Rebellion Operation Beskar Falls

[Ingrid L'lerim]

Lady Ingrid L’lerim-Ragal
Empress Regent of the Eternal Empire, Overlord of the Eternal Empire, the Emperor's hand
The Red Witch; Director of Blackwatch; Baroness of Vengard, Head of the House L’lerim, CEO of the HPI Consortium​

Location: Rizûti Kûts, the Black Death - The Foundry, Mandalore
Equipment: 2x Sigra vibroblade | 2x Striith vibrosword | 2x red blade lightsaber shoto | Heilagr MK. I Assassin Armour | Shield talisman | G1 OmniLink | BCR-X10 Sniper Rifle | Empyrean gland | Taozin amulet
Tag(s): Sidiqq Ordo

Background music:
Sabaton – Rise of Evil​

As she retrieved the data, Ingrid already felt through the Force that someone was approaching her and not the way from which it should have happened. The enemy entered the complex. She pretended not to feel it. The dropship nearby had a symbol of the Eternal Empire, so there was no Sith thing on this landing pod. At most, she, if anyone was included in the calculations, she would be the wife of one of the leaders of the Sith Empire.

She had her back to the part where the enemy came from. Ingrid was very tall, and for that she had an ethereal physique. Looked more like a fairy-tale fairy and princess based on her physique than an assassin, or a hard-handed intelligence officer, soldier, or even ruler. Yet all the markers were true to her, very much so. On her back was her sniper's rifle, and two black-handled vibroswords were also visible in an X-shape. There were two other black vibroblades on the woman's belt. Had no trace of a lightsabers, though she had it, only hidden.

The moment her opponent shot her, she moved. Ingrid didn't use Force, but she was still fast, very fast. For most of her life she lived without the Force, so she had to be in the best possible physical condition. She also owed her speed and dexterity to these. Shots toward her fired the terminal to pieces. During the avoid, she reached back for the vibroswords and pulled them out. She recognise the grenade, but she didn't have to worry about it specifically. Even if it had influenced her, she did not use Force often unless she had to. So the Overlord wasn't worried.

She just dodged the shrapnel because she didn't want to test her armour so much, not to mention that she didn't have any good memories of them at the Bastion either. Thanks to one, she almost died if AMCO didn’t save her. That's why she made new armour for herself, partly. She avoided some of the shots, some hit her armour, but didn't feel it, and defended some with swords.

She finally jumped behind the crates and other cover, had to somehow solve it to get into melee…

​

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

​

Location: In Transit to Mandalore's Surface.
Primary Objective: Cleanse the Surface. Stop the Rancidious Order.
Secondary Objective: Defy the Unworthy.
Contractor: The Ragnar Syndicate.
Allies: True Manda'yaim | The Oathsworn.
Enemies: The Sith Empire, The Rancidious Order, The Mandalorian Union.
Equipment: See the Link in the Signature.
Complement: One Basilisk War Droid, [Currently Mounted.]
Moving to Engage: Darth Assimilus and the Rancidious Order, as well as the Sith-Imperial Graug Infestation. ​

To believe in Gods was folly. There was no higher power, situated beyond the veil of sight. They didn’t judge one’s actions, either considering them worthy enough to enter their halls or cast them into the darkest pits of hell. Thus, the narrative of Religion was a methodology of control - seeking to bind the foolish and weak-minded together in a herd for safety in considerable numbers. Even though the man recognized how archaic his beliefs were, Rynn Vizsla couldn’t help but worship at the Altar of the Ancient Pantheon. It was something that his Father fervently believed in, knowing that the Gods they prayed too were, but aspects of their Culture made manifest. He loved his Father as any Trueborn Mandalorian would. Through their people’s collective traditions and how they were passed down from one generation to the next - His Father’s beliefs became the Son’s.

Sequestered within his chamber, and kneeling before an aureate pot filled with burning incense and ash, Rynn opened his eyes. No prayer could be spoken, no hymn that could be sung that would appease the pantheon. That wasn’t how their Religion worked. Instead, what blessings they had would beseech the uncaring Gods for their favour, and cursing them for their eternal silence. What hymns would be sung would be that of the clattering steel that resonated from clashing blades, or the thunderous cannonade of entrenched laser batteries. Whether it was times of peace or times of war, it mattered not - all that mattered, in the end, was that their deeds overshadowed and outstripped their words. Apathy was death, in their Culture’s eyes.

To stand by and watch - as all that one loved was stripped away from them. That was anathema to those that held to the Creed - whether they were swayed by the trappings of Religion like Rynn or not. That was but part of the reason why the Young Vizsla joined his comrades on this Expedition. His comrades, brothers and cousins all bled themselves against the crumbling might of the Sith Empire - whilst other factions of their Splintered Empire consigned themselves to the shadows. They were content to let this insult to their martial pride and immortal honour stand - until the Foe, they were beaten by, was weakened by another. Had they stood with the Sons of Mandalore from the beginning. Had they not refused the Call and sought to hide in the shadows.

Rynn wouldn’t have viewed them so poorly. They were unworthy of the armour they wore and the system they sought to reclaim. While they may proclaim that they’ve come to liberate their ancestral homeworld and may paint themselves as trueborn patriots - they were nothing more than Vultures. Seeking to steal another’s glory and make it their own. It was Mandalorians like them that saw our Empire’s greatness squandered and sold to Enemy Sorcerer’s - before being stabbed in the back. What did they expect to achieve this time around? Rynn wondered. But, to consider the mindset of the benighted and lost - was to invite madness. So, the Young Vizsla forced his thoughts elsewhere.

When they settled, the Mandalorian’s thoughts fell upon the sharpened and oiled edge of his Beskad. While it wasn’t forged from Beskar, as the rare ore was stolen by others to foolishly coat Battleships, the material was durable. It was woven from a composite of durasteel, carbon-nanofilaments, and woven cortosis-fibres. A capable weapon in the hands of a skilled Warrior, especially when paired with the Fighting Daggers, lashed to his waist. Rynn thumbed the edge of his blade with a smile. The Warsmith did good work to repair the damage inflicted during a furious bout of training. It had taken him nearly the entirety of their journey to work out the knicks and chips. But, it had given Rynn time to contemplate their actions that led them to this critical junction - and to reflect upon the dozen or so sparring Droids that littered the Corvette’s decks.

The Ragnar Syndicate, a shadowy organization, operating from the Underworld’s depths, caught wind of some dark and disturbing news. An Organization of Dark Sorcerer’s, called the Rancidious Order, sought to capitalize on the disorder erupting from the Sith Empire’s weakness and the plentiful bounty that populated the despoiled surface of Mandalore. While the Sons of Mandalore had vowed to liberate their ancestral homeland through a Crusade - they couldn’t allow these Infernal beings to despoil the Planet’s surface even further. Thus, a Warband was marshalled in service to the Syndicate. And was subsequently sent into the fray - acting as the Vanguard for the Crusade, in the eyes of some.

To Rynn, however? They were nothing more than a band of mercenaries rallied to the banner of another, in pursuit of a common cause. In a sense, both aspects were true, but what the Young Vizsla believed was all that mattered in the end. For it would be through his beliefs, both internal and external, that would galvanize him to the cause. Perhaps, there might even be a chance for their misguided kindred to abandon their foolish all-or-nothing assault. Rynn doubted that their minds could be forced from this darkened path, as they likely believed their misguided deeds were just and true. However, while the others of his Cadre would probably give them no quarter, he thought they deserved a chance to redeem themselves. At least, before He ran them through with his freshly-honed blade.

That was when the warning klaxons sounded, stirring the armoured Mandalorian - bathed in pulsating crimson lights - to action. He sheathed the Beskad with serpentine grace and collected his weapons. Pistols were holstered, and an oiled Rifle was slung across his Cerulean-enameled pauldrons. When his panoply was complete, Rynn kicked over the pot of burning incense and dashed out the parting door. His prayers, as expected, beseeching the Uncaring Gods for their blessings - went unanswered. If they remained silent, as he hoped that they would, the Young Vizsla would make them listen. His deeds this day would seek to force their hands into recognizing him, and if he died this day - only to find himself standing before them?

