Junction INFO WARS | ME & DIA Junction of Daro Hex

[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
Cohort A-5 | 500 D1 battle droids shooting drones and falling back to outside the artillery strike zone. Supporting Tick Droid squad wiped out
Cohort A-1 | 500 D1 Battle droids advancing to the ruins of Azlantian Tower t
Multiple Squads of Tick Sniper Droids | Blaster cannon: Spread around the city to provide fire support
Squad of Guardian Droids | Coil Guns, Electro Axe : Assisting Lord Mettallum in rescuing the wounded at the FOB
Support Staff of Engineering droids: nearly done Setting up Gas dispensers filled with Noxinium A. Tending to the wounded at the FOB



The Tick Droids stood no chance, they hadn't even finished climbing the building before the mortar strikes hit them. The ones not destroyed by the initial blast ended up being crushed either by their metal frames smashing down into the ground or the building debris falling right on top of them. It was unknown if the building itself had civilians hiding within it and Lord Mettallum forces had no time to check the rubble for either unlucky organics or surviving tick droids, they would have to wait for the sector to be cleared.


The squads closest to where the artillery strikes came from were about to advance forward preparing the avenge their fallen comrades but before they could preform such an action news of an allied artillery strike inbound was received "This is Centurion H0-LK, Artillery order received, All units of A-5 Fall back. We shall see what we can do with the drones" Cohort A-5 quickly started to fall back to prevent the risk of friendly fire while those with Anti-material rifles now aware of the drones would take pot shots during the retreat.

---

Lord Mettallum now satisfied that the hostile artillery was distracted went to assist in searching the rubble that was the FOB for survivors or at least functional neural cores. The fact Hammer One referred to Lord Mettallum as Commander Mettallum instead Lord Mettallum irritated him yet he found himself refraining from cussing them out for it, something that was unlike him. "I Lord Mettallum suspect the Azlantian Tower being razed is why your High Commander is so quiet. I Lord Mettallum shall order the First Cohort to assist. As for the Gas it is but simple area denial and is a weapon against the vile creatures that stand against. These weapons do not stand against the Diarchy but for it" As he spoke Lord Mettallum would lift up a piece of rubble pinning one of the engineering droids down and threw it a distance away allowing other droids to collect the wounded one.


Lord Mettallum had hoped for a proper battle but this was far from it instead the Mandalorians were busy setting up traps with none of them fighting properly and it seemed they cared not for the damage they caused to the city. This current issue could be solved quite easily with most of the city now being filled with gas. If the mandos wanted to raze buildings Lord Mettallum could show them how to do so with style. Lord Mettallum would smash another piece of rubble with his fist in frustration as he could not ignite his plan with the High Commander still being in the city in an unknown condition.




Drego Ruus Itzhal Volkihar Laphisto Hanna

 

[Jonah]

The Warmaster leaned back slightly, helm shifting as if he were studying her through the visor. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, steady, and without any flourish. “You’ve trusted me before, and you still do. That’s not lost on me. You’re one of the rare few I can say has earned my respect outright. I don’t give that easily, Liin, but you’ve got it.”

His arms folded once more across the plates of his armor. “Your answer will do. I’m not here to press you for more. But don’t fool yourself about Daro. This ground isn’t safe, not with the Empire and the Diarchy clashing right now. Border worlds have already felt the fire. You don’t want to be standing between two blades when they cross. While you decide, get yourself somewhere else...Somewhere not caught in the middle. Then we can talk about moving you under our protection.”

He reached to his belt, pulled free a teal card, and held it out between his fingers. The edges glimmered faintly as he offered it across the space. “This credit chit will cover anything you need until you’re set up on steadier ground. Shelter, transport, whatever it takes. My comm line hasn’t changed. Drop me the coordinates of where you’ll be staying, and I’ll put my people on you until you’re ready. No one’s rushing you, but the sooner you’re under our roof, the better.”

There was a brief silence before he added, quieter, but no less certain. “It’s good to see you again, Liin. Better than I expected.”

Tag: Liin Terallo

 

[Liin Terallo]

At least the trust was reciprocated. Afterall we had each earned it. It was not something that we merely handed over as though it was a recipe for some common kind of cake.

Jonah had acquired a habit of folding and unfolding his arms across his chest. I am not even sure if he is aware of it. Perhaps it is a comfort thing. Yet I was always taught to remain poised, tall and still. Not rigid, mind you; but still. And even that pose can carry with it an air of defiance or stubborness. At least I am not a rebel.

He spoke of Daro and of empires clashing. In truth I have remained out of politics for some time. I have even gone so far as to ignore it. Afterall it has been people of all kinds that have come after me for my research; one way or another. Politics has nothing to do with it. Only the possibilities that my research brings forth.

I take the card in hand and pocket it, giving him a bow of my head in thanks. Being granted time is a rare things these days. And any chance that I may have for it for anything; I am most grateful.

