Junction INFO WARS | ME & DIA Junction of Daro Hex

[Tin]

DARO, OUTER RIM TERRITORIES
"In the city of secrets, even silence bleeds."

​

The rural world of Daro has long served as a frontier world within the galaxy, a place for those wanting a quiet life to settle on without being too disconnected from galactic society. The largest settlements, typically only ranging in the tens of thousands, act as the planet’s connection to the wider galaxy. It is here that natives of Daro congregate, trade with offworlders, and typically try their hand at making a profit by selling local goods to offworlders.

One of these goods, and perhaps the most valuable, is information. Within the city of Skysport informants from across the galaxy congregate to trade valuable information on the neutral mostly ignored world of Daro. Whether this be the illegally acquired plans to top secret technology, the latest rumors of a senator’s newest mistress, or detailed reports on military movements around the galaxy it can all be found on Slicer’s Way, one of Skyport’s busiest markets.

With news spreading of the conflict at Vexis Station, Slicer’s Way had become a key point of activity for The Diarchy. Dozens of spies-for-hire, disillusioned Mandalorian Commandos, and occasionally an opportunistic assassin broadcast their knowledge of the Mandalorian Empire in an effort to make a quick buck. Agents of The Network descended on Skysport within a day of the conflict at Vexis Station, establishing a listening post as negotiations began for valuable Mandalorian data.

Yet Skysport never played favorites. Those courting the Mandalorian Empire, be they disgraced military commanders, sly chancellors seeking to leak information on their rivals for political gain, or the same spies-for-hire who had attracted The Diarchy to Daro in the first place, there were countless mouths willing to share Diarchy secrets. Mandalorian Nite Owls would be fools not to come to Daro, seeking the wealth of knowledge available to those who knew how to pull the right strings. So it is that the city of Skysport played both sides of a brewing interstellar war.

Then one broker thought to off another broker by sharing the location of a Network safehouse to the Nite Owls. Yet, when the target found out they were just as quick to share the location of a hidden Nite Owl barracks to their Network sources. Soon dozens of other informants, seeing the writing on the wall, would dump all the information they had on both factions and flee Skysport.

At first things could best be described as awkward. Nite Owls spying on the same Network agents who had been assigned to spy on those same Nite Owls, a cat and mouse game where both side believed themselves to be the cat. As the two factions' governments became aware, posturing began. Both sides claimed Daro as their rightful space and insisted that the other flee with their tale between their legs. Yet it would be up to neither government to resolve this issue, as behind closed doors plots came to fruition.

Simultaneous attacks across multiple Network safehouses occurred in the darkest hours of Daro’s night. Mandalorians, emblazoned with the black and white emblem of the Black Watch, would descend on Network outposts. Dozens were captured, dragged into the public square, and executed as the Black Watch claimed vengeance for those killed at Vexis Station.

Now Skysport finds the war it sought to profit from ignite in its own streets. Mandalorian Commandos who had been brought as a show of force, now are pushed into conflict against the local Diarchy garrison who had similarly been told they were simply there to add weight to a far off diplomat’s words. Both sides unprepared for the bloodshed that has now arrived at their doorstep yet pushed on by their commanders to take the city.

Spoiler: Objectives

OBJECTIVE I: TAKE THE CITY
(PvP - Fighting Through the Streets)

The city of Skysport is the largest city on Daro, a mostly unimportant city to most yet a gold mine of information for those looking for it. The data-market of Slicer’s Way holds a bounty of information for those willing to take it, and now as bolts fly both the Great Heathen Army and Diarchy Armed Forces have been tasked with conquering the city and acquiring this host of information for their respective side. Local resistance has already been cowed but the two militaries clash in the streets as they both seek to outmaneuver, outman, and outgun the other. Victory is in sight, but for who?

OBJECTIVE 2: COMPROMISE
(Diplomacy - Find Peace or Stoke the Flames)

While the tragedy of Vexis Station and now the new conflict in Skysport has pitted the Mandalorian Empire vs. The Diarchy, not everyone in the respective nations agree that conflict is inevitable. In orbit aboard the space station Trinity members from both sides have begun to meet in a hastily redecorated shuttle bay to speak of peace and to find compromise. Some have come in good faith, but others may seek to outmaneuver their enemies and find a deeper justification to declare a proper war.

OBJECTIVE 3: MARKET OF SHADOWS
(Intrigue - Find Valuable Data)

Skysport’s infamous black markets have not gone silent with war, but thrived in the chaos. Smugglers, fences, and profiteers continue to trade in secrets, weapons, and luxuries as blaster fire echoes through the streets. To bargain here is to risk being cheated, betrayed, or worse, but the right deal struck in the Market of Shadows could mean survival or advantage for those bold enough to seize it.

OBJECTIVE 4: TEND THE WOUNDED
(Humanitarian Aid - Save Everyone You Can)

As the fighting spills through Skysport, homes, taverns, and warehouses are hastily turned into makeshift medbays. Soldiers and civilians alike crowd the cots, where medics, healers, and even untrained hands struggle to keep pace with the tide of wounded. Here lives are saved or lost not by blaster fire, but by mercy, grit, and the choices made under blood-soaked lanterns.

OBJECTIVE 5: BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE
(BYOO - Whatever You'd Like)

Not every story fits neatly into battle lines or negotiation tables. Writers are free to carve their own path through Skysport: whether that means personal duels, clandestine meetings, cultural moments, or entirely separate plots unfolding in the chaos. The city is alive, and there is room for stories beyond the defined objectives.

