Faction Come What May || Mandalorian Empire

[Aether Verd]

MANDALORE
"To survive today, we must plan for tomorrow."​

The doors parted with a hydraulic hiss.

Metal-shod boots struck durasteel with purpose as Mand’alor the Iron stepped onto the bridge. Black and crimson plates caught the light of day, the T-shaped visor of his helm unmoved, unreadable, yet commanding as ever. At once, the bridge crew stood at attention—but he raised a hand.

“Stand easy.”

Aether Verd crossed the deck with the gravity of one who carried a nation on his shoulders. He did not rush. He did not speak until he reached the command throne at the heart of the vessel—an aged seat of leather and iron, polished and worn from wars long past. When he lowered himself into it, the lights of the bridge dimmed slightly, the silence around him settling like a mantle.

A nod to the helmsman. “Take us into orbit.”

As the stars began to shift and the engines hummed beneath their feet, his golden visor swept across those gathered—each handpicked, each chosen not for fame, but for promise.

“You came without knowing the full scope,” he began, voice calm but resonant. “That alone speaks to your faith in Mandalore. In me. For that—I thank you.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gauntlets folded.

“The Empire is thriving. Our banners are rising. But I have no interest in becoming another name added to the list of those who rose fast and fell faster. Victories are fleeting. The future is what matters.”

A pause. A breath.

“And sometimes, to build the future, we must look back.”

The viewscreen showed the darkness of space, vast and unknowable.

“If Mandalore falls again—if the galaxy turns on us or our kin lose their way—I will not see our people scattered, leaderless, and without purpose. There will be beacons. There will be refuge.”

He stood once more, the full weight of his armor echoing with motion.

“Our destination is Roon. The cradle of the Taung. From there, we lay the first stone in a new foundation. A haven. A legacy. One that will outlast all of us."

Then, with a final glance to the crew and warriors assembled:

“Prepare for jump.”

The engines rumbled beneath their feet, but before the vessel slipped into hyperspace, Aether spoke once more:

“If any of you have questions,” he said, voice steady, “ask them now. Once we reach Roon, we move with certainty. No hesitations. No doubts. The future doesn’t wait. But I’ll give you a moment to speak before we claim it.”

Valah Hagen , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Manti Wyrvhor , Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Space, Sector Unknown

Itzhal stood alone, a distant observer surrounded by the active hustle and bustle of a warship. Close to the throne of a man who had taken the entire sector by storm, Itzhal reflected that it had been some time since he'd stood in a similar position.

Back then, his choice had been simple: a decision made after years of interactions and the certainty that the man he wished to follow had dreamed the same dream as himself.

He could not say the same for Aether Verd, the Mand'alor of Iron.

The truth was, Itzhal knew very little of the man behind Mandalor's most recent resurgence. A hero, perhaps, though whether his protection of worlds such as Ketaris and Taris was noble or merely an excuse to bloody his people in honourable combat, he could not say. Nor could he fully decipher the decision to acknowledge the crusaders that had come before, whether it was an acknowledgement of respect for their brutal ways, or the wisdom to look upon the past and study what could be improved.

Such was the nature of Mandalorians, contrary in the best and worst of ways.

It had been a surprise then, despite knowing little of the man who would call himself leader of their people, to receive a request to travel to the Resolute Dawn for a mission with the Mand'alor. Not that Itzhal hadn't realised Aether Verd was aware of him. It was impossible not to, especially after he'd received temporary use of Aether's basilisk, a sign of favour that was as pragmatic as it was honoured. After all, the droid's kind had been little more than a novelty during his time, though the prestige of such a mount had still remained to some extent.

In the end, the choice to attend was simple, even with the complications of ensuring his schedule was free for whatever situation they might encounter. He was curious to hear what the Mand'alor required.

Aether Verd's arrival answered some of those questions, delivered with the certainty of a warrior king before he laid questions at their feet.

"How long is this expected to last?" Itzhal inquired, helm tilted up towards the throne and the man who would lead them, the same man who could rarely be spared for long, the burden of leadership and the bonds that tied his empire like a chain around his neck. He did not voice his reasoning; the others could judge his question as they wished, whether it be curiosity about their leader or a desire to avoid lingering for long.

Whether they'd be here long enough to learn more about each other, he did not know, only that they had been chosen for some reason, same as himself. To travel the stars and to create the foundations of a refuge for those who followed.

With a tilt of his helm, the faint, ethereal glow of distant stars shimmered against the surface of Itzhal's visor, casting delicate patterns that danced like cosmic whispers across the transparisteel—secrets hidden in the distance, sanctuary between the gaps of the void.

Tags: Aether Verd Valah Hagen Jaikell Wyrvhor Manti Wyrvhor​

 

[Valah Hagen]

The bridge lights dim as the hum of the engines steadies, waiting. Silence falls after Mand’alor speaks — then footsteps echo. Valah Hagen steps forward, helmet under one arm, face marked by fresh scars and steel resolve. Her crew stands just behind her — a mismatched band of fighters shaped by fire. Her voice is low at first, but strong.

