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Apex Predators: Ashes to Ashes

* * * * * 1 votes Disciples of Harangir Silver Jedi Order CIS Clan Munin Echani Thyrsian Crusade Eternal The Crusade Eternal Core Imperial Confederation

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#1
Kirchenhof

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“This world shall be an altar, all the violence, destruction and blood wrought on its’ surface shall serve as sacrifice, war for the war god! War unending, today begins the the Crusade Eternal, waged by all Faithful Disciples of Kad Harangir!”

-Anonymous Clan Munin Warrior

 

 

Eshan, Thrysus, Mandalore these worlds and their respective peoples had much history and none of it was particularly pleasant. They had been murdering and enslaving one-another for millennia and the conflicts in the 850s had left all three peoples and their homeworlds war-weary and suspicious of one-another. Eshan’s life flickers in a tumultuous maelstrom, having been recently ravaged by the United Clans of Mandalore.

 

The Crusade Eternal continues, led by Vilaz Munin, Alor of Clan Munin seeks to end what he perceives as mewling pathetic weakness and pacifism that has enthralled his people and is clandestinely supported in his revolutionary ambitions by the mysterious Anzati Sith-Imperial Lord-General Kor Vexen, Umbaran Crime Lord Gerad Naahan, Confederate Minister of Secrets Veena Reshma.

 

After a narrow escape from the shadow people’s home of Umbara, Vilaz and his villainous allies have fled to the homeworld of those Pale-skinned Echani with the aim of summoning other clans to join the growing horde of butchers, marauders, murderers and warpriests. Droz Munin, true to his violent merciless nature intends to execute his captives immediately and in a dark display of honesty leave atleast one survivor.

 

Lord-General Kor Vexen stands poised on a knife edge at nearby Dathomir with his considerable task force suspiciously mobilised to thrust into Eshan’s system, to charge and aid those forces ostensibly loyal to the Mand’alor in fighting against the Echani Command, Echani Compact and anybody else who would stand in the way of creating the conflict that he desires so that only the strongest may be left alive in its’ wake to satisfy his insatiable hunger for power.

Near the system a Mercenary Warlord has arrived to see his people’s liberation completed and those Thyrsians still on Eshan who wish to return to their sandy homeland repatriated. The Warlord doesn’t intend to stop there though, no. In his blood-curdling fury the Warlord would see the wages of sin be paid by the Echani Compact’s brethren on Eshan before journeying home and ending the cowards among his own people who enabled such mistreatment and humiliation to occur for so long.

 

Veena Reshma the Spymaster of the Confederacy of Independent Systems’ desiring to see the United Clans of Mandalore and Sith Imperium weakened and sapped clandestinely aids Chieftain Vilaz Munin and Lord-General Kor Vexen through supplying intelligence collected from different sources making it easier to avoid the CIS’ not inconsiderable assets throughout the exclusion zone.

 

 

Forces of Order:

 

 

IMPORTANT:

Crusade Eternal Campaign OOC Discussion Link: Crusade Eternal Campaign (Inc. Discord Server Invite)

Eshan Opening Post GDoc: Eshan OP Gdoc

Eshan Plot-Points GDoc (Warning: Narrative Spoilers for Readers): Eshan Key Plot-Points

 


Edited by Kirchenhof, 07 June 2019 - 06:34 PM.

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#2
Droz Munin

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D r o z _ M u n i n

 

Objective | Initiate Chaos

Company | TBD

Targets | N/A

 

Droz and the rest of the Mandalorians masquerading on Umbara had managed to get offworld with little resistance. Given that the Silver Jedi and Confederacy got their poodoo sorted out and decided they were not going to trade lives for their deaths, it had been a simple matter of honoring the agreement that Droz had put out initially. Not a single hostage was harmed since their departure. Droz turned back to look at the transport filled with civilians, soldiers and Jedi; all held captive until they reached their destination at Eshan, where he had deliberately put out to the Silver Jedi to come and take their hostages. Of course it would be a ruse to pursue a more sinister agenda. Their choice of destination was intentional, and he had already been in contact with other clans under the guise of a member of Clan Cadera.

 

A force of Mandalorian clans would be assembling on Eshan, preparing for another glorious raid under the expectation that Mand'alor was now going on the offensive and bringing the Mandalorians back to a warrior culture. It would be difficult if nigh impossible to stop the gears from turning, and even then if Yasha Cadera did arrive to denounce their raid on Eshan, what Mandalorian, true to their roots as warriors would stop in the name of peace? It would only illegitimize her position further than it already had been in the eyes of the veteran Munin and many others who despised the peaceful Mand'alor who would bend the knee to the Sith. A Mandalorian's place was never on their knees, only atop a mound of bodies.

 

The transports would arrive on Eshan as the hostages were herded out into the open of Eshan's surface, under the watchful eye of the Mandalorians that ensured no one tried to run, not that anyone could as was evident when some tried to make a break for it only to be stopped short as grappel cords wrapped around their bodies and were dragged back. As Droz had stated back on Umbara, not a single hostage would be harmed to honor his word, not that it meant much to those he had made the deal with. Even so, he was a warrior, and despite the atrocities he had committed on Umbara, he was still obligated to stay true to it, regardless of what it might be twisted into as part of an elaborate and cruel charade.

 

Droz held his hands at his sides as he looked down at the crowd of hostages sitting on the ground, a floating droid coming up next to him as it captured the image of all the people with their bomb collars on, giving a live feed to any pursuing Silver Jedi who would come to collect them, ensuring their condition. Droz tapped his foot at a methodical and rhythmic pace, patiently waiting.


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#3
Kyli Graf

Kyli Graf

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Kyli Graf

Eshan System, Eshan Surface.

Tags: Droz Munin

 

Holding the sobbing boy who could have been no older than ten into her shoulder as to avert his gaze from what was no-doubt a traumatizing scene for an uninitiated Juvenile Kyli's unblinking Hazel Spheres defied Droz and the floating camera even as a painfully bright flash superficially burned her cornea. An armed explosive collar hung around her neck, its' weight an omnipresent reminder that life sat perched on a precipice so sharp it threatened to manifest and drag a bloody line through the grease, dust and filth down to the sweaty epidermis beneath. The stench of the other prisoners' fear sweat was disgusting both for the scent and what it represented to that yet wordless and ostensibly emotionless former Death Trooper.
 

"We're going to be alright boy." Kyli made the dispassionate lie and for a child listening to an adult that made it all the more believable and his sobbing rather quietened which pleased Sergeant 'Whir' though yet this small amount of wholesome maternal warmness tingling nicely within breast rapidly subsided. She could have made a run for it, but between the explosive collar and their Jumppacks Kyli acknowledged even as the manic psychotic demon uncoiled from its' slumber steadily that an escape attempt would only hasten an inevitable death.

 

While others cowered or pleaded with their captors that lone Coruscant Security Force Officer wearing navy blue reinforced duraplast armour over a set of dirtied and bloodied tan fatigues. Now those Hazel Spheres glanced around and Amur spoke with his sharp metallic teeth grinding together unpleasantly, Kyli's gloved hands pulled her young charge closer as the warriors clad in their Mandalorian Iron and helmets with T-shaped visors began to land around the herd of helpless noncombatants the former aimed their blasters' barrels cruelly towards latter.

 

Their gods will not listen, prayers will turn to cold-blooded screams. Strangers.... Amur snarled wordlessly its' voice though was all too corporeal for Kyli possessing a compelling guttural and moist quality which was unsettling, the demon noiselessly spoke its' disapproval reviled by the all too familiar Human weakness on display like frightened livestock just waiting in patient shrieking compliance to be slaughtered. We're bound by despair. There's no one to save us, the heroes are dead. On the verge of a solitary tear tearing free Kyli smothered it with a precise quick dismissal of index finger, she then pursed eyelids closed so tightly that creases and lines flank those almond-shaped orbs. Bracing for the end.