"Thank you, Jonah. I will be in touch and let you know of my decision when it is made. And it is good to see you too, Jonah. Things feel not as dire in knowing that you are still out there and able to watch my back. I just hope that in doing so, it does not cause you too much trouble." I share the same concern with anyone that promises to look out for me. For the burden of guilt would lay heavy on me if anyone was to die or to be hurt because of me. "Take care of yourself until then." With those parting words I indicated that there were no other questions or comments from me that came to mind. He was free to carry on and do whatever it was that he had planned to do. While I am free to find my way off of this world and go back to my sanctuary to figure things out for myself.

It is not just the attention that my research has caused that concerns me. No, it is the side effects from it that reverberate across the Galaxy that I need to contain and control. And if more people get their hands on the serum; the Galaxy could be destroyed.

Tag: Jonah

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Zet Reav Saul Whesai Hetton Vemec

The Lilaste Order under Iandre's command all pointed their weapons at Zet as he arrived. However, they were a well-working machine and did not fire upon him. With his request to parlay, she started stepping forward, but the arrival of Saul stopped her in her tracks.

She gave no signal to her men, and they remained alert. Watching her and the Mandalorian at the same time. She didn't reach her friend in time to keep him from hitting the pavement. What she did hear was the request for a parlay and noticed Hetton coming forward to speak for them.

Under her helmet, she narrowed her eyes but lifted Saul and motioned for her men to help get the others inside.

"It's more comfortable inside. We can parlay there. I need to help these victims."

Technically, she was the one in charge, but she didn't stop Hetton from issuing his orders. His accent wasn't noticed in the heat of the emergency, and in a galaxy with countless multitudes of accents, she didn't think anything of it.

"Oh, Saul. You've done what you can. Let's get you comfortable.'

Carrying him in his almost still form, she laid him on one of the cots and covered him with a thin blanket. She had no way to clear his airways, and all she could do was hope he came out of the illness the gas caused.

"I don't know who used the gas, Saul. If I find out it was one of us, there will be hell to pay."

Even her voice through the modulation had an edge of steel that wasn't usually present. She meant what she said. Not a moment of peace, though, as one of the Order rushed over to her and pointed in the direction of the worst wounded. His message was heartbreaking to Iandre, but she soldiered on.

"No. We will return anybody who dies to their families. Yes, even the Mandalorians."

Standing up, she walked over to the newly expired citizen and pulled the blanket up over her face. Defeat was starting to settle in, and once again, the former Jedi was clearly witnessing the price of war. She wasn't angry, though, not at the Diarchy or the Mandalorians. Disappointment haunted her, but not anger.

"Let me go talk to our guest."

Turning away from the still form, she knew she needed to learn more than simple field aid. Iandre wasn't a healer, but she was a Jedi from a distant time. A time when it was known that war was inevitable. Perhaps she could learn from this loss, and it would mark the beginning of a new future.

 

[Zet Reav]

Objective Four: Tend the Wounded
Mandalorian Medicine (with guns)
Iandre Athlea Hetton Vemec Saul Whesai
Visible gear:
Armor | Vambraces | Rifle and Pistols | Vehicle​

"So whom do I the honour of addressing?"

"It's more comfortable inside. We can parlay there. I need to help these victims."

Zet waits a few seconds to reply. Not many just a few, to study them. It is surprising how much he can observe and study with a helmet on. If he keeps his head still, people will think he is making eye contact when he is actually trying to count the number of visible soldiers, and trying to calculate his chances of victory should things take a bad turn. He doesn't want things to turn bad but... one must be prepared. This is a warzone, after all, and hospitals can be full of traps and treason.

Not that he has ever weaponize a hospital to kill enemies before. Zetham Reav lacks most common ethics when it comes to science and research, but he's not a monster.

"No, thank you. I'd rather not go into closed quarters with strangers, to possibly be surrounded, shot, stabbed and beaten". He watches the man with a familiar accent. Hmmm. Serenno? How interesting. Life has a way to bring people together, huh. "I am Zet Reav, field doctor, among other things. And I couldn't help but notice how your group here is saving lives. From both sides of the war." He makes another quick pause, eyeing the guards behind the Serenno Man. They seem to be a small group, but trained and equiped enough to make things hard for Zet if diplomacy fails. But the greatest problem for him are the patients in the improvised shelter-hospital-prison-whothehuthknows.

"Why?" He demands. Zet's prepared for trouble, but he really wants peace. He has layers of shielding, armor. big guns and enough madness to even try it, but... There's a dangerous gas going around putting his armor and the oxygen tank to constant use, and that makes rescueing random soldiers and civilians almost an impossibility now. Even standing there is a risk, he can be found by others and... well, the Huth will hit the fan. All in all, not the most pleasant of his days. He can kill his enemies some other day, but saving lives is a bit more... uniquely timed. "It seems to me you're either ethical doctors with a kind heart..." ew ew ew "... and a couple of loyal soldiers... or people burning the bodies to get rid of this poison in the air. Which is it?"

