Junction Iron Resolve | Junction of Enclave-Excarga, NIO-Krownest

[The Quartermaster]

I R O N
D A W N​

The legacy of the Sith Empire was betrayal and blood.

Mandalorians were no stranger to the Sith’s treachery. And the New Imperial Order was more than familiar with savage barbarism of the Sith Empire from the bloodshed of the Sith-Imperial Civil War. Yet now the Sith had been broken, their Empire dissolved, and it seemed that order could finally be returned to their once-subjugated peoples.

Yet, standing as obstacles on the road to peace, there were remnants that still clung onto the tattered legacy of the Sith. Who still believed that they fought for a cause that existed. And one such remnant, infamous for its viciousness, cruelty, and crimes against the Galaxy, had become entrenched on Krownest. They were determined to not give up their prize: Camp Gideon, a death camp for political enemies of the Sith Empire; COMPNOR agents, Mandalorians, dissidents, freedom fighters, they were all held and worked to death underneath the mountains of Krownest.

In destroying the remnant and freeing the incarcerated of Camp Gideon, the New Imperial Order and Mandalorian Enclave shared mutually-aligned interests. And so a temporary alliance was struck, and planning for the dual-operation assault began.

Liberating Krownest would be no small matter: the Sith had established a strongly-connected network of defensive points, a system where all emplacements supported each other mutually. The benefit was that there would be no isolated point of assault for an attacker; the drawback was, if one emplacement or position fell, then the entire system was compromised. A direct assault on Camp Gideon would mean certain death-by-execution for the remaining prisoners inside, and so a false-flag operation was conceived.

A faux attack on the strongest position of the Sith, Ursa’s Redoubt, would be used to draw out Sith Forces from the camp, betting that they would be emboldened by the strength of their defenses to try and prematurely crush the invading forces. However, it would be their mistake: for with the Camp’s defenses depleted, a specialized team of Imperials and Mandalorians would be able to sneak inside and liberate the Camp before the Sith had a chance to respond.

While the operation commenced, the realpolitik of intergalactic space would play out: a formal meeting between the heads of state of the Empire and Enclave had been scheduled in the capital of the New Imperial Order, Bastion. There, iron would reckon with iron, and Mandalorian-Imperial relations would be established.

But would an accord between the two powers be able to be established? Or would they devolve, and the cycle of Imperial-Mandalorian antagonization only be perpetuated?

Objective I | Operation: False Flag
Ursa's Redoubt, Krownest

To draw Sith-Imperial forces away from Camp Gideon, the brute strength of Mandalorian-Imperial forces have been directed against Ursa’s Redoubt, a well-defended Sith position. To make the attack seem genuine, everything is being thrown at the Redoubt in order to draw out Sith forces. Meet them in battle and make them pay for their crimes with blood.

Objective II | Operation: Iron Dawn
Camp Gideon, Krownest

While the bulk of the fighting is concentrated on Ursa’s Redoubt, a specialized team of Mandalorians and Imperials have been tasked with infiltrating Camp Gideon and liberating it.

Objective III | Reckoning
Ravelin, Bastion

On Bastion, Emperor Rurik Fel and the Quartermaster of the New Imperial Order and Mandalorian Enclave respectively meet to establish formal terms and relations between the Imperials and the nascent Mandalorian state.

Objective IV | BYOO
Any story that you find interesting.
​

​

 

[Shai Maji]

KROWNEST | ORBIT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER | 501st LEGION
16th COMPANY | SURVIVORS
ALLIES: NIO/ENCLAVE | Eliz Krayt | Kranak Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Lesha Priest | Alora Vizsla | whoever else, I'll add next round
ENEMIES: SITH REMNANTS |
ENGAGING: Come at me bro
GEAR: In bio | Basilisk War Droid | Standard loadout

​

EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD​

Enclave dropships flew in formation with the New Imperial Gunships as they carried troops in from above. It was a massive undertaking, with the combined forces of the Enclave’s Si’kahya as well as the troops that NIO could spare for this operation. This was going to be the Si’kahya’s first front line engagement against an entrenched and determined enemy. Only issue was that Shai wasn’t going in as a Sik for this one… a matter she knew would come up as her gaze turned to Kranak and the other familiar faces in the dropship.

Too many familiar faces. This was the reason why she joined with the Sixteens. To not endanger the lives of her friends and family. But, as she realized on Nirauan, Sixteens were just as much her family. A few other Si’kahya were unfamiliar to her, but there were other suits that stood out to her. She wasn’t going to discuss this situation with Eliz or Vulcan. Not now. Though she was going to keep an eye on both of them with this mission. Especially Vulcan. His training was going great, but this was not some casual fight against gangsters or pirates. This was open war. At least she knew that Kranak, Alora and the rest would be able to take care of themselves.

”Hey Krell, you got…” One trooper didn’t finish his sentence as he licked his thumb and wiped a spot of dried blood off his comrade’s armour. Another indication of what they went through. Their armour was battle ready, but they still bore the marks of Nirauan’s battle. Scorch marks, paint scraped off to reveal the glimmering Beskar underneath, bent antennas, and denting against their jetpacks. A few crucial pieces were swapped out, such as visors and body gloves, things needed for the engagement.

”Corporal Gira, you got that HUD sorted?”

”Yeah, it’s sorted. It’s the system’s user I’m more worried about.”

”You’ll be alright. These guys ain’t Maw. They won’t know what’s coming for ‘em.”

”Don’t get too cocky, they’ve been cut off for a long time. They’ll fight ‘til the last breath.”

Majority of the Sixteens stacked into the 18-man dropship had their helmets off, either chewing on a ration bar or smoking cigarettes. ”They got rebreathers for a reason, I’ll put ‘em down myself if they whine about the smoke.” One muttered to a comrade beside him. Their stares were empty and directionless as they waited for the signal to ready up. Shai was no different as she blinked from a trance and shook her head. ”We gave the kriffers hell on Nirauan… right until they dropped a karkin’ sonic bomb on us. More than a hundred and fifty brothers and sisters we had to say goodbye to. And a bunch of the survivors are still in bacta tanks.” She explained to Kranak. Her heart was still plagued with guilt. She managed to find Alex and get her to safety just in time after the fight. She was still in a bacta tank when Shai departed for the mission. She tried to see all of her men in the infirmary that made it out alive as much as possible, but her Master Sergeant was likely her biggest concern.

A faint smile formed as she shrugged. ”Now you know what I’ve been doing on my ‘business trip’.” She wasn’t sure whether Alora passed the word on or not, but she knew she was going to have another shouting match with him most likely once she got back to Kestri. At least there was the reassurance that Alora wouldn’t have spilled the beans on her whereabouts. But this time she was in a completely different mindset. She’d be much stronger this time.

:: All units. Approaching drop zone. ::

Shai looked to the intercom above them and slid her helmet on. ”Alright, listen up. Our job is to support the ground pounders with everything we got. We come from above once their attack starts and we rain hell down on the fortress. Sixteens, we’re working closely with our vode in the Enclave, that means you’re taking orders from me, but you’ll be reporting to Kranak Vizsla and Lesha Priest as well.” She smirked behind her visor as she nodded to the two officers. ”Let’s show ‘em how Sixteens deal with Sith.” She quipped.

”Our mission is crucial.” She started with a more serious tone. ”The more we pound ‘em, the better chance our guys got to get those prisoners. You already went through too much as it is, and it pains me to ask more of you. But this is our one good chance to save more of our brothers and sisters, and to snuff out another remnant of the Empire that tried to wipe us out.” Her gaze turned from her men to Kranak. ”Kranak, if you have something to say, feel free to speak up.” He likely had his own words for the mission that he wanted to say.

With her piece said, her visor turned to the familiar faces. Her comrades, her clan members, her kiddies. Not a single Mandalorian life was going to be lost with this engagement, she was determined to see to that.

 

[Kranak Vizsla]

D I S T R A C T I O N

Location: Krownest, Orbit, Aboard Enclave Dropship
Local Time: 02:00
Date: -DATA CORRUPTED-
Primary Objective: Distraction, Crush Enemy Opposition
Secondary Objective: N/A
Equipment: Loadout 1 + Goran’s Stand
Tags: Shai Maji | Eliz Krayt | Vulcan Krayt

Krownest…

The Alor’ad never thought he’d be back anywhere near the Mandalore sector in his life again. Not after the collapse of the old Union. Evergreen forests, heavily mountainous terrain comprised much of the icy planet. It was also a home to one of the well-established clans, namely Clan Wren under House Vizsla. He was sure that was no longer the case, however, seeing as how the Sith Empire had carried out unspeakable atrocities over the Mandalore sector, to try and erase them from the pages of history. The giant silently smirked at their attempt behind his helmet’s faceplate. They had no idea who they had betrayed, and now they were paying dearly with their very lives for what they’ve done.

