Dominion An Enclave Life Day | Mandalorian Enclave Dominion of Zaadja Hex

[Vargr]

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LIFE DAY IN
THE ENCLAVE​

Every year, the unnerving speed of the Galaxy seems to simultaneously slow down, and pick up. It's been this way since long before most can remember, and shows no signs of stopping any time soon. Wars come and go, the Stars fade and glow, the Force ebbs and flows, and the Galaxy hastens and slows. That is the way of it, and this year is no different. As conflict simmers and crackles, an uneasy peace forms between galactic powers as most tend to stray from open warfare with each other. Families, both given and found, come closer to celebrate the passing of one more year, of surviving one more year in such a cruel and unforgiving galaxy.

While the Mandalorian People as a whole tend to stray from such widespread traditions and celebrations, whether out of sheer disdain for the symbolism or a more simple objection to the cheeriness brought about in such times, the Mandalorian Enclave is more than just the Mandalorian People. Whilst the Mando'ade may comprise most of the national government, they do not comprise most of the population; as the Enclave's borders expand, so too does the Beskar-less populace.

And as the Aruetti population expands, their traditions and customs become evermore expressed in day to day life, seeping into the Mandalorian culture.

The streets of Tor Valum presently find themselves adorned with innumerous Life Day ornaments and decorations, and an unusual cheer permeates through the air; even the volcanic heating of the city can't seem to stop the snowfall, however light. While the Mando'ade might see this near-overnight change to their secret refuge as offensive, or perhaps they might even accept it, it soon became clear that not a thing could be done to change it. No warrior, however strong, could fight a millennia-old tradition.

Perhaps it was not such a terrible occurrence, either. After all, the traditional Wookie festival aligned partly with values important to all Sons and Daughters of Mandalore, but especially so to those who rallied under the Enclave's banner; honouring the dead, and the next generation are key aspects of Life Day.

O B J E C T I V E - I
Saints & Stooges

Nobody understands the key values of Life Day better than the Mandalorians of the Enclave. While honouring the dead is inherent to many cultures, few have faced the practical destruction of their ancestral homeworld. The survivors of the schism flocked to Kestri, many having lost their family; mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters simply... gone. Many having lost their lives in the defence of their homes, their families, buying precious time for others to escape. Moreso, they understand the importance of the younger generations- the foundlings and clan-born who'll take up the mantle, who'll continue their culture and their dream. Who will rebuild what they have lost.

The Capital City of Tor Valum is covered in Life Day decorations, holo-trees and colourful lights offer a cheerful contrast to the cold, steel-grey of the city. Countless stalls in the market district find themselves offering novelty items to commemorate the first 'official' Enclave Life Day. Bars and inns offer festive drinks and meals, and almost all shops across the planet offer some form of novelty or discount to spread the cheer.

The city of Tor Valum and it's countless festivities are open to all who call the Enclave home. Saints & Stooges alike.

O B J E C T I V E - I I
Dead or Alive

No matter the season or the celebration, the Karjr Guild never rest in ensuring the on going security and safety of the Enclave, both within its borders and without. Recently, Karjr Agents have uncovered an abandoned stronghold believed to belong to the Confederacy of Independent Systems. This stronghold, located on the planet of Zaadja, was designated for further investigation as a possible border outpost for Enclave militant forces.

Even more recently, however, Karjr Agents monitoring an independent Sith Lord have tracked him to this very stronghold. This Sith Lord has been linked to the leadership of a pirate organisation, the so-called 'Horned Raiders', known to frequent the Vlemoth Port-Kestri Trade Route. As such the Karjr Guildmaster, Volo Dragr , has designated the target as a Tier-I bounty, and authorised a reward of fifteen crimson tokens or five thousand underworld credits.

Hunt down the Sith Scum, and show him the Enclave's justice. Claim your reward, Dead or Alive.

O B J E C T I V E - I I I
Trial By Snow

More than any others in the Enclave, the sworn, noble warriors of the Si'kahya understand the distaste many of their uninitiated brethren might have for the traditional celebrations of the Aruetti. They understand that people honour their ancestors in different ways, and that such a sombre occasion might be spoilt by the bright lights and festivities adorning the streets of Tor Valum.

