Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Public The Wealth of Wobani (Open to All!)

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Wobani, Bryx Sector
0755 local time
Location: Mining Colony "Freeman's Rest"


Somewhere near the fringes of the Mandalorian Crusade, there lay a cloud of dust that was nearly impenetrable. Deep inside of the cloud was the planet Wobani, a desolate rock choked by it's own stellar blanket. When sunlight did hit the planet, it only cast it's light on dirt and rocks. What Wobani lacked in natural beauty, it made up for in raw materials. Sometime in the last century, the planet was found to be rich in many different valuable ores and minerals. Chief among these was a giant deposit of Chalon, a metal famed for its strength and malleability. Trandoshans often made blades from the metal, and so Wobani became a hub for remnants of the Mining Guild who wished to re-establish their wealth.

However, nothing in the galaxy comes without danger, and Wobani's wealth was no different. Pirates had long been kept away from the system due to its connection to the Guild, and frequent TIE Fighter patrols. In the last few weeks though, a new band of pirates has come to ravage the planet. With a fleet orbiting overhead, and forces from an Imperial military corporation bolstering their ranks, they've finally become bold enough to pierce through the planet's dust cloud.

Their first port of call was a large mining settlement known as "Freeman's Rest", a place that handled a large portion of the trade of raw ore. Every day, as if by clockwork, transports heavily laden with metals from around the planet's mines into the starport. Having a centralized hub of materials came with many advantages, but it made for an easy target for those ambitious enough to attack.

Now, pirates from all over the system converge on Freeman's Rest, with only the local militia garrison to defend them. This militia is outfitted with mostly light armaments, and only trained to fend off small raids by bandits and the like. Even though their compliment of security droids and lightly armored vehicles is enough to give pause to some raiders, the Freebooters don't seem as worried.

If the Freebooters succeed in their plans to take possession of the planet's main starport, it would mean a choke on tributes to the Crusaders, as well as trade in the surrounding systems. Whether they take the port through Diplomacy, or through violence, it proves to be a sensitive situation for the Bryx Sector at large. Driven by greed and emboldened by their swelling numbers, the corsairs of the dread fleets seem hellbent on wreaking havoc on Wobani!
 


"Gunners, prepare the cannons. Boarding crews, get your claws ready," he commanded, his vocabulator delivering orders with a mechanical cadence. His crew, both droids and organic members, hurried to comply, their allegiance shaped by his reputation for merciless efficiency. There was a cold indifference to their chatter or greed, his focus was solely on the plan.

And what a plan it was: overwhelm the garrison, capture the transports, and strangle the Bryx Sector's trade routes until the Crusaders were forced to plead for mercy.

Below lay Freeman's Rest, a chaotic sprawl of duracrete and flickering lights, with ore-laden transports docked like plump prey. The militia began to mobilize, their droids clanking into formation, blasters humming softly amid the roar of approaching engines. H0-0K tilted his head, narrowing his one good optic.

"Pah, just light arms and tin cans," he scoffed.

He raised his right mechanical hand, signaling the first barrage. Ion blasts ripped through the haze, ripping apart the advancing security droids. One unfortunate droid disintegrated in a shower of sparks, its circuitry sizzling as it crumpled to the ground.

"Take the port, or I'll keelhaul every last one of you!" He shouted, his voice devoid of emotion yet filled with commanding presence as his bright white eye surveyed the battlefield with chilling accuracy. As his troops engaged the enemy, he was already assessing every potential scenario, from Mandalorian disruptions to Alliance reconnaissance squadrons trying to monitor the emergence of the Freebooters.


Wobani would fall; he could already envision the twisted remains of the once-mighty stronghold, reduced to rubble as his enemies fled in terror.
 
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Freeman's Rest - The Rusty Drill Tavern
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The Rusty Drill was the sort of place decent people didn't frequent, in the sort of settlement where hardship had squeezed all the decency out of folks. It was loud, the food and drink was barely tolerable, and the sleaze practically dripped off of the walls like condensation on a malfunctioning refrigerator coil. Even the dancers writhing to the Jizz lacked allure, their eyes as dull as their performances.

Not that Kan Callo was in a position to criticize anyone else's eyes.

His cybernetic optics scanned the room, looking for a face he might recognize. The face he'd come here for.

Sometimes you followed a mark. Sometimes you preceded them. Kan was pretty sure that the Freebooters were about to descend upon this place. That was the scuttlebutt, anyway. An organization of brigands like the Freebooters had more than a few loose lips that did their best to sink ships when they were drunk or high on death sticks. And so he'd gotten here just ahead of them.