They had a simple mission objective to carry out for today’s operation. The plan was to commence an attack with everything they had on a single strong point of the Sith Remnant forces on the planet to draw them out of their strongholds, betting on their arrogance to come and drive The Enclave and NIO joint task force elements off the landing zone. The Alor’ad did not agree with the strategy, however. In his mind, the strategy left too much to chance. If the commander of the Sith Remnant garrison on the planet was anywhere near competent, they would have a very hard time having the Sith forces push out. They would have to appear weak when they were far stronger than they’d let on for this to work.

And to what end? Would the amount of prisoners they would rescue from the cruel hands of the Sith be worth the amount of vode they would lose today? And who would be the judge of that? Maybe the rescue operation would not go as planned as well. Maybe this was going to be a complete chitshow.

Even a single vod dying was too much for him. The mission didn’t sit right with the Alor’ad, but he had orders to follow. And he wasn’t going to start disobeying any. His broad chest fell with a muffled, deep sigh. He only hoped the casualties would not be heavy.

But he also knew sacrifice was necessary. He could venture a guess as to what those prisoners had been subject to, under the exceedingly cruel treatment at the hands of the chakaare. He was taken prisoner himself, tortured both in body and in mind for well over a year at the hands of Dar’manda. It was something he wouldn’t even wish upon his worst enemy.

The giant’s eyes would shift from the durasteel floor of the dropship’s cabin beneath his combat boots and gaze at the trooper from the Sixteenth that broke the silence. Kranak, with several vode from The Enclave were tagging along with the elements of the 16th Company for this mission.

”Hey Krell, you got…” One trooper didn’t finish his sentence as he licked his thumb and wiped a spot of dried blood off his comrade’s armour.

The armor of the men and women of the Sixteenth were battered, caked with dirt and blood. Blaster scorch marks riddled their beskar’gam, with their white paint job scrapped on several parts of their armor. The beskar and durasteel underneath glimmered under the dim white fluorescent light of the cargo bay, thick with tobaccoey smoke. Kranak was not sure what battle they had just come out of recently, but it sure looked like they went through hell and back.

Shai explained to him about what happened as the troops chatted idly with one another, waiting for the greenlight to paradrop on Krownest.

”We gave the kriffers hell on Nirauan… right until they dropped a karkin’ sonic bomb on us. More than a hundred and fifty brothers and sisters we had to say goodbye to. And a bunch of the survivors are still in bacta tanks.”

That explained the battered state of her men. Rage coursing through his veins, the giant’s blood boiled at her mention of the casualties they’ve endured on Nirauan. <One hundred and fifty vode…> His hands balled into fists. He heard one of Shai’s troops mention the Maw. A bunch of Sith fanatics and their lackeys, is all that he really knew about them. The giant softly muttered a very invective insult at them as he listened to her explanation.

”Now you know what I’ve been doing on my ‘business trip’.”

His visor shifted to her in response, looking up at her long time comrade in arms standing next to him. <”You know the guys are not very happy about your absence from the graduation, right?”> He had read of her excuse for leave of absence. She was supposed to make several deals and contracts with a bunch of shipwrights and companies specializing in making warships to help with The Enclave’s efforts of building their fleet. <”You’re missing from the squad’s graduation photo, you know. People are gonna ask me whether we’ve lost you in a training accident or not.”> The giant quipped with a soft chuckle. Though that bit was true. There were a number of training casualties during their selection process for the Si’kahya. Some had lost limbs. Sadly, a handful had died. Those were inevitable in their training, whether he liked it or not.

:: All units. Approaching drop zone. ::

He shot a glance at the intercom speaker above at the same time with the Shistavanen vod as it crackled to life with the pilot informing them about approaching closer to the drop zone. The cargo bay’s fluorescent lights hadn’t changed to red yet, however. His gaze shifted to Shai once again as she put on her buy’ce and spoke to her men.

”Alright, listen up. Our job is to support the ground pounders with everything we got. We come from above once their attack starts and we rain hell down on the fortress. Sixteens, we’re working closely with our vode in the Enclave, that means you’re taking orders from me, but you’ll be reporting to Alor’ad Kranak Vizsla as well.” She smirked behind her visor as she nodded to Kranak. ”Let’s show ‘em how Sixteens deal with Sith.” She quipped.

The giant gave her a toothy grin from underneath his buy’ce. He was looking forward to seeing her men in action, see if they were in fact tough as nails as they looked from the outside.

”Our mission is crucial.” She started with a more serious tone. ”The more we pound ‘em, the better chance our guys got to get those prisoners. You already went through too much as it is, and it pains me to ask more of you. But this is our one good chance to save more of our brothers and sisters, and to snuff out another remnant of the Empire that tried to wipe us out.”

The Alor’ad’s thoughts shifted to Shai’s commanding capabilities as he listened to her address her men in silence. He had never seen this side of Shai before. He could not recall if she was in a commanding position before. Not in the Union, if his memory did not betray him. He had appointed her as his second in command in his squad, however. She was a seasoned warrior, and apparently a capable commander now. <Figures.> He thought to himself. She was the Alor of her clan, after all.

Her gaze turned from her men to Kranak. ”Kranak, if you have something to say, feel free to speak up.” He likely had his own words for the mission that he wanted to say.

His visor would shift from Shai’s, and give a glance to those men and women he could see around him before he spoke. He went straight to the point. <”Move out of the landing zone as soon as we make planetfall. That’s going to be a killzone in no time,”> The giant spoke. An army was at its weakest during the landing process. They would be no exception. They would also be all clumped up on the landing zone with other forces, seeing as they were going to throw everything they had at the Sith to get their attention. <”Move fast, stop for nothing.”> The giant would fall silent afterwards as he rested the back of his head against the durasteel plating behind him, starting to mentally prepare himself for the combat drop ahead of him in silence.

 

[Faison Kelborn]

OBJECTIVE: Iron Dawn
TAG: Open.
LOADOUT: See Character Sheet

It had been a long time since Faison had taken up arms against the Sith Empire. It felt almost like a lifetime ago, but as his freighter approached the icey ancestral world of Clan Wren, memories of his past encounters against Imperial forces came to the fore. Memories of a man he once considered his father burning in a heap of his own ruin...

But now was not the time for such memories. Now was the time for action. In another life, Faison would have taken pause in aligning himself with Imperials, even though the New Imperial Order was an ascendant offshoot of the Sith Empire morally opposed to their depredations. But the fact that their soldiers looked all but exactly the same did not commend themselves to the Mandalorian. He had made great progress over the past year, enough so where he could restrict himself from shooting these New Imperials on sight if it meant sticking the true enemies of his past where it hurt.

Hopefully he wouldn't live to regret temporarily placing his trust in them. From what he understood, he would be meeting a handful of other operatives - both kinsmen and Imperials - for the true assault upon the camp once the diversion commenced. Most of those joining him in this endeavor would be inserting themselves onto the planet separately so as to avoid drawing attention. For Faison's part, his freighter adopted a heading taking it to the far side of the planet from the camp whilst the diversion force loudly exited lightspeed, which would hopefully allow him to avoid detection.

His ship soon broke atmosphere, with the Mandalorian finding a suitable perch amidst a flat patch of land between two rocky outcroppings which broadened near their base. This would make a perfect place to hide his ship from aerial surveilance in the event the Sith were patrolling this region. Nothing was appearing on his sensors right now, but that was in part because this particular area was currently in the throws of a mild snowstorm. "Just my luck." Faison said to himself with a bemused tone. He would be the guy to land in the middle of a snowstorm. Yet, based on the readouts on his display, the winds were slowly abating, which indicated the storm would fade soon enough. He used this time to recheck his weapons loadout, packing the majority of his weaponry on his person, but placing his sniper & blaster rifle within holsters on his speeder bike.

He then referenced a debrief packet via his tactical display on his helmet, setting his comm frequency to a unified channel designated for whatever Enclave and NIO operatives he was to join for the infiltration mission. After setting up his comm frequency, the last thing he did was don a thick fur-lined cloak that draped over his armor, pinning onto hardpoints on his shoulder and utility belt. His suit would give him adequate protection from most weather extremes, but Krownest was not an average world. The cold could bite deep, and he needed some additional protection against the frosty bite which awaited him.

He waited a few more minutes until the wind died down to manageable levels, and finally punched the button near the exit ramp, which caused it to groan in protest as it opened and eventually set against the icy surface of the planet. He checked his status indicator so as to broadcast to others who joined the secure channel that he was planetside, and mounted his bike.