Spoiler: Tags

Kayla Ordo-Shan
Domina Prime
Aether Verd
Jonah
Zayid the Lion
Adonis Angelis IV
Lord Mettallum
Saul Whesai
Diarch Rellik
Iandre Athlea
Runi Kuryida
Aren D'Shade
Liin Terallo
Laphisto
Maldor Sancetti
Hetton Vemec
Itzhal Volkihar
Ze'bast Verd
Drego Ruus
Aiden Wolf
Conrad
Kuben Woods

​

 

[Domina Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY?​

The shuttle bay of Trinity Station had been scrubbed and dressed in colorful banners for the occasion, though it was plain to anyone with sense that the place had never been meant for diplomacy. Cargo crates covered in linen masqueraded as tables. Old hangar lamps flickered above, lending the air a dim, flickering tension more suited to a battlefield than a council of peace. Mandalorians stood arrayed on one side, their armor catching the light in cold glints of beskar, while the Diarchy's retinue mirrored them across the bay. Robes, sigils, and the faint perfume of politicking. The gulf between the two was more than just physical.

Domina—Dima to those who dared familiarity—stepped forward from her place among the Mandalorians, her mask catching the light in a blinding gleam. She held herself statuesque, her lower arms folded neatly behind her back as if she were carved of stone, a noblewoman of some alien dynasty who had wandered into this war by choice rather than necessity. But behind the mask's polished veneer, her lips curled into a grin. An imp's smile sharp with hunger for the absurdity about to unfold.

With the exaggerated poise of a stage actor, she reached upward with her upper pair of arms, plucking the broad-brimmed hat from her crown and tucking it beneath one elbow. Each step carried her closer to the shuttle at the heart of the hall, her gait slow and deliberate, almost predatory. The Diarchy's delegation shifted uneasily under her looming approach, the alien Mandalorian with too many eyes and too many arms moving menacingly.

At the midpoint between the two hosts, she paused, tilting her head as though she stood not in a repurposed shuttle bay but in the ballroom of some noble's estate. Then, with deliberate flourish, she extended a clawed hand outward and lowered herself into a bow so elegant it bordered on mockery.

"We of House Prime certainly hope that we can come to an understanding~" Her words rang clear, velvet draped over iron, punctuated by a girlish laugh that bubbled from her throat. The sound was alien, touched with a chittering undercurrent that belonged to no human larynx. "Shall we begin?"

Her five eyes narrowed, pupils shrinking to tiny pinpricks of focus as she rose from her bow, gaze sweeping the gathered Diarchy officials like knives. The laughter that trailed her words was bright, but the intensity in her stare suggested prey under scrutiny.

She straightened, tucking her hands behind her once more, the hat balanced with careless grace against her elbow. Inside her chest, her heart thrilled, not for the promise of peace, but for the theater of it all. Oh, how rich this would be. What excuses would they muster? What honeyed phrases would they spin to veil the stench of serpents? The battlefield she had forsaken for this chamber would have been simpler, cleaner. But this, this was a different kind of hunt.

And as her grin sharpened behind the mask, she thought: They had best not disappoint.

OPEN​

 

[Maldor Sancetti]

Objective 2
Compromise
________________________
​

In the game of diplomacy, everything carried a message. The choice of decoration at a meeting site. The choice of food. The placement at a table. The style of one's clothes.

Here, Maldor wore a much more muted version of his usual Ginntho Silk robes, draped with gray more than the usual red. A style of dress that would suggest mourning in his native Tapani Sector home. If those opposing him at the table knew who he was- and he was sure they did- then the choice would communicate that he was here in a posture of regret for the lives lost. For the tragedy of murder which had unfolded during a collapse of intelligence infrastructure. Not in a posture of pride. Nor of rage.

As he listened to their host laugh, however, he had to fight to keep the rage from his face. Maldor had no great love for Yorran Vosk, but the loss of an entire Network planetary division was beyond the pale. This was not how intelligence was done. This was not how the game was played. And one certainly didn't laugh about it afterwards.

"The Diarchy is prepared to begin negotiations," Maldor said simply, "I propose we begin with a ceasefire, a cessation of all hostilities, while we discuss the matter. If you can agree to that, I will signal our forces and let them know at once. And I trust you will do the same, sparing any lives you've yet to expend in this tit for tat."


Domina Prime

 

[Liin Terallo]

Objective: BYOO

A lot has happened for me in so short a time. And yet there was somone in that distant past that should of helped to prevent at least some of the turn of events that had befallen me.

So I reached out to the man that had once promised to protect New Cov and myself, by inviting him to a neutral space. I wonder if he would even be able to notice the change? Although I cannot even remember if he was a force wizard. I can only assume so because nearly everyone that I have come across outside of New Cov are force wizards.

And what am I now? Something different. Something new. And people on all sides have come after me for that knowledge. Even so much that a bounty was placed on my head. However fortunately the decoy laboratories that I have built seems to have been enough to thwart any hunter's efforts. That and I had been given sanctuary by the two Diarch brothers.

Now I wait for him to arrive. Far off in the distance I hear what could be thunder. Is it that or something more? I am unsure. A storm seems to be brewing around me a lot lately, with my own self being the source of static build up. But that is just within close proximity of me. Far beyond that; the side effects are much, much worse.

Tag: Jonah

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Daro, Outer Rim Territories
| Objective | I - Take The City

The sun crept hesitantly over the horizon, casting a soft golden light that struggled to penetrate the smoky haze lingering over the battered form of Skysport. Jagged shards of shattered window panes sparkled like crushed jewels, framed by the malformed shape of high-rise towers crumbled inwards, their towering shadows hanging over the lifeless forms of nearby speeders strewn across the dirty streets, their metallic surfaces dented and scarred from the brutal infighting that had ignited across the once-vibrant city. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning fuel and the distant echo of blaster fire, each shot an accompaniment to another conflict as one fight spiralled out into another and another.

