Exodus Crash: A New Dawn | [ CIS, Allies & Natives ]

[Malok]

E S H A N​

24 hours later...​

The fires yet burned.

Eshan was a bold and beautiful world, uplifted by the unyielding strength of her people. Theirs was a culture of warriors so fierce that even the Mandalorians were rivaled. Perhaps...that was the reason the occupation began in the first place. To assimilate the strength of Eshan would have truly been a boon to Mandalore and her numerous Clans - but wanton destruction would not be stood for. To destroy the way of life of a people was something that the Southern Systems would not abide by. And so, they fought. Hand in hand with the people of Eshan, they bit back against the occupation of this precious planet. And though there were many lives lost in the fighting...they succeeded.

Only a single day had passed since the fighting stopped. Twenty-four miniscule hours since the last vestiges of the adversary either evacuated or were defeated. In that time, the Vicelord of the Confederacy returned from his Armada to survey what work needed to be done. Having had a brief moment to lick his wounds, there would be no time to truly rest until Eshan was restored to her former splendor. He and his people would not leave the planet a scarred husk of its former self. Nor would they abandon her to a retaliatory strike if the Mandalorians sought vengeance. Therefore, a new wave of transport vessels followed the Sith down to the ruined capital. But this time, they were not filled with engines of war, but the beginnings of the relief effort.

As he took his first tentative steps upon the world, his helm rested underneath the crook of his arm. Briefly, he paused in his strides as to hold the armor between his palms. His sulfuric gaze was reflected in the iconic "T" which faced him. There was a time when the mere thought of fighting against Mandalore would have turned the man's stomach. He was a native of their culture - born and raised as one of their kind. But, life brought him down a different path. And as he looked upon the literal manifestation of his past...he felt that his actions were in the right. There was no conflict broiling within his mind - but rather an iron resolve to see this through to the end.

His fingers found and engaged the comm unit affixed to his helm. The channel was old, but would still reach the intended ears. Upon Mandalore itself, his voice would reach the palace of Sundari. His terms would reach Mand'alor the Infernal.

"The Confederacy of Independent Systems is declaring an Exclusion Zone about Eshan and her neighboring systems. It is our desire that the peoples of these worlds know true peace and that they be given the opportunity to repair their ways of life."​

"It has been said that your way, Infernal, is not that of your predecessor. That you do not thirst for blood, nor hunger for Crusade. If that is indeed true, we offer you this opportunity to know peace yourself. Honor the peace of Eshan and her neighboring systems. Make no attempts to occupy these worlds and our nations will have no need to war against one another further."​

With that said, the communication ceased. The Vicelord did not know what the future held for these precious worlds, but he did know that he would fight to protect them. He and his people would see to it that Eshan returned to its former splendor, and that there would be no further need for bloodshed in their streets. His footsteps resumed once more as the rumble of transports landing filled the air. The battle was over, but the work had just begun.

Spoiler: Objective

Eshan is a far cry from her former beauty, so roll up your sleeves and get to work! There are still wounded throughout the capital in need of aide. Plenty of structures in need of restoration. And even more fallen who need to be returned to their families. Victory is just the first step towards a better tomorrow!​

 

[Valencia Hadley]

Location: Eshan Medical Camp
Objective: Find A Use For Herself

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Her first taste of what war could be had been sobering - but as the sun beamed down clear and bright over what remained of Eshan's capital, there was a sense of great purpose that lay in the Viceroy's chest. After a crash course in field medicine and over-seeing what was left of the members of the Echani that either couldn’t or had chosen not to evacuate, she had learned a good deal about Eshan and their fierce pride. The people here were strong, like durasteel wrapped in ethereal beauty - and their spirit even in the face of such unreasonable destruction and violence was admirable.

Valencia and several other members of the medical camp where the refugees had departed from had worked literally through the night - [member="Ayda Elisantra"] had been an amazing asset in the medical portion of their work, saving lives by the dozens and seemingly tireless in her work. She hadn’t ever had a chance to truly thank the woman for her assistance, but the morning had come extremely early and with it a relief of her station for those with a good deal more experience with this portion of providing aid. The young Viceroy had excused herself with a final round and thanks to all those that remained to assist and had made her way to a thrown up shelter for those in need of a cot and some sleep.

She’d woken nearly 6 hours later, able to hear clearly the continued bustle around her while she took a few more moments to enjoy the cot and the darkness that her eyelids provided. There was work to be done though - and she was going to need to do a good deal of it. Valencia sat up, glancing around the collection of other thrown up cots to see a number of familiar faces resting there - though notably, she didn’t see [member="Helly Reyne"]. The woman had been an amazing help the day prior, and Val seriously hoped she was safe, wherever she’d ended up. She righted herself in the cot before carefully extracting herself and wincing. Every muscle and joint ached - a good deal likely from the soft tissue damage that came as a result of the impact blow-out when the SSD had crashed into the planet… But also a good deal from being on her feet for nearly 24 hours the day prior.

She saw with some relief that someone had provided her with a suitable change of clothes on the chair beside her cot, along with her datapad being set atop them. She set about getting herself dressed and tossed her hair back into a simple low bun - something that wouldn’t slow her down if she needed to get her hands dirty again today. Once that was taken care of, she collected the datapad and made her way out of the building she’d crashed in earlier that morning. Things weren’t much changed as she emerged, unfortunately. Everything was still organized chaos, but the personnel looked fresh-faced and a good deal more qualified than they had when she’d let sleep take her. It would seem that reinforcements had arrived.

Tender soles carried her in her smart little suit to one of the bustling transports that were ferrying people and supplies around the planet’s surface - datapad still firmly clutched in her hands. She strolled up the extended ramp into the ship and inquired about being taken to wherever the rest of the Viceroyalty was likely to be stationed. There were a number of things she was good at - but very few of them had to do with assisting the wounded. No, she was needed wherever there was politicking to be done. If there were locals that needed reassurances that the CIS was only here to help them get resettled before they departed once more - or perhaps any remaining Mandolorian’s that needed to be dealt with using words instead of weapons… Perhaps more the former than the latter.

She settled herself in as the shuttle took off, aiming to take them towards the centre of the destruction. She wasn’t entirely sure where she’d best be used, but now that the war with weapons had been waged - her talents would be a good deal more useful.

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Intervention​

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"We are now entering the Eshan System, General."

The deceptively young-looking boy stood atop the command walkway of the Republic-era battleship. Hands clasped behind his back, the tow-headed Anzati merely turned to acknowledge the analyst droid that was working inside of the so-called 'bridge pit'. "Very well," Sor-Jan noted simply, before turning his attention toward the windows that lined the front of the port bridge tower.

Inside of the transparisteel layers, holo-vid displays provided a stream of real-time data and informational graphics, supplying a wealth of information to the command officers that had never been possible when the Intervention had been in the service of the Old Republic.

"Cresh, display com-scan," the boy said, addressing the ship's main computer. A solid-state holographic user interface responded to the physical cue. A bubble of light seemed to surround the child, as various windows opened to reveal the current analysis of the star destroyers' sensor arrays. "Let's get a few stingrays into the system," the boy noted, even as he started manipulating and moving the holo-windows around.

Satisfied, for the moment, the boy looked up from his work and then made another gesture that triggered the computer to dismiss the holographic overlay.

Turning, the boy looked back down into the pit at the com-scan droid. "Begin triangulating placement for a subspace relay station. We'll want to get the planet connected back to HoloNet as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

Bringing his arms around to the front of his body, the youngling knight casually observed the deployment of the probe droids. As he did, he idly fidgeted with the unobtrusive ring that decorated his left hand.

