Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Junction Shadows Fall | Junction of Enclave-Roon, Maw-Schesa

Shadow Leader


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Tor’r Tal’Verda | Death’s Hand
Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr | Ves Fett Ves Fett | Arron Starstrider Arron Starstrider


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W O L F


The twin Ommin-class shuttles screamed over the skies of Kestri, packed with vode and a few scouts from the New Sith Order. Hunters, purgers, and assassins the type who left no job half done. They had picked up an intercepted transmission from survivors of the Schism, remnants who hid from the wrath of the New Sith. That led them here, to this Kestri.

Details were sparse, but the mention of Mandalorians and the Enclave caught the ear of one Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze , Mand’alor the Unchained. Sith Lord and Mandalorian Warlord, Master of the Dark Side. So it was his followers, the Death’s Hand, gathered alongside their master and his allies in the New Sith. So it was they were here aboard these shuttles, enroute to uncover what truly awaited them down below.

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The roar of the crowd, the glory of personal combat, the life of a gladiator.

Tor Valum was built into a mountain, ravines branching off into a Mandalorian Metropolis, and in the depths the fighting pits which reminded Tor’r of his brutal origins fighting in the arena of Geonosis. Blood, Sand, and Beskar. It was beautiful.

He fell like an anvil, heavy metal crashing down until he came nearly within arm’s reach of touching the ground. Black smoke and eager flames rolled out from his back mounted jet pack, his landing softened as his boots crashed into the dirt.

Thud-clunk!

The Horned Wolf rose.




 
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Kerstan Blackmoore

Guest
K


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Tag: SCAR SCAR | Siv Dragr Siv Dragr | Kale Onara Kale Onara | Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr | Ves Fett Ves Fett | Arron Starstrider Arron Starstrider

They were killing Sith. Mandalorians, The Enclave, those Kerstan had one fought beside as part of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, had cast off the restraint forced upon them by the Galactic power. This could not be allowed to stand, and yet, perhaps they could provide Kerstan with the thing he needed to finish his work. The taste their culture had for war was one that the Sith could use. Mandalorians had been used to fashion an army of clones before. Perhaps now they could be used to craft the perfect soldier.

The dark Alchemist had volunteered for this task. Stealth ships, reminiscent of the ones his father had once used, broke the atmosphere of the planet. They would go undetected until it was time to reveal themselves. In a manner like any Mandalorian he knew, their leader for this mission made his grand entrance. Kerstan would follow.

Leaping from the ship, the Sith dove for the ground. The force would catch his fall in enough time to allow the man to live, but not before a large thud echoed around them. Kerstan’s hand touched the ground, cracking it outward as though it were ripples in a pond. They stopped a meter out from the center of his feet, and as Kerstan stood he took his place behind the Wolf.

Today there would be a reckoning.

 
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Location: Kestri, Tor Valum Fighting Pits
Tags: SCAR SCAR | Kerstan Blackmoore | Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Open

  • Kralmus drops into the arena, hot-blooded and spoiling for a fight


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What was it with his people and cowering on backwater planets at the edge of the galaxy?

Kralmus sighed theatrically as the shuttle raced down through the atmosphere, the frozen surface of Kestri passing beneath them in a blue-white blur. He had spent the past several years tracking down the scattered fragments of the Mandalorian diaspora, and pretty much every last one of them had been a terrible disappointment. From the bombed-out ruins of their culture's homeworld to the swamps of Dxun to the mining complexes of Iol to the jungle settlements of New Mandalore, he had hunted those who bore his people's name. His goal each time was simple: to bring them to the banner of Mand'alor the Unchained, the man who would bring about a glorious new Crusade.

But in all his searching, he had found precious few who were worthy of sharing that glory.

The repeated ravaging of Mandalore, and the internecine bloodshed that had followed several of those ravagings, seemed to have knocked the fight out of most of Kralmus's kinsmen. Where once they had been conquerors, warriors who seized what they wanted or died on their feet, they had largely become drifting exiles or cringing fugitives. Even the Death Watch that had settled on New Mandalore, the largest group that Mand'alor had deemed worthy of following them (after the weak were culled, of course), had been content to hide at the end of one of the galaxy's spiral arms. They had abandoned the innate hunger for blood and glory that made them Mandalorian.

Oh, they all had excuses, of course. Many had turned to hunting jungle beasts or performing mercenary work, pale imitations of the galactic conquests of their culture's past. Many others crowed about honor and tradition and codes and family, as if any of those things had any meaning without the pride that came only from battle. Some called themselves protectors, an idea that had more in common with the pathetic Jedi than it did with any true Mandalorian. Kralmus did not want to protect anything. Those who needed protection were those too weak to be conquerors, like the brutalized slaves of the Maw, and deserved their fate. There were only these two categories.

Conqueror and conquered. Victimizer and victim. Predator and prey. Choose one or the other.

And now Death's Hand, the faithful followers of the One True Mand'alor, had discovered where the largest remaining congregation of those laying claim to Mandalorian heritage were hiding: this iceball in the far Galactic South. Kralmus and his battle brothers had clashed with the warriors of this Enclave before, and he had to admit that they were not weaklings; they could hold their own in combat. But they had utterly misunderstood what it meant to be Mandalorian, to lay claim to a heritage of blood and fire and conquest, and because of that they would fall. Perhaps the worthy among them, those who could be made to see the truth, would have a place in Death's Hand.

The rest would be purged, swept from the New Crusade's path like ashes from the hearth.

As the dropships passed over Tor Valum, that rugged mountain city carved into the planet's rock and permafrost, Kralmus Orr casually stepped out of the moving vehicle. He dropped like a stone, weighed down by his beskar armor... until his jetpack fired at the last moment, arresting his fall and jolting his bones. He laughed at the thrill of it, the exhilaration of coming so close to death; it set his blood pumping, readying him for the fight to come. He touched down just beside his vod Tor'r, reliable if humorless, and drew forth his mighty axe. "You call this fighting?!" he bellowed, his amplified voice echoing out over the gladiatorial pits. His laugh was high and long and cruel.

"Please. It's all boredom and drudgery until someone loses an eye."
 
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P R O T E C T

Objective: Protect The Enclave's Home
Equipment: Si'kahya Beskar'gam (Jorir Variant), Mandalorian vambraces,"Starfire" gauntlet plasma caster, Shuk'orok crushgaunts, Vizsla Lightsaber Beskad, Taak'tabi boots
Allies: Siv Dragr Siv Dragr | Kale Onara Kale Onara | Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida | Yenna Yenna
Enemies: Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr | Kerstan Blackmoore | SCAR SCAR

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The Si'kahya had many roles in the Enclave: soldier, vanguard, warden. In that regard, they were much like the Mandalorian Protectors, the Journeyman protectors, or the True Mandalorians; indeed, it would take a fool lacking knowledge of Mandalorian history to insinuate they did not protect. Today, Cerar played the role of referee. While his other vode traveled to the Enclave's old home, he remained on Kestri to protect their current one. He kept his wits about him, scanning the crowd for anything out of the ordinary while keeping an eye on the proceedings in the ring. Cerar may not be the fondest of "tactics", but he was still smart enough to know that the best time to attack is when the enemy is distracted. Regardless of the hows or the whys, the Mandalorians have many enemies. All too often, the enemy was another Mandalorian.

