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

[Michael Barran]

SECOND POST
THE_CAIRNSMAN
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

OBJECTIVE 1: FALSE FLAG

ALLIES (NIO): Lachlan Sinclair Dante Corvus Shai Maji Chelenne Akaris
Volgin Alto Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones

ALLIES (ENCLAVE): Kranak Vizsla Vulcan Krayt Alora Vizsla
Siv Dragr Lesha Priest

Enemies: helloo? Anybody there?

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
FRAGARACH DISRUPTOR PISTOL
VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

CANCELLED RESURGENCE: THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN - PART 2

'Hm, naw am not, lucky fer ye. Even still, ye got 'at monitor hevny ye? Best te keep a close eye on it, cannae be tae careful. My heart spikes up over aboot a hunner-ten, ye'll see th' mean mug.'

That very same mean mug that could save mah hide in the future.... Glad he's on oor side anyway.​

Exhaling smoke through his nostrils, Lachlan took his chance to enjoy a cigarette while there was still time to do so, just as Lord Michael was doing in that moment, only the Laird was exhaling through the left side of his mouth as he turned to hear out his bodyguard, heard saying,'I dae a good job keepin' it caged, but if'n I get gluffed bad, well... 'at'll be 'at.', over the heavy, whistling winds around them. With eyes returning to the narrowing tunnel ahead, Lachlan then asked,'Fit's th'plan then? We sneakin' up te flank 'em?', with eyebrow cocked at quite a pertinent time, as they would need to be on the same page if they didn't want to make any errors in the next phase of the operation. Michael would offer a silently gestured nod with a shrug as if to say,"Something like that, aye.", before being halted in his attempt to lead the way to the hidden basement entrance. Yet another boon to having a Werewolf as bodyguard, yet another blessing for Michael's next deployment was about to present itself, and judging by the look in Sinclair's eyes, this part would be like second nature to someone who wouldn't mind utilising lesser aspects of their lycanthropy for situations like this.

'An'... best let me take point, I can still see plain as day.'

Gallous, man. Absolute class.​

With rifle shouldered and pointed in towards the tunnel, Lachlan was seen digging his teeth into the filter of his cigarette as he paced in ahead with his posture lowered in anticipation of the shortening aspects of the tunnel itself; and then, seeing this state of working flow in his new friend as the shadows enveloped him, Barran would follow suit in shouldering weapon, lowering posture and making his way in to the lower-basement levels of the fortress. Even then, the Wanderer couldn't help but pass one last comment on the matter before adopting Op-Sec behaviours for both their sake, expressing his surprise in drawling,'Even before transformation? Mate, that's absolute class.... By all means, Lachlan. I'll cover that any day, especially if it gies us both a clear advantage in the dark. An' I'll be keepin' that in mind for future reference an'aw, that's for sure!', as the heavy winds steadily faded to silent obscurity behind them.

CANCELLED RESURGENCE: THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN - PART 3

'Careful at the opening, twenty-metre drop, but there's a ladder just beneath as ye reach out.'

After roughly ten minutes of hunching, crab-walking and eventually crawling, the southern maintenance tunnel's opening to the lower-basement floors would begin to widen out for them almost 200 metres away from the laddered opening ahead, giving the rather-cramped Woads a chance to stretch and alleviated tensile pressures on their upper and lower-backs, their knees and even their ankles and wrists by the time the tunnel started widening again. Then, when they were finally shoulder to shoulder again, looking down to the frozen underground gravel beneath them, Lord Michael turned to Lachlan to whisper,'Keep me covered, won't take long.... You've shown me wan o' your tricks, time t'show ye wan o' mine.', as his free hand swiped below for the top rungs of the ladder he needed to get down to the gravel below. Barran then pulled the ladder up until it locked into place before offering a jokey salute at the start of his descent, catching a glimpse of his bodyguard detaching his rifle's bipod before seeing nothing but frozen brickwork and ladder-rungs for the rest of the way down, glad that he at least had someone with him for the following proceedings.

I can tell already that this is gawnty hurt a bit.... Oh, well. Here we go then.​

He couldn't walk across the gravel without being heard, nor could he use the lower edges of a tunnel that he knew was no longer available to him, so Lord Michael was left with no other choice but to use his talents at a distance that had not been tested before, incurring great risk of being discovered no matter which choice was made. Despite this, the Wanderer didn't mind, as it seemed that Lord Michael was out to test himself anyway, always eager to improve on the achievements made in simpler times. Not that it mattered, as all the Sith-troopers guarding the doorway in the distance seemed to lack the appropriate power required to overcome a Force-Using Druid of Michael's ilk, and thus lacked any real discernible response to any of the Woad's methods; no problem for an individual like Lord Michael, readying himself as he noted exactly how many guards were manning their post, then kneeling in anticipation of the pain.

Five on the left, four on the right - two in the center.... Grab the shooting hands, not the disruptors they're hoooldiiiiiiing.... NOW!!!​

Utilising telekinesis that had not been practiced in over five years by that point, Barran forced the hands of his enemies to shoot at their own comrades, and even as the Sith-troopers tried to wrest control of their blasters from the grip of (what they all assumed was the work of-) unseen assailants as their fingers continued to pull the disruptors' triggers on their comrades. If it had been fewer, the struggle and pull-back from Michael's enemies would've pained him a fair deal less than the struggle he was dealing with in that moment, like every pull against his mind was inducing it's own individual migraine in the Wanderer's head, like each attempt to snatch their trigger-fingers away was bludgeoning his skull repetitively. And yet, despite the pain, the Wanderer knew he'd endeavoured the hardest part of his trick, continuing on without any complaint or regret there to further bog his efforts down.

'Kark it! Just a little more.... GYAH!!! Just two more to go, Lachlan! Go for it!'

Making matters easier would be the fact Lachlan's good aim would help Michael along a little, but the damage was done, and the Wanderer's pain wouldn't subside; pacing over to check for signs of life, Barran would then find himself face down in the freezing-cold gravel his feet were no longer able to walk on, barely conscious by the time Sinclair had climbed down and caught up. The only things that kept the Lycanthrope from checking on the Druid's pulse was a mixture of both hearing the Laird's heartrate with ease and in hearing the pained groans in his stupor, and as Michael tried to find Lachlan through the agonizing white-flashes, Lachlan would be able to hear him mumbling,'Gies - five.... Will - catch - up!', before completely losing the Wanderer to his temporary comatose state. The Laird would be in a better physical predicament before long, this they both knew well enough not to worry about it, so this part of the process would go as emotionlessly smooth as could be expected of two grown Goidels in the crucible, calmer than most under fire.

 

[Jalter Volff]

Location: Krownest
Objective: Operation False Flag
Tags: Interacting Open to Interaction | Vicinity Michael Barran Shai Maji Kranak Vizsla Vulcan Krayt Volgin Alto Lesha Priest Alora Vizsla Eliz Krayt Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones | Sorry if I forgot anyone
Ship: TIE/HB Bruiser
Flight: x2 TIE/HB Bruiser

Lost Comrades
Darkstar​

Jalter stood inside the hanger of the Borosk's Vengeance, looking out to the icy world below as the cruiser sat in low orbit. He had never met a Mandalorian nor had he taken much interest in them, their famed skills as warriors or their abilities to take on Jedi in hand-to-hand combat weren't concerns the starfighter pilot shared. Nonetheless here he was, called upon to liberate one of their worlds along with the rest of the battlegroup. He turned and walked to his tie bruiser and ran his hand across the white stripes which adorned the fighter, signifying its place within Darkstar's Bomber Flight. Jalter took a second to look around to the other TIEs which lined the hanger, bare and grey and it reminded him of his lost comrades. Dubrillion was the costliest battle and the last time he saw the squadron fight as one. He never saw Cheapshot in the post mission brief and Bombshell burned up before his eyes. He had heard rumours that his former second Arten Jinn had been deployed to the Raioballo Sector after the battle but never managed to get in contact.

As he stood there a familiar voice chimed in. "Tech's are done boss, time to mount up." he heard Crater say, one of the few that had been with him since the start that were left. Jalter gave a nod before putting his helmet on.

"Are the rest of the flight going to make it to the fight?" he said while climbing the ladder up to the cockpit and throwing down a satchel filled with the flight plan datapad, SERE kit and other essentials he'd need.

"Nope, they're still in transit. We'll rendezvous with them along with the rest of the squadron on the Karak Marasiah once this is all over and the Vengeance goes back to rearm and refuels over at Agamar."

Jalter switched his helmet over to comms as he descended into the cockpit and began making ready, first plugging in the datapad with the flight plan into the Bruiser's droid brain. "So just you and me then. Well we should still be able to do some damage." he continued. After Dubrillion the Bomber flight had remained in the Braxant Run, absorbed into the garrison at Mygeeto, a quiet posting and a bit of R&R after the Braxant Run Campaign. Now though with the Maw emerging they were once again mobilized for war.

Jalter's fingers danced away on the control pad and the cockpit lit up and soon Volff's HUD was bombarded with information. He turned on the bomber's engines before looking at the mission brief the Bomber pilot took a second to take in all the information. "Looks like pure ground support this time. No sign of any enemy fighters but a quite few AA batteries dotted around." he said through the secure comms channel with Crater.

