and sound, hopefully enough to temporarily throw off the Falleen’s pheromone-driven control of his pets and disrupt the arachnids’ sensory systems.

“Stay alert, kid!” Nos shouted as he swung down from the tree, his boots catching a lower branch before he dropped lightly to the jungle floor.

The moment his boots touched the ground, his heavy blaster pistol was in his hand. He fired off two quick shots toward the Mandalorian, aiming for the jetpack. His intent was clear: cripple the Falleen’s mobility if possible, but primarily force him to divide his focus on the immediate threat Nos posed and the Padawan.

Nos pivoted to cover Diogo, positioning himself between the Padawan and the closest Wyyyschokk, unsheathing his vibroknife in a reverse grip before returning his wrist to support the aim of his Blaster in a CQC Stance.

“Stick close. You’re not dying here,” he growled, his voice calm but firm. His blaster remained raised, ready to fire at any threat that dared come too close, body tense like a coiled spring, ready to slash and counter the mandibles of a
rachnids.



 


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ATTIRE: Link
WEAPON: Lightsaber
TAGS: Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin

More than one way to skin a cat, as the saying goes.

His leg might have been stopped, motion arrested, but it didn't mean much. The crushgaunts made the grip hurt, but he avoided his leg being crushed through the use of the Force in strengthening his muscles at the point of attack. Definitely hurt, but Caelan masked the pain, focusing instead on that second hand that was coming for him. As it clasped onto Caelan's collar, he strengthened the Force in his hands, and slammed his fists into the gauntlet itself, intending to crush it. It was his fists that were the most dangerous to the Mando, not his legs.

But even still, he was thrown to the ground, hard, which bloodied the heck out of his nose. He didn't lay there like some of the mans opponents probably had, though. Instead, he rolled away and flipped back to his feet, lifting a hand to brush some of the blood away from his nose. Yeah, that hurt too. He was going to need some recovery time after this for sure.

But he wasn't done yet, either. Spins and the like had their place in all battles. Brute force, straight forward attack was counterable, and he was faster when he allowed himself to rely on it. Immovable object? Meet unstoppable Force. He advanced swiftly and dipped towards the mans legs, fist aiming for the inside of the knee.

Be unpredictable. - Azurine Varek Azurine Varek

But at the last second he used his lowered position as a spring and shot upward, intending to slam his fist into the Mandalorian's chin, while sliding one foot between the Mando's legs for further positioning.

 

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Location: Keshi
Objective: 1
Tag: Domina Prime Domina Prime
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The ship’s systems whined some to Ko as he flew it sharply through the atmosphere. Stressing out the shields as they protected the vessel and him from the blazing heat of reentry. Until he reached the world's stratosphere where the air pressure was high enough to slow his descent and no longer appear as a meteor falling from space. A sensation of dread washed over Ko as he rapidly got closer to the planet’s surface. A familiar dread…
. . .

Soon enough Dima would get an answer to her own question as a burst of red blaster cannon bolts shot out towards her large steed from a nearby cloud. Strafing across the back of the draconic being. They were so big even Ko could ‘see’ it, and with it a concerning haze of emptiness for him. An entity dead in The Force and appearing to him as a distorted void similarly to how a black hole bends light around itself.

After the shots fired Ko’s Epo-1 Interceptor flew into view. Quickly emerging from a cloud that did nothing to obscure his own sense of sight. The Kel Dor torqued the ship’s controls to the side and rotated the vessel to narrowly avoid colliding with the Dovadrake. The interceptor pulled along a gust of wind as it flew past.

“Wow, I finally got myself into a cockpit again and I found myself in a dogfight against her. Just my luck…” Ko muttered to himself, not even fully brushing of the rustiness of his ow piloting skills. He maneuvered the starfighter up into the sky to increase altitude before sharply arching back down as if to dive bomb Dima. Unleashing a second volley of red blaster cannon shots towards her. Almost subconsciously Ko cautiously moved one of his hands over to his seat in case he needed to make a hasty ejection.
 




Feydrik sneered when the Jedi swatted at his crushgaunts.