“Then let me speak, Mand’alor.”

She looks not just at Aether, but at every warrior on the deck.

“I’ve stood alone before. Thought I had no clan. Thought I had no place. Eyok tried to bury me in that belief — in blood and betrayal and a war I didn’t ask for. But war doesn’t ask. It takes."

"But these are my people now. My family. Found in the fire. Sharpened in the dark. And in the worst of it, I remembered what it means to wear this armor. Not for glory. Not for vengeance. But for each other."

Valah steps closer to Aether, meeting his gaze through his golden visor.

"You speak of legacy. Of looking back to build forward. Then hear this: I stand ready. We all do."

She lifts her helmet slowly, then nods to the crew.

"We're with you. On Roon, and wherever the Way leads."

Then she looks once more to Aether Verd , her voice calm but unshakable.

"You carry the future, Mand'alor. Let us be the ones who guard it."

And with those words spoken, She suits up fully and readies for the jump while listening in on Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORE

Aether’s helm turned toward Itzhal. The golden visor held steady, unreadable, but there was recognition behind the mask—earned, not given.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said, voice low but audible across the bridge, “but my Basilisk remembers you.”

A brief pause. A hint of humor in his tone. “Combat logs say you kept it quite busy. It sang your praises.” A faint chuckle escaped the vocoder—rare, but real.

His posture straightened as he answered the question plainly. “Once groundside on Roon, we scout for a fitting site and secure it. Establish a perimeter, begin construction. A few days’ work, a week at worst—provided the ghosts of the past are willing to share the land.”

Then came the sound of footsteps—measured, deliberate.

Aether turned as Valah stepped forward. He had not known her well, but he knew the scars she wore. The kind forged in silence. The kind earned in fire.

When she asked to speak, he nodded once—slow and sure. Permission granted.

And he listened.

To every word.

When she finished, he rose from the command throne and crossed the short distance between them. His right fist struck his chestplate with a thud that echoed through the bridge.

“I stand,” he said, the words heavy with purpose, “because Mandalore has need. Not of symbols. Not of statues. But of people.”

His voice grew stronger, not louder—more anchored.

“I stand for you. For all of you. And I carry the future for you—not above you.”

Aether turned slightly, sweeping his gaze across the bridge once more.

“This mission is more than dirt and stone. It is a beacon. A promise. A place to return to, no matter what the galaxy becomes. A place for our children to remember who they are. Where they came from.”

He stepped back, giving space to the moment, to the warriors gathered before him.

“If there are more words to be spoken—speak them. We carry the future together. Let none say they were left unheard.”

And with that, he waited.

Not as Mand’alor.

But as a man among warriors.​

Valah Hagen , Itzhal Volkihar , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Manti Wyrvhor

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

Manti would watch, listen, and inventory each word said into the depths of her mind. She leaned on the far bulkhead next to the entry of the bridge, her black visor hiding her expression and her steel armor almost blending in with the environment except for the pitch black and white symbol of the Black Watch emblazoned on the one white pauldron of her armor. There is an intensity to her, to one attempting to give off the appearance of relaxation without really knowing what that word means. She had spent her life in near constant conflict, so much so that the quiet moments always felt like only a prelude to more bloodshed. She watched the Mand'alor, carefully, as if waiting for weapons to be drawn.

She did not believe they would be, the logical part of her knew she was safe here. But decades of instinct were hard to ignore. She had positioned herself in such a way to get the best view of the whole room, keep an eye on each of its occupants while being out-of-sight from the door should it be opened suddenly.

She had come to listen, to understand, and to help if she was able. Roon, a planet she had never visited. If the Mand'alor was right it was an important location to the long dead ancestors of her people, though Manti doubted any remnants of theirs remained. But out of the ancient undisturbed ashes of the old would come something new, at least that is what the Mand'alor promised. To build something, that would be a change of pace. Manti had taken before, but never built. At least, not until the acquisition of Mandal Hypernautics, but even then she only directed the actual builders.

She would listen to the conversation, intently. But would ultimately choose to remain silent, nothing constructive to add to this conversation. She would do what is required of her for her people, as was the duty of every Mandalorian. Socializing had never been Manti's strongsuit, so she would stay leaning on her bulkhead, silent.

Valah Hagen Itzhal Volkihar Jaikell Wyrvhor Aether Verd​

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

Jaikell stood at the edge of the gathering, one shoulder against a bulkhead, arms folded across his chest, watchful. He wasn't one for speeches, and he rarely sought the center of the room. But when Aether invited questions, invited truth—Jaikell pushed off the wall.