Edited by Kyli Graf, 30 May 2019 - 06:49 AM.


#4
Coren Starchaser

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What was he, the Light Side Avenger? The one who came down, practiced the Khala but declared total war? saw the problems, and went for the most offensive solution? He was a smart man, but his intelligence was in street smarts, understanding space lanes, and blending in on any other planet from Corellia to Demonsgate. Diplomacy and discussion were not his forte, and least of all with other war centered races. He had seen the video that was sent out to the Order of the Silver Jedi, and through his own connections as a Jedi Master, and friend to the Silvers, he was receiving the transmission. Dealing with a war centered nation definitely included combat. And for Coren and his team? They were fighters.

 

The YT-2000 Tachyon Rising was picked up by one of the Alliance in Exile’s FarStar corvettes during the the trip. When he heard the call from the Silvers, he knew he needed to bring something special to the fight, and getting more of a team together was important. The FarStar was one from his own battlegroup and he had landed his YT-2000 in it, in order to swap to one of the more stealthy shuttle. The one problem with Coren’s personal ship was that it didn’t have the tech his Shortfin had.  He had basically taken an AT-360 and merged it with his tech for this Shortfin II. As the FarStar Maelstrom dropped from lightspeed, Coren and the team that had gathered with him, were dropped from the hangar, waiting for the corvette to head to lightspeed and to jump the same time.

 

Prior to jump, he had sent a call out to Silver Command, to let them know he was on the way. And maybe for them to tell their friends in the Confederacy. He was part of the Outer Rim Coalition, but he was coming from the way of Kashyyyk. But this was why he was leaving the corvette in neutral space.

 

As the Maelstrom leapt to lightspeed, so did the Shortfin II.

 

“Alright folks, not sure what we’re going to be seeing when we arrive at Eshan but lets be ready for anything. They are not exactly hiding. You ready, kid?” He looked from Cotan, the redshirts, and to Ador, asking him.

 

The ship was pulling from light speed shortly, and he was taking her in for a landing knowing Cotan could help lead them into the fight.

 

@​Kyli Graf
 

 


Edited by Coren Starchaser, 30 May 2019 - 05:26 PM.

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#5
Cotan Sar'andor

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"Don't bother the poor boy with questions like that," Cotan chided at Coren, before Ador had a chance to speak. "Look at him! He outsizes just about every Mandalorian that's going to be there, and with the lightsaber he's got dangling at his waist, none of them will come close enough to touch him. He'll be fine." He gesticulated somewhat over-emphasizedly at the massive lightclub that Ador had, just to drive home his point.
 
Then he turned to Ador, still pointing at the weapon. "What form do you practice with that, anyways? Five, I'd imagine, right?" He hoped that Ador had an answer. If Ador was more like Coren, not actually practicing any forms, then Cotan might just scream out of frustration. "It'd certainly suit that massive blade, and your massive physique, fairly well."
 
Ador Horn Coren Starchaser


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"Does this thing even work?...Oh, so it does."


#6
Ador Horn

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Sitting in the ship head bowed low, elbows resting on his legs Ador simply thought on the video he watched. How cold and cruel the Mandalorian’s could be, to take hostages and put bomb collars on each one threatening their lives. For what cause? What reason did they have to do such a thing? Ador had at first been excited to join the fight but now the reality of the situation was beginning to weigh on his shoulders. Lost in a realm of his own thoughts Ador was brought back to the material plane by Coren. 
 
Looking up the youth’s mouth beginning to open he was stopped short by another Jedi speaking up and cutting him off. Ador was used to Corellian’s being brash and quick to jump in so he took no offense when Cotan did so. In fact, the boy began to flush hearing the elder Jedi speak about his size and his weapon of choice. Wishing to cover his face the padawan was half tempted to activate the nanites and have them form a helmet over his head and hide away his embarrassment. 
 
Following the finger that Cotan pointed to his saber Ador simply watched it dangle from his utility belt for a second and feeling the calming presence it held washing over him. “I actually haven’t had the chance to practice the classical forms as of yet. So far I’ve been studying and utilizing the Three Rings of Defense.” 
 
It wasn't the lightsaber form many expected but it had been Morteg who’d started Ador down the path of utilizing the form to keep the boy varied and hopefully prepared for whatever might be thrown at him in the moment. It was an odd twist of fate that the same form Ador practiced switched between three different styles of fighting and his saber, in fact, had three different sizes it operated in. “Perhaps you could aid in teaching me Form Five one day?”The Corellian had a knack of picking up techniques outside those taught by Morteg and even went so far as acquiring a second Master in Romi Jade. 
 

Edited by Ador Horn, 30 May 2019 - 11:50 PM.


#7
Cotan Sar'andor

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Cotan blinked once, momentarily incredulous, and sighed in defeat.

 

"Well," he began, looking back up with his trademark smile, "It's a start. Stay close to me and I can at least give you some pointers in Shii-cho." He'd prefer to do it before they were planetside, but the space they were in was definitely too small for it. He'd also prefer to do it with actual training sabers, rather than live weapons, but he didn't have that luxury, either. Thankfully, Shii-cho was the simplest of the forms in the basics. "It'll be the easiest one to try and teach you on the fly."

 

He'd also personally be better teaching it off-the-cuff than he would be with the fifth form. Aside from Ataru and Juyo, Shien was one of the furthest forms outside of his specialty. Can't expect everybody to practice the classic three. He reached down, checking the charge on each of his pistols. Fully ready to go, as always. Cotan was nothing if not prepared.

 

But, when it came to this mission, he didn't feel prepared. The mission was simple enough; touch down planetside, have the hostages be transferred over, and everybody can leave and hunt each other back down later on. But after the massacre that was Umbara, he highly doubted that anything would prove to be that simple. Taking a deep breath, Cotan leaned back against the wall; continuing to worry and fret wouldn't do him any good for what was coming, be it good or bad. Calming himself and making sure he was open to the Force would be a much better preparation.

 

Still, he couldn't shake...

 

"Coren, I've got a bad feeling about this," he finally spoke up again. "Really bad."

 

Coren Starchaser Ador Horn


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"Does this thing even work?...Oh, so it does."


#8
Coren Starchaser

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So maybe not always the best of Jedi, Coren did handle things a bit differently than some of his brothers and sisters in arms. He did work to help protect others, but he did so in an odd way, not a guardian, not a consular, he was the Jedi Sentinel, but more appropriately the Watchman. He found here the darkness was and he chased it, pursuing it as best he could. Needing to work on his researching and investigation, sure, but he knew what he was doing if he acted on instinct. An outdated idea sometimes. The message had gone out to Eshan Command, to the Silvers, and the Confederacy. They’d have the emergency frequency to call in the Mon Calamari Cruiser Pursuit should they feel the need for extra firepower.

 

But this was a sovereign nation, and even allied to the Coalition, he wasn’t about to mess it up by bringing a military flagged vessel. Shortfin II was bad enough. Still, someone needed to chase the Mandalorians.

 

Maelstrom, keep monitoring my frequencies but stay off the radar.” He gave an order out to the rescue corvette as he turned back to his team. Hearing the conversation of lightsabers and forms, he rolled his eyes. Maybe he should just land the ship.

 

Bringing it closer to the outside of the city where the beacon was off. He looked at Cotan, mirroring the feeling his comrade had. “Easy Cotan, you’re scaring the children.” Really, it was mostly just Ador, and any of the Alliance and Coalition soldiers that were young. But he did feel it too.

 

As the landing gear extended, he pulsed the repulsors and vertical thrusters. “Well, I’ve got a message out to the Echani, ‘Feds, and Silvers. We may not be alone in this.” Or they might be, Coren and Cotan had faired worse, right? Coruscant, at least a dozen other theaters. The line of McYoda’s when the McRib was back. You know, bad situations. As the ship touched down, the troopers had disembarked to get cover positions. He was hoping that they were far enough from harm, but a quick acquisition of swoops and speeders would move them.

