Junction Rumble within Dee’ja Peak | Plasma Wars [NEO/RNR Junction of Farstine and Nimban]

[Brent Warnel]

NEARBY: Tasia Palpatine | Tarrak Sharratt | Serina Calis
FOE: Lorn Reingard​

As Brent dove into the fog toward the enemy, his breath was ragged, a Berserk rage overtaking him as he weaved through the chemicals his grenades had let out. The shadows that had danced around the mountain, effortlessly killing his recon units, were within his grasp, and it was time to make them pay for their transgressions.

The fog had dissipated and allowed him to see these figures, and he engaged the closest one with a full-auto burst as he neared, hoping to down him quickly and continue. Brent was not ready for the blade of energy that split the air, deflecting his bolts and turning them back on him. He dove to the side, his armor absorbing a half dozen shots that had been reflected.

He landed and rolled as he dove, coming up and continuing to fire at the nearest Jetii, hoping to overwhelm him. As Brent fired, he noticed more lightsabers activating in the fog, brilliant beams of energy reflecting their light on the mist around them, announcing to every Mandalorian that the Jedi had come. The initial stampede down the mountain to overwhelm the foe faltered as this new foe pushed back against the Mandalorian horde. Brent could tell they were slightly slower and a little dazed, but they were still Jedi, and it showed as they deflected blaster bolts and cut down overconfident Mandalorians who got too close.

Brent continued his barrage of fully automatic fire, slowly driving the Jedi back. His heavy footsteps advanced, rifle bucking in his grip as he overwhelmed the Jedi to the point a single bolt got through, injuring them and causing them to fall to one knee. As Brent went for the kill shot, blaster fire erupted from a nearby position in the trees, cutting into him and making him dive for cover behind a large boulder.

Brent leaned out from cover and sent a burst of blaster fire into the direction the rounds had come from, hopefully making whoever had shot at him duck down. He burst from behind the boulder as blaster fire lanced toward him from multiple directions, his armor taking the brunt of the damage while the rest of the rounds flashed past him, missing their mark. He quickly found the Jedi he had initially been engaging and ran toward him at full speed, getting close to him so the enemy couldn't engage Brent without hitting their own. His blaster rifle fired non-stop at the injured warrior until it ran out of ammo. Brent switched to his under-barrel shotgun, pumping round after round into the Jedi as he got close. The pellets weren't overly damaging on their own, but after several dozen broke through the Jedi's defenses, he slumped over, lightsaber deactivating as it hit the ground.

Brent went down on one knee behind a tree and quickly reloaded his blaster, looking around the battlefield as he did so. Although these Jedi had been exposed to his Breakers, they still fought with skill. Maybe a little slower, but no less dangerous. Mandalorians continued to advance down the mountain, attempting to out-flank and encircle the enemy, but a beacon of Golden light held them back.

Standing tall amidst the mist was another Jedi. He wielded a Golden blade that danced around Brent's warriors and expertly cut them down. Twirling, weaving, cutting, slashing, killing, all while shouting orders simultaneously and directing his men to combat the ambush. This warrior showed his leadership and skill as he stood tall among his troops, but it also made him a target. If Brent could break him, he could break this assault.

His jetpack roared to life, and he launched himself at this new foe, blaster rifle firing, and his feet extended toward this new enemy, hoping to land a double kick into this Jedi's chest and finish this fight before it started.

 

[Ninurta Slaabur'r]

Tag: Allyson Locke
Location: Capital Building

The dim glow of the tactical display table flickered over the gathered warriors, their blue Neo-Crusader armor reflecting the shifting light of the holographic city map. The Mandalorians had already conquered Dee'ja Peak, embedding themselves deep within the Capitol building, once a symbol of democracy, now a fortress of the Crusade. At the head of the table, Ninurta stood with his arms crossed, his helmet resting on the console. His sharp Falleen gaze swept over the warriors around him, assessing them, not just for their skill in battle, but for their ability to think, to adapt, to dominate. Beside him, a massive Veermok lounged in the grass, its thick arms stretched out, though its yellow eyes remained ever-watchful. On his other side, a Narglatch sat coiled, its sleek, muscular frame tense, ears flicking at the murmurs of the warriors. Both beasts, like their master, understood discipline and violence, and they thrived on both.


Ninurta tapped the display, enlarging the map's underground sections, the power generators beneath the Capitol. He traced a clawed finger along the projected tunnels, his voice measured but firm.

"These generators are the heart of this city," he said. "They power the Capitol, the districts, the security systems—even their resistance. If we control this, we control everything." His gaze moved over the gathered warriors. "But this isn't just about maintaining power. It's about sending a message. A city that knows fear—" he let the words hang for a moment, watching for understanding "—is a city that submits. We have taken Dee'ja Peak. Now we make sure it stays ours."

 

[Boggo Flib]

The Mandalorians thought they had Naboo under control. Thought they could just march into Dee'ja Peak, plant their flags, and act like they owned the place. Hoo boy. They ain't never met Boggo Flib!​

From atop a rickety rooftop, hidden under the flickering glow of a half-busted streetlamp, Boggo wobbled slightly, balancing on the edge like he wasn't entirely sure whether he was about to fall… or just waiting for the right moment to jump. He took a long, exaggerated drag from his cigarra, squinting down at the Mandalorians below. Lots of 'em. Too many to fight head-on, but that was fine. Boggo wasn't the "head-on" type. He was more of the "talk his way in, shoot his way out" kinda Gungan.

"Yousa boyos got some real fancyen armor," he muttered to himself, adjusting his belt. His twin DL-44 blasters, scuffed and worn but deadly as ever, rested snug against his hips. "Shame it don't stopen bad luck. "

He took a step forward—and immediately plummeted off the roof. For a second, it looked like a fatal mistake, until he snagged a hanging banner, swung down like some kinda swamp pirate! Crashed directly onto the back of a Mandalorian. "oof! Hah! Meesa so clumsy oh! Would ya looken at dat?" Boggo yanked a blaster from the Mando's holster before the poor guy even knew what was happening. He gave the pistol a once-over, nodded in approval, and then shot the guy point-blank in the jetpack.

BOOM. The Mandalorian blasted off uncontrollably, screaming as he spiraled through the air, slamming into a speeder bike and taking three other Mandos with him. The other warriors turned, raising their rifles, only to find Boggo wasn't there. "Aye, aye, aye! Nosa needen per all dat shooty-shootin'!" His voice echoed from behind a supply crate. Then from a rooftop. Then from a sewer grate. Where was he?!

