Populate Mandalorian Crusade for the Lantillian | Battle of Bimmisaari | Open to All

[Zandra Ruus]

In war there were precious few certainties, death was chief among those certainties. Zandra was shocked when the massive cannons began to fire upwards. Once silent guns now lobbed their glowing payloads high into the atmosphere, with a young Mandalorian watching in horror. She watched on for a few minutes, before one of her vod mates placed a hand on her shoulder.

"We have to keep moving, security is on its' way..."

"Right, I'll take point..."

It was a somber moment for Zandra, knowing full well Sig would never let those cannons fire on the fleet, unless... No, there was no time for that now. She would handle those thoughts when her vod wasn't surrounded by enemies. Right now she had to be a leader, she had to be stern. Her only worry was taking down the planetary shield so that the full force of Mandalore's military could be brought to bear. Doubtless the battle wouldn't last long after those shields went down. Then, and only then, would she reconcile with Sig.

As she made her way to the shield generator, she would-

And then in it happened, blue blaster bolts coming down from above like drops of rain! There was an ambush, a repeating blaster setup on a balcony, turning the complex's courtyard into a killing field. It was placed rather perfectly for the situation, almost like they knew they were coming this way. Maybe one of the traitors was followed, it didn't matter, now the fight was on.

"Fething hell! You've gotta be kriffing me! The route to the shield generator was supposed to be clear!"

Usually the glory of taking out heavily fortified enemy positions wasn't lost on Zandra, but she was trying to get this done quickly. As the blue bolts assailed her position behind some rubble, more and more League security forces piled out into the courtyard. There were a few dozen of them now, all armed to the teeth and fit to fight. Now would be a good time to try and contact Sig.

<<Sig! We have a major fething problem en route to the shield generator! There's a kriffton of enemy support coming down on us! I see at least three transport tanks worth of infantry, and they have a repeated nest chewing us up! We have to pull back and regroup!>>

Tags: Sig Dryggo Carduul Akahl Trajan Fett Feydrik Munin

 

[Hakon Fett]

Mandalorian Neo Crusader Fleet
Engineering Bay of the Stormbringer
Bimmisaari High Orbit

The engineering bay roared with the sound of stressed machinery. Garik Kruze, sweat-streaked and grim-faced, shouted over the clamor.

"Get that coolant line patched up, or we're going to lose the port reactor!"

A young engineer, barely audible over the alarms, called out, "Reactor's spiking! We've got pressure leaks in the stabilizers! What in haran hit us?!"

“Has to be anti-orbit—“

"Cut the chatter! Redirect power from the auxiliary drives, now!" Voss barked. "And double-check the hull integrity. We're running on borrowed time."

Hakon Fett's voice came through the intercom, commanding and clear. "All hands, prepare for full encirclement. Hold the line and push through."

"Fett's got a plan, and we need to make sure this ship doesn't fall apart before we execute it," Garik said, rallying his team. "If Fett believes we can push through, then we damn well better make sure this ship stays operational."

An explosion rocked the engine room. "We're taking damage! Power fluctuation in the starboard systems!" another engineer reported.

"Stabilize it!" Garik ordered, wrenching a panel open. "We fix what we can. Fett's counting on us to hold this ship together."

As sparks flew and alarms blared, Garik’s resolve hardened. "We're not letting the Umbarans or anyone else stop us!”

“Oya!”

“Oya!”

TAG: Sig Dryggo

 

[Carduul Akahl]

OBJECTIVE 2: CONUNDRUM
TAGS: Sig Dryggo | Zandra Ruus | Trajan Fett | Feydrik Munin

The battle was going well. No casualties, as far as he knew. He could only hope the skies were going as well - he knew their efforts down here were critical to the success above. A war wouldn’t last if they couldn’t coordinate something on as simple as that.

That was precisely what he was thinking, when he saw one of the distant orbital guns fire off indiscriminately into the stars above. Some directly into their own battle line, if he was not mistaken. That gun was the very same he had passed by prior, the one Clan Dryggo had been charged with taking. A fuzzy comm came through from their Alor, and his brows knitted together in some muddle of emotion beneath the helm.

