Skirmish For the Cause | Death Watch vs Trade Federation at Castell

[Saga of Valour]

:// The Colonies // Bordered between the Northern Dependencies and the Slice. //
:// Perlemian Trade Route // Castell System // Castell (Prime.) //
:// Homeworld of the Gossam // Ruled by the Commerce Guild. //
:// Plutus Station // Republic Engineering and Trade Federation Outpost. //​

As the Trade Federation and its partners began to expand across the stars, countless installations were erected to help the conglomerate secure their assets and newly garnered territories. While they were the furthest thing from a recognized body of government, the Trade Federation utilized these stations to spread their influence and corporate message to the willing masses. These stations were similar in many respects, not only in appearance but as they all lingered on the system’s outskirts, they called home. This choice was made to see that the local enforcement agencies were stripped of their jurisdiction as soon as they entered the station’s airspace. Such placement ensured that the station and their crews could operate as they pleased with little judicial oversight.​

​

Plutus was one of many examples of Trade Federation installations that became hives of scum and villainy lingering just beyond the touch of law and order. It was named for an ancient deity that governed the realm of opulence and wealth, which the builders believed was wholly appropriate for a station of this sort. From there, its outward appearance was of little repute. Exterior hull plates were illuminated by the solitary star that formed the foundations of the entire system. It was only through the polarized viewports that glimpses of the debauchery that existed within could be seen. Even then - they were overshadowed by the massive holoprojections that encompassed the entirety of the station. They were dancing pictures of charged photons, highlighting everything from the latest modes of transportation to the newest vices about to saturate the market.​

​

Because of its spatial positioning, Plutus had the luxury of employing a local garrison. While it wasn’t the grandest of armies or fleets that once passed through the Castell System, it was enough to protect the station from petty pirates. The installation’s defence force consisted of a single corvette with a few squadrons of automated starfighters, which was enough to keep the local pirate enclave at bay. Since their threat was incredibly minimal, the Trade Federation believed it would’ve been a costly and ultimately fruitless endeavour to reinforce the spatial garrison. Having Frigates or Cruisers stationed at Plutus would likely scare the locals and give their potential customers cause for alarm, both of which were bad for business.​

​

Instead, a fraction of those credits were diverted to funding the local security complement, which primarily consisted of automated battle droids and their lesser kindred. That selection of robotic soldiers would serve a two-fold purpose aboard the station. Their first task was to act as the extension of the administrator’s will aboard the station, keeping the peace where they were needed and shaking down rowdy customers for every extra credit. The second task was to act as opposition to any hostile entities that managed to board the station. Still, as no-one had dared to plunder the Plutus for what it was worth - they were starting to become lax in their duties. The local pirates wouldn’t be mental enough to stage a boarding action, let alone willingly engage the proverbial horde of battle droids.​

​

Yet, as the dawn of a new cycle passed, alarms began to echo across the installation. Pulsing white and red lights filled the Plutus’ spinal corridors as the inhabitants awakened in collective confusion. Who would be daring enough to attack the station? Some asked, bleary-eyed and dishevelled. Others began to feel the sensation of anxiety as the realization settled in. Only the brave and the bold could pierce through the station’s defences without their knowledge, leaving the local pirates out of the equation. Whoever triggered these warning klaxons was unafraid of the consequences and the garrison that defended the station. ​

​

Within moments, those aforementioned questions began to fade as the sound of blasterfire resonated throughout the labyrinthine network of spinal corridors. Panic slowly overtook the station as the threat became apparent. The invaders weren’t simple pirates, but Mandalorians - cloaked in the vestments of their martial culture. Somehow, they managed to misdirect the station’s sensors and carved through the hull before the first siren began to wail. It was a testament to their prowess and skill. But, as they poured through the gap with their rifles raised, all sense of admiration went out the airlock. ​

​

Plutus was under attack, and with every passing moment, it seemed like the station would be lost. Thus, the administrator did the only thing they believed they could… ​

They issued a distress signal and readied themselves for a fight.​

OBJECTIVE ONE
:\\ Smash and Grab \\:

Our underworld contacts have noted that Plutus Station has received a new shipment of war material from the Core Worlds, bound for some poor fool in the Outer Rim. Their corporate security will be light, meaning that we’re less likely to run into anything more than a contingent of battle droids and a few automated ships. Ideally, this should be an easy smash and grab, but be prepared for things to go sideways. Once you’re on board and past the station defences, the Crusade demands that everything that isn’t bolted down is taken for the cause. We need all the supplies we can get. For the Watch.​

OBJECTIVE TWO
:\\ Watch our Backs\\:

Despite the losses on Dantooine, we’ve managed to recover several starships and strike fighters for the cause. While our boots on the ground steal everything that isn’t bolted down aboard the Outpost, we need capable Pilots to cover the team’s back against whatever surprises might show up. Or even disable the in-bound transports, so we can store more spoils within those cargo holds. There will be a small contingent of automated sentries and fighters patrolling the station. They shouldn’t pose a danger to your craft but know that every fighter and their pilot is precious. Don’t die out there.​

:// Reference Links and Submissions //:

• Castell;
  • Gossam.
• TF01 Droid Corvette; Remora Pattern.
• TF01 Droid Starfighter; Carrion Pattern.
• TF02 Battle Droid; Ensilage Pattern.
• TF03 Battle Droid; Cavalier Pattern.