A frustrated Mandalorian growled, switching on his helmet's infrared scanner—only for Boggo to suddenly pop up inches from his visor, grinning ear-to-ear. "Boo." BLAM! Boggo blasted him square in the chest, sending him tumbling backward into a stack of crates. He spun his heavy blaster, holstered it in one smooth motion, and swaggered off like he had absolutely meant to do everything that just happened.

 

[Jas Katis]

NABOO | DEE’JA PEAK
THE CONFEDERACY | HELLION PRIVATE MILITARY GROUP
ALLIES: TF | RNR |
ENEMIES: NEO |
ENGAGING: Seva Beroya | Ukvax the Gilded
GEAR: In bio | unit equipment

THEME​

Every step forward was met with resistance from the Crusaders flying overhead. Occasionally Jas had a moment to hail the Tython for a report on the rest of the offensive. Herrix was doing his best from orbit to distribute and support the various positions, luckily it was a localized battle. If they had a continental engagement to deal with, things would have been much more difficult.

But the Pureblood’s calmness would be tested when the shrieking of jetpacks drew his attention.

”Here they come!” One soldier called out, drawing the platoon’s attention to their incoming attackers. For the moment, it seemed as if it was business as usual. Mandalorians swept in, Hellions shot them back out. But things took a turn when a trooper was tackled and mauled by an unknown beast. ”Contact flanks! They got-” One trooper’s warning was cut short by a Narglatch, but it was enough to draw the attention of the rest of the company.

Pretty soon the city block became a bloody mess. Some soldiers dropped their rifles in favour of their pistols and bayonets as the beasts crashed into them, while others withdrew to provide support against the overhead Mandalorians.

One saving grace was the hundred ton Warpig with its turret whirring to and fro as its deflector shield occasionally shimmered with the impact of ordnance. Its roof-mounted repeaters filled the air around the Hellions with streams of blaster fire while its targeting computer did its job. A few shrieks from its missile pods let the Hellions know that the crew was still covering them.

Jas had all of that to worry about, as well as his own situation when blaster bolts were sent his way. The Pureblood leapt aside to avoid the shots, but one still impacted his cuirass and sent him to the ground. A brief glimpse upward drew his attention to his attacker. From the look of things, he was a commander. With a snarl, Jas scrambled to his feet and returned fire with his rifle.

He didn’t want to draw his blade. Not yet. But if the tin can kept being a thorn in his side, the fury of the crimson warrior would be brought forth. In the meantime, however, Jas pursued the Mandalorian officer with his rifle at the ready. Luckily his contract covered hazard pay with Mandalorians.

In the hillside and regions outside the city, the concern of collateral damage was no longer a factor. Howitzers filled the sky with flak while anti-air turrets spun in a frenzy to fight off the incoming Basilisks. Unfortunately the screen wasn’t airtight, and a number of explosives caught soldiers and vehicles in their deadly blast. All around, Hellions fought to repair damaged systems and keep fires away from any ammunition.

The Meteors did their best as well, attempting to protect the ground forces while also having to shake the deadly War Droids in the deadly dance for air superiority.

What nobody expected, on the ground or in orbit, was the sudden presence of Geonosian fighters harassing the troops. Herrix stood at the command terminal with a mixture of confusion and worry. ”Geonosians.” He looked at his first officer, who merely shrugged with an equally confused look. ”Vemric’s gonna love this…” He grumbled as he brushed a few strands of hair back.

Turning to face his bridge crew, the Admiral squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. ”Bugs are red. Relay to all troops, bugs are present and they’re red.” He ordered with a firm voice. Thank the Force that he wasn’t in charge of the fallout.

Orders were relayed to all units and scanners were updated. Several squadrons flew from the hangars of the orbiting ships in pursuit of the Nantex fighters. What caught a number of pilots fatally off-guard was the odd trajectories and effects of some of the Geonosian fighters. Missiles seemed to have no effect on some of the fighters. The momentary confusion cost the lives of several pilots as their fighters were torn to shreds by the new enemy. Luckily a combination of quick thinking and intelligence from the mothership managed to recover the cohesion of the pilots.

The aerial battle raged on. Where missiles didn’t suffice, cannon fire seemed to do the trick. Pilots were pushed to their limits against the nimble Nantex fighters, but it was all worth it. It allowed the other wings to focus on the Mandalorian War Droids.

Up in orbit, Herrix scratched at his stubble as he studied the tactical map. ”Scan the surface. Track the enemy fighters, I want locations on any bases and operation centers. We can’t let the ground pounders have all the fun.” He ordered as he looked to his gunnery officer with a menacing grin.

 

[Serina Calis]

Rumble with Dee'ja Peak
Location: Naboo
Objective: 2
Allies: -
Opposing Force: Tasia Palpatine
Tag: -
Equipment: Ebon Requiem, Tyrant's Kiss, 3 CV-1 Gas Grenade's (The Choking Veil)

"FOR MANDALORE!"​

The night hummed with the discordant chaos of malfunctioning turrets and alarms screaming in mechanical hysteria. Somewhere, deep within the Gallo Mountains, the Mandalorian listening post lay in waiting—its skeletal frame half-constructed, yet already a threat to the Naboo Republic. Serina stood in its shadow, poised in the gnarled embrace of a twisted tree, watching, waiting.

Somewhere beneath her armored bodice, beneath the layers of cloth and steel, beneath the surface of what she was and what she had become, something stirred.

"You feel that, don't you?"

The voice—her voice—purred inside the hollow wound where her heart used to be, nestled in the abyss that had taken its place. Shadows coiled within it like restless lovers, smoky tendrils licking against her ribs, alive in a way that flesh no longer was.

Serina exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders as the weight of Ebon Requiem shifted in her grip.

"Mmm, I do," she murmured inwardly. "And so do they."

Gunfire crackled from the bluff's crest, a sharp, concussive report that shattered the mountain silence. A blade of orange light flared into existence in response—a beacon in the dark, its glow painting the bark of the trees in flickering fire.

Serina's lips curled.

"A Jedi."

The darkness within her pulsed, stretching against their prison like a beast scenting prey.

"Oh, this is exciting!" The voice in her chest practically cooed, mockingly delighted. "Do you think they'll cry?"

"Hopefully."

Serina stepped forward, her boots silent against the dirt, her hood casting deep shadows over the curve of her smirk. She allowed the moment to stretch—draw—let the Jedi feel the weight of what was waiting in the dark.

The Mandalorians had their war. She had hers.