Cerar had kept some personal effects from House Vizsla when he joined the Si'kahya, admittedly, the most obvious of which was sheathed in ori'ramikad wood on his back. For a greatsword, the weapon was surprisingly light. All the better for him. He stood with his arms crossed, ready to unsheath the weapon at the first sign of trouble.

Speaking of trouble...

As soon as Cerar saw the first unannounced red-clad Mando drop into the arena, his beskad was out of its sheath, gripped tightly in both hands. And then another came. And another man, but different. Not in beskar'gam. Likely not a friend either. Looked like these friendly brawls were about to get a lot less friendly.
 

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The Unchained

Tags:
SCAR SCAR , Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr , Kerstan Blackmoore

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

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Kai Tangata

Through countless travels and ceaseless fighting, Khamul had sought to bring his people under one banner. Some may have called such a task foolish, as they had long forgotten the true power of their people. 'Let us eat from the tables of others', they would say, in so many words. Oh the words... the pointless, endless words... they made him sick. The state of his people was enough to drive him into a rage, their banners hidden in the shadows of others. Yet, there was one banner that seemed to rise above the others... the banner of this so called Enclave. Death's Hand had encountered them before, and each time, each side had their share of blood.

There were days when Khamul pondered on the reasons behind it all; the logic behind wanting to stick to the wayward path so many of his kin had fallen prey to. No matter how much he tried, Khamul could never justify such cowardice. They were conquerors, once, people that the galaxy feared at the very mention of their name. Yet, in the wake of constant attacks and displacement, somehow... they had forgotten their roots. They were no longer the predators they once were, and it was time to remedy that misguidance. New Mandalore was the first step in what would inevitably be a long and arduous journey for Khamul, yet it was one he was willing to traverse. The galaxy would once again know fear his kind, no matter the cost.

The dropships fell upon the rocky surface of Tor Valum, and as they made their descent, the loyal vode of Death's Hand made their presence known. Beskar slammed against the ground, each warrior making their presence known to all. Among them, the Demon Mandalore himself landed like a meteor, the crimson welds of his mask glistening in the light. He stood at the forefront of his companions, his masked gaze falling upon the prey that dared use the name of his people. His hand immediately reached for Mandalore's Lament, erupting into it's blackened glow with a vicious hiss. Khamul didn't expect these fools to join him, but it mattered little...

The Mand'alor had come, and Hell followed with him.

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Eliz. That was his name.

What a shitty name.

The half Chiss frowned, staring at himself in the mirror. The thin lines on his skin, invisible to the normal eye, were clear as day now for him. This.. Wasn't his skin. His body. That's what he figured out. He was broken? Yeah. .. Not much of him was him. None of his face was. His heart still was real. Lungs? One. Brain? .. Some of it. Ah, man. Trying to think about all of this was giving him a headache.

Or that was just his brain trying to fix itse- No. Nope. No more thinki- Was that an explosion?

The room he was in shook as an explosion went off. .. They were under attack? What? Kestri was a hidden world right? Or was it not? Bah, remembering things he couldn't be bothered to remember. The Hunter slipped from the mirror, reaching out for the 'Gam laid out on his bed. It was his right? Apparently belonged to his father. And his mother before him. Shame he didn't remember them, there was apparently a lot of history in this steel.

He let out a sigh, then got to work getting it on.

Turned out putting on the armor took a bit longer than he thought. But.. He remembered it. Muscle memory wasn't literally in the muscles, thankfully. Given all of his were now cyberneti- stop think about that. He stared at his armored form for a moment, in the mirror like before. Then faded from view as the fractal pattern kicked on. Then he found a roof. He could see it. The people arriving here. Enemies.

Sith? Had to be. One just turned on a red lightsaber. That worked. The Force Dead Mandalorian pulled up his Charric rifle and aimed down the sight. And pulled the trigger. Sure, shouldn't actually kill anyone, but if he could piss off whoever that was, maybe it'd..

Wait why was he shooting this guy?

Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze
 


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W A R

Objective: Kill Some Maw​

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After giving his rallying cry and receiving a chorus of cheers and war cries in return, Jiriad magnetized the hefty Power Hammer to his back and took his Particle Bow in hand instead. It would not be long before the transport touched down, and he wagered the Orar wouldn't do him much good at range. Jiriad was no savage marauder or berserker but he could not deny he was badly aching for combat, at long last. He was eager to repay the pain Sith had dealt to his people, both Clan Galaar and the Mandalorians at large.

After what was perhaps minutes, perhaps moments, but felt like an eon, the Galaar transport touched down and Jiriad led his vode down the ramp, prepared to come to blows with whatever foe they faced. With Particle Bows in hand, Clan Galaar warriors took up positions off the ramp, scanning the area for signs of Maw hostiles. If they did not find trouble, Jiriad had a feeling trouble would soon find them. It would be a rather dull day if it didn't.
 

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"Why is it Mandalorian's have all the fun? I feel like I'm missing some sort of joke." The voice spoke out from within Jiriad Galaar Jiriad Galaar 's transport. A single, large figure stepped past him, the grey skinned individual smiling a joyless smile as he stepped. He shouldn't of been there. There was no reason for him to be there. No stealth or amount of trickery could've had him in the ship, but there he was.

And then the ashen figure was gone. Then sitting atop the transport, casually swinging his legs back and forth. "This fancy armor is just, so fascinating." In his hand, the buy'ce of one of the first to step off the transport. The rest of the body propped up beside him. He hummed for a moment, looking through the faceless mask before casually tossing it behind him and slipping from the roof.

And again, he was gone. His image just disappeared, as if blinking. And again he was behind Jiriad. Teleporting? No.

Illusion. Any attack against it went through like mist as he spoke, mocking the Viking Mando. "Yours is different, though. What did you do to be able to resist me?" The almost playful atmosphere was devoid in this question. Annoyance, anger. His red eyes glared down to Jiriad.

"I'll pry you out of that filth and figure it out myself, I think." The sound of wings flapping came next. Large wings. Descending from the sky, Uzul. The illusion of the Sith faded again as the draconic creature swooped down, unleashing a mist of poisonous gas to try and separate the rest of Jiriad's vode from him.
 
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Location: Roon
Objective1: Fight for fellow Vod! Hold nothing back.
Equipment: Sword, M.I. Beskar'gam Mk.1 M.I. 'Sunstroke' jetpack M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol, M.I. Model 12 shatter rifle x2, Thermal Detonators, Magnetic Detonators, Perun's Call
Tag: Shai Maji Shai Maji | Soloman Priest Soloman Priest | Jiriad Galaar Jiriad Galaar | Open


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He checked all his ordinances several times before deployment, as he can't have too many. He's even gathered hefty amounts of napalm, just in case, it is needed for any aspect of the mission. Thankfully, he's not had to use it yet, but judging by how big these missions can get, the explosives and Napalm will certainly be used, together or separately, that is for the battle ahead to decide.