The Mandalorian quickly zoomed from the belly of his ship, with the ramp closing behind him and the freighter powering off to reduce its signature should patrols come this way. He kept his bike up against the rocky outlines dotting the landscape as much as possible, keeping an eye on his passive sensors linked through the few systems remaining online on his ship, so that he could hopefully identify any patrols before they sighted him. For now, he would make his way to a rallypoint set aside for the strike team, while also recording data on his way if it may be of assistence to others as they arrived.

​

 

[Vulcan Krayt]

OBJECTIVE: Iron Dawn
Equipment: Blaster, Rifle, Detonators, Armour
TAG: Open.

Vulcan stood in the ship, noticeably small compared to the others, this made him fidget slightly on his feet. He was very inexperienced and he knows it. He knew they knew it too.

Forging was one thing but going into the fight was quite the other. Vulcan did his best to keep the nerves in check. Honestly, he was so new at this he even smelled green, no wait that's his shampoo, Lemon twist conditioner combo. It gave his hair a sheen to it and also kept the helmet hair at bay. Metal makes fluffy hair frizzy and staticy and for him the static is audible.

There had to be a time where youngsters faced their first combat, the Worm was equally beneficial to his moulding into a competent Mandalorian. Although his ribs took a cracking. Then he found an Alor to help him train and integrate into a Clan. He was surprised that it didn't come to him instinctively. Ubese are very Clan orientated and, his awkward fitting in phase concerned him slightly. But after a while, he became very much a Krayt. He was now able to string sentences together in Mando'a which is a bonus. Even after all this time he still could not understand metaphors and figures of speech.

His attention was drawn back to the mission at hand, they will be battling Sith, oh his stomach gargled with nerves. This is his first actual fighting mission. He soon steeled himself, no good feeling like he would be better in bed or at least baking goods.

After the debrief Vulcan nodded he understood perfectly and then mentally prepared himself for the fight to come, hoping he doesn't fall as soon as he steps out of the ship. He mentally bipped himself on the nose at such negativity. He'll get through this because no way in Chaff is he going to run away, he will stand his ground.

 

[Chelenne Akaris]

STEAM MACHINE
N I G H T H A W K
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
Avenger | Faison Kelborn

​

The plunging descent through the atmosphere had been met with the resistance of a snowstorm, the likes of which immediately sent the zeltron into a rather unpleasant walk through time, the whole ordeal reminding her an awful lot of her last haunting mission, where her snowboots had stuck deep into the snow of Carlac in penumbral Darkness. And the longer she stared out the window, the worse that creeping dread became until she had all but grown entirely still. The horrific howls of the undead. The blood. Her own. She remembered its salty sting in her eyes, the taste upon her tongue, the rage she had felt. Faintly, the zeltron trembled, her fur-lined gloves squeezing into fists against the seams of her pants. And it wasn't until a firm grasp on her shoulder from behind disturbed the cyclical serpents of her thoughts that she returned to the present. She turned her head, fixing sapphires upon the familiar silhouette of her partner, Avenger.

He said nothing to her, though he didn't have to, even beyond the obfuscation of his helmet, she could feel the steadiness of his gaze, and that alone was enough to level her boots back on the ground. "I know," she murmured in response, reaching upward to rest her fingers across his briefly, "I'm good. Promise." When he withdrew, her hand was cast back to her side and she turned thereafter, moving to take her seat and strap in for landing. The Enclave's forces had provided ample distraction, a daring dart out of the atmosphere with another ship, just enough to buy the New Imperial incursion time to breach to their landing zone and touch down.

Chelenne steadied herself, pressing a heavy breath from her lips before dipping her head to secure her helmet into place over wily iridescent strands. Her HUD chimed, coming online, and with it she glimpsed through the briefing packet she had been handed, combing through for the tags and callsigns of The Enclave Mandalorians they were to work with, as well as the proximity to the rendezvous site. It was a strange concept to the fairly new agent, working with the Mandos. She was familiar with the history between New Imperial and Mandalorian cooperations, though this was her first mission of the sort. When she had been cleared of the worst of her corruption and returned to service, she had eagerly volunteered for this assignment and was excited to cut her teeth on their beskar wit.

"We're down, you've got three minutes, and we're out. Can't risk staying put, Nighthawk." The PA system crackled overhead and with it, began the slow, groaning creak of the drop ramp opening. <"I copy,"> she responded, <"We'll disembark immediately."> Deft fingers unlatched her safety belt and she arose, shooting Avenger two thumbs up before sauntering to the ramp, and venturing beyond into the snow.

Steep breaths drew in the crisp cold, the woman thankful then that Avenger had kept his promise and bought her a whole new array of furs to wear, these even finer than those she had lost on Carlac. Her toes crunched against the blanketed ground and she waited for him to catch up before overturning her vambrace and swiping a digit across, examining the holographic map she had been provided. <"Enclave forces should meet us ahead, from there we'll link up and push for our objective. Am I nervous about meeting Mandos? Maybe. Thanks for asking. It's fine, I'll do all the talking, you can just brood, you're real good and intimidating when you do that."> She took to her typical chatter over their integrated commo almost immediately, <"C'mon hon, it's a half-mile hike thataway.">

And off Nighthawk went, breaking into a light jog.

 

[Alora Vizsla]

Off to the side, a gunmetal Mandalorian stood from head to toe in metal. The armor was shaped about her body with a delicate pinch above the waist and a slight bust to their chest suggesting their biological sex. With her helmet secured, the visor lit up a bright violet, but didn't emit any bright light as was customary of those with blinged out buckets. Cool and scary factor didn't need to result in a Dead factor because the lit up an entire corridor in the dark.

Alora idly flexed her right hand as she gave an unnecessary tug with her left to the glove. Ship was coming up on the drop. Still far enough out for some of Shai's darlings to be munching on ration bars and stuff, but close enough to be mindful they were entering a war zone. And it was war. Mandalorians were good at that -- war. Always best to conduct yourselves honorably and leave them alone if you wanted to live a long life. Which kind of meant the Sith were screwed.

Most were, of course, biased against the Sith for what they did against the Union and Mandalore. Many were indignate and enraged from what they'd heard and on principal since those events were a healthy time in the past. Alora, though, remembered. Not that she felt an overwhelming, seething rage from what had transpired. She'd never been terribly... traditional. Not terribly proper. Always was running about, which is how she avoided being killed as little more than a waif back then. Well, still a waif now for all appearances, but only because Alora liked smiling more than she did scowling.

So with all that pent up passion, naturally when the New[est] Imperials invited the Mandalorians along to free some captives and crush the Sith they agreed. Foregone conclusion, really. If you wanted the Enclave somewhere all you had to do was breathe 'Sith' and they'd be there -- officially or otherwise. Alora didn't really agree with that bend, but she was just a cute cyberneticist, smuggler, and ninja. Strategy and worrying about Clans doing whatever was the Quartermaster's deal.

Speaking of doing whatever, Alora turned her helmet to look over at Shai whent he woman spoke up about 'hell on Nirauan.' The violet gash of her helmet stayed fixed in the Shistavanen's direction right up to the point she quipped about her 'business trip.'

Yeah, her business throwing herself into a war zone all by herself -- don't point to the Sixteens! Then sent a letter home like Shai might die out there all alone and wanted to make sure people knew what happened if she never came back. Sent it to Alora! Which was actually quite uplifting when taken out of context that Shai entrusted her with that information and belief Alora wouldn't run off and tattle to Walking Giant Kranak. And she hadn't. Nope, Alora was the caring friend and kept her mouth shut. Didn't say a word to Shai's mother (but checked on her), didn't fail to smile in Kranak's presence, and even joked with a few others about the Shistavanen possibly being asleep in her office again and how the Gambit should go wake her up. Kept all the pretenses and cheer up so no one knew. Until after the party was done and Alora raced back to her ship setting sail straight for Nirauan to haul the Shistavanen's ass out of their one way or the other if she was in trouble.

But you know the problem with having a super awesome stealth ship? No one knows when you're there, but not needed. Alora wouldn't complain about Shai not needing a rescue though. Had nothing to do with strength or ability! Just fate seemed to work out the bold woman walked out of there when others hadn't. Thankfully.

As Shai and Kranak entered Super Serious mod with the drop coming up, Alora made sure to affix a few tech gadgets to her legs and between the jetpack boosters on her back.

You in position?

Of course. They don't even know I'm here.

Stay on station for rapid exfil, and keep me appraised of any major movements by the enemy. Everyone wants to make some noise, but not a lot of discussion about securing the area -- because no one plans for a long engagement.

Which means they could flank you without battlefield intel.

Far from the first time Alora and her ship had waltz in on a war. Manda, they'd even flew into the Courscant bombardment not that long ago by the Maw; not intentionally, but they'd popped out of hyperspace and 'surprise!' war. A lack of information could get you killed, and they excelled at gathering the deets. So, Gambit would play Overwatch while Alora played Super Commando Tech Girl.