 

[Cyran Vaas]

Objective #1
"Smash and Grab"

Theme
​

Cyran was in a bit of a personal pickle he feared. Believing the task at hand for him was uncharacteristically aggressive for him. Understanding that he was going to partake in actions that would normally get someone a fat bounty on their head. So it was kind of odd being on the other side of the law now. But he believed that as a fledgling Mandalorian and dawning that identity though his armor it was important to know that for the time being at least. He was acting as part of Death Watch, not as Cyran Vaas the D-List bounty hunter.

At least that was the mental gymnastics he performed to justify it to himself. Also it was most likely droids they would be going up against. They don't mind the bad vibes... right? Also because of that fact Cyran held his force pike in his hands. Electric arks sparked across the vibro weapon occasionally. Functioning as a sort of front line support for those he was with at the moment. Still getting used to his new roll as a field medic of sorts he had with him a medkit he still wasn't fully capably of using and some easier bacta grenades. But they were valuable and he needed to use them sparingly.

It was also easy to get caught up in the moment with other Mandalorian comrades. Emotions where high and that easily washed over a Zeltron like Cyran.

Turning a corner to check if it was clear for their flank he almost ran right into a droid with a fire team behind them. Having not foreseen that he flinched back and in one dynamic movement sliced diagonally upwards with his Force pike, decapitating the droid as he backed up around the corner. "Ah!, 4 on our 9!" He said as he backed away behind the corner for cover from the rest.

 

[Darth Kalyptos]

S P E C T R E
TRADE DEFENSE FORCE
SMASH AND GRAB
Armor | Rifle | Pistols | Vambraces | Grenades

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---

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TAURUS​

Assignments never met to the lofty expectations of their original purpose. Being assigned here was never meant to be a reprieve, but at the very least, Thein knew damn well it'd be away from the chaos. Just good old scum and villainy. Cheap drink and cigara, a chance to lay low, refill the tank and make some easy pocket change.

In the command center of this installation, the Duros seemed to be taking full advantage of the break in the carnage that came interdiction and boarding operations, snuffing out the pirates and raiders that disrupted the flow of cargo through the war torn Braxant Run and Stygian Caldera. Being a corporation acting in protection of its capital, it typically struck hard and fast, leaving no mercy for those looking to interrupt its business. Recruiting its ranks from those running from the punishment of their crime in just about any constinciency as well as veteran ranks from across the Galaxy. Galactic Alliance Marines, New Imperial COMPFORCE, Silver Jedi Antarian Rangers and Outer Rim Judges amongst the many to join the ranks of the growing Trade Defense Force.

It was a solid line of work for those who couldn't find any elsewhere, a pay raise for those experienced and largely cut and dry from any political alignment. Even if they'd partaken in direct conflict with the Eternal and Sith Empires. The job was muddy, there was no disputing that. Here in an outlying outpost, the unit separate from the droid security force stationed here could at least catch a break as they refueled and rearmed in preparation for their next assignment.

As they seemed to with just about everything else, Mandalorians ruined that. The breach had already been made by the time the sirens sounded. Tucking his vision from the holomag in his hands and the cigarra between his lips, the Duros pivoted his view to the camera feeds monitored by one of the security droid.

"Mandos...hmph." He offered, taking one last draw from the sweetened herb before ashing it out in the tray sat on the console before him. Taking up the rifle leaned up near him, he made his way for the door, raising his left vambrace near his face to patch into the security commo.

<"This is Spectre Actual...where is our breach?"> The Duros inquired, a robotic voice chimed back through. Great.

<"North east sector, section Aurek.">

<"Seal 'em in. Form up choke points on all corridors to their advance. Don't give these bucketheads any room to move."> They were more mobile and more effective than the droid compliment Thein had to work with. He continued down the corridor, a characteristic rattle of his boots accompanying his step. The next door pried open in an automatic hiss, and a Deathwatch warrior was there to greet him with a screaming advance, unfurling a long pulse of his blaster rifle in Thein's direction, causing the Duros to immediately abandon his rifle, slinging it over his shoulder before drawing both of his pistols in the next instant.

A toss of the flashbang in the approach managed to stun the Mandalorian, a hyperpulse of his pistols came the next instant and the Durasteel alloy was next to nothing in opposition to the firepower and the Mandalorian trembled to the floor limply.

"Last thing I wanted was fucking Mandos..." He admitted under his breath, spitting unto the corpse of the slain Deathwatch Crusader.

Rynn Vizsla | Cyran Vaas​

 

[Jair Ordo]

T H I E F
CASTELL
OBJECTIVE 1
RIFLE | VAMBRACES | LIGHTSABER | JETPACK
Cyran Vaas | Darth Kalyptos

"Now's our chance, brothers! Strike at will!"
​

The lowly station that was named "Plutus" Jair had never heard of. It was to be appropriate, he never kept tabs with the Trade Federation at all. Frankly, he knew of its existence and petty shipment routes that were constantly under siege whether it be from pirates or spacers trying to make a quick credit. He was neither, so it did not matter he stayed up to date. Now, he wished he had.

Pre-planning was always key in a raid like this. Jair always came prepared to prevent any unscheduled mishaps from popping out of the shadows and hitting where it hurts. Instead of taking his own fighter towards the party, he had hired some risky spacers who believed they were "the fastest in the galaxy." Others said the opposite. Although they did not seem quite smart, they were capable of an infiltration/exfiltration scenario and that is just what he needed. They were paid half upfront and for the initial trip, and they were to receive payment once he had been safely extracted.

