Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Mission Aggressive Negotiations | THR . TIC



Tags: OPEN TO ANY MANDO

Cold. That was the first thing he felt. Cold metal under his cheek. A taste like copper and chemicals at the back of his throat. His eyes opened slowly, vision swimming against harsh white lights that burned straight through him.

Where am I?

He tried to move. His wrists didn't follow the command. They were locked to the table, heavy restraints biting into his skin. He pulled again, harder this time. The cuffs hummed, keeping his hands pinned down.

His heart began to pound. He searched his mind for something. A name. A face. A word. Anything.

Nothing.

The room was small. White walls. A drain in the floor. A smear of dried blood near the base of the opposite wall. His stomach twisted at the sight of it, though he didn't know why. He didn't know anything.

Who am I?

A distant explosion rolled through the structure. The table vibrated beneath him. Another blast followed, closer. Sirens began to wail, shrill and mechanical. Red light flickered across the walls.

He flinched as shouting echoed from the corridor outside. Boots thundered past the door. Blasterfire cracked in sharp, violent bursts. Someone screamed. The door slid open halfway, jammed, smoke curling in from the hall. Through the gap he saw figures running, white armor and darker shapes colliding in chaos. Sparks rained from the ceiling.

Panic surged through him.

"Help!" His voice came out raw, barely more than a rasp. He swallowed and tried again, louder. "Please! I'm in here!"

No one looked. More blasterfire. A body hit the wall outside. The door shuddered but did not close. He strained against the cuffs until pain shot up his arms.

What the feth was going on?

 

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Equipment: Dual Blaster Pistols, Forcepike, Cycler Rifle, Rocket Boots, Rebreather + Tubes, Misc.
TAGS: Seldan Rourke Seldan Rourke , Ronhar Tane Ronhar Tane

As he stood, he heard his comms being pinged. Lifting his arm up, and pressing a button on his wristpad to answer. Hearing Seldan Rourke Seldan Rourke 's voice.

["Gavin. Hangars are priority. We own their exits. You able to assist my squad pushing north corridor?"]

"Sure, sounds like fun."


Taking a moment to look around the detachment he was with, before stepping over to the actual commander of the squad. "Seldan's requestin' my help. Mind if I take a couple boys from here to head with 'em?"

The officer nodded, as he turned. "Scorch, Buster. Head with him to help Rourke." Facing back towards Gavin, after. "Keep in contact."

With that, the three went towards where Seldan and his commandos were stacked up, while the other detachment breached through their own blast door, making their way to assault an armory. He reached behind himself to grab hold of his holstered cycler rifle, chambering a slug round. The other two troopers stacked up with the commandos, while he stood a bit away.

Door was blown open, and while the others moved through the doorway, he lagged behind somewhat. Cycler rifle aimed, and putting shots towards the less obvious but equally dangerous threats. He wasn't risking their armor being enough to survive a slug round, so he was striking necks and shoulders. What mattered was that the troopers he was hitting, were going down.

["Contact front, officer leading."]

His gaze went forwards, to the sight of Ronhar Tane Ronhar Tane and his men approaching. He motioned behind a nearby pillar, peaking off the side with his cycler rifle aimed forwards. And, he started putting slug rounds down range, towards the approaching Imperials.

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Tags: Prisoner #36929 Prisoner #36929

This wasn't at all Kirae's scene. Defensive work was her skillset. Standing ground, holding the line. Breaking into some kind of prison wasn't something she'd expect to be using anytime soon. Though narrow hallways made a perfect battlefield for a shield, as she flipped various guards over her shoulder before slamming the edge of her shield onto them to dispose of the trash. Crunching bone and metal was good enough to be music to her ears as she had split off from the rest of the team.

The mercenary work still didn't quite sit well with her. There was little honour or glory in this kind of fight in her eyes. Saving some kind of Senator, or politician? But she didn't have a choice. Those words were still bouncing around in her head from the Iron Wolves meeting. That she was inactive. That she reminded the Foundling of a child. It was just a distraction, but one she couldn't shake, as she blocked various blaster shots sent her way, as she progressed down the hall. As she slammed her shield into the waist of an Imp, bissecting the guard, there was only one thought going on in her mind.

Could a child do that?
"Help!" His voice came out raw, barely more than a rasp. He swallowed and tried again, louder. "Please! I'm in here!"


She stopped for a moment at the sound of a voice calling out. It didn't sound like an Imperial to her ears. That's when she spotted the door, half-opened. Kirae made her way over, looking through the door to spot someone cuffed. They weren't familiar to her, but if they were in this prison...They were more than likely an enemy of the Imperials. Good enough for her, as she stepped up towards the door, propping her shield up against the wall, before she worked on ripping the door open the rest of the way, using a combination of her own strength and the Force.

"Move."

Of course, that was easier said than done, but Kirae yanked her shield off the wall, taking a few firm steps in the direction of Prisoner #36929 Prisoner #36929 before smashing the shield against the cuffs and their chains, in an attempt to break them free. Sure, she could have tried to find a key, but this method was far easier.​

 
The Force hit him like a physical god, an invisible hand slapping the air from his lungs. The deck plates screamed as they buckled, a sound swallowed by the shriek of tearing metal and the percussive thud of bodies hitting bulkheads. The world dissolved into a horizontal blizzard of limbs and debris. Korda's boots became anchors, the mag-lock soles grinding against the plating as his Basilisk-trained balance fought the gravitational insult. He felt the impact travel up his spine, a familiar punishment that settled in his bones like an old friend. He didn't just absorb it; he welcomed it.