That should’ve been a simple endeavor - something easily taken care of. They were mando’ade, against a group of rabble-rousers. It didn’t matter the reason. Incompetence, Hard-headedness, or something else. He wasn't sure if even Dryggo would stoop so low as the third option.

His mind seethed at the thought, briefly recollecting his exchange with the Alor of Clan Dryggo prior. The visor unable to reflect the wrathful expression he bore, with a low growl of frustration to himself. They’ll be dealt with later. Whatever blood may have been spilt upon the Stormbringer from that stray shot, Sig Dryggo would be forced to pay one day. Blood for Blood; an Enclave Catechism, by Carduul’s recollection.

But right now, they had a battle to win. The Viper twisted through the air, attention swiftly returning to the skirmish afore him as the blaster bolts whizzing through the air began to halt. His own fired in return, felling another with pin-point accuracy despite the conditions. Their rapid assault had left little room for reprieve, no time to gather thoughts amidst the roiling battle. A shot landed on his chestplate with a grunt of pain, just as he swooped down with a mighty cleave - directly into the offender’s side.

With that last blow, the battlefield had gone silent, save for the crackling of fire and the sound of footsteps. The weapon harshly tugged out of the still-warm body. Perhaps the traitors were expecting a discrete meeting, one of subterfuge and careful discretion. That was a foolish hope on their part. The Mandalorians were not given descriptions, nor something specific to look for. T’was a shame - for now they had to burn the area until their contacts came gasping for air from the conflict. His helmet comm crackled once again for his unit, with a simple command uttered; <“Line them up.”>

Buildings had been breached into, and stragglers with dropped weapons and raised hands were rounded up by the blue-clad Mandalorians. These once-resistors had been marched to the center of the outpost in a practiced order, Carduul overseeing the process.

“Why are we even bothering with these di’kuts? The words of a hut’uun are not words worth listening to.” Came quiet words from a younger voice - a newer recruit to their cause, fresh in blue armor - to a brother in arms, a weapon pressed to the back of one of their new prisoners.

“If the Rally Master believes them to be, we follow.” Garrus Bralor spoke in turn. He had been in service for a long time - and he understood better than any that now was not a time to question orders. A boot forced the one he was escorting to a knee, in a line with the rest. Then motioned towards the Rally Master, gesturing to the small crowd of prisoners they held; “Area’s secured. A few surrendered. One’s babbling about a deal.” Surmised, with a point towards the one he referred to.

A satisfied nod was given in return; “Good. I believe we've found our man, then.”

Steps proceed to stalk down the row of prisoners, to the one in question. A lanky figure, covered in debris yet seemingly unharmed. Sweating bullets, shaky. “Wwait- hey! You’re in charge, ri-” Words came out rife with desperation, before a bladed edge was leveled against his throat from above.

“Go on. Speak of your deal.” He implored, an impassive tone of voice ringing out from behind a staring T-Visor. The prisoner’s eyes flicked between the pair of soldiers at his side, then back up to the Mandalorian - “It’s, not exactly something I can disclose openly, ya know?” Clearly attempting to keep their calm, show they weren’t unnerved. Though, it was hardly working.

He knelt down, T-visor level with the fearful gaze of his captive. The blade pressed just that bit harder, drawing a droplet of blood. “Is this not an honorable endeavor, to spare thy planet of our wrath? To allow us to bestow upon this planet our glorious culture?”

A few shaky nods, worried what may occur if he disagreed. A few moments of silence passed, before Carduul spoke again, relenting the pressure. “Do not waste my time, then. Step up to your decision, and speak.”

A harsh gulp, before he offered his appeasement: “There’s, a drainage system not far from here, right in the shield generator’s camp, past the defensive cordone…if uh, you knew where it was, you could get in real easy- and they’re dug in real good-”

Not needing to hear anything more, his free hand seized and hefted him by the backplate of the makeshift armor he bore, before forcing him to a stand. Then, the Rally Master pushed him forwards.