He would curse them with a triumphant smile on his face, knowing that he died a Warrior, rather than a craven wretch.

When the order to mount up was given, Rynn was one of the first to vault into the armoured saddle. It was clear that he was eager to become embattled, but that was a sentiment held by all those surrounding him. They wanted to sally forth into the fray just as much as he did, but they had to wait for several moments more. It was agonizing. He hated the calm before the inevitable storm and felt his body react in kind. Armoured gauntlets tightened around the War Droid’s controls, causing the metallic Warhorse to issue a metallic whine - one that was echoed by several nearby steeds. Patience was never his strong suit, and Rynn was glad that there were others like him within this assembled Cadre.

As the heavy blast shields started to peel back into their respective housings, the Young Vizsla listened to the Commander’s words. He also bore witness to the affection showcased by his Cousin - to another of their number. They were fighting for the memories of their loved ones and to free their despoiled world from the clutches of the enemy and the unworthy alike. However, Rynn had a hard time accepting their cause as his own. He didn’t care about the planet like the others of his kind. It was nothing more than an insignificant rock that was stripped of most of its strategic resources and infested by monsters. His home was wherever he laid his head at night.

Instead, the Young Vizsla believed that his just cause would be a reckoning. Not for the vengeful harrowing of Mandalore, but for the twinned insults laid at his feet by the crumbling Empire and the Union of thieving carrion.

The time had come. With the despoiled and infested surface of Mandalore reflected on the iconic visor of his void-sealed armour, Rynn gunned the accelerator and dusted off the flight deck. His metallic stead lifted from the formerly polished surface and was soon embraced by the bespeckled canvas of night. The integrated shielding suite flared into life as they plummeted towards the surface, becoming dozens of fiery comets against the backdrop of countless stars, and the souls drawn to this world like entranced moths. There was a part of the Young Vizsla that believed this whole encounter was nothing more than a ruse by the Sith Empire. Drawing out those scattered survivors before crushing what remained of them with their seemingly limitless war machine.

He laughed at that thought. If such an end was to become a reality, then he would welcome it gladly. After their Cadre punched through the wounded Planet’s atmosphere, or what remained of it after it was allegedly stripped bare, Rynn began to howl in his native tongue. The Concordian dialect of the Mandalorian language held odd inflections and a more harsh, guttural tone. His howl resonated across the encrypted channels that connected him to the rest of the Oathsworn and were formulated into three simple words. These words were the Young Vizsla’s purpose made manifest. They were his conflicted and often hypocritical notions of religious belief. And, they were his barely-constrained rage, bound together with the vigour of youth. These three words were not only his conviction spoken aloud - but they were a threatened and unspoken promise to the enemy.

"TO. THE. DEATH!"​

| Isaiah Priest | Amon Vizsla | Trajan Fett | Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt | Meshla Detta |​

 

[Cara Dorniarn]

Location: The Foundry
Opposition: Siv Dragr | Sidiqq Ordo
Allies: TSE

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________​

The sound had begun as a low hum which grew to become a hollow whine. The whine exploded into a piercing wail, the beam bathing the expansive cavern in a shifting brilliance of yellow. Suspended a few meters away were several thick metal plates in a line, their centers now carved out with a molten hole.

The deep echo of two metal palms crashing together gave what sounded as an applause, causing the few researchers in the cavern to turn. One dipped her head as the Sith engineer approached. Cara returned the gesture before motioning to the woman's goggles,

"Those belong on your eyes, not your head. Safety first, everyone." Her tone was unusually chipper, a rarity that caused a nearby dynamicist and laser engineer to exchange glances. She took the thermos from under her arm and took a sip of hot caf, "Latest report?"

The young woman Cara spoke to perked her shoulders then slipped the goggles down in haste, only to slowly push them back to her forehead since current testing was already complete. In a sheepish tone she replied while glancing to the datapad in hand, "Ten rounds with battery depletion of 20% and no foreign neural activity detected."

"Marvelous. And significantly lower than previous. Continue adjusting the levels its energizer can produce while maintaining desirable results."

"Yes Doctor."

Cara offered to take the datapad with an extended hand then browsed its notes. The prototypes, she hoped, would soon be ready to leave the improvised laboratory. Rizûti Kûts could mass produce the plates she wished for testing her latest creation, that which she dubbed Prototype 2.6 but those who worked with her fondly called the "Beskar Smelter," and was a place she felt rather at home in. It humored her to think any place on Moridinae could be so productive, but the Sith Empire brought a use to the aforementioned dustball.

The prototype stood tall and silent with only the light of its ocular sensors betraying its status. Online, functional, but still not perfect. With a quick motion she tapped two knuckles on its arm, "Soon," she hummed.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
​

Hours had passed, and while most of the team had dispersed for dinner and well-earned rest the doctor remained. The cavern-turned-laboratory was abuzz with sensor arrays, busy production terminals, and the din of mining equipment deep within adjacent mines. To Cara it was the equivalent of a personal orchestra, the odd harmony being a pleasure to listen to as she poured over spec sheets.

A sour note rumbled almost imperceptible.

Eyes peered up from the draft table as she listened. Another rumble echoed fainter than the last. Joints clicked as she looked over her shoulder. A probot bumbled out of an upper mineshaft to make a beeline for a door on Cara's level. She reached out with a mental touch and the droid halted as her influence took over. With an anxious spin it turned and floated over, spouting strings of binary almost too quick to understand.

"Slow dow -- what? Repeat that -- no what you said six lines ago. What!?" The seat fell backward as she stood and grabbed the probot, shoving the surprised droid under her arm. Marching to a local terminal she relayed instructions to individuals elsewhere then turned to think. Angry, the droid prattled some harsh whines and tried to wiggle out from her grasp. With a mimed snap of her fingers Cara had her plan. She took the probot in both hands, "Tell security to inform the forces an "experimental" troop detachment will be arriving. Don't shoot it and stay out of the way when it does."

She shoved the droid back into the air. It grumbled but confirmed the order. Cara watched it leave before striding to the prototype, a small smirk on her lips. With a wave of her hand the plug from the cyborg's head snapped free and hissed as it fell to the floor. The hulking creation rolled its shoulders as the hum in its chest crescendoed into a growl. Heat from the laser cannon quickly distorted the air, and the beast bellowed after she input a new series of commands.

The cyborg's arrival would be later, its heavy footfalls echoing as it tread the longer but more spacious hallways. As for the doctor her trek to the hangar was quick, her uniform nothing but boots, slacks, a shirt, and a short labcoat sporting the armband of an engineer. If the doctor was at a disadvantage she didn't care, the thrill of live testing eclipsing the importance of safety --hypocrisy be damned!

She entered the hangar, hands in her labcoat pockets as she observed a lone Mandalorian eliminate what security was left in the hangar.

"My goodness. True to Mandalorian form, you've made quite a mess."

 

[Kreslin Westwind]

Kreslin snapped his Beskad up, blocking the slash the Death Watch warrior had aimed at his head. With both their blades locked, Kreslin brought his other hand up quickly, placing the barrel of his pistol underneath the warriors chin before firing a single shot upwards. The resistance he felt vanished almost instantly, and he shrugged the body to the side as he marched forward through the ruins of the landing site. They had encountered some heavy resistance thus far in the initial landing, though no where near as much as the original war plans had guessed.

Part of that was likely to do with the rather haphazard nature of the Mandalorian Unions landing across Manda'yaim, with units of drop troopers assaulting multiple different locations, as well as pushing on the capital already. It would seem that no plans survived contact with the enemy, or with Mandalorians. Still, while it was frustrating the scattered nature the assault had begun with, it offered them a good opportunity. Sheathing his Beskad into its shoulder harness, Kreslin took a few quick steps forward before jumping down into a small crater, created by one of the Unions bombers during the initial attack. Within the crater, several Union officers were gathered around a large map, pinned down at the corners by helmets taken that day in battle.