 

Grabbing his lightsaber, and checking his pistol, the charge on his arm, and the state of his armor. It was the standard trooper armor of the Alliance, but with a few pieces missing to allow more freedom of movement.

 

“Let’s get moving.”

 


Edited by Coren Starchaser, 31 May 2019 - 04:57 AM.

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#9
Eternal Cyan

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Private First Class ST-00/0666, “Beast”

Post 1

Equipment: Mk. IX Katarn-Class Battle Armor w/ JT-12 Jetpack

Location: Hyperspace en route to Eshan System, “Monarch” Imperial V-class Star Destroyer

Lynda Dorn Lannik Hayes CT-94194

 

“ARC contingent, please report to the ready room on level A-20 within twenty minutes.”

 

Sashana’s eyes opened, then slowly closed once again as the alert repeated itself on the intercom within the barracks. Her datapad had begun to vibrate furiously as well. It didn’t worry her too much, but Sashana immediately knew that she needed to get into her armor and make for the briefing room as quickly as she could. Fortunately, ever since she had received her ARC certification, she had been granted far more freedom in her ability to customize her armor than she had been given before. Most, if not all of her peers had taken full advantage of that freedom and had promptly begun to paint their suits in whatever colors they wished. The Fett clones were particularly enthusiastic about the new freedoms, for reasons that were pretty self-explanatory.

 

A significant part of the ARC training had focused on her ability to quickly don armor. Before, it had taken her ten minutes to put on just her armor. After she had finished training, that time had been cut down to two minutes and it only took her another minute to fully equip herself with weapons. The process had not been easy, but it was worth it in the end.

 

Sashana arrived in the ready room within fifteen minutes. With her helmet held within her hands, the diminutive ARC trooper approached the holographic table within the center of the room and listened quietly as the briefing went underway...

 

Edited by ST-00/0666, 09 July 2019 - 01:38 AM.


#10
Ador Horn

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Head tilting slightly, Ador was confused by the sigh Cotan released. Had he done something wrong? Ador could only think that it had to have been something he said to cause the other to act in such a way. Believing he’d just ruined his chances at getting a potential teacher for the more classical forms Ador was surprised for the Naboo native to offer lessons in the middle of a battlefield. “I appreciate it sir.” There were very few who ranked high enough on the Corellian’s list who he’d refer to as sir, but Cotan had earned his respect in this manner. It also helped that Cotan had far more experience than the padawan though their time on Eshan may change that. 
 
The excitement of learning a new form of combat didn’t do much to relieve Ador’s thoughts of what could possibly happen. If the Mandalorians were truly returning the hostages why had they chose Eshan? What significance was there to this world when there were so many others to pick from? Worrying his lower lip to the point where he tasted a bit of copper in his mouth Ador realized he was bleeding. 
 
“No, its ok Master Starchaser, I have to hear the truth eventually. If I’m to ever become a Jedi Knight I can’t expect to be babied or protected by everybody.” Rising to his feet now the Corellian nodded his head and the nanites activated encircling and forming around his head to create a helmet. The landing ramp came down, the light of Eshan’s primary filling the bay. Heart hammering in his chest Ador watched the monitors on his HUD display taking account of just how his body was reacting. At least behind the helmet, he need not worry about Cotan or Coren seeing the true worry that overcame his features. 
 
Hand grazing the utility belt Ador felt the two pistols, his dagger, and the large hilt of Fortitude. “The force is with me, and I am one with the force.” With that the Jedi walked down the landing ramp alongside the others silently praying that everything didn’t go pear-shaped.
 


#11
Kad Munin

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One member of the group of hostages tried to run, despite what they'd already been told.

 

He got farther than the others, none of the warriors deigning to use their fibercord whips and grapples to restrain him and drag him back. He almost thought he might get away.

 

Until the flat of a massive sword slammed into his chest, knocking him to the ground, completely winded and bruised.

 

"I thought we told you to stay put," growled the warrior who knocked him over. He reached down, grabbing the man's explosive collar and starting to drag him back the short distance. The prisoner struggled, fruitlessly, before Kad jerked him around roughly; once the poor man was suitably dazed and gasping for breath, he proved much easier to drag, and toss back into the middle of the group.

 

"If any of you tries to run again," the large warrior growled, "I'm going to hang you upside down, rip your head off, and make it watch while we cut the rest of your body down. No more easy deaths for you slime." Each prisoner knew, by the tone of his voice, by the posturing of his body, and by the gleam of the sword he held in front of them, that he meant it.

 

And, knowing that the average humanoid's brain could retain consciousness for up to ten seconds after decapitation, especially given the method Kad intended to use, none of them were even willing to entertain the thought that he might be bluffing.

 

Threats aside, though, something else came up to his attention. A small ping from the sensor suite within his helmet, showing that some ships had passed by and went for a landing not too far away—but not so far away as to deceive the Mandalorians into thinking they were random civillian ships. "Looks like they followed us after all, Droz," he said through the helmet comm, his voice a mixture of mirth and malice. "Maybe soon we'll get to have some real fun."

 

Droz Munin Vilaz Munin Coren Starchaser Ador Horn


Edited by Kad Munin, 31 May 2019 - 08:59 PM.


#12
Tathra Khaeus

Tathra Khaeus

    𝕎𝔸ℝ'𝕊 ℂ𝕌𝕊𝕋𝕆𝔻𝕀𝔸ℕ

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//Battlenet Alert: Eshan Exlusion Zone Breached//

​//: ​Mobilise Bryn'adûl Forces//

 

​Eshan was no longer the elite society it was once known as, now it stood a scared ruin. Its capital, torn down to the foundations by the very hands that now sat idle - watching. When Tathra sought out the planet, it had been a tactful use of the opportunity that lead to battle. When both Echani and Mandalorian forces became agitated it was the trigger happy commander Tathra had dealt with on Commenor that bombarded the planet.

 

​The Bryn'adûl anticipated war would come to those that held Mandalorian banners over Eshan. And they were right. They had been ready, and when it came - neither side could contain the savagery of the Bryn'adûl. Only once the Mandalorians retreated, and the sky was full with Confederate ships did the standstill draw to a close. But they had not been defeated on the field, without their ships it would have been certain death for all in the Capital. Tathra could feel it in his bones, even now the alluring taste of blood lingered as a fond memory. He could've killed a thousand men with his bare hands that day and it would not have been enough. 

 

The Bryn'adûl withdrew into the planet, escaping via transport ships to their fleet as it circled around the planet.

 

Now, only whispers escaped the exclusion zone. The fear was ripe, tensions high throughout the exclusion zone. The knowledge the whispers carried spoke once again of Mandalorian meddlers, once more they would clash on the Echani planet.

 

​Tathra was on board a Battle Cruiser, Decimus Class. Waiting with a skeleton crew just beyond the Exclusion Zone's reach, waiting for reinforcements to arrive and the appropriate moment to strike. In passing months, his cosmic powers had been torn from him for the sake of Bralor. But, in their place the mutagens had restored his form, and improved upon it. He was still recovering, yet felt stronger and more resilient than ever. Tightening the gauntlet that clamped over his left wrist, Tathra was ready for a fight.

 


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#13
Setter Ryburn

Setter Ryburn

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Razor Team

Silver Jedi Special Forces

Razor Actual

Forces of Order

 

Allies: Coren StarchaserAdor Horn l  Cotan Sar'andor

 

 

Cotan was right to have a bad feeling about the situation. Mandalorians, more often than not, were usually drunk, marauding, mercenary assholes. Marauders in the worst sense, assholes in the worst, and drunk in the least possible revelry way. More like the killing untold numbers of civilians kind of way. 