A low chuckle vibrated in his chest, amplified by the helmet speaker into a growl that cut through the chaos. "Good."
Through the acrid haze of melting plastoid and the staccato strobe of emergency lights painting everything in crimson, she appeared. Not a person, but a principle given form. The white blade wasn't just a weapon; it was a surgical tool of sorcery, held in a grip so perfect it seemed drawn from a Jedi training manual. Her stance was a fortress of angles, her Djem So form a sermon of strength. But beneath the flawless technique, he saw it, a tremor in the air, a furious, vibrating string of rage so pure it was almost beautiful. He couldn't feel it in the Force, but he could see its effect on her, a coiled spring of deadly intent.

She came at him, a blur of white and righteous fury. The blade's hum was a promise of execution.
Korda didn't move to meet the plasma. He watched her lead shoulder, the tell-tale micro-movement that telegraphed the strike's entire, brutal story. It was a killing blow, meant to sunder his rifle and him along with it.

In the space between heartbeats, his arm shot out, not to block, but to claim. His gauntlet closed on the collar of a dazed guard, the man's armor groaning in protest. Korda didn't throw him; he flung him, a human shield offered to a hungry god.

The lightsaber didn't just cut; it erased. The blade sheared through the guard's armor with a hiss of superheated metal and a flash of blinding light. The guard collapsed in a heap, in two clean halves, his armor smoking where the blade had passed. The smell of ozone, scorched plating, and burnt flesh filled the air.

Before the echo faded, Korda was inside her guard, his boots crushing the debris. "Coward's entry," he growled, his voice a distorted bass rumble. "You push the weak to clear your path?"

With a sharp pivot, the Ashen Maw mag-locked to his back with a solid thunk of magnetic seals engaging. If she wanted this dance, he'd lead. A Mandalorian didn't fear the close quarters; he owned them.

The vibroblade came free in a single, fluid motion, the heirloom steel singing as the power cell hummed to life. He didn't strike. He watched, his helmet's optical sensors drinking in every detail. Her footwork was flawless by the book, but tight. Her shoulders were coiled springs. Her breath was a storm, not a rhythm.

First real battle. He could see it in the way her eyes flickered, taking in everything and nothing at all.
He barked a laugh, the sound like grinding stone. "Your instructors did not prepare you for this."
Then he stepped in.

The first attack wasn't the blade. It was his left gauntlet, a wide hook that crackled with cobalt energy from the shock-augmentation unit. It wasn't meant to connect, only to test, to force her to commit her guard to the obvious threat.

As she reacted, the vibroblade followed through in a low, humming arc from hip to shoulder, a pressuring strike meant to break her stance and drive her back over the uneven ground. He advanced, not with reckless speed, but with the deliberate, inexorable pace of a predator. This was the way. Not magic, but steel. Not premonition, but precision.

The corridor was a living hell. Blaster bolts stitched the walls, prisoners screamed, and somewhere behind him, Oro chirped from his pouch, the little creature's tongue flicking at the superheated air.

Korda tilted his helmet, red targeting reticles flickering across her form before he dismissed them. This wasn't a target; it was a conversation.

"No hesitation," he taunted. "No theatrics. Show me your conviction."
A panicked gaurd, seeing an opening, lunged at him from the side.

Korda didn't even glance. He backhanded the man aside, his gauntlet connecting with a dull thud, all while his gaze remained locked on hers. His laughter rolled through the helmet, a low, menacing sound.


"Or go back to your master and tell them the prison was too loud for you."
He pressed forward again, the vibroblade's hum a constant counterpoint to the crackle of his gauntlet resetting. Not reckless. Not blind.
Predatory.
Waiting for her answer.

Tags: Searal Nis Searal Nis
 


Tags: Kirae Orade Kirae Orade

The screaming got closer. He could hear it clearly now. Not just blasterfire and boots, but something heavier. Bodies hitting walls. Metal bending. A sharp crack that sounded like bone. He pulled at the cuffs until his wrists burned. The restraints hummed and held. His breath came fast, shallow, almost choking him.

I don't want to die here. He didn't even know what here was.

Another explosion shook the room. Dust sifted from the ceiling. The half-open door rattled in its frame. Shadows moved past it. A man stumbled by, armor scorched, and was dragged out of sight.

Were they coming for him?

His pulse thundered in his ears. He strained again, muscles shaking, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Nothing. The cuffs did not give. "This can't be it," he muttered to himself, voice cracking.

The door tore open with a violent shriek of metal. He flinched, every muscle locking. A figure filled the doorway, tall, armored, carrying a shield darkened with blood and scorch marks.

This is it. He braced for pain. She crossed the room in three strides. "Move."

"I can't," he shot back, panic sharpening the words. The shield came down hard on the cuffs. The impact rang through the table. Once. Twice. The restraints split, chains snapping loose. His arms dropped free, heavy and numb. He stared at his wrists in disbelief.

Free.

He rolled onto his side and pushed himself upright. His legs barely responded. Pins and needles stabbed up through him as he swung them off the table. He nearly collapsed when he tried to stand, catching himself against the edge.