Coming to stand next to them, Kreslin watched as one of his officers updated the map, moving a few small wooden token across the map further north, indicating the battle underway by the forces near the Krieg detachment. Another cluster showed large units of Union and Sith forces moving in and engaging each other near the Beskar Mine. Turning his head, Kreslin leaned down and move a few token himself, indicating the actions of O Omegon against the unknown targets. Once the map had been updated, Kreslin turned to Venku Bralor who had landed with the main force. "It seems our plans are going to have to change slightly."

Taking a step forward, Kreslin addressed the assembled officers quickly, his eyes never leaving the map as he spoke. "The main Sith response seems to be heading north, to engage the forces of Krieg, House Awaud, and the assembled attack force led by Sidiqq Ordo heading towards the mine. This was going to be a diversionary attack, but now, we have a chance. We will not wait for the second wave of troops to reinforce our position. We will march on Sundari now, and take it while the Sith are distracted with the assault force near the mines. We stop for nothing, and at all costs, we must breach the false Mand'alors Palace at Sundari. Rally your troops, we move out at once."

As the officers nodded and dispersed, climbing out of the crater to head back to their units, Kreslin took a few steps towards Venku. His formerly pure white armor had been covered in a layer of blood, ash and debris. What little of the original color remained was focused mostly around his helmet. Placing his hand briefly on the youth's shoulder, he gestured with his other hand at the map. "When we get to the city, it will be up to you to eliminate the remaining defenders while I handle the Mand'alor. It is asking a lot of you, but I am confident you will be able to do this."

 

[Darth Assimilus]

Location: Mandalore, Gruag Encampment
Objective: Grow. Infect Gruag.
Allies: Rancidus Order
Enemies: Everyone
NPCs:
x12 Blackwing Infected Undead

The haze of apathy. Setting down like a cloud over the dew that rested over Dale’s eyes and mouth. Undeath had taken him just as it did the others. Just as it would take the curious and ignorant. Gruag. Even now midst the barrage of shuttle alarms and distress beacons, the crashed shuttle was slowly attracting these brutes in mass.

New technology to salvage. New parts to claim for their own.

Twas not without purpose. A container lay in Khorelis’s hands. Hollow inside much like himself. The contents within sloshing about on their own accord. It was true, yes, that with each step toward the exit hatch the thick contents moved as well but their was something inside too.

Waiting to be unleashed. An oscillating shriek filled the vessel. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkk.” Then it grew louder in unison. “ EEEEEEEEEEKKKKKKKK!!!!” The harmonies saying The harmonies sang from the dead. Heads tilled toward the skies above and gaping maws overextended past anatomy's known limits. The back hatch fell into the dust of mandalores earth loosing a storm of debris to waft about the arid atmosphere.

A hiss escaped the canister craddled in Khorelis’s arms. His decrypted fingers teasing the realese module. Finally it snapped. The oscillating shrieks were met with roars by the brutes. Swarming the shuttle and stampeding in. A single red blade ignited. Poised at waist level it waited in Dr. Lusks grasp.

A single and simple toss of the canister was enough of a distraction for the head that lead the Gruag warriors into the hallway of the shuttle. With and up ward cleave a blurr of red cut clean into the brutes chest and through the canister.

The immediate area was bathed in black liquid. Thick viscous liquid. Petals of a blackened lotus detailed the substance as it outstretched its microscopic hands and stank its claws into new flesh.

Gruag flesh. Blackwing needed only a single agent to accelerate the infection process and indeed it had fused into the entire cycle. A grey smog corrupting the air.

What once was an angry horde had become a mutated seizing collaboration fell into respiratory arrest.

(( phone post))

 

[Aloy Vizsla]

S C O U T I N G​

​

Equipment: Thousand Degree Blade(Beskad), "Hissing Ghosts"(x2), Modified NN-14s, "Banshee"(Sonic Disruptor Staff), TTOT Scatterblaster, Vibro Switchblade, Chainbreaker, Furies(X6) , Beskar'gam(Ga'yusr'gam). ​

​

Forces: House Awaud Suppercommandos(x25)​

​

Allies: MU And allies \\ Unit ( Darsch Vizsla Shai Maji Talon Richwood )​

​

Enemies: TSE (Kytana) Dar'manda pretenders, Sith aligned or third party.​

​

<"No Vode, No we are not."> She chuckles to Shai Maji before turning to scout for Darsch Vizsla and her men.​

​

<"Copy Blue,"> She looks right for a moment, Watching the Sith AA belch plasma into the air high above them. <"I count three. One in the tower, 500 Meters north. Rooftop, 200 Meters northeast, And Courtyard, 300 Meters northwest. Dropships inbound, Offloading some kinda aliens... Big too, Expect heavy resistance.">​

​

Something had caught her eye in the distance soon after the Dropships offload their abominable cargo. She'd never seen nor heard of the Graug before, But seeing their hulking forms on her Visor's Rangefinder, She could tell that they'd be in for a proper fight.​

​

Before she could make out whatever she'd seen leave with the Graug, A huge Explosion shakes the building and everything around them, Causing her to turn to her right suddenly as Talon Richwood destroys countless foes atop a drop pod loaded with explosives, Creating a desolate crater far off in the distance.​

​

<"Blue, You seeing thi-"> * B a n g* A large bullet tears through the air, Slamming into Joti. Her back arcs as she is thrown forward, All the breath from her lungs escaping in a single sharp gasp just before she falls from the roof,​

Tumbling over the overhang of the next building, Rolling down from the second rooftop and falling about two stories down below, Using her repulsor boots to soften the impact just before she hits the ground, Landing on her back in a pile of duracrete.​

​

<"Sniper! Six O'clock!>" The lead supercommando shouts loud enough for those below to hear.​

​

Thankfully her VT Kinetic impact gel Flak Vest(Beskar'gam) had saved her from taking the full force of the massive Slug, Instead breaking the gel vest which had absorbed the majority of the impact but still been broken, Lodging the slug into the muscle of her back just below her rib cage, But close enough to the surface to easily dig out with tools if need be. Still, This caused her to slowly bleed as she lay there, Staring at the sky through her visor whilst clinging to whatever oxygen she could intake, Taking shape, panicked breaths as the gut reactions of her body and functionality of her mind attempt to recalibrate and reunite, Recovering from the shock of the impact, Losing her breath and falling from such a height. She was very much alive, But in great pain and in no shape to fire back just yet.​

​

Meanwhile, Topside; The Supercommandos had all taken cover, Crouching down suddenly behind the low wall or behind the empty drop pod. Some of them having seen the direction their Commander, Joti, Had been shot from, A few return fire in the rough direction of the Shooter(Kytana ) Taking a few pot shots in her direction. Meanwhile, Joti's second in command received word from command.​

​

<"Affirmative, We are holding our ground until the 3rd arrive. We cannot deploy air support at this time, Our position is heavy with Hostile AA. Commander Joti is down and we have encountered heavy resistance, Over."> He informs Jaster Awaud 's command structure over the encrypted commlink.​

​

Next it came time to inform Darsch Vizsla of the message. <"Word from Command. Orders are to hold our ground until the 3rd division can break through, ETA unknown. Close air support is available but they'd be torn apart. What are your orders, Commander?">​

That was the start of a very long day for all of them.​

​

 

[Talon Aegis]

Aloy Vizsla | Shai Maji | Darsch Vizsla | Jaster Awaud | Kytana

Equipment: The H1 ; Orcrist Swords (Beskad) ; HX Revolver ; Beskar'gam (Wrist flamethrower and wrist cable variant) ; Jetpack

Talon looked at the men exiting the other drop pod. The lead one said, "<Orders sir.>" Talon pointed towards the city, starting a quick pace towards the edge of the crater. Looking at the ground he could see little pieces of metal and other materials that were scattered along it, this caused him to shake head. They drew closer to the edge, a collapsed building, had slid down.

Once he climbed up the side the commandoes followed, there was a small wall in front of them. Putting his knee down, Talon motioned for one of the men to step up, "<Peek, see if there are any enemies or allies on the other side.>" A commando hoped onto his knee pulling his head over immediately collapsing back, most of his head missing.

"<Breaching charges!>" Talon called up, causing another to step up placing explosives along the wall. "<Breach and clear, you know what to do.>" The wall exploded dust being sent everywhere, bullets from both sides, eventually the firing from one side stopped, the Mandalorians stepping up. A commando kicking down a door to get a shotgun to the chest. Talon turned his pistol firing through the already dead commando's head into the enemy with the shotgun.