 

He felt under-prepared for the Mandalorian threat. A plate carrier, his RS16, electronic headset, a knife, and the cheap option- a disruptor pistol. He had that tucked into the back of his waistband- wasn't going to tell the Jedi about that one. Other than that, denim pants and a rolled-up shirt. Nothing special, nothing crazy. He had learned about everything not too long ago, and rushed to come help. Black ops, trooper, whatever you wanted to label Setter as- at the end of the day, he wanted to help. 

 

He didn't say anything, he just walked with the others, and the Jedi could probably feel how uncomfortable he was, moreso that he was with Jedi than anything else.


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#14
Droz Munin

Droz Munin

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D r o z _ M u n i n

 

Objective | Initiate Chaos

Company | Kad Munin / Kyli Graf

Targets | Coren Starchaser / Ador Horn / Cotan Sar'andor / Setter Ryburn

 

Droz was a patient man...He idly waited for the Silver Jedi to arrive so that he could deliver on his end of the bargain, though it seemed they were taking their time. For a brief moment in time, he thought that they wouldn't be coming as he paced around the crowd of hostages with a hand at his holster, the sounds of his footsteps being heard at a steady pace as the hostages seemed to recoil in fear away from him by instinct. His thoughts would be interrupted by Kad as he heard his voice and how the Silver Jedi had finally arrived. Good; It was finally time to contact them.

 

A hovering droid would float its way over to Droz as it opened up a public channel to the incoming Silver Jedi, a ghostly holographic image of Droz appearing before them as he spoke, still bearing the colors and markings of Clan Cadera " I was beginning to worry that you weren't going to show up to pick up your people Jedi. For all the praise people say of you being protectors and guardians, you were about to be coming across as a huge disappointment to them. I applaud your attempts, however poor they may be in doing so...Since you've arrived I will deliver on my end of the bargain.Droz's image would seem to shrink as the droid zoomed out to capture the full scene of the group of hostages standing behind Droz as he raised a forearm up to his chest and tapped a button, presumably to send the deactivation signal to all of the bomb collars.

 

The steady flashing of red lights on the collar would pause for a brief moment before the light turned into a steady red, and a pitched squeal was heard building up. A second later a wave of death would seem to emanate from Droz, the hostages closest to him suddenly turning into fountains of crimson blood shooting into the air as heads were blown off, a splatter of blood, vertebrae and heads rolling as it set off a chain reaction to the herd of hostages. Screams were heard briefly before heads rolled and Droz continued to stare at the camera, unflinching. 

 

The horrendous sight would last for all of a few seconds, as headless bodies collapsed to the ground devoid of life. All that remained were two figures, a young boy and an abnormally tall woman. Droz would pause as he turned around. Odd that two people survived. Perhaps Kad Ha'rangir was watching over one of them, but alas, he had to make good on his promise. Only a single hostage was to remain unharmed, not two. He would unholster his blaster pistol as he leveled it at the woman and proceeded to shoot her in the abdomen, expecting her to die from her injuries in a slow and painful fashion before holstering his weapon and turning back to the camera, " A single hostage was not harmed...I have delivered on my end of the bargain. What will you do now Jedi? " Droz had taken the quite literal and dark malicious approach to his words, and ensured that his transmission was being broadcast over the holonet.

 

" Let this be a lesson to those who think they can freely tread upon us Mandalorians. Our honor and culture will not be tarnished by outsiders. We will meet you head on in battle and die before we allow you to stain our reputations as warriors with your dar'manda, your ideals, your false claims of peace. In the name of Mand'alor, we will fight and never again be the ones stepped upon. "


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#15
Kyli Graf

Kyli Graf

    Daughter of the Iron Chancellor

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Kyli Graf

Eshan System, Eshan Surface.

Tags: Droz Munin

 

A single piercingly painful sound shrieked from their collars in unison before emitting a bright flash in sequence, pieces of slick gore and ivory-coloured pieces of bone exploded wildly through the air. Kyli jerked the weeping boy's head closer to her Navy Blue Coruscant Police breastplate, the metallic tang of Iron is strong on the air and wafted up into the woman's nostrils with an absolutely repugnant weight that left the scent lingering through the Coruscant Security Force Sergeant's sinuses. "Don't look, keep your eyes closed!" The painful sound of detonation brought her own eyelids together with the creases at the edges of almond-shaped sockets telling of a certain anguish, for a Supersoldier who did not in theory experience pain the sensory experience of the slaughter's cacophony was excruciating.

 

The few seconds felt like ten minutes of continuous death all across the Earth were weeds of claret sprawled out like the roots of plants wrenched clear from soil. Now, at the conclusion of his gratuitous bastard and finding that her life had not ended in darkness as expected and knowing from their own words the Mandalorian Murderer meant to leave only one survivor. Glaring into Droz's visor with a leering stare, Kyli broke only to kneel among dead men and women absent their heads which laid strewn across the scene like paint. "Listen." The word came out of her mouth with a steely softness, taciturn and ostensibly fearless although her gloved hands tremored, whether from fear, adrenaline or Amur's insistence on the murder of Mandalorians none could ascertain from the skin on her face.

 

"I've got to go now, but I want you to take something for me. Can you do that?" The boy's answer is wordless and game in the form of a series of distressed nods, his rotund little face wet with crimson. Kyli clasped his wrist delicately and dropped a Kyber Crystal pendant into their open palm before carefully curling short stubby fingers closed over it, Hazel spheres lingered over his little snow-white fist for a moment. "Good, now stay put. Do what these guys say, I'll be back." Standing straight to her full height just short of six and a half feet tall Kyli with a deft steady dexterity respectfully walked over the broken and fallen, there were dozens of them atleast and presented herself calmly before Droz who produced a pistol and levelled it towards Kyli. His target's heels snapped together with fists pursed into the side of thighs, at attention.

 

"Retribution follows swiftly after guilt..." The motto of the Coruscant Security Force Motto was recited as a calm threat by Kyli just preceding the shrieking advance of a dark red stalactite whizzed through the air and punched straight through her abdomen, Hazel orbs rotating back into her head signalling flight of consciousness the tall woman's lower body went limp and she fell back among those who had been slain and the beating red vein-like roots sprawled out across the scene. 


Edited by Kyli Graf, 04 June 2019 - 03:13 PM.


#16
Coren Starchaser

Coren Starchaser

    The Spark

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There was going to be a fight, he knew that, everyone knew that. And sure, he was a Jedi Master but it was better the fight came to him than anyone else. He was trained, ish, for a war,and knew how to defend himself, where as the rest of Eshan? He needed to do what he could to protect them. They may not be innocent but they were in this case by Coren’s standards. And well, he had a few people with him, so they could go cause trouble, get the fight to come to them, and handle it. Or at least until help arrived.

If it was going to arrive. Hopefully someone at the CIS heard the message.

 

“Ain’t gonna baby you Horn. Just fething with Cotan. Its going to be a fight, and we’re going to get shot at. Just be ready for it.” He nodded as he looked from Horn back to Cotan. “How you feeling man, you ready?” Tightening the armor he nodded to the troops as he called up the Force, ready to throw a shield to those that were around him. Give everyone time to prepare.

 

 


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#17
Eternal Cyan

Eternal Cyan
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Private First Class ST-00/0666, “Beast”

Post 2

Equipment: Mk. IX Katarn-Class Battle Armor w/ JT-12 Jetpack, VB-113 “Tidefall” Class Vibroblade, ARC Caster, Electrified Grappling Hook, K-22/02 “Lance” Mass Driver Rifle, 2 Ion Grenades, 2 Sonic Grenades

Location: Eshan System, “Monarch” Imperial V-class Star Destroyer

Coren Starchaser Kyli Graf

 

The briefing began and ended in efficient Imperial military fashion. When it finished, Sashana went to the weapon locker and quickly placed a selection of weapons on the magnetic holsters of her armor. In total, she decided to take four grenades, two small arms, and one bladed weapon. When the teams were geared up, along with one other ARC trooper Sashana led a disciplined platoon of forty standard stormtroopers and walked to the hangar bay. The area was bustling with activity by the time the group arrived. However, Sashana didn’t have the luxury of taking in her surroundings as she led the platoon to the LAAV which awaited at the far side of the bay. With her painted armor marking her distinctly marking her as an ARC trooper, Sashana attracted a few stares from the pilots and crew within the bay, especially given the unexpectedly diminutive height of her stature. Sashana couldn’t entirely ignore their stares, but she was able to pretend that she didn’t see them.