How long was I here?

The room swayed. He forced himself up, unsteady, every muscle weak from disuse. He looked at her fully now. Armor scarred. Shield ready. Rescuer? Executioner? His head was full of questions, but he could only articulate two.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice hoarse but steadier than he felt. "What's going on?"

 



Tags: Prisoner #36929 Prisoner #36929

"A Mandalorian."

Kirae didn't care for the stranger's panic, her gaze focused back towards the door, keeping a tight grip across the handle of her shield. There was every chance that someone walked through that door and started opening fire. She was careful not to reach a hand out towards the stranger. If he was going to stand, he would have to do it himself. She would not lend any form of aid in way.

"You've been a prisoner of the Imperials. We've been hired to rescue someone from here. You aren't that someone. So consider this your lucky day. You don't have to spend a single credit for your rescue."

Thoughts bounced around back and forth in her head for a moment. She was meant to be a bulwark, but could she trust this prisoner behind her? He seemed clueless...over everything. What was going on in his head? What kind of torture had he been subject to? She sighed to herself for a moment, running a hand down her helm in thought. Decisions. Decisions.

"Can you walk?"

Without even wasting for an answer to the question however, Kirae reached her hand out towards an Imperial blaster laying on the ground, flicking her wrist back to use the Force to yank the blaster off the ground, catching it her free hand before holding it out behind her, keeping the shield firmly planted on the ground.

"Take this. You see anyone wearin' white like them, blast 'em. You see anyone dressed like me?...You won't do much blasting them."

Benefits of beskar, she supposed. It did remind her that eventually she needed proper beskar armour as opposed to the weaved armour she had now. None had offered to help her in that way, and she had been far too focused on looking out for her own people to think of her own protection.​

 

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CAPTAIN RONHAR TANE, TK-3301
LOYA SAYU
[REDACTED]


"Attention to all Mahporeenian units operating on Loya Sayu: use of lethal force has been authorized. You are free to use any means necessary to bring this facility back under Imperial control. Good luck, and may the galaxy be with you all".

The message from the Fool's Errand played in the helmets of all the Prison Troopers that had been deployed to the planet, along with the four All Terrain Armored Assault Walkers patrolling the prison yard outside. By this point, the AT-AAWs had begun to engage the various Mandalorian and Republic dropships that were ferrying troops to and from the prison, firing at them with their laser cannons and missile launchers. Of course, the walkers were really far more suited for engaging ground targets rather than aerial ones, but they nonetheless tried their best to take down as many dropships as they possibly could.

Inside the prison, nearly 160 Prison Troopers began to flood every every room and hallway within the prison itself, engaging prisoners, Mandalorians and Republic soldiers in equal measure. The sounds of blaster and slugthrower fire echoed throughout the complex, as the Mahporeenian troops began to slowly attempt to wrestle control of the prison away from the rioters and outside agitators.

Ronhar and his men moved swiftly but cautiously, checking every nook and cranny for signs of the enemy. As Ronhar peaked around the corner of the next hallway, slugthrower fire began streaking toward him, and Ronhar barely had time to duck out of the way, the distinct crack of the enemy's cycler rifle thundering all the way across from him.

Ronhar and his men were now engaged!

"Samcri, swap me your AAF-8! Koljon, move up behind me and prepare a Rhydonium Grenade! I want all HNDA-Mk I's
activated and ready to go! We move up on my mark! Ready..."

Ronhar passed down his Model 216 "Big Game Hunter" for Samcri's AAF-8 Scattergun as he and Koljon prepared to throw their Rhydonium Grenades at the source of the incoming fire. Ronhar took a deep breath and shouted:

"Mark!"

One of the Rhydonium Grenades flew toward Gavin Restur Gavin Restur while the other went toward Seldan Rourke Seldan Rourke 's position, detonating into a cloud of toxic Rhydonium gas. Besides the explosive force of the grenade itself, the Rhydonium Grenade produced a toxic cloud over the are that it detonated in, suffocating anyone unfortunate enough to stick around after the grenade went off. Ronhar and his men rounded the corner and began firing, with Ronhar firing off a barrage of Micro-grenades at Gavin Restur Gavin Restur 's position as Samcri started shooting 23mm slugs at where Seldan Rourke Seldan Rourke was hiding. The rest of his men were shooting their weapons on full automatic, trying to suppress the Republic and/or Mando troopers currently with Gavin Restur Gavin Restur and Seldan Rourke Seldan Rourke . Behind him, a number of Prison Troopers began to stack up around the corner that Ronhar and his team had just come from, ready to support Ronhar's men as they made their assault toward the high value target that had been sent to extract. As Ronhar moved forward, he sent a quick message to Joseph Torson Joseph Torson over comms:

"We're under attack and encountering heavy resistance! Looks like we're going to be delayed, stay sharp out there Torson!"

Another pair of Rhydonium Grenades sailed into the room in front of Ronhar, detonating in a spectacular explosion of green and yellow. As Ronhar got closer, his shoulder mounted Mahporeem Acid Rifle began lending the weight of its fire toward the pillar that Gavin Restur Gavin Restur was currently hiding behind as each member of Ronhar's team continued to blare their HNDA-Mk I's toward the general direction of the enemy forces...