He didn't care about the locals, or the evils that were about to descend on them.

But he did care about a fifty-thousand credit contract.

Today, he meant to collect. If that meant defending this poodoo town against the pirates, so be it. As long as the mark got buried and the contract got paid.


Makar Clyne Makar Clyne H0-0K H0-0K
 
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The Freebooters' assault on Freeman's Rest had already plunged the mining settlement into chaos with the assistance of Captain Makar Clyne Makar Clyne and Captain H0-0K H0-0K . Plumes of smoke rose from shattered transport skiffs and mining facilities, and the militia, though determined, was woefully outmatched.

He had no patience for the mercenary greed driving his comrades. While others fought for loot and trade routes, he fought for the thrill of the kill. Perched atop his Kintan Strider, the massive Farghul gripped the handlebars with clawed hands, his eyes fixed on the war zone ahead. Blaster bolts streaked past him, turning the night into a staccato of red and blue lights, but he did not flinch.

A Freebooter speeder veered too close, its pilot trying to edge ahead of Hrall as they bore down on a squad of militia dug in behind a toppled ore hauler.

Hrall snarled, "Out of my way, slowpoke" jerking his speeder hard to the side, clipping the other bike's stabilizer. The smaller craft spun wildly, the rider tumbling off with a scream before being crushed beneath his own wreckage.

The militia, scrambling to reposition, barely had time to react before Hrall was upon them. He launched from the Strider mid-charge, slamming into the nearest soldier with the force of a battering ram. The man crumpled under his sheer mass, and before the others could raise their weapons, Hrall was already in motion.


Behind him, more Freebooters poured into the square, tearing through what little resistance remained. A turret emplacement whirred to life, belching fire across the settlement's main thoroughfare, sending pirates scattering for cover.

 
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Kael Virex

Director of OPEX field Operations








"We have eyes on the site. We are 2 minutes from touchdown. Shield-maiden, prepare SCU for launch once we clear this landing Zone."

The shuttle shook violently as the sound of turbo-lasers ripped through the thin atmosphere. Virex, leading a VSOG section, was closing in on the pre-determined landing zone. Whilst the fleet was still discussing strategy, he was blasting through. On the far end of the shuttle, closer to the rear ramp then the side one, the radioman blared out commands to the Shield-Maiden in Orbit.

"I say again, 2 times. 2 Time munitions at grid 3 2 7, 1 4-" BOOM!

This ship rocked. Not hit, but whatever anti-air capabilities this so-called militia had was getting too close for comfort. Virex looked out the porthole on the side of the rear bay, they were still a couple klicks above the surface, and this ship was dodging and weaving rounds at an intense rate. The Comm's system on the shuttle boomed to life as the co-pilot- who was obviously terrified by the incoming volley of fire, started-


"VSOG 1-1, Director, once we get into that bowl, unload your team quickly. Those turbolasers don't have line of site of the main landing area, but until then we are sitting ducks,"

The lights on the inside of the bay switched from off-white to red. Virex motioned for his men to get up as the ship rocked and recoiled violently in every direction, the ground was coming up fast. He strapped his helmet and slammed his modified E-11d into battery.

"Alright men, ready!" The troops stepped up as the sound of the engines grew louder and louder. The men lined single file behind Virex and a team leader. The light turned green, as the doors hissed, Virex screamed, "Move!"

The ramp wasn't even fully open. Virex dropped—hard. Just a meter, but the thud was sickening.
Blaster bolts lit the field. Dozens. Every direction.

The 13 men in the team returned fire viciously. Quickly moving in a line towards some cover a few meters ahead of the landing site. What appeared to at one point be an elevated walkway of duracrete, was now the only thing stopping accurate fire from hitting his men. Virex rested his blaster on the walkway, lining up the shot as two militiamen yelling to each other advanced. he squeezed the trigger twice as they both dropped with sickening thuds.

There were maybe 20 militiamen just in this sector, and these operatives were prepared for open combat.

"Get that gun up!" Virex screamed, nearly unheard over the roar of blaster fire.

Two VSOG operatives carried an assembled heavy blaster turret towards the walkway, shoving it's pointed legs into the dirt before manning it. The turret ripped to life—full-auto. Scrap walls shredded. Three militia were turned to paste before they hit the ground.