Shai ended with an upbeat notion of killing Sith, of course. Kranak was just pragmatic. Alora just held her position and let their briefing bake for a moment.

"Time to wrangle us some bad guys," Alora chirped without prompting.

Yeah, she was a little too good at feigning cheer even when headed into a storm. Shai could use some cheer, but Alora wondered if maybe she needed to get the Shistavanen's attention some other way. Before the tall, strong woman she liked got herself killed? Well, the middle of a battle was no time to draw out uncertainties, doubts, and raw nerves. So, for now, Alora would just make sure the feisty woman survived. Not to mention the rest of the crew; they were all important, but Alora had spent more time with the boisterous woman among them even outside of the barracks.

POYO! Kranak Vizsla | Shai Maji | Eliz Krayt | Vulcan Krayt | Lesha Priest​

 

[Dante Corvus]

M Y R M I D O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LORD-COMMANDER OF THE 173RD. LEGION "MYRMIDONS"

War never changed, and war never ended, the only thing that changed was the terrain and the enemy.

In the aftermath of the Maw's invasion of Nirauan, there was no rest or respite for the Legions of the Empire. The war machine continued on as it did, ever vigilant to the tendrils of the Sith Empire that remained active in spite of their defeat. Their lingering presence had grown to be far more of an annoyance than anything capable of drawing the full might of the Imperials upon them, but nonetheless, the Myrmidons were called upon to serve their Empire once more.

The armed forces of Nirauan were admittedly hesitant; the rank-and-file had just finished seeing their homes being invaded, ransacked, and destroyed. Many of their comrades had died in the ferocious fighting that followed the Maw's landing, and many more lay wounded, teetering on the brink of death.

Casualties of the neverending conflict that defined the Imperial way of life.

Yet through this hesitance, there were those who stood defiant, even in the face of their families and comrades being lost. The Legion stood tall above the others, cut from a crop that proved resistant to the horrors of battle that shook other men to the core. Dante rallied the Myrmidons in the aftermath of Nirauan, calling upon his brothers to take their time to grieve if necessary, but as always, be ready. He knew that no victory or loss would ever truly be the end of things, not when the enemies of the Empire remained abundant, even in their defeat.

​

---

TEMPEST
OBJ I | OPEN

The skies above the battlefield were quiet, yet far beneath them, a chorus of ordinance exploded across the terrain, rippling through attackers and defenders alike. Once more the Imperials threw themselves into the breach, focusing down the Sith defenders' positions with sheer determination, and the trademark defiance that defined their way of life.

An echelon marked the path through the skies to his rear, trailing behind their Lord Commander whilst he surveyed the frontlines pointedly, observing the defenders' positions while taking into account the status of the various offensives being launched. The Myrmidons, despite answering the Imperator's call, would not throw themselves to their deaths, no matter their willingness to deliver the Imperator's grace upon their enemies. Dante wouldn't allow it, not with memories of Nirauan so fresh upon the mind of his men, and the losses their Legion suffered having been nowhere near replenished.

His eyes darted across his HUD, observing the masses of friendly blips advancing against hostiles, watching and waiting for their allies to make a dent into the fortified enemy lines. Seconds turned into minutes as the Myrmidons soared through the skies undetected, masking their formation through the clouds until the moment came for them to act.

A formation had reached the enemy's fortifications eventually, their losses heavy, yet sustainable enough to hold their position. His second-in-command alerted him to their request for reinforcements, and Dante did not hesitate to order his adjutant to respond immediately that it'd been granted.

Puncturing through the clouds at once, the echelon that followed him plummetted towards the ground with high-speed precision, performing synchronous waning and weaving to avoid the batteries of anti-air that began firing upon their descent. Their efforts proved ill-timed, having spotted the descending formation far too late for their weapons to be of any effect upon the arrow-formation that fell upon them at breakneck speeds.

The collision that followed proved an effective display of what the Myrmidons did best. Thunderous landings dispersed the Myrmidons through the unfortunate lines of defenders, wrought with confusion and chaos as the Imperial elite brought to death and terror upon them with merciless intent. Dante himself landed behind the primary bunker pinning down their allies, weaving his vibro-axe through unexpecting bodies, eviscerating a path clear to the inside of the bunker. Rifle butts and bladed weapons fell upon him, intent on bringing down the lone warrior who hulked above them without fear of their numbers. His axe cut through their numbers once more, biting at the air with tendrils of electricity, reducing the defenders into nothing more than scattered piles of viscera and discarded weapons.

He exited the bunker much like he entered, sheathing his axe back onto his hip as he surveyed the scene around him. An eerie quiet enveloped their small section of the frontlines, much of the defenders being cut down where they stood, or run down on their inevitable retreat. His second-in-command descended next to him, awaiting orders once more, his armor ever-so-bloodied, a mark of honor within the Legion.

"Reinforcements are inbound to hold this location, Commander. No casualties on our end."

The adjutant spoke up, detached from the carnage spread around both his and Dante's feet.

"Good."

He replied, followed up by the familiar idle humming of his jetpack growing energetic by the second. His feet lifted off the ground, the sight of their Commander drawing the Myrmidons' attention.

"Blow the bunker. We move out in five."
​

 

[Volgin Alto]

M A U L E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION 'FEL'S FIST'
8th AIRBORNE BATTALION 'ALL-IMPERIAL'
Armor [Artic Climate] | Heavy Repeater | Pistol | Hammer
ENCLAVE | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Faison Kelborn | Vulcan Krayt
NIO | Aridius 'TK-1575' | OPEN

COUNTING BODIES
​

The clicking metallic symphony of slides racking, power cells loading and equipment latches pressing down was all but music to the ears of the Mantellian Menace as he overlooked his squad in the troop bay of the Imperial dropship. All of them donned in the heavy and less wieldy artic climate adjustments mandated by the Imperial Army for operations on Krownest. Snowtroopers. Even in recent history, it was foreboding adaption of the classic Stormtrooper. Nearly anywhere the Empire deployed them, they found victory if purely through grit and perseverance. Mygeeto, Helgard...Carlac. The colder the better.

The Sith Remnants enclosed within the Empire's supposed 'Iron Ring' were waning, their morale tanking harder than the IMP500 following Fel's last decree and their manpower and resource allocation not far behind. Krownest would be the last pin to fall before the strategically designated swathe of space was declared 'normalized' and consolidated by the Empire.

The favored sons of the 501st and the All-Imperials were summoned to drive the final dagger into this swathe of remnants.

<"Mandos, huh. I remember we dropped with 'em on Helgard, same kinda deal. Different group though, yeah?"> A trooper piped up across from Volgin in the trooper bay to snap the silence, Corporal Jerik. Standard rifleman.

<"Doesn't matter. They're all the same to me."> Volgin piped up in reply, his voice gruesomely deep and carrying the characteristic Mantellian accent.

<"Well...well yeah that's intentional, isn't it?"> He piped up in response. Jerik was often the joker of the unit, Volgin was often humorless. They both seemed to be playing the tunes they were comfortable with.

<"Something like that. They just need to stay out of the way. We're taking the northeast control tower and moving out from there, should expect to group up with some of them to take over the complex. Weapons ready...thirty seconds."> Volgin said, smacking the half helmet of the man in front of him with a seemingly joking, casual demeanor. But the force the failed Dark Trooper inflicted was enough to make Jerik's ears ring. Volgin was a physical unit by any measure, embedded with the 'Adekon Nanogene' that rendered him force dead and his skeletal system replaced with high-density metal replacements, he wasn't a man any of the other Brawler Squad troopers had ever seen get knocked down or out of any fight.

As soon as they neared the drop zone, he slung his heavy repeater over his shoulder. He couldn't show past the helmet, but Jerik tilted his head and raised a brow at the gesture before Alto took into his hands...the power hammer.

At that the ticking timer ran down to ten...nine-

They began to read up, turning to face the troop bay doors before eventually the cabin light flashed green and the doors sprung open and the 501st Helljumpers surged into the argent open air, grav shutes breaking their fall as they landed heels first into the upper ramparts of the Sith complex.

Remnant troopers were on them all but immediately, one turning to fire a three round burst at Alto's chest only for him to close the gap in but a few heavy footfalls, raising the power hammer up and swinging it down unto the trooper's skull, sending a surge of shattered bone, blood and gore as the trooper's body all but caved in under the force.

Back in the thick of it, Volgin couldn't be happier.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
The Quartermaster

EMPIRE
RAVELIN '70​

The last time Ravelin played host to a diplomatic summit, Irveric Tavlar was the reigning Imperator and the Empire had shone a smiling face to the rest of the Galaxy, or at the very least, its 'light-aligned' allies which it bound itself in concordance with finally quell the Sith Imperial threat. As much as things changed, they stayed the same. Rurik was Emperor now and the New Order stood alone in a Galaxy with a rippling underbelly of chaos and treachery threatening to swell to the surface. He was not lacking self-awareness so much as to rule out The Empire as an exception. Vast swathes of Sith Imperial territory had been consolidated in a short time and even those who were supposed Imperial patriots squabbled for power amongst themselves.