 

[Amea Virou]

L: Unknown
O: Survive.

This apartment had once housed a family of four. Amea limped her way through the ruined structure and tried to regather her strength. Her leg was busted, her ribs burned and from her forehead and down her cheek ran a sticky red trail of blood that has since then dried up. The fighting had left extensive damage to the structure in question and it was almost a miracle it hadn’t collapsed yet. With every sweep of the wind the structure groaned out of metallic pain. With every groan the sound of rubble, dust and small rocks seemed to echo further and further down towards her and she knew by then that the time to leave had come.

Outside the sound of blaster fire had grown quiet. Cascades of rage and despair was drowned out by the backdrop of a once proud city beaten to its knees in haunting silence. As Amea cradled her arm and looked around her she saw little more than the remnants of the dust cloud that still seemed to linger in the air. Each breath seemed to turn her throat more drier than the last and Amea did her best to inhale as little as she could which was easier said than done. At this point she had forgotten how long she had been awake for. A need to keep moving, to keep herself occupied and on the move preoccupied her mind. She knew that somewhere out there Runi was most likely doing the same. Their bond made her accutely aware of that, but where exactly Runi was a whole other thing in and of itself.

In the end Amea could not think on it. What she needed was an escape and medical attention. Verin was clever enough to not let herself get lost or dead in the thick of this fog. If anything she was most likely far more prepared for it than Amea had been. It was by all means hard to predict that a ship would crash into a city of this size. A size that made it hard to see which way would lead her out which meant just the one thing.

Amea closed her eyes and tried to focus through the pain. She focused on where she was and where it was that she needed to go. A friend of hers had shown her this a long time ago and it was about time to put it to use. Instinct took over and she began to wander in the direction it pointed her in.

It was time to see who had actually won this battle.

 

[Fedrig]

Location: Eshan capital
Nearby: [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"] | [member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Taramaz Laurs"]
Objective: Talk with CIS Mandos and find his dead men.

The CIS had been victorious in the invasion of Eshan but the cost of battle could be seen all around the city that Fedrig was attempting to walk around. Levels of destruction and loss of life were high, one of the reasons for that was the brutal fashion that some of the Mandalorians conducted themselves. Attacking transports filled with civilians, supposedly releasing worms to destroy the palace and crashing a Star Destroyer near the palace and destroy a fair portion of the city on its way down, bombing said Star Destroyer with missiles as dangerous as nukes. These were questionable acts and it caused Fedrig to question whether staying with the Mandalorian Empire was the right course for him, was he really doing good? Or was the Empire still part of the problem. Allya was a Mandalorian teen with the CIS who he encountered and he wasn't sure whether or not the CIS was the faction for him either, a lot of the people were Force Users and he still didn't trust Force Users, they were unpredictable. They also tended to cause destruction and harm whether they went.

Still in his Havoc V.2 armour, Fedrig wandered around the city, moving closer to the collapsed bridge. If his men were anywhere they were there. He was alone, the others needed time to figure out what they wanted to do, Fedrig was determined to find his lost men and if they were dead as he suspected, then he would want to give them good burials in order to honour them in death as he did in life. While their last words were claiming him a traitor in some way for accepting CIS assistance in getting out of the city, he still felt they were deserving of a burial and not to be left to rot. He sighed as he looked around and crossed his arms, he wondered how the Eshan people could recover from this mess. He only hoped that there was some plan by the CIS to keep the world safe. With the Mandalorians seemingly forbidden from approaching the world again by the CIS leader, there could be a power vacuum once more.

 

[Alwine Daye]

Location: Nature area outside the capital city
Tags: Feel free to join

The Confederacy had invaded the Mandalorians. Alwine knew very little about Mandalorians, nor about why the Confederacy would even care. She knew that one of the exarchs was of the same species as this planet housed, but what was that enough to come in guns blazing? She wished she could have been less bitter about it; the Confederacy had cared that some world far away from their borders had experienced harrowing events by the ends of another Empire. And yet when the Confederacy had taken Stewjon, they had not cared for such things. Alwine had been imprisoned and tortured for months after the Confederacy had made her home planet part of its own territory.

And although she was making strides within it, she doubted just how long she would be able to remain in the faction that boasted the hypocrisy. How many other governments were out there who enslaved people? How many more factions performed the same sort of atrocities only to be ignored by the Confederacy at large? How many more planets within the Confederacy suffered and were neglected? Those were questions she had no answers to.

And yet when the war had ended and the images of the destruction came in, Alwine knew she could not remain idle. For all her distrust and dislike, it was not the images of the ruined buildings that had moved her, nor the images of the wounded. Nay. It was the images of the areas surrounding the capital city, the ruined nature, the grass and trees that were gone, destroyed by the paveling of worms bigger than buildings, of bombs dropped from the sky. She had no way of knowing which side dropped what bombs – but she knew the worms were not of the Confederacy's doings.

Looking around, chocolate brown eyes scanned the horizon and the destruction. Smoke was still coming from the distance, buildings would have to be picked up cleaned, built again. Others would deal with that. She was her for one thing.

Dropping to her knees, Alwine placed her palms against the soil and closed her eyes. Plant surge had been one of the very first things she'd been taught as a Force User, courtesy of [member="Maple Harte"]. She had used the ability so many times as a form of attack, but now… Now she wanted to attack nothing.

Now she wanted to restore balance to the area.

And so Alwine closed her eyes, and focused.

 

[Shia Kryze]

Location: Somewhere in Eshan City center, a ruined park.

(music)​

Empty windows looked down upon the park like the hollow eyes of the dead. Hollows eyes that reflected the look of the few inhabitants who had begun to gather and stare at the strange sight before them.

The ruins of the blasted park had been the site of significant conflict - one building lay topped by the borrowing that had been brought to the planet, while every tree was stripped of it’s leaves and the nocturnal flowers lay in scattered ruins.

Half a dozen bes’uliik war droids lay in post-battle slumber, shock-rod array to shock-rod array, like slumbering dogs. A couple twitched fitfully in their electronic dreams, no doubt chasing electronic foes. Do droids dream? Mandalorian belief held these did. One stood awake, a sentry for the pack, an ancient monster out of legend, slayer of Jedi, Sith, Mandalorian, Innocent and Guilty alike. It’s single scarred optic surveying the scene with an intelligence most simply would not believe possible in such a ‘primitive’ droid-brain. One-Eye would have begged to differ, had it the power of speech. But it did not, so it sat on its mechanical haunches and watched with machine patience. How many of these rituals had it seen? It did not know itself. To it, war was endless.

Their riders moved throughout the park, assisting their leader in her task. Elsewhere, the rest of the Clan tended to the living, moving Echani, Mandalorian, Thyrisan and Sith solider alike to aid posts. Except the monsters. Here and there, blaster shots rang out. No mercy for the Sith creations.

Row after row of beskad filled nearly half the park, plunged blade down until they formed a field of blades. Empty, eyeless t-visors stared out from their base. Every Clan was represented - or every Clan they could find. No distinction had been made between side. Mixed in among these were upended blaster rifles, dog tags dangling from them or helmets balanced atop them in the more traditional soldiers grave. No distinction had been made here, either. Sith lay beside CIS beside Eternal Empire beside Thyrisan beside Echani.

Off to one side, a small group of Echani civilians stood and took holos of still corpses before the bodies of their dead were zipped into one of the field of body bags that covered the ground, joining the soldiers. A small wall was starting to be covered with the holos, although no one had yet had time to begin any proper mourning practices.

Conversation was low, but here at least sides mingled - the blue-clad Mandalorians enforced peace with calm, but brutal efficiency - fight here, even raise your voice in anger to another, and leave at the end of a stun bolt.