“Lead on, then.”

 

[Trajan Fett]

II - CONUNDRUM
R E T R I B U T O R
CRUSADER
MANDALORIAN NEO-CRUSADERS
CRUSADE | Sig Dryggo | Carduul Akahl | Zandra Ruus
Beskar'gam | Carbine

BURNING HELL​

With a snap of tibanna, all of Trajan's subtle approach had gone to the wayside. The alarms rang, blasters fired, lights and generators powered on. They'd been caught. Fett grit his teeth beneath the helmet with some anger, drawing his hybrid pistol before he delivered a burst of disruptor bolts into the nearest guard, a century of agony repulsed from his body in a horrific wail.

He kept the advance regardless. Once the veil was pulled back, there was nothing barring Trajan from executing the mission with violence of action. Rocket, blaster and blade all served well to conquer the ground leading to the first orbital defense battery. He placed a detonation charge on the door leading to the control room before setting it off. The gunnery crew manning it was wholly unprepared, the droid assistants along with them throwing up their hands, yielding to the Mandalorians.

"Don't! Don't shoot!" One stepped infront of the others, a noncommissioned officer of sorts. "Please...Mando...I know- shit...I don't want any trouble just-." A stray blaster shot emerged from the crew, a pistol striking the durasteel behind Trajan to which he swiftly drew his pistol, landing a well placed disruptor bolt in the man's stomach, coring it with another horrific wail before he trained it on the sergeant before him.

He tapped through to Carduul.

<"Akahl. I have control of one of the batteries. Would you prefer them decommissioned...or rather I have this rabble train the guns on their own?"> Trajan said to which the man before him visibly swallowed down nervously.

"N- no! I won-" The barrel of his pistol smacked against the man's skull, immediately welting up as Trajan grasped him by the back of the collar, pressing him against one of the control panels.

<"Stop your whimpering. Your judgement is in the hands of the Rally-Master now..."> He said, pressing the muzzle into the back of his skull, nodding to the other two commandos with him.

<"Get ahold of the weapons, start rigging the det packs. If he wants the guns active they'll keep firing out of fear of blowing up with 'em. Soon as word reaches us that the trajectory is off, you click the detonator."> He said, awaiting his answer.

 

[Hakon Fett]

OBJECTIVE 1: IT'S A TRAP!
TAGS: Mandalorian Neo-Crusaders | Careena Fett | Nelliel Kryze | Mr. Hate | Sig Dryggo | Open
"Victory in battle is my justification."
―Canderous Ordo

Mandalorian Neo-Crusader Fleet
Bridge of the Keldabe battleship Stormbringer
Bimmisaari High Orbit

The Stormbringer groaned under the sudden weight of the blast. Hakon felt the tremor before he heard it, a deep and violent shudder coursing through the Keldabe-class battleship. The bridge was instantly alight with chaos: consoles sparked, klaxons wailed, and voices broke out in a cacophony of confusion and fear.

"Direct hit on our starboard side! Shields holding, but the impact has taken out power to sectors three and four!" the sensor officer's voice rang through the din.

"From where?" Hakon's voice was as cold and as sharp as a winter's blade, though a molten fury burned beneath its steel. His eyes narrowed as he turned to the tactical display. The League's fleet had not fired — the shot had come from the planet below.

"One of the ground batteries, Hakon." came the response.

"How?" Hakon barked, the anger flashing through his voice, though his hands remained still, gripping the edge of the console. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, as if he could pierce through the hull and see the battlefield with his own eyes. "The emplacements were supposed to be under control."

"How indeed?" Orm tilted his head.

"Ground forces are still securing them," a hesitant voice replied. The crew stood frozen for a moment, exchanging glances of confusion and dread as systems flickered back to life on damaged screens.

Fett's grip tightened. His lips barely parted as he spoke, "Relay to all ground commanders: take the batteries now. No more delays. Control must be ours. I will not see this ship crippled by our own fire."