If the sound of that first volley wasn't loud enough, the shuttle's engines spooled louder and louder as it lifted off the ground and began flying at a near-90 degree angle space-bound back to the shield-maiden. Virex, who had just ducked behind cover, rose up again to try and kill more advancing militiamen when what appeared to be a mortar landed just meters from him. He hit the deck hard, just narrowly missing the shock-wave.


"INDIRECT FIRE. TEAM ONE, ADVANCE!" As Virex screamed, about 4 of the operatives grabbed the walkway, and hoisted themselves up onto the level ground, before sprinting to a wall for cover.

One of the men in the other time screamed as a blaster bolt zipped along his arm, burning him severely. Virex's team advanced next, while the machine gun continued to put bolts down range.

Virex sprinted toward the matching structure on the left flank of the LZ. Opposite him, a trio of militiamen charged up the walkway—shouting, wild. He didn't aim. Switched to auto. Squeezed.

Five, six bolts ripped from the muzzle. All three dropped mid-stride, limbs folding beneath them.

Across the zone, blaster fire roared. Teams held position, weapons sweeping. The militia's response began to falter—sporadic bursts, then silence.

Moments later, figures broke from cover. Militiamen, fleeing. Some deeper into the bowl. Some running for their lives.


"VSOG 1-1, Casualty report now." Virex stated over the hooks.

"4 times minor or treatable injuries, all men accounted for."










Harll Ironclaw Harll Ironclaw H0-0K H0-0K Makar Clyne Makar Clyne Kan Callo Kan Callo



 
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Location: Wobani
Objective: Provide Air Cover
Call Sign: Phantom Angel
Tag: Harll Ironclaw Harll Ironclaw H0-0K H0-0K Makar Clyne Makar Clyne Kan Callo Kan Callo Kael Virex Kael Virex

Mimban might have been Alexa’s first sortie, but if all went according to plan, Wobani would be her first big score. To that end, Alexa had taken every practical step in preparing for the raid. She had loaded her flight simulator with a simulation of the dust cloud to better train for the perilous crossing. Although the gynoid was quite capable of traversing through the cloud without preparation, she had anticipated that speed would be of the utmost importance.

Weaving her starfighter through the cloud, Alexa rolled her starfighter 90 degrees as she sped through a gap between a pair of meteoroids. What followed was a smooth sequence of weaves, dives, ascents, and rolls as she raced through the hazardous gauntlet.

And thus far, according to Alexa’s chrono-sensor, she was ahead of schedule.

However, it was only then that a twitch registered within her awareness, transpiring within her left hand. For less than a microsecond, a phantom error alert surged within her awareness, before fading as if it had never been present. All the while, Alexa’s photoreceptors froze wide open as her starfighter was thrown off-course by the errant twitch, her once-serene features trembling as she pulled on the control sticks in an effort to regain control.

Over the next several milliseconds, the meteroid ahead grew larger within her canopy, warnings howling within her awareness of a potential crash. It was only at the last possible moment that Alexa felt the starfighter snap back under her control, at which point the gynoid engaged the rotational thrusters and whipped a sharp turn to evade the meteoroid.

Alexa allowed herself the synthetic equivalent of a deep breath.

And yet, Alexa did not stop. Her brief accident had lost her 0.64 seconds. The gynoid pressed on, her senses now hyper-vigilant as a sensation of unease came over her.

It had been yet another phantom error. Her third of the day.

Still, there were no enemy assets to hinder Alexa as she raced out of the cloud before breaking the atmospheric barrier. In spite of the fact that she had lost 4.78 seconds since the accident, the gynoid was comfortably ahead of schedule.

Thus, the Mining Guild TIE fighters squadron assigned on combat air patrol had no warning that danger was within their vicinity, until it was already upon them. Twinned lances of fiery fuchsia-hued plasma tore out from the clouds like lightning cast down from heaven. In an effective instant, two of the TIEs obliterated in white-hot explosions, their hulls reduced to little more than slag and vapor. The four remaining TIEs broke off into pairs as the Phantom Angel careened past them in a dive, moving at two times the speed of sound in the process.

Alexa drew back on the control sticks, whipping her starfighter back around to engage the last four TIEs. Vectoring towards the closest pair of TIEs, she came up on them from below and ahead, opening fire as soon as they were within range. The two TIEs were struck down only a split-second after the lead pilot spotted Alexa’s craft as a tiny speck in the distance, at which point twinned beams of fuchsia-hued plasma surged forth to bore through the circular viewports, obliterating the pilots’ bodies and reducing their machines to vapor.