 

The stormtroopers filed into the LAAV in an orderly fashion, while Sashana, the other ARC trooper, and the platoon leader took their places at the head of the shuttle.

 

“We’ve just emerged from hyperspace.” The platoon leader spoke in the low and husky tone which was unique to Fett clones. “Beast, tell the men to sound off while the pilot executes up the pre-flight checklist.”

 

“Yes sir.” Sashana replied in a soft and melodic tone as she positioned herself at the front of the passenger compartment. “Attention!” Sashana called out in a loud soprano. “I need everyone to sound off immediately! Starting from the front row, go!”

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The bridge of the Monarch was alive with action as the massive star destroyer translated into realspace above Eshan. Multiple voices spoke at a time as fleet compositions were reported and sensor data was translated into succinct words for the commanding officers on the bridge. Orders were given for shields and weapons to charge to full power, which were immediately relayed to the hundreds of gunners responsible for operating the vessel’s weapon complement. Fighters were released first, so as to form a screen to cover the shuttles which would were intended to land troops on the planet itself and evacuate civilians.

 

Admiral Jaides Croulin had never believed in his wildest dreams that he would be allied with Silver Jedi or Alliance forces during his career in the Imperial Navy. To say the least, the unbelievable had become real, and it greatly confused his Imperial senses to the point of bewilderment. Nevertheless, he had a reputation as a firm and stoic captain to maintain. He let no outwards signs of perplexity color his body language or tone as he delivered orders to his crew. His stride was long and confident as he walked around the circumference of the bridge. Nevertheless, he did not want to deliver his next order out loud. Instead, The captain approached his first officer from the front and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder before speaking his next order in a far lower volume than what he normally utilized when addressing his crew on the bridge.

 

“Deliver a message to all allied forces in the system. Tell them that the Core Imperial Confederation has arrived and that we are ready to coordinate efforts for the evacuation.” Jaides spoke calmly, before immediately turning away to focus his attention on other matters that were less uncomfortable to the veteran officer.



#18
Muad Dib

Muad Dib

    Paragon of Virtue

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I'm waking up to ash and dust

His eyes opened in the dark. Grit ground at them as sandpaper as he blinked away the small particles that clung stubbornly, clouding his vision of the darkened room. Pushing himself upright his hands raised and palms rubbed his face, clearing away the trace vestiges of slumber from his features.

Rising from the cot he grabbed his shirt and draped it over his left shoulder as he exited the bunker that had become the barracks. His boots scuffed the stone steps as he climbed to the first floor. Down a hall he moved through a cracked archway and into the predawn light.

The skies were filled with violet hues heralding the imminent arrival of the morning sun. Moving to a set of duracrete stairs on the exterior of the building he climbed up several stories to reach the flat rooftop. The first ray of sun light fell across the city. The capital of Eshan lay spread out before him.


I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust

Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, drops running down his bare torso, as he stood a silent sentry watching for the ship. The sun broke from the horizon and began it's trek into the heavens and still he stood waiting. He had received reports that had the ship arriving this morning.

The wizened form of Eret soon joined him, the elder's sightless eyes gazing into the distance. Long pale whisps of hair fluttered in the breeze. Minutes later Talia appeared beside the ancient man. Her pale echani eyes contrasted with the thick brunette braids that fell midway down her back.

Together they watched.


I'm breathing in the chemicals

Eret raised his chin subtlety drawing the first man's glowing gaze. A nearly imperceptible nod and the man returned his eyes to the heavens. A ship became visible as the air pressure shifted ever so minutely. The sound barrier was broken with a thunderous roll that echoed over the city like a triumphant trumpet.

Eret bowed his head with tears tracking across his weathered visage. Talia attempted to smother a curse yet it escaped with vehemence. The ship appeared overhead, the scent of ozone and exhaust billowing across their bodies as the ship lowered toward the newly finished spaceport.

From their vantage point they watched The vessel land and extend the ramp. Men and women disembarked and began to be formed into groups. Work details.


I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

As they watched several transport skiffs arrived and the work details were loaded into them. Who had arranged for these people to be brought here? You could never get a definitive answer. Someone in government, someone in power. But no matter how many ways you tried to find out, you could never get a straight answer. They weren't slaves or prisoners, no, but the words used were volunteers or conscripts. What it came down to were these were a Thrysian workforce aiding the echani.

Eret and Talia left the rooftops leaving the man silently watching as the transports began heading out to areas of the city that had yet to be repaired.

Moving to the edge the man crouched and absently rubbed the stubble adorning his face. It wasn't slavery. But it was something that was worse. Indentured servitude for a people who were like cousins to the echani. And worse still, these were people from Bengali, where Thrysian and Echani had created an amalgamation in a race that was both, yet neither.

The guarded transports passed in the streets below.


This is it, the apocalypse

Dresdin Astil. Assassin, Sith, warrior, mercenary, Witch, Sensei, and a son of Bengali. He was heir of both Thrysian and Echani. He was of the Astil Clan on Bengali. He was dead.

But above all else, Dresdin Astil was a friend and blooded brother of Muad Dib.

Slowly the man stood, jaw set, as a snarl formed upon his face. He had come months ago to watch over his brother's people, the same people who adopted him into their clan, to ensure that the destruction that rained down during the war between Mandalorian and Confederate would not claim the clan of assassins during the apocalypse come to Eshan.


I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones, Enough to make my systems blow

An echo of an explosion sounded from the spaceport, a wave of nausea filtering through every cell of the man. A ripple in the force that tore at the fabric of existence as many souls entered the void in a sudden rush that left a vacuum. Tendrils pulled at his bones as the emptiness of what was moments before vibrant , now was silent. Death had claimed souls.

Rising to his feet he turned as Talia rushed back up to the roof, a small hologram projector displaying a scene that had just played out. Mandalorians waving the standard of the Infernal were posturing to a group of Jedi as Echani merely watched.

A twitch of his face was his only expression.


Welcome to the new age, to the new age

Eyes flickered to the spaceport as he rolled his shoulders lightly, Talia waiting. The breeze cooled his fevered brow. Then he spoke without turning.

"Prepare to move out. This changes nothing. A new day is dawning today. A new age for Eshan, the Echani, and the Thrysians."

A twisted grin spread across her face as she turned abruptly on a heel and leapt down the stairs in bounds. Taking the shirt over his shoulder he wiped the sweat from his face and let it drop from the heights before making way back to the cot where he had awoken.


I raise my flags, don my clothes

Standing before his cot he slipped out of his boots and trousers and looked at his gear laid out. Dressing quickly he armored and armed himself. It was second nature, preparing for conflict, for battle. Each piece forged and formed to his exact dimensions. Every weapon fit in his hand like an extension of his body. They completed him. Lifting the buy'ce he paused and looked at the darkened interior knowing there was no turning back should he don the helm.

He tucked the helmet into the crease of his arm and marched once more from the barracks to climb to the rooftop again.

This time he was not alone.

The rooftops over several blocks were filled with bodies. Mando'ade of Clan Farr stood in blackened armor, a blue orb with three red slashes through it adorning their pauldrons. Members of House Dib watched, the same symbol stitched upon padded jackets, rifles cradled in their arms. A squad of Knights of Aegis perched nearby, their golden armor marred only by the same design patterned into their breastplate over their heart. The Thrysians stood to be counted with the others, bands around arms with the selfsame markings as the others. Filling out the remaining spots were Aegis Troopers proudly bearing the new marks upon their armor.