There was another door on the other side, Talon pulling both pistols firing through the door hearing something hit the floor on the other side. Motioning forward he continued his push, setting fire to the two buildings and going forward. Talon lead the men into one of the off roads, a small area where they could rest. A wooden pole pressed up against a wall.

"<Three minutes.>" Talon called out, a commando walking over leaning against the pole, it coming down crashing through the wall revealing many enemies. Both sides picking up their weapons and started to yell at eachother.

Words such as, "Drop your weapons!" and "<Surrender or die.>" The Mandalorian words mixing with those of the others. A commando pulled the trigger and the rest of the Mandalorians followed, it was short, only lasting a couple of seconds, though tense. Walking into the building Talon put a bullet into the brain of a surviving TSE soldier.

Turning around, the Mandalorians were tending to the wounded. "<Set up a medstation in here, five men with me, we will continue to regroup, see what medics we can get from their numbers.>" Looking over the men, he counted, only five had died so far, about four injured. The man who had fired had nearly killed the company, it all depended on who fired as a group first.

Motioning to the five men who stepped up they continued a sound of a shot split across the area. With that they resumed their journey, going in the direction of the group.

 

[Seydou of Thyrsus]

Objective: Liberate Mandalore from Sith, Union and Blackwing
Location: Approaching surface
Allies: Isaiah Priest | Kestus Bralor | Trajan Fett | Meshla Detta | Rynn Vizsla
Enemies: Blackwing/MU/TSE
Engaging: Kreslin Westwind | Venku Bralor

W I N G E D _ H U S S A R S​

The oath they had taken on Vinsoth had brought them here. They heeded the call even if still recuperating from their wounds on Bastion. What was sealed in blood could not be undone.

Hundreds of Mandalorian warriors were unleashed in the atmosphere a top their proud Basilisk War Droids, their sight - a reminiscence of the crusaders of old. The Iron Hussars spearheaded by Amon and Meshla launched towards ground fall, a verdict of the heavens to be delivered upon Sith and pretenders.

After analysing the tac-map which revealed the estimate positioning of hostile forces, Amon pinged an accumulation of Union forces locked in battle with Sith forces facing the ravaged city of Sundari. He then called to the Hussars, <"Targets identified, vode.">

<"We strike for Mandalore.">

<"Our cause is true!">​

he glanced at Meshla, nodded and,

<"OYA!">​

Before the adrenaline of war tackled his rationality, Amon made sure to contact one Maynard Treicolt , a rogue Jedi whose intention were unclear to the Mandalorian. <"Treicolt, make yourself useful - Lusk must be stopped. I wouldn't trust a jetii but Priest vouched for you."> he cut the line after.

Full focus on the enemies below ( Kreslin Westwind , Venku Bralor ).

They descended with full speed and force from the sky blotting out the moon. Outnumbered and outgunned. Storm clouds, fire and steel. Death from above make the enemy kneel. The Iron Hussars arrived. Ripping into the formations of both engaged forces of the Sith and the Union, half of the Hussars continued to make endless strafing runs wrecking havoc with their shockwave generators and pulse-wave cannons, while Amon, Meshla and the rest landed right into the midst.

Smoke, ash and cinder around them. Enemies in all sides embracing them in a deathly choke.

<"What we do in life echoes in eternity.">

Amon steeled his nerves and slashed away the visions of his father's ever judging gaze clouding his mind. The darksaber stirred to life with its distinguishable, eerie snap-hiss and Amon Vizsla charged at Union Mandalorians climbing out of a crater aided by his repulsorpack. A flurry of slashes and stabs would follow.

 

[Shai Maji]

Allies: Aloy Vizsla | Talon Richwood | Darsch Vizsla | Jaster Awaud
Enemies: Kytana | Sith
Equipment: Blitz'gam armour for this fight | weapons in bio | Mando vambraces in bio | Crushgaunts included | Jetpack included
Current objective: No clue

As Shai looked around from her kneeling position next to Joti, she spotted the dropship along with the rest of the unit. She didn't have a clue what they were or how the kriff she was going to fight them. All she could do was hope that her weapons packed a heavy enough punch to knock them down without issues.

Her thoughts were shaken quite literally when an enormous explosion went off somewhere. She turned with a childish snicker as she watched the fireworks with wide crimson eyes. "Hehe, that was co-" she was cut off when a shot erupted through the air and Joti was hurled forward and off the building. With shock she watched her plummet then glanced back to the unit returning fire to the shooter down below. "Shit!" she shouted as she jumped over the edge after Joti, activating her jetpack to slow her descent as she neared the injured woman.

She touched down next to her and knelt down, dropping her rifle to quickly pull off the injured Mando's helmet. "Sis, you okay?" she asked frantically as she pulled off her own gauntlet to check her pulse. She glanced over her to look for any other injuries before opening her comms. "Hey, we need a medic! Joti's down." she called out to the other troops in their group. She hoped somebody at least had a medpack on them. With that done she looked back to Joti, placing her helmet and her own glove on her chest. "Come on sis, dying this early is my job, stop stealing it." she practically ordered her as she slung her rifle over her shoulder and carefully dragged Joti into the building's lobby. Once they were safely in cover, she peeked through various holes in the walls for any sign of those monstrosities before looking back to Joti. "Yo blackberries, get down here we need a medpack!" she called over her commlink to the units at the top of the building. Carefully she lifted Joti to check on the hole in the back of her armour. She reached in with a finger and disturbingly felt the slug lodged in her skin. At least blood wasn't spilling out.

"Hey, I can feel the slug. I can take it out and bandage you up but we need to take the armour off." she spoke with urgency as she lowered Joti once more and looked straight into her eyes. "Just sit tight, we'll patch you up." she muttered as she slipped her glove back on and locked it in. Her rifle was in her hands as she peered around again. Her heart was racing as she looked around, terrified that those monsters would just come pouring in. She had to admit that she would prefer that over the awkward silence in the field. There was nothing going on as far as she could see... and she had no clue why. Either people had to attack or people didn't, she hated the awkward middle phase she was in now.

 

[Telis Taharin-Zambrano]

Here we are, don’t turn away now…

Fires ranged around the city as the fighting seemed to coalesce around one crater in particular, Mandalorians fighting Mandalorians for control of a planet they all shared by false divine right. The sky rained fire, and dancing between the tiny warriors were titans of steel, forged from the very same metal that provided Mandalore’s one use to the Empire, the one true galactic good. Guns revving up, systems loaded and functions railing into their minds as orders into the Loyalist Death Watch members and the Legionnaires that so swiftly and valorously gave their lives to protect the stability and peace that the Sith had brought to Mandalore. Theirs was a true honor, compared to the false ideals of the Mandalorians.

Yet as the first Titan-mechs began to fire their roteries and armaments, a strange stutter overcame their systems, briefly, like a lapse in time and judgment. For a moment, they seemed to almost question the verity of their function, and a change began to overcome them, a metamorphosis beyond wiring and circuits. From their limbs and bodies, the Beskar plating began to warp, threading into needle-sharp points, growing into tendrils, into tentacles, as the lights along their bodies began to bleed into gold, a dash of red striking the center of each light, as a new master brought the machines under heel and toe, Omegon’s program overridden by an eldritch ghost, something horrible and twisted and beyond human.

The machines awakened, and the only command that flashed through their intricate coding was something foreign to any machine intelligence, something wrathful and human, living and without reason or logic: Slaughter. Their actions became not just a command or a logic but a belief, a moral drive that made their actions cruel, shots purposefully landed to cause as much pain and collateral damage as they could, leaving only two target pools in their logic where once there were three. The screeching of twisted metal and malicious weapon fire ripped through the air, as around the crater the tendrils of metal began to bind together, cutting through whoever was unfortunately too close to get away from the growing net, like a wall around the crater.