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Location: The Citadel, Lola Sayu
Objective: Cause mayhem earn power
Attire: See Loadout
Allies: Ronhar Tane Ronhar Tane | Amni Kazda Amni Kazda | Calissova Calissova | Joseph Torson Joseph Torson
Adversaries: Tatiana Sah Tatiana Sah | Mao Mao | Seldan Rourke Seldan Rourke | Gavin Restur Gavin Restur

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The hum of a lightsaber had become as normal as Mika's breathing, and her ears did not even register that as ambient noise at this point. The alarms were a different distraction. Mika had trained in the shadows of Malachor how to block out such distractions. It seemed so much more easy in practice than it did now that she was dealing with the real thing. After several minutes of stalking through the hallways of the prison the alarms grew to be as silent as the hum of her lightsaber.

The sounds of combat were no such distraction. Along with the sensation of rising emotions, that was how Mika knew which way to go. Surely her old Imperial Knight codes would not work on any of the terminals for her to search through to find likely targets of the raid. And she didn't travel with a droid. So chasing the action was the only choice that Mika had at her disposal.

At first she strayed into a detention block overrun by released prisoners. The fact that there was no one guiding these wretched souls out of the prison, these were not the goal of the mission. "More distractions," Mika grumbled under her breath. She reached out with the Force and tossed prisoners out of her way. If any of them happened to land inside one of the open cells Mika used the Force to seal it shut. Perhaps someone would thank her later for saving them time on rounding these bastards up.

A fork in the corridor appeared in front of Mika. Instinct told her to take a left turn and head deeper into the prison. Then several explosions rang out to the right. Mika smirked behind her faceplate and picked up the pace towards the explosions. She came out into a new hallway near the main hangars directly into a cross fire.

Deft movements of her body and quick reactions with her blade kept Mika safe. She quickly differentiated friends from foes, though she wasn't sure anyone would mark her as either. The former knight retreated towards Captain Tane and his troops. "Here to lend some help," she said to the trooper who seemed to be in command. "Orders to clear the halls or to push deeper into the prison? Either way consider me your speartip. My blades are the only weapons I carry."

 

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TAGS: Mao Mao
ALLIES: Imperials
Enemies: High Republic & Mandalorians

An explosive charge ripping through an exterior blast door resonated throughout the area all the way to the junction where Barragh had inserted himself.

It caught the Umbarans attention.

The Vibration caused by the explosion was dim, fading quickly.

Leaving the junction he'd travel towards it. The Sovereign Protectors followed.

Ahead the sound of blasterfire would fill the narrow corridors. Troopers engaged the enemy, many of them fell. It was not unexpected considering he already knew that Mandalorians were involved in the assault on the Citadel.

The Advance would eventually cause a team of High Republic Commandos and the Umbaran's retinue to cross paths.

On one side, Mao Mao and her team and on the other Barragh and the two Sovereign Protectors that flanked him.

The Umbaran was obfuscated beneath his shadowcloak, everything save his head so there was no telling what he may on hand. He saw Mao Mao , looked beyond her and saw her team as well.

The Sovereign Protectors, clad in heavy armor which would make them far more resistant to conventional weaponry than the standard trooper stepped forward.

Behind them the Umbaran would have spoken...

"Stop."

...he did not yell but his eyes flashed with an amber light and his voice resonated outwards, down the corridors and towards the aggressors...

"You don't really know what you are doing, do you?"

A Query but also much more.

Umbaran's were noted for their ability to influence others and such innate abilities would become even more potent weapons suffused with the force.

It was not merely a trick of words, the words themselves carried power. 'Stop' would resound in the minds of those that heard it, a subliminal command that could cause muscles to freeze and limbs to lock in place like they were frozen. The Query that followed, implying that they were confused capable of clouding the mind and causing the most stalwart foe to question their purpose and why they were here.

 


Tags: Kirae Orade Kirae Orade

Mandalorian. Imperials. The words meant something. They had to. His mind chased them, trying to catch a memory before it slipped away again. Nothing solid came. Just fragments. War. Armor. Fear.

It didn't matter. He wasn't staying here. "I can walk," he said, more force in it than he felt. His legs trembled as he stepped forward. They'd have to cut off his feet to keep him here, he thought. I'm not dying on that table.

She held the blaster out without looking at him. He hesitated for half a second, then took it. The grip felt familiar in his hand. Too familiar. His fingers adjusted instinctively along the frame.

How do I know this? He swallowed the question.

The Nagai followed her into the corridor. Smoke hung thick in the air. Red emergency lights flashed over bodies and scorch marks. The noise was overwhelming up close. Blasterfire cracked from somewhere ahead.

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision. He reacted before thinking. The blaster kicked in his hand. A white-armored figure jerked and dropped at the far end of the hall. The shot had been clean.

He stared at the fallen soldier for a beat. I didn't hesitate. His stomach tightened, but he didn't lower the weapon.

He looked back at the Mandalorian, eyes sharp despite the fear crawling under his skin. "Please tell me we're leaving," he said, breath still uneven.

Another explosion boomed deeper in the prison. He tightened his grip on the blaster.

Because I'm not staying for whatever comes next.