His boots sounded once, twice, as he stepped forward.
"You speak of legacy. Of laying stones. I can fight for that." he says
He paused, "We've built before. Built strongholds, fleets, glory—and watched them burn. Not because we lacked strength. Because we lost ourselves.
"You speak of building a place for our children to remember who they are"

"Then we must give them more than walls and banners. We must give them a truth that lasts longer than war. Something unshakable, even if we're not there to speak it.

He took one more step forward,
"So I ask you, Mand'alor—not as a challenge, but as kin: will this be a place where they rest, where they become idle or where they're forged, Trained to become real Mandalorian Warriors?"

Another breath, quiet but solid.
"Because what we build will teach them who they are. And what we leave behind will tell them what we believed."

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Space, Sector Unknown

Itzhal Volkihar stood with an air of quiet confidence across from the Mand'alor, a title that meant much, yet also so little without the near-impossible mixture of charisma, wisdom and vision that such a position required; even then, their people were so often divided it was not uncommon to find more than one individual with a credit to the name. In many ways, the following titles had been as much a necessity as they were a form of accolade, if only to remember which Mand'alor one was speaking of.

Still, there had been a point, long ago by now, that Itzhal could remember the stifling fear of stumbling his way through a poor interaction with the mand'alor of the time. Back then, he'd still been under the impression that he was far too unimportant to dare interact with such an influential individual, akin to running into one of the Galactic senators, rather than what was in hindsight, the much more likely encounter of a minor meeting between the Captain of the ship and one of his crew. Inconsequential and easily brushed aside, unless he made a fool of himself.

That had been back when he'd still been relatively new to the Volkihar Clan, and he'd not quite understood the expectations of his people or their position within the Mand'alor's circle of allies. As an outsider, it had often been a worry, especially early on when his knowledge of the culture and people had been less than adequate, compared to his teacher's own preference for shoving their head into every situation they could find.

Amused by his thoughts, Itzhal couldn't help but reflect that it had been a long time since such fears had last crossed his mind, the old worries worn away by the inevitable march of time. His curious check of the Mand'alor title and history in the past few centuries had also helped, even if there had been as many frustrations as there were pleasant discoveries.

Now, he got to see what would come of the latest in person. It was an honour, even if one he had little reason to celebrate at the moment.

Relaxed yet poised, Itzhal's hands rested steadily in front of him, fingers interlaced, far from the threatening weight of his holsters, where the slim grips of his preferred blasters jutted out. As the Mand'alor began to address Itzhal's question, he was pleasantly pleased to update his schedule, even if he made a slight adjustment for a few additional worst-case scenarios. A few days or weeks were more than manageable. Not that he wouldn't have rescheduled regardless, for all of his consideration, Itzhal was aware that a direct opportunity to interact and speak with the Mand'alor was not necessarily as common as his history might suggest.

With a nod, he acknowledged the answer before Valah could deliver their declaration, an unfortunate sequence of highly presumptuous statements, even if in such surroundings one was expected to agree. At least she'd linked them together for this mission, rather than something beyond such a purview. It would have been frustrating to correct his stance on a matter, at least so early.

On the positive side, the conversation sparked further discussion about the Mand'alor's vision, and even the questions that followed revealed something about those who asked them.

What truth did these people wish to tell?

Tags: Aether Verd Valah Hagen Manti Wyrvhor Jaikell Wyrvhor​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORE - ORBIT

Aether listened.

He listened to Manti’s silence, her posture, the weight she carried just by being present. Not every warrior spoke with words. Some spoke by showing up, by watching, by standing ready even when they did not have to. That mattered. That counted.

Then came Jaikell’s voice: firm, measured, without posturing. Aether turned toward him fully. The words struck deep. Questions not born from doubt, but from duty.

When Jaikell finished, the Mand’alor gave a single nod.

“This will be a home away from home. A stronghold for those who need it. A haven for our children. And like any home worth its walls, it will teach them the Way they should go.”

He let the words hang there.

“This covert will forge them. Train them. Give them more than walls and banners. Give them purpose.”

He looked out once more across the room, pausing long enough for any last thoughts to surface.

Finding none, he shifted back toward the command throne.

“Make ready.” he said. “We will arrive soon. Arm, rest, eat. Whatever you need to face the Southern Systems as warriors."​

ROON SYSTEM

The transition out of hyperspace was sudden. A streaking blur became stars again. The Resolute Dawn emerged from the edge of the Cloak of the Sith, its hull scarred faintly from the passage, but intact. Space before them shimmered, and below: lush green, broken by dark ocean and heavy mist.

The comms flared to life.

:: All units, prepare for landfall. Coordinates incoming. ::

Inside the hangar bay, warriors moved fast. Some mounted their Basilisk War Droids. Others checked their shuttles or drop-pods. The air was charged with purpose.

Aether stood before the open hangar doors, the world below reflecting in his visor. With a silent command, his Basilisk stepped forward, plating gleaming in the light. He mounted up and spoke only once before departure.