"Just the way we like it." Jalter heard him reply and couldn't help but smirk under his black helmet. Before he could get a reply on a red light flashed on the control panel, indicating the engines had warmed up and were ready to go. The two bombers lifted up to a hover in the hanger and Jalter quickly changed over comm channels to the FTC. "Brawler 3-1 to FTC, 3-1 and 3-2 are taxiing and ready take off." he said in a calm voice. He let his hand rest on the ships throttle, ready to punch it forward once he got the go ahead.

"FTC to Brawler 3-1, you have the green light for take-off. Happy hunting" and with that the two Bombers shot out the hanger, letting out the classic screech of all TIE class starfighters. Volff felt the bomber shake as the planets icy winds and perpetual snow caused turbulence but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Jalter flicked a switch activating the ships dampeners and soon he was smoothly flying through the air.

As they flew towards their target his radar blipped as friendly callsigns showed up on screen. "Dagger, right on schedule" he said to himself as he drew up the flight plan once more. The two bombers certainly weren't the only ones in sky and they simply had to wait in line before going in for an attack run. He switched comms over to Crater and spoke. "Get comfortable we got a bit of a wait. Maybe we'll see if these Dagger Squadron pilots are any good." he said with a chuckle. Part of being Darkstar was thinking you were better than the rest, them customizing their fighters with 'stripes' to stand out made this more than obvious.

 

[Lucien Dooku]

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

9 AM IN BASTION
Rurik Fel RIP Carlyle Rausgeber Aemilio Valaar The Quartermaster

“Childishness is a common enough sin amongst humans. Perhaps we should not be so quick to judge.”

The Warlord spoke up, scanning across the table, sweeping an impassive pair of eyes over to the fiery representative of the Tavlar Youth. He settled upon the young man with idle contemplation, his expression a mixture of boredom and introspection. He had spirit, Lucien would admit, though it was a shame that such energy had been guided down a path he deemed detrimental at best, and self-destructive at worst. Aspects of the melanated adolescent reminded him of a time long past; Lucien had been in his shoes, with the enigmatic Tavlar taking the spot of Rurik, and Lucien filling the role as the outspoken idealist.

Perhaps Lucien still was that same idealist, keen to speak his mind, even when the galaxy rallied against him, but he'd long picked up on the nuances of statecraft and diplomacy as wisdom and experience filled the void where idealism had taken root. Regardless of the validity that some of Aemillio's claims had, there was a time and place for everything in this cold world they inhabited. The cohabitation of nation-states within a galaxy dominated by conflict did not always require one to place their cards so openly on the table, even more so when the might of the New Imperial war machine was the most prolific bargaining tool that their Empire had to offer.

His gaze retreated away from the youth, shuffling past his fellow Warlord with disdain, and settling upon the Quartermaster at last.

"An alliance between our Empire and your Enclave, while plausible on paper when layered with inflammatory rhetoric and shared feelings of hatred for the eternal enemy of the galaxy, is simply not an equitable arrangement when you take into account every factor that revenge does well to disguise."

He continued on, impartial in tone, raising his points without the brazen idealism of the newest generation to arise, nor the devious opportunism being presented by his colleague across the table.

"The truth is rather simple; an alliance between our states would imply our mutual commitment to the destruction of our enemies, shared or not. The Enclave, despite what accomplishments it has in its name, does not currently have the economic and military footing to stand on the same level as our Empire-- and I say this with the utmost respect if I might add. For us to agree to a mutual alliance between states, the New Imperial state must be willing to accept the possibility to bring total war upon the behemoth of a state that sits to the immediate west of your borders. Even if we assume the goal of your people is not to lead a crusade against those with who you once were acquainted, the fact of the matter remains that it's a strategic possibility we must take into account."

Luc paused, just enough to allow his words to sink in thoroughly.

"On the other hand, this same possibility also lies in the reverse as well. It is you, as the one who guides the Enclave, who must consider the undeniable fact that the New Imperial war machine does not rest. We live in a galaxy inherently hostile to the ideas of Imperialism, no matter the form it takes. Though my own sense of idealism brings me to odds with many of my comrades, I'm at no illusion that we look forwards to a time of Pax Imperialis until the forever enemy has been eradicated from the galaxy. A task that the Jedi and the Alliance have long floundered in achieving. Neither the great Jedi orders nor the Alliance inhabiting the Core had the resolve to finish the mission. We fight because it is what we must do. We are defiant till the end-- the destruction of the Sith Empire speaks volumes to this."

He cocked his head, a familiar smirk curling upon his lips.

"If we ask you to commit to total war, to see the destruction of any and all foes to come, will your people stand behind this? Consider this-- for it is what we must consider for our people as well. Without this understanding, an alliance is not feasible. What you seek is a pact to establish relations, to a varying degree of interoperability and commitment to each other's ambitions, but I highly doubt that the Enclave has the grit to truly be a permanent fixture to the New Imperial cause."​

 

[Aemilio Valaar]

OBJ 1
Rurik Fel Caarlyle Rausgeber Lucien Dooku
The Quartermaster

​

The Emperor demanded silence, in a way that did not leave room for the imagination.

And Aemilio, ever the staunch loyalist managed a nod in response. Though soon after, once his gaze was redirected to the Quartermaster, he couldn't help but feel disgust rising up into his throat as he suppressed the need to spit.

The Quartermaster's implied equality of life to the forces at Krownest was enough to make his stomach turn. As if another Sith-Imperial Remnant that was trapped within their borders being put down was a feat worthy of being writ in the books of blood spent tearing down the once thought impregnable walls of the Sith Empire.

While he had wrapped his negative disposition toward the Mandalorian in the emotional bonds of lost parenthood, there was a wasted thought to possibility of an answer, that could've been deemed worthy. Instead, the Quartermaster had settled on touting forgetful feats that no one truly cared for, or even remembered. Supposed Warrior tradition, forced to be explained in a way that made their petite contributions grand.

He couldn't help but smile, unable to help being impressed at how... Unimpressive Mandalorians had become.

These were the descendants of those that had terrorized the Republic of Old? Launched an asteroid into Dromund Kaas when battling the Sith Empire of decades prior?

What brought him back was Dooku's sly way of speaking -- When had he returned from whoring in the Alliance?

"This Enclave is no different than the Jedi. Requiring Imperial assistance to point them in the direction of where the fight lies."

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
URSA'S REDOUBT | KROWNEST
ABSOLUTE PAIN: Jon Kovacs
ALLIES: Volgin Alto | Dante Corvus | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Alora Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Eliz Krayt | Michael Barran | Lachlan Sinclair | IMLESHA | @whoever else
ENEMIES: Blah
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives

STARS

<"Broke? Me? On a TIE pilot's take-home? Don't let ISB hear you saying that, Jones.">

Del actually laughed.
<Too late, Kovacs. They already did. Better watch yourself.> she shot back with a grin of her own. Jokes aside, their pay wasn't crap. Despite all the protocols and swearing to the Emperor and stuff, life actually wasn't bad. Ever since being a proper pilot, life had been substantially better than it was growing up.

<"And yeah, miss me with the notes - you try sitting through an hour of Hardass' rant without catching a few winks in between, pfft.">

<Hey, you take those briefings upon yourself. So suck it up, buttercup. Or let a grown up in there next time.> she smirked. He was such a guy about it, it was almost comical. He had the attention span of a nanite leg.

<"Real talk, though, I don't think I've ever met a Mando - well, except that wide receiver in the Academy who claimed his dad was one. Didn't even know we had Mandos in the Empire, except those guys livin' on Concord Dawn after, you know, the Sith... did a number on 'em.">

She heard it. Didn't dare comment on it, but she was no insensitive brick wall either. He didn't have to know that, though.
<Yeah, they pretty spread out, ain't they? Tho I did run into one of them...what was it...Son of Mandalore or Sixteen or something?....the other day. Didn't say much. It was all silent T-visor and white armour. And maybe a grunt with that funky greeting of theirs.> she said, recalling the moment she literally walked smack dab into the beskar figure twice her size. Not the most pleasant interaction she had had in her short military career, but hey, who's counting?

<You think those grunts down there even need CAS? Or we just burning solars out here?> It had been fairly quiet on the designation comms up to that point.

 

[Rurik Fel]

E M P E R O R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
SOVEREIGN IMPERATOR
Iron Skin | Lightsaber
Lucien Dooku | Aemilio Valaar | Caarlyle Rausgeber
The Quartermaster

EMPEROR GRINDSET
RAVELIN '70​

Rurik narrowed his gaze as his retinue piped up once more. He allowed Lucien his place to speak, the sentiment largely being augmentory to Rurik's own rather than outright contradictory. He offered nothing further onto it. That was until Aemilio Valaar, the Imperial Stormtrooper Lieutenant of the Iron Sun Youth Group piped up without an inquiry being initiated to him directly.

The Emperor's gaze immediately snapped in the direction of Valaar, speaking up in his frigid tone.

"IY-0568, you are dismissed." He all but commanded, his gaze of faint argent searing into Valaar's. To be in the presence of Imperial High Command was a right to no one, it was a privilege, one that could be revoked by Fel's will alone and Valaar had expended that privilege. Looking back toward the Quartermaster, he re-established decorum.

Motioning a hand toward the Mandalorian as if gesturing for her to speak at her own behest.