Walking calmly through the sudden awakening of malevolence was Telis, metal hand raised as shards of metal from the synthetic fist crawled up his wrist, too thus awakened by the dark art he wielded like a blade. Between the firefights and explosions he calmly, slowly walked, dark shroud covering his face, and stray bolts fired towards him deflected by a Force shield he held around himself. Blood crested the brow of the warlord, wounds cut by shrapnel that he was unable to fully catch, and in the smoke and ash erupting around him his onyx-black Phrik armor, covered in motes of debris and dust like a field of starlight, and was as much a beacon as it was an obscuring shroud. He went without notice beyond the golden eyes glowing upon his metal hand.

Striking forward, Telis approached the crater, as the tendrils began to creep, slicing, forming, replicating into a shape, a ring, a dome, Beskar absorbing blows as Telis sought to cut off the world outside from his target within; Kreslin Westwind . Approaching the edge of the crater, the Sith Lord calmly walked through the tendrils wrapping around him, the passage closing as he entered, the net catching fire as he dropped into the cramped space, light only coming through in small fragmented filaments. The Sith Lord looked towards the two figures of Kreslin and Venku Bralor in the trench, letting his synthetic hand grasp the hem of his hood, pulling it back to reveal golden eyes, slitted with a red serpent-line. There was no light of humor or cruelty on his frame, merely a passive coldness that filled the space with unease.

”Do you see what you’ve brought onto Mandalore? Taken this bastion of serenity and stability, and reduced to own clans to infighting and savagery. False pretenders to a throne that you couldn’t keep. Pathetic.” Lord Aagenti was still as he spoke the condemnation at Kreslin, spitting the last word out into the air with bitterness, as he gripped the silver saber hilt in his right palm, the blade swiftly jumping into eager life, sparks landing on the ground of the impromptu arena. Highlighted now, the pale cloak he wore on his shoulders was covered in a soft red light, the white Wookiee fur burnt at the hem.

”You are nothing, Mandalorian. The word warrior is too honorable for what you are; you are a bandit, a desecrator, a marauder who paints themselves in the vogue of a conqueror yet rules upon a throne of rats built on salt and sand. Moridinae was transformed under the Sith, turned to a greater cause, to one of peace and stability. You seek to do nothing more than destroy what we’ve built for the sake of destruction.” Lord Aagenti spun the blade he held, letting the tip of the saber crest into the ground as he began to walk towards Kreslin.

”Stand, Mandalorian, and I will slaughter you like the dog you are. For Moridinae, you will be punished for the crimes you have brought into our noble Empire.” Flicking his left hand, Aagenti withdrew another saber from his sleeve, it turning on as he grasped the hilt, before bringing the blades together in an ‘X’ shape, crossing them back down to his sides as a look of bitter determination crossed his features. Kreslin had brought hell to Mandalore, and Aagenti would assure that he would pay hell in turn for his false beliefs and sacrilege upon Moridinae.

 

[Trajan Fett]

V E N G E A N C E
THE RAGNAR SYNDICATE
THE OATHSWORN | BASILISK WAR DROID
T H E _ P O T
Beskar'gam [x] | Main Weapon | Side-Arm | Melee | Grenades | Cradle

​

There was no greater symphony than that roar, the grind and shriek of the heavy metal monster as it barreled in consuming inferno past the dead air of Mandalore, prying open the marble jaws of hell. Whatever 'home' this place once resembled, was gone. Whatever sacred ground there was, salted.

The dead soil would have to be watered again, watered with the blood of these profligates. Such is The Way.

It was a parabola of instinctive virtues which grasped and pulled at his consciousness. The Sith torched his home, the Blackwing snuffed out the flames with an insidious plague and this Union tread among it all in brazen ignorance. Mandalore was glass. Concordia and the indomitable Fortress Imperious was the seat of Sith tyranny over these holy mountains and they sought to battle over the ruins in its stead.

His heads up display locked on them all as if they were the same rabble of parasites here to squat on a once valiant world. A world which spawned the Creed able to put the Galaxy of darkness and light several times over, moved by will alone. A will eroded. If the Ragnar could not pave the way, who ever was left the victor otherwise today would be the strongest man on the cinder, the king of the ashes.

Planting the gargantuan clawed feet of the metallic beast into the earth, he spoke.

<"OATHSWORN!">


<"WHAT IS YOUR DUTY?!">
​

<"OYA!">

<"OYA!">​

<"OYA!">​

<"RECKONING! RECKONING TO THE THIEVES THAT COME TO STEAL WHAT IS OURS!">


<"NO QUARTER!">

​

Trajan barked out with the harking return of his Oathsworn echoing his sentiment. They'd landed off from the nexus point of the Blackwing infection, the small unit of Basilisk War Droids entering the killing fields on the approach of a retinue of these false Mandalorian thieves.

Between them, Sith profligates. Like the pathetic thieving criminals they were, Trajan but wished to drag them into the streets, look them in their pathetic, weeping eyes and gun them down to give way to a pool of darkened life blood enveloping them.

The shrieking crack of one of the anti-aircraft guns ruptured the atmosphere in crimson inferno set in the thick clouds above. His war droid pounced up and unto the cannon, the fierce maw of the beast and all its panoply of war snapping a silent crack at the air before unfurling its full fury into the construct before then leaping onward. The Mandalorian Union began their advance and the Oathsworn would bring them down low all the same, the Basilisk war droids emitting another foreboding roar in unison.

The truest sons of Manda'yaim had arrived. And with them? Reckoning.

ALLIES | RAGNAR SYNDICATE | MANDA'YAIM | Isaiah Priest | Amon Vizsla | Rynn Vizsla | Meshla Detta
ENEMIES | SITH EMPIRE | RANCIDUS ORDER | MANDALORIAN UNION | Darth Assimilus | Aloy Vizsla | Darsch Vizsla | Talon Richwood | Shai Maji | OPEN

 

[Kytana]

Location: Southern New Gratos, Unidentified City
Objective: Marching to War
Allies: TSE ( Telis Taharin-Zambrano )
Enemies: MU ( Aloy Vizsla Talon Richwood Darsch Vizsla Shai Maji O Omegon ), Ragnar Syndicate (Amon Vizsla), The Rancidus Order

Mandalorians came from the sky in droves all around her, via drop pod, jetpack, mechanical steed, and in rare cases, drop ship, which were for the most part easier targets for AA given their larger size and slower speed. Nevertheless, Kytana was focused amidst the chaos transpiring in the air. After firing her first shot, the sniper didn’t waste a half-second in moving her crosshairs over the head of one of the Mandalorian Supercommandos in the group, who ostensibly seemed to be giving direction to their subordinates. Nevertheless, with a held breath, Kytana squeezed the trigger once more, pushing her rifle’s rate of fire to the limit after her initial shot as a single kinetic energy penetrator round discharged from the barrel to fly towards what she hoped would be her target’s head. However, she didn’t have time to verify the accuracy of her shot as the others began to return fire in her direction, forcing her to sprint towards the building immediately in front of her in an attempt to break their sight line with an obstruction.

From there, Kytana pushed the door open and moved into the building, placing her rifle on her back in exchange for her pistol as she made her way inside. Eventually, she found her way to the back door and opened it, which opened into an alleyway. Scanning the area, Kytana quickly decided to move into the next building across from her via another door. A test of the handle revealed that it was locked, but a quick insertion of her security spike overloaded whatever system was protecting it, allowing her to push inside of the building.

The buildings within the city were far different than the comparatively primitive settlements, encampments, and strongholds in the Northern Hemisphere. She could only imagine that the people or creatures who lived in such ostentatious dwellings were not warriors as the Graug were, but rather, something else entirely. Even so, for Kytana, taking in the inside of the buildings was a novel experience, as she came to the realization that there were two worlds on one planet.

However, Kytana didn’t let her surroundings distract her for long. The Mandalorians were close, their scent filling her senses as she pushed through the building. Her lust for violence seized her judgment, and before long she was running, crashing through one door, then another, before finally coming upon a circular room.

It was there that she found her quarry ( Aloy Vizsla ), perhaps still alive and accompanied by two others ( Shai Maji Darsch Vizsla ).

“Bosnauk kul dobat, hundur. Gundum agh maukum, zatal za lat ukmash liwo juliave to ishi gurz.”