 
For a few moments she thought she had won. Although he hadn’t fallen to the ground, he was staggered enough to buy herself moments , and moments were all she needed, and moments were all he would have had. But her lightsaber didn’t scrape and spark against beskar or melt through metal, instead it cleaved through flesh and blood. Before she had time to stop her blade, the Mandalorian had thrown someone at her. Boiling blood spat on her armour as the man let out a wail of such agony it was almost unbelievable, fortunately for both of them it did not last long. She paused for a fraction of a second in disbelief and horror, her face of stoic rage replaced by total shock. This man was a loyal imperial soldier, and now slain by her own hand. Coward’s Entry His voice snarled at her through his distortion. You push the weak to clear your path? An insult like that is something she would have ignored, but after what he did, it filled her with a well of disgust and anger.

She would have plunged her saber through his visor till it reached the opposite end of his head for what he did, but before she had a chance, she had to raise her elbow to block a punch. Voltz of raw agony shot up her forearm like metal spikes were stabbing into her bone marrow when his fist connected against her arm-brace. Before she had a chance to truly register the pain she was deflecting a glancing blow from a vibroblade that surprisingly didn't melt against her lightsaber. The sword wasn’t truly thrown off however, scratching against her crimson armor and leaving a long stretching mark across her chest. “Your instructors did not prepare you for this." He said, laughing in mocking cruelty. Grimly, she found herself agreeing.


She recoiled away from the Mandalorian, keeping enough distance between them that would give her ample time to react, and more importantly to think. Besides, this Mandalorian liked the sound of his own voice, judging by all the audio modifications he had made to his helmet; which gave her precious seconds. She had no non-conventional weapons to use against him, such as sonic weaponry or flamethrowers, and she did not have the the strength to overpower him with brute force, so she had only one option. As strong as a suit of beskar was, it still had joints that were more flexible, and more vulnerable. The armpits and his visors were suitable enough to slash and stab through.


"No hesitation," "No theatrics. Show me your conviction." He was trying to goad her into action, he wanted to set the pace of their fight, but she wasn’t going to entertain it. "Or go back to your master and tell them the prison was too loud for you." He knew she was inexperienced, and that only angered her more.

“You talk too much.”


Korda Veydran Korda Veydran
 
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"You talk too much."
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the shriek of klaxons and the distant, wet tearing of flesh.
Then Korda laughed.
It started low in his chest, a rumble that vibrated through the floor plates and into his boots. It wasn't a sound of joy. It was a sound of release.


"You're right."
His hands moved to the sides of his helmet.
The pneumatic locks hissed, a sharp, escaping breath of pressurized air.
The helmet lifted.

It didn't fall. He let it hang suspended by its magnetic mount, the four tally marks carved into the right temple catching the emergency strobes. The visor was dark, but the empty space beside it was stark.

Then the stale recycled air of the station vanished.
It was replaced instantly by the acrid tang of burning plasma, ozone, and the metallic smell of fresh blood.
Korda's face was a map of violence.

Short brown hair plastered to his skull with sweat. Weathered skin the color of cured leather, cross-hatched with old burns and knife wounds. And eyes, red as a dying ember, that burned through the chaos of the riot.

He grinned.
The movement tugged at the jagged line of a scar running through his left cheek.
slightly blood soaked teeth, from him having bit his own toungue. Missing left canine.

A look that said he was hungry.

"You deserve to see what's killing you."
The blaster bolt cracked.
It snapped toward her from behind, a desperate, panicked snap-shot from a guard who had seen too much too fast.

Korda's sidearm was already in his hand. He didn't even turn his head.
The shot passed within an inch of her ear, punching through the guard's chest mid-stride.
The man hit the duracrete like a sack of meat.

Korda holstered the pistol with a casual click.

"No interruptions."
He stepped back, boots grinding over shattered glass and pooled blood.
He rolled his neck. The sound was wet and loud.


"Korda Veydran."
He offered a slight, mocking bow of the head.
"Clan Veydran. The Majestic Flame of Manda."
The vibroblade in his other hand spun once, the humming vibration rattling his wrist.
Then he deactivated it.

Mag-locked it to his belt.
He wanted her to see the choice.
Instead of drawing steel, he brought both fists together.
Crack.
The gauntlets slammed together, locking into place.

Blue energy flared to life, arcing across his knuckles in jagged, unstable pulses. The air smelled of ozone. The heat from the shock field was already baking his skin.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the smoke-choked air.

Exhaled through broken teeth.
"It's been too long," he said, his voice dropping an octave, stripping away the theatricality until it was just gravel and threat. "Since I fought a Force wielder."
He advanced.
Not a charge. Not a run.

Just walking.
Heavy boots crunching.
Every step deliberate.

"Show me your openings."
He exploded forward.

A heavy right cross, aimed not at her head, but at her saber arm. If she blocked, the shock field would crackle violently against her blade, trying to overload the stabilization circuits.

Simultaneously, his left leg swept low, a wide, tearing arc designed to disrupt her footing, not knock her over. A test. A probe.
He was a machine dissecting a puzzle.
The rioters around them scattered, throwing themselves against walls, pressing into the shadows.
Oro poked her head further from the pouch at Korda's hip, tiny eyes wide, watching the glowing white blade with fascinated curiosity.