 

[Dante Corvus]

M Y R M I D O N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
LORD-COMMANDER OF THE 173RD. LEGION "MYRMIDONS"
Michael Barran Lachlan Sinclair Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

BETWEEN ANGELS AND INSECTS

Duracrete belched into the air, splintered fragments of the Sith fortifications now raining down upon the advancing New Imperial reinforcements, sent forwards to claim trenches left barren in the aftermath of the Myrmidons' swift assault. Hovering several feet in the air, Dante watched the chaos unfold from behind the protective visor of his helmet, tracing his eyes through the rubble for any signs of survivors. It only took a moment to confirm that none had survived because, in fact, none had been left alive in the first place.

He dropped to the ground a few moments later, an idle hand swiping away the soot that flaked upon the alabaster of his armor. "All clear." He called out through his comms, only to stop himself from rallying the company to another section of the frontlines once the soot cleared the air, and an eye-catching glint of steel bounced off his visor. Two fingers pressed together, swiveling in the air for the Myrmidons nearby to see. His second-in-command stepped to his side, flanked by the rest of Dante's command squad. Dante motioned towards the rubble with that same hand that beckoned his men to his side, motioning towards the metallic sheen that peered through the surrounding debris. Two of his men immediately went to work picking through the debris, rifles slung across their shoulders, vibroweapons sheathed once more.

"What is it, Lord Commander?" His second-in-command spoke up, the Devaronian lieutenant being inquisitive as always, yet keenly doing his best to distract Dante from sending him to assist in the removal of the rubble.

Dante shrugged softly. "No clue." He replied, not entirely certain himself. "But whatever it is, the fates must've intended for it to catch my eye."

"...I see." Not being one for matters of the spirit, the Devaronian simply accepted the Lord Commander's word for what it was. Dante had led them through hell and back on more occasions than one, and the Myrmidons as a whole had survived terrible odds based solely upon the instinctual abilities their commander possessed. Now would prove no different, as the last of the rubble was thrown to the side, revealing a durasteel trapdoor about the size of a man and half.

"Bingo." The Devaronian smirked beneath the helmet, only to glance upon Dante, and shift that smirk down to an acceptable level of straight-faced at the best.

It took two men to open the hatch, revealing a single set of winding stairs that evidently descended down beneath the remains of the bunker. Dante could feel it in his soul, that the stairway he now faced was the direction he was intended to go.

"Hmmm." Contemplation preceded his orders, which his Lieutenant would follow without hesitation. "Take half the company -- third and fourth platoons -- and continue providing assistance to our allies across the frontlines."

His second-in-command retreating from his side, the whine of his jetpack heralding his ascent into the air. Half of the company joined in the chorus of the Myrmidons' ascendance, soaring further into the sky until they were little but specks to the naked eye. The rest of the company lined up to Dante's rear, following their Commander in step as he disembarked into the darkness of the stairwell.

Several minutes passed, the spiraling stairs growing darker with each flight descended. Had it not been for their helmets' night-vision setting, perhaps the soldiers would've been at a disadvantage in the case that an ambush awaited them. What awaited them was nothing of the sort, as their eyes caught sight of the bottom floor of the connected line of bunkers, trenches, and defensive emplacements. A massive blast door stood in view, blocking them from whatever laid behind its protective wall of steel.

Chatter clicked through the comms of their helmets as each platoon summoned their ordinance experts to the Lord Commander's side. Dante gave no guidance for what would follow next; each of the men removed their carried heavy ordinance, carefully attaching them around its weak points, then signaling to Dante that everything was set. Rejoining their companies once done, Dante unsheathed his vibro-axe once more, letting the weapon hum idly at his side while they waited for the explosive timers to reach their zenith. The monotonous tone counted down from ten, slowly bleeping its way to the finale, bringing with it a pinpoint explosion that certainly did its job.

Boom.
​

---

​

---

Some would consider the scene that unfolded next to be nothing short of pure chaos, pandemonium at its finest. To the veterans of the First, the bloodletting that ensued after their insertion into the sub-levels was a masterpiece without equal; a symphony of death beset the defenders on all sides as the elite stormtroopers blitzed their defensive positions in almost perfect harmony, vibroweapons buzzing with life in the steadied grip of their hands. Decimating their ranks without breaking their tempo, the massacre that ensued was over before the defenders could truly grasp the concept of their lives being forfeit. Reduced to an accumulation of viscera and offal, and not a single Myrmidon lost to the vermin they sought to exterminate.

Onwards they went, pushing forwards through the darkness to encroach upon the awaiting defenders. Flashes of light glittered through the air, the smell of burnt tibanna being filtered through their helmets, along with the equally potent scent of blood in the air. The warriors of the 173rd. danced through the darkness with finesse, separating into hunting packs of handfuls at most as their combined shock tactics overwhelmed all who stood in their way.

The Sith-Imperials facing the blade-wielding Myrmidons were outclassed and outmatched at every angle and bend they tried to defend, the last of their memories being the terrifying croon of vibroblades and axes rending their flesh apart. With their commander at the head of their advance, there remained none who were left functionally alive, nor capable of standing in the way of their momentum. Guided solely by the instinct of Dante alone, they proceeded forth into the obscurity of the basement's sub-levels, delivering death to those few who unfortunately remained in their path.

-

Only half an hour had passed since their descent into darkness had started in earnest, and the number of defenders who attempted to repel them had been reduced to less than a trickle. Dante assumed they were rallying their numbers, assuming a greater numerical advantage was their best chance to survive. Tactically inept was the word he'd use to describe such a strategy. His men were clearly far more potent warriors than anything the Sith-imperials could mobilize, yet still, their fanatical devotion to the Lords of the Dark Side would bring them to their death.

He nonetheless readied his men for the inevitable final push, only to signal them all to a halt once something new eventually came into view.

"Bodies." One of the Myrmidons behind him blurted out, pointing out the corpses that they clearly did not slay themselves.

"Someone's been interfering in our hunt." Another chimed in, chatter proceeding to take place amongst the men.

Dante signaled them to silence the banter, stepping ahead of the group to get a clear picture of the scene at hand. He counted a dozen dead as he approached, only to bump that number down to eleven as he switched his vision to thermal. The one at the center was several degrees hotter than the rest, prompting him to approach the fallen individual, confirming the man was not dead, nor was he a Sith-Imperial.

Hands shifted to the bottom of his helmet, twisting at the vacuum-sealed clamps until a whining hiss beckoned its removal off his head. He recognized the man at the center of the bodies, a hand hovering beneath his nose confirming that he was thankfully alive as well. Gripping the man by the scruff of his collar, Dante held the man upright, calling over First Platoon's corpsman to take his place, along with checking the man's condition.

"Vitals are stable-- a bit high, but he ain't dead or dying." The medic replied, a hand still bracing the young Laird upright.

Dante knelt down in front of him, placing his helmet on the ground next to him. The rest of his men dispersed across the area, securing it, along with disposing of the bodies that circled the fallen Galidraani. A pat on the cheek followed, delivered with just enough force to be right beneath calling it an outright slap to the face.

"Michael Barran." Dante spoke up, peering into the unconscious man's features. "Your father would be disappointed if you were to fall in battle to this glorified army of filth."​

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

R E N E G A D E
New Imperial Order
Combined Fire Team of the former 193rd Infantry Regiment "Vindicated"
Lapse

Dante Corvus Michael Barran

​

There was no trench to wide, waged land, or barricade that would delay them. A broken mirage reflected across the trio’s blast plate, Sybila’s form and foot deaf as they scaled over duracrete. Soldier's boots scraping down the incline as a heavy cloud of dust settled over the sector, the systems sun burning high overhead bathing them in a hellish orange glow. They were somewhere wedged between two encroaching lines, signatures populating across the map. Stray plasma shots whizzed and ricocheted off the demolition. Beneath their feet another ordinance shook the earth, flames erupting on the rise through the haze. Matte barrels were raised, each of the fire team's sights were locked in on scopes as they crept forward in unison, circling covering each inch in the advance.

The rifle was encumber some and foreign for once in her hands, digits fumbling over the power cell locking it in. Wrath was in short supply, a long drained well-like her purpose. Her forearm twisted the rifle in hand as eyes scanned the cartridge checking her sights, she had yet to fire a single shot but the numbers still lingered in her mind.

The Myrmidons’ presence wasn’t difficult to track, an open ended goal, but even in orbit the woman had begun to question this inquiry that had been birthed from a pipe dream. Their descent-silent. They moved on the back leg of the siege, though all the while an absence loomed over her mind’s eye. Doubt, as ugly a feeling it festered the further they navigated the blitz. The woman had made the order and would see it through or find answers otherwise.

The electrified hum of shields crackled as their presence slowly grew drab and distant to the eye, reflecting terrain and fire as they skirted fallen pillars. A single black clad hand rose, two fingers saluting as the woman motioned on the twelve, an open gap in their search. Rushed footsteps duly echoed across the duracrete. Ban was the first to slip past her and their visors met wordlessly, exchanging nods as they tracked the rough set of coordinates on the cerulean map. Aurbesh encoded across the corner of the HUD reset, ticking down until new codes were assigned-flickering-hiding them in plain sight amongst the rank of Imperial soldier.

It had been years since she had committed to the patience of stealth, it was alien and unsuited to what she had become. She relied now more then ever on Ban, there was a hesitancy behind her hand-one she couldn't count on anymore. There was no peace when one became the unfortunate prey, no privacy behind closed doors, or hidden links that COMPNOR wouldn’t unearth.