 

[Laphisto]

A ragged cough tore from Laphisto's throat as dust burned its way through his lungs, forcing him upright with a sharp, desperate inhale. The air felt thin, poisoned by the collapse, and in the next moment he ripped the helmet from his head with a metallic clang. He hurled it aside, the battered helm striking the fractured floor and spinning in a slow circle before coming to rest amid broken glass and smouldering debris. Somewhere in the fall, the seals must have ruptured what should have been his lifeline had instead become a chokehold.

Free of it, his breaths came harsh but steadying, though each one still tasted of ash. His ears twitched as the world bled back in the distant crack-crack-crack of his soldiers' slugthrowers answering the shrieking volley of blaster fire, that sharp, mechanical cadence he had come to know as the Ash Dogs holding their ground. A flicker of relief passed through him: Varn had gotten at least some of them clear.

But the moment soured as his eyes fell to the body slumped beside him. The soldier's armor was torn, visor shattered, chestplate scorched black from the blast. Laphisto's jaw tightened, a frown cutting across his features as he stared at the stillness. Not all of them had made it. Not nearly enough.

There was no time for grief. No time to mourn or even to breathe. The first impact struck like a hammer against his chest, followed almost instantly by a second and third, each blaster bolt slamming into his armor with concussive force. The kinetic energy rattled through his frame, jolting his body as if struck by a battering ram. His teeth clenched against the sting of superheated metal, the acrid scent of scorched plating filling his nostrils.

A hiss escaped him, half growl, half gasp, as instinct took hold. His hand snapped out, the Force bending to his will as shards of broken masonry and steel heaved free of the rubble. With a flick, he hurled a chunk the size of a man's torso toward the advancing Mandalorian, the air itself cracking with the speed of its passage. His other hand reached reflexively to his hip, fingers searching for the familiar weight of his broadsaber only to grasp at nothing. A curse rolled from his lips, low and venomous. The collapse must have torn it from his grasp, buried somewhere in the wreckage.No matter. His lone ear twitched as his gaze hardened. He had a backup, and it would suffice.

Laphisto's clawed hand snapped down to his hip, fingers curling around the grip of his LO-22S. The weapon cleared its holster in a blur, muzzle rising in line with the advancing Mandalorian. He squeezed the trigger in rapid succession, the booming crack-crack-crack of .50 AE slugs reverberating through the ruined chamber. Each round ripped through the dust-laden air, aimed squarely at center mass, the recoil biting against his wrist with every pull.

At the same instant, his left hand thrust outward. The LO-Va'karis Shield roared to life with a guttering hum, light fluttering as its hardlight lattice projected forward into a broad, tower-shaped barrier. Brilliant arcs shimmered across its surface as blaster bolts smashed against it, sparks cascading like a storm of molten rain.

He advanced two steps, every shot delivered with calculated intent, until the inevitable click echoed from the pistol empty. The Mandalorian, unrelenting, surged closer through the haze. Laphisto's lips peeled back in a snarl, a feral rumble tearing from his throat. With no hesitation, he hurled the sidearm like a jagged projectile, aiming squarely at the visor of his opponent's helmet.

In the same motion, he reached out through the Force. The battlefield answered. From the bloodied hand of a fallen soldier, the LO-10M vibrosword wrenched free, clattering across broken stone before whipping into his waiting grasp. The weapon's edge shimmered faintly as its motor engaged, the blade alive with a faint, thrumming vibration an old companion, hungry for the clash to come.

If the Mandalorian wanted close-quarters, then close-quarters they would have. Laphisto surged forward, his taloned feet gouging into the fractured duracrete, the LO-Va'karias shield raised like the prow of a warship cutting through storm-wracked seas. With a guttural rumble, he drove all his weight behind it, intent on slamming the blazing wall of hardlight into his foe with bone-shattering force. The shield flared brilliantly, sparks screaming off its surface as he aimed to break through the Mandalorian's momentum and drive them staggering back.

The fleeting thought of trying to speak, to reason with the warrior before him, flickered briefly at the edges of his mind. But words meant little while blasterfire still spat between them, and he knew the only chance of forcing dialogue was to seize control of the battle first. In the chaos of melee, when breath came ragged and blows were desperate, perhaps then there might be space for words.

If his shield bash struck true, the Mandalorian would reel beneath the impact, disoriented and pressed onto the defensive. If they slipped past his charge, Laphisto was already braced for the counter. He pivoted sharply on his heel, muscles coiling with the aid of the Force. A sudden burst of kinetic energy blasted out behind him, halting his forward rush in an instant and anchoring him mid-motion. With the abrupt stop came the violent twist of his body, vibrosword flashing in his grip.

The blade howled as its motor thrummed to life, each slash a vicious arc meant to batter through beskar with relentless precision. He rained blow after blow, the weapon guided not only by his hands but by the subtle tug of the Force itself, each strike carried with the weight of both fury and control.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Hetton Vemec]

I stand guard, with my men, waiting for a decision, a choice by this man name Zet Reav does he come in to help, or attack us.

I worked out I would be killed, and one of the guards, before the heavies weapons take it down, which they would, he had faith in that.
Yes he would die, but so would I, my death would be avenged.