The crew snapped back into motion, though the sting of the strike was still felt by all. Yet there was no further questioning, no time to wonder. War was chaos, and chaos demanded swift answers. Hakon knew this well.

As the ship groaned once more beneath the strain, Hakon's eyes lingered on the planet below. Whoever had allowed this to happen would answer for it, in time. For now, the only course was forward — as it had always been. Fett's gaze flicked to the tactical display as the Stormbringer shuddered under the League's relentless fire, picket ships and vessels on the edge of the formation were torn to bits as the length they had to cover left the open to more and more batteries of the enemy fleet.

His fist slammed onto the console, "Get me Careena."

"You're on."

<"Alor, the fleet's taking heavy damage. You need to board the flagship—" another tremor shook the bridge, the shields faltering as the barrage continued. His jaw clenched. "—now!">

The Stormbringer shuddered once more.

Time was running out.

 

[Sig Dryggo]

"A respected leader will die by his soldier's sides. A feared leader dies by their hands." -Mandalorian proverb

The Crusade: Zandra Ruus | Carduul Akahl | Trajan Fett | Hakon Fett | Feydrik Munin

The deed was done. Sig knew there’d be plenty who wouldn’t care, this was war after all. But for each dozen or so that didn’t, he was well aware there’d be those who saw through the ruse. Even still, he was convinced his actions didn’t need defending. No, in his mind he had made the call no one else was willing to make.

As he turned the corner of the hallway the voices of Zandra and Trajan could be heard. The former was asking for support at the shield battery controls while the latter awaited word from Carduul, currently sitting in one of the other gun battery control rooms. He stopped and weighed his options for a moment. Zandra was capable and was among his best students so far. Trajan was an experienced hunter himself and, from the sounds of it, had already gained control of the room.

<“Retreat is not an option: the fleet needs that shield battery disabled. I’m en-route, hold position and maintain current objective!”>

The order was directed at Zandra but spoken in the Neo-Crusader’s open channel. The game had started and Sig knew he’d have to start thinking and executing ahead of everyone else; this meant doubling his efforts to grow support for both him and Clan Dryggo. Command during wartime was the ultimate practice of the Mandalorian people and Sig was aware his actions would matter little if the final outcome benefited the Crusade more than it harmed it.

He counted on it as he began working through the base’s hallways with the intent of finding his apprentice. As he reached a door that opened to the courtyard he was greeted with the flashes of blaster bolts ripping through the air and the sound of the chaos of war. Turning he saw Zandra and the others behind one of the barricades alongside the perimeter of the courtyard.

Activating his jetpack, he launched himself up to the catwalk, drawing his carbine as he did so. Taking aim he began to open fire on the catwalk across from him where the ambushers initially stroke from. Hitting a few targets before taking cover, some of the blaster fire now directed at him, he glanced down at Zandra through the grated floor. “Push!”

With Sig now taking his share of the incoming fire, he hoped it would be enough to spur his young protege into action. The shield battery was just beyond the door at the opposite end of the courtyard, beneath the catwalk where the majority of League defenders lay. It wouldn’t be easy, but no fight worth it was ever easy.
​

 

[Carduul Akahl]

OBJECTIVE 2: CONUNDRUM
ALLIES: Sig Dryggo | Zandra Ruus | Trajan Fett | Feydrik Munin

A small alcove, hidden away by thick shrubbery, had been where they eventually found their destination. His weapon’s end remained pressed against the leading man’s back, following in toe with a careful eye. Just because things had worked out well enough so far didn’t mean there wouldn’t be issues in the actual location. Thankfully, as they descended down neglected chute from a now-ravaged encampment, there didn’t seem to be any ambushes lying in wait.

They walked for quite some time, the tunnel stretching far out. Occasionally having to turn down a path continue walking, boots splashing against muck and stagnant water. Once again, he was grateful for his armor’s filtration systems. Something that was not the case for the traitor, of which gagged several times and fiercely tried to prevent themselves from vomiting. The thick stone walls separated them from the outside world, the communications that were not exchanged between themselves little more than garbled static.