She was to either adapt or perish in it’s tide. Tethered by some fond memory of loyalty. The truth lacked the searing pain once accompanied with sobering reality, it’s absence was fueled by mortality. What more did any of it matter, where so much death had occurred across a system-across the universe waged in war. When it had started with simple whispers in the Daragon Trail ten years prior. Sybila could not longer recall it all, only the straw that had broke the bantha's back. After it all even the best laid plan had fallen apart to greater galaxy’s politics. Irveric's death-Sybila heaved heavy sigh as she pushed herself forward, shadowing behind the Zabrak. It was pointless to remind herself to sharpen her focus, a losing battle. They were souls adrift in the chaos, and she sought a way out. It was a quiet thing, opening one's self up and dissecting the worst of one's self.

She had to live with herself in the end, and nothing else was working now. Gauntlets tightened on the stock of the blaster until the metal threatened to give.

They’d diagnosed her with some form of mania, deep rooted psychosis-she was calm now. Coherent even. That in itself terrified her. It had been a long time since the fog lifted. Sybila had woken up one day, the wool no longer clouded her vision. The agitation that spurred her..what ever had shifted in her. Sybila was tired and knew it was time to find an old friend-though she wondered now who needed who more.

They had chosen what color they wore and flag they flew, but the Empire and New Order hardly were any different now. A pity truly, this was what her loyalty had tied itself up in-another ceaseless war. Lucien wouldn't settle for it as far as she knew.

Her lover though, Irveric..he remained the center of this all-it would be a letter un penned and goodbyes whispered silently into the night and put to bed finally. Maybe not in this backwater world, but it was arriving. She couldn't find it in herself to mourn any more then she had. Irveric had been married to the trenches, this she had reflected on long in solitude and fully embraced whilst adrift on the fringes of wild space. Avernus had played the agitator, and Kascalion..he held the looming curtain call she wanted to flee from and burn simultaneously. These ghosts, these demons weren't a priority here, rock scattered over head as a pop shot exploded off their flank reminding her firmly of tumulus present. Nightmares even the ones that still went bump in the dark still had to wait. The active camouflage recalibrated and the system reset on the screen and the woman stilled, Ban and their third-Hal ducked low.

<”Contact has confirmed the location, our ETA is six standard minutes behind the Myrmidons’ landing. The company has split,”> Ban’s voice crackled over the comm link as he disappeared into the smoke ahead and freezing winds-overhead was relaying and it was a dour whisper across the radio. A ripple in the Force fled her instinct, Ban flickered like a candle in the dust ahead-and she inhaled deeply. Somewhere ahead still, remained a sea of uncertainty across the living force. No anchor in sight. Something else churned across the unseen and her hackles raised wordlessly-a spike that flared behind her eyes in the night through the unseen Force. <”-we’ve lost half the signal. Bunker ahead it looks like.”>

If Dooku wasn’t here..who was..? The woman shook her helm to herself.

<”What's left of one I imagine,”> Sybila mused, weighting the risk once more. Hot air escaped her washing over her face-ventilators kicking in as the tang of tibanna laced air. They passed under the remains of a doorway, keeping a tight form-pauldrons brushing one another. <”Proceed, Hal secure our six.”>

There were many and far few between of Force Users, she wondered too if her faulty memory played tricks now. Was what ever lay down there Lucien? She hissed under her breath, doubt still gnawing at the fringes..the numbness that seeped in her joints from the cold at least gave her something to cling to.

Their third shadow dipped behind, footsteps falling in with each other. The winds were high sweeping, refusing to carry off the smoke screen on the field. Static lingered at the edges of the audio receptors, the chatter of repeaters rang out and the Zabrak charted their course through the blown out halls. As phantoms they slipped behind a remnant pillar and stone, ducking below rend metal in the shadow of the redoubt. Steadily her heart climbed as they stared down the heavy blast door uncovered, coming across the final room of the bunker.

Sybila rolled her shoulder, servo knocking kindly on the back of the Zabrak. She tacked the rifle on to her back in one swift toss, the well worn armor creaking softly. In three long strides to circle the gap, she studied the edge of the hole in the floor. Far to many boot prints were left in the dust of the fall-out, numbers ran by the A.I made suggestions at the corner of her eye. Reluctance reared it's ugly head but the woman descended first into the dark, chasing the stairwell.

<”What will be our approach?”> Ban’s question lingered in her ear, how did one approach a loaded gun afterall. The bodies laid to waste in the deep corridors came as no surprise the further they pressed down the winding halls. Gravel scattered under foot with each step, numerous as the bodies were-the butchery was a tell tale sign of the men they hunted. Long halls gave way, a steady dripping from pipe work over head betrayed the age of the structure-now subject and mercy to the elements even this deep. Green reflected across her sight as the night vision adjusted to underground void, the temperature still dropping steadily. They picked through the remains following the bloody trail further, the surfaces war a distant quake and explosion. Hundreds of feet of solid stone severed them from the affairs of men. Her servo itched for a weapon, for the weight and reassurance but the woman moved freely unarmed by sheer discipline. You didn’t greet a man with a weapon you weren’t looking to kill.

<”I don’t know,”> she admitted shamelessly as silence stretched the link before the wire cut. It was an enthralling prospect. Her gauntlet grazed down her forearm then, following the control panel down to her wrist as her thumb pressed in with a satisfying click. All signals died on the armor, powering down and her mind radiated. The screen before her eyes dimmed as she opened their presence up to the radar. She still enjoyed playing dangerous games afterall.

 

[Lachlan Sinclair]

HAUNTED
"ALPHA-ACTUAL"
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

Michael Barran Dante Corvus Shai Maji Volgin Alto Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones
Kranak Vizsla Vulcan Krayt Alora Vizsla Siv Dragr Lesha Priest Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

Rifle | Grenades x4 | Pistol | Cigarettes x7

CANCELLED RESURGENCE: THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN - PART 2
​

The creeping venture through the tunnel saw the up-until-recently reclusive man lose his smoke somewhere between all the contorting and crawling, a fact that would no doubt suffer him in some form or another, despite the fact he'd nearly killed it about halfway through the whole ordeal. He made his way through, bestial senses guiding him as easily as if he trekked by sunlight, catching the subtleties and ditches in the path and avoiding them, only to pause and coach Michael through the same exact steps he had taken, ensuring the young Laird didn't suffer by his carelessness. While his assignment as a bodyguard had him thinking more along the lines of physical duty- a walking bullet sponge if need be- he was meticulous enough to spare the man from rolled ankles or the horrible fate of wet socks stuck in boots for the rest of the mission.

Despite the walls and ceiling tightening around him, his breaths remained steady, and his iron-will faltered none. Just as he had promised, he kept his cool. And at the end of the hellish crawl, he was not short for air, nor did he suffer the cramping aches in his joints and muscles that Barran expressed with grunting stretches and rolls. He waited patiently, taking a knee by the ladder, for the next set of instructions to follow. The words imparted to him earned a nod of affirmation, the sound vocalized by a gruff grunt. He was overwatch while the man descended, his rifle kept tucked comfortably into his shoulder with an icy dagger fixed down the magnified sight, keeping a close watch on the Sith Imperial soldiers at the far end of the corridor.

And it was from that narrowed perspective that he watched it all unfold. One moment, the men were tending to their duties, minding their own business by all accounts, and the very next, well... as if a phantom puppetmaster jerked and pulled on strings, they were blasting holes into their comrades. It was an act through the empyrean winds he could barely feel, and even still, it stoked the hair on the nape of his neck to rise. In his chest, he felt his heart kick, stirred up by the blood splatter he witnessed, a primal lust for precisely that threatening his composure. He endured, clenching his jaw, and curled his finger around the trigger, firing burst rounds into the soldiers still standing and ensuring none of them were left breathing by the time the ordeal was over.

It wasn't until Barran's form slumped to the ground outright that he peered over the ledge and jumped to, swiftly kicking his legs to either side of the ladder and sliding down to join the waylaid man. 'Gies - five.... Will - catch - up!' Well, he was still breathing, that much was reassuring. Lachlan's nose wrinkled at the scent of pooling blood down the looming hall ahead. "Mair ur oan th'way..." he spoke quietly, his brow furrowing with expressed confliction. "Cannae just leave ye here." But, he wasn't given a choice in the end, really, as Michael slipped into a temporary lapse of consciousness, Lachlan was left to growl into the open air his frustration. "Ye'd best be a damn good runner."

The instincts in his blood told him to stay put, to wait and protect the Laird, but the order to do the opposite overrode it, and Lachlan quickly took to foot, jogging down the corridor to approach the door. And as he did so, the clash of boots thundering from the opposite side told him the Sith Imperials had the same idea. Thinking fast, the Woad locked himself down onto a knee and tightened his grip on the disruptor he clutched. Louder. Louder. Louder. Burning him up from within, the tension raged into a fire, one heralded by the faint beep from around his left wrist. He didn't glance to the screen, knowing full well what his attention was being grabbed for. Into the eighties his heart soared, the quickening pace intensified abruptly with the grating overturn of the door's seal. Before they could grasp he was there, the trigger finger primed for duty compressed, flashing the dark tunnel with the strobe of ruination. Shouts of surprise and pain projected from the narrow crack in the door, his punishing shots scattering the soldiers spared of his aim to either side of the parting halves.