But still, the walls echoed with noise. Stripped of her beskar’gam and dressed only in the under-armour suit padding, Shia moved with purpose, moving from grave to grave with a prayer - such as it was, for Mandalorian religion held they had no afterlife in such a fashion - but Shia knew all had a fate after death, none could avoid that. She was both guardian and reaper.

She had a beautiful singing voice, she could have been galactically famous, but she sung only for family, battle and death.

“Motir ca’tra nau tracinya.
Gra’tua cuun hett su dralshy’a. Cuun hett su...”*

The song was precussive, forceful and yet deeply, deeply filled with endless sorrow and grief - and a rage against both killer and a universe that was defined so heavily by kill or be killed.

Any Force sensitivitie nearby would be able to feel the growing energy - alien to most, deeply unusual, a pocket tied purely to the Nether, without compassion, regret, vengeance or sorrow - simply a thing that now must be, a point to spur the dead more quickly through trials and to give the living the memory needed to keep the dead alive.

*Those who stand before us light the night sky in flame. Our vengeance burns brighter still. Burns brighter still...

[member="Fedrig"] | [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"] | [member="Taramaz Laurs"]​

 

[Ilsa Visel]

/// OBJECTIVE: Assist the Confederacy / Set up a refuge camp / Hunt down Demon Worms
/// WEARING: VA-IDS (x)
/// WEAPONS: A180 Blaster Pistol (x); VA-03p (x)
/// LINKS: "Drachen" Blackwatch Death Squad; Ilsa Visel; Eternal Empire;
/// TAGS: Anyone who wishes to interact!
/// POST: 1

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Ilsa was too busy completing her training on her homeplanet, Nelvaan, to join the fight for Eshan, that meaning she knew little of the scale of this war. As war fighting was not her profession, that was the duty of the Ultranauts, this was her first official task after completing training~ to help the Confederacy to put the foundations down to rebuild the planet and put down any further resistance, if possible.. not that there was much that she and her unit could do but that was their duty.

The hum of Ilsa's Upsilon-Class command shuttle ran over the ash-filled fields of the battered planet, chatter amongst the crew in the cockpit made her wonder as they described their view, "We'll be landing soon, ETA 30 seconds, sir" one of the pilots shared via intercom, "Do we all understand our objective?" she asked her unit, all of them nodding collectively, their mission was to land near one of the cities, assist any wounded personnel or civilians and help set up some sort of refuge camp in the city first and then go on to clear out parts of the planet where remaining "Demon Worms"? were suspected to be remaining, her unit had two medical operators who were capable of stabilizing patients, should they be required. "Prepare yourselves" Ilsa blurted, following protocol. Nobody knew what to expect as this was their first time visiting the planet..

The shuttle came to a gentle landing, Ilsa and her crew connected their helmets to their rebreathers and electric systems, ensured weapons were operational and prepared to move out - Vrrrrrrrrr - the ramp opened and there it was.. the capital city of Eshan.. or at least what was left of it, now she understood the shuttle crew's disbelief.. there was no time to waste however, they had to get moving and quick "Alright, let's start moving~", "Yes sir", responded the unit as they moved out of the shuttle and created a firing line around the ship just to be safe. Ilsa moved out last and began planning her next move and route around into the city...

 

[Allya Vi'Dreya]

The devastation in Eshan city was great. However, it was only one of many cities. The fighting had been intense across the city. However, the destruction was not seen elsewhere on this level. No, the vast majority of deaths, had been caused by the thoughtless actions of two people alone, [member="Kaine Australis"] and [member="Tathra Khaeus"]. It was strange to believe, that only two, could have been the real cause of so much. Kaine had begun this with destruction, and ended it with such. However, the hilarious holovid of him “escaping” had become viral. He was the laughing stock of the galaxy. At least for a week or so.

Twenty-four hours, the last pockets of Mandalorian resistance were gone, the worms destroyed, the monstrous being known as Tathra, fled. The tunnels in the process of being stabilized with massive waves of quick-set duracrete, as a temporary measure. Waves of supply ships, and new combat ships entered the area, bringing reinforcements to hold the planet till something could be done permanently. No massive forts, or structures were built for colonization, or for forceful occupation.

Eternal Empire forces led the recovery efforts. Small numbers more of survivors were found deep in the rubble, but mostly it was bodies. Each body was taken, and efficiently identified, and moved to a holding area, so that they could be given burials according to the local customs. However, try as they might, they could never find the one body they truly looked for: Darth Tacitus'. In some this caused great grief, and in others hope.

The one leading the Eternal Empire soldiers on the ground in this part of the city, the one who kept them focused and from falling into despair at the loss of their Emperor, was Allya. Not that it took much work, they were an organized and disciplined bunch. However, her own personal mission was different. She used them to assist the Echani, however, her and her clones worked to recover each Mandalorian body.

She had never left her armor. She rarely did, unless side by side with Jerek. Yet, her helmet was off, in respect for the dead. With efficiency, she used the force to pull large blocks of rubble out of the areas that were difficult for the cranes to get through, and removed more bodies. When done with a particular area, she would go to the Mandalorians, strip them of their Beskar'garm, and dog tags. These would be ceremoniously cleaned off, and placed in a massive shipping crate. They would be returned to Mandalore, to be returned to their clans. As the worked, the clones, who unlike the clones of the Republic so long ago, were not Mandalorian born, however, they were Mandalorian trained. Allya's own influence on them was strong, and they sung loud, reverently, their voices mixed to the sky.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tnlPeEVBR6w

She refused to let these warriors be buried on a far away world. Perhaps it was a waste of resources, perhaps it was dumb. However, their Mand'alor had never shown up. They fought for the will of some minor clan leaders who desired blood, rather than the eternal glory of Mandalore. But each fought with all their heart. Their bodies deserved to be back home, on Mandalore, not out here. Valdus has spared the lives of her Uncle and Lord @Voph. She could do this. Treat the dead with dignity. In this, she was grateful for [member="Shia Kryze"] 's presence, helping to give the bodies the proper respect as well.

The bodies were loaded into a cold storage, with great reverence and respect. The Eternal Empire and Dauntless forces worked to stop looting of trophies from them. The entire operation was a beautiful example of the administrative abilities of the girl. Abilities she had learned from one of the best, her Uncle Tacitus. They said he had died. Like he hadn't before. Why was everyone so worried? It would be a pain, but she would make sure everything stayed together until he got back. Sith were strange, they always kept jumping from body to body. Like her father had.

Her voice rang out to join with the Clone's often, especially as she painstakingly cleaned off a suit of beskar'garm, or placed a body in the box. This was difficult on her. They may have been on different sides, but they were still her people. This death, this destruction. It had been so pointless. She had tried to call out to them when things began to go horribly wrong, but only one responded. This led to so much more death, so much more pointlessness. Did they really think they were working for Glory yesterday? She sighed and hung her head a bit, a tear fell to the ground, unseen.

As [member="Fedrig"] came by, she quickly finished her task, and moved over to him. The young girl gave a bow. “Good day, Fedrig. How are the wounded in the medical camps doing?”

 

[LT-137]

When the Confederate Navy speared into the sector of the Six Sisters, they faced off against a token garrison of beskar-clad vessels - who were tasked with overseeing Eshan’s compliance. Their beskar-clad vessels, while mighty in their own right, were inevitably torn from the heavens and cast aside like broken angels; forevermore consigned to die slowly within the void’s embrace. Even their reinforcements weren’t enough to re-establish control of the planet, or it’s airspace. They became desperate as the battle slowly slipped from their gauntleted fingers, and it seemed that their tactics switched from denial to scorched earth. An allied starship was boarded amidst the chaos, and the crew was violently slaughtered. She remembered the fleeting moment of horror that lanced through her mind, as the threat to the world below - and her commander - registered. There was nothing that she or the Golden Armada could do to stop it from impacting the surface. All that could be done was hope for the best, and that her comrades in arms survived the coming orbital cataclysm.