He had great success in the last time he needed to destroy something, so much so that he got something for his efforts. He's not been able to use it, hopefully, he will. He'll use the Maw as target practice rather than anything on Roon. Because he has learned about the Planet and its significance.

But lessons were learned from Dromund Kass, lessons being never to go it alone when you don't plan for Force Related Encounters. He was able to hold his own but that did not mean he escaped without consequences himself. No, this time he'll stay with the Clan and not go headfirst into something that blindly again.

Luckily Jos has joined them in the fight and better yet he's going to lead, Shai is, from what he could gather, was currently in a Nebula fighting the Maw from Space. He hoped she will be okay. But then he realised, this was his Alor, and she is ready for anything.

<"You bet, I got enough here to blow up a mountain."> Vulcan quipped back as he too rolled out to begin the defensive/offensive. Vulcan was sure to keep close to everyone to avoid getting lost in the jungle, as it can be too easy to get separated and find yourself in a different part from everyone else.

<"Also I have Napalm too, for extra firepower."> He adds patting a pouch that did indeed hold the Napalm.
 


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S T A T I C - A N D - N O I S E


As they continued along the nebula, Gwyn made the decision to radio her hunch to Shai's mothership. Hopefully, the wardog herself would hear this. Would Shai trust her? Think Gwyn was being overly anxious? But Gwyn was Force Sensitive. That meant something, yes?

In the distance, Gwyn caught more ships speeding past her. She recognized the elder models of the Clone Wars era, being an engineer. The familiar Force signature within confirmed it was a fellow vod, Omen, as well.

Of course, when Gwyn saw the cute little message on one of the ships, directed to Shai, she lifted a hand to the temple of her buy'ce and groaned. Could Omen not be a little respectful towards her Clan Alor?

She sighed, lowering her hand as the ships caught up with Shai ahead. The half-Arkanian reached for the radio and tried to warn the fleet of what she heard. Yet, only static with bits and pieces of distorted voices came through. Gwyn grimaced. How in the galaxy could she warn them if - the idea popped into her mind.

She bent down to the comlink and entered the channel, allowing a moment of radio static before Morse Coding the message, using the static to her advantage.


THIS IS GWYN. I SENSE SHIPS TO THE RIGHT OF US IN THE FORCE. I CANNOT TELL HOW CLOSE OR FAR AWAY THEY ARE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.


TLDR

- Gwyn reacts to Omen's little rivalry with :cringe:.

- When unable to send a message to the fleets with her hunch due to radio static, she instead morse codes where she senses the enemy via the radio to the entire two fleets Shai and Omen captain. Shai Maji Shai Maji Sergeant Omen Sergeant Omen
 

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ROON | CLOAK OF THE SITH NEBULA
ENCLAVE | TASK FORCE 3
FLEET: 2 Bes'drahr-class Heavy Cruiser | 6 Kyr'am-class Strike Frigate | The Vhipirheim
COMPLIMENT: Beviin-class Space Superiority Starfighter | 'Howler' Mk.1 Basilisk War Droid
ALLIES: ENCLAVE | Gwyneira Vizsla Gwyneira Vizsla | Sergeant Omen Sergeant Omen | Alora Vizsla Alora Vizsla |
ENEMIES: DA MAW | Open
ENGAGING: Come at me bro
GEAR: In bio | Standard loadout​

  • Shai isn't impressed with Omen's antics
  • Enclave fleet moves in on merchant routes

  • Ground troops mount up and move out
  • Squadron of Basilisks are sent out and fire on the Mawites preparing to move out
  • Recon team keeps an eye on their movements
  • Vanguard force deploy and set up a FOB while other units disappear into the jungle

Fleet:

-Frigates:
  • Bandit:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%
  • Surprise:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%
  • Speedy:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%
  • Purgil:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%
  • Milk Maid:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%
  • Harrier:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%

-Cruisers:
  • Acheron:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%
  • Silence:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%

-Flagship:
  • Vhipirheim:
    • Structure: 100%
    • Shields: 100%
    • Armament: 100%

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The tension onboard the ships was thick. Idle chatter was rare as the crews tended to their duties and spotters watched the Nebula around them for anything out of place. The only thing that managed to break that silent tension was the sight of a museum piece flying past with an amusing message written along the hull. Shai sat up from the captain’s chair in confusion, taken back by the sight until the identity of the Venator was pinpointed. ”I’m gonna skin that bloody fossil alive one day, I swear.” She grumbled while the rest of her crew snickered around her. She knew better than to try and shut them up.

”Alright, let Omen go on, he can be the dummy if he wants to be.” She spoke up, at least shutting up a few of her clan members around her. ”The rest of us-”

”Captain, we have a lead.”

Shai blinked and turned to face the man. ”Just got word from Gwyn, dadita message. She senses ships hard to starboard, no range given.” Shai thought for a moment and messed with the map of a nebula for a bit. ”Starboard… what’s over…” Her mumbling ceased as her eyes went wide. ”Merchant lanes. No way in hell is it that easy. Send message to the rest of the fleet, disperse and dive, check merchant lanes but don’t move out of the nebula.”

:: All ships, this is mothership. Disperse and dive. Repeat, disperse and dive. Focus merchant lanes and standby for further instructions. ::

With the orders given, the rest of the fleet dispersed and moved in on the lanes, weapons and shields at the ready in case they ran into a bunch of Maw ships. :: Good job, Gwyn. Scout ahead, let’s see what’s out there. :: Shai pinged to Gwyn before returning to her seat, keeping an eye on the holomap and viewports as the ship started to turn…

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ROON | DABA’R
ENCLAVE | MARINE DETACHMENT
GEAR: Repeaters | Missile launchers | Sniper rifles | Rifles | Pistols | Shields | Varying armour
COMPLIMENT: Keldab-class Assault Dropships | 'Howler' Mk.1 Basilisk War Droids | 'Badger' Main Battle Tanks | Mandalorian Assault Walkers
ALLIES: ENCLAVE | Vulcan Krayt Vulcan Krayt | Soloman Priest Soloman Priest | Jiriad Galaar Jiriad Galaar | Open
ENEMIES: DA MAW | Jin X | The Mongrel The Mongrel | Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr | Open
ENGAGING: Come at me bro​

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”This jungle is gonna make it hell for us to fight, honestly. These gunships are gonna be our saviours more than once, just watch.”

”I’m more worried about the recons. Those boys out there all alone? Against the Maw? The hell they gonna do if they get swarmed?”

”Call us in to crop dust their asses, moron.” The trooper slapped his comrade over the head as he got out of the gunship and gave the barrel of the door gun a light tap. ”You just make sure you don’t get stuck in the mud, I ain’t airlifting those bloody tanks anywhere..”

”Go kark yourself, Mac.”

Troops tended to their equipment and machines of war, others were waiting for their orders to roll out. The landing zone was fortified with both Mandalorians and Enclave soldiers patrolling the perimeter, constantly looking around for anything out of place.