Right on cue, the two remaining TIEs surged forth from the clouds as they dived towards Alexa’s craft, but the gynoid was already driving her craft into defensive maneuvers. Throwing a quick sequence of rolls, the incoming laser fire missed her starfighter by mere inches. Both of the TIEs overshot Alexa as she engaged her retro thrusters, decelerating almost instantaneously as her pursuers raced past, ion engines howling in their wake.

Disengaging the retro thrusters, Alexa punched the accelerator while simultaneously making use of the rotational thrusters to line up her nose with the enemy TIEs. Once more, twinned lances of fiery plasma tore out from her cannons, the beams ripping through the last two TIEs in the formation blossomed a pair of white-hot, blooming fireballs!


Craft: Phantom Angel
 
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Freeman's Rest - The Rusty Drill Tavern
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The very foundations of the Rusty Drill Tavern shook as cannon fire impacted the surface of the world nearby.

So... it had begun.

The dancers screamed, interrupting their uninspired writhing. They ran to and fro across the room, looking for shelter from the bombardment. Customers became similarly animated. Some went to the windows to see what was going on. Some ran for the doors. More of them hid under tables, often finding themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with the performers they'd been tipping moments before.

Kan pulled out his pistol and rested it upon his tabletop.

In a moment, the intruders would begin pouring into the buildings, here. Clearing out resistance, robbing people, having their way with the populace.

There was no way to know where his mark would be among the multitudes of raiders. If he was lucky, the target would stumble into this very bar. But luck had never been a big feature in Kan's life.

More likely, he'd have to shoot his way out of here and go on the hunt amidst the chaos.

Hopefully the local militia would put up enough of a fight to make for good cover while he was on the prowl.




Harll Ironclaw Harll Ironclaw H0-0K H0-0K Makar Clyne Makar Clyne Kan Callo Kan Callo Kael Virex Kael Virex | Alexa Io Alexa Io
 

Kael Virex

Director of OPEX field Operations








"Sustained Combat Unit in route. ETA 20 Minutes."

Taking a deep breath before looking around at his men, Virex lifted his hand and signaled rally. "Gentlemen, the SCU is already en-route. The shield-maiden is high above ready to process any call for fire we may have. We need to clear out those turbo-lasers if possible to allow our troops and armor to hit the ground in one piece. Do you understand?"
"Yes sir." The men stated in unison.

"Good, let's get moving then."

The bowl, as Virex was beginning to call it described the site's location. The facility, mostly mining equipment and littered with destroyed equipment from previous assaults by organizations looking to make a quick buck, was surrounded on all sides by steep terrain increases. His men could likely his both sites, opposite of each other over the ridges of the bowl, but they

would need to move fast. Dividing the team in 2, Virex took one and gave authority for the other to the Team lead. Planning took less than a minute. Both teams would split, the team lead would, together with 6 other men, climb the south side of the bowl, attack the battery and defenders, and take it offline. Virex's team would mirror.

In a burst of energy, the teams formed into columns and began moving fast to their designated areas.

Aside from the odd militiamen, Virex's team made it to the north side of the bowl mostly unresisted. It appears most militiamen were either at the top of the bowl, or hunkering down near the center complex; and the armor was still 30 minutes out at least, so that final assault was out of the question.

Virex looked up at the ridge. The pale-grey dirt shot upwards maybe 50-60 meters, browning slightly near the top. This was gonna be tough, but he dug deep and motioned the team to advance. Tracing a horseshoe of more-leveled soil, the troops were able to climb up to near the top of the ridge somewhat quickly.

Just as Virex neared the top. he let out a deep breath, wiped sweat from his brow and stepped. The instant his helmet cleared the ridge, the sound of a blaster bolt hissed through the air. It felt as if he had been punched square in the head as the bolt struck the top of his helmet and Virex was knocked to the ground. He lay there for a second as two men ran up on him.
"You okay sir?"

Helping him to his feet, he brushed his trousers off and cursed under his breath,

"Welp, they know we are here. Gentlemen, mount up, we go over the ridge as one." The men all aligned with the uneven rock wall, stacking up with weapons close. "MOVE!" The squad leaped over the wall, sprinting quickly as blaster-fire near the turbo-laser erupted. maybe 20-30 militiamen had re-enforced the base of the tire, using scrap metal and sandbags along the walkway.