Spoiler: Gear and Equipment

• Kytana’s Scout Legionary Armor
  • Right Gauntlet
    • BPT-075 Balmorran Personal Plasma Thrower
  • Left Gauntlet
    • Wide-Beam Sonic Stunner
    • Shatter Beam
  • Energy Shield
    • Phase III “Force Avenger” Energy Shield
• Small Arms
  • Hekler’Kok RAMR-1
    • APFSDS Rounds
    • Variable Zoom Sniper Scope (0-100x, Anti-Light Reflection Lens Coating, Automatic Zero Adjustment, Rangefinder, Multi-Spectrum Imaging, EP/PW, MFTAS, Etc.)
  • BRP-003 Balmorran Rail Pistol
• Melee
  • Vibrodagger (2)
• Grenades
  • Balmorran Firewall Grenade (BFG-001) (2)
  • Impact Grenade (2)

Spoiler: Translation

“Your friend is weak, dog. Stand and fight, so that you may both join her in death.”

 

[Venku Bralor]

Allies: Kreslin Westwind
Engaging: Telis Taharin-Zambrano

The sun went dark. Basilisk droids filled the sky, raining fire and death onto the Mandalorian Union. Shadows encroached on the crater, weaving around it like a living thing, trapping the two mandalorians inside. "Osik" The word fit well, even more so as a sith appeared through the net of shadows, setting it alight as he did so.

Golden eyes studied the man, watching him as he spoke. "If the sith brought peace, then why does the planet- why does my home smell of rot? Why can't I see the grass that once stubbornly clung to this earth or hear the insects buzz as life slowly returned?" The force swirled around Venku, a sandstorm of anger-disgust-loss-vengeance. It cut at the world around him, leaving long gashes on those round him as grains pierced flesh and continued on. Venku stood in the center, the eye of the storm, untouched by it all.

Don't fight angry. It only makes you sloppy. ​

The words of his mother echoed in his ears. It did nothing to calm the storm. That wasn't what those words meant. No, the storm didn't calm, but it did change. No longer did it lash out, biting into his surrounding with a wild viciousness.

Helmet on, heart gone. ​

The ancient mandalorian saying. It fit well. He would not let his emotions control him, not now. The storm did not slow or calm. It receded bellow his skin, cutting into his mind and his flesh. Storms aren't meant to be contained.

His armored tail grabbed the compact staff, activating it and tossing it into the air where his hands caught it fully extended. The ends crackled with electricity. "You claim we come only to destroy, but this planet is nothing but ash and death. You laud your ownership of it over our heads as you stand where stubborn grass has long since withered away and the heart of the planet rots in its stony shell. You have made this place a tomb unto itself and you dare to call it stability and serenity." His words, poetic as they were, cut like a thousand knives. The storm did not like to be contained. So he would release it. Slowly, when he chose to and how he chose to. Now he released it as he spoke. He let it travel through his words like lightning across metal. He let it strike that thing on the other end and spared no thought for what the onrush of turmoil might do.

Electricity arched across his staff. Lightning shot through his veins, joining the storm beneath his skin and fur.

Don't fight angry. ​

He wouldn't, but neither would he fight the storm. "You are no protector. You are a coward, a hut'uun and a demagolka." Golden eyes watched the sith. Unlike the monster before him, Venku's were natural. The color of sand at noon, when the sun fell directly on it. The glint of light of yellowed grains as they swirled around the storm.

Don't fight angry.​

And don't fight the storm.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Down through the earth, he descended.​

​

In the intervening months since the Sith Empire had taken and occupied Mandalore, the Dark Legion had quickly established itself in the planet's northern hemisphere. They had churned up the earth wherever they settled, digging massive holes into the planet's surface to create an interwoven labyrinth of tunnels and pitfalls many miles below the surface. In the subterranean darkness, they propagated, the number of their brood swelling to well beyond countless. Lakes of putrid filth spanned caverns larger than any surface city that yet remained on Mandalore, gestation pools for the next generation of Graug. Penned grottos wider than any canyon he had ever seen contained all of the foodstuffs that would satisfy the Dark Lord, many of the creatures shepherded by the Graug little more than degenerated humanoids kept fat on the rotting vegetation that the Graug cultivated in the fungal caverns.​

​

At this network's heart was a gargantuan citadel, constructed at the center of a massive borehole. Shaped from the pilfered Beskar considered sacred to the Mandalorian people, the Graug held no such reverence for the rare metal and gleefully squandered it. It was here that the Dark Lord of the Sith journeyed to, swarms of Graug soldiers paying fealty to their lord and master. Through his power over the Dark Side of the Force he had subjugated them to do his bidding, and they were enthralled to do as he wished. ​

​

He walked into the Graug citadel's main chamber without incident, his power the dominating force that drew all other wills into his service. Ahead of him were the many warlords of the Graug that controlled the Dark Legion, including Malgrog the High Warlord. The God-Splitter had been a long and faithful servant of the ruinous Zambrano lords, his body warped by magic and war into a gargantuan monster whose mind was bent towards violence. ​

​

Yet even he showed deference to the Dark Lord of the Sith.​

​

Speaking first, the Dark Lord addressed the assembled Graug; "The Mandalorians have come to retake their precious homeworld." Surely now all of them knew that war had again come to Mandalore, it was impossible to ignore. "Your people have long been prepared for this, your tunnels descend deep throughout the planet's crust, and your brood is endless. Direct your warriors into the tunnels underneath the southern hemisphere, and prepare to breach the surface."​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

T H E __ R A G N A R __ S Y N D I C A T E​

ALLIES:
THE OATHSWORN // 104th BATTALION 'WOLFPACK' // RAGNAR SYNDICATE // MANDA'YAIM // Amon Vizsla // Isaiah Priest // Rynn Vizsla // Maynard Treicolt
ENEMIES:
THE SITH EMPIRE // THE RANCIDIOUS ORDER // THE MANDALORIAN UNION
ENGAGING:
x12 NPC INFECTED // Darth Assimilus // OPEN​

HEAD LIKE A HOLE

There was something somewhere suggesting you could take the person out of the place, but the place would never leave the person. It was so intrinsic to their personality, that they’d be identifiable from miles away. Thus were the Mandalorians. Mandalore at this point might have just been a giant rock, but its significance hadn’t waned for the people. And if there was any collection of individuals in the galaxy that were easily recognized, it would be the religious warriors; and they were making their pilgrimage home.

A dark shadow, overwhelmed and heavy, burdened on that ethereal link between the renegade soldiers. Maynard dropped to his knees under its pull. The sensation cued a spike of knowing worry to jolt through her, and she flinched to reach out and provide some sort of respite amidst the tempest of sorrowful and lamenting realization Maynard had finally come to. She shouldn’t have been surprised –– this close to home it would only do well to tug at that constant sentiment of family he cultivated. The only thing worth protecting and the entire reason they were here.

"Coruscant is nice, busy...its beautiful in its own way but...its not home. I mean- only home I ever knew was Concord Dawn.

It wasn’t the first time the line in the sand had been decisively either moved or blurred in favour of their own morals. Arbiters of their own fate. The first time had been Yurb, with a biochemical weapon. And now here. She felt better about this though. Like the grip on the dream was tightening around something more tangible with each bit of pressure they put on this system. The more heat they put on The Sith, the more they saw the benefit of their work, the Empire forced to flex, bend, and mold or be incinerated with the merciless retribution they deserved.

There were enough gathered in the ship’s hull, illuminated by the ready-lights out of unquestionable loyalty to the tenacious, stalwart General to warrant credence in the decision to be here. Against the odds, unmarked and focused on the purpose of liberation. The Core was only a fraction of the dream. The greater equation required more selfish variables.

The tilt and angle of his T-Visor in her direction pitted her stomach, and she forced forward notes of reassurance through that link while maneuvering from her position to sidle with him. By the time she got to him from her position within the collection of Wolves, he was back and standing. That deep loss hadn’t waned, but she could feel it changed. Where it had been a dagger through his heart, he’d rotated it, pointing the edge of that ferocity back at anyone who stood in the way today.