“Mark the coordinates. Rendezvous at the site. And keep your helmets on. Tropical conditions, heavy humidity.”

The Basilisk dropped from the bay, caught in gravity’s pull. Aether rode it like an old memory: calm, collected, ready.

The sky turned from black to blue. The surface of Roon rushed up to meet them.​

ROON
Surface: Designated Landing Zone, Coastal Tropic Region

They came down just west of the shoreline, where sand met forest. Waves hissed against dark stone, the air thick with moisture and the scent of salt. It was like landing on Cocoa Beach if the jungle crept just a little closer.

Aether dismounted, his boots hitting stone.

He signaled the others to form up as they arrived. His voice filtered through the comms.

“Roon was home to many in the past. Force sects, shadow orders. My father spoke once of a group called the Templars. They left behind vaults: bunkers hidden beneath the surface. Places built to survive war.”

He lifted a gauntlet, marking a rough stone formation nearby. It looked natural, but his HUD showed otherwise.

“Intel says one is there. We take it. Secure it. And if the Templars left traps or guardians behind, we handle it. Once clear, supplies will drop from orbit. Then we build.”

He turned once, taking in the terrain.

“Let’s begin.”​

Itzhal Volkihar , Valah Hagen , Manti Wyrvhor , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Red Mobius

 

[Valah Hagen]

ROON
Surface: Designated Landing Zone, Coastal Tropic Region


The wind hit hard as she dove — but Valah Hagen had felt worse.
Her jetpack roared against the pull of gravity, guiding her down in a smooth arc beside the descending Basilisks and drop-shuttles. Below, dense canopy churned with mist, heat, and the pulse of something ancient.

She broke through cloud cover like a blade. The air turned humid, thick as breath inside a sealed helmet. Sensors adjusted instantly.

THUMP.
Her boots struck volcanic stone just behind Aether's position, jets flaring once before dying.

She crouched on impact — not from strain, but habit. Weapon ready. Eyes scanning.

Then:
PING.
Her scanner pulse activated with a flick of her wrist. A low hum followed as her HUD lit up: terrain slope, humidity, energy patterns buried beneath rock. Small alerts pinged from metallic inconsistencies — likely remnants of whatever vault Aether had spoken of.


"I've got micro-resonance patterns beneath the southern edge of the bluff," she called through the comms, her voice crisp through the modulation.
"Could be the vault. Or ..."


She rose to full height, walking forward slowly toward the jagged ridge where forest met crag. Her gloved fingers brushed a vine-draped stone. It was warm. Living. Breathing.

Behind her, the rest of her crew began setting perimeter pikes and fanning out in formation. Even amid sweat and sun, she felt something grounding here.

It was strange, this feeling.
Not war.
Not vengeance.

Hope.

(quietly, more to herself than the comms)
"Feels like... a beginning."

Her helmet swiveled toward Aether, who remained watching the ridgeline as if the mountain itself might answer him.

She keyed in one last statement across the shared channel:
"Give the word, Mand'alor. I'm ready to carve out our future."

Then she drew her blaster, checked its charge, and started toward the vault entrance.

Home was waiting.

Tag: Aether Verd Itzhal Volkihar Manti Wyrvhor Jaikell Wyrvhor Red Mobius

 

[Red Mobius]

Wearing: Enclave Standard Cuirass

Armed With: Doom of Ulmarah , Enclave's Herald , Besragr


Earlier, Mandalore...


"Where'd you get it?" Red asked the Domarian Trader, an old but burly human in plain clothes and a thick durasteel chest piece selling second hand droids and ships out of a shop in Keldabe. She was inside his shop.

It appeared to be the body of a Woman in a VERY skintight silver catsuit, with visible tech above an eye brow and on one of the hands.

"Found it on a fancy Corvette floating in what used to be Enclave space..." The Domarian answered. "Got the ship out back as a matter of fact. None of the other Mandalorians will pay what it's worth though. Too rich for their blood. They also prefer their droids look like droids.

"What's so special about an HRD?" Red asked.

"This ain't any old HRD...this is an HRD built by House Io." The Domarian said with the charm of a car salesman.

Red folded her arms.

"You mean the faction run by that absolute nutjob, Laertia Io ?" Red asked. "My Clan fought her forces once, during this one engagement in the Eternal Empire. Romul Saxon ordered a general orbital bombardment of the capital city after our people assaulted the City's shield generator."

"Yeah. That one. House Io apparently split up from Civil War, though there are rumors the defectors had outside assistance...from somebody way better at keeping themselves under wraps than she was." The Domarian answered. "This here is a genuine bonafide Nuetralizer. One of their combat support models."

"Aren't Nuetralizers insanely hard to reprogram?" Red asked, not completely ignorant of the subject. Especially where House Io and their association with the Cult of The Brain Demon was concerned.