Shrouded in the shadow of the twelve towers that overlooked the Twilight District, few remained to assess the damage that had spread across the land in recent days, with most of the buildings within the area dedicated to commercial and financial purposes that had been abandoned en masse as the bodies piled up and former safehouses became killzones.

In the dimly lit confines of a secluded safehouse on the edge of the district, Itzhal Volkihar leaned intently over a weather workbench, his gloved hands pressing firmly against the cool, lifeless metal surface. The soft glow of a holoprojector attached to the workbench illuminated his visor with a flickering map, trails of blue light stretching across the surface like stardust, shifting strands adjusted with every new piece of intel that arrived as he meticulously scrutinised the details of the landscape before him. His gaze honed on a red dot, not far from the centre of the Twilight District; one of the towers and the scorched landmass that had been abandoned when a gas line had ruptured.

Footsteps clattered against the floor, thunderous against the backdrop of muffled movements that were other Mandalorians, a few barely visible glimpses of armour and weapons from gaps in the drywall, before one appeared in the doorframe, their hand reaching up to brace against the passage as they leaned against it. "Report just came in, Diarchy forces have been spotted. It sounds like more than we expected," they announced, their voice almost robotic with the calm of their vocaliser.

Itzhal Volkihar's helm tilted in acknowledgement as he pushed away from the table, the embrace of beskar pressed against his arms and the curve of his shoulders, a burden and blessing in tole. His stare flickered to the map one last time before he stepped away, headed straight for the doorway and the green-plated Mandalorian that allowed him passage, "Are the droids in place?"

"Naal cleared them, she says they won't hold up to much of a push, though. Most of them were little more than scrap metal by the time she got her hands on them. I'd avoid asking her for anything else."

"I'll keep that in mind," Itzhal promised, another thing to keep in mind as if there weren't a dozen other problems pressing down upon them. "Are we finished with the data drain?"

Falling into step as they moved towards the room with the rest of the squad, the two Mandalorians moved steadily through the corridors, relaxed despite the upcoming fights, "Reir seems confident we'll be done by the time they reach the tower. The mainframe took some time to locate, but it looks like the intel was right; one of the locals was holding their backups on the local servers. If the Diarchy didn't have a clue what we were doing before, they have to know now."

"Good, what about Vac?" Itzhal asked as they walked through the next doorway, his eyes settling upon the remaining Mandalorians set up around a coffee table, the floors and any nearby furniture covered in military caches filled with ammunition and the empty space where heavy equipment had once lain, now in the hands of eager warriors.

"You know his type," the other Mandalorian shrugged, faintly amused and unable to hide it. "Overkill hasn't even entered his vocabulary."

"I still want a district standing after this," Itzhal turned his helmet to stare at the other soldier, his expression unreadable behind the glare of his visor as his hands reached down towards the pistols at his hips. "Ensure he remembers his target."

Tags: Laphisto​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Location: Safe house
Objective: Tend the wounded
Allies: Hetton Vemec
Enemies: ?

What felt like for the first time since joining the Lilaste Order, Iandre was not going to war. Well, not the first time, as there was that day on Mygeeto when she and her men had gone to give aid. That mission had failed, but something better for her had happened. Smiling under her helmet at that memory, she laid out another cot for the next person who would be coming in.

This was not an exercise, and she moved with subtle confidence. As if she had done something like this before, perhaps she had in a previous life. Some things remained a mystery to her allies, and they didn't know everything the former Jedi had been through.

A location had been provided for her by another woman, somebody who was apparently on the other side of this conflict. She was happy to be wearing her helmet, as it offered her the chance to display her surprise without revealing it to the other woman. Iandre didn't know if she should trust this, but so far the hideout wasn't suffering from the attacks, and it was holding several wounded, and more were on the way.

Looking up when a young man brought in another form, she motioned to the cot she had just lain down.

"Do you know what the matter is with this person?"

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto walked at the head of the armored column, his silhouette framed against the mechanical stride of sixteen walkers that rumbled down the boulevard. Their hulking forms were spread evenly apart, each separated by two hundred meters, a steel tide that pressed through the scarred remains of the city. On either side of the street, soldiers advanced in disciplined lines, some moving from shattered storefront to broken wall, others setting into overwatch positions as the column crept forward.

Beside him, Commander Tarain kept pace, his own gaze fixed on the flickering holomap projected across his vambrace. The light bathed his weathered features in a faint glow, tactical icons shifting and pulsing as updates filtered through the Order's comms.

Civilians scattered at the column's approach, rushing into crumbling homes and hollowed-out high-rises, desperate to disappear before the fighting reached them. Through the static hum of his helmet's audio filters, Laphisto listened as comm chatter filled the channels: clipped reports, half-sentences, little fragments of battlefield awareness passed along by sharp-eyed troopers. Most of it amounted to little. stray figures, the creak of distant durasteel, the suspected glint of glass that turned out to be nothing at all. But still, he valued it. In war, the smallest scrap of useless information could, when paired with another, shift the balance entirely.

Laphisto's eyes darted forward, scanning the fractured skyline as the rhythm of boots and walkers merged into a single, relentless cadence. The city was not dead no, it breathed in gasps and whispers, the silence between blaster fire stretching like sinew across the ruined streets. Here, in the shadow of ruin, the Lilaste Order moved with the patience of predators, every sound and every step measured as the advance pressed deeper into Skysport's broken heart.