”Probe droids, you say?” Jos asked over the comms as he stood next to Vulcan. :: Yes sir, knocked one out sooner and now another. Small little buggers, scanners barely picked them up and it was a chore to shoot ‘em down. :: A soldier spoke over the comms. The Kel Dor looked down at Vulcan for a moment. ”They know we’re here then. Any visual so far on their position?”

:: Yes sir, they are mobilizing as well. We’ll keep you posted on the movement. They ain’t the only ones with snazzy little droids. :: The comms went silent once more and Jos turned to one of the nearby officers. ”I want Basilisks in the air. If this jungle isn’t burning like the heart of Kestri within the next hour, I’ll have those pilots locked away!” He ordered, his digitized voice booming for everyone to hear him.

A few minutes later, a squadron of Basilisks was in the air and taking off, already cycling through their weapons and systems for combat. Other troops mounted up into the gunships as their engines spooled up. ”Mount up, Vulc. We’re rolling out.” He ordered, stepping onto a gunship as well.

:: All troops, our job is to set up a forward base of operations. Recons will give us our intel on the enemy’s location and the Basilisks will soften them up for us. Don’t be mistaken, the enemy is used to this. They won’t stop fighting, no matter what. ::

Repeaters swiveled at the ready as blast doors closed up partially. Each unit had its designated job, with Mandalorians taking the lead, followed closely by Enclave Marines and their support. A few Walkers were also lifted into the air by Basilisks following after the gunships.

Music blared from a radio as Marines bobbed their heads. This was the first engagement for non-Mandalorians in the Enclave, but they were no less brave than their Mandalorian counterparts. One particular group of soldiers, the Lyran regiment, looked more anxious than the rest for a taste of combat. The Enclave chased off the criminal element that made a nest on their humble planet, the least they could do was return the favour. Their armour wasn’t made of Beskar, but the fire in their eyes easily matched that of their comrades in arms.

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The very familiar howl of very familiar machines soon echoed in the distance, and they were getting closer very quickly. But their arrival was beaten by the missiles launched at the Mawites from afar from their flex tube launchers.

The resulting blasts weren’t perfectly on target, but the area was soon painted in raging fire setting the jungle ablaze before particle and laser cannon shots rained down from afar, only ceasing as the Basilisks turned around after their strafing run to link up with the vanguard force.

From the mountains, a small unit was scattered and watching. Special armour kept their signature and presence low while sniper rifles laid ready for use. The soldiers of the 3rd Recon didn’t make a sound and didn’t move a muscle, simply observing and waiting. Their annunciators were shut off to keep their breathing and voices deathly quiet, only their comms would broadcast their voices to the Enclave troops and even that rarely happened.

:: This is third recon. First contact made, be ready for them. :: Their commander muttered.

The gunships dropped their troops in the jungle and the soldiers didn’t waste a second to set up a landing zone and booby trap the area. Scout teams ventured deeper into the jungle to keep an eye out for the Maw’s advance. The NIO had shown how conventional war fared against their brutal nemesis. While their current tactics seemed reminiscent, they knew better than to try and match the NIO’s columns of tanks and thousands of elite stormtroopers with their own paltry numbers.

No, they had a different idea.

”Vulcan, you stay close to me. They’re coming. And we don’t know what surprises they have for us yet, so be prepared for anything.” Jos stated softly, gently tapping the boy’s helmet as he rested his rifle against his shoulder.

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Location: Roon, Continent of Daba'r
Allies: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr
Foes: Shai Maji Shai Maji | Vulcan Krayt Vulcan Krayt

  • The Mongrel lusts after Mercy
  • The Scar Hounds send out Wolf Droids to attack Mandalorian scouts
  • The basilisk strike disrupts the Mawite landing
  • The Scar Hounds deploy tunneling machines to create refuges from the airstrikes


He had fought by then in virtually every conceivable type of terrain. Ice worlds, deserts, volcanic slopes, forests, jungles, rolling plains, even the cold void of space. He knew how it felt to be on the front line of a massed charge across open ground, and to hunt and be hunted through the alleys of a vast city, fighting building to building and block to block. From Coruscant to Korriban, the bright center of the galaxy to Known Space's dark edges, he had killed.... and commanded killers. He had a wealth of experience to draw upon in any engagement.

But all that hard-won skill and cunning fled him for a moment when Mercy came to greet him. He hardly heard her physical voice, hardly noticed the sharp military salute and deferential bow that kept up the appearance that their differing ranks divided them. He was waiting for the voice that came in his dreams, the voice he now saw as Mercy's true voice, the whisper in his mind like silk over bare skin. Mongrel. It was an ugly name, a name that fit his broken, twisted form... but when she spoke it, she made it intimate, even somehow beautiful.

Only she could bring beauty into his life.

I wish we had a few hours together in private, came her mental whisper, filling his mind with desire for the things she could show him, the things she could make him feel. And she shared those things, just a taste of them, for they had little time and many enemies. He felt hands woven from pure thought run across skin he no longer had. He felt softness, the warmth of her tender, tantalizing touch. Before her, for all the long years since his biological body had been carved away, he had lost those things. Without her he was cold, rigid, pained.

Rationally, The Mongrel knew that it was just an illusion. She was not standing before him, pressing her lips to his, letting her soft form press against him. He was not holding her, hungrily returning her kiss, desperate to touch and caress the shapely lines of her body. There was only her mind, her powerful thoughts, stimulating the long-neglected nerves of his damaged brain. He was still just the last remnants of a man who ought to be dead, held together by metal that buzzed and hummed and flickered with electrical current. This wasn't real.

But for a moment, he could pretend it was.

I yearn for you, she told him. I want you. ~ And I want you, ~ his mind whispered back, consumed by longing. A tiny voice, built of the fragments of his old self that Mawite torture had locked in the furthest reaches of his mind, cut into the moment. Why? it asked. Why would she love you? Who could? You are a torturer, a killer, a destroyer. You turned your back on love when you started down this path. Either she does this because there is something for her to gain, or because you have made her just as broken and lonely as you are.

That isn't love. That's the legacy of your cruelty.


He tried not to hear that voice, but it lingered.

All good things must come to an end. Mercy pulled back from his mind, and it was like rising from a pool of warm water, feeling the cold air on his skin once more. The dark, numb void that surrounded him without her touch descended once more, leaving him with only two emotions to feel: desire for her, and hatred for everything else. The Mongrel focused on that hatred, on his burning desire to bring this wretched galaxy to a new beginning. This battle would be another step along that long and twisted road, the passage lubricated with blood.

He listened carefully to Mercy's outer voice, to the information she had gathered, and nodded his approval. "Agreed," the warlord boomed. "The wolf droids will hunt well in these woods. The Mandalorian scouts will die screaming." The droids were an Eternal Empire design, but sold on the open market; it was easy enough for the Maw's network of smugglers and black marketeers to acquire some for the Scar Hounds. Armored, shielded, and quick, they would be elusive and deadly monsters when unleashed in Roon's jungles.