They waited watching their leader, Muad Dib.


It's a revolution, I suppose
We'll paint it red to fit right in

His blue eyes pierced into those gathered. Unrepentant. Unshakable. Unyielding. They had joined together, in this moment, in this place, to make a stand. To make a point. To make a revolution. He looked down into the buy'ce that lay in his hands. Two words escaped his lips as he made the decision that could not be undone.

"For Bengali."

The helm was lowered over his face, his choice completed with the act of sealing his armor. It was war.


All systems go, the sun hasn't died
Deep in my bones, straight from inside

"Move into position."

With three words the Revolution had begun. A flurry of activity as the men and women gathered burst into action. Over the closed communications the tempo of audible clicks crashed upon him with a crescendo. He allowed a small smile to crease his face before the seriousness of his actions hardened his features once more. A near silent whisper reverberated within his helmet, audible only to himself.

"I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones. Welcome to the New Age."

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#19
Khonsu Amon

Khonsu Amon

    =] IMPETU ☼ SOLIS [=

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Destiny was, and would forever be a fickle mistress. Her ethereal tides, like the future, were uncertain and ever-shifting. While many prognosticators believed they navigated the tempestuous currents of Providence with a measure of skill, the truth was that they fought against drowning in the turbulent oceans of Fate. However, there were islets that remained ever constant amongst the rolling seas. Places where, despite everything, those fateful moments were written in stone; unable to be changed by the capricious hands of mortals. It was upon one of these inevitable shores, that the incumbent Lord of the Sun Guard found himself staring at the abyssal fissure beneath his gilded boots. The man was uplifted for his actions at the Battle of Eshan, and the recurring Shadow Crusade across the expanse of the nebulous Ison Corridor thereafter. Alongside all of the plunder, slaves, and new recruits - Khonsu was now a Thychani Dictator, and next in line to claim the title of Supreme Sun Guardian. 
 
His dark bargain with the supposed Lord of Death had seen the man meteorically rise through the ranks, and forever changed the fate of the Thyrsian people. They were fated to rise above their chains and take to the stars as Solar Crusaders; taking their barely constrained fury out upon all who seek to deny their destiny amongst the stars. Greatness was theirs for the taking, but the chains of the past and the present kept them grounded on the verge of cultural extinction. Those nigh-translucent skinned Echani still ruled and lorded themselves over their genetic cousins, forcing them to endure a slow and agonizing demise. It was the Way of the Warrior to place yourself above those that were considered to be inferior; either exterminating them because of their weakness or using them for back-breaking menial labour unfit for those that proclaimed themselves the victors.
 
While the silver-haired Echani and their Queen denied the past, there were those amongst her people that embraced it. Through their actions, they forced the hands of the Mandalorians to annex the Six Sisters; which in turn led towards the Confederacy’s retaliatory actions in that sector of space. To think, it was the Echani’s denial of their own nature that caused the devastation to their homeworld. Such things could’ve been avoided if that race was less concerned with isolating themselves from the galaxy and hiding their shame. They could’ve looked to their neighbours, the Mandalorians, and set their entire culture and species on a different path. However, they chose to remain blissfully ignorant and raged against the notion of their past ever coming to light.
 
The Scions of Mandalore found themselves along a similar path and were the second face of a single coin. They too denied who they really were, and took to the stars to ensure that none dared remember them as they once were. It was a choice made by one, a self-styled Wolf bearing the collar of a tamed beast. Through their will, and entire Culture that thrived on testing themselves against their betters, and growing, as a result, was utterly stifled and suffocated in the cradle. The Mandalorians, like their Echani cousins, became stagnant. They believed themselves to have risen above the barbarous roots, and stood amongst the more civilized societies that populated the Galaxy. It was a disgrace. They were mighty warriors once, and they had the chance to be mighty once more - yet they denied themselves the chance because of a Dog that considered themselves a Wolf. 
 
Khonsu was fated to do great things, even if the poison of the dark side was being poured into his ears. He would enlighten these warriors, cloaked in the comfort of stagnant lies, and reveal their true natures; whether they wanted it or not. The choice was no longer theirs to make, as that chance had long passed them by. All that needed to be done, was for the Thyrsian Warlord to take a leap of faith into the fissure that arrayed itself before him. However, the man’s feet were planted atop the precipice and unable to move. The newly christened Thychani Dictator was stilled by the possible consequences of failure; and what would transpire to his entire species as a result. The Galaxy was a myriad shade of grey, but there were those that believed it to be nothing more than black or white; good or evil. His actions would be considered by many to be evil and abhorrent, and that all Thyrsians share the same desire.
 
It wouldn’t be true, and any rational mind would see it, but - sadly - many minds that held a modicum of power weren’t rational in any sense of the word. Though his failures, the Thyrsian people would be punished further and perhaps expedited towards the point of extinction. The many being punished for the crimes of the few. He couldn’t let that happen. Nor could he allow for the Golden Company to fracture, as his radical ideas led towards openly defying the Supreme Sun Guardian - who ruled over the Sun Guard and their subordinate forces like a Nomadic Emperor without a throne. There were those that believed in Khonsu and the future that he promised. Thyrsus was forever denied to them by the written terms of the Almera Accords; which saw the Sun Guards banished from their homeworld and led towards the Mercenary Outfit’s creation. 
 
Yet, it was the keystone of that Thyrsian Warlord’s pledge. He would lead the Golden Company towards its ancient homeworld and take back what was stolen from them. They would slaughter all of the Echani that stood in their way, and enslave those that survived; forced to endure what Khonsu himself survived as a Child. None would stay his wroth whilst he lived. Not even the Supreme Sun Guardian - who believed that Thyrsus should remain an unwilling hostage in the hands of the Echani, lest their people were put to the sword. The man was afraid of what the future held for his homeworld should the fires of ambition tear the Gilded Confraternity asunder; leaving their people to die alone and unremembered by the annals of history. He feared those White-haired devils for what they would do when their backs were against the wall, and in doing so - proved that he was a coward.
 
Cowardice was the gravest of sins amongst the Sun Guard. Those warriors, who once shrouded themselves in black, believed that martial heroism was the only route towards victory. That in throwing yourself atop the crucible of combat, one could be remade into a glorious hero who’d live on throughout the ages - much like their ancestors did during the Bengali Uprising centuries ago. After they were exiled, and recast anew, the Sun Guard chose to embody their heroic nature and wore their ancient colours proudly atop their armour; although the scheme was inverted to better showcase their martial culture. In the act of adorning themselves in Gold, there would be nothing they could do to hide from the gaze of the Sun or their beloved comrades. They would know fear, and openly defy it in the face of the enemy; for to do so would go against their nature.
 
The Sun Guard, who was true to their purpose and devout to the cause, would never willingly turn their backs against what they were. They were warriors; war and violence incarnate.
 
When the Supreme Sun Guardian ordered that Khonsu and his subordinates remain on the outskirts of the Eshan system - the Thychani Dictator knew that his time had come. He needed only step over the proverbial edge, and then the man would guide his people towards a bright, and glorious future amongst the stars. However, the time wasn’t right just yet. His warfleet was still mustering, with dozens of strike vessels reverting into realspace daily, and the peoples that were previously enslaved upon Eshan’s despoiled surface were still flocking to his banner; the desires of revenge and hatred painting their ash-stained faces. He needed only to wait, and to draw that craven wretch - who demanded to be called Khonsu’ Lord and Master - out of hiding and into the open. Then, and only then, would the Supreme Sun Guardian find himself judged by those that served him and would be found wanting. 
 