"High heat signature left skyscraper." The words crackled through Laphisto's helmet, the report echoing in the confines of his mind as his eyes immediately shifted toward the jagged silhouette of the tower in question. Its glass façade had long since been shattered, blackened scars from previous blasts marking its surface like open wounds.Laphisto raised a clawed hand to the side of his helm, taloned fingers brushing the comm as his voice carried across the channel. "Copy that, Captain Varn. We're moving to investigate the disturbance. Could be nothing… or it could be a sniper's nest. I won't take the chance."

His words were measured, yet beneath them was the faint rasp of experience the tone of a commander who had learned never to dismiss shadows as harmless. His taloned feet scraped against the duracrete with each step, the sound sharp and alien against the steady thrum of armored boots and the grinding march of war machines.

Behind him, the column pressed forward, the thunder of the sixteen walkers reverberating off the broken canyon of skyscrapers. Their hydraulic joints hissed with every step, pounding the fractured streets in a rhythm that seemed to shake the very bones of the ruined district. Dust sifted from cracked walls, stirred into the stale air as the Order marched along.

Laphisto's visor lingered on the skyscraper ahead, the sun's pale light reflecting faintly off fractured glass. A heat signature meant activity someone had survived long enough to hole up in the upper levels, or worse, someone was lying in wait. Whether it was a lone survivor clinging to life or a hidden enemy with a rifle trained on their column, he could not afford to dismiss it.

As Laphisto broke left, his pace purposeful, several squads peeled away from the main column to follow, their movements disciplined as they bled into the adjoining street. The hiss of hydraulics and the grinding stomp of boots echoed through the concrete canyon, soldiers fanning out in practiced formation.

From the shifting ranks, the captain of the Ash Dogs emerged, his armor marked with the dark orange hues of Tarain's Sword. He strolled up alongside Laphisto with the relaxed confidence of a seasoned veteran, his gloved hands wrapped around the receiver of a hefty LO-27R machine gun. The weapon rested easily in his grip, though its bulk was enough to strain lesser men.

"You think there's actually something up there, sir?" the captain asked, his voice muffled but steady through the helmet's vocoder. Despite the casual tone, his eyes tracked the scarred tower with the intensity of a predator sighting prey.

Laphisto turned his helm toward him, the faint hiss of servos accenting the motion. His reply came out low and deliberate, reverberating through his own vocoder with the weight of command. "Could be anything. If it were me?" He let his gaze linger on the looming skyscraper, jagged edges clawing at the sky. "I'd put heavy guns up there and rain hell on everything moving through these streets."

The captain gave a short nod, the grin behind his visor almost audible in the pause that followed. Around them, the Ash Dogs moved into position, weapons raised toward the high windows and broken ledges above, anticipation thrumming through the comms. For a moment, even the pounding march of the walkers behind them seemed distant, as though the entire column was holding its breath, waiting for the first crack of enemy fire to prove the High Commander's instincts right.

---

As they neared the base of the tower, Laphisto raised a taloned hand and slipped into cover behind the twisted husk of a collapsed durasteel support. His visor swept across the courtyard, narrowing in on a cluster of figures slumped near the shattered entrance. At first glance they looked like scrap heaps, half-welded plating lashed together with cable and exposed servos but the faint twitch of photoreceptors gave them away. Hastily assembled droids, little more than patchwork sentries left behind as a delaying measure. Crude, yes, but still dangerous if ignored.

A low rumble built in his chest as he drew his rifle from its sling, the weapon's familiar weight locking against his shoulder. With a sharp breath, he rose from cover, iron sights snapping to the nearest machine. The rifle barked once, the crack of the 30-06 slug splitting the air as it punched clean through the droid's chest plate. The machine buckled, sparks flaring as its chassis collapsed in a heap. Laphisto shifted, firing again controlled, heavy bursts slamming center mass until the target was nothing more than a twitching pile of broken alloy.

The Ash Dogs moved in sync, rifles and repeaters roaring like thunder. The street filled with the rhythmic percussion of slugthrowers each shot a sharp, brutal report that echoed between the skyscrapers. Slugs chewed through plating and circuitry, shredding the improvised machines with vicious efficiency. Sparks cascaded across the broken pavement, metal limbs jerking before the droids finally fell still in smoking heaps.

"Clear," came a voice over the comms, clipped and steady, though no one relaxed their grip on their weapons. The silence afterward was heavier than the gunfire, broken only by the faint hiss of burning circuits.Laphisto lowered his rifle but kept it ready, taloned feet scraping against the fractured stone as he crossed the threshold into the ruined lobby.

The squad followed close behind, boots crunching over debris. Shattered glass and shell casings littered the floor, the stale air thick with dust. Every shadow seemed to stretch too long, every sound a whisper of danger waiting above.They regrouped at the stairwell, its duracrete steps cracked, charred, and littered with fragments from past fighting. "We take it floor by floor,"

Laphisto kept his LO-18D rifle raised, the matte-black barrel sweeping each lane as he climbed the staircase. Every step was measured, his taloned feet scraping softly against cracked duracrete, the faint rumble of his armored frame echoed by the steady cadence of boots behind him. One hundred and forty-four soldiers pressed upward through the skeletal heart of the skyscraper, their advance a living tide of steel and discipline.

The stairwell reverberated with the low thunder of movement rifle stocks brushing armor, the metallic clink of fresh magazines, the steady hiss of respirators all merging into the grim symphony of an army climbing into danger. At the tenth floor, Laphisto raised a closed fist. Without hesitation, two squads peeled away from the column, fanning out into the darkened corridors to secure the level.