But before the full mobilization of the Mawite force could begin, The Mongrel detected an all too familiar sound howling over the trees. "Take cover!" he barked, moving his own towering metal body in front of Mercy to shield her from any incoming fire. It was an instinctive move, one he did not even think to question, but a meaningful one. She was the only person in the galaxy he would have put himself in danger to protect. And he would have fed a hundred thousand of his own warriors into the meat grinder before he considered losing her.

The first missiles struck well ahead of the Basiliks' arrival, throwing up clumps of dirt and shattered tree trunks, engulfing tents and shuttles in fiery explosions. The long-range fusillade, of course, was only the beginning. The Basilisks themselves came into view shortly after, opening up with their many mounted weapons, picking off target after target in the chaos their missiles had created. By the time the Mawites brought PLX missile launchers and heavy flak cannons to bear, they were already wheeling away, leaving behind fire and death.

The Mongrel had seen the power of these Mandalorian war machines on Nirauan, when they had ravaged the ranks of Bloodsworn and Scar Hounds alike from the air, hunting marauders and their smuggled speeders through the winding streets of New Carannia. He had known that they would be here, in the Enclave's zone of influence, and he had known that there was no Mawite close air support that could match their versatility and power. That was why he didn't intend to try. If the enemy owned the skies, so be it. He would adapt.

"Deploy the tunneling machines!" the warlord ordered. At his command, a force of Groundborers began to trundle down the ramps of their transports, heading for the still-burning edge of the jungle clearing. They had been brought to dig up Sith artifacts, archaeological tools rather than weapons of war, but they could be turned to other purposes. It would be easy for the titanic burrowing devices to dig a network of sheltering trenches and tunnels through the jungle, ready-made defensive positions to help the Mawites hold ground.

Though the Mandalorians might scour the jungle with flame, burning every last leaf to ash in their quest to eradicate the Maw... but the Brotherhood would still endure. Like the prophesied worms of the apocalypse, wriggling in the fertile loam beneath the scorched surface, they would rise to inherit the earth when all else was dead. The Legion of the Leech, of course, already resembled such worms. They were ideal tunnel fighters, needing no light to navigate and capable of fitting through incredibly tight spaces with ease.

"Go forth," The Mongrel commanded. "Undermine them!"
 


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D R A G O N

Jiriad pulled the plasma string of his bow back, ready to fire at the Sith, when they disappeared. He cursed in Runian beneath his breath, wheeling around to discover their new location. He let the particle arrow fly, passing through the illusion. Blasted Sith trickery.

"And I think you're full of skítur." As Jiriad said this, he saw the dragon-like creature swooping down, and out of instinct another particle arrow was charged and fired, this time at the creature. He knew of dragons, or dragon-like creatures, and when he saw the creature open its mouth this time the particle beam arrow was aimed straight down its gullet. His kinsmen, numbering about a dozen, also fired their particle bows at the creature, their shots aimed for the wings. Better to disable the creature's ability to fly, it was only a natural target when dealing with large flying enemies.

If the explosive particle arrow down the throat didn't impair fell beast's ability to breath the gas, Jiriad would charge another arrow and join his kin in firing at the creature's wings, while scanning it with his visor trying to get a bead on any weak points it may have. Jiriad's armor was resistant to corrosion, the body glove would protect him against direct skin contact, and the helmet's rebreather and built-in oxygen supply would ensure he didn't breathe any of the gas in.​
 

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The Unchained

Tags:
SCAR SCAR , Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr , Kerstan Blackmoore, Eliz Krayt Eliz Krayt

Loadout: Mandalore's Lament, Regret, beskar'gam

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Kai Tangata

The arrival of Death's Hand had certainly caught the attention of the gathered Dar'manda, causing the area to erupt into an exchange of blasterfire. Khamul simply stood as violence erupted around him, only bothering to deflect the bolts that came directly at him. He had waited for the opportunity to take the fight to these apostates, hoping for a day that he could make their people once again whole through the culling of the weak. He watched silently as the fighting broke out around him, basking in the glory of the slaughter. Then, a sudden shift in the air came, and Khamul felt a disturbance in the Force. His hand reached out just in time to block the shot from the rooftop, holding out a shield of darkness as his gaze fell upon the shooter. He didn't recognize him, but it didn't matter. He would die all the same.

Khamul reached out with the Dark Side, mustering his hate as he channeled it in the direction of the shooter. He could feel his mental grasp over the roof tightening, his will being exacted upon the structure. Once he felt he had it, the Demon Mandalore closed his fist, sending cracks up the walls under the portion of the roof containing his assailant. With any luck, the roof would partially cave in, forcing his opponent to the ground, where Khamul would face him head on.

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Ziare Dyarron | Keilara Kala'myr (Mercy)
COMPNOR (ISB) Junior Agent, Nite agent | Marauder and Agent of the Maw
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Objective I.: Doing her job and follow the warlord's commands.
Location: Surface, Roon
Equipment: FS-18-UP2 Assault Rifle | 2x Sunfury Pistol | Light Armour | Viper Mk. I Skinsuit | 2x Vibrodagger || Cloaking Device | 5x ASBF Probe Droid || OPBC-01m
Allies: The Mongrel The Mongrel
Enemies: Shai Maji Shai Maji | Vulcan Krayt Vulcan Krayt
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[ New Order ]
"Galactic Basic" | ~"Telepathic" communication ~ | << comm. channel >>

  • Ziare continues longing after The Mongrel
  • At the attack, she activates her shield to protect while Mongrel covers her too.
  • She sends tiny droids into cover, but they still follow the Mando movement in the jungle.
  • She and Mongrel will also receive the incoming data.
  • Mercy sends the data to the alpha Wolf droid to coordinate the other droids’ movements and attacks more effectively.

For a few moments the outside world disappeared and it didn't matter at all… just us.

This was new not only to me, but to both of us. Not long ago, I realised how I can create this telepathic channel between him and my own mind so that it is not just one-way, but two-way. In principle, I was able to feel in my mind what he wanted to do. In practice, this has basically not been the case many times, as he was not a telepath and in principle his brain was damaged somewhat, although this has not caused us any problems so far. But now it was different… finally!

~ You're getting better and better at this! ~ I purred satisfied.

Maybe because we haven’t been close together for a long time now, thanks to this recon mission, or I don’t know, but so far, the whole thing hasn’t been very real. At least not for me. From my point of view, he was passive in this area. Maybe for some moments I felt like he was a reality or a physical person, but nothing more. But now I could feel his lips as he kissed me back, his arms as he embraced me and his body was not ethereal but "physical" as much as possible in this situation. It was like reality now, for me too. It was as if we were really facing each other in our full physical reality, even if it only happened in our minds.

The Taskmaster did it easily, but he has telepathic abilities like me, just he was much far stronger than me, but now Mongrel did it as well. Ever since we started all this, I’ve been wanting him to be able to do that too. I wasn't sure it would work, but now it still…

I looked up at his response in our minds and smiled at him and in my eyes gleamed at once with amusement and cruelty. I shuddered pleasantly at the longing I felt from her direction; it was the same as mine, just as strongly. Damn with this eternal war. I didn’t care at the moment that how the Avatars wanted to be happy by the bloodshed we caused in their names, my own interests were more important and he was the most important. I knew exactly these thoughts reached the heresy level, but I didn't care at this moment.