Korda's red eyes locked onto hers.
No helmet.
No distortion.
Just a man who had looked death in the face too many times and blinked first.
"Convince me," he growled. And the shock gauntlets flared blindingly bright as he pressed the assault, the blue arcs sizzling through the smoke.

Tags: Searal Nis Searal Nis
 


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Joseph Torson Joseph Torson
Indirect: Mao Mao


Aiden Porte moved with the strike group the air thick with smoke and the sharp bite of scorched metal. He kept his senses wide, the corridor narrowed into a straight run toward the elevator vestibule, and the Force told him the shape of the fight before his eyes confirmed it.

His lightsaber hummed in a steady blue arc, and when opposition met them it did not last long. Aiden did not linger or posture. He stepped in, turned his wrist, and the blade cut clean lines through rifles, pikes, and barricade edges. He deflected blaster bolts into ceiling panels to throw showers of sparks and darkness across their sight lines, then pushed forward again, guiding the troopers behind him with small motions and calmer certainty than the chaos deserved.

"Keep moving," he said over the comm.

They pressed through a choke point where defenders tried to form a crossfire. Aiden snapped his hand outward and a wave of Force pressure slammed them back into their own cover. The Republic troopers flowed past, firing in controlled bursts, taking the space Aiden carved open.

Aiden's gaze locked on Torson, and the Force sharpened the line between them. He advanced without haste, blade angled down but ready, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

"That one," Aiden said quietly, not a shout, but a directive.


 



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The first sweep of interference rolled across her HUD like static over glass.

Aselia didn’t flinch. The attempted jamming registered as a distortion spike along the right edge of her visor display, a ripple through encrypted channels meant to blur command cohesion and fracture timing. Amateur. Or desperate.

Her gauntlet flicked once, rerouting through hardened secondary frequencies. Encryption protocols layered over one another in quick succession, filtering the noise down to a dull whisper. Squad telemetry snapped back into clarity.

“They’re trying to blind us,” she said evenly over comms, her voice cutting through the restored channel without strain. “Compensate and stay tight.”

Ahead, the Imperial prison’s outer wall loomed, reinforced duracrete scorched by earlier impacts but still standing. Not pristine. Not invulnerable.

Her visor magnified a section along the western span where previous bombardment had left spiderwebbed stress fractures just beneath the surface. Micro-cracks radiated outward from a hairline seam near a structural joint, barely visible to the naked eye but glaringly obvious under her tactical overlay.

“There,” she said, tagging the section for the squad. A red marker pulsed against the wall in all their HUDs. “Micro-fractures along the joint. That’s our breach.”

Kael’s apology filtered through.

“As long as you remembered the charges, you’re exactly where you need to be,” she replied without looking back. “Stack them along the fracture line, not center mass. We’re not punching a hole. We’re peeling it open.”

Her shoulder mount rotated with a faint mechanical whir as she locked target acquisition on the highlighted seam. Nano-missile pods deployed in a tight cluster, each warhead no larger than her thumb, calibrated for precision rather than spectacle.

“Mark,” she said.

The missiles launched in a tight burst, streaking forward in near-silent arcs before striking in staggered succession along the micro-fractures. Instead of a single thunderclap, the wall shuddered in a cascading ripple, stress traveling exactly where she intended. Cracks widened, splintered, and then the entire reinforced section sagged inward under its own compromised integrity.

“Now.”

Kael’s charges would finish what she had started.

To her left, Garo’s basilisk swept overhead, war song carrying across the battlefield in defiance of the Imperial fortress. The ancient words threaded through the chaos, and even through armor and filtered audio Aselia felt the familiar tightening in her chest.

Janous moved like a siege engine given purpose, heavy weapons coming online with mechanical precision. Good. Let them see him. Let them focus on the towering threat and the singing shaman.

“As much noise as possible,” Aselia ordered, stepping forward as debris began to fall inward. “Draw every eye. Make them think this is the only breach.”

Her jetpack ignited briefly, lifting her above the settling dust as she scanned interior corridors through the collapsing section. Heat signatures flared inside confused, scrambling, repositioning.

“Once the wall is down, move in hard and fast make them come to us,” she continued, voice steady, measured.

TAG: Garo Vevut-Varkor Garo Vevut-Varkor Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Janous Ryss Janous Ryss + OPEN

 

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Garo took a deep breath and held the music for a few seconds, as the basilisk fired and the shaman prepared one of his axes to take the lead. The first note, the first word, came out in a deeper, more cavernous tone.



"Sugaan Essena aalar subr be woor nuhunar gutawu chur me'suum'ika ba'yanr a'yihbe laar a'yihbe laar aalar kadir o'r abiik nari ti niysr be vheh aalar tracyn hettir e'yar'u redalur chur tyatr chur tyatr o'r pe'nmtahada woor be Sugaan Essenamou houlingting gaan sugaan essena o'r pe'nmtahada woor be Sugaan Essenamou houlingting gaan sugaan essena adiik geroya o'r par echoy'la o'r kerser be woor tkiriyr be shaap ja'hailir tubaoe bal mav, redalur o'r ca redalur o'r ca dasa'na tkiriyr par smaka shekemir jupayr be srabus yirhaokra'a vahu'aya'iye ti gett'se aalar o'ardir be vheh be vheh o'r pe'nmtahada woor be Sugaan Essena o'r pe'nmtahada woor be Sugaan Essena woohoo, aalar kadir o'r pe'nmtahada woor be Sugaan Essena"
The music was older, the way he sang, every Mandalorian there with him could feel not only that they were with that assault group, but as if their ancestors were right there with them. The team also felt more united, more resolute, and determined. Following the coordinates and combat orders became easier, and even instinctive and coordinated adjustments happened without the need for words.