Even still, the Sith were an existential threat. Though Rurik was never truly groomed to rule, he would be the next to carry the torch through the darkness and snuff it from the Galaxy once and for all. So too, however, did beacons of order arise amongst the reign of chaos. While Fel, despite being adherent to the Jedi Code in his past, held little trust or merit in the Galactic Alliance or Silver Jedi Concord - the Mandalorians, though culturally divergent and far more libertarian and obsessed over personal freedom than the Imperial oaths, they are largely uncompromising in their approach toward the Sith.

Times had changed, the once warring hosts of marauders now seeming to be tamed down to being Galactic lawkeepers as much as they were warriors. Perhaps it wasn't the greatest potential of their creed, but the Empire's tolerance of them had paid back in spades, the Mandalorian Protectorate, while divergent from the Imperial identity in several facets, has bared fruit in its craftsmanship contributions, its fighting souls and shared knowledge of warfighting in tandem with what the Empire had gathered through a decade of strife.

Within Fortress Imperator, the once seat of the Sith Empire now iconoclast and refit to serve the image of Tavlar's New Order, Rurik waited to receive his counterpart in what might be only his first true meeting with a foreign leader in his tenure as Emperor, discarding of course the several times he'd sought the death of Solipsis in battle.

Ravelin however was still in a state of errant militarization, it had been since Rurik had come to rule the Empire. Stormtrooper and COMPFORCE patrols along the streets a common sight with the spaceport tightening the leash on who and what could pass the Imperial Gate and unto the Throne World. Diplomatic exception was of course granted to the Enclave's delegation as Rurik awaited them within the main hall of Fortress Imperator, speaking up in greeting to the arrival of The Quartermaster .

"Welcome to Ravelin, Quartermaster." Rurik spoke, his tone respectful and seemingly upbeat though largely void of any true imprint of emotion even as it was strained, each word seeming nigh painful to utter with an otherworldly filter cast over each syllable. It was a wound, inflicted by darkness in his earliest days as a Knight Commander, the very same wounds confining him within the iron skin he donned now.

"It has been a long while since a sovereign power made overt initial contact with the Empire. Usually it came in the form of opposing them on the battlefield but I am grateful this is a different circumstance. You know as well as any I'm sure that the Empire is accustomed to those of your creed. They have found a place here as much as they have found a place with yours. Follow, we can speak further within the command room." The same venue which played host to the meetings of Imperial High Command, it was only a few paces before the door to the aforementioned chamber pried open with a metallic hiss and Rurik gestured to sit along the conference table as he moved to place himself in his usual position as Emperor.

"Though the Sith Empire may have fallen, the True Empire has still yet to see the end of strife and conflict. But even so, what exactly do you seek to gain in Ravelin, Quartermaster?" He inquired, arching a brow beneath his iron visage as he awaited a response inquisitively.

 

[Caarlyle Rausgeber]

R A V E L I N
FORTRESS IMPERATOR
Rurik Fel
The Quartermaster

They were disgusting creatures. Filthy and uncultured. Their adherence to weaponry was vulgar and repugnant. And yet, here they were on Ravelin. The Mandalorians. Carlyle had spent the few minutes before arrival venting to his subordinates about the eternal menace of the Mandalorian. Their capacity for wanton violence. Their lack of allegiance to any true power. How self-destructive they were. And perhaps most of all, how many Mandalorian states had risen and fallen in the last quarter of a century. The Crusaders. The Union. The Mando'ade. The New Mandalorian Empire, to whom had been betrayed and annexed at the orders of the Zambrano Clan. And now this, "Enclave". It didn't even sound like a real, proper entity. And yet, the Sovereign Imperator had decided to drag out the welcome rug. It was unseemly. Particularly when there were so many other diplomatic options available.

The Empire now faced existential threats from the Maw. And it's neighbours to whom the Bastion Accord had been signed. Fel had, at least in Rausgeber's view, done away with them too easily. Too quickly. The Silver Jedi Concord, Ashlan Crusade and Galactic Alliance were all husks. Worthless in the long term, and political entities whose views were incongruent with the Empire's own. They didn't have the backbone, or understand the neccessity of authority as imperials did. Instead, they bowed to the tyranny of the majority, rather than embarking on the admittedly difficult task of manifesting their own destiny. But they were useful, mobilised and riled by the Maw's own action. And yet, they had cast them away. Making them now, potential enemies. Could the New Imperial win a war against anyone of them? Of course. But if they were to join forces? That, in of itself was a separate question entirely.

Which was perhaps the play here. Having an ally outside of the immediate New Imperial sphere. Mandalorians had long been suspicious, if not outright hostile to the Jedi. History held as much up as the truth. But the machinations of Rurik Fel were something which were quite beyond Carlyle's estimations. Even without the former robotic form which had held his conscience, running simulation after simulation, the Sovereign Imperator was something of an enigma. One whose decision making and policy, Carlyle would not outright oppose or circumvent. But enough to provide a contrarian perspective during critical discussions.

Although now was not the time for that. Standing behind the Sovereign Imperator, Rausgeber was both a mirror, and a contrast to the man. While Fel was shrouded with his cloak, and mask. Secrecy seeming to radiate from him. Carlyle instead was conventionally dressed. He wore his hair neatly. Had ensured his youthful features were accentuated with some make up. And worn his taut fitting, ivory uniform. Jodhpurs. Tunic. And cape. With a obsidian leather belt, the buckle emblazoned with the old First Imperial flag. On his breast, he wore his ornate Grand Admiral rank plaque. The red, blue and yellow of the plaque, instead being ruby, sapphire and gold. All melded onto a platinum plate.

He stood to attention as Rurik made his greeting, giving a slow nod. His face betrayed none of the malice he felt toward the Mandalorian creed and its adherents. It was neutral, and stern. But not too stern as to wrinkle. Cool indifference was for now the play. As the procession was lead to the Assembly Chamber, Carlyle lagged behind both Fel and this Quartermaster figure. Keeping a respectful distance as to ensure they could conduct conversation, without fear of his listening in. Upon entering the chamber, Rausgeber took his place at Rurik Fel's left, right beside him. Steeping his fingers, and gazing over the Mandalorian contingent, with one question in mind.

What could this pack of malcontents ever offer the Empire?

 

[Lucien Dooku]

B R O K E N A N G E L
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL WARLORD

REFLECTIONS IN BLOOD
Rurik Fel RIP Carlyle Rausgeber The Quartermaster

Emperor Fel.

Lucien chuckled to himself at the thought. It was still felt fresh, if not a bit offputting to say the least, to refer to his brother by such honorifics. He respected the newest Fel Emperor to arise, he loved the man like a brother, regardless of the differences, the two shared in blood. It still didn't change the hidden truths, the ones which even Lucien didn't want to admit.

The Order had changed.

In more than ways than one, the New Imperial Order he helped to build, no longer maintained the equilibrium it had beneath the reign of Tavlar. Even before the onset of NIrauan being invaded, he could feel the pressure that arose within the air. Elements once considered extreme were beginning to see the majority, or at least his shortlist of allies seemed even smaller than before. The Order had truly become an Empire in the blink of an eye, and he, the beacon of freedom within that Empire, could do nothing about it.

He wouldn't do anything about it, because in fact, he couldn't.

His brother was his brother, despite those differences that set the two apart. Ideologies be damned as far as Lucien cared, he would stand besides Rurik as much as his principles would allow. But even with his willingness to bend his own beliefs, it still frightened him to see what their Empire would become.

Allies once cherished were now forgotten, if not outright treated with disdain, yet the Imperial war machine showed no signs of coming to a stop. The zenith of Imperial might have been achieved, and through this system of constant war, the worlds of the Empire had thrived. He had nothing but hard questions, for hard answers he wasn't ready to hear. So he'd simmer on his thoughts, and wait until the time had come to address those questions.

The ones that nobody wished to ask their Emperor.

​

---

Seated to the immediate side of Rurik, opposite of a certain Warlord who he held in complete disregard, Lucien would raise from his seat to greet both Rurik and the Mandalorian delegation. A fist climbed slowly to his chest, settling over his heart along with the slight bowing of his head. He offered a silent nod towards the woman by the name of the Quartermaster, turning towards Rurik and finishing the gesture.

"Brother."