When all contact with the surface was lost or was fragmented at best, Astari Saren - Trierarch of the Myrmidons - threw herself into the battle with all the courage she could muster. She had to stay strong; not only for her command crew and the rest of the detachment but for those stranded on the surface as well. If they were to die in battle, crushed by the Mandalorian’s hubris, then the Noble-born would make them pay with every cannon at her command. As they chased down entire flotillas of Mandalorian warships, they were given no quarter. Lances of magnetically-contained ochre light speared out from fixated turrets, carving through hull and armour plating alike; forcing flowers of venting oxygen to explosively blossom into the airless void. Volleys of electromagnetic torpedoes were unleashed from their housings and detonated as they impacted Mandalorian kinetic shields - which resulted in said barriers flickering twice before they ultimately collapsed, as their capacitors violently overloaded.

It seemed that while the planet below burned in the fires of ambition, the heavens themselves became their mirror image.

For what felt like an age, the orbital battle became a struggle of supranational powers - each dancing amongst the stars until it became too costly for one side to remain. When that appointed hour arrived, it was the Mandalorians that turned about and withdrew from the battlefield; like wounded wolves with their tails stuck between their legs. A pulse of exaltation flickered through her veins, followed by an ever-growing pearlescent smile across sweat-stained features. They had won. Despite all of the losses they incurred, and the horrors they endured during the course of the battle, the Coalition Forces were the last standing amongst the stars. It would’ve been easy to give chase to the withdrawing Mandalorian Flotillas. To run them down as they sailed through the void in hopes of escaping the planet’s gravity well, and the various interdiction fields that dotted the astral landscape.

Yet, their people on the surface had need of them. It would’ve been foolish to leave them unsupported. With the comms network spotty at best, there were unconfirmed reports of widespread devastation throughout the Capital City. While their forces in orbit fled en masse, it seemed the Mandalorians on the surface - be they the token garrison or the forces sent as reinforcement - still fought on with reckless abandon. She could only hope that the Sun Guard sent to the surface were still fighting amidst the carnage. With fresh adrenaline lancing through her system, the Hapan roused herself from the sparking command throne and swept across the command deck. Her eyes danced across the wounded first, seeking to divine which among their number were more critical than the others and aid them as needed. The woman was no medic by any means, but having operated on a starship for most of her life, her downtime was often filled by pursuing relevant studies to her duty. The practice of rudimentary medicine was one of these fields.

As she stormed towards a fallen officer, the woman was joined by a handful of others - with one bearing the crimson heraldic cross. “I have this one, Trierarch.” the Zabrak stated, with his eyes never leaving the newfound patient. Without saying more, the man’s gloved fingers wrapped around and replaced hers - effectively removing his Hapan commander from the equation entirely. She ultimately conceded her place to the Zabraki Medic and withdrew from the scene, nothing that her skilled hands would be needed elsewhere. There was little point in getting in her subordinate’s way when a fellow officer’s life was at risk. So, the woman found herself drifting towards the unmanned comms station instead. The man who usually held this post was already being treated for third-degree plasma burns when a nearby terminal ruptured, bathing him in caustic sparks.

When the headset crested her unkempt crown, Astarii found her fading smile brighten as news from the surface began trickling in. Eshan’s Capital City was utterly devastated, but there were pockets of ailing resistance. That was to be expected in a ruined urban environment such as this, but what really brought back her smile was the word of the Sun Guard firmly entrenched within the City’s Centre. They managed to erect a plethora of Shield Pylons as soon as they landed, and were able to erect a reinforced plasmatic barrier in time - before the wreckage of the Hermes fell from the sky and smashed into the planet below. It seems that the same was said of Khonsu and his Vanguard, as they were far closer towards the epicentre of the devastation when their plasmatic barriers were cast towards the stars. From the information she could gather, all contact with the man seemingly vanished after the dust began to settle. That was roughly around the last time she was in touch with Khonsu too, which made a dark and secretive part of her worry that he perished.

However, the sickening sensation was dispelled when a new transmission pierced through the atmospheric detritus and connected with the Angelus’ network. As she keyed in the decryption codes, and the line was secured, the hololithic terminal nearby flickered to life; displaying a malformed representation of their Thychani Commander. His once resplendent battle armour was battered, and a portion of his helmet’s visor was cracked open; revealing the white, rage-flecked sclera beneath. It was the first time she ever saw him like this. Despite the aura of confidence and authority he carried, the man that stood before her - digitally rendered in crimson pixels - was gripped by his emotions and utterly vulnerable. She didn’t know what the man endured down there on the surface, but whatever it was - harrowed his soul down to the very core.

“Sire,” Astarii stammered, as the shock of the connection and his bestial visage faded away. “It’s good to see that you’re alive.”

“And it’s good to see you too, Trierarch.” His voice took on a warbling, static-infused edge as the starship’s comms systems fought to stabilize the connection. “What’s the status of the Orbital Battle?”

The man wasted no time with pleasantries, meaning that he was in a foul mood - which explained why his solitary exposed eye was flecked with a writhing aura of anger. Astarii relayed what information she could; Of how they lost several ships during the course of the battle and nearly three squadrons of starfighters when the Mandalorian second-wave translated into the system. She told the man of the damage the ‘Angelus’ sustained during the last desperate push the enemy made to break their lines, and how they were nearly boarded by some creatures she’d never seen before. Khonsu’s flickering image perked up at the mention of such creatures, and his eye seemingly narrowed.

“So, you faced them too. It’s good they didn’t manage to board your vessel.”

“Why’s that sire?” She asked, unable to fathom what horrors she managed to avoid.

“The Auxilia wouldn’t have been able to survive their onslaught as the Sun Guard has. We tore them apart like the beasts they were, but they were hardy creatures. However, that’s a moot point now that they’re dead. Gather up any surviving tissue samples from their craft in orbit, and we'll gather what we can from the surface and bring it to the Guilds. I want to know what these creatures are, and how best to combat them going forward.”

“Anything else, sire?”

“Yes, prepare the ‘Angelus’ for our honoured guests. We’ve managed recovered some of the bodies of our fallen and have been informed of pockets of surviving slaves still on Eshan. I’d like to see them well taken cared for before we return home.”

She paused then. Thyrsus was still under the control of the Echani. Did this mean that the Golden Company - whatever forces they had in the vicinity - were going to breach through the Silver-haired flotilla and reclaim what was rightfully theirs? She couldn’t be sure, but the weight behind those words led her to believe that would be their next destination. “Very well,” She said, not wanting to delve further into his bestial mind to seek the answers to her burning slew of questions.

“It shall be done.”​

With his command given, Khonsu terminated the connection to his orbiting cruiser and turned his attention to the battlefield surrounding him. He stood atop a ruined portion of the bridge that once led towards the distant palace with a titian-hued spear clutched betwixt the burnished talons of his gauntlet. The man’s armour was pocked by the scars of battle, yet it couldn’t diminish the seemingly heroic-pose that he adopted. He was victorious after all. The Sun Guard spent nearly a day fighting against the combined forces of the Mandalorians on the surface, giving them no quarter whenever they were found. He was tempted, ever so tempted, to issue the order that would’ve set him at odds with his Confederate Allies as well; which would’ve seen them clash blades as the radical Thyrsians sought to enact their vengeance on their weakened enemy. However, his tongue was stilled by the butchery of the misguided Echani militia that sought to force him and his men off-world. They came at them with creatures too, that seemingly cared little for discipline or factional-boundaries.