The Beskar remained steadfast, not broken by the teenage Jedi's attacks. Beskar remained steadfast. Not the weaker molds of old- no, he was born of a different mold, and his armor was the same.

Simply put, Feydrik was a different breed, a different animal, a different Mandalorian. His armor was without imperfections. The beskar was immaculate, perfect, beyond pure. No Jedi hands, much less a child's, were going to crush or crack it. If a lightsaber could not break it, or blaster fire, the impact from a child was not something to be considered in the realm of "threats".

He brought his leg inward, dropping it. A common hit with kickboxing and for takedowns. The kid should have gone for a takedown, or perhaps a leg lock, or a sweep. He was in a good position to. But instead he telegraphed himself again- slithering low and on the ground, crossing back towards Feydrik. He didn't move fast enough for the fighter to not see what he was doing, he didn't feint his movements. He was processed, he was weighed-

And all Feydrik had to do was bring his head back, the kids fist sliding along his visor. He laughed- again.

"You lack experience with worthy foes."

The kid put himself in a bad position. Low- low was not somewhere you wanted to be against a fighter. More momentum was gained downward than it was upward. As much as it was true in a physics lab, it was about to be true when the Mandalorian's powerful forearm went across his chest- and his elbow came soaring towards the Jedi's collarbone. Downward, faster than he could produce an elbow standing or on the ground, even.

"You won't for long."

Feydrik Munin did not become Champion by brutality. He was good at what he did. The kid should have stuck to the lightsaber. Force or no force, Feydrik Munin was a monster in this area of combat. He was a beast in all aspects, a tenacious warrior, cunning, brutal and quick. He felled Jedi before. Their speed was not new to him, their trickery predictable. They lacked conviction, creativity. Their lifestyle was too rigid to be truly creative, to be truly imaginative and to see beyond their codes, lessons and meditations. That is why he was able to kill them bare-handed.

He was beyond their comprehension of violence.



 


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ATTIRE: Link
WEAPON: Lightsaber
TAGS: Feydrik Munin Feydrik Munin

Beskar was beskar. It didn't change because of who wore it. If he could break it on one Mandalorian, he could break it on another.

Besides, this guy was an imbecile who relied on brute force more than tactics and he'd played right into Caelan's hands by assuming him coming downward with his arms would find the kid in a position were he was unable to move. It wasn't so. His fist had come upward, and by shifting himself back, he'd allowed Caelan time to reset his feet, which was not a smart move, because in doing so, he allowed time for a reaction to what was coming next. The smart move would have been to take the hit.

But, see, misdirection was also a good tactic in combat. And while the big brute had been focused on the hand coming upward at his head, he hadn't seen the other hand move to his lightsaber. From his twisted position, obtained by placing one foot through the mans legs, it was easy for him to twist a little further and avoid the downward strike of the mans elbows. It paid to be small at times.

"It's not always what you see that matters, you oaf."

He thumbed the activation switch with his non-raised hand, the blade pointed between the mans legs, and twisted his wrist to bring the weapon at the exposed back of the knee. It didn't matter how good the armor was, joints had to be soft enough to allow movement, and that meant they were the weakest point in an armor, and as his other hand came down, he reached for the mans collar, intending to use his strength through the Force to grab onto it, which would position him uniquely to counter the oafs next attempt.

"You see a little blood and think you've won, but you're nothing more than a brainless beast in a metal tube. You have no skill, you only have muscle."

 

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An enemy without shelter was an enemy without hope. This was but one planet, but it was not the first to suffer this fate. It would certainly not be the last. Each time, it broke more resolve. It called more from hiding. It garnered more who understood their Way. It stoked flames for those who were chained to the will of others to rise up and defend themselves as needed. And he, adorned in crimson, was but one of the many heralds of this strange and terrifying fervor - blood splashed against his chestplate as his weapon buried itself in the shoulder of a defender too slow to move aside.

<Several casualties reported from Fireteam Ve’vut, Grid G10. Quickly, too.> Came the crackle of the squadron’s comms specialist, Shaela Farr, through the helmet’s systems. It was her duty of to keep as updated as they could on the battlefield’s state, no matter the condition. And it was a good thing too - it was a difficult task to keep up with the logistics of battle and participate on the frontlines in the same breath.