It was fortunate he had a comms specialist with them, able to keep up their signal through even the harshest conditions. Such roles were not often taken up by Mandalorians, being another odd quirk from the old doctrine of their predecessors. “Alor, patching in a signal to your comms. It’s for you.” Announced a female voice, a hand pressing to her vambrace to relay several commands.

Another simple nod given in return, as moments afterwards he heard the familiar voice accompanied by a soft background of static. Trajan Fett worked fast, it seemed, even managing not to kill off the crew and destroy the controls in a fit of bloodlust - an excellent display of prudence. Though, he was a tad bit surprised when the Son of Mandalore inquired whether they should risk turning the crews against their own fleet, or play it safe by ridding the variable altogether. His gaze tilted upwards, unable to see past the stone ceiling to the battle that raged far above the planet’s atmosphere.

It then dawned on him, however briefly, that without additional support… Hakon Fett may well go down with his ship. A valiant death. An early death. One that would be viewed as little more than an unfortunate casualty of war. If he were a lesser man, he could order the guns destroyed, and rob the gold-clad conqueror above even more of a chance to emerge alive. Dissolve one of the rallying figures of Clan Fett, an icon of the new Crusade, with but a sentence - for Hakon’s call wouldn’t come through until the decision was already made. All in the hopes to garner more influence for himself, like the scheming cowards that sat in the Alliance’s rotted senate.

But Carduul was not a lesser man. He was a Mandalorian.

<“One of the squads botched their job, and it might have hit the Stormbringer. Get that lot to cooperate; it may just buy Hakon enough time to recover.”> Was his reply, the pause in thought barely registering before the words imparted across the patched commlink.

The Rally Master didn’t have time to relay further instructions, for that low rumble of battle grew louder, echoing across the tunnel. At the far end, a wide ladder raising to a manhole of some sort, having long since been built over by the efforts of this new conglomerate. The man at the tip of his weapon pointed upwards with a sigh of relief; “There! Right up there, and you’ll be smack dab in the middle of the encampment.”

“You stay here.” He commanded, directed to the traitor who had shown them the path. “You’ll be given your due.” Was the promise, as he ascended the ladder with the rest of his squad in tow. He slowly pushed open the newly-cut entrance, the chaos above captivating the attention of all the guardsmen. He saw the feet, heard the roar of a repeater overhead. Dryggo’s squad would’ve been caught in a chokepoint. Zandra Ruus , perhaps already, would be forced into a charge against stacked odds that could be avoided.

A hand reached for his belt, “On my mark.” Spoken quietly to the Preservists who waited with baited breath. A button clicked. A timer began ticking.

Then, he shoved open the new entryway behind the enemy, and threw the grenade directly into the frontline. A hiss of gas suddenly erupted to life, as the staunch defenders whirled about in confusion. Some of them had filtration systems, but others did not - weapons clattered to the floor, and bodies fell down in a sudden stupor. The repeater nest was temporarily taken out before the slumped gunner was shoved off by a masked resistor, and began to turn it about to face whichever threat was closest. The rest aimed their guns in opposing directions, finding themselves suddenly flanked on a front they never would’ve expected.

“OYA!”

His jetpack flared to life, and the crimson armor erupted from the tunnel into the spacious control room of the Shield Generator, his uniformed squadron in tow with a resounding cry of “OYA!” in return. Blaster fire ricocheted off his armor, as his blaster pistol fired at the closest offending targets. The defense was fiercer than he expected, as the defenders wildly sprayed into the air to try to fend off the ambush; a shot hit his backplate, another at his chest, then another graze on his leg in rapid succession - sending him veering off course and falling harshly against the cold steel. The poleaxe clanged against the metal, as he used it to push himself up. There were foes all around him, at every turn, even above him arrayed upon a catwalk. This would be a worthy fight, indeed.