I say Look we have wounded form both sides, we need a safe space to help both sets of people, ti is your choice, make this a combat zone, your people will die too,as well as ours, trying to save your people. I speak calmly after accepting my death at his hands, as no one can handle a Basilisk, head on attack, if they get hit they dead, but it would in return take a lot of uncompromising fire.

He then said Wait, and pulled out a holo communications device, so Iandre Athlea could talk to him directly, from a place of relative safety not in cross fire that has been set up.

 

[Iandre Athlea]

At the curt, but not rude answer given by Zet, the former Jedi returned her focus on Saul and getting him as comfortable as she could.

"Get him on a respirator and make sure he stays comfortable. Don't let him die."

Though they had only met one other time, Iandre almost considered him a friend. They had shared dinner, drinks, and some conversation. Then they had each gone their ways, only to meet again like this. There had to be something she could do—more than she already was.

As she was inside the building taking care of Saul, she missed most of the statement and questions asked by the Mandalorian. Since he didn't accept her offer, she started to return outside to the courtyard...if you could call it that. That was when her com went off. Pulling out the device, she turned it on and listened in.

"My name is Iandre Athlea, and in my time, we were allies. No harm will come to you by my hand unless you initiate the confrontation."

Crossing one arm across her body, she held the device in the palm of her hand and displayed the room around her. Lilaste Order and any other medic they could find were trying to make all of the patients comfortable. Those who needed stitches or bandages were getting taken care of and then released. However, with the poison in the air, they weren't being let out.

"You ask why? I ask why not? I'm a little better than a field medic. We really could use a doctor in here."

Her tone was modulated, but even through that, it was clear she was stretching her energy low and could use a power nap.

Zet Reav Hetton Vemec Saul Whesai

 

[Saul Whesai]

If Saul could talk, he would have said "Thanks for caring for me" to Iandre. That's if he wasn't choking on his own vomit right now. But as the nurses carried him off into the triage tents, he could only think if Liin was alright. Maybe whoever she was meeting would protect her... Who knows, maybe he would meet her again in the next life.

Thankfully, the Cyborg generally recovered from the gas attack and was able to be shipped off-world back toward Diarch space and its advanced medcenters. With a little bit of time and a lot of medication, he mostly recovered, other than the occasional coughing fit now and again. Lying in his hospital gown as he stared up at the ceiling, he wondered if anyone would come to see him. Saul hadn't gotten any visitors in the week he had been couped up here. Maybe everyone had forgotten about him?

-End-​

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Daro, Outer Rim Territories

| Objective | I - Take The City

With every blaster bolt that tore through the air, time ticked away, a constant pressure as enemy forces regathered their strength and the gaps in their defences were gradually filled with each soldier that recovered, not quite at full strength, but still strong enough to provide a challenge when the numbers turned in their favour. That was a problem for the other Mandalorians to deal with, however, under the circumstances, Itzhal was rather preoccupied with his own problems.

Announcing himself with a sequence of blaster bolts that slammed into Laphisto's centre mass, though in hindsight, Itzhal had rather wished he'd gone for the head, considering the surprise of the initial hits. He was used to force users dodging, another of their type in enough armour to reduce the damage of his blasters was another matter entirely, even if the Mandalorian noted a slight twitch to the draconic individual's expression that revealed how deep the bolts had melted, a flicker of pain that confirmed he'd come close to the skin, before they reacted.

That in turn was something of a surprise, as the rubble around them turned into a blender that deflected his next few shots away from the commander's head, then carried on towards Itzhal at speed. A quick shift of his right leg, a pivot, twisting away from the makeshift spear that would have impaled him, instead scratching across his chestplate and the red paint that embellished the armour plates with enough force that he had to stop for a second.

Buying the other warrior time to draw their backup weapon, a menacing hand cannon that promised danger even before it roared to life, pointed straight at his torso as Itzhal turned back to face him. Close as they were, there wasn't much the Mandalorian could do to avoid the blow outright, the first taking him in the chest as Beskar held, but a shockwave rippled through his frame, a gasp of pain torn from his body, before his jetpack flared and he shot to the side, rolling into cover with the other blows deflecting off his plates, allowing the Morellian gunslinger to step out of the other side of the rubble and continue forward, firing his own sequence of blaster bolts.

Though with the sudden activation of an energy shield adding another complication to the matter, Itzhal found his dual pistols quickly facing a target they couldn't defeat, at least not in a drawn-out slugfight as this seemed to be. Rushing for an answer as his gaze travelled the battlefield, the Mandalorian flicked the barrels of his weapons, not at Laphisto, but instead at a pressurised fire extinguisher behind him, the bolt flying past before it ruptured and shot out a mix of shrapnel and, more importantly, a stream of frozen gases.

Which might have been for nothing, as the force-sensitive charged straight at the Mandalorian, their arms raised and blasters in hand, before he hissed a word to the control system in his helmet and the sonic repulsor in his right gauntlet screeched out a wave of force.