The same pattern repeated at the twentieth, then again at the fortieth, each detachment moving with surgical precision, rifles leveled, covering corners and intersections as the main body continued its ascent. The Order left nothing unsecured in their wake.Laphisto halted at last as his visor flickered, confirming the floor where the anomalous heat signature had been reported. He pressed a clawed hand against the doorframe, his rifle angled toward the shadows beyond, before signaling his troops forward.

Ninety soldiers poured into the floor, spreading out like a steel wave across the open expanse. The thunder of boots was quickly replaced by the methodical rhythm of a sweep doors kicked in, rooms cleared, corners checked, rifles cutting through the gloom. The air filled with terse comms chatter as each sector was locked down.

Laphisto rumbled softly, his helm sweeping the interior. His gaze caught on a cluster of shattered consoles in the far chamber, tangled wires spilling like entrails from their open housings. Among the wreckage, one structure stood out a mainframe, its bulk scarred and half-burned, but still humming faintly with power. The faint glow of its core pulsed in the dim light, like the heartbeat of some wounded beast. He narrowed his eyes behind the visor, the green glow of his HUD reflecting faintly off the machinery. Whatever they had stumbled upon, this wasn't a simple sniper's nest. This was something larger something worth the enemy leaving behind both traps and resistance.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Lord Mettallum
​

Clan Ruus marched once more.

It was humbling for Drego, to be on the warpath again. A frontier city like this was one where his style of combat shined. And yet, the clan had not been entirely mobilized. In fact, Drego had specifically only requested a small team.

Five men. The best of the best.

He knew what came next. The Diarchy weren't jedi, postering their sabers in defiance of blood and iron. They weren't sith, waggling their phallic symbols of ego and hubris on horrified worlds.

No, they were something arguably worse. Something Drego was sure both sides spit on the very concept of. They were men trying to sit in the middle. He didn't pretend to understand the Force, but he did know one thing.

There was no middle. There was no balance between Light and Dark, there was only those who accepted the corruption of the dark, or fought against it. Drego was one of the latter, even if he never sought out the mystical ways. No, all he needed was a scattergun and a shovel. He could take down a sith lord with just that.

"Alor, checking in. Just cleared the western alley. No contacts yet."

"Copy Grandpa." Drego focused, his mic picking up his words, but his AI Tanya picking up his thoughts.

<Get your head in the game Drego, we'll need it soon.>

Behind him, the hydraulic sound of his own personal walker was mirrored by two more of the beasts, sweeping buildings with not men, but LIDAR and probe droids, while the other two men followed behind to confirm targets. Drego had learned three crucial steps in clearing urban areas.

Always have the bigger boomstick.
Don't risk men when you could risk tech.
Blow up what you have to.

Drego intended to clear this city street by street with as few casualties as possible.

 

[Lord Mettallum]

Objective: Take The City
Equipment: LM Mark III | LO-35r | SFE
Forces and their actions:
Legion of D1 Battle droids | AA1 Lightning Rifles, Beskar bayonets, Anti material Rifles: advancing through the street
Multiple Squads of Tick Sniper Droids | Blaster cannon: Spread around the city to provide fire support
Squad of Guardian Droids | Coil Guns, Electro Axe : Guarding Lord Mettallum
Support Staff of Engineering droids: Setting up Gas dispensers filled with Noxinium A

This time Lord Mettallum understood the enemy he was up against. While schematics and prototypes of upgraded droids and weapons were still in the works the Diarchy at least had a large enough armoury that he could give his droid army weapons that would likely work against the beskar of the mandalorian forces.

His main battle droids were mostly equipped with Lightning rifles one of the few weapons Lord Mettallum found effective against the mando armour and they were supported by droids utilizing anti material rifles. Scattered around were Tick droids utilizing heavy blaster cannons prepared to fire at heavier or more strategically important targets. Supporting his forces were a bunch of engineering droids ready to provide their version of medical care for other droids. To limit the advancement of hostile organic forces gas dispensers were set around releasing toxic gas spreading across the city with no care for the fact it would affect civilians who have yet to escape the Battlezone.

Lord Mettallum himself was setup with a massive gun ready to provide heavy suppressive blaster fire once the battle started. Engineering droids ready to ensure it would not run out of ammo while a squad of Guardian droids equipped with coil guns would provide personal protection.
Speakers would begin playing a message on repeat for all those in the city to hear "To the enemies of the Diarchy let it be known that by coming here you forfeit the right to exist, You face The Maker's judgement today and The Maker finds you guilty. Your actions at Vexis station have shown that mercy would be wasted on you so expect no quarter and pray your deaths will be swift!"


Drego Ruus Laphisto Iandre Athlea Itzhal Volkihar
​

 

[Hetton Vemec]

Location: Safe house
Objective: Tend the wounded
Allies: Iandre Athlea
Enemies: ?

Hetton was piloting a shuttle, a safe house was being set up, ro help the wounded, both sides. He was told both sides, as one it stop them killing ours, if the same fate might await theirs, also a bargaining chip, in peace talks. He personally no longer cared, after what they done to Serenno. Houses killed off, children murdered in their sleep, all because of their last name. He just hoped there where many of them, and not all could be saved. As far he was concerned, Mandalorians had no honour.