<"We're going to group up with Ragnar forces...they've designated everything else as hostile. We're facing Blackwing...so be careful.">

<Blackwing...good. Didn’t want to run out of things to do.> The Jedi murmured humourlessly.

They were in the thick of things straight away. It would have been dizzying and discombobulating on the hellish ground but by now the descent from the dropship little more than a practiced rhythm. Above them, where clouds should have been, the atmosphere was thick with ominous shapes of ships engaging one another. To their rights and lefts, brilliant billows of orange and yellow flames exploded as clans and forces clashed. It didn’t take long for the group of professionals to orient themselves amidst the chaos.

Her blade remained attached to her hip, the purpose of her presence belonged on a much more infinitesimal level. While the rest of the battalion would do a good job blasting and slashing through the irredeemably infected, the Knight would have to set her focus on preventing any further spread. By now, Loske was too familiar with Blackwing. It had reared its head on Kuat and it had taken months to contain and decimate it, even then it had managed to spread beyond the shipping world. She’d been less powerful then, less certain in what the creation of the disease. After Bastion, there was a greater understanding of the reproductive and fast-spreading nature of it. One that she had a sense of how to stop; even without an official antidote. Though that would inarguably be more useful and less energy-consuming.

<"Treicolt, make yourself useful - Lusk must be stopped. I wouldn't trust a jetii but Priest vouched for you.">

With a shock of recognition, the armoured soldiers identified the source of the darkness and hair-raising shrieks. They were within range to follow the suggested creed coming through the comms. While their purpose here was to unshackle the chains of The Sith’s claim to Mandalore, the commandos were unlikely prepared to die under the influence of an insidious infection. Nevertheless, duty drove them forward and the filtration systems on each of their helmets read green. They’d need it. Any exposure to the viral agent would immediately initiate decay.

Their charge would lead them to the indicated point of origin. Loske saw the disintegration and was sickened by the loss. It was too similar to what she’d experienced on Brentaal IV. Misshapen, lusus naturae silhouettes that felt like voids in The Force, rallied and roared, wading through a spreading black liquid. Unintelligent beyond slaughter, their mutated mandate was likely orchestrated by a single individual. Maybe not the source, but certainly the influence. The numbers were uncountable, the encampment easily categorized as big. Really...big. Very dangerous.

<I can try and prevent the spread.> Loske announced, flexing her fingers in and out of her palms in preparation. It was fast and wild, but if they could contain it… Mandalore might survive. <Just a matter of how close to the source we want to get, or if I start at the perimeter.

How do you boys want to play this?>

​

​

 

[Siv Dragr]

V E N G E A N C E

Objective: Avenge Clan Dragr
Allies: Sidiqq Ordo
Enemies: Cara Dorniarn | Ingrid L'lerim

Klaxons blared around him, both in and out of the ship, as Siv steadied his stance and drew himself upright. Drawing his pistol, he made sure that it had survived the crash-landing in one piece -- it had -- and then looked around to figure out his circumstances. He was standing on the wall of his ship, overturned and resting sideways. Everything in his suit seemed to be working fine, but the ship itself was completely totaled. Blinking-red emergency panels alerted him to the sheared-off engine, and the smell of burning carbo-structures told him that there was at least one fire somewhere on the ship.

He'd be shooting his way out. Nothing he hadn't done before.

Siv holstered his pistol momentarily as he prepared himself for a fight against probably the entire Sith garrison. Extra ammunition for his Whistling Birds launcher, a few power cells strapped to his belt, and replacing the current power cell in his gauntlet's paired blaster pistols - it was cracked and leaking fluid -- with two fresh pairs. Running a quick systems check, he was confident everything was in place and began to climb out his burning wreck of a ship, making his ways through sideway hatches, pushing aside blast doors, and finally scrambling out of the derelict.

Dusting off carbon scoring flakes from his cloak, his trackers picked up an approaching figure, and Siv drew his blaster, aimed, and fired, hitting the figure pointedly in the chest in a single fluid motion. Walking over to the corpse, lying on its front, Siv kicked it over and let his helmet run a quick scan on it. Imperial Legionnaire, he assumed. Not the toughest things the Sith Empire had, but group them together and it wouldn't exactly be a walk in the part.

Siv gave time for the mapping in his helmet to adjust to the burning wreckage that lay throughout the hangar, broken husks of vehicles, ships, and bodies strewn along the path that the Blood Eclipse had crashed through. Shouts came from behind him, and the Mandalorian swung to see three more Legionnaires advancing on him, blasters drawn. They fired, two of the bolts missing and the other glancing off of his beskar armor. Siv returned the favor, placing three blaster bolts in their head, torso, and thigh respectively. The third one fell down with a grunt of pain, the muzzle of death already having silenced his two comrades, and Siv leveled his blaster and let loose final bolt to finish off the Sith soldier. He was quiet after that.

With the mapping creating a clear pathway through the hangar, Siv began to move through the wreckage towards the large hatchway that had been identified, eliminating whatever security forces that were still let along the way. Pushing his way through a scrap piece of a TIE fighter's wing, he finally was able to see the actual hatchway. And standing in front of it was a human in what looked like to be. . . a lab coat.

Siv leveled his blaster at her chest, not caring whether she was a soldier or a scientist. But then, she spoke. "My goodness," she exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "True to Mandalorian form, you've made quite a mess."

His finger tightened around the trigger. "Your jacket -- what would that make you, another Sith dog?" he retorted, controlling himself enough to not turn the woman into a scorched corpse. Apart from there and the inferno that the hangar had become, it was largely silent -- except for resounding clanks that, slowly, were growing larger and larger. Coming from behind the woman. "And let me guess, you're bringing your experiment here to meet me?"

A flash of anger flared from Siv's core. If he could take a guess, whatever this woman experimented on was the result of the exploitation, the enslavement, the genocide of his people.

The deaths of Clan Dragr rested on this woman's shoulder as much as it did the Sith-Imperial shoulders.

"Too bad," Siv continued, pressing down on the blaster and sending a crimson-red bolt streaking towards the Scientist, "you won't be here to see me destroy it."
​

​

​

​

​

​

​

​

 

[Darsch Vizsla]

Darsch would hear the gunshot cracking through the air then watched as Joti fell from the building. A curse escaped her lips. She watched for a moment before pulling out her revolvers. A wave of enemy forces like nothing she'd seen before had been landing nearby so the mandalorians needed to watch their backs. She spun her revolvers before looking back at the legionnaire commander then looking at where the supercommando leader was. Legionnaires would move to engage the unknown alien forces with Deathtroopers leading the attack.

<"Copy. Get the message to command that my legionaries are ready to take on enemy AA so we can get air support! Keep an eye on that sniper and lay down suppressive fire on their position. Keep an eye on those unknowns. Kill them if they get any close! I need a legion medic on me now!">

She would shout before running towards Shai and Joti. Darsch would activate her jetpack to get there faster. Some enemy troops got in her way and a smirk grew on her lips. The Sith Troopers open fire on Darsch prompting her to raise both of her revolvers. She begin firing into them blasting through their armor with the hard hitting shots of the revolvers. The bolts left large holes in the armor of the troopers or completely penetrated the bodies. She lands looking behind her to see the bodies of the troops fall over.

Nice. She forward towards Joti and Shai sliding next to them along with the Legion Medic. Darsch would look at Joti then to the wound. Her head would turn to Shai then her arm reached out pushing the scoundrel of a mandalorian back so she could remove Joti's helmet. Darsch would set the helmet to the side allowing Joti to get air.

"Come on, Joti. You're fine.. Just breathe.."

She would seem somewhat worried but knew the wound wouldn't be too bad. It still worried her that her partner was injured.

"She just has one main injury. That slug hit her down here.. I'll need to take it out.. Give me some space."

The medic said opening his pouch and taking out his surgical tools. He took out a pair of tweezers, some bacta gel, and some bandages. He moved the tweezers to remove the slug. The tweezer end moves into the hole pulling the slug out and dropping it. He began to rub the bacta gel on the wound before bandaging it up.

"Give her a bit, she'll be alright.."

The Medic backed away giving her and Darsch some Space.