The Rally Master had achieved his aim. He had given a vital opening for the others, who had previously thought his squad behind. Now they just had to get rid of the remaining resistance.

 

[Feydrik Munin]

OBJECTIVE 2: CONUNDRUM


A PALE RIDER
​

Feydrik's team, with a bit of a rush, secured the second battery- and destroyed it. He stepped out of the gun battery, one of his men priming the det charges. He counted, each of his men getting to safety, he counted the seconds to impact to the other- but curiously, while other guns fell, one did not.

In fact, it was targeting- moving, cycling. The large machine whirred, whined, and groaned as metal on metal, bushings strained against each other. Hate and discontent spat from it- and into the skies above. He turned his head upwards, before the gun fell silent.

Sig's radio message came through just as Feydrik completed his task.

Odd.

Feydrik didn't have the luxury of time to waste pondering why it did that- or why the gun kept firing. He made a mental note of the time, his HUD capturing an image of the time frame. Luckily, Sig wasn't dead- but he appeared alone. Which may have explained the delay in taking down the gun battery.

Feydrik and his squad quickly made haste for Sig's, Zandra's, and Trajan's position, his squad in tow. He thought back of how long they trained for this. For every fight, every thirty seconds of combat, a Mandalorian, a Soldier, was expected to spend six hours in training for it. Which allowed his squad to be efficient, ruthlessly so. They were well-drilled, from rifle drills, to sprinting under fire. Outside the battery, Zandra's radio call proved true.

Roughly a few platoon-sized element now had come to reinforce and take back the defense cannons, including light armor. The enemy was focused on seizing the battery, and with their size and strength, they would, eventually, if the Mandalorians inside didn't destroy it. However, tenacity didn't win wars, and numbers did. No matter the expertise, strength of the individual, numbers were numbers. Ammunition would turn up dry, and the sheer numbers could overwhelm you. Perhaps in the age of spear and shield, a tunnel or hallway could mean you could survive, but with firearms, grenades, it was more or less a death sentence.

Feydrik looked at the situation objectively, breathing deeply as they deposited themselves into cover, not having yet unmasked from their position. From their position, they were on the flank of the enemy, as they themselves took positions around the defense cannon, preparing to assault further into it. Gunfire inside lead him to believe that there were at least a few Mandalorians- or their tenuous allies, inside.

Feydrik's squad spread out silently, keeping low, avoiding being seen.

There were two ways to begin an ambush. The primary, and backup. The primary way to initiate an ambush was always the most effective and lethal weapon at your disposal. So, with the Mandalorians, that was a collection of grenades, a rocket team, a repeater, and wrist-rockets. Each team member was given commands silently, whispered into his helmet, and appearing as text to his squad, and to his squad only. They primed their grenades, rockets, and steeled themselves-

And then, unleashed hell on the Defenders of the planet.

A symphony of explosions, and a rapid opening heavy burst from the repeater, cut down a good number of the enemy. They were outnumbered, they were outgunned. But in the chaos, the Mandalorians had an advantage: positioning, and violence of action. Violence, of course, being the key ingredient to victory. Feydrik's squad pushed into the enemy- bounding in pairs.

Closing in on the enemy, closing the distance. Each bound was roughly 10-15 meters, before the first man would drop down, providing fire and cover to the second. They were moving rapidly, closing the distance against the disoriented, confused, and casualty-stricken enemy, who had now to contend with Feydrik's attack, along with attempting to seize the cannon.

you know who you are.

 

[Biala Prahl]

Biala Prahl
Location - Aboard Unyielding Resolve, Bimmisaari Orbit
Objective - Abandon Ship [Objective I]
X

​

The sterile light flickered overhead as the ship rocked upon impact of another barrage, generators that were redirected optimized the engines and a final wiry sound followed before they were left in the dark. Unease wasn’t a word she’d use to describe the verde that surrounded her-antsy at best. The back lights kicked in, a faint blue hue illuminating exit routes, what power was left whirled and fried wiring sparked. Biala’s neck craned, dark helm surveying those around and their condition. Comms were quiet down here-orders a need to know basis as their run had already begun. One worn glove fell to her holster, unclicking the strap and reclicking it methodically until it was telling.