Despite the numerical superiority of their Cultural Rivals and their Allies, they were unable to best the Scions of Thyrsus in combat. The exotic technology that the Golden Company brought to bear found a counter to everything that the enemy threw at them; safeguarding the gilded warriors from harm as they cut down those that sought to oppose them. Couple with the aerial superiority that the Confederacy managed to establish, it wasn’t long until both those vile creatures and the Mandalorian forces were butchered to a man. However, before that decisive victory became reality, Khonsu’s hand was forced to cease the hostilities by the Lords and Ladies of the Southern States. It wasn’t the end to this conflict that he wanted, but it was one that he was ultimately willing to accept. Those creatures and their towering worms were either dead or scattered, and all worthwhile opposition had either surrendered or died on the battlefield.

The man would be wasting his time and talent in culling the weak.

Instead, the Thyrsian began tasking his warriors with securing the Capital City - alongside the newly arriving Confederate Forces. There was much work to be done now that the Mandalorian presence was banished from the soil of Eshan, and it would take time to recover the fallen from their final resting places. The creatures and their bestial war machines made quite the mess, and several warriors of his Vanguard were unaccounted for; doubtlessly crushed beneath the carcasses of the worms when they were slain as they surfaced, or somewhere below the planet’s crust. There were a plethora of sinkholes and craters created by their dynamic entry, and it would take days at least to scour through them all. So, they would remain on the surface for as long as they needed to and would make themselves useful in the meantime.

Khonsu, on the other hand, found his gaze drifting towards the ruined palace. In another life, this sight would’ve been majestic to bear witness too. He was from the world of Thyrsus, who’s ancestors waged nearly three centuries of war against the people of Eshan - and was one of the first Sun Guard’s in history to ever make it this far. Yet, this victory felt hollow. Someone else, like always, stole the glory that was destined to be his. He felt enraged at this slight but as the irradiated ashes of battle began to settle - the man knew that pursuing justice at this moment was folly. His people, both the Sun Guard and the former captives, were wounded from this incursion and were desperately eager to rest. He couldn’t deny them that. They fought well despite the treacherous terrain and the divided nature of their opposition; it was the very least that he could do.

The Thychani Commander let out a sigh, rife with fatigue, before forcing his spear to telescopically retract into its housing. Something similar occurred with his gauntlet-mounted combat shield but caused a shower of sparks to bathe his gilded feet due to the damage the module sustained. He’d need to have that repaired when the Myrmidons returned to the stars. Now, seemingly unarmed, the Thyrsian turned to his nearest comrade in arms and took up the segmented rod that the man offered. Thumbing the activation stud, and feeling the rod become more of a burden than ever before, Khonsu slammed the metallic shaft into the sundered planet’s crust. Within seconds of impact, that rod sprung to life and birthed a towering length of ebony fabric that billowed in the ash-stained breeze. It was the flag of his people and bore the twinned blazing suns of his homeworld, and now? It dominated the wretched landscape that stretched out before the ruined palace of one of their most hated, and historical foe’s.

This was a Victory well-earned; not only for the Southern States and their love of the battered Echani but for the Scions of Thyrsus too. This Victory would also pave Khonsu’s way towards taking the title of Supreme Sun Guardian, and by extension, mastery of the Golden Company thereafter.

History would never forget this moment. ​

 

[Kiff Brayde]

The Victator, Invictus-class Battlecruiser​

Eshan Orbit​

​

Many things could be said about the battle for Eshan; countless epics to be written, tales of valor and heroism to be stored in the annals of the Confederacy. In time, those who sacrificed their lives for the Echani people would go down in history as valiant heroes deserving of the highest praise the Confederacy of Independent systems could offer. The people of Eshan had long suffered, the Echani had for too long been crushed under the iron heel of the Mandalorians. But the fighting was over, and now was not the time to strike in bitter anger and vengeance. Now was the time to save and preserve, to rebuild the glorious world of Eshan and restore the Echani to their former radiance.

Sky Marshal Kiff Brayde stood aboard the command bridge of the Victator, the flagship of the 186th Battle Line and his personal battlecruiser. In most circumstances, the presence of a ship of such magnitude would only be found in the heat of battle and warfare, but in this occasion it was entirely the opposite. It, and the rest of the entire battle line, had arrived to the Eshan system not to bring warfare but to bring consolidation, to heal and not hurt. Each star destroyer, carrier, frigate and dropship had been loaded with supplies, rations, and medicine to take to the Echani as part of a relief force, with warriors and battledroids now being used as healers and operators.

Colonel Bornn Verryk stood at attention behind him. The man had served as Brayde's second-in-command for as long as he had been in the navy, from the time he had been a captain on a Star Destroyer to now in his tenure as Sky Marshal. He was loyal and intelligent, serving as much as a counselor as he was a subordinate. The Colonel also acted as the commander of the ground forces aboard the 186th, and he would be accompanying Kiff to the surface to help survey the distribution of relief supplies. But first, Kiff had to do some houskeeping with his official second in command, Commander Victor Jol of the CNS Valor and turned to the holotable, where the live projection of the Commander stood waiting.

"Commander, while we're planetside I want you to oversee that all the supplies are transferred speedily to their designated drop points. Be prepared for injured civilians that may need to be transported to the Hardshell and Rickrack." It had been a short while that Kiff had served alongside Jol, but he was a likeable man and independent enough that he didn't have to depend on orders from command - and Kiff - which was a nice change from the sort of second-in-commands that Kiff had run in with.

"We will be fine, Sky Marshal. Good luck on Eshan." Kiff nodded, and the holotransmission queued out as the Sky Marshal and Colonel left the bridge towards the hangars, to take them down to the planet along with the relief supplies. Even at his worse, Kiff wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty.

Eshan City, Lower Sector​

​

The cold air of the Echani morning blew through the broken streets of Eshan city. Rubble, dust and blood-stained stone littered the fomer glorious capital of Eshan. Kiff wore his officer's trench-coat, his collar closed tightly around his mouth so that the cold air didn't freeze his lips over. Verryk stood nearby, directing the droids unloading supplies from the dropships onto the containers as surviving Echani huddled around the pods of food, mumbling thanks to the droids handing out the simple rations.

The intense battle for Eshan, both orbitally and groundwise, had caused enough dust and ash that the temperature of the planet had dropped severely, at least for a while. Planetwide warnings were still in effect to watch for debris as it crashed from the sky, and the littered corpses of fighters, artillery, and fallen soldiers of both sides would likely not be completely cleaned up for while. For now, the Confederacy would stay and help with all that they could, and that was all Kiff would think of. For now.

| Free for anyone to join |​

 

[Chikako Liona]

Location: Shuttle going to Surface
Objective: Revenge

Home, how long had it been? in all honesty she coulnd't remember, alas one of the many side effect of having amnesia. Not that it matter, with the whole invasion and current problems facing Eshan her old home was probably no more, the landscape and people forever changed by these latest events. Even still she would try and find her old home, her old estate, and if possible the ones that force her out of it and into the galaxies underworld, find the ones responsible for her amnesia, and most importantly those who killed her mother.

"We are coming in for a landing now your highness, you certain about this course of action, that could bring bad press to the CIS if you are proven wrong". Her pilot, while loyal to a falt was still a cautious man, someone who she was always willing to listen to and divert current plans if things did not sit well, but today was different. "You council is duly noted, but this isn't official business, this is personal, do not worry, if problems arise I will take full responsibility". In this instance the man was just flying the ship, nothing more nothing less, everything else that would happen this day would be on her hands and her's alone.