So, the Sun Guard would wait as their forces gathered beneath the risen standard of the Twinned Suns. They would wait until the appointed hour, and then, when it arrived? the Thyrsians would launch their Crusade - and slaughter all that sought to deny them of their future that was just out of their reach.
 
A New Dawn for Thyrsus, and her people, was just around the bend.
 
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Aboard the GCV “Guerdon.”
Liberated First Order Resurgent - Class Battlecruiser.
Eshan Outer-System Edges; Six Sisters Sector.
 
With the Spear of forged Mandalorian steel clutched betwixt his gilded talons, and it’s bladed-tip digging into the surface of the command dais, Khonsu gazed out into the bespeckled canvas of night. His dark eyes were shrouded by the false-firelight of his helmet’s combat visor and were assailed by a ceaseless screed of information scrolling at the edge of sight; threatening to steal his attention away from the field of stars before him. It was the first time in ages that he had the chance to stare at the stars that birthed him. The system was so frustratingly close, that he could almost feel the warmth of it’s twinned suns and the razor-sharp winds on his flesh. Yet, such a sensation was denied to him, and to his fellow kindred amongst the ranks of the Sun Guard, as well as their subordinate forces. Their current Supreme Sun Guardian saw to deny them their ancient hearths and homes, because of the written terms, our grand-sires were forced to comply with when the Echani brutally occupied their world generations ago. He feared what would transpire if they marched back into the Thyrsus system with an armada, as the Echani forces there were firmly entrenched, and held the majority of the species hostage. 
 
In that man's eyes, it would've been foolish to launch an assault against an enemy that held a proverbial gun to the head of the homeworld. However, Khonsu didn't see it that way. The Sun Guard had come so far in their exile. Through their own, innate genius, the Thyrsian people rose to intergalactic prominence and formed the foundations of the most technologically advanced forces ever to stalk the stars. It would be a simple matter for them to systematically dismantle the entirety of the Echani occupying force. A vast majority of their Gilded Confraternity were former members of various Special Forces groups throughout the known Universe; each weaving their martial prowess into the imparted teachings of the Thyrsian people. Therefore, the Golden Company wouldn’t have broken a sweat in order to infiltrate their homeworld and sabotage the Echani’s claim and hold on their planet. 
 
Such a truth, it seemed, didn’t sway the concrete nature of their superior’s command. That left the Thyrsian Warlord with little choice. He’d make that sacrifice, when the Supreme Sun Guardian wouldn’t, and save his species from their inevitable demise. The man knew, all too well, what it was like to grow old with shackles clamped around one’s wrists. That wouldn’t, nor couldn’t be the future that destiny promised his people. He’d see to it that they were saved, one way or another. Thus with his humours despoiled by the notion of finding salvation through the halls of purgatory, Khonsu tore his Spear free from the command dais and stalked towards the rear-most sections of the former Imperial Battlecruiser’s bridge. It was there that he found his Navarch, and a hololithic projection of the newly installed artificial construct pouring over what seemed like grim tidings.
 
“Finally tired of brooding by yourself?” The Navarch said with a coy smile stretching the puckered scarring of her lips. 
 
Astarii Saren had come far in her career as a Naval Officer, despite the myriad of regime changes and setbacks. Her life began as a simple Captain for the Royal Hapan Navy before she grew tired of patrolling space and fighting renegade male pirates; who despised the righteous matriarchal rule of their home cluster. She then enlisted with the Galactic Federation of Free Alliance’s, and somehow managed to catapult herself to the rank of Fleet Admiral after forcibly tearing apart the One Sith’s Imperial Armada with her unorthodox tactics and strategies. When that Federation collapsed through a cunning betrayal, as the Sith Empire returned in force, the Hapan Officer found herself in service to the First Order - an Imperial regime that held the promise of finishing what their ancestors started. 
 
However, as history has proven time and again, events that led towards the Stellar Empire’s downfall repeated themselves once again. The mighty First Order was torn apart, and their Supreme Leader’s mental indoctrination simply vanished in the blink of an eye. Though she was now free to choose her own path, the woman decided to involve herself with the Golden Company - which led towards her becoming an invaluable asset that proved her worth, time and again with every successive victory. Everything that transpired, from the moment of her enlistment to taking the Captain’s chair aboard this mighty Battlecruiser, allowed the battle-scarred woman to speak her mind as an equal to anyone she wished; despite the organizational formalities declaring otherwise.
 
The restrictions on gender were an antiquated societal construct that the Thyrsians did away with when the matriarchal warriors of the Echani first came and enslaved their world thousands of years ago. It would’ve been foolish for their ancestors to stick to their patriarchal roots and wage a war against a gender-stratified species. Such a mindset was applied to the Sun Guard themselves after they were banished from their homeworld. How would their culture survive if they remained bound to a single species? Losses were beginning to mount, and fresh recruits were very, very hard to find. Their ranks were opened to all that proved themselves worthy enough to don their gilded raiment. This choice was what would eventually see the Golden Company’s ranks swell with recruits; including the indispensable experience that came along with the venerated Admiral Astarii Saren. 
 
So, when she spoke freely - poking fun at her superior officer’s predilection for staring out into the void of space - there wasn’t just cause for verbal retaliation. Astarii earned her place at the table and was free to express herself to whomever she wished. This, of course, led her to shoot one of her fellow officers in the head after he disobeyed an order and abandoned his duties - but that was one of the reasons Khonsu kept her around. She instilled a sense of discipline in her crew and held everyone to exacting standards - which was still considered to be rare amongst the various Mercenary outfits across the stars. It made the Golden Company stand out; which in turn made them wealthier than anyone could possibly imagine. 
 
“I wasn’t brooding,” Khonsu finally replied, as he leaned his mighty and extinguished spear against the table. “I was simply thinking about what must be done. What we are about to do, and the consequences that will come from our choice.”
 
“So, brooding,” Astarii said again before her coy smirk faded into a thin-lipped smile. “Look, Khonsu, I understand that you want the best for your people. They’ve spent nearly two generations enslaved to the Echani, and have been dealing with millennia of hatred and warfare before that. You want them to be free, more so than the rest of us do. However, your hands are tied -- just like ours are. We can’t act unless we go against the Supreme Sun Guardian, which will see us declared as traitors and will sunder the familial bonds we’ve worked so hard to forge.”
 
“Don’t you think I know that?” the Thyrsian snapped back. “I don’t want to break our bonds of fellowship, nor see us all mocked by the ashes of history. One man stands in our way, and I need to kill him… no matter the cost.”
 
“Words like that have seen great men do terrible things.”
 
Khonsu scoffed. “That’s rich coming for you.”
 
“Well,” Astarii began with a shrug, before crossing her arms above her uniformed chest. “That doesn’t deny it’s truth. We’ve done horrible things, both in the name of the Solar Cult and their Sun Gods, as well as culling entire planet’s of their native population for profit. However, that’s small scale in comparison to what you’re wanting to do, Khonsu. After you kill the Supreme Sun Guardian and take his post -- what then? Will you free your people and simply stop there? Will you return to Eshan and follow through with what your ancestors only dreamed off?”
 
“It’s a tempting notion,” the Sun Guard replied as the faceplate of his gilded helmet retracted - revealed the ebon-hewn flesh beneath. “But, the Confederacy of Independent Systems is rife with Echani and their sympathizers. Their vessels already despoil these stars with their presence, and would act in kind if I suddenly posed significant enough of a threat to my genetic cousins on Eshan.”
 
“Their strength relies on numbers and the immense size of their starships. They’re weak when combat's joined and would be nothing more than ash when our new warships deploy to the void.” Her words were passionate; the hallmark of a true believer in her craft. She saw many battlefields in her youth and had spent enough time standing alongside the Confederacy to gauge their effectiveness in pitched spatial warfare. They had numbers, sure, but that was their only true advantage when compared to warships that held entire arsenals that were designed to negate the defensive capabilities of plasma shields. What good would such a barrier be, when their weapons simply lance through them and speared into the hull plating beneath? Not to mention, a majority of their newest warships - including the pilfered Battlecruiser upon which they stood - housed a different type of shield; one that doubled as not only as a defensive asset but an offensive one as well. Their weapons would be rendered ineffective against the technological supremacy of the Thyrsian Fleet. “We just need to approach this situation like everything else we’ve been hired to do. You know the consequences of failure, just like I do, Khonsu. How do we go about this and stand victorious?”
 