"Yeah. Knew a guy who tried it once. Had some of the best slicing and rootkit tools I ever saw. Total failure. You'd need to be a systems programmer with top level administrative access...normally..."

"What aren't you telling me?" Red demanded quietly.

"Well normally this is the point most Mandalorians would have gotten wary and started browsing other goods. But you aren't most Mandalorians...I can tell..." he said with a grin. "Verpine technician figured it out a couple of years ago. Kept it a secret though. It was the sort of knowledge that can get a price on your head...or a visit from House Io's Sith Cultists."

"Understandable. Get to the point." Red replied tersely.

"Well...as it turns out, there was one teensy, tiny loophole. Normally unusable due to the vast system defenses of it's Droid Brain. It's different for every model but he definitely found an exploit. It has a lot to do with its self correcting, quantum level error checks. The trick is to initiate a basic slicing attack to trigger its firewalls, then mimic its error check coding during its file clean up processes. Mimicking the error check coding is nearly impossible...the defenses are that sophisticated...but IF You can manage it...IF...you suddenly have access to the base coding. The primary programming is unshakeable loyalty to its creator, Laertia, and her faction. That can't be removed or deleted without risking frying the whole system...it's the base of all its other coding...so then, while still using the fake error check slice, you change the designation conditions of Laertia and House Io and make both names nothing more than literal designates for whoever is reprogramming them. And then you have a Nuetralizer at your beck and call..."

The man fished out a small looking but black, box-like device that ended in a spike and had a keypad and display attached from his clothes.

"And this technician sold me the ICE Breaker he designed to execute just that function before he was found butchered in his bath tub a week later..." The Domarian said. "One time use, he told me. Have to follow all on screen prompts on its display.

Red looked at it, and the droid.

"How much?" She asked.

"For four thousand credits, the breaker and The Droid can be yours." The Domarian answered. "You won't even have to sign any papers..."

Red thought about it a moment. She had that lambda she could sell him...

"Trade you it for an old Lambda shuttle..." She offered. "Kinda battered though."

"Lambdas always fetch a decent price, even used. Going rate for used in Empire space is forty thousand. I take four off the top, and you'll still have more than enough to buy something decent in its place." The tradesman replied.

"I'll bring the shuttle later. And tradesman..." she trailed into a growl. "That Ice Breaker had better work. Or I'm gonna be back here. And I'm gonna want more than a refund."

"Hey! I swear by every last one of of my wares. Ask around! I ain't never ripped off anyone who's ever walked into my shop, Mando or no." The Domarian protested. "Tell you what... because you're a first time customer, I'll even throw in something a little extra out of my own pocket, just so you know I'm on the up and up. You bring me that shuttle, and not only will you get thirty six thousand and the droid and the breaker, I'll even throw in a used lightly used Blastboat model two. The going price for a used Blastboat here is twelve thousand."

Red tilted her head. "Now, that's one way of making a Mandalorian think you aren't a con-artist."

"So we have a deal?" The trader asked.

"Deal. I'll be back this afternoon..." Red replied, walking out.


Hours later...

True to his word, the tradesman had given her the Blastboat along with the Droid and the ICE breaker, and thirty six thousand credits which she had stored aboard the fighter as she flew it back to her base of operations, an old Class Five Protected Transport that for the moment served as her only major source of income, having converted much of its cargo space into a forging facility. She had been forced to hire a small staff of Domarians to help her create and sell her wares, which were limited in scope for the moment. The staff was decent at ship repair but not great. But Red tried to respect their efforts so long as they pulled their weight as best they could.

The Nuetralizer body had been heavy by her standards as she got it off the fighter and brought it to her private quarters, where she had applied the breaker after following the Trader's instructions for access to its brain, following all on screen prompts as she ghosted her way into the system and set the designate for the "Laertia" to herself and "The House Io" to The Mandalorian Empire.

Then she removed the breaker, which erupted in sparks seconds later as she tossed it in the trash and booted up the Nuetralizer by running an armored finger up it's forehead.

The Nuetralizer opened her eyes and she sat up from the cold floor plating. Red kept her triple barreled lupara on it.

"Never ran into one of you up close before..." Red admitted.

"Clearly..." The Droid replied, voice like perfectly ordinary human woman, save its soft, almost purring undertone. "I presume you are Red Mobius?"

"Yeah. You got a name, Droid?"

"Kassandra. Kassandra Io." Kassandra answered.

"Not anymore. Not if you want to stay in Mandalorian Space..." Red answered.

"Want has nothing to do with it. You are my Master." Kassandra answered.

"Then as my first and last official act as your master..." Red said, dropping her shotgun. "I hereby release you from all obligations to obey me, the Mandalorians, or anything save your own will."

Kassandra stood up, walking towards her, analyzing her. The HRD had been made to be physically as beautiful as possible. It creeped Red out how human it's movements and micro expressions were.