His shuttle put down near the safe house, and most of the troops assigned to him, quickly made their way in and looked for positions. They looking for vantage points and cover, as they did not want to give the base away. The rest started get med packs, and other medical equipment in to safe house. He came in, and looked for who was in charge, the safe house looked like abandoned warehouse, it was defensible. He looked for the person in charge, he got told it was Iandre Athlea, he saw her talking to other members of her staff. She was quite tall, so easy to spot. He approached her in his armour, and side arm in holstered. As he got close, he took of his helmet, and said "Hello Iandre Athlea, I believe you are in charge of us, and this base." He paused, and continued, "Medical supplies are being unload, we have a couple of field medics, and we all got basic battlefield medical training." He grimaced this was actually it, war was starting here. He continued "Most of my men have took up defence positions, out of sight, and the rest are setting up a comms station, and helping people set up this place." Then sighed as he gave up command, "What would you like me to do?" He did not like giving up command to someone who was not part of the navy, but orders are order.

 

[Drego Ruus]

Tag: Lord Mettallum
​

Gas.

The sounds of the dying filled the air around the city. Drego knew the play. Knew what Metallum was doing. Weed out the men who couldn't survive, and make the warriors of Clan Ruus open targets.

It was almost funny. The gas swirled and fogged the streets, and yet, it had no effect on the sealed armor of the Mandalorian, nor the space worthy walkers of Ruus.

The echo of the droid lord's voice rang through the city. A declaration of war, if Drego had ever heard one. A show of intention, at the very least. The Diarchy weren't trying to play pariah, acting like they were the heroes. No. They were conquerors. Just like the sith. Good.

That meant Drego didn't need to feel any sort of sympathy for them.

A simple war. That's what mandalorians thrived on.

"Shift the drones skyward. Keep to the alleyways until we can get a clear view of their positions." Drego said, practiced commands that were followed without a word in retort. The recon drones of Ruus flew out of buildings, and upward, silent and tiny. Pulses of LIDAR scanned the streets from on high, as Drego moved to his next command.

"Tanya, pinpoint the source of that audio."

<Copy! Triangulating audio source through speaker data flow...Got it! Source seems to be the western edge.>

"Warpath, Iceman, Tanya..." Drego spoke with a cold efficiency. An indifference to what came next. "Level it."

The three Stone Jaws shifted their positions, then...

A trio of 120mm mortars fired, computer triangulated high explosive rounds flying through the air towards Metallum himself.

 

[Runi Kuryida]

OBJECTIVE II :: COMPROMISE
Trinity Station

"The Dreamer's first dream is not of waking." The skull-helm of the Shaman was strapped to her back, which left her angular features bare and her hazel eyes clearly visible. "There was time before to sue for peace. And the same threat that plagued Vexis Station remains. A peace built on hope alone is a fragile thing; let such a declaration carry the weight of finality." It wasn't that Runi hoped for a Mandalorian to die in the intervening time, but once battle was joined it was not easily set aside. A momentary peace swiftly broken would only make a lasting one all the less likely to hold.

Runi did not turn to look at Domina Prime, nor make any expression in tandem with the woman's chattering glee. It would be better if Domina did not provoke the Diarchy delegates, but if they were too easily rattled than there was no hope for a lasting peace. A new beginning was always the hardest thing won.

"The sooner a lasting understanding is reached, the sooner the announcement made."

Maldor Sancetti | Domina Prime​

 

[Maldor Sancetti]

OBJECTIVE II :: COMPROMISE
Trinity Station
_________________________________________
​

Maldor frowned. He had hoped an early ceasefire might prevent widespread carnage at the outset. He also hoped to negotiate a peace before the tides of battle turned too far in anyone's favor. If anyone felt like they were winning decisively, peace would become unattainable.

"Many will perish while we prattle," Maldor said, perhaps too sharply, "so if an expedient understanding is your goal, then let us have at it."

He took a breath, "There are strong indications, both at Vexis and here, that an agitating force is sparking moments of conflict between us so that both of our powers are distracted and weakened.

I believe our earlier moments of cooperation were perceived by someone to be a grave danger. If the Diarchy and the Mandalorians warm their relations, they might dispatch any foe together.

Whether from within or from without, someone doesn't want the coolness between us to thaw. These conflicts are meant to be sure of it, pricking both of us with daggers of ice to prevent any warm alliance between our powers."

He shook his head, "I don't know about you, but I don't like being pulled like a puppet on a string. My goal is to end this at once, and restore fair relations between our peoples.

As such, I ask you to state clearly your terms for peace between us."


Domina Prime Runi Kuryida

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Location: Safe house
Objective: Tend the wounded
Allies: Hetton Vemec
Enemies: ?

She had her men around as well. A handful of them. This small group had been through training together and formed a bond like that of brothers...with her being the only sister among them. Her gender didn't matter, but her leadership did. These men would go to hell and back if she asked them to, and she would go with them.

However, they weren't here for war, and perhaps they felt left out. Inadre had wanted to do this, and they would support her. Looking up when Hetton entered, she listened to his update and moved out of the way to allow the supplies to be brought in. She then began examining the body that had arrived with him.

She couldn't see any physical damage to her, but that didn't mean there wasn't some head trauma she missed. Then, more stumbling forms started arriving, and the need for more cots quickly became obvious.

"Thank you, Mister..."

No name had been provided, but she got a look at his young visage and noticed he carried himself with confidence.

"Help me lay out more cots, and if your men have field training, they can assist with tending to the wounded. This man, though, I don't know what is wrong. Can you?"

Motioning to the man who was resting on the cot next to her, his breathing was labored but was slowly returning to normal. She had not removed her helmet and kept it in place.

"If they are breathing some gas as it appears...you might want to put your helmet back on. Keep the poison out of your system."