As such, the vaunted warriors have opened the Beskar Gates of the Kom'rk Citadel to all Mandalorians. On offer are instructional combat classes by veteran Si'kahya warriors, as well as various empty duelling arenas, ranges, combat sims, courses and other assorted facilities. All the venerable Si'kahya ask is that all visitors respect the rules and sanctity of their citadel, as well as refraining from venturing beyond the safety of their citadel and into the neighbouring Worldship Crater.

Respect these rules, and you are guaranteed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the full glory of the Si'kahya monastery. This is your Trial by Snow.

O B J E C T I V E - I V
Bring Your Own Objective

As always, the Galaxy is a limitless place. Go beyond what is strictly on offer, and explore. Lead your trusted friends on a commemorative hunt of Kestri's native Drahrr'Jor, lead a toast to fallen comrades in one of the many bars of Vlemoth Port, or honour the memories of the departed by getting to work hunting down one of the Karjr Guild's most wanted criminals.

Bring Your Own Objective.
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[Lyrdel Beroya]

TRIAL BY SNOW
Aela Wren
- - - - -

The red-skinned Nautolan stood out in the snow, looking out from the empty landing pad over the snow-covered wilderness of Kestri. While his homeplanet, Vlemoth Port, had snow... it wasn't anything like Kestri; Vlemoth Port's snowy plains were like a shallow lake compared to Kestri's rolling ocean of snow.

He held his trusty vibrospear with one hand, butt pressed against the the cold metal platform as he held it like a wiseman would hold his staff. A thick fur coat was uncharacteristically draped over his shoulders, it's weight evident only in how little it was moved by the substantial wind native to the mountainous region the Kom'rk Citadel presided over.

Beneath his coat he wore borrowed, traditional, Si'kahya dueling leathers which did a better-than-expected job at breaking the wind as it tried to crash through the lighter clothes he wore beneath. Perhaps it shouldn't have been so surprising given that the Si'kahya made this their home, that their garments would suit the climate.

Though he could not see it himself, even the humble Alor of Clan Beroya would have admitted that, especially given the light snowfall covering him, the whole scene was quite cinematic. It fit him in a not altogether odd way, given how most knew him as the strong and serious leader, to be waiting so dramatically.

Fortunately, he was not waiting on most-who-knew-him, but on his own daughter- Aela Wren .

While Shel had, undoubtedly, seen the side that Lyrdel presented to most, she had far more opportunities to see a rarer side of him. The soft, gentle giant that truly cared for those he held dear.

Unfortunately, the Clan Alor had... well, he hadn't seen much of his beloved daughter recently. Indeed, it had been a long while since they had seen each other. It was, of course, expected; Shel was committed to the Enclave's Navy, a path which Lyrdel had, after all, encouraged her to follow. Not for wanting to rid himself of the lovable nuisance, but to temper her fiery, stubborn personality with the experience of leading others of the Mando'ade.

Letting out a misty breath, Lyrdel couldn't stop the smile that creeped up his face as the reality set in, that he might get to see his daughter again. Not just another near-miss of finding themselves within spitting distance of each other, but separated by duty. He had come to spend the week at the Kom'rk Citadel, visiting an old friend who had found himself in the Si'kahya mix, a friend who had been caught up in a minor pirate skirmish on the way back from his assignment.

So, he had left a message for his too-busy daughter. An invitation to the citadel, to see her old man again. No doubt, one of the Si'kahya would lead her to him, assuming she hadn't gotten too important to pay a visit.
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[Lenaghan Deuvont]

SAINTS & STOOGES
Rylan Haller
- - - - -
Outlaw

The cold. The damn cold.

Lenaghan hated it. Hated how it bit through his usual clothes, how it froze his skin and dried his eyes. Moreso, he hated how it had been his idea to wait out in it.