Jair stood aboard the Destiny's Rival, the hired spacers dust bucket of a ship. A light freighter that could take some hits would be perfect for a blockade the would be bound to appear as they left. He looked towards the Devaronian pilot, who was deep in a concentrated stare towards the landing zone. It would be quick, so the heat could stay relatively low, yet that was not promising that no opposition would meet them on the way in. The pilot's raspy voice spoke up towards him as a sharp beeping noise could be heard from the logistical equipment in the cockpit.

"Your landing zone is approaching. Do any final checks before you leave."

"Already completed. I'm ready." The Mandalorian responded. The pre-combat checks had already been completed. He was very strict on battle preparation.

"Good. The lading zone is just up ahead." The Devaronian pointed with his long and sharp finger. The station was up ahead, and along with it, its security compliment. They had already been put on alert due to the attacks the occurred in the time before he arrived. But because of the few numbers he saw, he could only assume that the breach had just taken place. It was an excellent opportunity to strike. Trade Federation fighters traveled on the left and right side of the freighter. Jair looked at the pilot, who right back at him. Simultaneously, they both sprang into action. He ran out of the cockpit and towards the landing dock where he stood ready to jump. The pilot spoke through the intercom of the freighter, letting him know of the current situation. "If I continue, they will shoot me down. I will drop the ramp so you can jump and make your way over. Do be careful, I need my money!" He said urgently. The mechanical whirring of the ramp sounded, and he was met with the fast-moving atmosphere of Castell. Clouds brushed past as Jair held on to the suspension cable that held the ramp in place. Tapping a button on his vambrace his jetpack spurred to life. One quick look back into the hanger bay he nodded, then took the leap.

He cut through the clouds like a lightsaber through duraplast. He did not have to fly far as his helpful hire got him as close as possible. Close enough to the point where he could see the breach and the fighting that occurred within. Another Trade Federation security fighter appeared closer to the Mandalorian's right side, weapons hot. If he didn't make it, he was going to be turned to paste for sure. The point of entry was getting closer as the fighter secured a more tactful position to fire...

Jair took a deep breath as he grabbed his rifle, taking shots at the weapons system of the fighter. The bolts seemed to have no effect, but it did not matter to him. He just needed a distraction. He turned from looking at the fighter towards the breach. Closing in, he turned his body rapidly so he wouldn't land head first. Arms and legs pulled in close and head down, he braced for impact.

His body fell through the breached hull of the station and into two droids who were in the way. He groaned as he picked himself up and held his rifle in one hand steadily. The impact could have caused a broken rib or two, but it wasn't time to think about all of that. More droids appeared at the end of the corridor, weapons smoking from previous engagements. Jair raised his rifle upwards on began firing, rushing towards a column that was already weathered due to previous damage.

<"To any other Mandalorians or whom it may concern, I have breached and I am going to push. I would like some assistance."> He relayed into his helmet comm, taking another look at the wall of droids before firing once more.

 

[Korso Rook]

CASTELL SYSTEM
WATCH OUR BACKS

​

"Skull Squadron, form up on me."

With their escort mission completed Corso Rook and the other Death Watch pilots broke off from Plutus Station nimbly evading point defense fire before each craft maneuvered back into a loose alignment. His Fang-class starfighter scythed through space barely showing her age. Some of the heavy Kom'rks were even more ancient. Fighting in space was just like fighting on your own two feet. There was very little difference between the feel of a blaster and a flight stick.

"Contact!" Rook glanced down almost lazily at his sensors, "Looks like another droid patrol on approach. I'll take lead, Concordia Face Off on my mark."

It was a popular mandalorian brute force tactic. Little more than a head-on charge. He wasn't in the mood to play any games with a bunch of droid brains. Corso waited a few heartbeats before powering up his sublight drives and engaging hard burn. Despite the inertial dampeners he could feel a slight increase in g-force. With the Fang's s-foils locked into attack position he only needed to squeeze his fingers and arcs of laser cannon fire erupted from his wing mounts cutting through the lead Trade Federation sentry.

"This is the Way."

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

Objective I - Smash and Grab.
Formerly aboard some In-bound Freighter, with an Mk-II Talon Dropship.
Plutus Station - Trade Federation Outpost.
Equipment: See Signature.
​

P O S T _ T H E M E

Ever since his armour was coated in red, Rynn felt something inside him change. He was responsible now for the lives of those that followed him. No longer could he be the lone wolf amongst the pack. His words carried weight now, and those that followed him would either live or die by his every decision. It was a daunting prospect to consider and one that Rynn didn’t relish in the slightest. Yet, such thoughts didn’t linger within his mind for long. There was much work to be done, and little time could be wasted on speculation. Instead, the newly crowned Rally Master decided to focus on the task at hand.​

He was but a part of the raiding party that was sent to the Castell System. While his newfound station granted him a measure of authority amongst the Neo-Crusaders’ ranks, Rynn was still playing second fiddle to the Field Marshal that accompanied them. Not to mention the small selection of more experienced Rally Masters that attached themselves to this mission, lusting for bloodshed and combat. While there should’ve been a part of him that felt upstaged, the young Vizsla was pleased that other commanding presences within the Fighting Corps volunteered for the cause. ​

This mission would be a chance to learn from the experience of others. Or, should it go south, it would serve as an example as to why the Death Watch needed to be selective in who they chose to lead.​

As Rynn’s thoughts returned to the present, his sight was bathed in a new collection of runes materializing on his HUD. TTheisor’s false-firelight gave them prominence against the backdrop of targeting data and various other details, signifying their importance. The silent running period was near completion. If everything was proceeding in accordance with the plan, they would be close to the station. It wouldn’t be long now, Rynn thought to himself. While it was the furthest thing from fighting hordes of Sithspawn, the Mandalorian felt the chill of anticipation flow down his spine.​