A silent nod came from the man as the ship made it's final approach, Chikako walking back to her cabin, hand resting on the hilt of her personal sword, one that she had recovered in the crash. "After all this time, we will be home, or what is left of it anyways, I trust when the time comes you will be ready to spill blood just as I am". With a firm grip the young princess picked up the sheath, holding it in had while walking to the back of the ship as the ramp lowered, eye scanning the war torn landscape.

 

[Deius Koman'na]

Location: Eshan Capital City
Status: Beatened and Lost

The comforting words of his brother continued to ring hollow in his head, for Deius this moment he wished he was not himself. War and battle was common place, for a Mandalorian it was their true home to both relish and even die in, but the destruction and chaos the young Mandaloria witnessed it only felt like dirt in his mouth.

He struggled to remove his useless chest piece, the armor held almost no value even for scavengers, but for Deius the value of the armor was not just worthless but the cracks and scorched marks demostated his own faith in the Manda'yaim. Tossed now on the ground, Deius limped his way to a nearby rubbled area, with so much metal and small skrimishes that littered all through out the city he figured that he could at least keep himself hidden.

Softly he tore more of his armor off, save for his shin guards and forearm plates, and kept his Wester blaster pistol close by. His rifle had been discarded when the ammo stores had been emptied and reinforcements were simply viewed as mythicial as Mandalorian supremecy this day. His fingers dug in his golden hair and red eyes closed tightly shut as he attempted to figure out his step.

Tired and beyond any point of actual determination to contune this fight for Eshan, Deius barely ducked behind the rubble behind him as sudden sounds of battle closed in on his location. Blaster fire and small impact explosions turned up more dust and rubble that made the air difficult to breathe. Deius had long lost his helmet, broken and shattered from well placed blaster bolt, whilee unfortnate to loose it had served its purpose and kept its wearer alive.

Deius could not say the same about his once comrades and any of the Clans still on planet. His anger rose and continued but as he reached for his blaster pistol his hands stopped shorted. Deius felt his hand tremble and clenched into a fist. He demanded his body to defend itself, but it would not grab his weapon. The sounds of battle slowly shifted past him and a release of air escaped his lips as his body relaxed to the ground.

The sound of a safety clicked off, and Deius froze, weary and past his limits he had been too careless about his posistion. Or perhaps I just don't care enough to survive anymore

With hands slowly rising from his side, the words that came from his mouth sounded distant, as if Deius of hearing himself from deep inside a water filled tunnel.

"I surrender. . ." The Twin Golden Suns was the sigil he saw when he turned his head around. Oh

 

[Kyyrk]

Voph stood among the wreckage and ruin of Eshan City. Though there was joy and celebration about him, he could not bring himself to be as elated as those around him. His wounds still burned, and his hair had begun to fleck with silver threads, hinting at the man's true age. Though he could not see the change, he felt different. Older. Though not necessarily wiser. He sighed quietly as he looked over the rubble, and the Octarchy soldiers helping pull bodies from the rubble. Confederate, Echani, and Mandalorian alike. Two of the soldiers had paused for a breather nearby, over the body of a male, human from the looks of him, laying face down in the dirt. "Why we spendin' all this time dredging out the bodies anyway? Can't we just let the Mandos rot?"

Voph turned to stare at the man silently for a moment. He turned and stepped towards them. "Because it is our duty." The two men snapped to attention as Voph approached. Voph watched them quietly, before looking down at the body at their feet. He nudge the corpse with his boot to roll it over, revealing the face of a young man, and only barely. Voph couldn't shake the chilling thought that the corpse laying at his feet was hardly older than Cortrin. "Look at him. Lying dead at your feet. A boy. Not a man. Here to fight a war he had no say in." Voph looked between the two soldiers. "Weep not for the dead. For they have earned their final rest. Yet do not mock them. They have given everything for what they believe."

Voph gestured a dismissal, signalling the soldiers to stand at ease. A few others had walked over, arms drooping and brows sweating from the efforts. They had all earned a rest. Voph looked around at them for a moment, before continuing, raising his voice so he could be heard. "I do not speak of my past. For there is much I would rather let lie, forgotten and nameless against the sands of time. But this I shall say: I have seen wars you can only dream of. Brother turned on brother, fathers against sons. Mothers against daughters. Remember. We did not come to this world to seek the death of the Mandalorians. We came to protect the lives of the Echani. We are willing to give our lives, as the Mandalorians were. Do not be so eager to take a life. Unless in doing so you may save countless others."

Voph fell silent for a moment, before finally saying, "Remember for what you fight. And do not belittle your opponent for fighting for what they must." Voph turned, and walked towards the collection of clones working at cleaning and packaging the Mandalorian armor. Allya was among them. Perhaps the only familiar face the graying man recognized. She was speaking to someone Voph had never encountered before. Not an Echani...But she did not speak to him as a member of the Confederacy. A Mandalorian, perhaps? Voph came to a halt nearby, folding his arms behind his back. He would not interrupt the girl, instead turning to look around at the surrounding scenery. This was the first time the two had seen each other without their masks. Literally, or metaphorically. The distinctive scar starting at the left side of his chin, and running up across his mouth, to the right of his nose, and across his eye socket and brow twisted as his brow knit in concentration. It was the first time he'd been near Allya without the Force Shroud. And he was not about to let the opportunity go to waste...

[member="Allya Vi'Dreya"] [member="Fedrig"]

 

[Kiff Brayde]

​

Eshan City, Lower Sector​

[member="Deius Koman'na"]​

​

Skirmishes were still breaking out through the entire city, with pockets of remaining Mandalorian forces that hand't surrendered putting up a good fight. Kiff kept his standard-issue blaster pistol ready, and he had sent an advance guard to clear the area so he could dole out medical supplies to the noncombatants, but if he was going to truly help the Echani people that meant he'd have to cover more than a single district of the capital. He had the supplies to do it, but he'd have to make sure that the area was safe from any Mandalorians who would hope to sabotage his relief efforts.

The droids spread out in all directions, led by their individual squadron leaders while Brayde led up the rear with a personal guard of four droids. As each city block was cleared, dropships with relief supplies immediately began to land and dole out the rations and medicines loaded up in the ship. Kiff, meanwhile, walked around to individual Echani, helping them up, patting them on the back and pointing them in the direction of the nearest supply ship. Those he saw that were injured or missing a limb, he directed a field medic over to asses their wounds. The cleanup was going well, and Kiff couldn't help but feel proud that he'd helped free these people from the wretched Mandalorians, the supposedly honorable warriors who had subdued Eshan and the Echani and forced them through unimaginable horrors. It felt good to see these civilians freed from their burden, smiling in tearful gratitude.

But at the same time, Kiff couldn't help the pang of heartbreak each time he came across a broken body, a corpse strewn on the side against a pile of rubble. More often then not it was a civilian, an elderly man, a mother holding her child in a bittersweet embrace knowing that it would be the last thing she felt. These people had not asked for war, yet it had come anyways and destroyed their lives, leaving an eternal scar on the face of the once beautiful planet. They were the sacrifices in this war, they were the innocent and yet they had been slaughtered in the crossfire anyways, by Mandalorians or Confederates no one could tell. Nevertheless, as a sign of respect Kiff took off his officers cap and held it at his waist as he silently mourned those the Echani had lost. It would be a dark night for the people of Eshan, but the dawn was breaking.