"So," the voice within whispered, sultry and smug. "Are we going to do the whole scary, faceless specter bit, or are we feeling a little… dramatic?"

Serina tapped a gloved finger idly against the haft of her halberd, considering.

"Why not both?"

She exhaled, slow and measured, before finally speaking to the Jedi.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Her voice sliced through the night, rich and velvety, carrying through the trees with a languid sort of amusement. "You look lost."

"Ohhh, they're tense."

Serina tilted her head, stepping forward just enough that the magenta filigree of her armor caught the distant glow of the Jedi's saber.

"That's cute," she drawled, lowering Ebon Requiem just slightly, her posture relaxed yet predatory. "Really, it is. That stance, that rigid poise—are you worried I might be dangerous?"

A chuckle vibrated in her chest, dark and knowing.

"She should be."

She could feel the Jedi's pulse thrumming through the Force, could hear the faint, bracing breaths beneath the weight of the moment.

Serina sighed, rolling her shoulders lazily. "You know, I almost feel bad," she mused. "Almost." She twirled her halberd once, letting the blade carve a slow arc through the air. "You came all this way, climbed all these lovely cliffs, and for what? A listening post? Tsk. You should have stayed home, little light."

She lifted Ebon Requiem, angling the wickedly curved blade toward the Jedi, her smirk widening.

"But since you're here…" She took a step closer, the mountain air humming with anticipation.

"Shall we?"

 

[Careena Fett]

C a r e e n a .F e t t

| Location | Naboo, Dee'ja Peak​

| Objective | Disrupt the Enemy​

​

The reticule of Careena's HUD scope drifted as she remained concealed up high in the shadows of the city's window, her form a shimmer thanks to her armor's signature cloaking technology. With the Mandalorian Crusaders attack on Dee'ja Peak in full swing it was only a matter of time before reinforcements arrived to aid the Royal Naboo Republic, help that came in the form of The Confederacy's notorious Hellion Group and other various elements.​

​

It seemed they were less inclined to shell them out of their entrenched positions within the city, making it all the more hazardous for them to approach and maneuver within the city, a game for a sniper like Careena - a funny thing about alliances; so many rules and factors to keep track of to maintain a delicate political tightrope. So many targets to take out, infantry scrambling for cover, though exposed to Careena's concealed perch from up high. She provided her due diligence though as she relayed the locations of hostile armor, feeding the intel through the Mandalorian battle net so that the appropriate elements can reposition to counter them.​

​

Her gaze fell upon Jas Katis briefly, finger hovering over the trigger as she spotted the clear officer in the squad, her aim steady as she was about ready to squeeze the trigger. A single, silent shot fired, as the slug was launched at blinding speeds from the verpine shattergun configuration of her rifle. A few heartbeats later and the Hellion following directly behind the Pureblood folded as the slug tore through the gap between the helmet and chest, a spatter of blood painting the ground with warm crimson.​

​

With the threat of a sniper zeroed in on him, Careena hoped that it would disrupt his ability to command his units properly. A grim notice to the enemy that the Alor of Clan Fett watched over all those who fought alongside her.​

​

Seva Beroya | Jas Katis | Kellen Mynn​

 

[Whottoomuzz Chantin]

NEO ALLY
OBJECTIVE 1:

Dee’ja Peak – The Eastern Barricades

The air stank of scorched stone and plasma discharge. Smoke coiled around the narrow streets of Dee’ja Peak, swallowing the surviving glow of merchant stalls long abandoned. Bodies—some Mandalorian, more Republic—littered the cobbled pathways. And yet, the battle raged on.

A Nikto mercenary, his leathery hide scored by shrapnel, reloaded his carbine with a bloodied hand. “Keep firing, you worthless skrogs!” he snarled, voice rasping over the comms. "We ain't getting paid if we're karking dead!"

Not that any of them expected payment in full. That was the reality of working for the Chantin Kajidic—you took the job knowing you wouldn’t see the end of it.

A dozen figures crouched behind a makeshift barricade of overturned speeders and ferrocrete slabs, exchanging fire with the Naboo security forces pushing up the avenue. A Gamorrean, broad-shouldered and sweating under his crude armor, bellowed as he heaved a fragmentation charge over the barrier. It exploded in a fiery bloom, sending screams echoing through the haze.

No honor. No glory. Just a contract.

A Klatooinian, grizzled and missing half an ear, spat onto the permacrete. "This ain’t a fight, it’s a karking meat grinder."

Across the way, a hulking Trandoshan sniper perched atop a collapsed balcony, his rifle trained on the advancing Republic forces. He exhaled slow and steady, then squeezed the trigger. A lieutenant crumpled mid-step, his command cut short. One more jagganath point for the scorekeeper.

A Mandalorian—one of the real warriors, not some two-credit thug—dropped into cover beside them. His silver-plated armor was scorched, his visor unreadable. "Hold this position," he ordered, his voice modulated but firm. "You lot keep them bogged down, we’ll handle the real work."

The Nikto sneered but held his tongue. They knew their role. Soak up fire. Die screaming. Let the Mandos claim the glory.

Overhead, the night sky cracked with the sound of a descending gunship—Republic reinforcements. The mercenaries exchanged looks. The Klatooinian grimaced. "Guess it's time to earn our cut."

Without another word, the freelancers braced for another push, their fates as expendable as the credits they'd been promised.

OPEN​

 

[Suhara Villow]

Foundation Ally | Dee'ja Peak, Naboo
Tags: Adenn Korar

​

"Is it me," Suhara began, "Or is this too qui-"

"We've got hostiles!" came the sudden cry from one of the Montagnards. "Fast movers across the squares. Seven of them!"

"Take them down!" Pieree shouted. He fired several bursts from his scattergun at the incoming Mandalorians before turning to Suhara, "Ma'am, stay low. They can't both fight and protect you at the same time."

Suhara nodded as she ducked under the cover of a burning speeder, flinching as several blaster shots slammed into the body. She'd been in gunfights before. But never against Mandalorians!

"Long live the People's Revolution!" the Montagnard shouted before her repeating blaster opened fire. The squad had divided into a pair fire-teams, each with a heavy weapon and longblaster. They engulfed the oncoming Mandalorian's flank with a fusillade of firepower. The two M-32 light repeating blaster rifles sowed out rounds in tight, chattering bursts. Torrenst of blaster-fire cut smashed into the ranks of the charging foe. While they couldn't penetrate the beskar of the Mandalorians the volume of accurate bolts would hopefully deliver enough kinetic energy to either slow them down or knock them down.