The Death Watch had followed through with several methods of preparation before this operation began. Some had hired freighters to ferry them into the station’s airspace, while others elected to follow a different path. Rynn’s group managed to hijack a vessel scheduled to dock with the station, taking the ship by blaster and blade. At first, the crew resisted but were swiftly pacified - thanks in part to the realization that their lives were threatened by heavily-armed and armoured Mandalorians. It seemed they were the few who still remembered their ancestors’ fearful stories and didn’t wish to see such carnage with their own eyes. ​

With the vessel in their control, the Death Watch vented the cargo into the infinite depths of space. There was nothing of worth within those containers, but the area they once occupied was enough to store a single dropship. While they could’ve used that smaller vessel to storm the proverbial barricades of their intended target, there was a chance they’d be intercepted or detected long before they arrived. That would’ve complicated matters, making their chances of success a nigh-impossibility. Thus, through cunning and deception, the stolen freighter ferried the Neo-Crusaders towards the station - until the time was right to shed their disguise and plunder the station’s riches.​

When that time arrived, Rynn began readying himself for battle. Freshly-charged plasma cartridges were slammed into their respective housings, filling the troop compartment with the subtle whine of weapon’s priming. Even a modest collection of whetted blades found themselves sheathed across his armoured form. As the last piece of his accoutrements were fitted into place, the Mandalorian felt whole once more. ​

It was then that the moment for preparations had passed, and the time for action began. The lights within the dropship flickered to life, bathing their collective surroundings in an unsubtle crimson hue. The shift in lighting was followed by the shuddering of igniting ion drives and the sudden lapse in the artificial gravity’s potency. Their vessel dusted-off and fell into the depthless void with all the personified enthusiasm it could muster. Some amongst their number began to sing, seeking to embolden the spirits of their brothers and sisters - strengthening their resolve and committing them further to the task. ​

Rynn was one of the few that remained silent. He didn’t need to be set to the task like the others. He knew the stakes. All that mattered now was whether or not they were victorious in this endeavour. He remained silent as their transport soared through the soundless void, even going so far as to hold his tongue when the pilot relayed the success of Skull Squadron in playing their part. It was only when the dropship forced its way onto the station and retracted the blast shielding that Rally Master’s voice shattered the silence. With his rifle raised, and purpose clear, Rynn surged into action - beckoning his fellow Neo-Crusaders to follow in his wake. Through him, they would find victory.​

Or, at least, that’s what he wanted them to believe.​

As his boots kissed the station’s grated deck, things began to get exciting. Blasterfire was exchanged between the automated defenders and the newly arrived invaders. The sheer intensity, and the scent of scorched ozone, momentarily stunned the Rally Master. What he saw was markedly different from engaging a horde of mindless abominations, and it stirred the embers of martial pride. At least, until a stray plamastic projectile caught him unaware and forced him to take cover, he felt his cheeks flush, especially as a nearby Rally Master barked with mocking laughter.​

Rynn’s focus wavered, but as the engagement continued, the man recovered his senses. With his world narrowing to a point, where one action bled into another, the Neo-Crusader regained his momentum. He tapped a device on his forearm that shrouded a portion of his armoured figure in magnetically-contained energy, shielding him from the onslaught directed towards the boarding party. With this projected barrier in hand, the Rally Master threw his arm forward - before slapping his rifle’s barrel onto the armoured cuff. Now stabilized, in a fashion, Rynn began to advance against the blistering hail whilst returning fire.​

Moments later, the volleys of plasmatic cannonade began to peter out and die, as a portion of the defending force was pacified. Scattered mechanical corpses littered the entirety of the landing site, chosen by the Death Watch dropship. With their position secured, the coterie of armoured Neo-Crusaders slowly branched outwards as they started towards their respective objectives. Rynn was given two blue-armoured neophytes, and while some commanders would see that as an insult - the young Vizsla took it as a challenge to prove himself worthy of the crimson he now wore.​

With those two Crusaders falling in step behind him, the Rally Master began moving through the outskirts of the station. Other boarding parties had made their arrival and were already progressing farther. However, some were encountering more resistance than expected. His duties shifted from proceeding towards a central cargo bay to lending aid where he could. To that end, the Rally Master cycled through a selection of encrypted connections. Once found, he projected his voice towards those nearest to his position.​

:: Jair, :: Rynn began, citing the unfamiliar name attached to their armour’s IFF transponder. :: Hold your position, Cousin; I’m two decks below you. Coming in with reinforcements. :: After those words were spoken, the Rally master cycled through the channels once more before continuing to speak. It felt odd giving orders to those that weren’t under his direct command, but the man understood the necessity for cooperation. That path was the only one that would lead them towards success. ​

:: Vaas, we’re one deck below you. If you can, link up with us as we ascend to Deck 15. We’ll join our Cousins above and push through their lines. ::​

Relevancy Taglist:
| Cyran Vaas | Darth Kalyptos | Jair Ordo | Corso Rook |​

 

[Saga of Valour]

​

Objective II - Watch Our Backs.
Castell System; Open Space.
Safeguard the Station.​

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There was no warning that allowed the automated crew to prepare for what happened. The spatial defenders were caught off-guard as they fell into the processes and comforts of their routine. It wasn’t odd to see a collection of ships make their approach to the station under falsified transponders, nor was it uncommon to see vessels with additional EM signatures partially shrouded in their metallic husks. The Trade Federation solicited with all flavours of society, as their only concern was turning a profit. It was why there were security measures in play, just in case something happened. But, all of that mattered for not when a hostile force suddenly engaged their automated defences. ​