The tide slowed. His weapon wrenched out of the newly-made corpse, covered in viscera as his gaze tilted aside to get an overview of the situation. He could see it in the distance. Blaster fire scattered in random direction, and shouts of pain and rage. Defenders, Mandalorians alike were fighting amidst it all - but somewhere in the middle, there was shimmering, golden barrier that shone through the smoke of the recent mortar fire. Like a beacon of light.

It seemed there were Jedi here, after all.

<Stand by, resume razing the rest. I will handle the Jetii.>

Every Neo-Crusader in the squadron - hell, every Crusader who trained upon Dxun - knew of the Rally Master’s lust for battle against their most ancient foe. It was one of the only way he could sharpen his skills without the backdrop of a spar to dull the intent. A bounty of glory and honor, even if the battle did not result in death.

The truest way to honor his ancestors - by striking down those who had cast them into the shadows, time and time again.

His jetpack flared to life, yet another shriek of hellfire to propel him forwards amidst a blotted out sky full of that same noise.

Carduul’s arrival was without announcement, without words. A single, precise blaster shot to Kahlil’s leg was made, and though it was with all the intent of injury behind it, it was merely a distraction to the myriad of other shots they were dealing with in that same moment - something that required a slight shift in guard or attention to deflect. Shortly thereafter, he burst from the smoke that wreathed around him like a cloak of shadows, feet touching down as the poleaxe’s bladed edge winded upwards from behind the Rally Master’s body towards the Jedi’s left. A subversive two-handed strike that was deceptively swift and long in its reach, attempting to bury it in the side of the Kahlil’s hip.

The golden barrier served as a shimmering backdrop - obscured by the worthy combat in front of him.

 


He didn't wax poetic in his mind about the other Jedi, or bother talking.

Because while the Jedi was busy talking, moving, pierotting about- Feydrik had time to see what was coming. See his hands shift, wrap around the lightsaber. Unclip it from his belt, bring it up to attack. He talked too much. Talking took time, took the spaces between seconds away that gave way to a reaction.

He was staring right at the kid- it was hard not to notice what he was doing. He wouldn't fake anything, he couldn't- he provided no worthy distraction. He didn't bother to argue with the blade- his legs went upwards, and the exhaust from his jetpack was the first thing the Jedi would feel, if only would for a moment. The brief activation of his jetpack allowed the blade to go against the armor on his calf, scraping in a shower of sparks.

His wrist pointed straight down at the Jedi, roughly four feet in the air.

And a torrent of flame came out at him, point blank nearly.

 


Ninurta's soar to the treetops was cut short with deadly motion. He felt the tug of the grappling hook wrap around his waist, pulling him off balance mid-flight. Snarling behind his visor, he reacted immediately, disengaging his jetpack with a quick tap to its control panel. A medium yield explosion rocked part of his being. From the way it felt through his beskar'gam, it had to be a stun grenade. An annoyance with the armor on, but could of resulted in a different outcome in another life. The sudden loss of thrust sent him plummeting toward the ground, but it was a calculated descent.

As he fell, Ninurta's razorbugs, still circling Diogo, changed targets with another sharp burst of pheromones. The fist-sized insects whirred and zipped toward the Zeltron soldier instead but the insects were grounded from the prior. The stun grenade. How interesting. I wonder how Rynka and Skrel are taking it then.

The impact with the jungle floor was brutal but intentional, a controlled roll dispersing the kinetic energy as Ninurta landed in a crouch and suddenly knocked off balance by two heavy blaster botls. One impacting and reflecting off his shoulder armor and the other damaging a thruster in his jetpack. His armored form now was on the dirt. "Gah! You schutta." He cursed.

With the grappling hook's cable was still taut, and he used it to his advantage. Grabbing hold of the cable with one hand, he activated his vambrace and activated its electrical charge. Sending torrents of energy racing down the line all toward one person. Diogo Talon Diogo Talon , the green haired brat! The beastmaster had the intent to keep the line energized for as long as he could awhile working to pull the padawan closer for a killing blow!