Tags: Laphisto Lord Mettallum Hanna​

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Shaman regarded Maldor Sancetti for a time, and check on her companion Domina Prime . "This appears to be a solid proposal. Our respective leaders may wish to clarify certain details, but it is enough to open discussions." The exchange of prisoners would be tricky. Specificity regarding who got to keep what beskar would prove difficult. A joint tribunal seemed unlikely, but not a bad idea. Few governments simply surrendered people on the whim of another government, after all.

"We can declare a cease fire," Runi acknowledged before also adding, "but let us set expectations it will take time before conflict ends." If they expected an immediate cessation of fire upon declaration it would only set them up for failure. Isolated pockets of conflict might remain until word could get through. The shorter the delay in ending hostilities, however, the more likely the cease fire would hold.

As it would later turn out, the matter of a tribunal was just about as difficult as imagined.

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto grunted as the Mandalorian's blaster fire hammered against his shield, each bolt crashing into the LO-Va'karias barrier in sizzling sparks and rippling waves of light. The shield groaned under the sustained pressure, refracting the incoming energy in arcs that scorched the surrounding air. He pushed forward through the storm, fangs clenched, focused only on closing the distance. That was when the sonic repulsor hit.

The shriek of invisible pressure tore through the air like a tidal wave, slamming into him with all the fury of a thunderclap. The barrier hadn't yet tuned to that frequency no defense in place, no dampening layer so the blast ripped straight through, rattling his bones and detonating pain behind his eyes. His ears rang, balance faltered, and for a split second the world tilted sideways as though the ground had dropped away beneath him.

His shield flared wildly, stuttering on the edge of collapse, before the system's automatic phasing routines kicked in. Circuits flickered, subsystems rebalanced, and the tower-like projection hardened, shunting power from its kinetic filters to reinforce sonic resistance. The next pulses slammed into a barrier that now held steady, swallowing the vibrations into its matrix until the screech dulled into nothing but a background hum.

Laphisto staggered back a step, his taloned feet scraping trenches into the rubble beneath him. Smoke from the ruptured extinguisher curled around him, painting his silhouette in drifting frost, but his amber eyes never left the Mandalorian. The truth was already written in his thoughts: brute strength wouldn't break this standoff. He hissed, retreating another pace, searching the chaos-strewn battlefield for something anything that could give him reach and firepower before the warrior pressed his next attack.

Laphisto's gaze locked onto the prize a discarded LO-27R half-buried under a slab of broken flooring. His ear twitched and he drew in a sharp breath, smoke curling from his nostrils. He stowed the vibrosword on the mag-lock across his back, then leaned low, a sudden gout of flame bursting from his maw. The jet of fire rolled across the rubble between him and the Mandalorian's line of sight, a searing wall meant to mask his next move.

With a grunt, he snatched the heavy machine gun free of the wreckage, dragging it up into his arms as he ducked behind a fractured column. One talon racked the slide with a metallic clack, chambering a round the size of his thumb. His other hand swapped out the LO-Va'karis shield's battery, switching it from full projection to layered reinforcement over his armor, freeing his stance for the weapon.

The weight of the LO-27R was considerable, but Laphisto had prepared for this. With a growl, he braced the weapon against his shoulder and clipped its harness into the A.A.S.H armature along his spine. The system whined to life, servos tightening, compensating for the monstrous recoil the weapon was about to unleash.

He rose from cover in one smooth motion, boots grinding against broken glass as he shouldered the weapon fully. The ruined skyscraper echoed with the furious roar of the LO-27R as he squeezed the trigger. The machine gun barked like a beast unchained, the chatter of its mechanism hammering against the hollow cavern of debris. A stream of molten-hot slugs spewed forth in a withering cone, chewing into plaster, concrete, and steel The ruins shook with its fury, a buzzsaw of slugs

The Mandalorian's cover dissolved under the torrent. Chunks of rebar shrieked as they snapped, walls collapsed in showers of dust and sparks, and shards of stone sprayed like shrapnel across the chamber. Each burst was designed not to chase a single target, but to saturate every possible angle of concealment, to force his opponent into motion.

Laphisto advanced step by step, keeping the trigger down in controlled bursts, firelight flashing across his armor and snarling face. Between the lingering glow of his flame and the thunder of his machine gun, he turned the gutted skyscraper into a furnace of smoke, fire, and steel

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Jonah]

When she accepted the chit and gave her thanks, the Warmaster let a faint smile crease behind the visor, fleeting but real. “Looking out for you isn’t trouble, Liin. Feels like sliding back into a role I never really left. You just make sure to take care of yourself. I’ll handle the rest.”

He dipped his helm once, a wordless farewell, and moved out from the meeting place with his usual measured stride. By the time the door shut behind him, his gauntlet was already working the helm’s controls, bringing the Mandalorian channel to life. The comms bled with static, then the voices of his people came through. Some spoke of a ceasefire, whispers of calm where fire had burned. Others carried harsher tidings, claiming the Diarchy had started executing their captives and marked the Mandalorians as enemies outright.

Jonah stayed quiet, only listening, visor tilted as though it could cut through the lies. Somewhere in that storm was the truth, though half the voices reeked of deception. It would be on his shoulders to pull the thread that mattered, to decide what was real and what was smoke, because the next move would shape whether Mandalore bled or endured.