Meanwhile the longblasters did the killing work. The snipers, the twins Amaline and Jourdain, were excellent marksmen. They had honed their skills hunting bands of Chantemerian Partisans in the mountains before switching sides during the revolution. Now as they found their cubby holes between burning wrecks and strewn rubble, the pair went to work.

"I'll take the one of the left." Jourdain muttered,

"Kriff, no. He's mine. Look at the paint scheme on that noggin can," his sister replied, "It's almost a shame I have to blow it off."

"Focus. Even our Longblasters won't penetrate their beskar." His sight locked onto the Mandalorian that happened to be closest to Adenn Korar . He felt the rifle start to softly purr in his grasp as it began to power up. "At least on their own."

"At the same time." Amaline nodded. "Three, two-"

The two DLT-19x fired simultaneously, dumping the entire contents of their power cells into the helmet of the charging Mandalorian. Jourdain didn't bother to check if the target went down. The sheer kinetic energy of two bolts striking their forehead should have easily snapped the foe's neck.

Suddenly volleys of blaster-bolts rattled their hidey hole. The commandos didn't even flinch as they mechanically loaded in a new power-cell. They knew when suppressive fire was actually effective and when it was a bluff. Given even their ponderous advance the Mandalorians couldn't hope to hit the flank of dead Bantha.

Amaline reached into her pouch and selecting another high capacity cell while not taking her eyes off the advancing targets. She managed to do it by touch alone, able to tell the difference by the subtle grooves and ridges alone. Unlike her twin brother, her rifle snarled like an angry dog as she popped in the fresh cell. Years of modifying and fine-tuning their rifles to their own personal specifications had left it impossible for anyone but them to use it. If anyone else picked up her rifle they would find it to be now be so vastly different from its base DLT-19x version that it might as well be its own unique longblaster.

"Alright. I pick the target this time."

Sergeant André advanced forwards, three Montagards wielding carbines pushed in right behind him. The four others with blaster rifles followed several paces back. His EE-4 Carbine roared as he fired burst after burst into the ranks of the advancing Mandalorians. He intended to push the front batteline forward so as to create a seperation between the charging Mandalorians and his rearline firepower.

Why did it have to be Mandalorians again? he thought as he ducked behind a crumpled speeder to reload. Peppered by return fire, the burnt-out carcass shook and pieces of steel and plastic splintered off into the air.

This wasn't the first time André had fought Mandalorians. During the days before the revolution and when he served the bastard Olivier, he and the marines under his command had the unfortunate task of defending a frigate against a boarding squad composed of Mandalorian Pirates. Out of a security team of two hundred Marines, only three survived. It was considered a resounding victory.

The sheer weight of firepower his team was putting down was enormous. Their heavy weapons combined with their training and experienced was allowing his squad of Montagards to output a level of firepower that a company-sized unit would have blushed at. But they were barely slowing down the religious fanatics. He could now only hope that his vanguard

They were now barely twenty meters away from his frontmost element. He could now only hope to hold them back long enough for his flanking heavy weapons to do the job.

This was the point at which an assaulting enemy could no longer be fended off by fire alone. This was the point of impact, of body on body and mass on mass, where brute mindless force could only ever win the day.

This was the crunch.

André drew his vibro-knife and raised up his reloaded Carbine with a single hand, dumping the entire cell into the center-mass of the nearest Mandalorian.

"Death to the Reactionaries!" he cried as he thumbed the blade on and met the charge head on.

Spoiler: Squad and Equipment

• Suhara Villow
  • T73-Judgement Handgun
  • Foundation Trooper Armour
• Pieree Lambert
  • 31-11351 Scattergun
  • Foundation Trooper Armour
• Montagards (12 men):
  • 4 EE-4 carbine rifles
  • 4 A280C blaster rifles
  • 2 M-32 light repeating blaster rifle
  • 2 DLT-19x targeting blaster
  • 1 J8Q-128 Finbat Missile
  • Foundation Trooper Armour

​

 

[Cerys Dyn]

Cerys was at the rare of the squad as they finally entered the city. The two Shirayan knights split off with half of the commandos in tow. Davre was to lead the one group, while Captain Taliyon lead his men along with the other of the two Knights, a Mirialan that Cerys only knew as 'Flick'.

Cerys was to keep an eye on their escape route. Her part in the mission was not to Cerys' liking, but she also understood the nature of her position in the Order. She was an experienced Padawan, not a Knight. So, she bit her lip and did her job.

"Street clear. Advancing."

Captain Taliyon's clear and professional tone was a calming thing. Cerys watched as his detachment moved up in single file from one alley, to rest in the next. They paused for a time as Davre's detachment found an alternative route around a series of alley ways and eventually arrived across the street, ducked in the alley opposite Taliyon.

"Halt your advance. Flick senses something."

Cerys' muscles tensed. Her lekku twitched nervously, and her eyes remained fixed on the street ahead. She looked behind her slowly, eyes taking in her surroundings. Her senses piqued half a second before her eyes caught a reflection from a second floor window.

"Sniper," she whisper-yelled into her comms.

A shot rang out, past her. Hitting one of Taliyon's men on the back square between the shoulders. They were already dragging him away into the alley before he hit the ground. Cerys pushed towards the middle of the street, the next shot from the sniper coming straight at her. Her lightsabers ignited, swatting the shot away at the last second.

"Taking fire from forward position," came the call from Davre's squad.

They were surrounded.

Another shot from the sniper, even as blaster fire erupted behind her and all focused around the other Jedi and Commandos. Cerys knew her assignment though.

The sniper shot was swatted away. Another shot came, and another. The speed of her movement towards the sniper's building was enough to throw off the shot, though the second shot grazed her right arm.

She felt the sniper's focus change from her to the other members of her squad. Cerys knew this meant she was no longer visible. The tension of the sniper was palpable. Cerys focused in on their fear at her approach, letting it act as a beacon in the confusion.

"I am hit. Not bad. But I will be slow on my feet," came the call from Davre over the comms.

Taliyon barked a few orders. Cerys ran up the stairs of the sniper's building. A moment before rounding the first set of stairs, she felt an alarm sound in the back of her mind. Down. A shot from the top of the stairwell just barely missed her head as she ducked instinctively.

More shots came her way as she ran upwards. Her cerulean blades swept the accurate shots aside. As she got to the top of the stairs, she felt a sense of resolve wash over the sniper. They would fight to the death.