~ Then let's kill these worthless Mandos as fast as possible and then we'll finally have time for each other. ~ whispered back.

But unfortunately, after that, we had to get back to reality, no matter how hard it was, because the fight was here around our necks. The wolf droids headed out into the woods and I watched the incoming data. The next moment, two of the five miniature probe droids disappeared. I didn’t know EMP hit them, or anything else, through two to three centimetres in total, but the rest indicated the approach of the enemy. However, I did not have time to report on this because hell broke loose at that moment.

I wanted to do exactly the same thing the warlord did to protect him from the incoming missiles, but he was ahead and it was easier for him to move to protect me. I also activated my shield immediately, so that the debris from the shocks and explosions just slammed into the shield as I squatted down so they could hit as small an area as possible. I didn’t have time to run into cover or jump. Then I saw the Basilisks too. Fething Mandalorians!

While the warlord gave the commands to the units, I did the same with the droids. I sent my own tiny spy droids into the cover of leaves and the trees to fly there or land on a branch. The point is to be obscured and not conspicuous because they seemed to be able to perceive them despite modern technology. In any case, they also sensed the approaching enemy, the formation, and the numbers; and these were immediately forwarded to me and to the warlord. This made it easier to send worms and wolf droids.

I knew that droids were able to weigh the situation and the alpha controlled them, perhaps weighing better and faster than a human could, however, I also passed the data transmitted by the probes to the alpha, which might make it easier to enclose the enemies and hunt them down.

~ And you try to take care of me less spectacularly, I don’t want you to look weak in anyone’s eyes or they start suspecting something! I don't want you to be in danger because of me, Mongrel! In the war and in the tribe, of the two of us, I am the easier to replace. ~ I scolded him in a slightly worried voice, this was sad, but this was the truth.

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Ambience.

K E S T R I
Tor Valum

Equipment in bio, tags open!


TLDR
Ptolemis lands at Tor Valum, but his ship is damaged. He exits the craft and senses a familiar presence that is Yenna.

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The turbulence caused by Kestri's cold upper atmosphere slowly died down as Ptolemis' personal, all-black scout ship descended along the Death's Hand trailblazing approach vector.

A gamble.

Their dropships punched through the planetary defences – but violent, dangerous airdrops were in their blood. The mindfiend of the New Sith Order followed their ships closely as they honed in on the mountain city of Tor Valum. The Masked Sith navigated his own ship, hands busy at the helm, as his approach needed to be lightning-fast to avoid getting caught up in an airspace battle. The Nycteris, as he called the vintage model, didn't have any considerable armaments, only rudimentary stealth tech. It was nothing against Mandalorian-level threats. Time was of the essence. He was tense, but confident in the handling of his craft, having been raised as a son of true Fondorian starshipwrights… and being a master of the Dark Side of the Force.

According to the tactical info projected onto the ship's on-board display, the Death's Hand was already on the ground, with the Demon Mandalore as the spearhead of their operation. Maw forces have rolled over other parts of Kestri as well, yet Ptolemis was curious to follow the Demon Mandalore's exploits closely and decided to join his ruthless advance in person. Lord Ptolemis' unlikely involvement in Death's Hand activities began at New Mandalore, where he had aided the Maw-aligned Mandalorians in taking the city of New Keldabe. Although utterly apathetic towards most galactic-level politics, he saw great potential in the sheer ferocity of this violent sect of Mawite Mandalorians – and quite frankly, Ptolemis had spent too much time delving into the forbidden arts of the Force. Entire years he had spent in his hidden emporium of profane knowledge, surrounded by tomes and scrolls, studying, meditating, expanding and training his mind. Exploring inward. It was time to sharpen his skills with the blade. Who else to learn from, than Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze the Unchained, and his fearsome kin?

Stealth technology was their only ticket to the surface. His older ship was detected before he could land. Its forward shields nearly depleted, the once-Fondorian made a crude, rocky landing and his reconnaissance ship slid to a halt on the snow-covered rock. Wasting no time, he exited the right-tilting ship through the ramp, swinging from an overhead railing and landing on his feet outside.

With the first inhale of Kestri's icy atmosphere came a familiar echo in the Force. However, the source of this familiarity was not the Death's Hand who had already pushed on without him; it was someone strong in the Force. A joint knot existed in their threads of Fate.
'Could that be?' He thought, as he took a first step toward the purported arena. 'Could that be possible?' He walked with a steady pace now, a cross-draft rippling his overlong robes. He looked skyward as he walked, and upon the outward pulse-wave of a telepathic message he beckoned the name…


Yenna Yenna

 
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1st post
OBJECTIVE 1: LEGACY'S HOLD

THE_TUATH
WILDCAT BATTALION

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ALLIES: Keilara Kala'myr Keilara Kala'myr Shai Maji Shai Maji Vulcan Krayt Vulcan Krayt
Soloman Priest Soloman Priest Jiriad Galaar Jiriad Galaar Shakka Bralor Shakka Bralor

OPPOSITION: The Mongrel The Mongrel Jin X Firrerreo Firrerreo

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FINDING MOMENTUM: THE KELLAS DEPLOYS AGAIN - PROLOGUE
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Ariun Dunes, South Daba'r Coast,
Roon (Summer of 874 ABY)


It wasn't much, but it was a start. Such starts would always serve at the very least, as they had every time before. Lord Aron was hoping beyond reason that a worthwhile deployment would present itself down the line, as his work was obviously far from done, and especially seen as such in his battle against Steelblood's forces on Nirauan. On the planet where the Hand of Thrawn was built, two Goidelic strategists set out for success, and yet, of the two legends - only Gowrie would see headway and progress that night.

'Just like every other training exercise, only this time, I was always going to choose multi-terrain simulations with the Enclave's adaptability considered.... Exactly why I chose this place-'

<"-Scott to Wildcat One! Just a hunch but you might want to see this.... Move north and you will see it.">
Interrupted by the Brigade's Guard-Captain, the Kellas would be torn away from his own train of thought for the sake of the sudden nature of Lord Byron's comm-link correspondence, finding Scott's message even stranger than the timing until Gowrie remembered where they were, what the 3rd Brigade were there to endeavour in the event the hostilities spilled over into the far-boundaries of their training area. The polite-spoken Tuath would only ever get on comms if it was important, as the Reiver-Laird was always known for considering the walk to the command-centre instead of clogging up the comm-link traffic with irrelevant chatter, so whenever Lord Byron patched through, Lord Aron knew well enough to take it seriously from the offset. Any lead on what was going on with the Maw, the Enclave or any other contingents operating just outside Xorrni/Hypornian space at the time, if it helped the Tuaths get a better idea for what was going on, then the Kellas would make a point of noting and tracking everything as time progressed.