Tag: Liin Terallo

 

[Liin Terallo]

Once more I dipped my head in respect before he departed. Just knowing that even after these past few years he is still there to aid me is a comforting thought. For the Galaxy is far too dangerous for someone like me that has had little exposure to it. I have had little exposure to a lot of things, especially as of late. The outside Galaxy is but an unknown void to me. That and all of it's conflicts. After the loss of New Cov my focus has shifted to being more self-centered. Some might call that selfish; but I am no hero. I am not entirely sure of what I am, but somewhere along the lines of a recluse and a coward. Others may run headling into battle, while I go no closer than hearing the sounds of it from a distance like I am now.

That is if that even is what I am hearing.

Quietly I left the building to the shuttle that brought me here. The burden upon me now lays on how best to secure my research while also limiting the danger to myself and those around me. I could not bear anyone that I can call a friend to be hurt or killed because of me. Perhaps that is a part of why I have not attempted to rally an army to free New Cov. I am not worthy of their sacrifice. And neither is my research.

Tag: Jonah

--EXIT--

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Daro, Outer Rim Territories

| Objective | I - Take The City

The horrific screech of Itzhal's sonic repulsor was muffled by the sensor equipment within his buy'ce, reduced from an all-encompassing shriek that should have made his ears bleed to an almost tenative whine, though even then, he knew he was fortunate the weapon wasn't pointed in his direction on this occasion. One only had to see the results of a body rattled apart, leaking from the pores as sonic waves tore through deep tissue and muscles, despite the armour plates wrapped around their body, to gain a respectful appreciation for the unusual weapon. He certainly had. Though it appeared that defensive technology had rather caught up on that issue, as Laphisto's initial stumble turned into a stalwart stance.

Underneath the helmet, Itzhal adjusted just how much effort it would take to crack through that shield. Time was not in his favour.

Nor was the battle falling in the Mandalorian's favour as he watched a flutter of smoke and fire gather around the other warrior's mouth, a bright spark of light bursting to life with a rush of air that pushed away the lingering trail of frost that attempted to creep into Laphisto's lungs and seep deep into his wounds. The amber eyes that had locked upon Itzhal suddenly shifted, a moment of attention that should have been minuscule, yet when the world had locked down only to the two men was as blatant as a war cry.

In a way, it was.

Milliseconds after identifying the LO-27R in the rubble, a stream of fire left Laphisto's mouth, undeterred by the blaster bolt that, without the protection of his energy shield, would have turned his head to a charred ruin—an inglorious end, though naturally not one that occurred. Instead, Itzhal's visor was shrouded in a curtain of fire and brimstone, the heat prickling at his skin, even underneath the protection of his bodysuit and the distance he created with a few more steps away from the initial flame.

Delaying Itzhal once again as he checked over the movements of his fellow Mandalorians, rapidly losing the initiative of their initial assault as enemy forces regrouped and gathered their strength.

With little clue of what exactly had caught the other soldier's eye, though aware it had been valuable enough to change Laphisto's plan, Itzhal tilted his left blaster pistol, adjusting the aim of his attached wrist-mounted missile launcher, before, with another hissed word, the projectile was spat forward with a burst of rocket fuel that punched through the wall of flames and exploded somewhere in the direction of whatever the Lilaste Order commander had seen. Not that it stopped them.

Already pulling back as time ticked down, the first warning Itzhal received was when the wall beside him was pockmarked with bullet holes, the entire structure crumbling around already shattered supports. There was a wheeze from the wall beside him as plaster groaned, dropping low as another hail tore into the space above his head, then another round slammed into his right shoulder plate as sparks flew from the impact, and Itzhal was knocked off his feet with the impact. One of his pistols was lost in the chaos, his hand reaching up towards his shoulder and the pain that radiated across the limb, even as his fingers felt the firm press of Beskar, a dull warmth radiating from the impact as he tilted his head in the way of the firestorm.

Then, he raised his left arm once more, the limb shaking as it settled upon the remnants of plaster and steel, pieces of the already ruined tower falling down around his head in clumps and sprinkles of dust. His visor flickered, a blue outline traced from the sound of the weapon tearing through every piece of the terrain in his general direction, a certain death unless stopped. He wasn't honestly sure he could. That had hardly ever stopped him before; one could not make gods bleed without first striking them.

"Haran," the inside of his buy'ce echoed with the order, a desire to destroy packaged in a single word that could mean nothing more than annihilation.

The barrel of the railgun attached to his left gauntlet barked with grim purpose, unleashing the slug that hurtled towards its target, aiming for their torso.

Tags: Laphisto​

 

[Zet Reav]

Objective Four: Tend the Wounded
Mandalorian Medicine (with guns)
Iandre Athlea
Visible gear:
Armor | Vambraces | Rifle and Pistols | Vehicle​

"My name is Iandre Athlea, and in my time, we were allies. No harm will come to you by my hand unless you initiate the confrontation."
"You ask why? I ask why not? I'm a little better than a field medic. We really could use a doctor in here."