​

As the Droids aboard the station fought in countless skirmishes against the newly boarded Mandalorians, the nearby Corvette and the station’s complement of autonomous fighters found themselves engaged by a Squadron of Mandalorian strike-craft. They were nimble and proved to be more than a match for the collection of mechanical carrion, dancing across the bespeckled canvas with relative ease. With more and more of their patrols going dark, it was only a matter of time before their entire garrison of automated fighters were destroyed, leaving the Mandalorian Pirates in command of the station’s surroundings. That was an eventually that wouldn’t stand, not if the nearby Corvette had anything to say about it.​

​

Sailing across the solar tides, the Remora-Class Corvette began sweeping its surroundings in the hopes of garnering targets. As the collated data filtered in, each of the detected transponders was assigned a threat marker; denoting their lethality and potential on the spatial battlefield. Some of the assembled opposition ranked higher than others, as the nimble strike-craft posed the largest threat compared to some of the boarding vessels. While it would save the station from engaging in a prolonged assault, the Remora’s computations believed that it was better to re-establish their control over this sector of the system.​

​

Once the starfighters were dealt with, it would only be a matter of time before the Trade Federation agents repulsed the Mandalorians from the station.​

​

Thus, with a cycle of calculations complete, the Corvette prowled through the stars; their ion drives roaring in the silence. The automated gun batteries cycled live and began tracking their newly assigned targets. Once the Remora sailed into effective weapon’s range, the heavy laser cannons began saturating the stars with plasmatic lethality - hoping to level the playing field against the high-mobile Mandalorian strike-craft. Whether or not such a tactic worked was wholly dependant on the skills of those behind the flight-sticks, as the possibility of failure existed in all things.​

While utterly soulless, the Remora silently hoped for success as it engaged the enemy.​

| Corso Rook |​

 

[Tarre Priest]

OBJECTIVE II - Watch Our Backs
Castell System, Open Space
​

"Haar'chak!"

Pulling hard on the controls, using everything I could, it seemed like these Beskar'ad kept on my tail. I knew that this Talon-Class wasn't super great at speed, its ability to turn was barely keeping me alive right now. Bes'uliik Squadron was all but gone from my sights. Either dealing with their own tails, or trying to get these droid fighters off of allies without killing ourselves. It was very quickly that I was learning why companies, and governments kept droids in their military might. They could ruthlessly hunt you down without a second to lose. Already this Talon-class had taken a couple hits from some kind of fighter. I cared not its make or model, but I wanted it dead and gone.

"Are you gonna hit them or what?!"
"I am trying! Maybe you should not be flinging us around the void as though - AH GOT EM!"
"Finally!"

One of the droid fighters was blown up behind us. I could hear it as I flung the stick to the left hard. Having us roll then pull out to fling us down towards the atmosphere of the planet. Pulling up and turning around to see us a bit away from the fleet battle itself. I just shook my head. If there was any time we needed the damn bes'bavar, it would be now.

I knew that those ground pounding would be having a hard time, but when you have to keep yourself on your toes this hard for this long, it takes a toll on your mind.

"Come on ad'ika! Get back in there!"
"How about you come here and fly!"
"Keep your buy'ce on cabur, we nearly there."
"Haran!"

Throwing the throttle forward once more, I reached out on the coms while moving once more into the fray of the Fleetbattle that was taking place.

"Bes'uiik Squadron, I'm free flying."
"On your Five! Got three on me!"
"Flyby, I'll get them on the return."
"Nau'ur!"

The Fang-Class flew just underneath me. I slowed down just for a second, Throwing on the breaks only to release them and throttle it while dropping in with a twist of the stick. Coming up behind the three Droid Fighters. Without hesitation I lit those bastards up with my Ion cannons. Missing the first few shots but got it without too much difficulty. The second one split off for a hot second, and I followed him.

"Oh no. You are going no where shabla!"

This droid tried as he might, kept getting barely out of my lock. The beeping of this missile lock kept pinging him so damn close. Twisting and weaving left, right, and all around, I finally got him with a solid tone.

"Good Tone!"

A click with my thumb down on the button on the stick sent two torpedos hard on him. It was merely a moment before they smacked true. Blowing this besom into parts.

"Got my shebs cleared!"
"Good. Now get some others!"

Rynn Vizsla Saga of Valour Cyran Vaas Jair Ordo Corso Rook Darth Kalyptos

 

[Cyran Vaas]

Objective #1

"Smash and Grab"

Rynn Vizsla | Jair Ordo | Corso Rook | Darth Kalyptos | Tarre Priest
​

As Cyran and the members of his fire squad dealt with the threats at hand Cyran listened in on the coms. In his support role he also played as the squad's communication's guy as well. Hearing Rynn talk to him informing him of a regroup so that they can push though enemy's lines together. Seemed like a good idea to him. Coming in together as Mandalorian's would be pretty devastating. Activating his coms Cyran replied.

"Understood Vizsla, we'll meet you on our deck's turbolift, over!" He replied, before looking to the rest of the team and explaining to them what the plan was from there Rally Master. Looking up at the ceiling he looked for any hanging directions for where the nearest turbolift was. Seeing that the exit sign was the path they just took it. In the T shaped intersection of hallways the path the droids he ran into were coming from had a sign leading them to the direction of the nearest turbo lift. "Alright, everyone accounted for? This way then." He said to the squad.