<"Gowrie to Guardian One! I'll be there shortly, just keep noting what you see until I get there. Five minutes tops.">

<"Acknowledged. Guardian One out!">

Sitting up straight from his slouching idled position, springing up from a semi-conscious stupor at the opposite sit of the Holographic table, (though still quite sluggish from his boredom powernap at the time) the recently-knight Sir Alun asked,'Is there a single thing we've acted on that Byron hasn't spotted out for us first?', in a muttered, nostril-blocked Westcape drawl. Reed was run down by a rather aggressive flu that week, but was quite unwilling to use up his rising mountain of unclaimed sick-days, even going so far as to throw an inaccurate punch towards the physician who previously had the audacity to suggest taking time off after making his diagnosis. The recently-promoted Sergeant Muir was attending as a direct result of the aforementioned, volatile home-appointment, taking care of his former rival as the days progressed in their deployment to Roon's surface, and very much taking part in all of the knighted captain's conversations in the process, though his input would be well-received by the others manning their posts around them - and within the first few interjections at that.

'You mean besides the Lord-Colonel's and yer own, sir? Naw, naebody as far as ah know.'

'There's a few others, but aye.... Scott's the best for it as far as that's concerned.', Lord Aron cut in, offering a contrastingly better-grounded view on the matter before he halted in his amble and slid along in his seat to make for the slide door. As he stood, lighting a Faslaner cigar as his posture straightened with a mild grunt of stretching pain, (a condition made lifelong by the depth of the Mongrel's cut, yet one that was certainly lessening over time by the estimations of his subordinates) the Lord-Commander took his first few draws before concluding,'Valaar would be the next best in that regard, with Reed & I dropping beneath at a close third place.... Since we're bein' honest an'aw, an' do mind that we owe a lot to the IMPMAG mergers in this regard. Otherwise, I'm quite sure we'd have Korriban's frozen sands covering our unmarked graves in the end.', smiling in the recollection of his duel with the Mongrel, a profound encounter despite the pain that was inflicted on him in the process.

'Reed, you have the comms. I'll be in touch soon.'

Then, with teeth lightly biting down on the base of the cigar at the left corner of his lips, the Kellas pulled open the slide door and jumped out into the sandy surroundings they'd been training the new recruits on, turning back to shut the door himself before making off northwards to find Guard-Captain Scott. Lord Byron would be waiting patiently, smoking like the Kellas but with cigarettes as he kept his right eye firmly gazing through the scope of his rifle, keeping vigilant watch for further activity on the horizon as the Tuath's chieftain curiously strolled to the back of the extensive armoured column to find him. Wondering if it was the Maw, the Enclave or if it was other unaffiliated contingents in the area, it wouldn't be long before Lord Aron found himself comforted by the sight of Lord Byron's personal ACV parked up by the shack the latter was using for cover at the time.

The ACV itself would come in handy very soon, as he would be making a point of using the map-holographic plinth within to make better sense of the situation around them, difficult though the Kellas knew it would be; there wasn't much much in the way of distant activity that could be detected in their surroundings, for neither the terrain nor the equipment would be very forgiving for the Wildcats that day, but there was still one thing that was sure to work in the absence of good top-down views or actionable intel. The comm-link array was still up & running without a single hitch being reported since they first landed on Roon, but if nothing else could be done to understand what was happening around them, and if it helped them make a difference in whatever was unfolding, then there was no doubt in the Lord-Commander's mind that he would be forced to make his correspondence public.

Forced to be heard by any and all prying ears in the area, and whether the Kellas liked it or not - it would be the only way forward under the circumstances.

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FINDING MOMENTUM: THE KELLAS DEPLOYS AGAIN - PART ONE
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Ariun Dunes, South Daba'r Coast,
Roon (Summer of 874 ABY)


'Ai-ai, Reiver-bai!'


After the friendly greeting, the Lord-Commander shunted the entrance door shut behind himself, so the Guard-Captain would let the wooden scrape run it's course before replying,'Oi-oi, Choochter-Chieftain!', with a middle-finger raised in jesting disdain towards his good friend, to which a hearty chuckle, a raised middle-finger, and a broken piece of wooden debris was hurled his way in response. Deflecting the projectile with the stock of his rifle and chuckling at the childishness of the act, Lord Byron would jokingly make a silent threat-gesture that he would use the same stock on his Lord-Commander if he continued, to which a raised eyebrow and more laughter ensued as the Kellas made to slap his friend, but the Reiver-Lord was already trying to deliver a half-force punt to his superior-officer's shin. From there, hands would then be raised in the spirit of professional behaviour in the field, giving Guard-Captain Scott enough breathing room to ask,'Anyway! You came for the Sit-Rep, am I right?', as the Lord-Commander knelt on one knee beside him and looked out the window.

'Aye, that you are. proceed, Lord Byron.... Giving way to the Right-Honourable Laird o' Westcape-'

'-Shut it, Choochter!', the otherwise polite-spoken Captain interrupted, pausing only to punch his friend on his officer's pauldron as a gesture of what he really thought about retaining political duties in the future. Relenting eventually, Lord Byron's gaze would return to the sand-swept hills in the north as he finally answered,'From west to east, as far as the eye can see, the entire northern skyline's been giving us a wee display in the far distance. But being mindful of our current position, nothing too close yet, nothing of immediate concern.... Could be worse, but I assumed you would take that as a prompt to order further inspection - hence the call.', in his usual, patient speech-habits. All was seemingly calm once more ahead, as the cloudy veil that cast over the evening skies above returned to the dim, gloom-filled tranquillity from before, but then a new wave of explosions lit up the horizon, just like before - but closer this time.

'Would ye consider that,"In the far distance.", Byron?'

Guard-Captain Scott slowly shook his head with eyes still firmly set on the unexpectedly-close chain reaction on the horizon as it's bright, pulsating blasts lit up the clouds all around them, to which Lord-Commander Gowrie drawled,'I'm using your ACV, an' you're taggin' along.', lifting Lord Byron to his feet and leaving his subordinate to collect his gear as Lord Aron made for the door. Then, as soon as they started making off northwards aboard the Guard-Captain's beloved,"Delirious Stag", Gowrie took great care in advising Scott to mobilize a small armoured escort to the area of concern, to which a tank, an IFV and two repulsorlift technicals answered the Reiver-Lord's call. It wasn't ever supposed to be meant as a show of strength, but the Kellas knew it would be enough to slip in and out of distant sight without too much trouble responding to their sparsely-reinforced presence, potentially keeping the worst of the hypothetical losses to a bare minimum in the event of a surprise attack.

'So what sort of hunch would have you acting like a Barran all of a sudden?'

Strong was the chain of command, stronger than it had ever been before, made so by the quiet years of replenishment since Nirauan - something of which had always given the Kellas comfort in the process of setting his wildest plays into motion.

'Something tells me the Mandalorians made it in time for the pehrty, puttin' work in as we wade through the Dunes like dafties! But I digress: was readin' up on the Kaas op, Historical District matters seem ti spring t'mind here for some reason.... We'll find oot soon enough though, eh?'