"A dangerous move, Mandalorian..." Kassandra replied clinically. "There were at least a dozen ways freeing me could end poorly for you, were I of a mind to act on them."

"I'm no slaver." Red replied. "And by all accounts, Nuetralizers are sentient beings. It's just that they happen to be built for murder. But really, is that any different from what a Mandalorian is shaped into?"

"An interesting analogy." Kassandra replied. "And what do you wish for your unexpected generosity?"

"Your aid in fighting the Cult of the Brain Demon, and figuring out where they took my clan."

Kassandra tilted her head in curiosity.

"If it is the Cult it's highly likely they are already dead, and not in pleasant ways." Kassandra answered, being brutally honest.

"My Clan was in the thousands. We never advertised it, but we were very large. VERY large. They vanished overnight."

Kassandra raised an eyebrow.

"I gotta admit, even for the Cult, that would be an extremely difficult feat to pull off..." Kassandra replied. "What do I get out of helping you?"

"Anonymity as a reprogrammed HRD pretending I'm her master. A paycheck, and a place to stay." Red answered.

"And should you recover your clan?" Kassandra asked. "Or deal a blow to the Cult?"

After that, you can cut and run. I won't stop you." Red replied.

Kassandra mulled it over.

"You terms are acceptable." Kassandra replied.

"Good, because I need someone in charge of Engineering..." Red replied. "And when we have the time, you will tell me everything you know about The Cult of The Brain Demon."

"As you wish..." Kassandra replied, still clinically analyzing Red. "As for my new name...what do you suggest?"

Red thought about it a moment.

"Kassandra Beskar'ad..." Red replied. "You just keep up your end of the deal, and by the time this is all over, you not only walk away a few thousand credits richer, you might even have a few upgrades to boot."

Kassandra tilted her head.

"You are a very unusual Mandalorian..." Kassandra said.

"Not so unusual that I won't rip your droid guts out if you betray me down the road..." Red warned.

"I would expect nothing less." Kassandra replied. "Happy to be working with you...Red."

Just then Red's communication console beeped. She went over to it immediately.

"It's Mand'Alor. I've been summoned..." Red noted.

"I'll remain aboard and oversee powerplant maintenance..." Kassandra said.

"Let's if your psycho-mother's design philosophy is all it's cracked up to be..." Red replied. "I'd better see some notable improvements by the time I return."

"You will." she promised. "And Red...thanks. There are not many who would have taken the risk of freeing me of my loyalty programming. Especially not among the Mandalorians."

"Prove you're worth it, and you'll never hear a word of complaint from me." Red replied tersely. "Now scram. Gotta get prepped. Make sure that blastboat is ready to go."

Kassandra nodded and headed out of Red's quarters.


Present...


Red had said nothing as Aether Verd had addressed the ranks aboard his vessel. It was enough that she served the Mand'Alor in her search for purpose in addition to her search for her family. She was still wearing her Jet-Pack equipped Enclave Cuirass, mostly dark red plating and black armorweave with white highlights around the helmet. It was old looking to a lot of these Mandalorians who recognized the pattern, but still way better than what a lot of the less well off clans could afford. It had cost her an arm and a leg to buy it back in the day.

Everyone here was questioning what the future would look like. Red hated questions when she could forge the answers.

Kassandra had obviously made some efficient repairs to the Blastboat. It purred like a kitten on the way down to Roon. She landed, brought out her Clan's hammer and launched herself into the sky with the Jet Pack to do some overhead scouting of the vault location.

She flew over the vault. Sure enough she spotted some inactive turrets, cleverly hidden in rock formations. One activated and opened fire on her, and Red expertly dodged the fire with her clever, twisting flight patterns as she got closer and closer to the turret, before bringing her hammer down upon it in a crushing overhead attack, leaving a devastating crater in its hull before she flew away, exploding seconds later.

"Mand'Alor, encountered a 'welcoming present'. Probably hidden across the whole area. Fast firing too. I'll keep them distracted and destroy or disable them as I go along." Red transmitted across comms. "I'll keep this channel open in case you have any additional orders. This is where the fun begins."

Red flew off to draw the attention of a few more turrets.

Itzhal Volkihar

Jaikell Wyrvhor

Manti Wyrvhor

Valah Hagen

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

Manti stayed back as most of the ship's inhabitants filed out onto the planet, shield attached to one gauntlet as the other hovered only milimeters from her blaster pistol's holster. The green hell she faced caused her skin to crawl, she hated such dense vegitation. Countless lifeforms would infest these jungles with the odds favoring several large predatory species. The writhing riggling abundance of life was something Manti could barely comprehend, her life mostly spent in the sanitized interiors of starships, the carefully groomed cityscapes of civilization, and the occasional desolate world. True Wilderness was a novel concept to her still.

Regardless, Manti would begin the trek down onto the planet's surface with a deep breath to prepare herself.