​

Zet listens to the whole message before he can reply. Well, this changes everything. It doesn't seem to be a trap to lure in enemies for the kill and for body parts. And it most certainly doesn't look like a laboratory equipped enough for any of the other 'crazy but possible' ideas in Zet's head. This place looks to be just... a very poorly put med bay in a war zone trying to save everyone with low stocks of energy and more wounded than medics. He recognizes an exhausted medic when he sees one.

A foolish, but, a noble effort. And they're healing Zet's people so he'll not vocalize that thought.

"How about a truce? You do not attack me, I do not attack you. I do not know what you mean by 'in my time', but we can work together today. No war prisoners, I take my people with me when they can be moved, dead or alive. You can do the same with yours." He cannot heal death, as much as he's trying to find a way to, but he can make sure they're buried, and their gear given to their families. Zet gives one last look at the guards pointing weapons at him. He can feel the friendship coming from them. "Who released the gas, my people or yours?" He asks, doing the very stupid thing of climbing down his very safe mount. He's taking a risk there, but... life is all about risks. And war is not much better.

He keeps all of his gear on him, obviously. The weapons and the medical equipment. "And no one touches my vehicle. That's non-negotiable."

 

[Laphisto]

Laphisto's growl rumbled low in his throat, nearly lost beneath the thunder of the LO-27R as he scythed through the rubble in the Mandalorian's direction. The machine gun chattered like a beast unleashed, every burst peeling away stone and steel, every flash lighting the draconic commander's face in strobing fury. He was so locked into the rhythm of the weapon's roar, so deafened by the buzzsaw fury of slugs tearing through cover, that he never registered the subtle bark of the railgun.The impact came all at once.

A slug that felt like the full force of a fist slammed into his chestplate, the world erupting into fire and pressure as if a speeder had plowed straight into him. The LO-Va'karias shield flared, absorbing the worst of the kinetic hell, his armor groaning in protest as the reinforced plates bled off the energy but no defense could stop the sheer force of momentum. Laphisto's body recoiled violently, hurled backward into the fractured stone floor. His back struck with a jarring crack, the breath punched from his lungs in a guttural grunt that echoed off the ruined skyscraper's walls. For a moment, the heavy weapon hung slack in his hands, smoke curling from the barrel as though mocking his lapse.But hesitation wasn't a luxury.

With a snarl, Laphisto rolled to his side, talons scraping on rubble as he forced himself upright. Pain thrummed through his chest where the slug had struck, a deep ache that promised bruising beneath the armor, but his focus cut through the haze. Ducking behind the skeletal remains of a collapsed support beam, he braced the LO-27R across his thigh and checked the ammo belt. Only a handful of links left not nearly enough for what was coming.

For the first time in the duel, Laphisto's voice cut through the thunder of battle, low and guttural beneath the rasp of his breathing. His chest rose and fell in heavy draws as he leaned into cover, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Ni ganar kote par gar, vod."The sentence hung in the dust-choked air for a heartbeat before he drew another breath, his tone darkening with the iron weight of promise.

He flicked his lone ear, listening past the hiss of settling rubble and the groan of twisted metal, straining for the subtle scrape of movement that betrayed the Mandalorian's position.When he caught it, he spoke words rough yet deliberate, echoing across the ruin. "bal Ni kyr'amur gar par ner vod. Ner jate vod te shal ori'vod ne'nari."

Laphisto shifted, talons scraping against shattered stone as he pulled himself to the left, eyes locked on the flickering silhouettes through smoke and debris. The LO-27R growled back to life in his grip, the A.A.S.H. armature anchoring the kick as he leaned out from cover. The weapon's buzzsaw roar filled the chamber again, every burst driving the Mandalorian further into cover as Laphisto pressed forward, the Force coiling at his call unseen but undeniable, a storm gathering behind every motion.

Small pebbles and jagged shards of rubble began to rise from the fractured floor around him, pulled upward by invisible currents. They hovered, trembling in midair as faint arcs of green and violet electricity crackled between them, dancing along their edges with a predator's hunger. Laphisto's lone ear twitched, his amber eyes narrowing as he pulled his left hand free from the LO-27R, letting the A.A.S.H. armature shoulder the burden of its weight.

Both sides of the Force coursed through him the calm clarity of the Light and the burning fury of the Dark no longer at odds, but braided together into one coherent torrent. The air thickened, vibrating with pressure, every mote of dust and ash caught in a spiraling draft as though the ruins themselves were holding their breath.With a guttural snarl, Laphisto thrust his clawed hand forward.The world split.

A massive concussive blast ripped outward in a tidal wave of raw energy, tearing across the duracrete with devastating force. The floor cracked like glass beneath the pressure, jagged seams racing outward as chunks of stone were wrenched free, caught in the surge, and hurled forward as shrapnel. The shockwave struck the Mandalorian's cover like a thunderclap, shattering it apart in an explosion of dust and debris that echoed like the roar of an ancient beast.The air howled with the violence of it, leaving nothing but fractured silence in the wake of the blast.