For what seemed like an age, the Gilded Conqueror stood in meditative silence; his dark and hooded eyes staring at the hololithic table splayed out before his armoured bulk. Whatever thoughts raced through his mind, were for Khonsu alone. Due to the xenografted flesh that adorned his naked frame, the man was almost immune to the ever-present energy field that permeated everything in this universe. His thoughts were guarded against those who sought to skim through his consciousness like it was an opened book. When the dark-skinned Thyrsian spoke again, it seemed as if he had an answer; One that would undoubtedly lead them towards an uncertain future amongst the tumultuous stars.
 
“How do we claim victory, Astarii?” the Thychani Dictator said with a serpentine smile creeping across his lips. “First, I summon the Supreme Sun Guardian to meet his doom above thrice-damned Eshan, and then?” He paused for a moment to consider his next words, very, carefully. With these words, Khonsu knew that he would be ordered hundreds, if not thousands of his men into a desperate and inevitable battle against the Galactic odds; condemning them to die so that others may live. Yet, in a way, that’s what they signed up for. They’d forge the world of tomorrow but never see what would sprout from their sacrifice. Such was, and would forever be a part of the Warrior’s path.
 
“Then, we fight all that stand in our way.”
 
Sun Guard Objectives:
  • Prepare for the Supreme Sun Guardian’s Arrival, and witness the ebb and flow of history, first hand.
  • Prepare to launch the First Crusade, and take the fight to all that stand in our way.
 

| Kirchenhof | Vilaz Munin | Muad Dib |


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#20
Vilaz Munin

Vilaz Munin

    C R U S A D E

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Location: Eshan

Allies: Mandalorians and Thyrsians

Enemies: Everyone Else

Objective: Calamity

 

Destiny

 

Dread it

 

Run from it

 

It is inevitable…

 

...just like the blood that will drown Eshan

 

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He has shied away from his duty and destiny for far too long. He didn’t find any sense of satisfaction during these times in his life, not even the bloody raids he conducted amongst the stars could make him content. The Warlord has fallen under a curse of depression, finding something that would fill the void inside him. His family were able to treat it, but it wasn’t enough. What could it be that drew Vilaz into such a pit of desperation and despair? It wasn’t wealth as he cared little for credits and other material value. Lack of fame as either a hated or admired warrior didn’t bother him, not giving a damn if he was reputable though it was an excellent tool to utilize in situations.

 

It was none of that.

 

But rather at the state of damnation his culture had fallen. The Warlord made sure his own clan would not succumb as degenerates, degenerates that the Mandalorians of the Empire had come to be. What was thought to be a blessing by Kad Har’angir, the Mandalorian god of war and destruction, to bring back the Undying from the realm of the dead and lead the children of Mandalore to triumph in a new era. Unfortunately that era shortly desisted as it was born when Ra vanished, the winds taking him into the unknown once again. He came in Mandalore’s time of need, but couldn’t keep that fire alive. No doubt did the trickster god and the sloth god made a pact together and orchestrated another plague to consume Mandalore, not letting her see and feel the glory she deserves. Glory she knew ages ago, now only a memory to serve her as company in these dark, hopeless times. A plague that went by the name of “Cadera”. Other names were responsible too, but that was its main roots.

 

Vilaz had thought that perhaps Mandalore would rid itself of these rodents with time and patience...but he was only a fool to believe that and allowed all this time to be wasted, and not used in some way to help his mother. He had turned his back for far too long and that would change. Things needed to change, otherwise future generations would come to know a nation full of deceit and lies that they themselves would worship, bolstering that facade.

 

But now he knew what he must do.

 

Umbara was only the spark…

 

...Eshan would be the first tree to burn in the forest, spreading its influence.

 

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The Warlord stood upon the earth of Eshan. He could tell the land of the Echani was still licking its wounds, something that brought a smirk to his face. While he did helped the Confederacy to liberate Eshan from the Empire it did appease him the collateral damage caused to the planet and its inhabitants. He came as a liberator on that day; today, however, he would come as a conqueror and make sure the fires of purgatory would rise again and wash over the earth.  Make sure that the blood of the Echani would forever stain the evergreen hills and plains of this planet that had always disgusted him. For many generations described in the texts of history by their ancestors and then continued by their predecessors, the Mandalorians has made their fair share of rivalries with other groups. The Echani, the Thyrsians, the Iridonians, the Jedi and their precious Republic, and others of different cultures and ideals. Vilaz respected the Thyrsians from that list or rivals, and perhaps the Iridonians. Some enemies or rivals of one’s people deserved that merit; however, he absolutely abhorred the Echani and the Jedi, equally to the Imperial Mandalorians of Yasha’s regime.

 

It would be unfortunate that Clan Munin would not be acknowledged as the merciless marauders that would carve an unforgettable scar into the hearts of the Echani. Rather it would be Clan Cadera and a variety of other clans affiliated with the Mandalorian Empire that would cause another calamity on Eshan. Vilaz was one that didn’t mind the vile actions of his clan be known to the public on the Holonet. Matter of fact, he’d love to take the credit of today’s events, but he couldn’t. It was all for a worthy cause...a cause that would hopefully make true for what he desired for. He knew there were tensions between the Confederacy of Independent Systems and the Mandalorian Empire after his participation of liberating Eshan. The coward lapdogs of the Empire even went out to lie and try to twist history in their favor. It was pathetic coming from a group of warriors that claim to be mighty, yet went out of their way to appease the Galaxy and win their hearts. It was a mere translation to licking the boots of aruetiise, something that made his stomach turn. He was sure the great ancestors of his culture, no matter their clan, were rolling in their tombs and yelling curses at the Empire from the Manda. A depressing sight to behold with few honoring their roots that have been forged many, many centuries ago.

 

But no more would his culture be tarnished by a foolish girl, trapped in the body of a mature woman.

 

Oh, what did Ra see in that...thing

 

And here, they would break bone and tear flesh. They would do anything to make the Confederacy be influenced with intense feelings, emotions that would act out against the Empire. And if the coward of the Infernal would not claim these pillages as her doing, they would not believe her after the lies they mouthed at Eshan along with its collateral damage. Or at least that is what the Munin’s gut believed and was gambling on. It all depended on how the Confederacy would react to these recent operations. He’d hope they would see this as an act of vengeance after the Empire’s humiliating defeat on the planet he stood upon.

 

Droz and Zann dealt with the hostages, killing all except one. They honored their word and Vilaz could only hold a villainous grin of their actions. For now this was all that there was from the raiding party on Umbara. Reinforcements would arrive soon with a collective task force comprised of his clan and those of similar ideas as him. There were Confederate forces looming around the Eshan system with their own fleet above orbit and barracks established in order to give protection to the white mutts. Attacking their assets would add more fire into the kindle.

 

“Warriors,” he said aloud for his clansmen to hear, “we will leave no stone unturned and no land left in green. The Confederacy and the filthy Echani will know of our vengeance and hatred since Eshan.”

 

“For Mandalore and the Infernal!”

 

Briika Munin Khonsu Amon Droz Munin Zann Munin Kad Munin Fylla Munin  Coren Starchaser  @Cotan Sar’andor Ador Horn  Keira Priest Ves Fett Errai Munin Careena Fett Karsan Calnov Esvan Verd Hana Munin Faust Skirata Muad Dib

 

Edited by Vilaz Munin, 15 June 2019 - 12:20 PM.

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