He capitalized on the confusion, darting to press himself against the stone wall framing the blast-proof entrance, and quickly fetched a nasty little grenade from his chest rig. The trigger mechanism was compressed and held by his thumb, gloved grip clutching the ball tightly for two lengthy seconds, the act only spurring the war drum in his chest to a higher tempo, earning a much louder blare of warning from his wrist-mounted moderator. The operative rolled the grenade through the smoking gap and twisted out of dodge, ensuring no trace of his body could be glimpsed by the sensory array of the device, lest his unnatural heat makes him the subject for a safety briefing. The soldiers beyond scrambled, instinct telling them to get away from the spherical grenade outright, but that engrained training would serve them no good. Precise lasers spewed from the grenade with hisses of crimson light, spelling doom for them all in raving flashes.

Lachlan, ever patient, waited until the zapping spew of plasma ceased, counting in his head while he settled into box breaths and methodically swapped magazines, steadying his heart once again. By his third count, the housing of the grenade finally self-destructed with an incredibly tight sonic burst, and the exchange came to its end. Just so, the same had been enough to warp the doors open enough for the grizzly man to squeeze through, and once he was beyond, he cut his sight through the darkness, relying on vision while his ears squealed from the explosion and enclosed rifle bursts. Paths diverged from this one, a fork with three prongs. Forward, right, and left. The most practical approach would have been to move forward, ensuring Michael could follow his trail that way- until a vague memory of a comment made in passing ushered in clarification: a tracker chip situated under the flesh of his right forearm. A violation of privacy perhaps, but justifiably so.

He considered the left and right paths then, though trying to get his bearings in a place he was wholly unfamiliar with was a bit of a stretch, and something he ultimately found futile. He didn't have long to consider, though, his hearing temporarily muffled, he was left handicapped. As if the Sith Imperials knew as much, a squadron flooded from the left side door, the first four dropping to a knee. Sharp eyes widened, Lachlan suddenly staring down the barrel of eight blaster rifles. From nothing, his monitor wailed a singular note of alarm, a sentiment he vocalized: "Chit."

Gluffed bad, indeed.

They offered him no quarter, no warning, some of the soldiers opened fire- the piercing light stabbing his brain scattering the thoughts from his focus.

MONSTER AMONGST MEN - PART 1
BLOODLUST​

By the time his body had struck the stone floor, Lachlan had squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the shred and burn of his flesh when the shots connected. Actions had consequences, his own folly had led to this painful sonata, at least that's what he chided himself with. Little did he know the events were playing out precisely as his newfound charge had planned for them to: for what was a weapon good for if one didn't use it? Had he better insight from the outside, perhaps he would have realized he was the bomb to be dropped behind enemy lines and set off. He crashed into the stone, appreciating the brief cold against his blood-splattered cheek while he still possessed the awareness to do so. His rifle crashed to the ground, clattering from his grip, though it was inconsequential to him now. What came after would have made it useless anyhow. The soldiers' voices faded away, their questions about his limbo between life and death lost to him as the darkness circled in, swallowing him hungrily.

And for a moment, his body lay motionless and quiet.

In the next, however, a snapping crack emerged from his position on the floor. His arm jerked. Another snap. And another. More and more, his skeleton broke itself out of place, realigning horrifically beneath his flesh, every movement visible from beyond his kit. What should have been his last breath lodged in his throat, rasping out as an agonized wheeze, its tail end digging into the stones beneath him as a blood-curdling growl of guttural fury. Blood filled his mouth, his jaw snapping and restructuring with the rest of his skull, teeth the length of his hands erupting from the beds of his gums and ejecting his useless human ivories to bounce against the ground violently. Claws shredded from his fingers, the bones expanding until the skin could contain them no longer and simply split apart, spewing more of his cursed ichor to the ground beneath him. It pooled from under his chest, the expansion of his ribcage sundering it wide until it too split apart, taking his chest rig with it.

Dark fur sprouted rapidly from his pores. His legs snapped and healed in reverse, his clothing destroyed with the horrific realignment, his transformation nearly complete within mere seconds of its start. Beyond comprehension, Lachlan's body grew with his terrifying apotheosis and defying logic outright, a deep, rattling breath sucked into a thundering rib cage. Shell-shocked by what they were witnessing, the soldiers stared, paralyzed in their boots. Where a lone operative had lain dying, there now loomed a terrifying beast, not wholly man, nor fully monster, somewhere in between, the uncanniness of his presence only serving to further drive the instinctual panic deeper into their hearts. A gaping maw full of teeth drooled with eager intention, the eyes set above it reflecting the narrow beams of their mounted flashlights.

Before the first could turn to run, a singular bound thrust him upon them, the titanic reach of his clawed hand swiped, splattering his form in the first shower of blood that was not his own. A scream of terror erupted the unfolding madness, the hostile action forcing the men to forfeit their training for preservation instincts. The squadron turned, scrambling back the way they had come. Lachlan slammed his weight down, pinning the second unlucky soul caught in his path with his bulk. His jaws snapped together, the thunderclap punctuated by the crunching squelch of bone and metal. He wrenched upward, the dense musculature of his neck rippled beneath his fur, and with a twist, the beast tore the head from his victim clean off and flung it aside.

The game had changed. No longer was he the soldier in the dark struggling to get his bearings. Now, he was the predator in a nest of his prey, and each of them, every soul to cross him, was damned to suffer his insatiable hunger. A violent leap cast him after them, the four-legged bound outmatching their bipedal stride effortlessly. Another cleaving swipe disemboweled a trooper from the rear, casting his entrails to the wall on the left, until the beast hooked his claws in deeper, and outright tore the trooper back by a grip on his ribcage, where he was to face the crushing power of those accursed jaws. One turned, haphazardly firing with one arm as he ran forward, struggling to pock the lycanthrope's hulking mass with the hissing power of his weapon. The weapon that should have protected him. It should have done something. But Lachlan was only goaded by this bold action and set his sights on that chew toy next.

A path of carnage flew behind him, gouges in the walls spewed with overflowing blood to drip onto the floor. Bodies were impaled on grates, crushed into unrecognizable chunks, and contorted beyond the confines anatomy would mercifully allow.

The hunt was on.

​

 

[Kovacs]

IRON RESOLVE
SKY GUARDIAN: EMERGENCY vol. I
Issue #1 w/ Delilah Jones
soon: Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Volgin Alto | Lesha Priest | Alora Vizsla | Eliz Krayt | WHO ELSE??

Dagger-5
Bravo Flight, 181st Fighter Wing
​

<Yeah, they pretty spread out, ain't they? Tho I did run into one of them...what was it...Son of Mandalore or Sixteen or something?....the other day. Didn't say much. It was all silent T-visor and white armour. And maybe a grunt with that funky greeting of theirs.>

<"Not the last sigma you're gonn' meet."> he remarks sarcastically, but the shadows of the past, of Mandalore's fate like so many other worlds torched by the Sith, still lingered over his psyche. The Sons of Mandalore, from what Jon knew, had all but scattered as a group to carry on with their lives in their newly-liberated worlds of Concordia and Concord Daw. For what was worth, they had paid their price to the Empire to reclaiming what was theirs.

<You think those grunts down there even need CAS? Or we just burning solars out here?> It had been fairly quiet on the designation comms up to that point.

<"No idea. We might be going for overkill. That's the plan, though, - hit the Redoubt hard so some spooks can get the camp liberated. There's a lot of chatter on the ground channels but nothing on CAS yet, might end up decreasing speed since the IP's not far off."> Jon notes, throwing a glance at the tact-map on the side. The flight was already entering a low altitude profile and the Initial Point was fast approaching. Were the grounders in disarray or was it a blue milk run that they've forgotten they had birds in the sky coming in.

A blip flashed on his long-range sensors takes his attention, <"Whelp, guess I've snoozed on this tail, too. Friendlies on our six. The Darkstar boys."> then adds, <"You can sub me on the next debrief, Jones. Just try not shooting Hardass with a wrench."> he smirks.

<"I can take your tough lovin', but the old guy's a year away from pension.">

 

[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 | Dante Corvus | Volgin Alto | Jon Kovacs | Delilah Jones | Michael Barran | Lachlan Sinclair |
ENEMIES: SITH REMNANTS | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
ENGAGING: Come at me bro
GEAR: In bio | Basilisk War Droid | Standard loadout

​

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS​

No matter how much of a smile she could plaster on or how nonchalant she wanted to appear, there was no hiding the pang of disappointment and guilt as Kranak mentioned her missing the group’s photo. Her gaze shifted away from him for a moment as she tried to figure out how to play it off. ”I’ll just have to change my nickname to Spookdog then.” She quipped with a smile that contrasted the rest of her expression.

She looked at the others again for a moment. Vulcan and Eliz were obviously anxious over what was coming. They had every right to be, she would be surprised if they weren’t going to be hit with everything the Sith had at their disposal. Alora, however, seemed very comfortable with what was coming. It brought a smug grin to the Shistavanen’s maw as she stared at her for a few seconds. ”You look like you’re gonna enjoy this more than me.” She teased.

:: All units. 10 seconds to drop. ::

The light turned red in the compartment, prompting everyone to get ready. Blasters hissed and safeties clicked off throughout the dropship as everyone got ready.

”Sixteens! We make the rules.” Shai spoke up, looking to her men.

”WE MAKE THE RULES!” They shouted.

”Eliz, Vulcan, don’t stop for nothing.” She said to the two youngest soldiers in the dropship.

The sliding doors opened and the merciless winds of the snowstorm blew into the cabin. Around the dropships, flak pounded against and their transports while bolts from blasters and repeaters zipped past. The moment the cabin’s light turned green, 16th company was out of the doors with their jetpacks howling to life.