At the top of the stairs, Cerys was presented with a single combatant brandishing a Beskard in one hand and a thermal detonator in the other. The Togruta's heart pounded. Dead man switch.

The Mandalorian approached with a swing of the blade. Cerys deflected the strike to the right, and reached for the detonator. It was pulled away from her grasp. Her enemy struck at her again, this time Cerys locked blades, pushing back with the Force to knock the enemy into the wall.

The sniper hit the wall hard. Cerys reached out through the Force and grabbed at the thermal detonator. She pulled it away from the sniper, towards the stairwell. It bounced off the wall, lights flashing as the seconds long countdown started.

Forgetting the sniper, Cerys turned and ran towards their perch. She pushed the window open with an urgent push int the Force, before jumping from the building. As she descended towards the street, the building erupted into a shower of debris and flame. She hit the ground hard, debris impacting with body at various points, cutting and bruising.

Her mind reeled with the intensity of the sound. She could not tell if she passed out, but when she came to amongst the rubble of the buildings across the street she heard no chatter on the comms.

Cerys stood, favouring her right leg. Something about her left leg did not feel good. But she had not time to check. She was all that was left. And her greatest foe now stood before her.

| TAG: Carduul Akahl |

​

 

[Tarrak Sharratt]

Ala Quin
Gauntlet Shields | Crushgaunts | Crusader Assault Armor | Beskad | Kal Dagger | Electro-whip | Custom Vambraces |

Tarrak's expression grew stern as he held his position with Beskad close, recognizing the evident confusion of Ala Quin . The Mandalorians had historically viewed the Force with hostility, particularly concerning its application by both the New Jedi Order and the Sith Order, who had committed numerous offenses against the Mandalorian people.

He advanced, his boots making a muted sound against the ground as his Beskar armor adjusted.

"The Force is simply a tool, and like any tool, it can be utilized to overcome our adversaries." He offered a brief, almost derisive shrug, dismissing the power struggles between the Light Side and the Dark Side as trivial. To him, the Force was merely a means to harness strength, and strength was the ultimate goal of the Mandalorian Crusade.

With a sharp motion, his Electro-whip cracked through the air, aiming to lash out at one of her spinning blades, testing her reflexes once more as another strike happen then another to keep her off-balance.

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Objective 1 //:
//: Eqiup in Sig (no power armor)//:
//: Ninurta Slaabur'r //:
//: Attire //:

It was always Mandos and rooftops.

Allyson slipped over the edge of a window and into the Capitol building, her movements silent. As she entered, voices echoed off the high walls, filling the space with the cadence of warriors. She had to admit, begrudgingly, that the Neo-Crusaders were no joke. They had played a decisive role in one of the Dark Empire's final battles, helping to tear them down. Now, they had infiltrated a capital building; maybe their brains weren't as dense as the beskar they wore.

Keeping to the upper levels, Allyson moved like a shadow, unseen and unheard. Even though the Force, she didn't exist. She occasionally peered out one of the high windows, her sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered warriors below. One of them stood apart, addressing the others. Leader, or at least important enough to command their attention.

Her cybernetic eye flickered as it processed trajectories, calculating angles for her attack. The assassin was patient; she needed the right moment. If they were going to notice anything amiss, it wouldn't be until it was too late.

A breath later, she slipped through an open window, scaling the side of the building with careful precision. Their meeting droned uninterrupted as she moved into position, finding a high perch. Again, Mandos and rooftops. Just like back on Naboo. Allyson exhaled sharply, a quiet groan under her breath. She was getting too old for this.

Finally, she settled against the curve of the bell ceiling, her cybernetic eye-locking onto her target. The leader.

Drawing her bow, she rose fluidly, still shrouded in her Force cloak. The weapon's string tensed as she pulled it back, aligning her shot. A heartbeat later, she loosed the explosive arrow, sending it streaking toward the center of the gathered warriors.

The blast hit the ground, sending them scattering like insects.

Allyson didn't linger. Moving with practiced ease along the roof, she nocked another arrow, adjusting her aim. Through the swirling chaos below, Allyson sought the leader once more. She needed a cleaner shot.

So she waited. Hidden in the shadows.

 

[Vreegan Fett]

FN-999 (restored)

Vreegan had been monitoring the battle from his viewscreen as the Field Marshal's team descended the stairs of the Dee'ja Peak Capitol. Observing that the Royal Naboo Republic was using significant firepower to breach the Mandalorians' fortified positions in the mountains, though the Mandalorians were still holding their ground when another sound drew his attention.

The noise of boots approaching from behind had been muffled by his helmet, leading him to conclude that the only other sounds emanating from below could be those of enemy special forces making a dash toward the generators.

"Fetch, Striile." He said barely above a whisper as the Basilisk War Droid emitted a low grumble and vibrated with a mechanical growl. It descended the secondary stairs beneath them with a distinct thud, eager to pursue FN-999 (restored) .

The Pulse-wave cannons rattled the corridor as the semi-sentient creature pursued its target with a degree of reckless abandon. "Nari bat sector 3-9f0s, secure those generators. Ba'slanar nayc solus oyayc!" Vreegan said, jumping over the bannister of the stairs to follow the war droid's rampage down the corridor.

The platoon of Mythosaur Supercommandos sprang into action, moving swiftly to execute their orders to secure the generators before they could sustain any damage from the enemy's infiltration unit.

With a sense of urgency driving them, the commandos navigated through the tight corridors in full pursuit, fully aware that the success of the operation rested on their shoulders. They understood that failure was not an option, as the stability of the entire invasion hinged on their ability to safeguard these vital power sources and maintain order among the populace.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Brent Warnel
Kellen Mynn | Ala Quin | Tasia Palpatine

​

Lorn roared, the golden blade a whirlwind of light against the encroaching darkness. Mandalorians, relentless as a tide, swarmed them, their blaster fire a constant, stinging rain. He could feel the Force thrumming weakly within his being, a sluggish river struggling to break free from ice. It offered glimpses, whispers of where the next bolt would land, the next blow would fall, but it was not the torrent he needed. He felt sluggish, hampered. The Breakers... their insidious chemicals were still clouding his mind, slowing his reactions.

He watched in grim silence as one of his Vanguard, a young Knight named Valerius, went down under the relentless fire of a particularly brutal Mandalorian. Valerius had barely any time as a Jedi, but he was a brother. A brother he had failed.