High Command had attached his unit, Ranger Company, to some newly-formed battalion; some baloney assignment to complement the ground-pounders with a long-term spec ops element, all without coughing up extra credits to train up soldiers from the battalion itself. 'Course, Lenaghan and his company got a whole fif-teen percent pay rise to accomodate for the 'persistent deployment'.

Officially, he still reported direct to his Brigadier and didn't have the damnedest clue who the Battalion's CO was. Unofficially, he'd had some friends in the know get him a copy of the kid's file- because he was a kid, by his standards atleast. A fresh enough intake, transferred from some backwash planetary defense force. Put in charge of one of the Corps newest battalions as a gamble, by the looks of it; you could miss his service record just by skim reading.

There wasn't a doubt in the veteran's mind that the upstart would come in listing off minor regulation faults, trying to take charge of Ranger Company like he owned the damn thing and had spilt even a drop of blood for it. His men, and women (he was just inclusive like that), were a tight-knit group. High Command gave him a bi-annual selection from across the Corps, and he handpicked new recruits- call it the advantage of being the Corps premier spec ops group.

Len could practically hear the new CO grinding his gears the second he opened the file, and he hadn't wanted their first meeting to be under the false pretenses of respect and good conduct that Command would hold them to. That was the thing about uniformity, after all, you never got to learn somebody's true colours till they were tested.

So, just a bit over a day from when they'd officially and formally be introduced by his Brigadier, he'd invited the fresh blood out for a few drinks on Kestri. He had a soft spot for the Mandalorians, after all, even if he was set against the snow.

He pulled the cigarette from his nearly-frozen lips as he exhaled what could have been smoke or mist. Flicking it to the snow-covered pavement as he pressed his heel into it, snuffing out its embers. Raising his head, he saw... Rylan? Rylan Hauler? coming down the empty street.

And he tipped his hat, 'cause that's just what Geonosian men do.
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[Rylan Haller]

Tags: Lenaghan Deuvont

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Last Light​

The young man could feel himself shivering slightly from Kestri’s cold; despite the long, dark gray trench coat, and two layers of clothing he wore underneath, failed to stop the unforgiving cold.

And apparently the weather was nowhere near to the more extreme temperatures the locals here were accustomed to. If this was not extreme, he couldn’t imagine what the extreme weather condition was on Kestri, not having experienced such cold before in his life.

He would have much preferred to spend his leave on base, if he was being honest. In his quarters, warm, reading a holobook; re-reading field manuals and regulations, for probably the hundredth time, undoubtedly gets old.

But nevertheless, seeming undeterred by the uncomfortable cold and the gentle, yet bone chilling winds, the young Marine walked the empty, snow covered streets of Tor Valum at a leisurely pace, peering about and getting a feel for the city in the meantime; irregardless of his preference to be in base right about now, he could not decline Captain Devount’s kind invitation to get acquainted in more unofficial terms, prior to the official meet tomorrow morning; a commander of a special operations detachment, attached to his recently formed battalion as a supporting element.

Deuvont’s reputation most certainly preceded him as well, that much was certain.
His service appeared to extend further than the foundation of The Enclave, too; at least from what he had clearance to read that was not black-taped in his personnel file.

But despite the good chunk of his information that was crossed out that even he as Commander did not possess the clearance level to fully view the details in The Captain’s service record, not everything was redacted; it appeared, prior to their dissolvement, he had served in the ranks of the Dauntless Commandos of the Confederacy of Independent Systems.

Dozens of recommendations, service medals and awards… he was already chest full of medals before he joined and resumed his military career under the flag of The Enclave.

A valuable asset to the Corps, undoubtedly so.

Entering the next street after rounding the corner, the young Commander would be pulled away from his half-musing state at the sight of The Captain, further down the street; offered a silent greeting by the Geonosian man in the form of a hat tip as he stubbed out his cigarra, the young man would offer him a silent nod of his head to return the gesture. Picking up his leisurely pace ever so slightly as he made his way towards him, the young Marine would extend a hand forth, offering the man a firm handshake once he got near him. ”Captain Deuvont,” the young Commander said, at a mildly reverential tone of his voice; his words were accompanied with a courteous smile.