:: Three hundred meters to our front! ::

:: Thermals, thermals! Compensate for the wind! ::

:: For the Emperor! ::

Golden bolts streaked down as the Mandalorian warriors descended towards the fortress and its layered defenses of trenches, repeater emplacements and bunkers. They wove and jerked to avoid rockets and cannons while blaster bolts bounced off their white armour. Luckily they dropped too close for the big guns to target them, leaving the defenders to use weapons incapable of doing the job effectively. Though that didn’t mean it was easy.

:: First squad, take out those trenches! ::

Six troopers came down on the first trench line with pistols at the ready. Mud and snow splattered their armour as Sith bolts impacted around them or rebounded from their armour. Explosions popped off where particle bolts impacted against people and terrain. ”Don’t stop, keep pushing!” One shouted as they tore the trench line apart, one piece at a time. A bunker burst into flames as incendiary grenades went off inside.

Others touched down on the ground and broke into a hard sprint as they kept firing on any defenses in their way. ”Watch the walls!” a trooper cried out before jumping out of a rocket’s way. ”Get into the trench and set up mortars!” Shai ordered.

All the while, blaster bolts flew past and explosions went off around them in the snow. A few were sent flying back while repeaters knocked a bunch down in their push to the walls. Others flew above the fortress, firing from above at the defenders on the walls, though they also got knocked around a bit as the defenders returned fire. Once a number of Sixteens got into a cleared trench, they opened their bipods and set their rifles on the ground. ”Marking target… fire!” The six or seven rifles roared as giant blobs of plasma arced through the air towards a bunker firing at them. The particle blobs hit and tore the improvised defense apart with several heavy explosions. ”Forward!”

They still had a long way to go.

”Kran! Those trenches are a problem! Soften them up!” What was supposed to be a suggestion turned more into an order. :: Alright everyone, we push up and clear those trenches once they’re softened up! We break their lines then we take the walls! Don’t stop for anything! :: She barked into her comms over the explosions and blasters around her.

”Karking hell, Kran! Give those karking pilots something to do before they go do their eyelashes again!” She growled as she stood crouched behind the trench’s wall. Bolts continued to kick up dirt and snow, blanketing the white paint of the Sixteens as they waited to move. With missiles at the ready and jetpacks idling, all they needed was a window to unleash hell on the wall’s defenders.

 

[Vulcan Krayt]

OBJECTIVE: Iron Dawn
Equipment: Blaster, Rifle, Detonators, Armour
TAG: Eliz Krayt | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Lesha Priest | Alora Vizsla | Dante Corvus | Volgin Alto | Jon Kovacs | Delilah Jones | Michael Barran | Lachlan Sinclair | Open

Vulcan loaded his rifle with ammunition as he waited, which took the edge off his nerves, busy hands are the best distraction. Which was easier said than done. But at least there is a possibility of getting through all this, with his limbs attached and with no holes pockmarked into his torso. All he needed to do is follow Shai's lead. But knowing a fight that too may be a challenge. Good challenges are fun, he looked up at the cabin lights, focusing on the red light, which helps keep the jittery nerves from taking over.

Not but a month ago he was planet-bound with no experience under his belt, several months earlier he was on a ship manning turbo lasers. Times have changed, everything has changed and, even he has changed. Vulcan noticed the atmosphere still, the ominous silence preceding a sudden burst of Chaotic pandemonium. As if on cue, the light turned green and, everyone roared into action. Then over the noise, he heard Shai as clear as day over the clanking of Beskar.

Stop for nothing, she ordered, well, it's nigh impossible to stop in the middle of gunfire, he thought to himself idly. Not fully understanding the words all that well, he knew not to stop but not that particular sentence. As everyone ignited their jet packs, he followed suit. This is it, we are heading to battle, Vulcan thought to himself as he hardened his nerves and mentally prepared for the madness that awaited them.

Then the doors opened and the blizzard rushed in, large flakes settling on the floor. Vulcan realised, they were going to fight in the snow. What made it even more apparent is that they were being fired on, bolts zipping on by as he leapt out among the other Mandalorian forces.

Vulcan idly wondered if he left the tap running back home, he had no time to dwell on anything as the cacophony of gunfire kept his thoughts squarely on the battle in front of him. He had to duck and weave around to avoid being shot out of the sky. Even under his helmet, he could feel his hair standing on end, right at the back of his neck.

It felt strange and, he resisted the urge to pat at his neck. All his attention snapped back to everything around him as he spun upside down in an attempt to avoid a Plasma Blob, the warrior behind him was not so fortunate. He felt a pang of pity for the guy but right now he had to escape the same fate as he continued to fly head over heels downwards.

For a few minutes at least he was heading for the trenches upside down, which the youngster corrected by righting himself and getting his rifle ready, he was now in range to fire on the trenchworks from above. Three others joined him to concentrate fire on a defensive position as they touched down on and into the snow/mud quagmire.

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
URSA'S REDOUBT | KROWNEST
ABSOLUTE PAIN: Jon Kovacs
ALLIES: Volgin Alto | Dante Corvus | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Alora Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Eliz Krayt | Michael Barran | Lachlan Sinclair | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Jalter Volff | IMLESHA | @whoever else
ENEMIES: Blah
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives

WHISKEY FEVER

<"No idea. We might be going for overkill. That's the plan, though, - hit the Redoubt hard so some spooks can get the camp liberated. There's a lot of chatter on the ground channels but nothing on CAS yet, might end up decreasing speed since the IP's not far off.">

Del glanced at her tact-screen. So they were.
<Hey, as long as I can shoot something. Been wanting to try out this bird's firepower for a while now.> she said with a smile as she eased up on the speed. Not that the Slasher was fast to begin with, but the IP was still creeping up on them. It was boring as feth being stuck in a bird with only idle chatter.

<"Whelp, guess I've snoozed on this tail, too. Friendlies on our six. The Darkstar boys."> then adds, <"You can sub me on the next debrief, Jones. Just try not shooting Hardass with a wrench.">

She pulled a face at the first part of his rambling.
<Ugh, seriously? We really going for the overkill on this Op, huh?> she complained as she checked the blips that have popped up. The arrogant reputation of the Darkstars preceded them. Hell, they even made Hotshot on her flank look like a guttersnipe.

Speaking of Hotshot, he continued to take jabs at her wrench throwing expertise.

<Don't worry, Baby Blue, the wrench is reserved for you only. It's even got your name on it. Hardass can retire in peace without the tough lovin'.> she smirked right back, quite pleased by the trauma her projectile had inflicted on the epitome of new generational arrogance. Well, not exactly pleased, but it was quite funny.

Leaning back in her seat, she got a bit comfortable while waiting for something to happen.
<You're buying first round after this, Kovacs. The rest of us already kinda drew straws.> she said with another smirk, more to kill time than anything else while she kept an eye on her tact-map.

 

[Kovacs]

IRON RESOLVE
SKY GUARDIAN: EMERGENCY vol. I
Issue #1 w/ Delilah Jones
soon: Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Volgin Alto | Lesha Priest | Alora Vizsla | Eliz Krayt | WHO ELSE??

Dagger-5
Bravo Flight, 181st Fighter Wing​

<Hey, as long as I can shoot something. Been wanting to try out this bird's firepower for a while now.> she said with a smile as she eased up on the speed.

A worried smile pulls his lips beneath the helmet. Humor's always been his go-to coping mechanism when chit hit the fan but this Op... just something feels off about it. The Redoubt's fortified hard with a lot, a lot, of anti-air emplacements; most of which weren't manually operated, too. Jon called it a blue milk run only because that's how he operated, keeping the spirits and confidence high, especially when they had a green rookie straight out of the academy as Dagger-7.

Gar Vane.

Top three of his class, alumni of the same institution Jon's graduated from. On paper, Vane would've been the ideal leader-- hell, matter of fact, same goes to Hughes and Jones. Everyone on Bravo Flight has been assessed by the Board as way more capable leaders than Kovacs. Only reason he was Dagger-Lead was the fact his TO had big pulls and insisted on him to take the reigns right outta the Institute. Lots of folks thought it was Kovacs and his fam that had strings up in the hierarchy but that couldn't have been further than the truth. A high-roller, gambling man for a dad and a nurse for a mom were a light year distance from the perfect image of an Imperial Citizen.

Vane was supposed to take the shooter role with Del but he'd insisted on playing decoy with Jon. Something about proving himself for sure, not that Gar had voiced that but Kovacs had seen it in his eyes. Reminded him somewhat of his own self. Get right into the fire, fly all out in the open against all the Sith would muster. No cover, no ridgeline to mask the approach. Decoy.

<You're buying first round after this, Kovacs. The rest of us already kinda drew straws.> she said with another smirk, more to kill time than anything else while she kept an eye on her tact-map.

<"Your first round's damn a barrel of coolant! Ain't no way anyone's got the bread for that.">

<"Cut the crap, Lead - you're only saying this cause you can't hold a candle to her when it comes to drinking. We still remember you crawling under the table on Shili after taking her on that bet.">

<"Told you I was looking for my shades! We were gonn' play strip pazaak, had to have my pazaak face on."> he sheepishly replies, convincing no one.