The League of Lantillies was nothing more than men who had forgotten their roots, their loyalties, and fear above all. Fear of the Mando’ade and it’s retribution.

They still would put up a nasty fight it seemed. Whispers followed another heavy toll of their shields that shook the very frame of the ship. When the black smoke began to billow through the corridor, she started to sweat-attached to her post for fear of the unknown. She had never raided, it hadn’t been the Clan’s way, far and removed from the violence. Biala felt almost unprepared. The barrage had left not only herself but many of the cohort scrambling to stand. Whispers were obscured in the chaos but she pieced a singular word from the exchange between her seniors-Umbaran.

So Lantillies could not defend itself-if it had been their right to raid it was only right those raided past try to redeem themselves. A chance to die well was all one could hope for. Biala’s teeth clenched, picking herself up from the grate, each breath steadily growing faster and with unsteady legs. The ship swayed again, another barrage followed-the backlights dying in finality. What the kriff were they flying into? In the dark a shrill white light greeted her, squinting behind her visor, the opposing verde and many others activating helm lights in lieu of the power outage. They traded heavy hands as she rose up beside him and they steadied one another. In the dark comms flared, a crackled voice from the ship helm.

<”Abled bodies to report to the hangar, prepare for space walk.”>

A short strangled laugh escaped her, finally it seemed to avail upon them all a task-a mission. Boots echoed down the hall first as staff began their descent, pressing forward the woman lurched, if only to be the first. She squeezed between bodies before the crowd melded into one movement seeking out their orders. It would not be the last of the assault, transports departing under fire as the ship seemed held together by a thread. Minutes may have passed since the maelstrom of had become, but their hands were not idle. A sharp turn in the warriors around drew attention, as their bodies snapped to almost an attention-making room. Biala unholstered the freshly minted beskad, an unblooded weapon, and her helm raised as the Alor of Fett passed.

<"Crusaders! Our fleet is relying on us to break the enemy. Let us show them how Neo Crusaders truly fight. Prepare for battle!">

Biala grinned all teeth, a breath escaped her and one amongst many-lifted her arm giving a half hearted cry and 'oya', just another voice among many. Hailing after the one woman, the ol'averde leapt in to the void, chasing glory. It was time to make a name for herself. Adrenaline shot up her spine as she restlessly shook her shoulders. One foot step after the other followed, and Biala abandoned all security in favor of the cold vacant space, chasing the burners of other’s jetpacks. Ships and the like careened past as all were momentarily suspended amongst the carnage, fighters chasing their marks in the bulk of the fire fighter. She did not look back, heart hammering, as the warped sound of the Unyielding was lost to wreckage in a final symphony. Burners were hot at her back as they pressed forward in the assault after their commander.

Careena Fett Hakon Fett ​

 

[Careena Fett]

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

| Location | Space, Bimmisaari Orbit​

| Objective | Commandeer an enemy ship [Obj 1]​

​

The muted explosion as the two colliding ships detonated was behind Careena as she flew through the void, weaving left and right to avoid any debris. The sacrifice of the captain had given them a window of opportunity as the enemy wasn't immediately engaging them as their sensors were flooded. A transmission was being patched through to Careena as Hakon's voice came through,​

​

<"Alor, the fleet's taking heavy damage. You need to board the flagship—~—now!">​

​

<"I'm already on it Hakon, hold fast. It is not your day to die.">​

​

She grit her teeth from beneath her helmet as the Shadow's Dawn fast-filled her field of view on approach. She glanced over her shoulder as she spotted several transports from the destroyed Lantille's vessel launching to escape the fiery inferno. She twisted her body to face the incoming transport. She signaled the crusaders with her, gesturing towards the craft, their ticket through the shields of the Shadow's Dawn.​