A metal rod lifted and Ninurta's electrostaff extended to its full length and activated with a crackle of energy. The static and arcing energy dancing with a torturous menace. The Falleen turned his head slightly, issuing another silent command to his Wyyyschokks. Rynka, disturbed by the stun grenade but not fully incapacitated, dropped from the treetops with terrifying speed, her immense bulk crashing into the jungle floor near Nos. Her webbed spinnerets fired a sticky, silken projectiles at the ( Nos Voros Nos Voros ) Zeltron's legs, aiming to immobilize and herd him away from the scene.


 
Wind whipped around and rain pelted the flaming barracks, it came from nowhere, and that could only mean one thing. Je'tii...

Zandra had been trained to hate Je'tii with all her being, especially after Sig lost a hand to one. It went deeper than that though, she saw the space monks as a symbol of the Alliance. Their overconfident and moralist order were always there, serving the interest of the Alliance, meaning they were implicit in the suffering of the poor under the current galactic government.

This Jedi though, she was one of the worst offenders, sanctimonious and cocksure as they came. Was it wrong to burn that tree down? Perhaps, but it was a necessary action. It quelled some of the more dissident voices on Cathar, and that was enough for Zandra.

"I was told that you were gunning for me Je'tii. So far? Not impressed. If you think some drizzle and wind is going to scare me off, then you're dead wrong..."

With that she drew a pair of beskad swords, flourishing them with a few twirls. The young mando was all to happy to try and get a win back for her new clan, after her A'lor and lover was beaten by this oversized cat. Such disgrace had always weighed heavy on Zandra. However, the worse thing was bringing up clan Ruus, the very clan who saved her from the warzone on Coruscant.

"Clan Ruus, pah... I spit on those shallow Dar'Manda," She would have literally spit had she not been wearing her helmet. "They know nothing of the Resol'Nare! They know nothing about being a True Mandalorian! And you can tell "Uncle Drego" I said exactly that. I have joined the culture, and my new A'lor will be quite pleased when I bring him your pelt!"

From outside her own head. it was clear she was just flailing in frustration at the galaxy. She was angry, at the Alliance, at Drego, and at herself. The only way she had to express this anger was to maraud and murder, pillage and loot. She was a Crusader, and now that meant fighting this Je'tii, even if it killed her.

Jonyna Si Jonyna Si
 


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TAG: Zandra Ruus Zandra Ruus

What started as a drizzle, became a downpour. In the few seconds Zandra could see in front of her, she saw a woman with very little empathy left in her. A face of contained viciousness. A tiger, snarling into the wind.

The rain came down harder and harder, becoming getting to the point where it was coming down sideways. The fires were extinguished, and even the light of the ruby blade was hidden through the massive storm. The wind whipped, pushing against the mandalorian, risking throwing her off her feet, had it not been for the heavy armor she was wearing.

"I gave you a choice. Let those who remember you know that." The voice of the cathar came from every direction. Carried on the wind like a haunting melody. Then came the tribal drums. The deafening roar of ancestors of long past, and the tolling of a bell. The wind sang of fallen cathar, of the wicked being slain. Those soldiers left in the barracks fled for cover, as the Sentinel of Harmony hunted her prey.

Suddenly, the crack of lightning, and suddenly the jedi was upon Zandra, drawing Liz that caught the bolt of natural electricity, transferring the entirety of the energy of the bolt into the blade, which then was swung at Zandra, propelled by a rocket of flame.

 
The Droid, the Myth, the Legend
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OBJECTIVE 1 - KESHI RAID
The transport vessel would enter the atmosphere of the planet that was being besieged by enemy forces, it took awhile to get to this point, with B1-173 having made conversation to familiarise himself with his fellow soldiers, his brothers in arms. Most of the conversing was in regards to how he was such an old droid, and the stories he told to them before the arrival to Keshi, but this didn't help ease any tension in the vessel, as many of these soldiers were fresh out of training, extremely anxious to what will await them down below, a feeling that the droid has noticed too often with his experiences throughout war. Suddenly, a green light flickered on indicating that their arrival was imminent, as they checked their weapons and exchanged quiet words. The pilot's voice would speak over the intercom to the passengers.