Even though he was not in uniform, and wore civilian attire for the occasion, it did very little to deter the young man from carrying himself in the demeanor of a Marine, and that of an officer, at that; as all Marines should. Through their actions and mannerisms, they represented the Corps.

Professionalism, was one of the things they were known for.

”Delighted to make your acquaintance.” The Commander would say, with his courteous smile lingering, should The Captain accept his greeting in the form of a handshake.

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[Lenaghan Deuvont]

SAINTS & STOOGES
Rylan Haller
- - - - -
War Pigs

"Commander Hauler."

The grizzled, yet still charmingly handsome, Captain announced. Stepping off of the wall he was leaning back on, he gripped the younger man's hand tightly as he yanked him in, shoulder to shoulder. Clapping the man hard on the back before letting go, his roughness came off in a friendly manner. Nothing more than gruff, manly friendship... accented by the rather obvious mispronunciation of the man's last name, a carryover from the holocall message he'd left the man.

Lenaghan stepped back, brushing his coat back as he pressed his hands to his hips; corps-issued blasterbelt sitting tightly around his waist, the same pair of pistols issued to all commissioned officers sitting in their holsters, just as they would've were he wearing his full armour. He looked the man up and down, lively blue and green eyes flicking over Rylan.

It wasn't hard to imagine those same eyes behind the sights of a rifle, or behind their knock-off T-Visor.

"You're lookin' a bit roughed up, you walk through a blizzard on the way here or somethin'?"" he remarked, shortly before clapping him on the back again.

Without waiting a moment more, the veteran was walking side by side with the youngster; round the corner he'd been waiting by and right through the door of a Mandalorian bar. What was odd about the whole situation, besides its swiftness, was how strong and seemingly irresistible his hand was, especially considering how little force he should've been able to apply from his position. "Be a sport and grab us a table, kid-" he practically ordered, hand falling away as he walked off and up towards the bar.

Coming back barely a minute later, trusting that the Commander had found them a seat, he placed two opened bottles of kri'gee on the table, sitting opposite Rylan. "So, you're my new CO." Lenaghan lead, taking a ship of the bitter ale, "Tell me, how far'd you get into my personnel file before you got to the black tape?" he said, his casual demeanour a clear contrast to the Commander's professionalism.

"Oh, I know you read it, by the way. I can see it on your face; you got that weird look when you shook my hand." the Captain said, only on his second sip from the bottle and halfway through it already. "Ain't no harm gonna come about me answering a few questions, so ask away." he preempted.

If there was one thing, above all others, that stuck out about Captain Deuvont, it was how unassumingly quick witted he was. Already, he set himself up as an incredibly brilliant, if not academically gifted, man... despite whatever his rough exterior might suggest towards the contrary.

"By the way, call me Len- we ain't on duty. Besides, I've heard enough drunks try and enunciate my name to know that it don't work."
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[Rylan Haller]

Tags: Lenaghan Deuvont

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The Commander & The Veteran​

"Commander Hauler."

Although he couldn’t help but think The Captain’s mispronunciation of his surname made it sound like it was a rather unimaginative name for a haulier company, such thoughts were quick to be swept away when The Veteran pulled him into a more candid greeting than a handshake, denied the moment to voice the proper pronunciation of his surname, and correct The Captain; totally caught off guard by the his gesture, the young man’s eyes momentarily widened in surprise as his shoulder met that of The Captain’s. Feeling the stern yet mildly clapping on his back, the young Commander would return the gesture in kind after recovering from his mildly bemused state.

He was not expecting to be greeted as if they’ve known each other for years; The young man would make sure to remember the seemingly sincere side of The Captain, going forward.

Taking a step back from The Captain a moment after their rather informal greeting came to a conclusion, the young man would take a moment to straighten his coat; a friendly yet mildly serious smile would continue to linger. He too, just as The Captain, would take only but a brief moment to take measure of the man standing before him; although previously imperceivable, he could see the white dim glint of the blasterbelt’s plastoid, sitting tightly around Captain Deuvont’s waist.