Garo's canine basilisk attacked the enemy troops following orders, the shaman did not wait, leaping on a soldier and smashing the soldier's helmet and skull with a blow from his axe, grabbed the blaster from the choir before it hit the ground and fired automatically at the nearby soldiers while moving alongside his basilisk, protected by his heavy beskar armor, still singing in a way that the Imperials might consider wild and frightening.


Aselia Verd Aselia Verd Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Janous Ryss Janous Ryss +OPEN

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AGGRESSIVE NEGOTIATIONS
The corridor was thick with smoke now — hard to see, harder to breathe.

Siv stepped into the junction and paused just long enough to understand the shape of the fight.

Aselia Verd Aselia Verd was still driving forward, sharp and controlled. Security kept folding toward her, reacting instead of thinking. Kael Varr Basteil Skirata Kael Varr Basteil Skirata held the lower corridor steady. No shouting. No wasted motion. Just pressure applied exactly where it needed to be.

Deeper in, Janous Ryss Janous Ryss moved like a fault line. Enemy comms spiked, fractured, then went silent wherever he passed.

Then the tremor came from the riot wing.

He turned slightly.

Ahead, the white burn of Searal Nis Searal Nis blade carved through the haze in tight, violent arcs. Korda Veydran Korda Veydran met it without retreat. Beskar rang against plasma, the sound sharp and deliberate.

It wasn't a skirmish.

It was a duel.

Security tried to interfere.

Siv made sure they couldn't.

A trooper leaned from the stairwell — one shot, clean. Another broke across the far intersection — dropped mid-stride. A third saw both bodies and thought better of it.

Siv shifted half a step, widening his angle to seal the approach behind Korda. He didn't move closer. Didn't raise his voice. Didn't enter the circle of white light and steel.

On Kad Ha'rangir, the Creed was clear: when two warriors meet blade to blade, you do not steal the outcome from them. Honor is proven in the space between strikes. To interfere without cause was to deny that test.

But the Creed also spoke of brothers. Of ensuring no outside hand tips the scale.

So he stood where those lines met.

Not part of the duel.

The wall around it.

More movement flickered at the far bend — a pair debating whether to rush it. Siv lifted the rifle slightly. They withdrew.

He keyed his comm, voice steady, formal.

"Korda. Confirm the situation is under control."

Another flash split the smoke as blade met armor.

Siv held his ground, guarding the approach — ready to intervene if the fight ceased to be a duel and became something less honorable, but until then, allowing it to remain what it was meant to be.

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Location: Heading towards Ambassador Cynan Obaith Cynan Obaith
Allies to help extract: Loken Loken | Adelle Bastiel Adelle Bastiel | Itzhal Volkihar Itzhal Volkihar | Ze'bast Verd Ze'bast Verd
Enemies who are in the way: Mika Tai En Mika Tai En | Joseph Torson Joseph Torson | Calissova Calissova Amni Kazda Amni Kazda
Directly interacting: Barragh Nenn Barragh Nenn

The pressure in her head through her helm was oh so fethin' familar.

It was the press of intent within her mind. An attempt to confuse and mind trick by trying to suggest that they clearly were not aware of why they were hear to begin with.

But Mao knew better. She had trained and sweated tears and spilled blood and went through a fethin' hell of torture of chagrin and Sith Force imbued mindtricks to build up a resistance from any karkin' mother fether with a glow stick in his hand and a holier than tho honky Force fethin' religion to sway or feth with her brain.

No way. No how.

And while there was a distinct pause as the Firrerreo's body tensed, there was a sort of feral sweetness to breathing in deep and then, from under her visor, flashing a grisly smile of pointed teeth.

Electric blue eyes flared, and she gave a laugh.

And while a few of her soldiers did begin to question, others did not. A few had also had training to help steal their minds, while others were not so lucky. Those who had a natural defense like the Epicanthix, or who could use their own version of emotional telepathy as Zeltrons to soothe the approaching concern.

Granted, not that Mao was going to let them question it a second longer.

"Oh I karkin' do," and without further ado, the Fierreo shouted out, toward John Shepherd John Shepherd and the rest of the team, "Clear out this corridor and find the Ambassador!"

And just like that, Mao charged forward, sending volley after volley of blaster rifle bolts down range right at Barragh Nenn Barragh Nenn , those trained to follow orders also moving up from behind. Those that were still struck by the mental questioning paused a second longer, but their training kicked in thereafter.

While conventional weapons may not work so well on whatever armor their targets were wearing, it ultimately didn't matter.

Because they were running on the clock.

And if Mao had to punch the leader with her own fist and shove it down Barragh Nenn Barragh Nenn 's throat to allow the others to move past -- she would.

Fethin' Karkin' Gladly!