"Approaching the drop zone. Ten seconds. Enemy presence confirmed."

The clearing appeared below, a patch of dirt surrounded by jungle. The ship landed hard, and the hatch hissed open, troopers filed out, scanning the surrounding treeline for enemy forces, however thankfully there was nobody here, at least not yet. B1-173 disembarked last, rifle at the ready, noting the eerie stillness as the village loomed beyond the trees. As every soldier was accounted for, the transport vessel which transported them there would now take off back into the sky and initiating its trajectory to head back into space as quickly as possible, as enemy vessels have been reported seeking for any targets to take on. But then as all seemed normal and according to plan, the attack came. A rocket streaked out from the jungle, slamming into the transport vessel. The explosion rocked the ground as flames engulfed the vessel.

"We're hit! Losing-"

The pilot screamed before the comms cut out... It appeared that nobody survived the crash, as the ship exploded on impact to the ground, most of the soldiers were startled by this, however there was little time to mourn as the enemy forces were rapidly closing in. Lieutenant Halder quickly tried to rally the shaken squad. "Stay focused! We still have-" A blaster bolt struck him in the chest, seemingly silencing him mid sentence. His body hit the dirt which would cause panic to spread amongst the unit. Blaster fire continued to erupt from the jungle, and the enemy forces would begin moving through the thicket, unmistakably they were indeed, Mandalorians. A foe B1-173 despised fighting against due to their tactical and strategic prowess which gave them an edge over regular soldiers of Galactic armies throughout history, this was no different. But at least the regular GA soldier had some form of defence against them, all we could really do was push on as best as we can.

"Spread out! Return fire!"

B1-173 would should in order to rally the disoriented troopers. Despite being a droid and just being a low ranking trooper, B1-173 urged the soldiers to follow his directives as everyone appeared to be disorganised amidst the chaos that surprised them. The troopers would obey and would subsequently begin scattering to avoid being easy targets. B1-173 would fire controlled bursts into the thicket, covering the squad as they regrouped, but in the meantime protecting himself from the blaster fire the Mandalorians were returning at them, his scanners would indicate that he was being attacked by a unit numbering roughly around 10 Mandalorians, all specialists in their own right, regardless his advanced systems would help him suffice by improving accuracy, he would manage to score a hit on two Mandalorians, but his blaster having any impact in either injuring them or killing them is debatable, but his signals failed to find the vital signs of those Mandalorians, but he was more concerned about keeping his head down, in doing so, B1-173 would grab a thermal detonator and would lob it over towards the group of Mandalorians either to take them out or flash them out from their positions, regardless they would spread out, one of the Mandalorians would use their jetpacks to fly into the air, but this put them into a vulnerable position in which B1-173 would exploit, firing at them and causing them to spiral out of control.

Unfortunately for B1-173, a Mandalorian would manage to charge his position, he fired several shots at them but their armour appeared to do nothing against them, he was a heavy, then he return fire, the first shot taking down a trooper which was next to the droid, B1-173 attempted to dodge out of the way, but in doing so, a blaster bolt struck his hip, sending sparks flying. "He's a heavy, focus fire on them, he's charging- AAARH!" The droid staggered, systems alerting him to the damage, momentarily exposed and vulnerable. But with this his systems would begin rapid emergency diagnostics of what occurred and giving emergency power to the droid to fight back to defend himself, he would collapse onto the foot of a tree, drawing out his sidearm and firing more shots towards the heavy, it still did nothing, but B1-173 would aim a shot directly towards an exposed joint in the armour, namely the leg, he shot the heavy in the leg in which they would collapse, meanwhile the other troopers would begin to fire at the Mandalorians further, seemingly the Mandalorians began falling back to the town, in which the wounded were collected, including the droid, in which the droid began self-repairs which he has done numerous times before with his repair kit, however for the organic soldiers in his unit, they were tended by the medic. Something far more tedious.
 

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