Aloy Vizsla Shai Maji Kreslin Westwind

 

[Adenn Kyramud]

Location: Orbit, near Sundari, the Unknown City
Allies: Fellow Mandalorians
Enemies: Sith and their allies
Vehicles: | Hellwalker | Titan Tank | Protectrak | Assault Speeder | Heavy Walker | Hell's Angel |
Troops: | Beskad Warriors | Beskad Elite | Tracyn Mirshko |
Fleet: | Keldabe Battleship (x1) | Kanjiklub Deceiver (x2) | CR90-Corvette (x4) | Black Death (x1) | Kom'rk (x6) |
Tags: | Kreslin Westwind | Jaster Awaud | Severous Augustus | Talon Richwood | Aloy Vizsla | Darsch Vizsla | Shai Maji | Kytana | O Omegon | Darth Carnifex | Venku Bralor | Telis Taharin-Zambrano
and @ anyone else in Sundari / the Unknown City that is Sundari. Pretty sure it's Sundari at least


Clan Mortui had slammed down not too far out from the city, or the rubble left over from it. Already they could see fighting breaking out there, from the Graug and the Mando'ade. After setting up, they set out in their march towards the city. For now they only had their mounts, the Tracyn Mirshko's, and several Assault speeders, everything else was still being offloaded. But it would be ready soon, and then nothing could stand in their way. The thought had many of the Mandalorians roaring for blood already, even as they neared the edge of the city after a few minutes march.

Marching into Sundari, Clan Mortui let out a fierce roar. Last time they had to fight to get here, and even then they'd been repulsed eventually. But that had been against an entrenched foe that matched them with twice the numbers. Here and now though? Clan Mortui had it easy by comparison, so easy that their spirits were already high. At the front of this march were the Beskad Warriors and their leaders, the Beskad Elite. Each of them had been through hell, both literally and figuratively, and had fought for decades in every war for and against the Mando'ade. As such, this was a home coming for them, even if it was bittersweet.

The Beskad Warriors were at the front, their shields raised and heavy blasters all primed and ready to fire. They were five lines deep, with many more lines of regular armored Mandalorians behind them. Then above them came Mandos riding their dragons into battle, or soaring in on their jetpacks. As they marched, they began to reach minimal engagement distance with the enemy. As they finally got close enough, Clan Mortui opened fire with the roar of countless blasters, slug throwers, and other weapons.

As all this happened on the ground, Clan Mortui's fleet continued to battle in space. They were truly in the thick of battle, and that's just the way they liked it, the way it always had been. While they liked being where the fighting was toughest, Adenn was also painfully aware that without the support of others he couldn't support his own. That said, he still found it incredibly amusing that some up jumped boy he'd never met tried to order him around. Perhaps he would in time, but for now Adenn was already in position to attack the Sith, and he said as much. Opening a comm to Jaster, Adenn responded with amusement in his voice.

"Might want to get some glasses boy, you're seeing double." His ship rocked under him and Adenn's voice became serious and commanding in an instant, hallmarks of his time as both an Alor and Battlemaster, second only to the Mand'alor herself back then. "Push your main fleet up to support mine, I've got them distracted for now. We use this space as the area to punch a hole through, it's close enough to Sundari to drop more troops, and to support those already dropped." Turning away for a moment, Adenn barked several more orders, and his fleet jumped to respond. Part of his fleet flipped on its side slowly and kept the fire up. This made them be able to shoot more targets, while also protecting the flagship more. Turning back, Adenn continued. "From there, have the support fleet come in from the East of Sundari. They'll help push the dar'jetii fleet away from the mines and into our guns. Added bonus is more landing space."

Turning from the comms, Adenn issued more orders. As he did so, a heavy lander left his ship. Smiling at the sight and what it entailed for the enemeis of Clan Mortui, Adenn laughed darkly. With a nod to an officer, Adenn had hsi ship prepared to land him on Mandalore. As much fun as space combat was, he would fight on Mandalore and free her from the dar'jetii. Anything less would be a betrayal of the oath he made the last time he'd fought on Mandalore. For now though, his clan needed him more in space than on the ground. Besides, as soon as Hell's Angel landed, it would over regardless, and Adenn would ride into battle atop a god of war.

 

[Stardust Solus Skirae]

Pom Stych Tivé

Her troops had fired, despite her trying to stop them, but it was futile as the one she was fighting was not some pushover. Smirking started went towards the witch as she drew her new sabers and activated them with a snap hiss and growled in challenge.

While other moved out of the way to let the two fight the two drew closer, however her eyes went wide watching her twirl a finger and the sonic boom hit her before the cold of the damn nether did. Those drawn in with her either went insane, died, or the creatures within that noticed the sudden portal began to pick them off, stardust however got a massive grin as she started drawing off that dark side energy and roared as she sliced a beast at its head and then turned to fight another all while looking for her target

This wasn't her first time here, nor would it be her last, however she knew she had to get out quickly to get back to mandalore so she could rejoin the fight to liberate mandalore. Searching in the force she slowly made her way towards pom and roared

COME FACE ME COWARD! LEST YOU HAVE NO TRUE POWER TO FIGHT!

 

[Meshla Detta]

Location: Approaching Sundari
Objective: Reckoning
Allies: SoM Oathsworn Ragnor Syndicate & friends
Rynn Vizsla | Trajan Fett | Isaiah Priest | Maynard Treicolt | Loske Treicolt
Accompanying Amon Vizsla
Enemies: TSE, MU, RO
In the vicinity of Kreslin Westwind | Venku Bralor | T Tyrana Beroya | Telis Taharin-Zambrano | O Omegon
Gear: In bio

RIDE_TO_GLORY
(36:31)

Mandalore remembers...
I remember...
This is for you, Val'ika, my beloved son.
Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.
_______

A positive and triumphant chorus of "OYA!" meaning relatively "let's hunt" in galactic basic rang out in the hangar bay of the corvette just before the Oathsworn marshaled their Basilisk war droids and launched to bring their reckoning upon both Sith and the unworthy Mandalorians alike on the surface of Manda'yaim.

<"OYA!"> Meshla shouted jubilantly with the other Mandos, pumping her fist into the air atop her mount, then she turned her buy'ce to catch Amon's nod and spoken word. <"Oya!"> she replied back confidently and with all sincerity. There was a double meaning though between the two. Oya also could mean "stay alive" in Mando'a, their native language.

A horde of Iron Beasts swarmed down from above. The 'mercenaries' from the Ragnar Syndicate laying heavy fire on the ground forces below near the ruins of Sundari. Meshla remembered the days of the Mandalorian Civil War. The Pretender Monroe and her rebel followers had made a counterstrike against Mand'alor the Undying and his Death Watch loyalists at the dommed capital city; this being so ever since the cataclysmic event and rebuilding efforts. She had joined her mother and Clan Munin in the fight starting in Keldabe and ending in the Iron City of the North.

There had been rumored to be explosives set to blow the Sundari Palace from below... in the sewers. And of course, with her demolition skills was sent with a team to locate and diffuse any ordinance found. Well, the rumors were true and it was a race against time. Thank the Manda, the rebels' plan had been defeated though there had been heavy casualties throughout the seven-day siege including the Traitor herself being killed by Ra's hand. It was a glorious victory yet here they were again, fighting for their homeworld once more and the right to rule it without the presence of aruetiise or dar'manda. To be fair though, the latter was a point of view that could be levied both ways. But of course, the true Mando'ade were the Oathsworn, the Sons of Mandalore!

The Detta followed the Vizsla in, working in tandem with him to bring as much carnage as they could from the skies before the two went to ground. It was thrilling, but the real thrill ride to glory was just beginning...

<"What we do in life echoes in eternity.">

<"Truth as ever spoken.">

Meshla landed next to Amon in a crater, then dismounted with well-practiced ease quickly. She locked her war droid out so it would only respond to her commands as they were synched, then steeled herself like the beskar she wore and rose out of the giant hole in the ground right on his heels. As the Vizsla slashed away with his Darksaber, the Detta bore down on flesh and armor of their enemy with her River Rifle while chaos brewed around them.

<"Watch out, Amon!"> she yelled as a cybernetic monster coming out of nowhere took a swing at her partner's helmeted head.