Lorn clenched his jaw, pushing down the swell of grief and guilt. There was no time for mourning, not while the living still fought. He tracked the Mandalorian responsible, his beskar armor glinting amidst the chaos. The warrior retreated behind a tree, seeking a moment's respite to reload. Lorn knew he had to prioritize. More Mandalorian were closing, their heavy weapons spitting death.

"Fall back! Regroup at the ridge!" he bellowed, his voice amplified by the Force, cutting through the chaos of battle. "Hold the line!"

His words, though filled with desperate conviction, felt weak, like a single candle against a raging storm. He swung his lightsaber in a wide arc, deflecting a volley of blaster bolts back at their origin, dropping two Mandalorians who had gotten too close. He felt a surge of anger, grief and fear all at once. The Force was a tool, but the emotions were raw.

But the moment of relative calm was shattered. The whine of a jetpack screamed behind him. He barely had time to register the sound, to brace himself, before the impact. A double kick slammed into his chest, sending him staggering backward, gasping for air as if he had been plunged under water. The air exploded from his lungs in a painful rush. He narrowly managed to grip his lightsaber, a solid anchor in the storm around him, preventing it from flying from his grasp.

He found himself on his heels, stumbling back. He forced himself to his senses. Not today. Not Like This. Lorn flipped his golden blade around, adjusting his footing. Lorn roared as he put more power to his legs, launching himself forward in a burst of speed towards the beskar clad warrior. He didn't bother with finesse, he needed to take the initiative. He ran with his blade up, each swing of his golden blade aimed at the deflecting any blast bolts. Hoping to knock him off balance and give himself the upper hand, Lorn barreled towards him, trying to take the Crusader off of his feet before he could take off again in the air..

 

[Makar Clyne]

If nothing else, this was testing his knowledge of how to deal with a more limber and swift opponent. He often had the advantage against the humans and human-equivalents that he fought, but Togorians were mighty creatures. This only emboldened Makar to keep fighting however, he wanted to take this beast down!

The next move would be an important one, one that would see if the feline was as quick-witted as she was swift! Makar went back for an overhead strike, using the axeblade of his halberd to feint a cleaving strike, halfway through the strike though, his hands shifted to stop the swing. His momentum then shifted to force the spearpoint upward, aiming the tip of the spear to the Togorian's chest.

This feint attack was one used since antiquity to confuse opponents, making them think they needed to move one way, only to receive a jabbing point right to their face or chest. That was an advantage halberds had, they had two ways of dealing death, making for a plethora of strikes and trickery that one had to watch out for.

"Pitter patter indeed! I would wish that you were not loyal to Naboo! Having someone like you amongst my crew would be quite the boon, perhaps I could offer you a bit of the haul in exchange for a transfer?"

Makar's words to the tigress sounded sincere, he was more than willing to have the Togorian join his ragtag fleet. She could be quite the enforcer if she wanted to be! Having such power and skill would always be useful, though he doubted she would bite.

Meanwhile, the pirates took up positions near the vault, firing back at the soldiers of Naboo that came to stop them from completing their job. Even if the pirates weren't as trained as Naboo's forces, they fought like wild dogs! Shooting salvos of automatic blaster fire, even having strange weapons from across the fringes of space!

Is'ekapi Rex

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

// Objective One //

​

Dee'ja Peak Capitol
Waterfall cliff face
Interacting with Lysander von Ascania | Eventually Tyrkhan
Gear x x x x x x

The roar of the wind filled her ears as she tumbled downward, her stomach lurching with the sheer drop. A part of her, some detached, infuriatingly calm part acknowledged how ironic this was. She'd gone through all the trouble of sneaking into an occupied city, only to plummet to her demise before even setting foot inside it. Cassian would be livid. Lysander would never let her live it down. And her mother...Shiraya help me -- her mother would never forgive her.

Her fingers grasped at empty space, and then --

Impact.

Strong arms caught her, the force of the collision knocking them both backward. The air rushed from her lungs as they tumbled, her senses scrambled between the pulse of adrenaline and the warmth of the embrace that had quite literally saved her from a fatal plummet. She inhaled sharply, lungs screaming for air, as her heart desperately hammered against her ribs.

I'm not dead! The thought pierced her mind, grateful at the precious, if painful, intakes of air.

Lysander's voice finally broke through the pounding in her ears. She barely had time to form a retort before his voice softened, turning uncharacteristically earnest.

"You're actually not allowed to leave me hanging like that," Lysander breathed, the warmth in his tone betraying him. "Without you, verbal spars just wouldn't be as fun.. even the more pointless debates. I'd miss them. And.. I'd miss you."

Sibylla's breath hitched, and for once, she found herself at a loss for words. A rare thing indeed, as the way his head wrapped only left his eyes visible, Sibylla was able to notice more than usual, such as the new scar over his left eye and the way that his green eyes bored into hers, left little room for doubt; he wasn't joking, wasn't tossing off one of his usual quips to deflect from the weight of the moment. He meant it.

That realization was a tiny bit more unsettling than the battle raging above. Something warm and unbidden spread through her chest, and to her horror, she felt the telltale heat of a blush creeping across her cheeks.

Blast it. Absolutely not.

She quickly schooled her expression, straightening her shoulders with what dignity she could muster after nearly plummeting to her death.

"That," she said, voice attempting to be level as she gathered her breath, "was dangerously close... to sentiment, Lysander.... I might faint.....if I didn't have to breathe." There was no real bite behind her words. Just the faintest, lingering warmth.

"Thank you." She added, grateful for him saving her life, but before she could linger on it too long, another blast echoed through the city above them, rattling the rocky outcropping beneath their feet. Sibylla took the moment to adjust and gather her bearings as he settled her to her feet. No time to dawdle; they had to get into the capitol quickly.

She followed his gaze through the haze of battle and spotted the aged, reinforced durasteel grate set into the stone wall ahead. There it was, their entrance.

Sibylla exhaled, feeling the sharp focus of purpose override any lingering mortification. They had made it.

"Okay," she said, already moving forward, boots crunching over debris as she approached the grate. It was, unsurprisingly, locked. Of course it was. "Any ideas? I have a thermal detonator, but I rather not announce our presence to the entire garrison."

Then, after a beat, she cast him a sidelong glance, the barest smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Wait...do you have that light stick of yours?"

 

[Brent Warnel]

Brent flew through the air, feet extended toward the Jedi, half expecting him to maneuver out of the way at the last second. However, that did not occur. Brent hit the Golden lightsaber-wielding Jedi and knocked him backward several feet. Witnessing the Jedi stumble backward, barely able to hold onto his lightsaber, let Brent know the Breakers had done their work. Better than he had expected even.