Virex thrust himself behind a jagged outcrop as blaster fire raked the ridge. Dirt kicked up. Sparks flashed. He slid low, heart pumping hard, eyes scanning.


"Targets—sandbags, walkway, scrap barricade!" he called out. "20, maybe more!"

The team didn't flinch. No hesitation. In seconds, they spread across cover, weapons mounted, angles secured.


"Suppressing!" barked one.

A wall of automatic fire erupted. Red bolts tore into the militia's defenses. Metal sparked, sandbags burst. Militiamen ducked—some didn't get back up.

Virex swapped cells. Slammed it home. Popped up—three-round burst, center mass. One down. Another tried to run. Virex dragged the reticle, fired again. Gone.


"Flank left!" he ordered. Two operators peeled off, using debris for cover.

The militia returned fire in volleys—sloppy, panicked. Still, sheer volume lit up the ridge. One bolt sizzled past Virex's visor. Too close.


"Gunner right side—elevated position!" someone shouted.

"On it!" Someone else reasponded.

A VSOG operative dropped prone, braced his rifle, and lit the upper platform. The gunner vanished in a spray of sparks and blood.


"Push now!" Virex ordered.

The squad rose as one. Controlled bursts. Precision. Footsteps fast, deliberate—like a machine moving forward under fire.

A militia group surged from behind a crate wall, screaming, weapons raised.


"Weapons on auto—DROP THEM!"

The VSOG line lit up. The ambushers didn't make ten meters. Smoke lingered where they fell.

Within moments, the team reached the base of the tower. Hearts pounding. Blasters hot.


"Stack up!"

Boots crunched gravel. The entry hatch hissed open—

"DIE SCUM"

The defender got two words out before Virex dropped him with two in the chest.

"Clear!"

Charges set. Countdown started. The team withdrew to cover. Boom.

The tower folded in on itself, fire and steel raining down as the turret crashed. Smoke billowed.

But no time to breathe—comms lit up.
"Heavy resistance—other side. Light armor. Infantry. We're pinned."

Virex raised his binocs. Saw the flash—an OPEX trooper fired a rocket, APC gone in a fireball.

Still not enough.

"Alpha team, air's inbound. We need that second gun down now."

The turbolaser swiveled skyward. Red bolts arced toward the clouds. A shuttle veered—too slow.

BOOM. A wing caught. The ship spiraled, smoke trailing.

Then—another explosion. The second tower. Down.

Virex didn't wait.


"Shield-Maiden, give me that crash site."

Marker pinged. 520 meters.

"Team, regroup with VSOG."

"Where are you going, sir?"

He slung his rifle. Started moving.

"Call it a wellness check."











Harll Ironclaw Harll Ironclaw H0-0K H0-0K Makar Clyne Makar Clyne Kan Callo Kan Callo Alexa Io Alexa Io



 
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"Suppressing fire on the command bunker. No survivors," he ordered, his cold white optic gleaming as his gunners obeyed. Turbolaser fire lanced through the settlement, tearing into guard towers and shattering reinforced duracrete with merciless efficiency. A group of militia officers had taken cover behind a wrecked transport, desperately trying to coordinate a response.

H0-0K did not slow his shoulder-mounted rotary blaster spun to life, belching plasma in a shrieking storm of death. The officers barely had time to scream before they were reduced to smoking remnants. "Sector Two is secured!" crackled a voice over his internal comm.

One of his lieutenants, a scarred Weequay with a knack for brutality, stood atop a makeshift barricade, cutting down some of the defenders with an arc rifle. "Then move to the landing pads," H0-0K replied. "The transports must be taken intact. Any pilot who resists loses their hands before their head."

His forces surged forward, Freebooters moving with uncharacteristic disciplined aggression with the assistance of Alexa Io Alexa Io 's overhead and the speeder carnage of Harll Ironclaw Harll Ironclaw . The militia's lines buckled, outgunned and outmaneuvered, their shouts of defiance turning to cries of desperation. H0-0K advanced through the carnage, processing every movement, every heat signature, every tactical shift with machine-like precision.

He calculated that within twelve minutes, Freeman's Rest would be under his personally control. "Resistance is negligible," he noted aloud, his tone devoid of satisfaction. "Proceed with phase two." The first transport was already lifting off, commandeered by his own men.

The others would follow. With these ships, the Freebooters would tighten their hold on the Bryx Sector, severing trade routes, forcing desperate merchants to negotiate under his terms.


 

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