He'd speak up, postured in a lax form of attention, countering the overtly disciplined bearing of Warlord Rausgeber. With the formalities over and done, Lucien resumed his seat, returning to the effortless task of listening in onto the proceeding conversation. Like the old days, he thought to himself, beckoning a small grin at the thought.
​

 

[Siv Dragr]

S I T H B A N E

Objective: Liberate Camp Gideon
Enclave Tag: Faison Kelborn | Obran
NIO Tag: Chelenne Akaris | Avenger

The snow of Krownest swirled around Siv as he flexed his muscles beneath his beskar armor, making sure to keep the blood flowing to stave off stiffness and worse, hypothermia. Krownest was not so different than the Mandalorian's new homeworld of Kestri; snow and ice were almost dear friends for Siv. He had ample experience fighting in cold weather condition, and against foes who would made the past-prime, ill-equipped remnant of the Sith Empire look like child's play. He would not be at a disadvantage in this operation.

From experience, Siv arrived early. A bounty hunter late to his target meant no capture, no credits, and often a very irate contractor. The latter also meant that your life expectancy had just been drastically reduced to a few days. "The early Galaar gets the worm," was a common Mandalorian saying among children, but Siv had learned that the proverb rang quite true in many cases. And this was one of them.

The wind whipped his armorweave cloak behind him, the sleet growing heavier now. Soon visibility would be reduced drastically, which was both good and bad. While the worsening conditions would help mask their approach, both from sensors and visual observation, it would also make crossing the terrain of Krownest in vehicles or ships difficult to say the least, and impossible if the storm got any worse. At the very least this camp was rumored to be underground -- Siv wouldn't have to worry about succumbing to the cold before he would get a chance to plunge his ra'gr into any Sith.

Siv had killed so many times that it was second-hand nature to him. But what would be a first would be working alongside the elite forces of the New Imperial Order. The bounty hunter had a healthy distrust of any militant force, and he gave the Imperials no exception; besides, he didn't think they would be able to hold a candle to the caliber of warriors that Mandalorians were. But to as whether they'd prove him wrong? That was anyone's guess.
​

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[The Quartermaster]

M A N D A L O R I A N
E N C L A V E

Objective: Establish Relations with the Emperor
Tag: Rurik Fel | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Lucien Dooku

Bastion.

The heart of Imperial power. The center of the most formidable war machine that the galaxy had seen. Near single-handedly the New Imperial Order had destroyed the Sith Empire, which had been believed to be indomitable. When the Mandalorians had been scattered, the Jedi ineffective, and the Confederacy complacent, it had been Imperial Iron that had finally destroyed the Sith.

For that, the new Empire would always carry the Quartermaster's respect, whether or not they would fight on the same sides of the battlefield.

The Kar'ta be Manda'yaim, descended through Bastion's atmosphere slowly, escorted by two MNV-17 Kyr'am-class Strike Frigates and a contingent of fighter craft. Crimson banners, a kilometer-and-a-half long in length and specially woven to withstand the extreme temperatures of space and planetary travel, streamed from each of the three ships; emblazoned on them was the iron skull of the Mythosaur, the universal herald of the Mando'ade. Pagentry was an unfamiliar art to the Quartermaster, but when presenting themselves to the New Imperial Order, she'd made sure that above all the Mandalorians projected an image of strength. Of vitality. Their message to the galaxy had been clear: no longer are we broken. Even though decadence was unneeded, it was still perhaps necessary in a certain sense.

The starships remained in low orbit several kilometers above Ravelin, respectfully maintaining a distance as to not provoke the capital. Though they meant to project strength, the Quartermaster had no intention to risk failure of the talks that were to take place today. Instead, dropships delivered them to the Fortress Imperator, the seat of the Emperor.

The Quartermaster disembarked onto the fortress, accompanied by twelve warriors of the Si'kayha in double file behind her, an elite escort but nothing more. Alone they marched into the central hall of the Fortress, where they were greeted by the Emperor himself: Rurik Fel, iron-fisted ruler of the New Imperial Order, avenger of all peoples who had been subjugated by the Sith. He greeted the Quartermaster cordially, though his tone betrayed no emotion, good or bad. The Quartermaster's retinue halted several paces before the Emperor, before she responded herself. "Emperor Fel," she replied, acknowledging his presence with a respectful inclination of her head. "It is a great honor to be welcomed to Bastion. I too am grateful that we have met in the halls of diplomacy, not in the midst of a battlefield." She paid close attention to his manner of speech, as well as the man that stood by him.

Dressed in fine clothing, well decorated with medals and commendations, there was a lofty, arrogant tone about him. The way that his eyes combed her armor alluded to his disdain that he likely held for her people. He would not be as good as masking his feelings as the Emperor, she surmised. The helmet of Mandalorians was an advantage in that regard; it was a perfect mask of metal, with no ability for the face to betray the true thoughts a warrior may have.

She respectfully followed the Emperor at his indication, two Si'kayha trailing her while the other ten remained in their formation at the central hall; it would be improper to take such a large force into an enclosed chamber, and the Quartermaster had no wish to offend her hosts. Once inside, she observed that a third man awaited them. Although his robes were no less fine, they were altogether of a quite different style when compared to the first of the Emperor's accompanying officials. They had a more elegant look that contrasted the militaristic flamboyancy of the first's. This one also seemed to at least be well versed in diplomatic procedure, nodding politely towards her before saluting his Emperor. They all took a seat -- the first on the Emperor's left, the second on his right -- and straight away, the talks began.

"Conflict is so abundant in the galaxy these days," She agreed with the Emperor. He was the second Head of State that she'd dealt with; and unlike the Chancellor of the Galactic Alliance, he seemed less a politician and more a warrior. Direct and to-the-case, without the padding that most diplomats preferred. It was a language she was far more comfortable with; the Quartermaster sometimes felt lost in the world of politics, especially the complicated intricacies that aruetti seemed to like so much. It was a deficiency that she would have to repair, like a dent in plating, but for now it stood out as a weakness in her armor. "The Mandalorian Enclave has encountered resistance as we have expanded beyond the safety of the Hefi system." She did not mention Kestri, the true capital of the Enclave; to all non-Mandalorians, Kestri was a world that did not exist, a precaution set in place by the trauma of Mandalore. Even those in the Enclave who did not follow the creed were oblivious to the fact that Hefi was merely a faux, a diversion to those who would wish to cripple Mandalorians once more. "Of course, they have been nothing more than pirates, criminal rabble. Like tares in a field, they fall easily to our scythes. But the dredges of Wild Space will not be the only threat my people face."

Her helmet stared directly at the mask of the Emperor, hiding everything, betraying nothing. She spoke with a matter-of-fact tone, with no emotional appeal infused into her voice; emotion was weakness here, she surmised. And she was a chit actor, anyways. "Draelvasier bands roam our borders. Rumors of this Brotherhood of the Maw and its Final Dawn have reached our ears, and weapons from their attack on Coruscant even found its way into insurgents who wished to create mass destruction with it. And the Confederacy sits on our border like an impending storm; already there have been territorial disputes over the Rothana system, and they refuse to concede Roon, a world that is ours by right. Ignorance is what lead the predecessor states of the Mando'ade to be betrayed by the Sith; we will not be blind to threats against our sovereignty."

She glanced momentarily at the two that sat on either side of the Emperor, gauging their reactions, before continuing. "Trust is not something that is easily earned, especially from a Mandalorian. But you have treated those of my people who fight under your banners well. You avenged us against the Sith. Under Imperial stewardship, the graveworld of Mandalore is no longer desecrated. And so I come to you, offering an alliance between our two states. I am unlike many of my brothers and sisters; I crave peace and a chance to rebuild. But the Galaxy does not heed my wishes, and I fear that war is what we must prepare for. And war is a language that Mandalorians and Imperials know all to well."
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[Noel Strasza]

UNCERTAINTY
THE_IRON_MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR

RAVELIN
870 ABY
​

The storied streets of Ravelin had become more familiar to her, the bustle and move of the crowds, the enforcement of strict policy by the local military around the throat of Fortress Imperator, the squabbles of the underground far from it. It had finally started to feel like home, though it would do little to soothe the resonating ache in her chest for the planet she had personally overseen the destruction of. Carlac had been a necessity, the world had been too far gone to be redeemed, and the same could be said about the displaced peoples she had vetted... and even more so for those she executed. With Fortress Imperator crowded by the meeting with The Enclave, the Lord Executor- and dar'manda- had made herself unavailable, taking a much-needed break from the less desirable portions of her hefty mantle to walk down something of a torturous path.

She had found him on Wistril, he had fled to the fringes of civilization and donned a new moniker to keep himself safe, worried then he would be grouped with the traitors when the time came for justice to be done. And while she had clung to The Empire for stability and safety, knowing full well she would be safe, he did not hold the same mind. Their departure had been brutal, the cyborg had stirred from rest to find he was gone, their shared space vacated of his necessities, with no trace of him left behind. In many ways, she had blamed herself for it. She was never there, not when he needed her to be. Duty had always come first, The Empire's needs above her own, above his own. War knocked on the door, and it was Noel who answered it gladly, always the first to step to the plate and accept whatever hand it was she was dealt.