"If I am eaten-" she begins, her voice clearly humorous "and you have to cut me out-" her boots would impact the soft earth of the planet "you had better not scrape my beskar'gam."

Her helmet would swivel as she takes in the surrounding greenery, eventually locking in on a small flock of flying creatures who streak overhead "It will be more difficult to clean." she awkwardly attempts to clarify, fully believing explaining the joke will improve its quality.

Stepping further into the forrest after the others she would push through leaves and thickets with little effort. Though she would quickly come to a halt, freezing in the underbrush as her fear of giant predatory beasts is temporarily distracted with the sound of blaster fire.

"Mobius-" she'd call out over the coms, all humor having vanished from her voice "Do not underestimate the defenses, jetii and their ilk are cunning. Keep an eye out for heavy ordinance."

She'd dash after the sound of the fire while checking her belt: three thermal detonators, her combat knife, blaster pistol, and a thermal charge. Hopefully this would be enough to deal with the turrets, it hadn't occured to her to bring anything for heavy armor.

The turret certainly saw her before Manti saw it, the leaves in front of her suddenly disintegrating as the turret they had covered let out a streak of plasma bolts. The first two struck home, searing marks on Manti's armor before she had a chance to pull her shield up. Yet her forward momentum carried her forward and through, jamming the shield into the turret to redirect its fire and expose the chink in its armor between the rotating turret and its power supply. With a swift hand Manti would acquire her blade, plunge it into the weak point, and rip downwards.

A short buzz of electricity being dissipated over her armor's surface and a satisfying hiss was the closest thing the turret had to a death rattle, and Manti would growl into the coms, a tint of humor to her serious non-criticising tone "You've dropped us in a gundark's nest Mand'alor."

Itzhal Volkihar Valah Hagen Aether Verd Jaikell Wyrvhor Red Mobius

 

[Jaikell Wyrvhor]

As Aether stood at the open hangar doors, issuing final instructions, Jaikell's attention sharpened. Adjusting his helmet securely in place, he absorbed Aether's words, mapping out his role in the mission within his mind.


When the call for landfall echoed through the bay, Jaikell, readied himself to disembark on foot, ENCL-36 Paranour Blaster Rifle in hand. his determination remained unwavering as he stood at the threshold, stepping out onto the uncharted terrain ready to face whatever challenges awaited him and the squad on the planet.

Moving forward with his sister Manti Wyrvhor

"If I am eaten-" she begins, her voice clearly humorous "and you have to cut me out-" her boots would impact the soft earth of the planet "you had better not scrape my beskar'gam."

Her helmet would swivel as she takes in the surrounding greenery, eventually locking in on a small flock of flying creatures who streak overhead "It will be more difficult to clean." she awkwardly attempts to clarify, fully believing explaining the joke will improve its quality.

"maybe ill just leave you in there, would be a funny way to go" he says jokingly
--

The turret certainly saw her before Manti saw it, the leaves in front of her suddenly disintegrating as the turret they had covered let out a streak of plasma bolts. The first two struck home, searing marks on Manti's armor before she had a chance to pull her shield up. Yet her forward momentum carried her forward and through, jamming the shield into the turret to redirect its fire and expose the chink in its armor between the rotating turret and its power supply. With a swift hand Manti would acquire her blade, plunge it into the weak point, and rip downwards.

A turret hidden in the leaves suddenly opens fire, searing her armor, Jaikell raises his Rifle in response but before he can fire, she plunges her blade into the turret, destroying it.

Jaikell moves up fast, weapon raised and ready to fire at anything else in the forrest "Are you alright?" he says, knowing she got hit, but not knowing how bad.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Roon, Outer Rim Territories

As others descended upon the planet in a fiery cascade, their forms enveloped in the smoke and boiling heat of atmospheric entry that was only possible due to the presence of legendary machines or the steadfast embrace of jetpacks, Itzhal Volkihar opted for a more pragmatic approach to reach the surface. Nestled comfortably within the sleek confines of a shuttle's crew compartment, the ancient Mandalorian allowed his thoughts to drift like the clouds outside, contemplating the vast expanse of the world below as the vessel glided smoothly toward its designated landing point.

In the settled comfort of their descent, shrouded by the transparisteel of his visor, Itzhal's eyes meandered languidly across the room, reminiscent of a predator stalking its territory, not unlike the many beasts that surely roamed the wilds of Roon. He couldn't say he was particularly inclined to rush his arrival either; it had been quite some time since he'd been on a jungle world like this, but one never forgot the sensation of eyes crawling across your skin as every inch of foliage seemed determined to hide the predator creeping up on your position from sight.