<"Keep telling yourself that, LT, we've got it on 4k.">

 

[Faison Kelborn]

OBJECTIVE: Iron Dawn
TAG: Avenger Chelenne Akaris Siv Dragr Ghalric Rau

Faison's eyebrow arched at the exchange that developed, and the personalities that defined those who would be accompanying him and Siv. The arrival of another armored hulk was intriguing - the man who identified himself as Blitz. Aside from his apparent familiarity with the other two, there wasn't much to formulate Faison's opinion of him: until his subtle jab at his callsign. The Mandalorian rolled his eyes slightly, and let out a gruff chuckle of bemusement. 'Careful, looks like we got a badass here' he thought to himself. This operation was already forming up to be among the more tedious he had been on so far, doubly so when the female who identified herself as 'Nighthawk' suggested a sniper to pick off sentries along the wall. If they wanted to assault the facility outright, it wasn't a bad plan. But a covert insertion? It would be a very big mistake.

"I'm inclined to agree with 'Avenger'." Faison paused, giving a nod to the him while skimming past Nighthawk's query about whether the rifles were for show or not. He did not believe in boasting about ones' abilities - he showed what he was made of as a general rule. "If we want to do this quietly, we need to draw as little attention as possible." The sounds of battle, namely the diversion force, could be heard in the distance, which gave Faison a bout of inspiration. "I would bet a fair amount of credits that with the diversion force now commencing, the compound will be deploying as many soldiers as possible to the action. We could always intercept a troop transport, then use it to drive right in under their noses." He appraised the NIO operatives after making his suggestion, gauging whether it found purchase. Blitz had a valid point too - the longer they stood here doing nothing, the smaller their window would become. In the interests of that, even though he wasn't a 'people person' per se, he felt it necessary to make sure he didn't completely shoot down the woman's idea:

"It would probably be a good idea to have a sniper setup as an exfil option. Things could go very wrong in there, and we may need to make a hot exit. Having insurance for if things needed to get loud would be a good idea." His visor inclined toward Nighthawk, as if silently nominating his choice for that role. "Do you know how to use that thing, or do you want to keep talking about it?" Not waiting for an answer, Faison strolled over to his bike, where his TKO Sanctum sniper rifle was holstered for all to see. Instead, he reached for his Viper series Blaster Rifle, checking its power cell and slinging it across his back via its strap. He strode back to the group, and added: "If we hurry, we should be able to intercept a few straggling transports and get moving, before the Sith start killing prisoners."

 

[Michael Barran]

THIRD POST
THE_CAIRNSMAN
THE HIGHLAND BROTHERHOOD

OBJECTIVE 1: FALSE FLAG

ALLIES (NIO): Lachlan Sinclair Dante Corvus Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt
Shai Maji Chelenne Akaris Volgin Alto Jon Kovacs Delilah Jones

ALLIES (ENCLAVE): Kranak Vizsla Vulcan Krayt Alora Vizsla
Siv Dragr Lesha Priest

Enemies: helloo? Anybody there?

MICHAEL'S LOADOUT
PALE-BLUE LIGHTSABRE
FRAGARACH DISRUPTOR PISTOL
VIBROSWORD CAVALRY-SABRE

CANCELLED RESURGENCE: THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN - PART 4

'Cannae just leave ye here.'

You're an idiot, Barran... Druid chit got you all messed up, didn't it? Better get yourself a sparring-partner soon, or this will get worse.​

'Ye'd best be a damn good runner.'

With cold gravel digging into his face, Michael had instinctively rolled up onto his side, choosing instead to let the gravel dig into his ribcage instead as the agonizing white flashes steadily subsided one by one, not particularly happy with himself in that moment, but alive all the same. The disruptor impacts and consequent screams in the distance could still be heard despite the pain, giving the Laird a good idea of what was going on in his absence, and this further irritated Barran, knowing he needed to catch up and help in any way that he could. However, some minutes later, the Wanderer found his senses detecting the arrival of another contingent, not knowing if they were friendly or not, and in no condition to see for himself yet. Fading out again for what felt like a moment or two, it wasn't long before he was stirred awake by jokingly-mild slaps to his face, and though the white-flashes of agony were still a factor by this point, Michael was sure he could see the Myrmidons' insignia on their trooper-armour.

'Vitals are stable-- a bit high, but he ain't dead or dying.'

'Michael Barran.', their commander said, recognising him immediately as a Barran, by way of research into Lord Erskine's clan and by the way Lord Michael presented himself after the shaven-headed, militaristic stylisation-phase in his life. To many already, the shift in his general appearance had Goidels, Galidraani and Imperials alike thinking the Wanderer had become a very-near likeness to the Stormchaser, so the realisation that it was in fact Lord Michael wouldn't have taken long after seeing the hair, beard and naturally-furrowed eyebrows, and even less time after seeing his Goidelic Free-State officer's uniform. Then, as the Wanderer propped himself up to allow stim-painkillers to be administered by Lord Dante's field-medic, Corvus continued,'Your father would be disappointed if you were to fall in battle to this glorified army of filth.', leaving no mistake as to which specific Myrmidon was in his presence in that moment.

'Heh! If that's you, Lord Dante. It's a pleasure t'meet you, but - you should know more than most that the old man's even worse for risking it all against the filth of Zambrano origin. "Oh, some inbred swine - dOn'T mInD iF I lEaD fRoM tHe fRonT, gEriAtRiC sTylE!", a family trait for sure.'

CANCELLED RESURGENCE: THE WOAD-BORN HUNTSMEN - PART 5

'You been at that Jedi fethery again, Milord? Lesson learned then?'

As soon as the painkiller stim began to work it's sterile magic, the white flashes diminished at greater speed than before, giving the Wanderer a chance to properly see and communicate with the commander of the Myrmidons, though they'd be interrupted briefly by the arrival of the Brotherhood's Argyll Company before any real interaction could be endeavoured. Throwing a small pebble from the gravel at his 1st-Leftenant's helmet in reply, Michael growled,'Any mare o' yer chite an' the clutter-towers on yer heid become a Brotherhood tradition, ya fething choochter!', still somewhat irritable with the steadily-subsiding migraine flashes, though still not anywhere near irritable enough to lash out in mean-spirited pettiness. Fortunately for the 1st-Leftenant, the Brotherhood's Grandmaster (anointed in Druidic ritual since the Reawakening of Donn) saw the funny side, and also saw the complement in what was being said about him as he properly replied,'Yes, McBain. I've,"Been at that Jedi fethery again.", as you say, but do Barrans ever truly learn their lessons? Debatable.', in a much more amiable tone than before.

'Anyway, I think its more pertinent to start the search for the friendly lycanthro- ah, I see. Lord Dante, we have a friendly werewolf with us, an' he hounds the scent of Sith-Loyalists.... Darker Jedi are safe from 'im though, fortunately. It's the heart and soul that beat for the Sith Empire, even in it's remnant state, that's what our Lachlan seeks to annihilate - an' he needs our help at the moment as you can-'

Screams, blaster-trail ricochets, and the guttural roaring of Sinclair in the crucible of his own fully-transformed state. Although the cacophony of ultraviolence was growing more distant and quiet with every passing second, everyone there knew that the aftermath would be quite the sight to deal with, even in the dark of the wintry perpetuation of nightly shadow, the Myrmidons and Highlanders knew this would be a grisly tale to recount to Lord-Colonel Gowrie and King Dooku alike. Whether this would be viewed as useful to either or both Imperial officials was, like the lessons learned by Barrans, highly debatable at that stage, but the one factor not considered was the Wanderer's gift for the art of persuasion on such matters.

'-Hear.... Good job we've all got strong stomachs in the Brotherhood, shall we-'

A presence, and a supremely powerful one at that, approaching from the south; it certainly wasn't hostile, much the opposite, like there was an enormous amount of strength and willpower suppressing it, and it had a darkness in it like Michael's own - though one that was obviously much further-evolved than his own. Looking around him for a moment, Lord Michael then inhaled a long, cool lungful of air before announcing,'Gentlemen, it would seem we're not alone down here.', before hand-gesturing orders for the Highlanders to go off in search of the Beast of Galidraan. And yet, despite the fact this was obviously a Darksider, the lowered barrels had the Wanderer thinking that it might have been a familiar presence to Corvus' men, somehow already in their subconscious as a welcome presence, at least by Lord Michael's estimation. A presence like none he'd ever sensed in his years travelling the Galaxy, and perhaps a presence that would prove vital in the following attack on Ursa's Redoubt, one of the few that Barran knew he needed to learn from - especially if he hoped to survive the process of finding the perfect balance for his Force-Abilities and those of Druidic nature.

'Might as well send yer subordinates in after the Highlanders. I have a distinct feeling this one wants us alive, mate.'

 

[Nukth Kelga'an]

IRON RESOLVE
OBJECTIVE I | FALSE FLAG
OPPOSING | SITH REMNANTS

​

— 870 ABY, Krownest's atmosphere.