As he continued along, what were dismal echoes of blasterfire grew nearer and Kiff realised that a pocket of Mandalorians must have been fighting their way through the city, trying to wreck vengeance on the Confederacy in whatever way he can. His grip on his blaster tightened and he began to pick up his pace as his droid escorts moved with him. He was about to turn the corner when a yellow blaster bolt incinerated a broken column of stone next to him -- the Mandalorians were here. As Kiff ducked behind the charred column, more blaster bolts flew past him, the impact against the stone shaking the rubble. He could feel the superheated air of where the blaster bolt had traveled through, and he quickly shifted his blaster off from safety, before whipping around to try and get a shot at the ambushers.

To his surprise, the Mandalorians had vanished, most likely retreated from what they thought was a larger task force of Confederates, not an officer and four battle droids. He was about to lower his blaster when movement in rubble nearby startled him, and immediately he turned and aimed his blaster to where the movement was coming from, prepared to fire if some militant popped out, ready to shoot and Confederacy trooper it could find. However, he was surprised when he looked down the sights of his raised pistol to see a Mandalorian -- no, a boy in what was left of a Mandalorian suit of armor. He looked pretty beat up, tired, and the way his voice shook when he surrendered made Kiff guess that there was no fight left in the boy, and that meant that there was no reason for the Sky Marshal to keep his blaster raised, and he lowered it to his side. "Well, that's a nice change of pace from what Mandalorian's I've seen. What's your name?"

 

[Taramaz Arcturus]

Location: City, near [member=Allya Vi'Dreya]
Allies: CIS & her Allies | 50
[SIZE=10pt]Dauntless Commandos[/SIZE] (Thanks Luna Terrik)
Fighting With: 50 Dauntless Commandos
Post: #1
Equipment: Obsidian-Type Strike Armour, Knight's Obsidian Ring,
[SIZE=10pt]Blood of the Massassi[/SIZE],
[SIZE=10pt]Romanus Shield[/SIZE],
[SIZE=10pt]Obsidian Executor Sword[/SIZE],
[SIZE=10pt]Obsidian Executor Boots[/SIZE], DC-17 Pistol
Theme: When the War is Over
Tags: [member=Fedrig] [member=Allya Vi'Dreya] [member=Shia Kryze]

Flashback​

The young boy ran to his parents, running from his bullies. He buried his face in the cloth of his dad's shirt, and cried, and cried, then turned to look at the bullies, who looked at the big Mandalorian man, and turned tail, scampering like frightened rodents. Then he was backed into a corner by the boys, who all held weapons, unlike the boy. They were all bigger now, and they walked ever closer, raising their weapons, but they never got a chance to strike. The vision darkened, and a eerie presence was felt, as all the boys felt a shadow bigger than all of them combined lean over. The boy saw a man cloaked in black robes standing behind the boys, who spun around quickly. They looked mortified, and something about that made the boy feel as if he should be too. His jaw dropped, and he backed up against the wall, and turned, seeing a glimpse of a pure red, and spikes and tentacle looking things under the hood. Then, he covered his face with his hands, sobbing, as he heard the sounds of four boys choking.

Then, the choking stopped, as quick as it had started, and was replaced by a snapping sound that echoed throughout the vision. Then, darkness crept from the man, like tendrils, filling up the empty space, shrouding them in pure darkness. He felt the weight on his feet subside, and he uncovered his eyes, hesitantly, looking around. He was floating, in a sea of pure blackness, void of everything. Then, out of nowhere, that same man appeared, from a doorway leading into a dark red glowing light. He extended his hand, and grabbed the boy, pulling him out of the nothingness. He then turned, and walked back through the door, and looked back, beckoning for the boy to follow. And woe be upon him, as he did.

Then, the darkness faded, faded into a house, warm and welcoming. The boy was older now, a man, clad in black robes of his own, matching those his saviour had worn all those years ago. He held the hilt of a saber with a blood red blade, and raised it. Stood before him were a man and woman, the ones who had raised him. Everything froze, and split into two. One was filled with darkness, and his eyes were glowing red. Red lightning sparking off of him, as he brought the blade down, cutting the ever loving elders down. Then, the other was filled, looking normal, and the man's saber sizzled, the crimson red blade retreating back into the hilt, and he collapsed, holding onto his father.

"Ni draar ru'kir ganar payt ti ibac jag, Ni'm Ni ceta dad, even meh gar aren't ner veman solus, gar ganar su been jate'shya at ni than anybody else"

The flashback ended, fading back into reality.

Taramaz woke with a start. The now Sith Lord reconsidering what he had seen. He knew in his heart which was true, no matter what manipulation his master tried to pull, he knew he would never have been so cruel as to murder his own parents. Not even if it meant he was tortured for weeks on end for failing. He tried moving, but found no more movement than a few inches. Memories came flooding back to him, how the nukes had been dropped, the worms managed to make a house they were in collapse on top of them. Then the warnings came. God damn the warnings came. He reckoned there were more warnings than all the dangers in the entire battle combined. He slowly tried lifting the crumbling rocks up, to no success, he kept trying, before giving up, not wanting to waste his time and energy on it. He tried crawling out, but only managed to hit his head on another rock.

He looked around for a way out, and saw none. Slowly, coming to a decision, he curled himself up into a small ball, and stared gathering energy up in him. After about half a minute, he pushed it all out, aiming up, he launched the giant slab of rock off of him, and about 50 feet in the air. He then landed on his feet, the force repulse having pushed him up too. He then held his hand up, palm up, bent into a right angle at the elbow. And caught the giant rock, getting pushed down slightly from the impact, and then extended his hand forward, slowly lifting rubble off his commandos. The noise drawing a considerable amount of attention towards the house by the bridge. Slowly, one by one, the Commandos woke, dragging themselves out, and those who had already been awoken grabbed their still unconscious comrades.

He looked up, and realised the piece holding him down had easily been a part of the roof, and the biggest there. He yelled out for the Commandos to start a head count, as he laid rubble down where there were empty places. The total came out to forty-seven, three off of the 50 he'd entered the house with. He laid down the large slab he'd been holding, and walked over to a pile, that could easily have doubled the roof piece in size, likely from another building aswell. Then braced himself, and started lifting with the force, making even more noise, it revealed two commandos, hidden in a crevice under the pile. Two commandos rushed in, and grabbed the, dragging them out. Another had his leg trapped under a piece of rubble, and about five commandos went, four trying to lift the rubble off of him. But it wouldn't budge, and seeing that the commando was the same that had lifted him up and helped him in the initial march.

He then headed forward, and lifted the rubble with his other hand, and another commando dragged their wounded brother out. As Taramaz started to crumble under the weight, the troopers didn't notice, and secured the perimeter. He looked around, his face contorting, as his helmet opened to give him fresh air. He pushed up, buying himself about two minutes time.

 

[Vilaz Munin]

Location: Remnants of a major city

​

It felt amazing breathing through his nostrils. Victory was in their hands, and it was something they could metaphorically smell and feel. It tasted better to be able to defeat Mandalorians they once called vod. Today's victory was not like any other victory against whatever enemy they faced. They had plunged their blades in the hearts of these false Mandalorians, their crushgaunts and armor covered in coats of blood from Mandalorians and Echani. Not only did they force the Imperial Mandalorians to retreat from Eshan, but the earth they walked on was more scarred than the Mandalorians' offensive that was prior from the Confederacy invading to free Eshan.

Two birds with one stone. It satisfied him. A score against the Empire, and wounds afflicted on Eshan and its odious natives. Although Vilaz was far from seeing Mandalore be liberated from the Infernal and her disciples, he would be content with the victory achieved here on Eshan.

