Junction ESCALATION PROTOCOL: COV and MIR Junction of Champala and Zigoola Hexes

[Carduul Akahl]

Tags: Romul Saxon | Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Aurelian of Vandemar | Victport Graras | Zesiro | Evan Kade​

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Carduul was, ultimately, a being of conflict. Of war. Whilst he would preferably be embroiled in the glorious, heart-pounding combat elsewhere, there came a need. Be it to embroil himself in the concerns of logistics and supply-chains, upon the more nuanced overview of troop movements and fronts, there had been a multitude of tasks he had undertook over his service to the Mandalorian cause.

Today, unfortunately, they had turned towards the matter of Alliances.

The Crusader was not fond of such. He had always, always, been a proponent of a Mandalorian’s sole ability to rely on their own. That such independence was true freedom for their kind to be unimpeded by outside powers. But, times changed. Though he was ever steadfast in his beliefs, he also knew there were times where compromise was necessary. He could only wonder where that ever-so-curious droid was, now. Antipater . Had the Diarchy seen it dismantled? Had they realized it was rotted and departed for their own projects? Or was it still there, somewhere, steadfastly believing in Imperial doctrine?

Nonetheless, perhaps he could finally live up to his promise from that time ago. A scant group of Mandalorians had once worked hand-in-hand with the Imperials against the Sith in times of need. Perhaps that was the sort of thing needed to prevail in these darker times. He was not familiar with many of the Imperials that were present- and it remained to be seen whether they would merely be bureaucrats with elevated positions or those who had the grit necessary to see this battle done.

The tell-tale sound of beskar resounded with each tap it made against the metal flooring of their chosen meeting place. When they had come together, there had been naught but a simple bow of his head offered to others present, before he had listened quietly in the background. After hearing several chime their opening thoughts, he had taken a moment to add his own.

“'Tis true that the Sith carry a host of industrial power, and the core worlds had met the very fate I had hoped to prevent.” Words grimly open. “I concur with the sentiment that decisive, swift action is needed- one tempered by the forethought of our capabilities. An all-out assault is impractical when comparing the raw resources against the Sith Order, at this current moment.”

There had been a tilt of the helm when the golden-clad individual’s, Aurelian of Vandemar 's, subject broached upon adding yet further. He had held distaste enough for one alliance. Just as Zesiro had alluded to, one alliance was already tenuous and fraught with dangers. To add another on top of that would surely be chaotic.

“Already, there are fools who protest against using that weapon from within their own ranks, despite the clear boon it has given them. A government that bickers with itself when decisive action is needed is the very reason why the core worlds fell in the first place.” Came a sterner remark towards the sentiment. T’was true- the more united the people the galaxy were, a solution would naturally present itself to the threat. But the fact was that the High Republic was, on cursory glance, far from ‘united’ upon the matter. From foolhardy court cases to the matters of the weapon, it seemed to flip flop in the measures they were willing to take to address the wretched threat. “The High Republic’s capabilities appear to be vast, but not ones that can be relied upon. Your notion of replication is a potentiality that will no doubt have to be investigated.”

There had been a small pace across the table, as his gaze focused inwards. Recollection had briefly seen him give a slight sigh at the next relent he would have to make.

“There has been contact made in the past. Specific cells and groups who work alongside the High Republic seem far more likely to aid in our crusade than any festering court. There are Jedi and soldiers whom lurk in the shadows, ousted from their homes and uniting causes- and carry a righteous wish to see their battles continued. Alliances have formed for less reasons. But I believe it more prudent to focus on what we have in our own hands rather than look to the stars for yet more aid.”

 

[R'ayne Asara]

bilbringi

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dark aresnal • Draconic Scourge | Aura of Asara
tags • open

I arrived upon Bilbringi without ceremony, slipping into the conference chamber like a shadow that had remembered how to wear flesh. The great doors parted beneath the weight of my presence, and the voices of diplomats, commanders, Mandalorian chieftains, and Mahporeem allies continued their endless murmuring as though the galaxy had not spent centuries proving that words were the least reliable weapon ever invented.

I said nothing.

I simply took my seat among them, black and red robes settling around me like a funeral shroud, and allowed my eyes to wander across the assembled representatives. Mahporeem faces first, those I recognized, those I trusted only as far as the word would allow; then the gathered Mandalorians, whose armor seemed almost quaint beneath the cold illumination of the chamber.

I listened.

I always listen.

It is remarkable how readily intelligent beings reveal their weaknesses when they believe they are merely participating in conversation. Then Carduul Akahl began his familiar sermon about Sith industrial might in the Core Worlds. A quiet snicker escaped me.

Industrial might. Such a wonderfully mortal phrase for describing an enemy as though factories were gods and supply lines were divine commandments. I let him continue until his rhetoric had exhausted whatever dignity it possessed, then cleared my throat softly. “And tell me, Carduul Akahl , how has the war with the Sith fared for the High Republic and your Iron Covenant?” My eyes settled upon him. “It is this very line of squabbling that has allowed the Sith to expand, rather than take action.”