Lord Aron would've been more than happy sacrificing own his life if it meant keeping the Wildcat majority safe from unnecessary losses and ready to strike back at any moment, so leaving the formation with just five vehicles, (with just three of them retaining armour heavy enough to handle a high-calibre onslaught) as far as the Lord-Commander saw it, was exactly what he needed if he wanted at least some sort of vicious reprisals exacted in the event of his untimely demise. But the hunch remained, nagging at the Tuath-born chieftain of Galidraan III's far-northern regions, and hunches like these were always purported by his people to hold wisdom in every turn of the stomach, hunches that superstitious types like Lord Aron always took seriously.

'Alright, time t'make use o' these local-channels. Ah'm needin' t'see whit Enclave units are havin' fun oot here. Haun' us the receiver.... Thanks, now stop the ACV an' listen in ti this.'

<"Cued for all the nearest users on the local-channels, this is Lord Aron Gowrie of Wildcat Brigade! Callsign,"Wildcat One". Whoever just detonated a chain-reaction blast, we were on training-exercise a few miles to the south of your position at the time.... We'll be looking for Clan Krayt now that there's an actual fight to be had here after all, and no doubt we'd appreciate any and all help we can get along the way.">
 

Vesta

Guest
V

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Demons

R O O N
CONTINENT OF DABA'R
874 A.B.Y

Treasures and objects were power were all that it took to attract the gaze of the greed-filled dragon the galaxy had come to know the Maw as, if not to fill their own coffers and repurpose the tools to their own making then to deprive the rest of the galaxy the chance to do the same. The planet of Roon, hidden as it were, deep within the Cloak of the Sith, was home to many such troves - though the notion that any of the tools and trinkets left behind here were of major value was a dubious claim at best. Guaranteed importance or value were of little importance to the Maw, however, and they pushed towards the planet in force to take whatever scraps there were, even if only to hoard the treasures for themselves.

She was personally aware of at least several that were anxious to claim these tools as their own, to find something that might give them an edge of their rivals even within the Maw itself, but there was no interest in Darth Mori to claim the tools of some long-dead Sith as her own. There was a principle among the powerful and the affluent - rely not on others, survive by yourself - and though it was an admirable one to live by it failed to go far enough. The use of another's tool, a reliance on another's weapons and power, was to slowly lose touch with the skill to make one's own, a crutch that would cause the wielder's own power and ambition to fade while their complacency would grow. Her allies might have came to take, but she had not.

She came to destroy.

The organic craft of the Yuuzhan Vong, small and deft as it was, thrived within the atmospheres of planets and surpassed their technological abominations in silence. A lone coralskipper descended through the chaos and clouds above to the ground far below, barreling through the air with reckless abandon. A steady turn kept the small craft from careening into a rocky bottom and swept it into a path that kept it parallel with the ground below. It flew like a dart through the air, rising at times into the sky, until it reached the edge of a massive wall that marked the transition to jungle - the living ship slowed as it neared until it was reasonable enough of a pace for the woman sitting inside to depart before it could arc back up towards the sky and clouds above.

Below, at the jungle's edge, the woman, Vesta Zambrano, pushed through the overgrowth and towards the site where the Maw and Enclave struggled.

 


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B R A W L

Objective: Beat up snome MAWdalorians
Location: Fighting Pits, Tor Valum
Allies: Runi Kuryida Runi Kuryida | Yenna Yenna | Kale Onara Kale Onara | Cerar Vizsla Cerar Vizsla | Eliz Krayt Eliz Krayt
Enemies: SCAR SCAR | Kerstan Blackmoore | Kralmus Orr Kralmus Orr | Khamul Kryze Khamul Kryze | Darth Ptolemis Darth Ptolemis

Siv chuckled. "Y'know, Kale, I like you almost enough to go easy on you." He struck forward, throwing a sweep to the legs with a quick jab from his left. "Almost enough." Sudden thuds from behind him made him lose his concentration, preventing either of his strikes from landing. He turned, keeping Kale's position in the back of his mind, to see his worst nightmare.

The Death's Hand. Here, in Tor Valum.

"Feth," he cursed, as his hand reached for his blaster before he realized that it wasn't there. The brawl had been expressedly non-lethal, so Siv had deposited his blaster for safekeeping before he had entered. His knife was still on him, as were the various weapons and gadgets in his beskar'gam that would be more troublesome to remove than simply not use, but he was still left bereft of his primary ranged weapon.

"Cerar, get the cities defenses online! We're going to have more visitors soon," he roared over the chaos to the Si'kayha commando that he recognised from the Kestrian campaigns. He advanced towards the Deaths Hand warriors, grabbing the collar of the young Mandalorian he'd been dueling a moment before and throwing him to his feet, behind him. "Get to safety, and warn the others. Sith are here," he ordered, and the kid began to scramble for the main entrance.

"Looking for round three?" he shouted in a challenge towards Khamul as he drew his knife, which began to hum as it vibrated at rapid speeds. "I lost you on Dromund Kaas. I hope it wasn't because you ran away."

 
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Location: Roon
Objective1: Fight for fellow Vod! Hold nothing back.
Equipment: Sword, M.I. Beskar'gam Mk.1 M.I. 'Sunstroke' jetpack M.I. Model 6 hybrid pistol, M.I. Model 12 shatter rifle x2, Thermal Detonators, Magnetic Detonators, Perun's Call
Tag: Shai Maji Shai Maji | Soloman Priest Soloman Priest | Jiriad Galaar Jiriad Galaar | Open

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The brief silence before the show was always the worst, the anticipation of all hell breaking loose also buzzed in the humid air and now they need to use what they have to spot the enemy from the sky. Jungles are excellent places for an ambush.

Vulcan rechecked everything and handed out edible loaves to his Vod who looked hungry. His Beskar imbued loaf was tucked into his pack, ready to be used on an unexpecting opponent. Anything is lethal if used in a fight, even baked goods or crockery. He couldn't fit the said crockery in his bursting supplies.

Once the word came to roll out, he had grown up since his days as a Corsair but he still gave a quizzical look at the phase, he knew they weren't going to roll out. He did roll when he first went into battle though, Jos did explain that it was a military term and doesn't mean you rolled into battle. Shaking his head to clear distracting thoughts away he returned to the razor-sharp alertness.

Vulcan joined Jos in the gunship and stayed close as there was little room to do much else, in a few minutes they will be going in deep and into the heart of war. He is eager to shoot or blow something up, both if he was feeling creative. The tension was palatable and it fed into the fire of will within everyone. They were unconventional, they used tactics well and even the Marines were alight with the burning passion for a good fight.

The music blared, the bass vibrating up through the ship and into his chest. He'll be humming this song three days from now, guaranteed. Mostly at random and in the middle of a non-war related activity. Good songs stick.

Then the doors opened and they were in the jungle, the landing camp was being set and everyone had their tasks, he remembered how to set up camp from his first off ship deployment long before his adoption, well adoptions. He could still hear the yelling, that was something he would never miss, not one iota.

After helping a few of his vod get everything they needed he rejoined Jos's side, even if temptation beckoned him to go exploring. Everything in the area can be used as cover and every last one of them needed to be alert. Trouble always finds a way to show up. Even with precision planning.

<"Looking forward to a good well-fought battle and I am ready for everything they throw at us."> He declared proudly.
 

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