 


| Location | Lola Sayu, Outer Rim Territories

In the blinding flash of light and deafening sound from the ruptured grenade, Itzhal slipped through the gap of the blast door. In the wake of the detonation, armoured soldiers flailed in varying degrees of surprise, some returning fire towards the entrance-way, while others scrambled for cover as their eyes adjusted to the sudden appearance and following absence of a miniature sun inches from their faces—those closest, he fired upon, a torrential wave of plasma that tore through their dazed opposition. In seconds, his fellow Mandalorians closed the distance, as together they made short work of the unfortunate defence.

An endless sprawl of durasteel corridors stretched before them, with twisting pathways that coiled like serpents, each turn threatening to lead them further astray. Time trickled away, every step measured and fought for, not just against the defensive lines hastily erected in their path, but with the knowledge that a stray turn could waste precious minutes.

Itzhal's visor flickered with a soft blue haze, a small map inscribed in the corner of his HuD growing with each pathway discovered, only to retract a moment later as the programs adapted to the sheer scale of the Citadel. Over the linked comms, further information filled his HuD in a vague outline, patterns undecided as the information wisped away like trails of smoke.

In the distance, blaster fire screeched across the air, splattering across walls and bulkheads with muted thumps of scorched impact points—another skirmish tearing through the facility.

Heavy footsteps clattered off the floor, an unrelenting march with little to stop them anymore. Itzhal turned around the corridor, straight into an intersection where Imperial troopers held the line, a defensive perimeter, slowly retracting around a central focus. He stepped behind a boarding slat as a bolt flew past his shoulder, his return fire following a moment behind, crimson lances from both sides filling the space, before an Imperial Trooper dropped with a hole in their neck.

The familiar hum of a lightsaber echoed over the blaster fire, interwoven with nearby skirmishes. Audial sensors in Itzhal's helmet separated the sound, highlighting its presence on the other side of their current chokehold, and the quiet voice that declared, "That one."

With a hand pointed towards the enemy braced around the foothold of the blast door, his blaster releasing a stream of red bolts, Itzhal hissed a word of violence—the wrist-mounted rocket launcher made it so, a screech of propellant tearing through the wavering haze of blaster fire, to detonate the concussive rocket in the midst of their lines. He stepped forward, pushing the advantage as the persistent hail slackened and died.


 

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AGGRESSIVE NEGOTIATIONS

Kael did as ordered, flinging the adhesive charges, two at a time, at the fault line. Once they were placed, and everyone was clear, he pulled his bow and shot the farthest charge so that they would go off in a chain. At the mention of the jamming, Kael started to focus, trying to use his force-heightened senses to compensate for the lack of coms and HUD. He held the line, watching out for his squadmates, and continuing to pick off any leadership he could distinguish, as well as any of the more heavily armored combatants. Kael did his best to filter through his coms, all while settling into the rhythm: draw, fire, move, block, parry, move. It was almost zen-like in its repetition; he let his mind reach out and check to see if his Buir was ok. Finding that she was, he focused back on the moment at hand.

Adelle Bastiel Adelle Bastiel Aselia Verd Aselia Verd Siv Kryze Siv Kryze

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LOCATION: Citadel
OBJECTIVE: Taking the pawn
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ronhar Tane Ronhar Tane | Joseph Torson Joseph Torson | Rackham Rackham | Cynan Obaith Cynan Obaith | Barragh Nenn Barragh Nenn | @open to any THR/ME peeps to react to

The Dealmaker's coming to collect


As the Elevator raced upwards, the Dealmaker raised his right hand holding one the NZ BP/KS-30 blaster pistols in a firm grip, all the while holstering the one he carried in his left hand. A sigh escaped his lips, to be forced in such a predicament was never fun. Though usually, he didn't really care much about the politics or the decisions made by the Imperial Confederation, he did warn Marlon Sularen Marlon Sularen and Karl Von Strauss Karl Von Strauss that any act contrary to his own designs and endangering the work he had put into the confederation would be met with equal resilience and resistance. The Dealmaker, the persona and guise he used mainly as a way to draw attention away from who he really was, to downplay his presence... would suit this situation fine. For no matter the clothes he wore, no matter the face others would be beholden to, there was no mistaking the monster hidden behind the skin of man.

As the elevator doors opened, he could just see them move Cynan Obaith Cynan Obaith out of the cell, he could see the team under the command of Joseph Torson Joseph Torson , even Ronhar Tane Ronhar Tane and a handful of others. "Really...this is so annoying...could you all just..."

"MOVE!!"


Raising his left hand, the Dealmaker snapped his fingers, releasing a massive shockwave through the force, with enough force and power to crack the floor immediately beneath him, traversing throughout the corridor with enough force to slam even the heaviest of stormtroopers to the walls with little effort. "I believe we are in a conundrum... my dear Imperial Compatriots... but I doubt you'd want to anger me. I will be taking the ambassador of your hands, this is not a request... this is a warning, of a final nature. You are free to act against the intruders as you see fit, but I hold jurisdiction here, you...I'm affraid, do not...not anymore at least."

Reaching towards the Ambassador with his left hand, the Dealmaker instinctively raised two fingers, attempting to lift the man off of his feet and pull Cynan to him. With his blasterpistol at the ready, the Dealmaker simply awaited what the other imperials would do. Would they try to defy the strongest force within the imperial confederation or would they still believe the madness could not be stopped... for that was what the Dealmaker thought about this entire situation: madness created by the impulsiveness of the Supreme Commander...

 

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