It was not at all unusual to see servicemen conceal carry a weapon while off duty, a special forces personnel such as the fine Ranger standing before him, less so; the young man was not surprised at the sight of it, but he was made mildly curious. Kestri was among the galaxy's safest places; The city of Tor Valum was nothing short of a fortress, and not to mention her inhabitants hailed from a widely known warrior culture, The Mandalorians. The mostly nomadic warrior people’s exploits and sagas throughout history were nothing short of legendary; even despite his mild resentment he held deep down towards the warrior people, he could not at all deny their combat prowess.

Only a courageous fool would dare to even think of besieging such a planet.

To that end he was not sure about the man’s reasoning behind having the need to carry a concealed weapon. <More than likely a habit,> the young man thought to himself.

"You're lookin' a bit roughed up, you walk through a blizzard on the way here or somethin'?""

”Ah, you could say I’ve sorely misjudged Kestri’s cold,” The Commander said grinningly; after another seemingly hearty clap at his back at the wake of his response, Rylan followed The Captain’s lead, walking into the Mandalorian bar together, shoulder-to-shoulder; the gesture had him faintly raise an eyebrow, but he followed suit nevertheless.

"Be a sport and grab us a table, kid-"

His following remark upon entering the bar, however, most certainly earned The Captain a raised eyebrow; stood unmoving for a second, the young man’s gaze trailed him for but a moment as he walked up to the bar to get something to drink for the both of them; Deuvont’s rather impudent mannerism was certainly going to take some time to get used to. Nevertheless, the young man would not raise a harsh, ill-tempered comment at The Veteran in response to the man’s words; for the time being, he would continue to humor The Captain.

Settling down at an unoccupied table by a window, it would not be for long until The Captain joined him; as The Veteran set the drinks on the table, the young man offered him a silent gratitude in the form of a nod of his head out of courtesy.

"So, you're my new CO." Lenaghan lead, taking a ship of the bitter ale, "Tell me, how far'd you get into my personnel file before you got to the black tape?"

The corner of his mouth quirked in mild bemusement as he listened to the man, with an eyebrow raised ever so slightly in silent response. Before he could even say his file could barely be read, or that its “informational” contents could barely be regarded as “comprehensible” after severe redaction by Command, even for his clearance level, the quick witted Veteran was swift to put his sharp observational skills into words.

"Oh, I know you read it, by the way. I can see it on your face; you got that weird look when you shook my hand."

The young Commander’s head tilted to the side ever so slightly as his mildly bemused half grin continued to linger; he made sure to take note of The Captain’s sharp attention to detail; not that he expected anything less than a member of a special operations unit.

Reaching for his drink in silence, Rylan would take a sip of the Mandalorian drink as The Veteran continued; he couldn’t help but mildly shudder at the bitter, potent drink as he swallowed a sip, burning down his throat. It tasted like what he’d imagine fermented piss to taste like. It was certainly an acquired taste, this one; how in God’s name did The Veteran made halfway through his drink already, was beyond him.

"Ain't no harm gonna come about me answering a few questions, so ask away." he preempted.

”I think if Command deemed it a necessity I’d be made aware of the full extent of your service record, they would have made your file more accessible to my clearance level from the beginning, Captain.” the young man politely remarked, not wanting to get himself into trouble with Command, if he were to come into the possession of sensitive information regarding The Captain; there was a reason certain things were kept on a need-to-know basis. If Command deemed him not a part of the aforementioned, then he was not in the need-to-know. It was as simple as that.

"By the way, call me Len- we ain't on duty. Besides, I've heard enough drunks try and enunciate my name to know that it don't work."

A soft, genuine chuckle would escape him at the mention of the drunkard mispronunciation of The Veterans name by others. ”As you wish, Mister Deuvont,” the young man spared him an acknowledging nod of his head as a subtle grin lingered on his features, complying with The Veteran’s request to be not addressed by his rank while off duty. ”Do satisfy my intrigue, then," the young man began after a moment of contemplating silence from him, in response to The Veteran beckoning him to raise an inquiry. ”Are all Rangers such as your fine self clamorous, and, for the lack of a better word… obstreperous, in nature?” the young man would ask him after trying out the Mandalorian drink Kri’gee for a second time; nope, this drink certainly did not appeal to his taste. Far too bitter.