Brent landed as the other man stumbled back, allowing his rifle to speak for him as he unleashed a fully automatic burst into the Jedi at point-blank range, hoping to end him as quickly as he did the first one. Brent expected the other man to deflect his bolts and readjust himself, but what happened was entirely different.

Exploding forward too quickly for Brent to realistically counter, he found himself on the receiving end of a Jedi onslaught. The Golden blade battered away each blaster bolt as the Jedi advanced until he was so close to Brent that the Jedi deflecting his blaster bolts were causing his blade to skip off his Beskar armor. Brent made to dump his rifle and begin hand-to-hand combat, but the Jedi was quicker, launching himself into Brent and knocking him off his feet.

Brent landed harshly on his back, the air bursting from his lungs. This Jedi still had some fight in him. As Brent reoriented himself, he lifted his wrist, activating his flamethrower and attempting to douse the Jedi with flame so he could try to get back onto his feet and combat him on more even ground.

Lorn Reingard

 

[Ninurta Slaabur'r]

Foe: Allyson Locke
Beasts: x1 Narglatch & 1x Giant Veermok
Equipment: Beskar'gam, Grenade launcher/Blaster rifle, gadgets and various grenades​

The explosion ripped through the gathering like a thunderclap, sending dust and debris spiraling into the air. Mandalorians were thrown back, the screech of beskar scraping against stone ringing out as they scrambled for cover. For a fleeting moment, Ninurta felt it. A sharp spike of panic, the instinctual alarm of a predator caught off guard. But just as quickly as it had surfaced, he buried it beneath layers of discipline and instinct, forcing himself into action.

"Spread out!" His voice cut through the chaos, commanding and sharp. "Teams of three! Sweep the high ground!"

The Neo-Crusaders moved with practiced efficiency, breaking off into tight formations. They pressed against cover, pillars, fallen beams, overturned camp furniture—while rifles and carbines snapped to attention, scanning every window, every ledge, every shadow. Their comms crackled with reports, voices tense but controlled. No one had eyes on anything or anyone

The confirmation came over the squad channels, grim and certain. <<"I need a sitrep! Deeja Peak is under attack.">>
Comm tags: Vreegan Fett Careena Fett

Beside Ninurta, the Veermok and Narglatch stirred, their powerful frames tensed like coiled springs. The explosion had startled them, but fear had no hold over these creatures. Their ears twitched at the distant echoes of battle, their nostrils flaring as they drank in the scent of smoke, metal, and blood. But most of all, they breathed him in. Ninurta's pheromones wove through the air like an unseen current, threading into their instincts, sharpening their focus. They were waiting, eager and ready.

Slowly, Ninurta stepped into the open, his Relby-V10 micro grenade launcher held firm in his grasp. The dust still hung thick, swirling lazily in the glow of emergency lights. He scanned the blast site, his reptilian eyes narrowing as he took in every shattered stone, every scorched mark in the floor. The attack had been precise, intentional. Not a desperate act of defiance, this had been calculated. Someone had been waiting for this moment.

His jaw tightened.

" Rally master, shall we real-" A blue armored crusader voiced aloud and was promptly gestured to be silent.
" We are being watched. Keep your wits about you!" The bone trophied beastmaster hissed. His head turning to the Veermok that easily dwarfed them all in stature. Its back hairs stood up straight and a crazed look encamped in its eyes. It wasn't exactly proof, but as a hunter, Ninurta knew when to trust his instincts and those of his beasts.

 

[Carduul Akahl]

Within the shattered remains of a once-pristine district, Carduul’s warriors had already taken their positions with the way to the generators directly behind them. An ambush for the ambushers directly blocking the goal they intended to strike at. Warriors lied in wait, and in their advantageous positions they would stay unless forced. He, however, had ever preferred the direct approach.

“Now.”

The sniper fire began, immediately pinning down one of the opposing squadrons.

Then his heavy blaster pistol rang out, meeting its mark in the form of Davre. Boots left the rooftop. He dropped like a warhead into the fray, landing with a thud that sent cracks through the duracrete beneath him. The impact alone sent dust and debris kicking up around him.

Carduul was Mand’alor. A force of nature. A warrior, true.

If needed, he was an army alone.

The poleaxe’s spearhead was the first thing that emerged from the smoke, glinting in the dim light before impaling one of the Commandos clean through. The soldier didn’t even have enough time to scream. Blasters immediately turned onto him, but the body swung into the way like a shield, absorbing the shots as he pressed forward. The corpse was cast aside as the poleaxe’s blade found its next target. Another fell, then another. Momentum never ceased as he surgically carved his way through the squadron amidst the chaos; few dared to engage him at close range at their own peril.

Suddenly, amidst the dust, a beam of light streaked directly for him. Two, in fact—streaks that he knew all too well. A whirl of his body adjusted the poleaxe, and metal shrieked as a pair of lightsabers met its shaft inches away from his body. The smoke cleared, and amidst the exchanges of blaster fire, in the center of the street, each fighter saw the others.

And on the opposing end of him, he saw two Jedi and their lightsabers. Young ones, it seemed. He admired the various orders’ capability to teach even the young ones of combat and war. Much like the Mandalorian people. In the middle of conflict, natural foes found another. He demanded their attention as much as they demanded his. Their courage was to be commended.

A surge of motion saw Carduul cast off their blades from his. What followed was blurs of clashing weapons. Footwork saw him always placing one of the two between the other. Never able to fully enclose him. The first he isolated made a snap-movement with their wrist, nearly circumventing his defense to cut into his arm—the weapon’s metal sung as he shifted to meet it.

They were promising, for ones so young in their order. And still, it wouldn’t be enough. Their blade came down. So too did his. Another clash, only to suddenly twist it sidelong. Sluggish reflexes from their wound made them just slow enough, the blunt end striking clean into their jaw from the opposite direction. They staggered, and slumped to the ground.

Immediately following the motion was the other Padawan, using the new space created as their opening. A deadly thrust to his backside, which would’ve placed itself directly through its ribcage. His keen senses screamed a warning; another shift of his body, twisting with an almost unnatural agility—it scraped against his jetpack’s plating, just as he delivered a devastating kick to their stomach, sending the Mirilian crashing into the wall of the building behind. A blow that would leave them out of the fray for some time.

Gaze turned to the one he had originally felled. The form of Davre.

They were not dead. Yet.