Julian could not accept these conditions, he could not accept those terms, though he understood her better than anyone ever had managed to, the strain and stress had been far too much for them to bear- the catalyst of all the destruction had come when the traitor Warlord sought to break away and take his planets with him, a trap which had led them all right back down into Dark times. Their marriage simply could not endure the uncertainty of what was to come. It was a painful admission and the realization of it had thrown her headfirst down a destructive path where only one thing mattered: victory.

Strasza cared for little else, now. With her planet gone, her marriage dissolved, and her position, victory reigned as the sole drive which kept her going. It kept her from falling into a state of comatose complacency, from losing herself to the anger she felt, from spurning civilization entirely. From becoming one of them. The Empire had given her everything from the day she had left her people on Krieg, from the day she had become dar'manda, it was where she belonged. And so it was the sole driving force that kept her moving ever forward.

"Lord Executor, we've arrived." the droning voice crackling from the overhead speaker drew her from her considerations, reining back in her thoughts in a reluctant return to reality. She didn't want to do this, truthfully, she would have rather faced the Mandalorians and dealt with their spurn than visit her former husband, but some stones were better turned over, even knowing full well there could be snake nests beneath them. The small AV rumbled with its landing on the roof of the medical facility Julian had been assigned to, the same which treated all of High Command. And though she had avoided him thus far, today she marched into the mouth of the dragon to do precisely that. Mechanization whirred, the woman rising from her seat to approach the door, anxiously smoothing the breast of her uniform. The door was opened by soldiers beyond and she stepped out, returning the stiff salutes offered.

"Lord Executor! What a surprise, we weren't expecting you today, is everything alright ma'am?" the administrative director rushed across the rooftop to the landing pad, meeting the cyborg halfway, panting and out of breath from his unceremonious sprint out of the elevator. A surprise indeed. Strasza looked to him without a word, her crimson eyes as cold as the wind rushing over the growing group, concealing the turmoil bubbling far beneath her scarred visage. She hesitated to speak for a moment, unsure if doing so would elevate this whole ordeal into something far beyond what it should have been, though she found the words shortly thereafter, and uttered them dismissively: "Everything is fine, I'm just here to see an old friend, that's all." He looked almost relieved to hear as much yet almost as soon as he opened his mouth to reply, she spoke out of turn, interjecting: "There's no need to page him or escort me, I'll find my own way. Thanks. Just go about your business as if I'm not here."

He took the dismissal in stride, as did the retinue of security troopers, who all returned to their posts with some reluctance. Left alone with the 501st protectorate in her company, the cyborg turned her focus to them. "Wait here, please. I doubt this will take long."

With hesitation dragging her steps into burden, she pushed off, passing across the windy roof to enter the facility from its access, and patiently awaited for the elevator to arrive. "HUD off." The dead words slipped through her mismatched lips, killing the overwhelming amount of information etched in projected space across her retinas. She needed to focus on what mattered. He would know she was coming, as much she had gleaned from Wistril, when his onboard sensors had picked up her presence and alerted him to her proximity; hers had done the same. Perhaps even more so than she, Julian was sentimental, and some things never changed.

// Julian Qar \\
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[Obran]

FORGED IN LEGEND

Objective: Liberate Camp Gideon
Enclave Tag: Faison Kelborn | Siv Dragr
NIO Tag: Chelenne Akaris | Avenger
​

Survive.

The thought pulsed through the agony as the probe droid extend a cycling, rotating base of needles that pierced his flesh and locked in place. Veins burned alternately hot and cold as the Sith torturer and his Lordly keeper watched him closely for signs of breaking. Information was the coin they sought. Where had so many Mandalorians gone, as Hefi seemed against logic? Who led the exodus many were calling the Enclave, was it truly this Quartermaster figure? What was their goal in long term? Obran merely grinned as the drugs pumped into his system, and threw his head back to laugh, beginning to sing in a raspy, but not always unpleasant tenor.

"Taung sa rang broka Mando'ade ka'r... kar'ta. Dha Werda Verda a'den tratu, Manda'yaim kandosiiiiiii adu. Duum motir ca-ca-ca'tra nau tracinya.
Gra'tua cuun hett su dralshy'a."

Voice wracked with pain, several times the verse of the mando'ad bard broke, quivering with untold pain, but continuing. In a corner sat the ancient and now ruined armor, the ancient mythosaur bone cracked and burned by lightning, his torturer being an expert user of the Force. Lightning had fried any electronics, and ruined the integrity. Blows that hit harder than anyone but an enraged Wookie had cracked the bone plating. His spear sat over to the side, shattered by the haft in three places.

But, blessed or cursed by his peoples innate abilities, Obran knew he wasn't to die. Not yet. But the torturer would die very soon. And so the mando, stripped to his bodyglove and chest bared for flesh-hooks and knives, smiled as his verse came to an end. The Sith stepped in to twist a knife, and Obran lurched forward, biting a chunk of the tip of the Sith's nose off and spitting blood and flesh back at his captors, roaring in pain and laughing as the droid extended a second probe and electricity from it and the Sith in front of him coursed through his body.

Pain blinded him, the world swimming into featureless white, but still he stood tall, despite the chafing of the irons at his wrists and ankles. Sagging into them like some weakling was not an option. Sweat matted hair flew as he screamed in challenge and cursed his captors in mando'a, the metallic smell of his captor's blood and his own filling his keen nostrils. When they had found him, they had severely misunderstood his tenacity. But as the drugs rushed through his veins yet again, he wondered if maybe today were his final day, the pain muting his hearing to a faint buzz momentarily as his voice cut and the world spun in blurred lumps of white and grey.

Yet still, he tossed back his head and glared unseeing into the void, features bristled and appearing an avenging demon rather than captive.

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

OBJ 1
Iron Sun Youth Group
Rurik Fel Caarlyle Rausgeber Lucien Dooku
The Quartermaster

​

"What can those that cannot help themselves offer the Empire?"

The Speaker of the Iron Youth boldly dared.

Politicking was a game he had never had interest in. He had played it to get this point, and it had been enough. He was a straightforward man, never one to waste time to get to the point. His tactics oft followed in a similar vein. Nothing ever needed to be convoluted. Even less so with Mandalorians.

Warrior Race, or... Culture. Scorned multiple times over through the years, as well as outright failure. He didn't even need to look at the display embedded in the table in front of him, Aemilio had done plenty of reading and was well versed in the history of their modern galaxy long before he had dubbed himself 'Imperial.'

"You did not fight the Sith.

Did not fight the Bryn'adul.

Cannot even hold a world you claim to be yours by right."

The Iron Youth had made their motivations clear months ago. No more would Imperial Lives be spent in order to aid 'allies' that could not even help themselves. In a galaxy plagued of Jedi of semantical differences the Imperial had died for each of them. The Galactic Alliance at Ziost, the Silver Jedi at Sev Tok and then at Circumtore, a battle that he and his own had been present at. And before even that, at Korriban for the Ashlan Crusade.

There were some victories then, but most had been defeats. Defeats that were better forgotten than thought of again.

There was no love lost between him, the Jedi, and the people that believed in them. But at least the Jedi had died alongside the Imperial man.

Where were the Mandalorians when the Empire liberated Mandalore? Concord Dawn? Hiding on the other side of the Galaxy? Frightened of the beaten down Sith?

"In this galaxy, the only diplomatic currency is military aid.

Why should Imperials die for you? Why should the Imperial Youth grow up without their parents for those that cannot fight for themselves?"

 

[Julian Qar]

✚ T H R E E _ O F _ S W O R D S ✚
[ radio songs ]
RAVELIN
870 ABY

Invisible.

That is what he had wished to become the day he lifted boots off Carlac for the last time and left his heart behind.

No one would ever know the burden he carried with him all those years he was away. The fear he felt when a blaster was pressed to his dual-plated skull and he was forced to act with his life on the line. The sickening sensation when the sensor in his arm sent him warnings that her essence was dwindling. It was chaotic; over and over until it became some sort of melody he had known the measures to from memory. It made him sick and no drug could stop the nightmares that bound themselves to his ankles like heavily weighted shackles.

Oh burden, Oh guilt, how you’ve become my familiar.

Some nights in Wistril, the doctor would stay up reminded of all those times he stepped out into a Sith bathe warzone, riding on promises spoken by those higher up than him, and yet..a beacon kept him from losing himself in the fray.

It had always been her.