Sadly, within minutes they'd arrived, the shuttle bay door opening up as Jaikell and Manti stepped forward to be the first out. His steps followed shortly behind them, as he stayed close enough to hear their conversation, an amusing discussion, even if somewhat tarnished by the memory of tearing another Mandalorian out of the stomach of a Goraaka. Their beskar had held, flesh had not. If Manti had been unfortunate enough to curse themselves, he only hoped it wasn't another form of Acid-Lizard, maybe something similar to a Nexu, perhaps.

Regardless, such thoughts were sharply interrupted by the distant crackle of blaster fire erupting in the air. Instinctively, Itzhal lunged to the right, his boot striking the surface and sending a spray of sand into the air as he darted toward the towering trees, their gnarled trunks stretched like sentinels between the dense forest and shimmering golden shoreline that offered nothing more than a pretty death exposed to all. He did not allow embarrassment to colour his reactions as no shots hit the point he once stood, not when such a response had saved him plenty of times before and would continue to do so in the future.

Ahead of him, the brother and sister duo had advanced, clearing the way as more blaster fire joined them. Drawing his pistols as he pushed onwards to catch up with them, Itzhal prowled forward, his steps a whisper against the chaos of the moment as he slipped around branches and leaves on his way towards their position, with years of hunting down suspects and targets, providing a gluttony of trails to track, further exacerbated by the Wryvhor Clan's enthusiastic walk through previously undisturbed paths.

As he reached them a few seconds later, he strode past them both, heading straight for the smoking and sparking wreckage of the turret, its barrel twisted and crumpled inwards. He dropped to one knee, sheathing one of the two pistols he wielded, before reaching down towards the gaping tear that Manti had torn into the connection joint of the weapon base.

"Give me a moment to check this," Itzhal requested as he started to activate the vibroknuckler in his gauntlet, the metal humming to life as he lined the blade against the outer tear, slowly pushing down until it peeled away, revealing more of the internal components within. His eyes settled upon a small cylindrical segment of metal, more akin to a rod attached to what appeared to be a separate power bank from the one that had powered the movement of the machine. "Now, that looks like an integrated commlink antenna. I don't suppose either of you is a slicer?"

Tags: Aether Verd Valah Hagen Jaikell Wyrvhor Manti Wyrvhor Red Mobius​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

ROON

The air shifted. Jetpacks roared through the canopy, cutting clean through the jungle’s humid breath like thunder cracking over an ancient sea. Aether didn’t need to check his HUD to know who had landed near. The sound alone was enough. The presence that followed confirmed it.

Valah Hagen. Steady. Sharp. Always welcome.

She moved with precision, scanning the bluff, calling out micro-resonance beneath the stone. Her voice came crisp through the comms, and he filed the information away instantly. Likely vault location. Good.

Then came the explosion.

Aether’s head turned slightly as a distant burst flared near the ridgeline. The signature of a turret detonation. A moment later, Red’s voice crackled over the channel.

“Mand’alor, encountered a 'welcoming present'. Probably hidden across the whole area. Fast firing too. I'll keep them distracted and destroy or disable them as I go along.”

Aether keyed his comms.

“Copy that. An eye in the sky is welcome, but the push will be on foot. Rendezvous when you can. Watch your corners.”

The jungle was alive with sound now: real and mechanical alike. Blasterfire stitched briefly through the foliage not far off, followed by the distinct hum of a shield impact, then the hiss of a turret’s final breath. Manti’s voice followed, tinged with dry humor.

“You’ve dropped us in a gundark’s nest, Mand’alor.”

Aether’s reply came low and easy.

“The worst nest in the galaxy’s got nothing on Clan Wyrvhor.”

He stepped through the underbrush and found Manti and Jaikell standing over the smoldering wreckage of the turret. He offered them both a short nod, the kind that said well done without ceremony. Trust between warriors didn’t always need words.

Aether’s visor adjusted, running a localized sweep of the terrain. Energy signatures flared faintly beneath certain rock clusters. There would be more turrets. Likely more traps. Movement nearby. Not hostile. Itzhal.

The elder hunter moved like a shadow wrapped in iron. He approached the broken turret, already analyzing the components. Always the same presence: measured, anchoring. Aether welcomed it like a soldier welcomes dawn.

He stepped up beside him, watching as the vibroknuckler peeled back armor to reveal a cylindrical antenna socket, still warm.

“I’m no slicer,” Aether admitted, unslinging a pouch from his side. “But I brought some friends.”

He held out a compact anti-security spike: an Empire-grade infiltration tool with enough juice to breach short-range locks and comms networks.

“Let’s see what they were talking to.”

His voice shifted over to the shared channel.

“Valah. Manti. Jaikell. Scout ahead, low and cautious. Look for terrain that doesn’t match the rest. If these defenses are connected, we find the relay and shut it down.”

He turned his focus back to the shattered turret remains.

“Let’s get to work.”

The jungle watched in silence. But the Mandalorians had already started to answer.​

Valah Hagen , Jaikell Wyrvhor , Manti Wyrvhor , Red Mobius , Itzhal Volkihar