Unlike the usual, Captain Kelga’an was broken. Nirauan and Coruscant had left scars on his body — on his armor, and the Banshees just received a new garrison of soldiers, coming from Yinchorr’s military academy, and who never saw a real battlefield in their lives, except in training simulations. The officer knew that the situation was bad: at the end of the Third Imperial Civil War, he had lost a quarter of his company; but, while the Second Great Hyperspace War was just beginning, the equivalent of three squad was missing, in total. The Anaxsi was forced to admit that he had been wrong about the Maw. Of course, they weren’t organized in strict military divisions and their tactics were finding a way to bring desolation and destruction in their way; but they were specialists in this strategy. The Mongrel was a stang warlord who didn’t come close to Erskine Barran, but he had an impressive army at his feet, devoted to his wills and which would not surrender, no matter whether they would live or not. In a way, they looked like Kelga’an’s sons — as Julius always said. They trusted into a cause, into a desire; they were nationalists above all, wanting only one thing — not two: vengeance. Here was the major difference between the Banshees and the Scav Kings, or any stang warriors into the Brotherhood: what they wanted. The Anaxsi wanted to return to Anaxes and, in this will, they served the ORDER, whereas the Maw had an only mania: CHAOS. This was the subject of this war, and the heart of each battle the Banshees participated in. Maybe their motto was making the link between those desires: brutality, but quality — or how to find military professionalism in battle violence. Here were ORDER and CHAOS, mixed into the same glass to be the perfect cocktail. Feelings and science, working together.

“Cap? Where are ya? He-ey, Cap! Are ya with me?” a voice said. Was it still that stang dream? Usually, he was in Corrie’s streets, looking for alive Banshees, but they were all dead. Usually, there wasn’t this voice calling him into… his helmet? “Woo-ooh! ‘Am talkin’ to ya, Cap!”

He opened his eyes, immediately seeing his helmet’s HUD that indicated the name of the soldier just in front of him: AC-055 — also known as Double-Five, Dub-Fi, or just Fi, depending on the situation. Kelga’an suddenly understood the situation. He had closed his eyes on Yinchorr, and he just woke up in Krownest’s skies. He got into the tank before the Hyperspace jump and even the soldiers’ din did not wake him up during the boarding. For the moment, he had transferred the company direction to Elward Reising, his second-in-command who was one of the best officers he knew in the entire NIO.

“Cap, Lieutenant Reising’s callin’ for ya. He said that ya’ve to do a brief.”
“An’ he doesn’t know it?” Kelga’an grunted as a reply. “Well, he has a lot of things to learn, startin’ with do not send one of his sons to wake me up.” Fi was going to say something but he came around when he saw the Captain standing up. “Don’t worry boy, join your little brothers in the assistance, ‘am goin’ to say somethin’. Be prepared.”

Kelga’an moved to another seat, checking his ammo pouches’ fixings and calling the other squad on the comlink to make a short briefing of the current situation. When the teams were all connected to Banshees’ network, he drew a datapad from his front bag, clearing his voice before he started to say:

<A’right everyone, listen up, it’ll be as little as possible. Ya should have read the brief before this speech,> he quipped, <but don’t make fun o’ me. We’re on Krownest an’ our mission is clear as day. Operation ‘False Flag’ has in its primary objectives to make the Sith believe that we’re attackin’ this front while siefoxes are backhanding them in Camp Gideon. We’ll assault Ursa’s Redoubt, an highly defended Sith’s position.> Kelga’an stopped his explanations for a couple of seconds realizing that his enemies weren’t the all Brotherhood, this time. There were just… the Sith. Stang, he remembered Sharb, Sularen… He should have buried him on this stang planet… <So, give it all ya have in this fight, oski?! We’re gonna be deployed into separate lizos but y’all have to reach rodevipa on your map. It’s your p’emierr’s task, follow them and keep in alert an’ keep your comlinks open. That’s all I have for ya, boys. Ave Anaxes!>
<AVE RURIK!> the commandos answered.

“An’ morituri te salutant, Anaxes,” the Captain answered in a thought. That was it: Anaxes ramikadyc.
​

 

[Delilah Jones]

DAGGER-6
LIEUTENANT
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
URSA'S REDOUBT | KROWNEST
ABSOLUTE PAIN: Jon Kovacs
ALLIES: Volgin Alto | Dante Corvus | Shai Maji | Kranak Vizsla | Alora Vizsla | Vulcan Krayt | Eliz Krayt | Michael Barran | Lachlan Sinclair | Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt | Jalter Volff | IMLESHA | @whoever else
ENEMIES: Blah
GEAR: Armour | Pistol | Vibroblade | 2x Vibroknives

28 DAYS

She picked up on it again.

Kovacs was never quiet for an instant, so the minute or so of sudden silence made Del frown. No way was she going to poke him over the comms about it, however. She'd corner him over a drink afterward.

Speaking of....

<"Your first round's damn a barrel of coolant! Ain't no way anyone's got the bread for that.">

Del laughed along with the rest of the flight while Hughes hit him back with the 4k version all of 'em had. The rest of the tour on Shili was mostly a blur, but she remembered that specific night....sort of. Not that she could walk straight on the way back to the tent, but damn it was fun.....until the next morning. That was a whole other ball game.
<You're a lightweight, Kovacs. Admit it. Even Vane drinks you under the table and he only got like four glasses before keeling over.> she chuckled. <We're gonna have to fix that after.> It was supposed to be quick run, after all. They could still have a few rounds before closing time at Jake's.

Something clenched in her gut though. She had glanced over the defences on the Redoubt. It can be over fast if they hit quick and true. The Slashers had some monster turbos that could kill some AAs right quick. But one misstep and it all goes to chit. But it wouldn't help dwelling on it and screwing up the Op even before executing it.

<You better have rubbed your good luck charm for this, Kovacs.>

To the unsuspecting, the slight worry in her tone would have been easily missed.

 

[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 listened patiently to the Emperor as he layed out his agenda; the New Imperial Order was not seeking for a military alliance, but they perhaps would be interested in cooperation in other matters. His right hand was a little more blunt, informing her that they doubted whether the capabilities of the Enclave would lead to an equal-footing between the two in a hypothetical alliance, but he at least had more class than the two assistants that had spoken before him.

She was about to reply when the boy that had spoken beforehand interjected again, a smug rejoinder almost spat before the Quartermaster could say anything. But it seemed that the Emperor had meant that no one would speak without his leave, and in an instant the Imperial Youth representative had been dismissed.

"My gratitude," she said, inclining her head. "Now, I would caution against underestimating the strength, or resolve, of my people," she advised, giving a pointed look to the other that had spoken alongside the Emperor, before returning her attention to him. "However, there may be wisdom in your thoughts. The time may not yet be ripe for a military alliance between our nations, but a beneficial pact of mutual cooperation could be in order."

"We are aware of what some are calling your Iron Curtain. If the Mandalorian Enclave and New Imperial Order are to have a relationship of good faith, then perhaps free travel and commerce is in order, free from ill-intent maneuvers and restrictions. Wild Space has for long carried a reputation of being lawless, and there are those who have used that lawlessness to flee justice. We can provide extradition for those captured and wanted by the New Imperial regime, and our services are exceptional in tracking down those still at large. In addition, vast amounts of yet-untapped raw resources can be found within our borders, and free travel between our two nations would allow for foreign expansion of New Imperial corporations." At the motion of a hand, one of the Si'kayha stepped forward with a holopad with the relevant information already procured; she took the screen and set it on the table, pushing it towards the Emperor, free for anyone to peruse to validate her claims.

As the information was presented, she continued. "My Mandalorians may be well-outnumbered by your military forces, but that does not mean they are any less in skill of arms. Certain units in your military speak to the level of aptitude Mandalorians have when it comes to warfare; I am told the 16th Company has become quite the vital asset. While there will be no military license, warriors and commanders from the Enclave could be well-utilized in the training of future Stormtrooper legions? And I am sure there is much we could learn from New Imperial strategies and doctrine."

"Is there anything among what I've said that you find. . . out of order? Or may we proceed from discussing, to finalizing?" She finally said, intent on the Emperor's answer.
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[Siv Dragr]

S I T H B A N E

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

"Kelborn," Siv replied, with a curt nod. Despite the cold, he was still warm, though that wouldn't be forever with how the conditions were progressing. The less time they spent on formalities and the more the spent fighting would mean fewer frozen Mandalorians.

They waited until their New Imperial counterparts, three agents who would be working alongside the Mandalorians. They eventually pulled up, Faison introducing himself first. The agents had callsigns by which they were known by; when Faison took the lead on introducing himself first, Siv was surprise to see that Mandalorian had come up with his own. Siv, on the other hand, personally didn't care to keep his identity anonymous. "Siv Dragr," he introduced himself with a curt nod towards the three. The first two, a Zeltron and Human, were wholly unrecognizable. But the third had a. . . Mandalorian accent? It was faded, but Siv was almost certain that he was correct. That was interesting.

He listened to the Zeltron -- callsign Nighthawk -- as she laid out the suggestion of the plan. It wasn't a bad one, he had to admit. Her companion gave additional input, to which Faison replied with a plan of his own. Mentally, Siv considered the proposition that Faison had proposed, but he shook his head. "That may work under different conditions, but the Camp is already going to be on high alert from our forces at the Redoubt, even if it is lightly garrisoned. If they're bold enough to thin their ranks out even further, they'd be sure to thoroughly check any transport going in-and-out. Once they find us in there, might as well have tried to blast our way in the first place. At least that way we wouldn't have wasted time stealing the transport."

The veteran Mandalorian hunter drew a holoprojector from his pouch, activating it to project a miniature layout of the base. The holo flickered from the heavy snowfall, flakes falling in between the beams of light, but it was at least barely decipherable. "If our snipers take the towers, then there is a small postern hatch here that we can slip through relatively unnoticed. I have an anti-security blade -- that should get us past any locks the Sith may have put in place. Once we're inside there. . . well, the hatch is for waste-disposal. They won't expect two Mandalorians and an Imp Commando coming out of their trash." For once, there was a bit of humor in the Mandalorian's voice.
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