I leaned back slowly, letting the silence gather around my words like a grave closing over its occupant. My gaze traveled across the chamber once more, studying every face, every hesitation, every carefully concealed uncertainty.

“The Sith are not immortal, so why speak of them as such,” I said, my voice quiet enough that those nearest me had to listen rather than merely hear. “The Sith are not some boogeyman waiting beneath beds to drag your children screaming into the darkness. They are flesh. They bleed. They fracture. They can be defeated.”

A faint smile touched my red lips, devoid of warmth. “But not by sitting here contemplating action while the Sith themselves have been in motion for far too long.” I folded my hands before me, perfectly composed, while somewhere beyond the conference walls the machinery of war continued it's turning.

“So please,” I said, almost pleasantly, “I am intrigued to learn the diagnosis of the Sith symptom.” My eyes narrowed. “And, if this assembly is finally prepared to stop discussing the disease and start treating it, I would be even more intrigued to learn how we intend to cure it.”​

 

[Koa Ahina]

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[ THUNDER CORPS — FIELD ORDERS ]
UNIT: 33rd Thunder Corps Battalion
MISSION: Operation Black Sky
PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: The Sith batteries have made the sky dangerous; Thunder Corps' job is to silence them.
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: Break the enemy's defensive line and support the Imperial advance.
SALVAGE PRIORITY: Heavy weapons, power systems, ammunition, and usable vehicle components.
STATUS: Deployed.
TAGS: Augustus Tassar | Open.

The High Republic, The Empire, The Trade Confederation and now...

The Mahporeem Imperial Remnant.

Koa had done it all.

His time in Cryogenic sleep kept him from a galaxy he used to know. It was difficult to survive when nothing was as it used to be. Minutes felt like days, days like months, and before he knew it years had gone by. The galaxy never felt this dangerous before, before it was easy to tell the bad from the good...but now he wasn't sure there were any more good guys left. Part of him couldn't remember how hard it was to survive. Although, credits were always a problem for a soldier, if they survived what was in front of them. He stewed on these thoughts a lot. It didn't matter what army or battalion, soldiers had their orders and they were never an indispensable resource.

That weighed on him, even now as he felt the low rumble of the Thunderback dig in. The heavy transport swayed and the harsh give of the engine broke him free from his thoughts. The interior of the vehicle was enough to fit eight of them, but the 33rd Thunder Corps Battalion was a scarce three. Just the right amount to operate effectively on the field of battle. The tracks dug deeper into the ground and the silence broke into a roar. A resounding blast in the distance shook the transport cradle. An immediate stop was all they needed. Was all Koa needed.

The doors swung open, Koa and two other troopers jumping out as a loud whine began to stir. Koa waited for the Thunderback transport to establish a footing before it splayed outward. The vehicle slowly turned into a Hydraulic Deployment System. The rear of the Thunderback began to lift and open, revealing the hidden weapon inside.

The TH-1 "Rumble" Field Cannon.

It was a true beacon of everything the Thunderbolts had achieved, every mechanical and engineering mind of the Thunder Corps coming together to build the magnificence that now stood before them all.

"Lieutenant, we're getting operations running in T-minus five!" Major Rovan Kest gave the command confidently. His armor dawned more established forms of new intake, the black plated armor resting on his shoulders a clear differentiator compared to Captain Varen Holt and Koa. "I'm moving to battlefield command post Delta, I'll have your orders soon." His voice was gruff, his age dripping through the ventilator in his dark imperial helmet.

Koa nodded and looked to Captain Holt then to the dark skies above. It seemed the Sith emplacements had their own artillery, hammering the empty air with a smog of smoke and starship wreckage across Pelagon. That's why they were here, deployed and ready to prevent the Sith from squandering another attempt of the Imperial fighter pilots ready to wreck havoc. Whatever the Thunder Corp couldn't take out, he had full faith in his comrades above that they would finish the job. Still, there was a job to do and one that required his full attention.

The Thunderback finished, thick metallic leg placements holding sturdy as they dug into the solid concrete with ease. Upon inspection, Koa chirped into the comms.

"Captain, we have stable ground." Koa paused, checking the clearance for the right amount of space for the line of sight structure on the core forward base of the TH-1. "We have clear lines for enemy emplacements, open air. On your orders, Major Kest."

There was a slight moment of eager anticipation. Koa checked the perimeter once more, the slight overhang behind their own ordnance location making it half bunker, half open. Not only would this allow the loud incursion of the Rumble Field Cannon to echo, but could confuse enemy batteries of their exact location. This wasn't a first for the 33rd Thunder Corp Battalion and Koa could feel it wouldn't be the last either. He gripped onto the manual override and cranked the thick metal base. Slowly the massive weapon turned and locked into place.

"Capacitors loaded, Captain bring me the heavy conduit." Koa shifted his gaze, the hatch of the maintenance panel catching his eye. Koa ripped the panel open, the charred marks and newly implanted parts staring back at him. His comms went dead and he spoke to himself. "That's new."