But despite the underlying witty nature of his question, returning The Veteran’s sass in his own courteous mannerisms, the young Commander’s polite tone of voice and genuinity in which he had voiced his inquiry, would indicate the question was serious in nature; he was wondering about the nature of the men assigned under The Captain’s command, and whether the members of his battalion could work well with them, or whether he would have to deal with disorderly conduct on a daily basis.

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[Lenaghan Deuvont]

SAINTS & STOOGES
Rylan Haller
- - - - -

"I'll put it this way, kid... we're a tight knit bunch, and we're as irregular as our operations. If you find me two rangers that're the same, I'll tell the Kaminoans they've got competition." Len replied, a hearty chuckle in his tone as he finished up his bottle of kri'gee. "You won't have to worry 'bout us though, we like to keep to ourselves... something I'm sure High Com's gonna be lecturing you about if they ain't already."

Going for another sip, only to find his bottle empty, he put it on the table rather roughly as his eyes inevitably found the practically full glass of his companion. Gesturing to his companion's bottle, "Not your style? Don't blame you, even Mandalorians can barely stomach the stuff. Pass it here and get yourself something lighter. Can't promise you'll get much choice at a Mandalorian Bar, but their Ne'tra Gal is sweeter."

Pausing a moment, his gaze darting back to the young Commander's, "Word of advice- Call it black ale, ole bucket heads don't like people using their language without some Beskar to back it up."

Hopefully taking a sip of his drink with the kid having made up his mind about his own, the Captain took a break from chatting him up, giving the youngster an opportunity to get any real questions in, in spite of his protests about need-to-know and confidentiality.

Absently reaching into his pocket, the seasoned man pulled out a circular coin. Judging by the rough beauty of the metal, it was Beskar; going by the Enclave's currency system, it would have to be a ceremonial piece, a token of appreciation that was far more valuable than it's weight in credits.

Flicking the coin back and forth between his fingers, he regarded the man sitting across from him again, having proven rather tolerant to his attitude being spat back at him. "I'm serious kid, ask me anything. Operational history, personal life, unit history... anything. You and I both know that you'll find out what's behind that black tape one way or another, I'd prefer if it was from me."

Offering a polite chuckle, Deuvont seemed to try and ease the tension with another chuckle, "Believe me, I was the one who started half the rumour's you'll hear."
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[Kreg Jare]

Objective II | Open
​

The warrior sat behind a large, snow-covered rock, scanning the stronghold that sat a few hundred feet into the valley.

All of those weaklings were back on Kestri, sipping on their hot chocolate and eating fresh pastries. Pathetic. If Kreg was there, his fallen brothers and sisters would forever shame his existence. That is why he was crouched on the cold surface of Zaadja. He must continue bringing pride to his former clan.

Through his visor, the man took a gaze upon the stronghold. A few guards sat out front, guarding the main entrance. Two groups of patrols marched across the upper decks. The bridge between the two structures seemed highly vulnerable to attack, so that would be their point of entry.

Looking back, he saw the other brave warriors who sat with him. Whoever these people were, they believed along with him that the Sith should not be able to proper. They need to be exterminated like the pests they are.

Checking his vibroblade and twin pistols one final time, Kreg soon addressed the group.

“Our point of entry is going to be the bridge. There are no patrols that walk over it, so we have the element of surprise. We head out in a few minutes. Any objections?”

 

[Siv Dragr]

K A R J R​

Objective: Eliminate Target
Tag: Kreg Jare

“One. We don't know what air support or reinforces this Sith could have at his disposal.” Siv spoke through his comms as he surveyed the derelict compound from an adjacent ridge. Although the facility showed apparent neglect and decades worth of weathering the elements after being abandoned by its former owners, he could pick out the tiny little indications of renovation across it: flashing lights, running generators, and wiring strewn haphazardly.