He raised his poleaxe high, a downward stroke prepared in execution—

Before a loud explosion rang out behind him, a shockwave of heat and debris washing over the battlefield. His gaze turned backwards, more interested in what caused the explosion—the fallen form of the Jedi, tumbling to a stop amidst the ruin. The ruin where the Rally Master had entrenched himself. He spotted the crimson armor somewhere amidst that as well.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Armored footsteps had made their way across. The visor resting upon the fallen form of Cerys Dyn . The din of battle seemingly faded around them, his warriors and the remaining squads locked in their own deadly engagements.

“Get up.”​

As she stood, a stimpack clattered to the ground at her feet.

“You showed him mercy. This is the only one you will receive in turn.”​

The poleaxe was gripped in both hands, lowering to point towards her.

Her challenge. Her rite of passage. Far more than any trial her Order could ever offer.

Cerys Dyn

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Tags: Sibylla Abrantes
Tyrkhan (eventually)

Gear: The Honorblade | Theed Sharpshooter Rifle | Royal Standard (RS-29) | 2x Thermal detonator | Lightsaber

​

Now they were even, each of them having saved the other’s life, ironically, whenever the Mandalorian were present. At the sight of her smirk, one he found rather infectious, his own lips curled up. It sparked the all too familiar mischief that so often led to their battle of wits.

At first, he offered a simple nod while processing the comment. Her words also gave a sharp reminder of an error made. He had meticulously planned for this battle: the precision rifle for long range, the honorblade for close quarters, and the blaster pistol for anything in between. The lightsaber, a symbol of his journey, was meant to remain untouched, hidden from any prying eyes on Naboo, a last line of defense.

"Subtlety is for people with super boring lives," he quipped, unhooking the curved hilt from his belt. “But.. you make a good point, even if it’s painful to admit.. there, are you happy?”

With a click, the weapon came to life with a snap hiss.

Far from the pure crystal that had been discovered on Illum, this blade now hummed with malevolent energy; it was a crimson hue that had tasted power, reborn from when he poured all that lurked in the recesses of his soul into it on one eventful night. The smirk lingered on his mouth, often a challenge to any who witnessed it, but as he dared another glance at Sibylla, his gaze held a silent plea.

He was confident the girl would overlook it; Naboo’s laws, however, would not.

Lysander stepped forward, drawing the weapon high. It began cutting through the durasteel in a fluid arc, creating a horizontal line across the top, only to be followed by a vertical one down the side. Sparks flew through the air. Once the acolyte finished shaping the large square, he pushed the severed section forward, and it fell with a loud clang.

Walking through the entrance, he placed the lightsaber back on his belt. A foul odor was quick to greet him. Trying his best to ignore it, he conjured a tendril through the Force in his mind, one that would reach out to scan the area for other lifeforms.

After several beats, he confirmed it: they were alone.

Guiding her into the tunnels, the walkway was clearly narrow; it was barely wide enough for two pairs of boots.

His eyes creased playfully as he returned his attention to Sibylla, almost as if hoping to see distaste etched across her features. Even with the green wrap, Lysander's nose crinkled. "Seems like we've found a foe more formidable than those bucket head Mandalorians down here." Scanning back ahead, he saw a brown slick spot that tainted the ground, and was careful to overstep it. "I think I'll just burn these boots after we retake the city.. again."

Images of the previous explosions resurfaced in his mind; anger flickered in his emerald orbs. Fortunately, Lysander still had a solid grasp on his Force Concealment ability to mask the tempest brewing within. "They brought others with them this time.. mercenaries," he continued, his tone becoming serious, the words echoing through the air "It feels straight up disrespectful.. makes us look weak."

Reaching over his shoulder, he pulled the strap around to place the precision rifle before him. Its weight was unfamiliar, but his mind still began calculating different strategies. "If the Republic were wise," he added, his voice lowering to a murmur, "they'd show zero mercy to these scum.. No one in the Outer Rim would ever let this go unchecked."

 

[FN-999 (restored)]

​

Infiltration Team: FN-999 | 18 Storm Commandos | All equipped a rifle, 4 ion grenades, and a vibroblade

Allies: Foundation | Jas Katis | Cali Ziiva | etc.
Enemies: Mandalorians | Vreegan Fett | etc.

Just as it seemed as if the staircase would never end, the Baron’s team reached the bottom.
​

Nines and his commandos practically leapt from the bottom step to the hallway beyond, never slowing down their pace or looking back at the source of the growing sounds above and behind them. Here, the hallway was made of plain gray duracrete illuminated by white industrial lights evenly spaced about six meters apart from each other, giving it a much more utilitarian feel than the more furnished halls above. Evidently, the infiltration squad was in the right place.

Up ahead, growing ever more in detail as the squad moved closer, was a large titanium door with an electronic lock attached, likely keyed to an as of currently unknown password. Perhaps there was a local in hiding or in Mandalorian custody who knew the password, but neither Nines nor his commandos had the luxury of time to find them. Instead, they would have to brute force their way through the door while keeping away the Mandalorians that would likely begin assaulting their flank at any moment.

“Cut it open!” ordered the Baron as they arrived at the end of the hall outside the door, primarily addressing the commando with the laser cutter. “Everyone else, defensive positions!"

While the commando with the cutter began the long task of cutting through the heavy titanium door, the rest of the team, Nines included, turned back the direction they had come from and formed two lines. The front line, consisting of half of the commandos, knelt down on one knee while aiming their rifles down the hall, allowing for Nines and the second line of commandos to fire above their comrades and thus ensuring that all nineteen soldiers could simultaneously lay down fire on the heavily armored Mandalorians.

However, the thing that first arrived at the bottom of the stairs was no Mandalorian.

The commandos found themselves face-to-face with a large, six-legged mechanical beast armed to the teeth with a frightening amount of lasers and cannons and covered in heavy, plated armor. Nines immediately recognized it as a Basilisk War Droid, a semi-sentient mobile war machine favored by the Mandalorian Crusaders. However, not all of his commandos had seen or heard of a Basilisk as the Baron had, and their nervousness was palpable. Upon detecting Nines and his squad, the machine let out the fierce roar of a wild beast before charging down the hallway at impressive speed.

[MANDO WAR DROID!] shouted Nines to his squad through their helmet comms. [FIRE AT THE JOINTS AND USE GRENADES IF CLOSE!]

Given a set of clear orders to distract them from their unease, the commandos sprung into action, firing a barrage of plasma bolts upon the approaching Basilisk while aiming to the best of their considerable ability to hit the exposed joints of the mechanical beast’s neck and the center of its front legs.



​