Walking through the streets of the major city he, his clansmen, and Thyrsian allies won over, the Warlord was assuring everyone doing their part in the post-battle. Recovering their dead, attending the wounded and delivering them to shuttles so they could be taken back to their fleet, food being shared amongst them, and other protocols and orders that were to be followed. One of these orders were to recover the dead of the Imperial Mandalorians. Why? So their armor could be recycled for the his clan. It was also meant to be an insult too. They would receive no proper burial or be delivered back to their clans. The same applied to the Echani they killed. As for what prisoners they found? Some would be sold as slaves, the others would work the rest of their miserable lives as labor workers for Clan Munin. An occupation they would dread doing.

"Ah, Mandalorian," a Thysian male said to greet Vilaz. The same man he had encountered and liberated, "the Sun has blessed us with this victory and allowed us to live another day."

"So it has, so it has," with an exhale coming out from his nostrils before inhaling, "were you able to find the rest of your people?"

"Yes, fortunately I did. Though some of my people that fought with me were killed, but Thyrsus and her Sun will remember their valor."

"So long their sacrifice wasn't in vain, then their deaths meant something. I have contacted warriors of the Sun Guard that are here on Eshan, a task force of them marched for the capital. They told me they will soon come and take you home. Wherever that is."

"I see, my thanks to you and your warriors. I will never forget what you have done for us, you will be regarded will within our ranks."

The Thyrsian was about to turn and walk off to see how his people were doing before turning back around, "I forgot, your sword. You must want it back, no doubt."

He had forgotten about that beskad, and it was something he no longer wished to have at his side. It was an object that reminded him from the Empire as a smith that served its ranks forged it for him. It was time to let go of that.

"Keep it, I don't want it. I gave it to you when I freed you, let it be a token of today's fortune. I'm sure it'll serve you well."

The dark toned man inspected the blade, admiring the craft before sheathing it.

"May the Sun shine a path of fortune for you, Mandalorian," and offered a nod of his head.

"And may Kad Ha'rangir help you find victory in battle," returning a nod of his head that was covered by his helmet before parting off to attend any business that needed his presence.

 

[ToKola Bakari]

​

Location: Eshan City
Objective: Sweep the city
Tags: Feel free to join me!

It was shockingly quiet. For how blatantly loud war was, the moments before and after were far more quiet than they had any right to be. Elessar could hear the faint hum of engines in the distance, transport ships hovered over the city scouring for any traces of survivors. The city had been transformed into a mass of rubble and death, thanks to the Mandalorian invaders and the men they had brought with them. Men. As the General looked over the sight before him he knew men were not responsible for this. It had been a monster who destroyed his beloved home. He had a cold, distant expression on his face as he gazed out over the streets, setting mental points and checking them in reference to the patrols he had sent out. It was nearly time for another squad to go out and he had to be sure wherever he directed them, they would not waste time covering where one sqwuad had already searched. Time was not on their side. The city was a mass of safety risks such as fires, landslides, and floods. Any of these things could result in the loss of more life, so it was imperative they finish their initial sweep so they could begin clearing the rubble.

"General. Squad 13-Bravo is ready for assignment." Elessar glanced back. He gazed at the three men who had gathered behind him. The warriors of Eshan generally fought in smaller groups, meaning each squad was no more than ten warriors. Yet most of his men had been cut down in the initial fighting. Where once there were ten, now there were three. They would have to do.

"Take your men along the next block over. Sweep the buildings and report any findings to Control. They'll dispatch the gunships to retrieve anyone you find." He said, raising his arm to point down the street before him.

"Yes, General." The man bowed his head respectfully and left the rooftop where Elessar had established his headquarters. Already the Echani General was considering where the next squad's path would take them. He drew his shoulders in tight, a sign of his displeasure. His wintry eyes remained locked on the streets below, it was going to be a long day.

 

[Amea Virou]

Her throat clogged up and Amea quickly cleared her throat. The spit that parted her mouth spread across the ground with a murky red-like color and Amea couldn’t help but let out a sigh of discomfort. Maybe it was a broken rib, maybe it was something worse. She had experienced worse before, and this wasn’t worse than that. Leg broken with an arm dislocated, now that was bad. This was just a temporary setback, and the more she kept telling herself that the easier her push seemed to get. She couldn’t really dwell on what she had been through either way. To survive was to keep on the move and to focus on wherever it was that her mind told her to go.

The buildings around her grew more and more sparse as she passed block for block until finally the open field exposed her to the sight of a small squad of soldiers waving a flag in triumph. The sun seemed almost blinding at this point and Amea raised her hand to block it out. The haze that filled her vision slowly cleared up and with it the figures did too. The flag in their hands seemed to have a hexagon on it. Amea squinted to see the Confederate logo thereon and a cough. She had hoped for a chuckle, but she’d be damned if this didn’t hurt enough already.

Her arm rose towards the sky in a slow wave and the men seemed to stop their celebration to give her a glance. One of them pulled out their rifle and so did the other while the third motioned for them to lower their guns. He took a careful step in her direction to meet her halfway, and as she got close he reached out for her arm.

“Are you okay? Who are you?” He seemed genuine in his concern. “Can you speak?”

Amea dug through her jacket to withdraw a small medallion sized token to verify who she was. Call it a badge to verify her loyalty to the CIS as one of the insurgents who had helped them win the day.

“Medic.” She coughed up and placed her hand on his shoulder with a pleading stare. “Please.”

“Just,” The man sighed in frustration and grabbed her arm to pull it over his shoulders for support. Amea cried out in pain and he clearly winced. “Hold on. Ren, are there any evacs in the area?”

“Five minutes out, sarge.” Ren said with an affirmative nod. “We’re running out of beds in Camp Aurek. Might need to bring her to Outpost Krill.”

“Anything, just please-” She felt the fatigue set on her. “I have been walking for so long. I need water.”

“No.” Sarge said rather stern. “Not in your condition. We can’t risk that.”

“Well, we could.” Said the third man. “She just-”

The man caught the sergeant’s stare.

“Nevermind.”

The transport would arrive and Amea would be ushered into it for attention. She wasn’t alone in here. There were people with more pressing injuries to attend to, but at the very least she had someone look her over.

She had experienced worse before. This was just a temporary setback.

 

[Fedrig]

Soon enough, he noticed members of CIS moving around him, helping with the dead as he searched for his own men. It was difficult to know that he brought men to their deaths here and it was for naught, they had lost. However, he was unsure that it was necessarily a bad thing that the Mandalorians lost, the way some of them fought was not a way that Fedrig could respect or agree with. He helped others with lifting heavy rubble and assisted in giving the dead a proper ceremony. He could hear singing in the background, it was good, someone was talented in singing but he couldn't help feel depressed as he saw everyone who had died due to the rubble and destruction that could have been easily avoided.

Looking around, he spotted the young girl Allya, they had met during the invasion and had conflicting ideas on the invasion and the way that the Mandalorian Empire conducted itself, however with the actions of some members that happened near the end. It was interesting to see the teen without her helmet, see the youthful face as he nodded. "Su cuy'gar ogir, urmm... Thank you for letting me assist you in dealing with the deceased. I suppose I should congratulate you on the success of your invasion. The rest of my verde are with the medical teams, seems there are plenty who are injured and in need of help. I decided to come and find those who stayed and died here, give them a burial they deserved." Fedrig sighed as he looked around and noticed several CIS around, there was some nervousness coming from him as he knew he wasn't one of them, still a Mandalorian of the ME.

"I am starting to understand why you do not believe in the Empire, the things that happened today were not what I thought were capable of them." Fedrig admitted to Allya as he looked around.

[member="Voph"] | [member="Allya Vi'Dreya"] | [member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Taramaz Laurs"]