Heading down the hallways with his comrades remained cautious. Especially since Cyran didn't want to accidently run head first into a group of armed droids again. Peering down from the end of another hall he spotted the Turbolift however a small group of droids were guarding it. He informed the rest of the squad before holstering his force pike and taking out one of his blaster pistols from it's holster. With his vambrace on his other arm he made it form a small personal protection energy shield. The others with him readied up as well and on his mark they all rushed into sight of the droids and charged them.

Since Cyran was in front quite a view of the oppositions shots came his way. He figured as much which is why he had the energy shield up. Even though his amor was durable enough it would still hurt quite a bit to let it tank the shots. He felt lucky to be using a DC-17 on the droids. Shooting the blue ionized shots at them helped make quick work of them as they got overran. Once they were dealt with he opened up coms again with their Rally Master. "Vizsla, we've secured our deck's turbolift, standing by, over."

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

Objective I - Smash and Grab.
Formerly aboard some In-bound Freighter, with an Mk-II Talon Dropship.
Plutus Station - Trade Federation Outpost.
Equipment: See Signature.​

As the responses came across the encrypted channel, Rynn felt a measure of pride follow through his veins. While many within this raiding party were the Faithful, adherents to the Old Ways of the Mandalorian people, many partook because of the potential payday. Some had even worn the armour of his people but held no real ties to the society or the Clans after that. While that was grating, at first, the young Vizsla was slowly starting to grow accustomed to the thought. It was the Neo-Crusader way to adopt outsiders and enlighten them to their untapped potential. They, in turn, would shed their old lives, in a way, and become Mandalorian. More so than adorning themselves in the honeycombed armour and crowning themselves with the all-too iconic T-visor. ​

​

In Vaas, Rynn felt like the man had the making of a Mandalorian and would doubtlessly try to adopt him in the future. Bringing him into the fold and perhaps making him one of the Faithful, should the fates be kind. Yet, that was but one of many branching outcomes. They had to survive this raid first before any familial aspects could be discussed. With that being said, however, the Rally Master was proud to fight alongside someone that wore the armour well. Others would doubtlessly berate the man for his callous adoptions of ancient traditions, but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Not where the Neo-Crusaders were concerned.​

​

With that train of thought extinguished, Rynn began to move towards a nearby terminal. The station’s interior layout was, in part, utterly foreign to him. There was only such much information that could be garnered from passive scans and cantina rumours. Thus, they needed access to the primary database or at least a portion of it. The terminal that Rynn now lorded over would house the answers he sought, or at least, the Mandalorian Warrior hoped so. An armoured finger jabbed itself into the crystalline screen, awakening the terminal from its mechanical slumber. As the screen illuminated his surroundings, the sounds of combat began to fill his aural receptors slowly.​

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It seemed that the local garrison was making quick work of dispatching the weakest of the Death Watch’s coterie. Hired guns and run-of-the-mill mercenaries made for perfect cannon fodder whilst the Mandalorian’s advanced towards their objectives. With any luck, what seemed to be transpiring nearby was nothing more than the station’s defenders gunning down foolhardy soldiers of fortune. But, with such a thought in hand, there was an underlying sense of urgency placed on his armoured shoulders. He had to act quickly, lest the battle droids turn their guns on him whilst his attention was focused elsewhere.​

​

And so, Rynn began vigorously seeking a way to bypass the terminal’s security measures. Sadly, ever since the station found itself under assault, every access point fell under the central computer core’s lockout protocols. While not entirely unexpected, it was an annoyance. The Mandalorian wasn’t a slicer, but out of everyone within his small fire team, Rynn was the most proficient with machines. Thus, there was only one solid choice to tackle the terminal. With the screen and randomly inputted codes getting them nowhere, the Rally Master ripped off a side panel and began hot-wiring the terminal. Small sparks and audible cracks of energy soon filled the corridor, drowning out the dying sounds of distant battle.​

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Although his attention was elsewhere, is fire team’s remainder kept their eyes peeled for hostile forces. It wasn’t long after Rynn had ripped the panel off that the station’s defenders walked into sight. They took position at the end of a nearby corridor, using the passage’s natural spines to offer themselves some measure of cover. The two Mandalorian Crusaders that accompanied their Rally Master did the same and began firing as soon as their rifles were shouldered. It only took seconds, but the connecting spar filled with the scent of burnt ozone and a blinding kaleidoscope of conflicting colours. Yet, Rynn needed to remain focused to succeed in his task. Tampering with the security protocols on a locked terminal wasn’t anything like fixing one of his battle tanks.​

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One wire started to cross and weave itself into another. Smoke crackled from the panel as the connection was made, but after the billowing tails began to subside - the terminal chimed pleasantly. Though drowned out by the sounds of the ensuing battle, Rynn knew that the lockout was bypassed. It wouldn’t be long until the station’s central computer uncovered his brutish methods, but that mattered little. He would be done long before the terminal’s access to the database was revoked. Within seconds, Rynn collated the data regarding the station’s loadout and copied it to a small data-rod sequestered within the terminal’s housing. Yanking it free, the Rally Master nearly threw himself into the line of fire as the stubborn machine sought to deny him of his prize. ​

​

:: Alright, :: Rynn began as he inserted the data-rod into one of his helmet’s access ports. :: Uploading schematics to our Local BattleNet. ::​