He shifted his position so he could view the facility better through the scope of his sniper rifle. From his vantage point he could make out the hangar doors, and according to the schematics intelligence had obtained, that would be the only hangar in the compound. It meant they could very well have something, but whatever starships they had at their disposal would be limited. "We should secure that hangar first to cut off any escape. Splitting into two might work best here," he suggested over the comm transmission.

 

[Corbin Vasher]

Corbin stepped into a cantina, grateful for the warmth after the cold outside. He didn't need to look around; he could feel the presence of the people he had come to see. He walked up to the table where the four other members of Clan Vasher sat, grinning at his family.

"Ner ad!" his father exclaimed, as his mother jumped to wrap her arms around her son.

"I haven't been gone that long," Corbin laughed, returning the hug. "But it is nice to see you all again, regardless."
The oldest person at the table stood up. Corbin saluted his Alor and gave a slight, respectful bow. "Ba'buir."

His grandmother smiled and also pulled him in for an embrace. "Welcome home. Though I suppose you'll always see Susevfi as your home. I can understand. Mandalore will always be my true home."

"Home is where your loved ones are. As such, both Susevfi and Kestri are my home."

"Well said! Wise words indeed," his father said. "Come, sit down. What would you like to drink?"

Corbin sat down beside his Chiss uncle, who grinned at him. "So, Vabr, how go things on Susevfi?"

"Bantha milk hot chocolate, of course! It is Life Day, after all." Corbin turned to his uncle. "Things have been uneasy. Sith influence is steadily growing. It won't be too long, I fear, before there will be all-out war between them and the League. Thankfully, the Enclave and the League are good allies, but their rapid growth is unsettling. But let's not talk of that. It's time to be of good cheer!"

 

[Kreg Jare]

Objective II | Siv Dragr
​

A small chirp alerted the warrior of an incoming comms transmission.

Siv did bring up a good point about the hangar. Even though it would be unwise to try and fly in this weather, it was common knowledge that Sith will do everything in their power to take out their enemies. Kreg knew that all too well. Flicking on his thermal HUD, the man scanned downwards towards the direction of the hangar bay. Peering down, he could see a few guards standing out front, with a few more inside. The patterns and alignment of the men inside let him know that there was something lining the middle of the building. Whether that was starfighters or something else, Kreg would rather not let the Sith pirates have a chance to use it.

"It would be unwise to let that hangar bay release whatever it has stored. Siv, if you can take control of the hangar bay, then my squad can group up with yours inside. While we are unsure of the pirates' numbers, we know that they do not expect us. Take them out, then secure the base."

Unholstering one of his blaster pistols, Kreg made his way over to the edge of the hillside. Black smoke pillowed out of a large exhaust port ahead. That would hopefully help cover their entry. Letting out a deep breath, the man slid down the snow surface, making his way to the top of the stronghold's roof. More of the squadron followed him down as they checked the area for any pirates. Once confirming they were all clear, they quickly and quietly made their way over to the bridge overlook.

It wouldn't be long before they secured this side of the facility, before eventually meeting up with Siv and his group in the hangar.

 

[Siv Dragr]

K A R J R​

Objective: Eliminate Target
Tag: Kreg Jare

Siv was silent as Kreg spoke, observing the compound through the macro-enhanced field of vision that his helmet granted to him. "Acknowledged," was the simple reply he gave to Kreg before switching off his comms. Beter to run on zero communication than risk a stray transmission giving their element of surprise away.

He rolled away from his observation point, sliding down several meters on the smooth, rain-slicked rock. The weather aided him in concealment from whatever defensive systems the compound had employed, but from what he had observed the Sith fugitive had absconded protection in favor of hiding from detection. Little that had done, in the end, Siv reflected as he began his approach on the hangar.

The uneven rocky terrain made sneaking to the perimeter of the compound much easier than it would've been otherwise. The massive hangar doors were closed shut, and Siv didn't have any tool on him that could cut through a meter-thick wall of durasteel. But quickly he noticed an exhaust vent on the side, small enough that he would be forced to crawl, but big enough that he could still manage to fit through. Pulling out a laser cutter, he sliced his way through the vent gate and pulled himself inside.