He had not understood then what people meant when they told him that caring for someone and loving someone so deeply could move the very planet he stood on. And yet all he could think of that night, the last night he was with her as he folded away those pieces of them into the tattered duffle and pulled her tags over his head. The only thought in his mind - was keeping her safe, even if that meant leaving her behind. It was a promise he had made so many years ago, with her hand clasped in his, peering down at the ice in her eyes...she was made for more, and he would follow her to the very ends of the galaxy. Even if that meant destroying the only line keeping him afloat now...for her, he would do anything.

He followed close behind, he had followed her throughout the stars, he followed her until the memory of her was wiped from his mind and a freak accident had brought them both back to life again. Even still, he turned the invisible cord in his hand as if somehow it would true up the same feeling in his mechanized core that made his cavity bloom. He had loved her...even if she put him at the tail end of her thoughts because he understood what powered her. Because he chose to love her every day with every breath he had in his synthetic lungs and every beat of his heart.

And in this solitude, he was reminded of all the lives that had been lost and all the people left behind, of all the times he’d wished he was a little louder and of every misstep in his path. And yet...the only Star in his sky was still shining bright.


“Order the two crates...it's fine ta hound them over the credits…” that lazy drawl cut through the silence and how anyone ever took him seriously was anyone's guess. Julian tucked his hands behind his ebony robes, marching down a path he had worn into his new office in Ravelin. It was larger than the shoebox he had inherited in Carlac. The amenities were perfect and to his specification, down to the staff he worked with that didn’t require so much guidance like the rowdy bunch he kept under his wing. “Sir, are you sure?” A young cybernetics operator was thumbing through the invoice at rapid speeds to make sense of the parts order for some undisclosed project he’d been working on.

“Yea, I’m sure. How do you reckon we’re gonna stay within our budget if th-” his voice had been cut short when the sensor in his arm started thumping away with the steady cadence of a heartbeat he had known from memory. The doctor exhaled sharply, the augmented anxiety sensor had kicked in and thrust upon him an array of synthetic symptoms. He’d wished he had not had that chipset installed some years ago. “Sir?" The operator stole his focus, leading Julian’s eyes away from his forearm and then back to the man. “Yea..I’m....m’jus fine. Gimme a minute, I’ll get back to you on that invoice…” He couldn’t recall if there was a worble in his voice or if the words he had used were in fact coherent. The operator stepped away, leaving the cybernetic medic behind in the sterile lights of his office, alone again. The doctor stood there, reluctant, yet, he looked down at the sensor that wore her name, tapping a sequence to bring up her location...he could see her getting closer….and closer.





█ █ █
|| Noel Strasza ||

 

[Noel Strasza]

HESITATION
THE_IRON_MAIDEN
LORD EXECUTOR

RAVELIN
870 ABY
​

She had come to cherish moments like this when she occupied space to herself and was left with only the soft mechanical thrum of the heart in her chassis to listen to. The three-beat rhythm had grown more rapid with every level of the tower she drifted through until it was just that; a hum. Between her hands she creased and soothed the beret removed after crossing the threshold of the building, her idling eyes shifting down to admire the worn fabric, the insignia of IMPSOC pinned across its face, the finger-picked threading along the lower seam from anxious build-ups to meetings much like this one. She didn't suffer the same anxieties she once had, her adaptation to the spotlight and speaking directly to her peers outside of AOs had done that much for her. Now the anxiety that often bubbled up somewhere within her that was still human felt far more real. It felt stronger, more powerful as if it had been dwelling undisturbed long enough to gather its full might for the next assault.

Noel endured it, unflinching, allowing herself the rare chance to process and feel it, understanding why it had picked such an opportunistic moment to creep from the shadows and periphery of her thought. Truthfully, she had not gone through the stages she had been coached to in order to move on from the most insidious of her wounds. It was a loss, in a way, worse than if he had just died was knowing he was still out there somewhere, and he didn't want anything to do with her anymore. Mourning his death would have been far easier than grieving their heartbreak. So, she had thrown herself eagerly into work, hoping to bury it all beneath the strain of her responsibilities. It was the only way she knew how to process her emotions, and up until recently, it seemed to work. "Sh*t."

But there was always one particularly stubborn foe, wasn't there? One engagement that could leave her stumped and struggling. It wasn't on the battlefield she faced her most daunting opponent yet, it was in these moments, these tranquil moments, when her nerve got the best of her, and she struggled to wrestle her emotions back out of her thoughts. The Lord Executor overturned the beret and tucked it beneath the leather span of her belt, freeing her hands to toy with one another instead. 30. 29. 28. The floors seemed to pass by more rapidly now, narrowing her window of opportunity to figure out just what it was she wanted to say to him. What it was she wanted to do when she saw him. She had made the decision to visit months ago, and it wasn't until she could find some sort of tactful excuse to do so that she arranged for it to happen. 26. 25.

Strasza sucked in a deep breath, holding it into greedy lungs as the tides rose to her chin, threatening her with their strength. She couldn't be dragged under, not today, not now. There was far too much to do. 23. 22. Time was running short, and it was too soon that she would stand outside of the door of his office, struggling to arrange the words she had chosen. 21. 20. It was better to sort it out now than to wait. "RAVELIN CYBERNETICS DIVISION." The AI managing the lift chimed up over the speaker. Time was up, and the silvered doors opened slowly, splitting her reflection down the center, and she gazed beyond to study the sterile corridor for a second longer. Doctors and technicians roved about, weaving in and out of offices and patient rooms to tend to their responsibilities. A nurse noticed her, the man stopping mid-stride to open his mouth, calling the floor's attention to her arrival.

It was all she could do to shout in equal measure for everyone to carry on with what they were doing.

Out of the elevator, the cyborg's heavy steps carried her down the tiled floor, her augmented eyes flickering over each placard she passed by, until at last, she settled before the office bearing his name:

JULIAN QAR
CYBERNETICS DIVISION LEAD
09-635B
​

Strasza took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, pausing briefly with her hand resting atop the door handle. She withdrew it just as quickly, sucking in the hollow of a cheek to gnaw between her mismatched jaws until the taste of blood urged her to stop such petty ticking. The same hand curled into a fist and she knocked upon the door.

// Julian Qar \\
​

 

[The Quartermaster]

M A N D A L O R I A N
E N C L A V E​

Objective: Establish Relations with the Emperor
Tag: Rurik Fel | Caarlyle Rausgeber | Lucien Dooku | Aemilio Valaar

The Quartermaster turned slowly to look at the new voice that had spoken -- the loud, posturing, abrasive one of a boy. Her helmet concealed her raised eyebrow, but she took no offense nor grew irate. Every Empire must have its fiery youth to propel it forward, less it fall prey to stagnation and rot. That did not make the flames of this boy's passion any less inflammatory, however.

"I reiterate; I come seeking alliance, not begging for aid," she said patiently, albeit coolly, looking directly at the speaker before turning her helm back to face the Emperor. Ultimately from what she gathered, it was the Emperor's decision that mattered, and it was him that she must sway. "As you know, my Mandalorian forces fight alongside the New Imperial military on the world of Krownest, as we speak. And if that is not testament enough to our strength, we have fought the Sith too. On Mandalore, twice, aiding our brothers in freeing and then cleansing that world. On Korriban, the Sith homeworld, desecrating its sacred temples. The Sith Lord Darth Maliphant is our captive." She could've spoken about how the Mandalorians had rid Kestri of its Yuuzhan Vong in a brutal war, when the Enclave had only been a fraction of their current strength now. But such claims would lead to questions, and those questions would lead down a path that the Quartermaster could not allow herself to follow. Better not to mention it at all.

"We do not have the same capacity for war, yet, that is true," she admitted. "Yet it is foolish to mistake that for weakness. The Emperor knows best the strength of Mandalorian warriors -- I am told a number won great honor and glory on the front lines of the Sith-Imperial War. If we must defend our borders, all threats and encroachments on our territory, alone? Then we shall do so. We may be glorious in victory. We may suffer crushing defeat. Yet should the Enclave dissolve tomorrow, the Mando'ade will continue, that I can assure. That is the strength of my people."

The Quartermaster's voice resumed its matter-of-fact tone, lacking of emotion. Purely business, as if this was an every-day barter in the Ji'yr Market. "I come here not to beg, but to seek alliance, for the New Imperial Order stands to gain much more than blood and tears. Once the common threat of the Maw is extinguished, do you think the Galactic Alliance and Silver Jedi Concord will continue to tolerate an Imperial presence on their borders? The Confederacy operates on a whim, and rumors circulating among the Outer Rim say that the old Vicelord, Darth Metus, has been reinstated to his throne. Will the New Imperial Order stand by as another Sith Empire rises to take the former's place?"

"The way I see it," she concluded, "our interests align. Our two nations have the most cause for vengeance against the Sith. Who know the best that they must not be allowed to rise. It is better that we fight together, and complement each other's mutual strengths as we are doing know on Krownest, than to try and stand alone."

​