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Once the false fire-light of his visor signalled completion, the Rally Master ejected the data-rod and casually allowed the device to shatter as soon as it struck the grated deck-plates. With the data uploaded and transmitted to nearby teams, Rynn joined his brothers on their improvised firing line. The coterie of battle droids they faced seemed somewhat intelligent, as they began adapting to whatever tactics and strategies that the Mandalorian’s employed. There was something to be said about their technological ingenuity but now wasn’t the time nor place. Not when they were killing his brothers and sisters in arms. That versatility meant the Rally Master would have to make things up on the fly, keeping these droids on the back-foot and unable to adapt accordingly.​

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So, Rynn once again activated his gauntlet shield and situated himself behind its protective barrier. He then placed himself in the path of the advancing droids, which in turn elected to target their shielded opposition. Apparently, they believed that the armoured warrior with a shield was a far greater threat than those situated behind. And, in a way, those droids would be right. His threat marker doubtlessly sky-rocketed with every step, as the closer that the Rally Master got - the less likely his automaton foes could dispatch him with ease. Mandalorians had the advantage in close-quarters, and the fluidity of movement made them consummate warriors against machined soldiers’ rigidity. ​

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But, as their focused firepower began to deplete the shield’s projected strength, the Crusaders at their Rally Master’s rear began to score several kills. A swift flick of their thumbs altered the positioning of their rifle’s fire selector, turning the weapon from semi-automatic to a pulse-burst monstrosity. Three unstable plasmatic rounds struck their mechanoid opposition in quick succession, bathing them in the heat that kissed the heart of newborn stars. Some battle droids exploded as their miniaturized reactors were breached. Others simply melted as their protective plating buckled. When Rynn’s shield finally flickered and died, there was naught, but Mandalorian Warrior’s occupying the battle-scarred corridor. The battle droids were defeated, and through the technical insight garnered during the firefight’s opening moments, the small fireteam was one step closer to achieving their objective.​

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Without ceremony or remorse for the fallen droids, Rynn and his compatriots moved through the station’s lower corridors until they arrived at their intended destination. Little resistance was encountered along the way, but the Rally Master suspected that other detachments weren’t so lucky. As they reached the turbolift, one of the blue-armoured Crusader’s palmed the mounted terminal - summoning the car. It took what seemed like ages for the lift to arrive, but when it did - what happened afterwards seemed to blend together in an attempt to catch-up. When the doors opened, the car was empty. However, the hallway the Mandalorians just occupied wasn’t any longer. ​

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Instead, it was now rife with a selection of battle droids led by some soldier of fortune that bore the aura of a trained killer. While Rynn wanted to stay and fight, to prove himself against something that wasn’t a mindless Sithspawn, there were more pressing matters at hand. Thus, as the newly arrived battle droids and their overseer began firing, the Rally Master and his fireteam ducked into the awaiting turbolift and keyed in the level above. Within moments, the doors closed - sealing the three armoured figures inside, and began its ascent. When the car reached the deck above, the door’s opened once more to reveal the narrow battlefield outside its metallic embrace.​

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Within a moment, Rynn spotted the garishly coloured Warrior who bore the name of Cyran Vaas. In truth, it would be tough to miss the man, even in such a drab environment such as this. ​

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:: Get on board! :: The Rally Master barked as he took cover within the parted doors. :: Toss a detonator and leave these machines to pick through the mess! ::​

Relevancy Taglist:
| Cyran Vaas | Darth Kalyptos | Jair Ordo | Corso Rook | Tarre Priest |​

 

[Jair Ordo]

T H I E F
CASTELL
OBJECTIVE 1
RIFLE | VAMBRACES | LIGHTSABER | JETPACK
Cyran Vaas | Darth Kalyptos | Rynn Vizsla

​

A familiar voice sounded over the comms.

:: Jair, :: Rynn began, citing the unfamiliar name attached to their armour’s IFF transponder. :: Hold your position, Cousin; I’m two decks below you. Coming in with reinforcements. ::​

Vizsla, a warrior under the Death Watch banner and known associate, had radioed in. A sigh of relief came from Jair. At least he knew someone had his back. The resistance at the end of the hall was growing in number. For every droid destroyed, two more came up in its place. Soon, he would be too overwhelmed to move anywhere. He stuck his rifle over the side of the column to fire some more shots blindly when his blaster clicked. He was out. He patted his body down for another power pack but found none on his person. For all of the preparation he did, he forgot extra power packs.

A worried hand fell over his lightsaber. He had not activated his lightsaber, let alone touch it, in many years. He always carried it in case some event raised that called for it. Was this said event? He unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and let the weight of it recall his old training memories to focus. It came back to him in waves. The constant repetition of the basic lightsaber moves. The training with the blaster droids. Jair had not called back these memories in years and it confused his emotions for a second. Another blaster round hit too close for comfort on the column. The time to focus on such trivial matters would come. He activated his lightsaber with swift action. The purple blade reflected off his T-shaped visor to create an ambient hue around him. The similarity came flooding back. He switched to an underhand grip and started to cut the ground below in a circle shape. It would be suicide to try to take out the growing mass of droids. The alternative; go to a floor below. The slab of material cut from up under Jair quickly fell to the floor below. With a grunt, he got up and dusted himself off.