 

[Saul Whesai]

Objective III to Objective IV

Saul strolled along, ducking through a thin corridor between the awnings of merchants' stalls. Having followed Liin Terallo to the planet as an escort for a meeting, but had peeled off when she insisted that she would be fine and had the meeting well in hand. And so he fell back on what he usually did when he had time to spare, barter for good prices. His duffel bag was filled with repair parts and electronics, a pretty good haul if he didn't say so himself, and he was just about to get some lunch when all hell broke loose. He had known the Mandolarians and Diarchy armies had been facing off while efforts were made to use diplomacy to figure out the two parties' differences. What he hadn't expected was for words to become actions so soon, and as the cyborg would soon see, those actions would be extreme.

Saul heard the explosions, and the crowds suddenly started to run past him, panic in their eyes as they tried to get away from something. And then he saw it, the descending gas cloud slowly making its way through the streets. Someone had decided to let the rapid dogs off the leash, and the announcement over the city's loudspeakers confirmed it. The Diarchy was going hot, though whoever gas was the way to go must be the faction's resident nutter. The Diarchy was destroying whatever it had come here to claim. Saul thought fast, turning with the crowd, taking his bandana out, and quickly dipping it in a fountain as he ran past, putting it over his face to protect himself from the gas spreading behind him. Or at least to protect himself in his own mind.

Seeing a ladder up one of the larger buildings, he pushed through the crowd towards it, gripping its rungs tightly as he clambered up to get a bird's-eye view and pulling others up off the ladder to safety and urging them on to the Diarchy's compound that had been shared with him and Liin before they landed. He didn't know if he could still trust the Government's word after what they had done, but he trusted them more than he did the bloodthirsty mandos.

From where he was standing, Saul could see the Mando's mortar rounds start their reply as he pulled his commlink out, quickly dialing Liin's number as he tried to get in contact with her. The last thing he wanted was to not know where she was in this soup. Hopefully, she was in a safe place.

Interacting with: Liin Terallo , Iandre Athlea , Hetton Vemec

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Daro, Outer Rim Territories

| Objective | I - Take The City

Weeks ago, the Azlantian Tower would have been filled with humble workers living paycheck to paycheck, working beneath the ignorant gaze of aspirant brokers intent on making the fortune of a lifetime on the high-risk stakes of the central trade network spread across several floors. The war in the streets had changed that. Now, the tower stood in the absence of its occupants, a tool without purpose—a monument to the fear of warfare and the danger that awaited those caught in the crossfire.

Above the intruders' heads, the lights beamed down upon them, unaware of the disruption that had left their home empty, awaiting their occupants' return with a constant vigil that never once flickered. While automatic doors situated across the whole stretch of the towering structure greeted them in like honoured guests. Unaware of the destruction that lay further ahead.

Using the stairwell to advance, Laphisto and his men noticed a single door ajar; the steel frame crumpled inwards, bludgeoned inwards around the guiding rails that left the door to shudder and scrape as it tried to open and close. There were more droids here, scrapheaps stretched across the corridors like an honour guard dutifully awaiting their wards, shrouded in the faint shadows of dim lights that flickered above, ripped cables and panels looming like frayed nooses and the executioner's block.

Their professional movements, the rhythm of rooms cleared, overlaid with the hollow sound of rattling doors and sparking electrical configurations, a floor desecrated with purpose. Dusty and tarnished carpets, once pristine and beautiful, were torn apart, the metal and wooden panels beneath shattered and cables revealed below, like the exposed bones of a cadaver, sinew stretched towards a single point, the beating heart of the destruction.

Their steps cracked underneath a passage of glass, splintered fractals of a dim blue light pouring sluggishly from cracked terminals, pulsing to a hazy beat, diffused over a room that would have once held hundreds of living souls in the grasp of greed. A terminal for each, the cracked scales of a snake coiled around titanic pillars, dozens upon dozens, that reached from floor to ceiling in worship of their collective sins.

At the centre of it all stood a single pillar and an untouched screen held aloft, defiant despite the devastation that surrounded it, its blue light stretched across the room, a beacon for all to see, a declaration in tow.

Download Complete.

Behind the visage of a remote camera, Itzhal Volkihar looked upon the figures that had come to investigate, their armour in shades of green that meant nothing to them, weapons held in hand and with the promise that an equal fight would leave both sides bloodied and battered. A foolish bet.

"Tella, move to phase two," he commanded, with the solemn firmness of an executioner's decree.

Standing by his side, a Mandalorian in the cast of an orange sunset pressed the activator switch attached to their gauntlet. In an instant, the lights across Azlantan Towers fluttered once, then turned forever dark. In their place, broken droids; hundreds acquired and rebuilt over days, awakened, shambling forms covered in rusted plates and unnecessary cabling left to dangle through gaps that exposed their worn circuits. Dusty optics flickering in the darkness, stomped forward, a tide of poorly aimed blaster bolts and the sheer presence of numbers.

From the main stock floor, the back doors clattered open, metal shards splattered over the floor and nearby terminals by a humongous fist wrapped in orange-tinged steel, another arm pushing through the frame as a fifteen-foot amalgamation of forgotten weapons of war, clawed feet cracking the floor beneath them.

A mismatch of humanoid and monstrous forms beneath it, swarming past on their way to the soldiers shrouded in darkness.

Tags: Laphisto​

 

[Hanna]

Location: Skysport - Daro
Thread Objective: I - Take the City
Mission Objective:

• Secure the city.
  
  • Harass and delay Diarchy forces.

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar Laphisto

Hanna lied in wait as the walker column marched past the office building, soldiers clad in orange-accented dark green armor advancing in disciplined lines on either side of the street. Her repulsorlift skates were set to idle, their stealth features (along with the stealth systems in her armor) rendering her wholly invisible to the advancing Lilaste Order forces.