​

The rear shuttle fast approached her, the pilot unaware of the Crusaders scattered amongst the debris. As it came close Careena latched onto the canopy of the shuttle, magnetizing herself to the hull as she pulled her sidearm out, pressing the muzzle to the glass before squeezing the trigger. The pilots were too taken by surprise to react in time as the blaster bolt pierced through and punched through their chests. She pulled her arm back as she let her armored elbow impact the fractured viewport, shattering it as she crawled inside of the cockpit. She hit the release for the doors to the rear, the vacuum of space sucking out the evacuees aboard and leaving it open for the crusaders to replace.​

​

Their trojan horse tactic would be their best bet to taking them by surprise, with the cover of debris to confuse their sensors and conceal their deception. The shuttle fast approached as it fell in line with the rest of the fleeing transports, hiding like a wolf amongst sheep.​

​

​

Hakon Fett | Mr. Hate | Biala Prahl​

 

[Biala Prahl]

Biala Prahl
Location - Aboard Shadow's Dawn, Bimmisaari Orbit
Objective - It's Our Ship Now Comrade [Objective I]
X

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Jagged panels and scrap flew past, metal groaning- Biala’s screen blinked steadily, red, warning her of imminent impacts. Verde alike swarmed through the maze of debris field and Biala’s body twisted as she dipped and soared behind the cover in the fall out. She reached out, latching on to a piece as the ol’averde had stalled. A hand raised from her battlegroup’s alor'ad caught her attention as her visor turned to followed their direction, one hand pointed to the Lantille’s evac transports as she watched the Fett Alor begin the assault. Burners flared as she pushed off the wreckage, vaulting past but another piece of scrap. The sound of her breath filled her ears, as she spared one final look to the greater battle-it was easy to feel small amongst the metal behemoths.

Looming from behind the wreckage like stalking beasts. From the rear more verde snuck behind, Biala descended amongst them on to the transport-body veering to dodge the hopeless bodies lost in the vacuum. Gauntlets grasped the edge of the port window as she dragged herself down, glass floating in the void that she swatted out of view. Biala made for the nearest space, as her boots hit the cabin floor the shuttles lingering artificial gravity grabbed a hold of her. Would the ruse last was the question? Biala’s heel slid back as the last of the verde piled in, the hangars of the greater starship closing in as the transports unknowingly led their way.

A tense silence followed as the bay’s faint force field rippled as their transport slowly slipped behind the enemy’s most vital lines. The verde who had assumed control of their shuttle hand’s flew to a series of switches, hydraulics hissed as the ship landed. Stray chatter passed over the vessel’s radio. The lurch of the ship was all they needed, warriors shifted and turned toward the lowing ramp at the rear. In one great wave they disembarked from the dropped ramp like rabid dogs.

Ramps fell from the neighboring ships, the unexpected caught in the first wave of blaster fire of the Neo-Crusaders and a collective voice of battle cries resounded. Some opted for the broken window they had entered by, Biala one of them as she planted one boot on the dash, it was almost sin to be the last off the vessel and they fled like hell was on their heels-haphazardly she leapt out, jets once more roared to life.

Red streaks of plasma streaked across the hangar, and Biala shot up above the bay. Aloft in the air the young woman took in the handful of transports, staff, soldiers, whatever they cared to call themselves. It didn’t matter as some raised their arms or raced for cover in the emerging fire fight. She raised her vambrace, and with a hard flick of her arm a series of wrist rockets spouted forth toward the first of the hangar exits. The explosion caught those who had bolted off guard, and the Lantille guardsmen at their post. Sparks flew and the inferno casted aside their bodies-limp. Satisfied and with her beskad at hand, Biala shifted her weight as her jetpack dimmed suddenly. She dropped to the hangar floor in a blur with a hard thud to follow, tucking her chin as she rolled out only to stand amongst her brethren.

<”Kote!”> Biala all but roared, racing into the fray.

Careena Fett Mr. Hate Hakon Fett ​