The hallway that lay in front of him was empty. Quiet. The security forces had most likely been occupied by some opposition somewhere else on the floor. The purple blade of his lightsaber retracted into the hilt, but he did not put the hilt back on his belt. He knew that he would have to use it again considering he had no weapons. Jair looked at the end of the hallway and then back at the other end. He still did not the layout of the station, so the rendezvous point was still a mystery. He took one good look at his display and then broke off in a sprint towards the end of the hallway. The sounds of yelling and blaster fire came from that end, so it would be most likely where he was needed. Reaching the corner of the corridor he was met with a wall of security reinforcements and to the side, the turbo-lift. He had heard some previous radio chatter about a turbo-lift, but couldn't confirm who the voice was coming from. His thumb slammed on the ignition switch and with a swing, a line of cut metal appeared on three droids. Jair kicked one droid through that line and it fell apart into two pieces. The other droids turned to look at him and with a press of a button his plasma shield sprung out of his vambrace. He looked over to the open turbolift shaft and without hesitation jumped down. The turbolift wasn't far from where he jumped and he looked at three individuals who were already standing on the platform. Their armor was indistinguishable, he knew who they were.

The Mandalorian landed with a thud. The platform shook around the four of them and he used the wall to secure himself. The two Crusaders who stood before he did not recognize, but the red paint of a Rally Master he did.

<"I assume this is you, Vizsla."> He said before looking upwards towards the top of the shaft. He peered down once more. <"They will be in the turbolift shaft if we do not hurry.">

 

[Rynn Vizsla]

Objective I - Smash and Grab.
Formerly aboard some In-bound Freighter, with an Mk-II Talon Dropship.
Plutus Station - Trade Federation Outpost.
Equipment: See Signature.​

As the turbolift doors sealed behind the newly united coterie of Crusaders, a dull thump echoed across the platform. The thrown detonator was undoubtedly effective, as the gathered battle droids that loomed near the doorway were destroyed. These automatons were likely turned to dollops of molten slag, dripping from the grated gantries and bulkheads. The same could probably be said of the spinal pathway, too, as detonators weren’t concerned with the effects of collateral damage. Rynn breathed out a small, inaudible sigh. Things were going to hell in a handbasket, as there were far more droids than they initially predicted.​

While it was true that a trained Mandalorian Warrior was worth more than a score of Battle Droids, there were so few amongst their number that could consider themselves amongst such lofty stock. They were mercenaries turned would-be Crusaders, with a sprinkling of cultural indoctrination, coupled with the Clans’ armour and weapons. It seemed that in their haste, the Crusade had made a mistake in striking this outpost. Not because of the numbers and opposition they faced - but many amongst their ranks weren’t prepared for what was to come.​

Soldiers of fortune were good at what they did. They plied their trade, spilling the blood of their employer’s enemies and taking their share of the profits. However, ever since the Golden Company had dominated the market - there was less of a demand for skilled SellBlasters. Their kind were on the verge of galactic extinction, at least, until the Thyrsian Mercenary Group disbanded - allowing others to fill in the gaps left behind. That meant every organization worth a credit found itself rushing to pick-up whatever meagre scraps remained, polluting the industry with countless mediocre individuals.​

These soldiers of fortune were good, but they paled in comparison to their highly-trained Mandalorian counterparts. Sure, they wore the armour and were taught how to speak the language, but more often than not? They were paid to serve as cannon fodder, saving those far worthier to carry on with the mission at hand. But, like every cesspool, few stood out from all the rest. Cyran Vaas was one of these men. Though Rynn knew little about the man, outside of his eclectic tastes for the Mandalorian aesthetic, the Rally Master appreciated the man’s talents. He lasted longer than many others and would doubtlessly himself leading the pack.​

There was even a moment when the young Vizsla thought to adopt the Sellblaster, to fully bring Cyran into the fold and allow him to stand beside his Kin as equals. Yet, such thoughts were inappropriate. The timing was terrible, and Rynn could do nothing more than shake his head to free himself from such thoughts.​

It was then that the sounds of blasterfire erupted from above. Rynn’s eyes were instinctively drawn upwards as his hands forced the weapon within their grasp to follow suit. He wouldn’t be surprised if the station’s automated defences elected to disengage the platform, sending them towards the station’s deepest recesses. Or flooding the turbolift shaft with dozen of battle droids in an attempt to gun down a portion of the Mandalorian boarding party. Instead of seeing a collection of hostels or a disengaged cable, the Rally Master bore witness to an armoured warrior rapidly descending from above. He reflexively took a step backwards as the, now revealed, Mandalorian warrior kissed the grated platform with a deafening bang.​

Rynn could only nod as the man spoke. This was Jair Ordo, without a doubt. While there was a part of the Rally Master that wished they could spend the time introducing themselves properly, such a luxury would have to wait for another time. As the Crusader stated, time was of the essence. So, the Mandalorian Warrior tossed such foolish notions aside and forced himself into action. While their numbers were strengthened, it would’ve been suicide to return from whence Jair came - as the concentration of enemy forces were likely greater than their own. They couldn’t descend to where the Rally Master and his fireteam entered the turbolift either, as they’d likely encounter that Sellblaster and their coterie of battle droids.​

So, Rynn stepped forward and palmed the access terminal mounted on the bulkhead. It opened the doors that once revealed Cyran - and now showcased the aftermath of the discarded detonator. With two fingers raised, the Rally Master pointed towards one of the adjoining corridors. :: Let’s make haste down this path, :: the young Vizsla began, detailing his plan in the Mandalorian tongue. :: Jair, I want you to take point. According to the data I managed to recover, that corridor will lead us to the Station’s promenade. From there, we can circle around and link up with another portion of our raiding party. Those clankers will likely chase us, but the open spaces will give us some more cover - and the room we need to outflank them. ::​

He chuckled then. :: As an added plus, they’ll likely be spilling out of cramped corridors. All the easier to catch them in the crossfire and pick them off with ease. ::​

Relevancy Taglist:
| Cyran Vaas | Darth Kalyptos | Jair Ordo | Corso Rook | Tarre Priest |​