"Lieutenant, heavy conduit in place. Power is being routed." Captain Holt was firm, his stern voice seeping through like a stiff brick. He was a man of many talents and his best in the area of battlefield operations. Koa was lucky he served under him. There might have been less fortunate army placements given to him, some thrived in different parts of war, Koa was just glad he was hired at all.

"Lieutenant, are we ready to fire?"

Koa hesitated for a moment. He assessed the panel, each wire and the newly placed internal core reactor worried him. He felt something in his gut, a slight doubt before he turned the comms back on.

"Yes, Captain." Koa slammed the panel shut, whispering a saving grace to himself. "We are ready to fire, I'm climbing into the firing position now."
Koa lifted himself upward, sliding sideways into the curved fire control interface seat. His hands stretched and clenched into a fist before expanding again. Pre-combat nerves, nothing he hadn't dealt with before. He tapped onto the interface and his left hand wrapped around the manual calibration.

"Major, we are steady and ready to fire."

Koa listened to the Captain comm over. This was it and the pit of his stomach made him almost reconsider before the screen pinged back at him. He whispered to himself, hoping the new parts didn't get them killed.

"Come on...Don't embarrass me."


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[Tyger Tyger]

Location:x Allies: Mahporeem Imperial Remnant

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Tyger Tyger listened with trust for that hyper-specific noise the world makes as physics crumbles like a paper bag in the wake of the Far Star's departure from a scene, abandoning the bounty hunter to his controlled fall. Every few seconds, the thrusters from his boots, his jetpack, would engage, strategically slowing his descent as he dove and spiraled through the laserlight of anti-aircraft and the pyrotechnics of cluster bombs.

If he closed his eyes, there was no denying he had been here before -- Crashing upon the planet like a dropped orbital pod was how he had begun his time with the First Order, after all. It felt like a decade ago, on the other side of known space, in an experience that should have been so much more alien to this one…but, somehow, it was still the same.

Because, when the galaxy constantly expands constantly in all directions, everywhere is the center.

Tyger Tyger breathed in, then out.

Cutting through the haze of noise of near-misses and not-even-closes, he heard the familiar hum and whipping whirr of one of the most iconic and unique pieces of technology to ever exist. Opening his eyes, he saw it.

A red lightsaber, spinning at his face like a razorblade, guided by the Force.

Tyger Tyger drew his bowcaster from his side, the 4-way prod set fanning out with the same satisfying thunk and recoil of having opened an umbrella. He raised it to block with a muscle memory so deeply ingrained it felt detached from his own mind. In the nick of time, with the prowess of a thousand times, he met the plasma sear with the cortosis underbelly of his weapon of choice.

The whirr hushed, the red light flipped off, and the hilt was sent tumbling dumbly through the sky like some half-heartedly chucked flashlight. Tyger Tyger searched the encroaching terrain for his assailant – Cultural awareness guiding his eyes over every silhouette and black cloud tarnishing what should have been a holiday water resort with Misery Fashion.

He was about to land in what remained of a pretty impressive fountain…well, presumably. What remained of the centerpiece was a pair of legs and a central pipe extending through the hips like an exposed spine, spurting water in a gore-y, rhythmic gasp as though it were choking up a hairball. Tyger Tyger didn't so much land in the stagnant shallows of no-longer-blue as much as he crashed, executing a parachute landing fall so as to not overbrace and instead tumble and roll along the ground to ultimately expel the excess force through his legs. He pushed himself to his feet instinctively, as a hand moved to wring out some of the water from either of the plush tiger legs of the toy adhered to chestplate, when, suddenly, he heard that unforgettable sound again…

He hit the deck, falling forward on his chest, his eyes canning to see its trajectory. He found it shortly after the lightsaber passed overhead, the buzzsaw spinning toward a lean shadow of what Tyger Tyger tended to refer to as a "warlock;" not a brute force Sith, but a Sith who thought themselves especially clever. The Warlock's hand was outstretched, the focus required in controlling the spinning blade inadvertently telegraphing where the Forcer wanted it to go. Tyger Tyger leveled the bowcaster and fired at the open hand, attempting to beat the lightsaber to its master…

"AYAAHHHH!!!!"

It did.

The bowcaster kicked, and an instant later, the Warlock's entire arm was gone past the elbow. The returning lightsaber spun past its catcher, clashing against the fountain floor in with a splash, a spark, a sizzle, and a continuous trail of darkened steam. The Warlock grasped his wound, looking back at his sword with intent.

Tyger Tyger gave him no quarter, pushing off the ground in a low-grav spear. His boots and jetpack engaged, flinging the bounty hunter forward in a brutal tackle that sent them both crashing into the plaza stones.

Yet, not-quite-shockingly, the warlock forced himself back up, desperately trying to switch the script. Leaning heavily on his remaining arm, he reclaimed his weird posture and, fighting to hit his full height, he hitched his jaw and forced a shaky, blood-slicked harlequin grin—an almost heart-breaking attempt to look like an unflappable, unhinged monster despite the contents of his veins rapidly joining the rest of the muck.

Tyger Tyger, all too familiar with this brand of edgelord posturing, remained entirely unconvinced, and it was written all over his face.

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