Itzhal Volkihar

 

[Runi Kuryida]

The Shaman nodded and stepped off to the side. "Command, broadcast the following on all friendly channels," Runi sent to operational command. They'd have the signal boosters necessary to reach nearly all of their forces. Those that couldn't be reached... they'd keep trying until confirmation was received. If necessary, the two factions might need to coordinate search teams to find any missing personnel.

"Vod, this is Warmaster Runi Kuryida. All Mandalorian and Diarchy forces are to cease fire immediately. Strategically withdrawal to allied defense positions. Only defensive action is authorized from this moment forward on and around Daro. Any found in violation of this cease fire will answer to me."

After she cut off the channel, Runi turned to look back over at Maldor. If the Diarchy was finished with their own announcement, she would draw back over toward them. "For the Manda's sake, let this be enough." There was still much more that would need to happen for the cease fire to hold. They would need to have their leadership talk directly to affirm the conditions. See that expectations were met. Exchange evidence if there really were a third-party at work. This moment, here, was just the beginning.

Maldor Sancetti | Domina Prime
Jonah | Laphisto | Drego Ruus | Lord Mettallum | Liin Terallo | Zet Reav | Iandre Athlea | Hetton Vemec | Saul Whesai | Itzhal Volkihar​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

With a simple motion as the promise of his not attacking her, the men with the guns pointed at him lowered them. The truce would stand, and Iandre would make sure that any of her men who might have broken it would be punished to her highest ability.

"A truce. We each take our own people, and we can hopefully get them all out alive. Though I've already lost at least one."

The door opened for him, and the troops were left outside.

"Leave his vehicle alone."

That could be heard through her vocator as he walked in. Glancing at him, she nodded, but her helmet remained in place. It helped keep her air clean, even if the patients suffered. She did her best on the limited resources she had, and that would be clear to the Mandalorian.

As much as the former Jedi didn't want to admit it, he did ask a question. Looking at him, even though they both wore camouflaging helmets, he might know where her eyes were.

"Mine were permitted to release the gas."

Clenching her fist, she lightly punched her leg before opening it and holding it out to offer to shake his hand.

"I'm Iandre Athlea. Thank you for coming in. We've done everything we can to make all our patients comfortable. Those who were worse off and would have died if they remained were removed from the planet. I will arrange for any Mandalorian to be returned once they have recovered sufficiently, as I guarantee. If you'll accept my word."

Assuming he did take her at her word, they would work together for the next few hours. She was finally able to get some rest, and eventually, they had every patient as stable as possible. They would need more time, but Iandre silently hoped she had one ally among those who could be considered a current enemy.

Zet Reav

 

[Diarch Rellik]

PLANET BASTION – CENTRAL BROADCAST
TRANSMISSION: BY AUTHORITY OF THE DIARCH
RECIPIENTS: ALL DIARCHY PERSONNEL, LILASTE ORDER, NETWORK OPERATIVES

[HOLOPROJECTOR RECORDING ACTIVATED]

The figure of Diarch Rellik came into focus, the banners of Bastion rising high behind him. His voice carried steady and clear, touched with the weight of loss yet firm with conviction.

"Brothers. Sisters. Allies all to the cause of the Diarchy, In these past days between Vexis and now Daro, too many lives have been lost. Sons, daughters, comrades who stood their ground with honor. Their sacrifices will not be forgotten. But let us be clear: to spend more lives in this struggle, here and now, will bring small wins when we truly seek VICTORY!"

With the first paragraph done, Rellik became more animated. Eyes gleaming the same way they do when he is fighting.

"We are a free people. Not an empire. The Mandalorians may march under their Mand'alor, but we are not bound to follow their path. Come home and at the Chancellorate we shall discuss how we wish to move going forward, TOGETHER! At every step, the Mando'a have sought to provoke us, to bait us into answering violence with violence, to shatter the Echoy'la Accords we swore to honor. They want the Galaxy to see us as savages simply because they do not understand us. I will not play into their hands. Neither should you. From this moment, I call for a ceasefire. Cease offensive action, stand only in defense. Bring our people home. Return from these skirmishes where nothing is gained but perhaps a few trophies made of Beskar."

What might have started as choice words was now a rallying cry.

"The Mandalorians want us to fight on their terms. We will not. Our strength has never been measured in reckless bloodshed. Now we know their intent and we can show the galaxy their true colors without lowering ourselves to their nature. The calls of Zara Saga ring truer today than ever before. It was only a matter of time before these... people... showed their true colors! Let us gather on Bastion and across our worlds. Let us organize. Let us prepare. For the inevitable day will come when these historically warmongering barbarians test us again. But let not the battlefield be chosen by them. When that day arrives, it will be our time, on our terms, with the full strength of the Diarchy united.

And then… we will crush them."

[TRANSMISSION END]
Laphisto Aether Verd Runi Kuryida Zet Reav Itzhal Volkihar Lord Mettallum Liin Terallo Jonah Saul Whesai Iandre Athlea