At least, that was what she hoped.

From her vantage point on the upper floor, Hanna watched as a section of the column broke off into an adjoining street. It didn’t take long for the mercenary to realize that they were moving towards the Azlantian Tower, which from what she knew, the Mandalorians had set for an ambush.

“I’m counting at least ten infantry squads entering the Azlantian Tower.” Hanna spoke up over her ghostwave-enhanced comms, the message directed towards Itzhal Volkihar and the forces under his command. “They don’t have walker support with them, but it isn’t far. It looks like they’re starting to clear floors.” the mercenary added, her helmet optics zooming in to allow her to see through the windows from afar.

“I’m relocating, over.”

With that, Hanna activated her cloaking device, melding her form with the environment in a technological veil that rendered her virtually imperceptible to both sensor and sight. Then, she moved, her repulsorlift skates running totally silent as she glided up the stairs before arriving at the top floor. From there, the skater mercenary jumped from one building to the next, building speed with each jump so that momentum carried her up and over the streets below.

“Tell me where you need me, and I’ll be in position.”

Spoiler: Loadout

• Sparkle Velocity
  
  • Gauntlets and Vambraces
    
    • Modular Weapon Mount (3) - R
      
      • PC-05V Plasma Caster
        
        • Ammunition
          
          • Medium Plasma Gas Canister
      • NML-02VTB Nano Missile Launcher
        
        • Ammunition
          
          • Depleted Baradium-tipped Baradium Nano Missiles (12)
    • Modular Weapon Mount (3) - L
      
      • IceJet Miniaturized CryoBan Projector
        
        • Ammunition
          
          • CryoBan Canister
      • Repulsor Projector
• Hanna’s HB-42 Disruptor Pistols (2)
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • FAE/AM-01-S2 Energy Weapon Cartridge - Ethaerium X Gas and CryoBan Coolant (12)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
• Glitter Roses (2)
  
  • Ammunition
    
    • Extended Magazine - Standard Penetrator: Void Stone Treatment (2)
    • Standard Magazine - Antimatter Explosive: Void Stone Treatment (4)
  • Attachments
    
    • 1-5x FAE/S-08 Electro-Sight
• FAE/MDE-01-S2 Semiautonomous Seeker Thermal Explosive (2)
• Infrared Smoke Grenade (2)

 

[Domina Prime]

I HEAR THIS VOICE KEEP ASKING ME
IS THIS MY BLOOD OR IS IT BLASPHEMY?

Maldor Sancetti | Runi Kuryida​

The delegate's words hung in the chamber like incense, measured and careful, meant to soothe tempers before they spilled into blood. Dima listened, her helm tilted at a subtle angle as though she were a bird considering whether the morsel before her was food...or bait. The faint chitter in her throat betrayed her amusement.

Maldor Sancetti was good.

She raised one of her lower hands and gestured lazily toward her Mandalorian companion Runi Kuryida , a silent acknowledgment that this one had some sense. Then she stepped forward with a whistle so low it echoed strangely against the walls, almost playful.

"Not gonna lie, Runi. This one's sharp. Sharp enough to carve a deal out of glass." Her voice dripped with teasing menace as she peeled off her officer's cap and tucked it beneath one lower arm. She began to circle, her talons clicking with ritual weight against the floor. "Tell me, little on.. you sure you weren't a lawyer in another life?"

She drifted behind him, the predator's orbit closing with each step until her claws slowly found his shoulders. The touch would be deceptively gentle. A massage disguised as a reminder of the talons that could sink deeper at any moment.

Her voice was velvet and razors, speaking close enough that he could almost feel her breath beneath the mask.

"It would be easy to forgive. To forget. To pretend the daggers aimed at our throats were the hands of some faceless meddler. But let Prime tell you a secret...insults to me and individuals can be swallowed. But insults to our God?" Her claws tightened, just enough to make the point. "It requires...no, DEMANDS correction."

A pause, then laughter bubbled low in her throat, a sound that was both warm and unnerving. She slipped away, pacing again, letting the tension dangle.

"You're lucky, friend. If I were younger, I'd already be sharpening the blades for war. But I've grown... tired. Tired of endless fodder, endless mud, endless meaningless slaughter." She spread her upper arms wide, book still clutched against her chest like scripture. "So instead, I offer something different. An outlet. A bond."

She spun sharply, gesturing with her claws as her words painted the air.

"Let there be games. Sanctioned clashes between your Diarchy Houses and The Houses of Mandalore. At the year's dawn, at its heart, and at its end. Battles of strength, wit, and guile. Victors receive tribute. Losers learn humility. And the gods?" her chitter rose into something near a giggle, "The gods will feast on the spectacle."

The room hummed with the weight of her proposal. She withdrew her claws from the man's shoulders, stepping back to observe the ripple in the chamber her words had made.

"Runiiiiiii," she crooned, turning her helm toward her companion. "Shall we ask for assistance in forging war engines? Grand works of construction? Or should we simply demand tribute outright?"

Dima's mask swiveled back to the delegate, her tone softening but her gaze sharp as cut glass. "Your terms are generous, mine are...merciful. I suggest we meet in the middle."

And then, with a tilt of her head, her voice took on that familiar purr. Taunting, searching.

"Hmm on another note i do have one question. Where is Diarch Rellik & Diarch Reign ? Surely they wouldn't miss such a delicate gathering. Or perhaps..." she let the thought dangle like baited wire, "Perhaps they are waiting to see what blood is spilled here before they show their faces. Probably for the best, not to deal with the 'savages' directly hmm?"

​